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REDUCED FROM lO.^ INCHES BY 5.|;

MINOR POETS OF THE
CAROLINE PERIOD

VOL. I CONTAINING

CHAMBERLAYNE'S PHARONNIDA
AND ENGLAND'S JUBILEE
BENLOWES' THEOPHILA
AND THE POEMS OF
KATHERINE PHILIPS AND
PATRICK HANNAY

EDITED BY

GEORGE SAINTSBURY, M.A.

OXFORD

AT THE CLARENDON PRESS

■ 1905

HENRY FEOWDE, M.A.

PtTBLISHER TO THE UNIVERSITY OF OXFORD

LONDON, EDINBURGH

NEW YORK AND TORONTO

GENERAL INTRODUCTION

A GREAT Eng-lish critic, Mr. Matthew Arnold, and a great French
man of letters, Merimee, though they might not agree in all points
agreed in one — in disparaging and discountenancing the study of
minor literature. Mr. Arnold's utterances on the subject (or some
of them, for they are numerous and sometimes inconsistent) are
probably well known to most readers of this book ; of Merimee's, his
qualification of the praise which it was impossible for him to refuse
to Ticknor's History of Spanish LitcraUire, with blame for the
inclusion of the nnmerns, may serve as a sufficient example. Both
are formidable antagonists : and Goethe, from whom it is not im-
probable that both derived at least support for their opinion, and who
notoriously, in his later days at any rate, held it himself, will seem
to most people, no doubt, an antagonist more formidable still. But
one of the cardinal principles of literary as of other knight-errantry
is that the adventurer is not to be too careful — if he is to be careful
at all — of the number, or of the individual prowess and reputation,
of his adversaries. The greater and the more they are, the greater
his success if he triumphs, the less his discredit if he succumbs —
when his case is the right and theirs is the wrong. I have no doubt
that in this respect Goethe and Merimee and Mr. Arnold were
wrong. It is not difficult to trace various causes of their error, the
chief of which are that all three were in a certain sense disenchanted
lovers of Romanticism ; that Romanticismi, as it was bound to do by
mere filial piety, enjoined the study of all literature ; and (further)
that none of them had any special bent towards literary history.
Mr. Arnold regarded all history with an impartial dislike ; Goethe
probably did not find this kind scientific enough : and Merimee,
though no mean historical student in his own way, was a student
of manners, of politics, of archaeology rather than of literature.

Yet there can be no doubt that from the point of view of literary
history, and not from that point only, the neglect of minorities is
a serious, and may be a fatal mistake. It is a mistake which used
to prevail in the elder offspring of Clio herself ; but in most of her
family it has been long outgrown. There is even at the present
day, perhaps, a danger of too much attention being paid to small
things — the complaint is all but unanimous that the document
is killing the historian. Literary history, however, is a very youthful
member of the historical household : it is not, in any fully developed
condition, much more than two hundred years old, and its classics
are few and disputed. Most of those which could pretend to the
(iii) a 2

General Introduction

position have been constructed on the very principle here attacked ;
such a book as Taine's, for instance, deliberately ignores whole
schools, whole periods, whole departments, and is even extremely
eclectic and anomalous in its treatment of principals. Yet it
surely should not require much argument to show that this
proceeding is not only absolutely unscientific, but inartistic in the last
degree from one point of view, and perilous to the last degree from
another. Even in the sphere of inorganic or inanimate or irrational
things no reasonable physicist would care to generalize from
a single example, or a few, leaving many unexamined. And the
expressions of the human mind and sense in art are infinitely
more individual and individually differentiated than chunks of the
same rock, or blooms of the same flower, or specimens of the
same animal race. Every fresh example may — it may almost
be asserted that every fresh example does — give the rule with
a difference ; and by far the larger number of these differences
are at least illustrative. From the confinement of the attention to
a few examples, however brilliant and famous, come hasty generali-
zations, insufficient exposition, not seldom downright errors. Nor is
it enough that the historian, as he too seldom does, should have
made an examination, more or less exhaustive, for himself; it
is desirable that the opportunity of controlling, checking, illustrating
that examination should be in the hands of the student.

This opportunity, in regard to the poets now collected, few students
who have not easy access to the very largest libraries can possibly have
enjoyed. The invaluable collection of Chalmers — which ought long
ago to have been supplemented by a similar corpus for the late
eighteenth and early nineteenth centuries — contains a very fair
number of mid-seventeenth century poets, but not one of those here
presented. Nor has any one of them enjoyed the good fortune —
I do not for a moment insinuate that any one has deserved it — of
Herrick, who was himself omitted by Chalmers. The best and
largest thing here given, Chamberlayne's PJiaronnida^ was indeed
reprinted by Singer eighty years ago : but his edition is now scarce
and dear. Very few of the others have been reprinted at all, and
in every case the familiar adjectives just used apply to the reprints
where they exist. As for the originals, though the extreme collector's
mania point has not been yet reached in their case, as in that of the
books of the period immediately preceding and some (especially
first editions of plays) of a later time, yet most of them are exces-
sively costly — twenty or thirty shillings, or two or three pounds
having to be given for small duodecimos of large print. And
what is more, copies are not to be obtained on the asking even at
these fancy prices. To collect the texts which we here propose
to give would cost anything from twenty to fifty pounds in money,
and I really do not think it would be an exaggeration to sa\'
that it might cost from twenty to fifty weeks, if not months, in
(iv)

General Introduction

time. And while it is certainly not extravagant to say that most
students have neither too much time nor too much money at
command, it is not, I think, illiberal to say that at least some
collectors who have plenty of both do not exactly collect for the
purposes of study.

So far, little answer is likely to be attempted ; but there remains
a different set of objections to face. ' Are these things worth collecting
and reprinting ? ' it may be asked — ' Is either the prodesse or the
delectare likely to be got from them ? ' Nor do I propose to answer
this in the lofty manner of some, by saying that knowledge is
knowledge, and to be striven for, and imparted, putting all questions
of profit or of delectation aside. This (to split the old commendation)
may be ' the most orgilous ' fashion of defence ; but it is not ' the
best,' perhaps, and it is certainly not the most prudent, especially
as there are divers others. The importance of the matter here
given for the proper comprehension of English literary history is
really great. It may be best classed and indicated under three
heads, those of Versification, Diction, and Subject.

In Versification, the poems here set before the reader, being mostly
in rhyme, do not illustrate one of the main features of their period,
that disintegration or disvertebration of blank verse which the
contemporary plays display so remarkably. But their exposition of
the rhymed couplet of the period comes very close to this : and
indeed, as contrast-pendant, practically forms part of the same
subject. We give here, in the forefront of the book, the greatest
poem, in bulk and merit alike, which was ever written in this
particular form of heroic : and the special Introdjiction to Pharon-
nida will be found to contain some further remarks on the matter.
It is sufficient here to say that what this poem shows on the great
scale many others show more or less : — the conflict of the two
principles of * stop ' and enjambement which goes on everlastingly
in this province of English Prosody. When the couplet^ first
' emerges from the heap ' (to use Guest's excellent but for himself
rather damaging phrase on a more general point) its examples
are almost necessarily ' stopped ' — as in the Orison of Our Lady,
in Hampole and elsewhere — because the fact of the writer having
no more to say in the space almost of itself determined his limita-
tion to ten feet. But when Chaucer first took it up as a poetic
medium and vehicle on the great scale, his genius could not fail,
whether consciously or not, to discover the double capacity of the
metre. He has sometimes been claimed as a great exemplar of
enjambement ; but as a matter of fact he is quite as great a one
of the stopped couplet when he chooses : and neither Dryden nor

^ These remarks, necessarily made here obiter, the writer hopes to develop in
a History of English Prosody, on which he has been for some time engaged. The
observation is made simply to guard them against the supposition of being idle or
random dicta.

(V)

General Introduction

Leigh Hunt could have been under the slightest difficulty in learning
from him and quoting from him examples of the form which each
preferred. The remarkable instances of ' clench ' and ' stop ' which
are found in Mother Hiibberd's Talc could escape no careful reader
of Spenser: and those who like to discover literary anticipations
and 'false dawns' have had no difficulty in finding many others in
Elizabethan poetry. In particular, those final couplets of Fairfax's
stanzas which had such a great influence on Waller and his
followers, necessarily take the stopped form as a rule, and sometimes
equal in emphasis anything in Pope himself.

But the dramatic model of the rhymed couplet, very frequently

used and never quite expelled by blank verse in its palmiest days,

as necessarily inclined to overlapping : and both the pregnancy of

thought and the rather undisciplined exuberance of Jacobean and

Caroline times favoured the same tendency. This, undoubtedly,

caught or lent contagion from or to the other tendency to licence in

blank verse itself The sliding, slipping flow of Wither and Browne

was consequently most alluring, in decasyllabics and octosyllables

alike : and for some time very few writers even tried to resist the

allurement. Chamberlayne himself, and Shakerley Marmion earlier,

are the chief of not a few who have displayed the sin and its

solace. There is indeed no doubt of either. Hardly any metrical

device so well deserves the hackneyed praise of ' linked sweetness

long drawn out ' as these verse-paragraphs, punctuated by rhyme as

well as pause, when they are successful. Nothing so well enables us

to understand JMilton^s otherwise almost unintelligible wrath with

the rhyme he had managed so exquisitely as the same paragraphs,

or rather paragraph-heaps, when they are not successful. And the

odds are undoubtedly rather against their succeeding. Even

Keats, a greater poet by far than any one here presented, and

endowed with a miraculous finger for poetic music, cannot always —

cannot very often — keep them straight or curl them satisfactorily.

They encourage themselves by their own transgression : the poet

who drinks of them will almost certainly drink to excess. And

there is nothing for it, as Keats himself found, but one or other

of the astringent antidotes which Milton and Dryden respectively

applied. Yet, as we have seen in the nineteenth century, from

Keats himself to Mr. William Morris, poetry will turn to them, and

will not be denied the indulgence. Nay, there is the curious fact

that, after Keats had discarded the decasyllabic ciijambcuiciit of

Eiidymion, he fell back upon the octosyllabic cnjambcmoit of the

Eve of St. Mark\ and would obviously have done great things in

it had he had time.

It is, therefore, by no means an unimportant thing, in the interests
of the history of PLnglish Prosody and of English Literature, that the
documents of this period of unbridled overlapi)ing should be put
completelv witlu'n the reach of the student and reader: — first, that

(vi)

General Introduction

he may understand and appreciate them in themselves ; secondly,
that he may understand and appreciate the reaction against them ;
thirdly, that he may understand and appreciate the new reaction to
something like them more than a century later. They have a great
deal to teach us ; they are a ' source ' or a main part of one ; they
cannot be dismissed, except by the most short-sighted impatience, as
things dead and obsolete. The newer tendency to extend the view
of literature laterally, and take in what other nations and other
languages are doing, is valuable and to be encouraged, but not at the
expense of retrospection and of the maintenance of continuity in the
study of particular literatures. Nowhere is it truer that the thing
that hath been shall be than in this field : nowhere are the
ancestral heirlooms — less as well as more precious — to be more
carefully treasured and looked up from time to time.

The other points chiefly noticeable in regard to Versification are
two — the practice of irregular ' Pindaric ' metres, and the peculiar
tone and colour of the ' common measure ' and the quatrain of eights.
The popularity of Cowley was sure to encourage the practice of the
first, but Cowley's own addiction to it was, of course, only an instance,
not a cause, of the general fondness for it. This fondness was also
itself, no doubt, but a sort of evidence of discontent or want of skill
with previously popular metrical arrangements, like the restless
liberties taken with the Spenserian stanza by poets from the
Fletchers to Prior. We have nothing of the very first excellence
to promise in this form — nothing like the best of Crashaw or of
Vaughan — certainly nothing equal to that splendid anonymous
piece ^ which Mr. Bullen discovered in the Christ Church Library.
But it must be remembered that Cowley himself is by no means
invariably or even very often successful with it, and that its apparent
promise of mimeros lege solutes is the most treacherous and
dangerous of deceits. The poet (or perhaps hardly the poet but
the verse-writer) thinks he has got rid of an incumbrance, when he
has in reality thrown away the staff that supports his steps and the
girdle that strengthens his loins. Only masters of euphony and
harmony can really triumph with these irregular arrangements which
require such a transcendental regularity. Nay more, we know from
the remarkable example of Tennyson's early verse, and its effect on
Coleridge, that the very masters themselves cannot always appreciate
others' mastery in it. So that, in our range of sixty years and more
from Patrick Hannay to Ay res, we shall not see many successes
here: yet the lesson of their absence will not be idle or superfluous.

But the third and last general metrical * colour ' of this verse is
the most satisfactory ; it is indeed one of the principal evidences in
English poetry of the almost incomprehensible blowing of the wind
of the spirit in a particular direction for a certain space of time.
Whether it was the special accomplishment of Ben Jonson, the
* ' Yet if His Majesty, Our Sovereign Lord,' &c.
(vii)

Genei^al httroductmi

greatest single tutor and teacher of the verse of the mid-seventeenth
century, or whether this accomplishment itself was but the first and
greatest instance of a prevalent phenomenon, it would be uncritical
rashness to attempt to decide. But what is certain is that the
new, the wonderful, the delightful cadences which we find in such
mere anonymities as —

Thou sent'st to me a heart was crowned,

I took it to be thine :
But when I saw it had a wound

I knew that heart was mine.
A bounty of a strange conceit I

To send mine own to me —
And send it in a worse estate

Than when it came to thee !

or in Marvell's magnificent —

My love is of a birth as rare

As 'tis, for object, strange and high —

It was begotten by Despair
Upon Impossibility.

meet us often here, even in the warblings of the mild if matchless
muse of ' Orinda.' Some of course will say, according to their usual
saying, that it is the thought which is charming in both these
— that it is the Caroline conceit, not the Caroline cadence, which is
so bewitching. Let us distinguish. The thought, the conceit, is
caressing : but it would be perfectly possible so to put it that it
should not have this rushing soar, this dying fall ; and it would not
be very hard to get the soar and fall with much less fantastically
gracious fancies. In fact, we should have to go to these very Carolines
to borrow them. Nobody, except by imitation, has got it since ;
nobody had it before. It is only when one appreciates it that it
becomes evident how some of those thus gifted managed also to
strike out (quite casually it would seem) the matchless hi Menw-
riavi variation of eights, which also dates from this time, and which
carries its own music so indissolubly bound up in it that only
violence, or dulness unspeakable, can effect a divorce between them.
If these notes — not exactly w-ood-notes but notes of a slightly
sophisticated yet exquisitely tempered society — came first into
existence a little before the accession of the first Charles, they
hardly survived the death of the second, under whom very worth-
less and unpoetical persons still, in some strange fashion, were able
to produce them, while later, very respectable and even poetical
persons were unable to produce them at all. We shall not, indeed,
find any of the very best examples of them here ; those very best
examples are so irresistibly and so universally charming that they
have, in almost all cases, long ago served as passports to at least
the modified general knowledge given by anthologies. I can promise
(viii)

Ge7ie*ral httroductmi

my readers no Herrick, nor even any Sedley or Aphra Behn. But
the purpose of the collection will be fully attained by showing that
in lesser degree, the gift prevailed : — that even the minor poet had
it, that it was an appanage and a privilege not of the individual but
of the time. Not until such points as these have been mastered —
with the result and reward of being able to distinguish what is of
the time and what of the individual — is a real grasp of the history
of literature and especially of poetry possible. The process corrects
at once the extreme determinism of the Taine school, and the
extreme individualism which will not look at filiations and groups
and milieux at all ; it turns the student, if he will be turned, into a
scholar who can appreciate, and a lover who can understand.

In point of Diction the authors here given add a good deal to the
word- and phrase-book of the period ; and I have thought it worth
while to draw attention to some of these additions in the several
Introductions, and to all the more remarkable ones in the glossarial
notes. The general tendency is double : and the evidences of this
duplicity are perhaps more striking than those in most of the better
known poetry of the time, though not more so than those in its
slightly more accessible, but not really much more generally read,
drama. One set is in the direction of a sort of new 'aureate'
diction — of ' inkhorn terms ' corresponding to those of which the
mighty chief of contemporary prose-writers. Sir Thomas Browne, is
so prodigal. Chamberlayne, though not quite so lavish of them,
is a thorough contemporary of Browne's in his ' enthean ' and his
'astracisms.' But, as is well known, all Jacobean and Caroline
writers, from Bacon and Greville to Thomas Burnet, succumb to
this temptation, the indulgence in which was no doubt a main cause
of the imminent reaction to ' a naked natural way of speaking,'
though some of the greatest men on that side, notably Dryden,
never quite relinquished their fondness for ' traduction ' and the
like. This indulgence is certainly more pardonable in poetry than
in prose, where also it is not unpardonable to some tastes ; it only
becomes so when (as, it must be confessed, often happens) it is either
pushed to the verge of the burlesque in itself or associated with
grotesque and vernacular locutions. Benlowes is a particular offender
in this way ; but it can hardly be said that any one of the Caroline
minors is entirely to be trusted to escape the danger and the offence.
Yet the better of these imisitata may be regarded with a little
affectionate regret by those who hold that in language, as elsewhere,
the old motto ' keep a thing, its use will come ' has its value ; and that
it is hardly possible for any tongue to be too rich or too hospitable
provided only its treasures or its guests do not underlie the reproach
of barbarism. There is a charm in such a phrase as ' the epact of the
heart'' which none but word-lovers and thought-lovers know.

The other tendency connects itself forwards rather than backwards

^ In the anonymous song, ' Why should I wrong my judgement so? '
(ix)

Ge?ieral Introdicction

in respect of development, though one of its sources is to be sought
in an earlier age. It is the indulgence in familiar and slovenly-
forms of speech which grew upon writers during the later years of
the seventeenth century, and against which Swift, at the beginning of
the next, delivered his famous onslaught in the Tatler. This, as has
been said, is particularly painful when it is found in close proximity
to the 'aureate' phrases just discussed; but its worst instances
possess an offensiveness which is independent and intrinsic, and
which is perhaps the great drawback to the enjoyment of this
poetry. These take the most slipshod conversational contractions
— not merely such as 'they're' for they are,' and 'she 's' for 'she
is,' but such as the horrors, now luckily obsolete even in conversation,
of 'do's,' not for 'does ' but for 'do his,' ' th' castle' for 'the castle,'
' b' the ' for ' by the,' and the like. In some cases, of course, a mere
slur of the voice will get over the difficulty: but in many it will
not. And the result is then one of the most jarring grains of sand
between the teeth, one of the most loathsome flies in the ointment.
Some of the passages where it occurs are utterly ruined by it ;
there are none, I think, where it is not a more or less serious draw-
back to the poetic pleasure. It is noticeable more or less in all the
poets of the time except Milton, whose ear saved him, almost if not
quite invariably, from anything that cannot be resolved into a toler-
able trisyllabic foot: and it continued for a long time after our
strict period. Even Dryden is not proof against it, in the verse of
his plays, though he too was kept by his genius from often (not
from sometimes) committing it in his strictly poetic verse. Of the
others, persons not represented here as different as Crashaw and
Marvell, persons represented here as different as Chamberlayne and
Benlowes, are almost indiscriminately guilty of it ^

This always uncomely and sometimes hideous and horrible fault
was at least partly due to a wrong theory, not of Diction itself but once
more of Versification — to the strange delusion (first put into words
by Gascoigne, who laments what he thought the fact thirty or forty
years before the beginning of our time, and finally formulated by
Bysshe twelve or fifteen beyond the end of it) that, either universally
or in all but a very few trivial song metres, English prosody admitted
of nothing but disyllabic feet. It was to get back the ten syllables
into the heroic line, the eight into the ' short ' line (as Butler calls
it) and no more, that these abominable Procrustean tortures were
committed. It is possible — the contrary may seem indeed /^possible
— that the fantastic combinations of consonants sometimes produced,
were not intended to be pronounced as they are printed — that, as
was observed above, a saving slur was allowed. But in some cases
at least no sleight of tongue with the actual syllables is itself possible:
the verse simply cannot be made euphonious by any acrobatism of

• It is to the credit of 'J. D.,' the introducer of Joshua Poole's English Parnassus,
that he protests against mere ' apostrophation,' as he calls it.

General httroduction

pronunciation. And it is not surprising that, in order to get rid of
it, Dryden tended more and more to the rigid decasyllabic, with an
occasional indulgence in the complete Alexandrine when he could
not suit himself with less room. Never till Shenstone, and then only
by a kind of timid suggestion, was the ' dactyl ' (of course it was not
as a rule a dactyl at all) allowed back into English heroic or blank
verse ; and during this period of proscription there was practically
no alternative between inconvenience and cacophony for those poets
who were not consummate masters. Hardly one of ours deserves
that grudgingly-to-be-allotted description, and accordingly they
nearly all succumb.

Yet again, there is special interest of Subject about not a few of
the poets and poems here given ; and this has not, like the others,
been in any great part anticipated by previous collections and
editions. Of the * Heroic Poem ' on which the mind of the late
sixteenth and the whole of the seventeenth century was so much
set, only Davenant's G-oiidibcrt, the most popular example doubtless
of the kind at its own time, has been hitherto accessible with any
ease ; and Gondibert, though the most considerable English piece
save one in bulk, has the disadvantage of having been written by
a man who is not single-minded in his ideas of poetry, who with
much of the actual has more of the coming taste and fashion.
Here we give, not only PJiaronnida the queen of the whole bevy,
but some others, of much less merit and importance no doubt,
but still constituting a body of evidence and not a mere isolated
example. Of the kind itself something is said in the Introduction
to Chamberlayne's romance: but something more may fitly, and
almost necessarily must, be said here. It is, for the reasons just
now hinted at and others, not at all a well-known kind ; and with all
the abundance of monographs — German, American, and English —
on English Literature which the last few decades have seen, no one
has yet summoned up courage to take it with its analogues, the
' Heroic Prose Romance,' and the ' Heroic Play,' for thorough and
synoptic treatment. Except in cases which break through and
above its limitations., such as Milton's Paradise Lost, which, be it
remembered, takes to itself the actual style and title ^, or as
Cowley's Davideis, it is a kind which incurs the familiar dangers
of sitting (or attempting to sit) on two stools. Starting from the
theory and practice of Tasso, who wished to effect a modus vivendi
between the Virgilians and the partisans of Ariosto, and from the
doctrine of Scaliger that the ActJiiopica of Heliodorus was a perfect
prose epic, writers, first in Italy and Spain, then in PVance, and
almost contemporaneously in England, endeavoured to secure the
variety, the freedom to some extent, and the sentimental and story-
telling attractions of the Romance, with something of the majesty,
unity, and prestige of the Epic. They very seldom achieved these

* At the close of the prefatory note on ' The Verse.'
(xi)

General Introduction

latter; and if like Milton they did, it was almost necessarily at the
cost and to the neglect of the former. The smaller ' Heroic ' poems
are often mere narrative love-pieces, scarcely more than lyric in
appeal, though unwisely divesting themselves of the lyric charm in
form. But PJiaronnida is much more than this, and though, no
doubt, the versification and the diction subject it to risks which
need not necessarily have been run, yet, to some extent, the Heroic
Poem might not do unwisely to choose Chamberlayne as its
champion.

At any rate, the greater and smaller examples here presented
will supply materials for information and judgement on two points
of literary history and criticism, neither of which is without very
considerable interest and importance. In the first place, we have
here a definite species (or chapter) of the general class (or history) of
Verse-Narrative. This, even in ancient times, had some difficulty
in subjecting itself to the rigid theory of Epic Unity. The Iliad
obeys this pretty fairly — which is the less wonderful inasmuch as the
theory was certainly deduced from the Iliad, if not from the Iliad
alone. But the Odyssey and even the Aeneid have to take the
benefit of all sorts of subterfuges in order to comply with it : and
disastrous as is the shipwreck of ancient epic generally, we can see
from writers like Nonnus on the one hand and Statius on the other,
that orthodoxy was by no means universal if it was even general.
Mediaeval verse knew nothing of it, and the mighty genius of
Ariosto flouted it unceremoniously not to say wantonly. An
intending verse tale-teller, in the middle of the seventeenth century,
might well ' not know what to think of it ' even in face of Tasso and
Spenser, much more of Marini and Chiabrera and the French 'long
poem ' writers from Ronsard to Chapelain. Either because of such
bewilderment, or for other reasons, he generally fortified himself
with certain things ; a punctilious extravagance of sentimental
interest, often suggesting the tone of the Amadis cycle ; a curious
nomenclature of a rococo-Romance kind which has perhaps some
indebtedness to the same source ; intricately and almost violently
entangled adventures, revolutions, discoveries, and the like. In
many cases it seems to have been more or less a chance whether
he wrote in prose or in verse.

In fact (and this brings us to the second point), the kind supplies
another important link or chapter in the history of Fiction generally.
Very much of it, one might almost be sure, would not have been
written in this form if the prose-novel had taken forms more definite
and variously available. And yet it is necessary to repeat the
' almost.' For the verse-novel itself, we must remember, has made
its appearance as late as the nineteenth century in some very
notable examples in English. It may almost claim Sordcllo and
The Princess ; it may quite claim Fcstus, and Aurora Leigh, and
Lncile and Glcnaveril. If Mr. William Morris led verse-narrative
(xii)

General Introduction

back to more natural ways, it does not follow that it will always
abide in them. At any rate, here are examples — little known, not
so little worth knowing, — of one of the forms which it has taken in
the past of English poetry and English literature. That this form
has been much neglected hitherto is certainly not a reason for
continuing the neglect. It certainly is a reason for repairing it in
the most important point, the provision of the actual materials for
study.

To these considerations of direct interest and importance, from
the point of view of the history of literature, there remain to be
added some of an indirect kind.

Most, though not all, of the writers here reprinted were forgotten
during the eighteenth century ; but some at least of them were of
note in the seventeenth, and more than one has been a power of
this or that moment during the last hundred years. The influence
which they — or rather the spirit which they exhibit — exerted upon
Dryden has sometimes been exaggerated, but more generally over-
looked : and it is a matter of real and great importance. It is not
merely that he mentions ' Orinda ' with admiration ^ and Cleveland
with contempt ^ ; nor that he confesses, in somewhat other but
closely allied matter, how conceit and bombast and ' alembicated '
metaphysicalities for a long time were the Delilabs of his imagina-
tion ^. It is not merely that the Lines on Lord Hastings are in
existence to show that he could as a boy out-Benlowes Benlowes
and out-catachresis Cleveland himself. From these first puerilities
to those almost last and almost noblest lines where he addresses —

[The] daughter of the rose, whose cheeks unite
The differing titles of the Red and White,

he is the servant of misguiding or rightly guiding fantasy — a fantasy
at the worst the by-blow and bastard of older Furor Poeticus, at the
best its legitimate offspring. It is this quality which differentiates
him from the mere prose-and-sense versifiers, and which is so
unfortunately missed by those who cannot appreciate him because
they appreciate Milton, just as others cannot appreciate Keats
because they appreciate Byron. And our poets are almost the last,
except a few well-known exceptions, for a hundred years, to show
the constant presence of this will-o'-the-wisp which does not
always lead astray, and which is at any rate better than darkness,
and perhaps than common daylight. So, too, how appreciate the
justice (in this case one may be frank enough to say the injustice)
of Mac Flecknoe, when the songs that Flecknoe actually sang are
more unknown than those to which Browne (forgetful of htvp ay^ vvv
and its music) made the famous reference? How apportion the

(xiii)

* In the 'Anne Killigrew' Ode, viii. 162.
^ In the Essay of Dramatic Poesy.
' Dedication of The Spanish Friar,

Geiieral hitrodiictmi

office of the true critic and that of the mere satirist in Butler
without having ThcopJiila before us? How fully comprehend the
to us rather incomprehensible wrath and ridicule with which
Addison and others pursue the childish, but not wholly unamiable,
practice of making verses in the shape of altars, and candle-
sticks, and frying-pans, without a full collection of the original
offences ?

The other source of interest referred to is less equivocal. There

is no doubt that some of these seventeenth-century writers were

extremely influential in the Romantic Revolt of the nineteenth.

They could not but be so, inasmuch as they were precisely the

persons against whom the neoclassic poets — the 'school of prose

and sense ' — had themselves revolted. The poetic blood of these

old martyrs was the necessary seed of the new Church, and not

only the seed but the fostering soil and the kindly fertilizer. That

Keats must have had direct obligations to Fharonnida has never

been matter of doubt since people began to study Keats seriously ;

but there is fair reason to believe that he knew others of our

collection. One ceases to think his famous and very ugly rhyme

of 'favour' and 'behaviour' a mere cockneyism, when one finds

it in Shakerley Marmion. Not, of course, that it may not be found

elsewhere, but that both in subject and execution Cupid and Psyche

is exactly one of the poems which Keats is most likely to have read,

enjoyed, and followed. Southey's relish of P/iaronnida is cited in

the proper place, as is Campbell's, which caused, more surprisingly

to those who know Jeffrey only at second hand, Jeffrey's. Sir

Egerton Brydges, whose influence was much greater than is perhaps

now generally appreciated, paid much attention to the writers of

this time and class in the Censura Liter-aria : and the invaluable

Retrospective Review did what it could to reintroduce them, whilst

Singer,if he had met with more encouragement, would probably have

reprinted more of them than he actually did. No one can mistake

— as a result no doubt not of any 'plagiarism ' nor even of following

in the sense too commonly understood by the collectors of parallel

passageSjbut of kindred in spirit,andperhapsofactualfamiliarity — the

resemblances to the poetry of these, as of other seventeenth-century

men, which are found in early nineteenth-century poets like l^eddoes

and Darley, not to mention the ' Spasmodics ' and other outhnng

groups or individuals. It is impossible to imagine a better antidote

or alterative to Bkackmorc and Glover than Chambcrlayne ; to the

average minor poet of the eighteenth century than Benlowes or

Katherine Philips or even Philip Ayrcs. Kven the cxtremest

minority is worn with a difference : and with a difference which

is still agreeable and refreshing. ' Agreeable and refreshing.'

Duke refrigcriuvi ! It sounds better in Latin, though the sense is

pretty exactly the same : and the Latin phrase at least expresses

the charm of these writers perhaps as well as any that could be

(xiv)

General Introduction

invented. There is no need to relinquish a jot of the pedagogic
or, if the shibboleth of the day be preferred, the ' scientific ' arguments
and claims just advanced ; but in a matter of art, and especially of
poetical art, they can never be quite victoriously decisive. ' Is the
delight here?' is a question which anybody has the right to ask at
any moment, and it moves the case into another court.

But there is no difficulty in giving the affirmative answer though,
of course, that answer must itself be subject, like all such, to the yet
further, and in this case final tribunal of individual taste. Some
people will not like even Chamberlayne, much less Benlowes and
the rest ; it has even been admitted that they can find reasons for
not liking, if they choose to seek them. But it must be remembered
that in Art, and especially in Poetry, the potency of the negative
and the potency of the affirmative in replies to this question are
utterly different in weight and scope. The negative is final as
regards the individual ; Jie has a right to dislike if he does dislike,
though there may be subsequent questions as to his competence.
But it is not in the least final as to the work in question. It is (let it
be granted) not good for hivi ; it does not follow that it is not good
in itself Now the affirmative carries with it results of a very different
character. This is final in regard to the work as well as to the
reader. That which should be delectable has delighted in one
proven and existing case : and nothing — not the crash of the world —
can alter the fact. It has achieved — though the value of the
achievement in different cases may be different.

From this point of view, few of the poets now presented need
fall back on the mere scholastic-historic estimate : though one or two
may have to do so. Puzzling as it may be to extract and define
the essence of the charm which is found in almost every page of
Chamberlayne and which is not so rare elsewhere, the examples
already referred to will show that that charm itself has been felt
by persons whose competence is too certain, and whose idiosyn-
crasies are too various, to permit the poohpoohing of it as an effect
of crotchet, or eitgotieinent, or simple bad taste. The fact is that
it is as genuine as it is elusive, and almost as all-pervading as
it is sometimes faint and felt from far. If it can be explained
in any way it is by the constant presence of the worship of
Imagination, and of the reward which Imagination bestows upon
even her most mistaken worshippers. Sometimes they are mistaken
enough; they confuse their Goddess with a Fancy which is not even
'Fancy made of golden air' but an earthy Fancy bedizened with
tinsel. But the better Fancy is only Imagination a little human-
ized, and even the worst has something not quite alien from the
divine. As we come closer to the confines of the period, it is
most curious to see the last flutters and flashes of the wings of this
Fancy as she takes her leave in such things as Ayres's Fair
Beggar, and his Lydia Distracted. Earlier, she is always with us,

(XV)

Gejteral Intro cliictio7t

and Imagination herself not seldom. There are who like not these
for companions, no doubt ; for those who do, let us cut short this
ushership at once and allow the music to begin i.

George Saintsbury.

* Note to Introduction. The principles of editing which have been adopted can
be very shortly set forth. In all cases, whether the texts have been set up from
reprints, as in a few cases, or from the originals, as in most, they have been carefully
collated with these originals themselves and all important variations noted, and where
necessary explained. The spelling has been subjected to the very small amount of
modernization necessary to make it uniform with the only uniformity which is at all
possible. At this time no texts were printed with very antique spelling, and some pre-
sent for whole pages nothing that is not modern, except an occasional capital Initial.
A very few readers might prefer the reproduction of anomalous and contradictory
archaisms ; but these would certainly repel a much lareer number, and interfere with
the acquaintance which it is desired to bring about. With regard to punctuation, the
fantastic and irregular clause- and sentence-architecture of the time liardly admits of a
strict application of any system. This is partly remedied, or at least recognized, in
the originals by an extremely liberal use of the semicolon, which has been generally re-
tained, except where meansofimprovementare obvious. Glossarial notes have been added
where they seemed necessary or very desirable, but with a sparing hand ; and notes,
explanatory of matter, with a hand more sparing still. The object constantly kept in
view by the editor has been the provision, not of biographical, bibliographical, or com-
mentatorial minutiae, but of a sufficient and trustworthy text for the student and the
lover of literature. [^Unforeseen and unavoidable circwnstances have hitherto prevented
the accomplishment of the collation of Hannay. I trust to complete it shortly and to give
the results, if any, in Vol. 11. — G. S.)

(xvi)

CONTENTS

Dedication, &c.

GENERAL INTRODUCTION

WILLIAM CHAMBERLAYNE
Introduction
Pharonnida
Book I
Book II .
Book III .
Book IV .
Book V .

England's Jubilee

EDWARD BENLOWES
Introduction

Theophila. Preface, Commendatory Poems, &c

The Prelibation to the Sacrifice. Canto I

Theophila's Love-Sacrifice. Summary, &c
Canto II. The Humiliation
Canto III. The Restoration
Canto IV. The Inamoration
Canto V. The Representation
Canto VI. The Association
Canto VII. The Contemplation
Canto VIII. The Admiration
Canto IX. The Recapitulation. (Hecatombe IX. RecapituJatio)

Praelibatio ad Theophils Amoris Hostiam. Quae unica Cantio
a Domino Alex. Rossfeo in Carmen Latinum conversa est.
Cantio 1

Theophila? Amoris Hostia. Cantio III. Latino Carmine donata.
Restauratio

The Vanity of the World

Canto X. The Abnegation

Canto XI. The Disincantation

The Sweetness of Retirement. Canto XII. The Segregation

The Pleasure of Retirement. Canto XIII. The Reinvitation

Theophilas Amoris Hostia. Cantio VII. A Domino Jeremia
Colliero in versus Latiales Traducta. Contemplatio

The Summary of Wisdom

A Poetic Descant upon a Private Music-Meeting
( xvii ) b

page
iii

I

3

14
17

73
124
181
237
296

305
307
315
335
342
346

353
361

368

375
382

3«9
397

409

417
424
426

433
445
454

464

473
482

Co77te?7ts

KATHERINE PHILIPS.

Introduction .....
Preface and Commendatory Poems
The Table

Poems

Appendix. Songs from Povipey

PATRICK HANNAY ....

Introduction

Philomela. Commendatory Poems, &c.

Philomela, the Nightingale
Sheretine and Mariana. Dedication, &c.

Canto I

Canto II.

A Happy Husband ....
Dedication, Commendatory Poems, &c.
A Happy Husband : or, Directions for a Maid to choose her Mate

Elegies on the Death of our late Sovereign, Queen Anne,
WITH Epitaphs

Songs and Sonnets

page
48s
486
490
504

613
615

616
621

643
645
6S9
675
677
680

( xviii )

Pharonnida :

A

H E R O I C K

POEM-

B Y

WILLIJU CHJUSE^LATKE

Of Sbaftiburj in the County o^Boreet,

L 0 N © 0 2S[.,

Printed for ^hert C/d'^e//,at the Sign of the
j StagS'head ncer St. Gngsrtes Church in
' SuFauls Chnrch-yard, i6n9»

[Two vols, in one of 258 and 215 pp. respectively. The print and
leading of these is quite different, the first having small type and thirty-
four lines to the page, the second a larger letter and twenty-six or
twenty-eight lines.]

INTRODUCTION TO
WILLIAM CHAMBERLAYNE

The extreme scantiness of our biographical knowledge ' of the author of
Pharomiida has not, even in recent or comparatively recent years, been
compensated by any fullness of critical or general acquaintance with his
works. He was even more unfortunate than Herrick as regards the time
at which he came and his chances of popularity : and his kind of work
was a great deal less likely to recommend itself to future generations.
That the original edition is very rare indeed, and that Singer's reprint
eighty years ago was published in no very great numbers, and is now far
from common or cheap, are facts which no doubt have had a good deal
to do with the general neglect : but criticism is not quite blameless in the
matter. That Langbaine should have seen nothing in Pharomiida is
indeed itself nothing ; if there ever has been anything which may possibly
have ruffled the smoothness of Shakespeare's brow since his death, it must
have been Langbaine's admiration. That the eighteenth century should
have left our poet not contemptuously but utterly alone is not wonderful :
for his system of versification is simply anathema to the orthodoxy of which
Bysshe was the lawgiver and which Johnson did not disdain to profess.

Southey, who read Pharomiida early and might have been expected to
like it, has indeed left a pleasant tribute I But the author of an elaborate
and useful argument, with extracts, in the Retrospective Review ^, which no
doubt served as shoehorn to draw on Singer's reprint, gives very little
criticism, and that little by turns extravagant and grudging. I have myself
a very great admiration for Chamberlayne, but I fear I could not, except

^ It is practically limited to what can be found in the prefatory matter of his
poem, with a very few external contributions — as that he was born in 1619 ; practised
as a physician at Shaftesbury; died there on Jan. 11, 1679, and was buried; his
son, Valentine, putting up a monument to him. Pharonnida appeared (London :
R. Clavell), with a portrait ('generally absent), in 1659. The tragi-comedy of
Loves Victory^ which accompanies it in Singer's reprint, but (as a play) is not given
here, had been published the year before, and was reprinted in 1678, with alterations,
as Wits Led by the Nose, a title not obviously applicable. At the Restoration,
Chamberlayne published a short poem of some interest, England's J ubile\e\ which has
never, I think, been reprinted, but which is given at the end oi Pharonnida.

^ In a note to Tlie Vision of the Maid of Orleans [Poems, one vol. edition, p. 79),
he gives a considerable extract from Pharonnida's remarkable dream in Book I,
Canto V, and speaks of the author as ' a poet to whom I am indebted for many hours
of delight.' But even he, while acknowledging 'an interesting story, sublimity of
thought, and beauty of expression,' excepts against 'the uncouth rhymes, the quaintest
conceits, and the most awkward inversions.'

^ I. pp. 21-48, with a further article on Love's Victory, pp. 258 71.

(3 ) B2

Willia7n Chamherlayne

as regards the inequality, say that ' his main story is carried on with deep
and varied interest and developed with great but unequal power,' or grant
' individuality ' to ' the character of Almanzor.' On the other hand, to
speak of the ' involved and inharmonious ' diction, and still more of ' the
poverty and insignificance of the rhyme,' is as excessive in the other
direction, though it may not be utterly untrue : and the remark about
the rhyme in particular shows that the critic had not grasped Chamber-
layne's system. We can come together again on ' richness of imagery,'
' impassioned and delightful poetry,' &c.

The first person to do some real justice to Pharontiida was Campbell
in his Specimens, which again give not much criticism and chiefly praise
the story — the weakest part — but provide admirable selections, the perusal
of which stirred Jeffrey himself to admiration and desire for more. Of
late years things have been better \ but even yet the poem is far too little
known, and the hope of extending the knowledge of it was one of my
main motives in suggesting and planning this edition.

The points of interest from which Pharonriida can be regarded are
neither few nor unimportant. In the first place it is, with Davenant's
much better known but far inferior Gondibert, the chief English example
of that curious kind the ' Heroic poem ' — the romanticized epic which,
after the deliberations of the Italian critics and the example of Tasso,
spread itself over Europe in the late sixteenth century and held the field
for the greater part of the seventeenth. With something of the late
romance of the Amadis type in it, this poem had a good deal of intended
reference to the Aeneid ; but perhaps linked itself most of all to the prose
Aethiopica of Heliodorus, which attracted great attention from the Renais-
sance and had been pronounced by Scaliger himself the model of a prose
epic. The resemblance, indeed, between Pharonnida and the type of the
Greek romance generally is very strong — in the prominence and persistent
persecutions of the heroine, in the constant voyages and travels, alarums
and excursions, ambushes and abductions, and, it may be added, in the
very subordinate position of Character. Indeed Chariclea and some of
her sisters are much less open to Pope's libel than the good Pharonnida
and the bad Amphibia of our poem.

An even greater attraction to some readers is its position at the very
end (indeed, in a sort of appendix to the great volume) of Elizabethan
verse, in conception, in versification, and in phrase. Like the whole body
of this verse, from Spenser downwards, it is of imagination (or at worst
of fancy) all compact : the restraints of prose and common sense are
utterly alien to it. Its author has passed from the merely 'conceited'

* Mr. Gosse in From Shakespeare to Pope did, pcrliaps, most to draw attention
once more to Chambcrlayne.

(4)

Introduction

to the ' metaphysical ' stage ; and if his excursions into the au dela do not
reach the subhmity or the subtlety of Donne, the flaming fantasy and
passion of Crashaw, they leave very little to desire in their fidelity to
the Gracianic motto En Nada Vulgar. The immense length of his verse
paragraphs (to be referred to further) is closely connected with this intricacy
and excursiveness of thought, and so no doubt, at least according to the
present writer's idea, is the 'impassioned and delightful' poetry. But so
also is the extreme incoherence not merely of the story as a whole, but,
and still more, of its component incidents and episodes. It is, of course,
impossible not to think of Sordello in reading it : and I should say
myself that the poem which has rather absurdly become a proverb for
incomprehensibility in the proper sense of the word, is much the more
easily comprehensible of the two. Mr. Browning's thought pursues the
most astonishing zigzags and whirligigs and shifts, but it is solid : and
you can, if you are nimble enough, keep your clutch on it. Chamber-
layne's constantly sublimes itself off into a kind of mist before making
a fresh start as a solid, at quite a different point from that at which it
was last perceived in that condition.

So, too, with the versification. Although it is, of course, quite possible
to trace the stopped and stable couplet, not merely in drama but in
narrative and miscellaneous poetry, from Spenser and Drayton and
Daniel downwards, the general tendency of the Elizabethan distich had
been towards an undulating ejijambenient, and this had grown much
stronger, both in octosyllable and decasyllable, with strictly Jacobean poets
like Wither and Browne. But Chamberlayne serpentines it to a still greater
extent. Indeed, it is impossible not to discern in him something akin to
that extraordinary imscreiving of blank verse itself which is noticeable in
his dramatic contemporaries, and which might have disvertebrated English
verse altogether if it had not been for the tonic, in different forms, of Milton
and Dryden. The ' poverty and insignificance ' of rhyme, on which our
Retrospective friend is so severe, are of course deliberate. The rhymes
are intended, not as a stop-signal at the end of the couplet, but as an
accompanying music to the run of the paragraph. Unfortunately the
possession of this accompaniment is too likely to dispense a poet from that
attention to varied pause, and to careful selection of value in individual
words, with which the blank verse paragrapher cannot dispense if he is
to do anything distinguished. It would be interesting if one could know
whether Milton ever heard of Pharontiida, but I think I do know what
he would have said of it. It is not insignificant that his nephew Phillips,
while mentioning the unimportant Robert Chamberlain, says nothing about
William in a tale of Caroline poets which descends to ' Pagan ' Fisher and
Robert Gomersal. But, for all its dangers and all its actual lapses, it
(5)

William Chamberlayne

makes a medium frequently delightful even if we had not Endymion, and
more, not less, seeing that we have that.

It is in his diction, using that word widely to include composition and
grammar, that Chamberlayne's state is least gracious. His ugliest fault
he shares with most of his contemporaries, even with Drj'den occasionally,
and it is so ugly that it constitutes perhaps the most serious drawback
to the enjoyment of him by modern readers. Partly owing to that gradual
vulgarization of the language which Dryden arrested to some extent, but
which it is a redeeming merit of the eighteenth century in prose and
verse to have cauterized — but partly also to the prevailing critical error as
to the strictly syllabic character of English verse, Pharonnida swarms
with things like 'in's hand,' 't' the coach,' ' Perform 't.' These uglinesses
cannot always (as, by the way, they generally can in Dryden) be smoothed
away by printing in full and allowing trisyllabic feet ; they are too often
' in grain.' Very much more tolerable, but occasionally unsatisfactory,
is his indulgence, generally a repeated indulgence, in such words as ref?iora,
e?ithean, catagraph, astracistti. And disapproval must begin again, not so
much in regard to the licentiousness of his syntax — for English grammar,
after all, is made by good English writers, and not vice versa — as to the
extraordinary haphazardness of syntax, phrase, and composition alike.
I do not wish to burden this introduction with extracts of any length, but
those who turn to the passage about the governor of the fort in Book II,
Canto ii, lines 123-132, will find a capital example of our poet at his very
worst. It is perhaps well that this worst should be got over beforehand,
so that things like it may not possess the additional disgust of surprise.
But it must be admitted that the greatest danger in reading him is lest
the reader, by too frequent occurrence of these choke-passages, may be
tempted to skip, and that in the lack of ordon?iafice which has been noted,
he may find himself hopelessly befogged at the point where he alights from
his skipping-pole.

As if all this were not enough, Chamberlayne has multiplied his obstacles
of commission by an omission which nearly all of his few critics have
noticed, but which none of them has fully followed out. We know from
his own words at the end of the Second Book that the poem was thus
far written, but broken off, at the second battle of Newbury in October,
1644. And whether its author resumed it at once after the complete
disaster of the Royal arms next year, or earlier, or later \ it was certainly
not published for fifteen years afterwards. This would, in itself, render
inconsistencies and gaps likely enough : but it would not account for the

' It has been thought, from bibliographical peculiarities in the original, that the
last part was printed later than the rest. The last volume (see note on reverse of half-
title) is certainly quite different in typography and arrangement from the first.

Introduction

extraordinary incuria which Chamberlayne constantly displays. One
would imagine not merely that he had never read his MS. through, but
that he had never taken the trouble to read his proofs : a process which
could hardly have failed to reveal to the most careless author some, if
not all, of the discrepancies of nomenclature, &c. In the first few pages
he calls one of his characters indifferently ' Ariamnes ' and 'Aminander,'
but here this slip of the pen is so glaring that it hardly misleads. A little
later he puts the careful (the careless will not mind) hopelessly out, by
transferring the name ' Aphron ' to one ' Andremon,' both persons having
already appeared and being entirely distinct. He never seems to know
whether his main scene of action is in the Morea (where it certainly opens)
or in Sicily ; and there may, perhaps, be corroborative evidence of some
passing intention to change the whole venue from Greece to Italy in his
calling the same person at one time an ' Epirot ' and at another a ' Calabrian.'
Although the exits and the entrances of his characters are very complicated,
and sometimes correspond at long intervals, he will (there is an example
at I. iv. 109) omit to name them, and describe them in such a round-
about fashion that anybody but a very wary and attentive reader must
be, at least for a time, at sea. Finally, as indeed Thackeray and others
have done, he will kill and bring alive again with the completest non-
chalance. At least, though his phrase is constantly enigmatic, it is hard
to understand the lines at IV. i. 192, where, in reference to the wicked
Amphibia and her paramour Brumorchus, it is said that the prince

' refers
Their punishment to death's dire messengers,'

in any other sense than that both were executed. Yet at V. iii. 360
Amphibia is still alive, still a lady in waiting to Pharonnida, and in case
to execute the crowning treason of the story which kills the princess's
father and very nearly brings herself to the scaffold as his murderess.

This being the case and the ' arguments ' prefixed by the author being
almost useless \ it may be well to present a brief analysis, canto by canto,
of a poem which one tolerably practised reader had to read three times
before its general subject was at all clearly imprinted on his mind.

Book I, Canto i ^ Aminander [Ariamnes], a Spartan lord, hunting on the
shore of the Gulf of Lepanto, sees a naval combat between Turks and
Christians ; and when the combatants, wrecked by a squall, are still fighting
on the beach, rescues the Christian heroes Argalia and Aphron.

Canto ii. Another lord, Almanzor, the villain of the piece, finds two
damsels, Carina and Florenza, in a wood. He offers violence to Florenza,

^ The abstract in the Retrospective Review is a little scrappy and capricious.
^ Observe the five books, and the five cantos in each. This was one of the curious
'heroic' punctilios, to bring the construction nearer to the_/?t/? acts of Drama.

(7)

William Chamber lay 7ie

and her lover, Andremon, though coming in time to save her, falls before
his sword. But Argalia, who has been sleeping near, is waked by the
scuffle, takes her part, and severely wounds Almanzor, despite the succour
of his friends. Forces come up, and, appearances being against Argalia,
take him into custody.

Canto iii. He is conveyed to the capital, where, according to the custom
of the country, it is the duty of the king's daughter, Pharonnida, whose
mother is dead, to preside over the tribunal. She falls in love with Argalia
at first sight, but he is condemned, receiving three days' respite as an Epirot,
a citizen of an allied state, which is confirmed by ambassadors from Epirus
then present.

Canto iv. This is however not sufficient to obtain his pardon : and
he is about to suffer when Aminander reappears with Florenza herself, who
tells the whole story. Argalia is set at liberty and is about to depart with
the ambassadors (who have become ' Calabrians ' and who have told what
they know of his origin) when a fresh adventure happens. Molarchus the
Morean (now Sicilian) admiral, who has been charged to convoy the envoys,
invites the king, princess and court on board his flag-ship and makes sail,
having formed a design to carry off Pharonnida. This he does, though
there is a fierce fight on board, by throwing her into a prepared boat and
making off, while the crew do the same, having previously scuttled the ship.
Argalia, however, with the help of his friend Aphron, though at the cost of
the latter's life, secures one of the boats, rescues the king, and lands on
a desolate island, where they find that Molarchus has conveyed Pharonnida
to a fortress. Argalia, always fertile in resource, makes a ladder of the tack-
ling of some stranded boats, scales the walls, slays Molarchus, and rescues
the princess.

Canto V tells of a halcyon time at Corinth, where Pharonnida and
Argalia, who is captain of her bodyguard, fall more and more deeply in love
with one another, till the usual romance-mischance of a proposed betrothal
to a foreign prince interrupts it : and the book finishes with this agony
further agonized by Argalia's appointment on the very embassy destined to
reply favourably to the Epirot suitor.

In Book II, Canto iwe return to Almanzor, who forms a plot to abduct
the princess, succeeds at first by turning a masque into a massacre, but is
defeated by the rising of the country people, who half ignorantly rescue
her. But her ravisher, in

Canto ii, thinking he has gone too far to retreat, sets up a rebellion and
garrisons the castle of a city named Alcithius, which the king at first
retakes, but which only serves him as a place of refuge when Almanzor
has beaten him in the field. He has just time to send to Epirus for help
before the place is invested.

Introduction

Canto iii. It is almost reduced by famine, and the besieged are
meditating the forlorn hope of a sally when Zoranza the Epirot prince
arrives with a large army, the vanguard of which, commanded by Argalia
and supported from the castle, disperses the rebel forces, though not at
first completely. After a glowing interview between the lovers the hero
has to expel the remnant of the foe from a strange cavern-fastness where
he finds a secret treasury with mysterious inscription.

Canto iv. Another interval of war. The unwelcome suitor is called
off by troubles at home : and the lovers (Argalia still commanding the
princess's guard) enjoy discreet but delightful hours in an island paradise.

Canto V. Episode of two Platonic-Fantastic lovers, Acretius and Philanta,
on whom a practical joke is played. Intrigues of Amphibia, who excites
the king's jealousy, and induces him to send Argalia at the head of a
contingent to Epirus. After pathetic parting scenes, Argalia leaves Pha-
ronnida, and the poet ' leaves the Muses to converse with men,' that is to
say to fight the Roundheads at Newbury.

Book III, Canto i opens with a semi-episode of the rival loves of
Euriolus and Mazara for Florenza, and Mazara's consolation with Carina,
Florenza's companion at her original appearance. In

Canto ii the princess, unwarily reading aloud a letter from Argalia with
her door open, is overheard by her father, who is furiously angry and sends
letters of Bellerophon to the Prince of Syracuse [Epirus] as to Argalia.
Zoranza, nothing loth, makes Argalia captain of the fortress Ardenna,
with a secret commission to the actual governor to make away with him.
He is saved from death for the moment by a convenient local supersti-
tion, and carried off (still prisoner) by an invading fleet, which fails to
capture Ardenna. But Pharonnida is strictly imprisoned in the castle of
Gerenza. In

Canto ii Argalia, after a rapid series of adventures at sea and in Rhodes,
is captured by the Turkish chief Ammurat and sent to his wife Janusa
in Sardinia to be tortured and executed. But Janusa falls in love with him,
and this and the next Canto contain the best known and perhaps the most
sustained chapter of the poem, Argalia being not merely

' Like Paris handsome and like Hector brave,'

but also like Joseph chaste. The passage having ended happily for him,
tragically for Janusa and her husband, he seizes ships, mans them with
Christian slaves, rescues the Prince of Cyprus from a new Turkish fleet,
returns to the Morea, and after a time resolves, aided by his Cyprian friend,
to release Pharonnida. In this, at first, they succeed.

Book IV, Canto i. Episode of Orlinda and the Prince of Cyprus.
Pharonnida and Argalia enjoy a new respite in a retired spot, but are
(9)

William Chamberlayne

attacked by outlaws, who wound Argalia and carry off the princess. Their
chief is Ahnanzor, who in

Canto ii tries to force Pharonnida to accept him by threats, and immures
her in a Hving tomb from which she is rescued by Euriolus (mentioned
before) and Ismander, on whom and Aminda there is fresh episode
continued into

Canto iii by entrances of certain persons named Vanlore^, Amarus, and
Silvandra, but not concluded. The rest of Canto iii, Canto iv, and

Canto V contain an account of Argalia's recovery, and long conversations,
in which he reveals what he knows of his youth to a friendly hermit.

Book V, Canto i. Meanwhile Pharonnida has retired to a monastery and
is about to take the veil (has actually done so after a fashion) when
Almanzor attacks the convent and once more carries her off, but surrenders
her to her father that he may obtain his own pardon and plot further.

Canto ii. Argalia goes to Aetolia, of which he is the rightful heir, and
fights his way to his own.

Canto iii. He is however rejected as suitor and attacked by his rival
Zoranza. But Almanzor procures both this prince's murder and that of
King Cleander (who is never named till very late in the story). Then
Pharonnida in Canto iv undergoes her last danger, and in Canto v is
finally freed by Argalia as her champion from Almanzor, whom he at last
slays, and from all her other ills by marriage with her deliverer.

Now for my part I am entirely unable to pronounce this 'one of the
most interesting stories ever told in verse.' As a whole it is romance
' common-form,' of by no means a specially good kind, only heightened
by the telling in a few passages — the dream, the story of Janusa, the
entombment of the heroine, and two or three others. I would, as Blair's
typical person of bad taste said of Homer, ' as soon read any old romance
of knight-errantry,' and would a great deal sooner read most of themyor
the story. If anybody agrees with Pope that ' the fable is the soul or
immortal part of poetry,' Chamberlayne is not the poet for him. But he
is, if not the poet, a poet and little less than a great one, for those who
enjoy the ' poetic moment,' the ' single-instant pleasure ' of image and phrase
and musical accompaniment of sound. The extraordinary abundance of
these things is the solace of those sins of his in ordo?inance and versification
and diction which have been so frankly and amply acknowledged above.
It is hit or miss with him, no doubt : and equally without doubt, he misses
too often — far oftener than a poet of the School of Good Sense would do.
But he hits not only much oftener than the poet of good sense would do,

* It will be observed that Cliamberlaync's nomenclature, mainly of the odd rococo-
romantic type popular in seventeenth-century literature, is still more oddly mixed.
This particular name must have been a favourite, for it recurs in Leva's Victoty.

(lo)

Introductio7t

but also as the poet of good sense rarely does at all. He is far too careless
of what he says, and of its exact meaning, and of the concatenation thereof
with other meanings. But he always tries, in the great adverb of the Italian
Platonist-critic Patrizzi, to say \i _poeticame?ite, or as Hazlitt (who certainly
did not know Patrizzi) unconsciously translates it, ' in a poetical way.'
Chamberlayne's sky and landscape are occasionally very dark — it is difficult
to find one's way about under the one and across the other : but both are
constantly lighted up by splendid shooting-stars. The road through his
story is as badly laid, made, and kept, as road can be : but fountains and
wildflower banks are never long wanting by its sides, and it occasionally
opens prospects of enchanting beauty.

There is at least not disgrace of incongruity in this eulogy, for
Chamberlayne's own style is nothing if not starry and flowery. His
metaphors and similes and imagery generally for atmospheric phenomena,
and especially for Night and Day, are inexhaustible :

' Day's sepulchre, the ebon-arched night
Was raised above the battlements of light,'

he writes here ; there

' And now the spangled squadrons of the night
Encountering beams had lost the field to light.'

And again :

' The day was on the glittering wings of light
Fled to the western wild, and swarthy night
In her black empire throned.'

And again :

' Now at the great'st antipathy tOvday
The silent earth oppressed with midnight lay,
Vested in clouds black as they had been sent
To be the whole world's mourning monument ' ; —

passages which could be added to almost indefinitely. Nor is his
imagination limited, according to Addison's rule, to ' ideas furnished by
sight ' : there is more than this in the phrase ' Desire, the shady porch of
Love,' analogues of which will be found in almost every page. In fact
Fharo7uiida is simply a Sinbad's Valley of poetic jewels, though here as
there it may be a little difficult to get at them. The practice of filling
Introductions with extracts instead of leaving the reader to find them for
himself is, I have said, an objectionable one. But I may take the
middle course and instance as more than purple patches : — the picture of
Argaliaatthebar(I. iii. 165 sq.); Pharonnida's dream, already mentioned (I.
v. 153 sq.), one of the longest and finest of the bursts ; the mystic chamber
in the outlaw's cavern (II. iii. 480 sq.) ; Pharonnida's island (II. iv. 129 sq.) ;
the close of Book III, Canto i and the beginning of the next Canto where

Willia^n Chamberlay7te

she reads the letter ; the valley of Florenza's home, and the lovers' sojourn
there. These are but a few, and the reader will find plenty more for himself.
One point, uninteresting to some, will be of the very highest interest to
others ; and that is what may be called the Battle of the Couplets in
Fharontiida. It is, as has been said, the last, and in more senses than one
the greatest, of poems written in that ' enjambed ' and paragraphed variety
of the heroic, which was driven out and replaced by its rival a very few
years afterwards, when that rival had secured the assistance of Dryden.
But as everybody ought to know, the stopped dissyllabic couplet itself is of
an ancient house, though its supremacy was modern. It made perhaps
the very first appearance in the scattered couplets of Hampole and others
before Chaucer. It is very much less absent from Chaucer himself than
those who call the metre of Endymion Chaucerian appear to imagine ;
Spenser shows himself a master of it in Mother Hubberd's Tale, and it is
abundant not merely in the dramatists but in the non-dramatic Elizabethans.
Ben Jonson seems to have thought it the best of all metres ; but, above all, the
tails of Fairfax's stanzas, from which so many of the later seventeenth-
century poets learnt, are full of it. Chamberlayne, who was not much more
than ten years older than Dryden, could not miss it unless he had set
himself the sternest rules of self-criticism : and, as we have seen, he never
criticized himself at all. Even the few examples given in this Introduction
will show its presence : but much more remarkable ones, both of the
completed couplet and of the Drydenian single line which helps to
constitute and clench it, will be easily found by the inquirer. Just at the
beginning such a formation as

' From all the warm society of flesh '

is unmistakable in its tendency, though it actually forms part of a couplet
very much ' enjambed.' There is no need to draw the moral of

'Dropt as their foes' victorious fate flew by
To shew his fortune and their royalty.'

or 'Rebellion's subtle engineer might sit

To wreck the weakness of a female wit.'

or 'The vexed Epirots who for comfort saw

Revenge appearing in the form of law.'

These are the single spies which forerun the battalions.

I have no desire to expatiate in these Introductions, or to take up room
better occupied by the too long neglected texts ; and there remains little
that it is desirable and less that it is necessary to say. Chamberlayne's
other work of substance, his play of J.ove's Victory, contains many fine
passages in the serious blank verse, most of which will be found extracted
in the article upon it in the same volume of the Retrospective Review;
{12)

Introciuctto?t

nor is even the comic part, though it shares the ribaldry and the crudity
common in such productions, devoid of some of Chamberlayne's audacious
felicities of expression. If that supplementary Dodsley, which has long
been wanted, should ever appear, the piece should certainly find a place
there : but it is out of our way. His poem to the King at the Restoration
may be worth subjoining to Pharonnida.

On the whole he is not quite so much of an ' awful example ' as even his
panegyrists, Campbell and others, used to make him. At his date, and with
the idiosyncrasy shown by the fact that he spent at least fifteen years over
his poem as it was, it was practically impossible that he should in any case
have devoted to it the critical Medea-sorcery which made perfect things
of such very imperfect ones as the original Palace of Art and the original
Lady of Shalott. He might, of course, not have written it at all, and
he might possibly have written it in the other vein of stopped couplet,
epigrammatic clench and emphasis, and more suppressed conceit. In either
case it would not be what it is. We should have lost (in words of its own)
' acquaintance with Pharonnida.^ And by some that acquaintance would
not willingly be relinquished for the possession not merely of one but of
a dozen long poems, written in the strictest and most savourless orthodoxy
of Le Bossu and La Harpe ^

^ Most of the few accounts of Chamberlayne mention a prose version o{ Pharonnida,
entitled Eromena, or The Noble Stranger, which appeared, four years after his death,
in 1683 (London : Norris). One naturally imagines — the present editor certainly did
so till he read it — a book of length d la Scitde'ry. The actual ■work is a tiny pamphlet
containing some seventy small pages of large print, but adorned with a fresh Pindaric
motto {riva 9e6v, t'lv' jjpcoa, tiv' dvSpa HtKadrjaofHv •) and a dedication to Madam Sarah
Monday. The earlier cantos are paraphrased with some fullness ; the bulk of the
story is altogether omitted. As Pharonnida becomes Eromena, so does Argalia take
the alias of Horatio. The thing, which acknowledges no indebtedness, is worthless
enough ; and only curious because of the admixture cf Chamberlayne's own original
and highly poetic phrases with the flattest prose.

('3)

To the Right Worshipful
Sir WilHam Portman, Baronet

Honoured Sir,

Though, by that splendour - with
which the bountiful hand of fortune,
illustrated by the more excellent gifts
of nature, hath adorned you, to the
illuminating the hopes of all your
expecting friends, I might justly fear
these glow-worms of fancy may be
outshone, to the obscurity of a con-
temptible neglect ; you being like, ere
long, to prove that glorious luminary,
to whose ascending brightness the
happiest wits that grace the British
hemisphere, like Persian priests pros-
trated to the rising sun, will devote
the morning sacrifices of their muses :
yet, animated by your late candid
reception of my more youthful labours,
whose humble flights, having your
name to beautify their front, passed
the public view unsullied by the cloudy
aspect of the most critic spectator,
I have once more assumed the bold-
ness to let the infirmities of my fancy
take sanctuary under the name of so
honoured a patron. Thoughmyabilities
could not clothe her in such robes
as would render her a fit companion
for your serious studies, yet I hope
her dress is not so sordid, but she may
prove an acceptable attendant on your
more vacant hours. For my subject
(it being heroic poesy) it is such as
the wiser part of the world hath always
held in a venerable esteem ; the ex-
tracts of fancy being that noble elixir,
which heaven ordained to immortalize

their memories, whose worthy actions,
being the products of that nobler part
of man — the soul, are by this made
almost commensurate with her eter-
nity ; which otherwise, (to the sorrow
of succeeding ages, who are in debt
for much of their virtue to a noble
emulation of their glorious ancestors),
had either terminated in a circle of no
larger a diameter than life ; or, like
short-breathed ephemeras, only sur-
vived a while in the airy region of dis-
course.

This, sir, having been the past for-
tune of our predecessors ; and, as the
pregnant hopes of your blooming spring
promises ' the world, like to be yours in
the future ; yours, when both the
splendid beauties of your most glorious
palace, and the lasting structure of
your marble dormitory, time shall have
so levigated, that the wanton winds
dally with thieir dust ; I doubt not but
to find you so much a Maecenas, as to
affect the eternizing of your name,
more from the lasting lineaments of
learning than those vain phainomena
of pleasures, which are the low delights
of more vulgar spirits.

Though 1 confess these papers be-
neath the serious view, which a wit,
acuated with the best adjuncts of art,
will, ere long, render the ordinary re-
creations of your progressive studies,
yet, as in relation to the latitude for
which they were calculated, I hope
they may not appear unworthy a

^ This was the sixth Baronet (i64i?-9o), who succeeded to the title in 1648, and
matriculated at All Souls in the very year of the appearance of Pharonnida. He was
a great Tory, and captured Monmouth ; but joined William of Orange.

- Orig. ' splen</o;-,' on the strength of which, I suppose. Singer has altered
' hono/rrcd ' before, and 'labo;<rs' just below, to the same form, though they were
correct in text. I shall, therefore, print -our throughout, following the original in
almost every case.

^ Singer altered 'promises' to 'promise' and 'serenities' to 'serenity.' But these
false concords are too constant in Chamberlay ne, and too often made certain by the rhyme
to be mere slips of pen or press. I have therefore restored the original forms : as also
in al cases (oversights excepted) where the reprint of 1820 unnecessarily changes
'in' to 'on,' &c.

('4)

Dedication

present supervisal ; it being intended
(like the weak productions of the early
spring) but for the April of your age ;
where, though my hopes tell me it may
subsist, whilst irrigated by those balmy
dews of passion which are the usual
concomitants of youth ; I am not guilty
of so unbecoming a boldness, as to
think it fit to stand the heat of your
more vigorous maturity, when the me-
ridian altitude of your comprehensive
judgement shall have attained so near
an universality of knowledge, as the
sun, when in its apogEeum, doth of
light ; that being only hindered by
a comparatively punctilio of earth, as
the powerful energies of noble souls
are, by the upper garments of their
mortality, from being at once ubiqui-
tary blessings.

Shaftesbury, May 12, 1659.

Fortified by these considerations
with the hope of your acceptance, and
assured that prefixing your name is an
amulet of sufficient power to preserve
me from the contagion of censure, I
have, with an unruffled confidence,
given these papers a capacity of being
publicly viewed. If their being liked
attain but near the dimensions of your
being beloved, it will co-equate the
knowledge the world shall have of
them, that being so universal; as the
serenities ^ of your bliss is the happiness
of your nearest relations, so is it much
of the hopes of those that only know
you at a remoter distance : And shall
be still the prayer of,
Sir,
Your devoted Servant,

William Chamberlayne.

The Epistle to the Reader

Since custom obliges me to give
a welcome at the gate, I shall not be
so irregular as not to meet that com-
mon civility with a fair compliance.
And though, like the passive elements,
I lie open to all the incongruity of
aspects, (of which I have some reason
to doubt, the most powerful may be
found in a disdainful opposition), yet,
like the noblest of active creatures —
light, I shall not think myself sullied
by every vapour ; nor solicit his ac-
quaintance that cannot so long spare
his eyes from beholding more active
vanities.

I have always held it a solecism for
entertainers to be beggars ; and, al-
though by exposing these papers to
the public view I must consequently
expect variety of censures, should be
loath to descend so low to court the
applause of every reader ; from whose
various genii I am necessitated to take
such welcome, as affection in most,
though judgement in some, shall incline
them to give. For the first of which,
as their censures are doubtful, so their
calumnies are small — not of weight

sufficient to balance the indifferent
temper of my thoughts : but for the
latter (since looked upon as competent
judges) though their sentence may be
formidable, I shall beg no further
favour than what their ability thinks fit
to bestow ; only, for what they may
justly except against, could rather
wish that, whilst these papers were
private, I had had their advice to
reform, than now they are published,
their censure to condemn. Fortune
hath placed me in too low a sphere to
be happy in the acquaintance of the
age's more celebrated wits : where-
fore, wonder not that I appear un-
ushered in with a train of encomiums,
which though, I confess, if from know-
ing and judicious friends, add a lustre
to the author's ensuing labours ; yet the
custom of these times often makes
them appear as ridiculous as a splendid
and beautiful front to an empty and
contemptible cottage.

I have made bold with the title of
heroic, but have a late example^ that
deters me from disputing upon what
grounds I assumed it : if it suits not

* See previous note.

* No doubt the Preface to Gondibert.

Williafn Cha7nberlay7te

with the abilities of my pen, yet it is
no unbecoming epithet for the emi-
nence of those personated in my poem.
For the place of my scene, manner of
composure, and the like, (though in
prefaces they often find an immature
discovery, and, perhaps, but acuate an
appetite to what, on further progress,
may prove but a distasteful banquet),
I hold them so impertinent, that, if
will and leisure serve you to read, you
may suddenly, with more advantage,
satisfy yourself; if not, omit them as
strangers to your other affairs, and not
to be understood but in their own
dialect.

I have done with all that in pro-
bability may prove my readers, and
now a word to such, whom I presume
will be none ; for they are desired to
do no more than the epistle, it being
fit to serve them. Like vagabonds,
let them enter no farther than the gate ;
— I mean, all squint-eyed sectaries,
from the spawn of Geneva to the black
brood of Amsterdam ; together with
some rascals of a lower rank, such as
usurp the abused title of Sons of Art,
and, with an empty impudence, en-
deavour to pollute those immaculate
virgins ; whilst the other, with an ex-
alted villany, sully the celestial beauties
of divine truth. For the first of which,
the preposterous genius of the times
hath so far favoured them, that now
nothing is more vendible than the
surreptitious offsprings of their imag-
ined wit : every stationer's shop afford-
ing pregnant examples of it, in big
bulked volumes of physic, astrology,
and the like, by these indigent vermin ;
either to satisfy their clamorous wants,
or enhance their esteem in the vulgar
opinion, basely prostituted to every
illiterate spectator; whilst truth, and
a guilty conscience, tells them nought
is their own but the hyperbolical titles ;
which, to discerning eyes, appear but
the glorious outsides to tainted sepul-
chres, in which their detected villany
shall be abominated by more knowing
posterity. These cry down all things
of this nature for subjects of inutility,
not tending to the improvement of

science, which, in the most genuine
construction of it, hath no enemy from
which her ruin is more formidable
than from them.

But for my more dangerous sceptic,
(who yet is so much like the foal of an
ass, that he appears to the world with
his spleen in his mouth), I mean my
pretended zealous censurer, from whom
in me it were an overweening boldness
to expect civility ; since, (though not
for the nature, which he understands
not, yet for the name, which he hath
only heard of), he is so much an
enemy to the muses, that should the
seraphic strains of majestic David, or
the flaming raptures of elegiac Jere-
miah, appear to the world in their
pristine and unpolluted purity, his
ignorance would extend to so vast an
error, to censure them of levity.

But as no man will esteem the sun
less glorious, for that the hated owl
avoids its sight ; so I presume none,
except their own deluded followers,
will betray so palpable a dearth of
judgement, as to bear the less esteem
to majestic poetry, for the illiterate
scandal of flattering ignorance. Poesy,
(if justly meriting to be invested in
that glorious title) being so attractive
a beauty that it doth rather, like an
Orphean harmony, draw that emblem
of a beast, the unpolished clown, to
a listening civility, than, like Circe's
enchantments, change the more happily
educated to a swinish and sordid leth-
argy. But her defence being a burthen
which already stands firm on so many
noble supporters, whose monuments
will remain till time itself shall be lost
in eternity, I need not add my weak
endeavours to illustrate a Beauty which
the wiser world already admires. Now,
though she want the applause of some,
attribute it not to the defect, either of
her excellency, or their judgement : but
to that various dressof humours, where-
with nature hath chequered the uni-
verse. Concluding with that honour of
ancient Thebes —

TipT^vov K (V avOpcoTToii "litciv ((Tatrai oxibiv.
rindarus in Qlympiorum octavo.

W. C.

(.6)

PHARONNIDA

BOOK I. Canto T

THE ARGUMENT

From sea's wild fury, and the wilder rage
Of faithless Turks, two noble strangers freed,

Let courtesy their grateful souls engage

To such a debt as doth obstruct their speed :

Where they, to fill those scenes inactive rest
Would tedious make, ia fair description saw,

How Sparta's Prince, for his queen's loss opprest,
Found all those ills cured in Pharonnida''^.

The earth, which lately lay, like nature's tomb,

Marbled in frosts, had from her pregnant womb

Displayed the fragrant spring ; when, courted by

A calm fresh morning, ere heaven's brightest eye

Adorned the east, a Spartan lord, (whom fame,

Taught from desert, made glorious by the name

Of Aminander), with a noble train,

Whose active youth did sloth, like sin, disdain.

Attended, had worn out the morning in

Chase of a stately stag ; which, having been lo

Forced from the forest's safe protection to

Discovering plain, his clamorous foes had drew

Up to a steep cliff's lofty top ; where he,

As if grown proud so sacrificed to be

To man's delight, 'mongst the pursuing cry,

Who make the valleys echo victory.

Sinks weeping; whilst exalted shouts did tell

The distant herds — their ancient leader fell.

The half-tired hunters, their swift game stopt here
By death, like noble conquerors appear 20

To give that foe, which now resistless lies.
With their shrill horns his funeral obsequies ;
Which whilst performing, their diverted sight
Turns to behold a far more fatal fight —

* These headings were in orig. ' The First Book. Canto the First,' &c., in two
lines. So, too, each verse paragraph begins with an indented couplet.

^ This initial passage may deserve a note which I shall not repeat, though it
describes a process frequently necessary. Singer read ' Were they ' for ' Where they,'
but kept the comma of the orig. at 'rest' and inserted none at 'they' or 'make,'
while he did insert an apostrophe at ' scenes.' His text thus becomes unintelligible,
which mine, I hope, is not.

8 sloth, like] Orig. 'sloth-like.'

(^7) C

William Chamherlayne [book i

That since-famed gulf, (where the brave Austrian made

The Turkish crescents an eternal shade

Beneath dishonour seek) Lepanto, lay

So near, that from their lofty station they,

A ship upon whose streamers there were fixt

The Christian badge, saw in fierce battle mixt 30

With a prevailing Turkish squadron, that

With shouts assault what now lay only at

That feeble guard, which, under the pretence

Of injuring others, seeks its own defence.

Clear was the day, and calm the sea so long,
Till now the Turks, whose numbers grew too strong
For all that could no other help afford
But human strength, within their view did board
The wretched Christians ; to whose sufferings they
Can lend no comfort, but what prayers convey 40

To helpful heaven ; by whose attentive ear,
Both heard and pitied, mercy did appear
In this swift change : — A hollow wind proclaims
Approaching storms, the black clouds burst in flames,
Imprisoned thunder roars, and in a shower,
Dark as the night, dull sweaty vapours pour
Themselves on the earth, to enrich whom nature vents
The ethereal fabric's useless excrements.
Whose flatuous pride, as if it did disdain
Such base descents, rolling the liquid plain 50

Into transparent mountains, hurls them at
The brow of heaven, whose lamps, by vapours that
Their influence raised, are crampt; whilst the sick day
Was languishing to such a night, as lay
O'er the first matter, when confusion dwelt
In the vast chaos, ere the rude mass felt
Heaven's segregating breath — but long this fierce
Conflict endures not, ere the sun-beams pierce
The scattered clouds, which, whilst wild winds pursue,
Through sullied air in reeking vapours flew. 60

In this encounter of the storm, before
Its sable veil let them discover more
Than contained horror, a loud dreadful shriek,
Piercing the thick air, at their ears did seek
For trembling entrance : being transported by
Uncertain drifts, rent sails and tackling fly
Amongst the towering cliffs,— a sure presage
That adverse winds did in that storm engage
Some vessel, which did from her cordage part,
With such sad pangs — as from the dying heart 70

Convulsions tear the fibres. But the day,
Recovering her lost reign, made clearer way

27 seek] Orig. ' seeks.'

(:8)

Canto I] Pharonnidu

For a more sad discovery. They behold

The brackish main in funeral pomp unfold

The tiophies of her cruelty. Her brow,

Uncurled with waves, was only spotted now

With scattered ruins ; here, engaged within

The ruffled sails, some sad souls that had been,

For life long struggling, tired, at length are forced

To sink and die ; yonder, a pair, divorced 80

From all the warm society of flesh,

With cold stiff arms embrace their fate ; — the fresh

And tender virgin in her lover's sight,

The sea-gods ravish, and the enthean light

Of those bright orbs, her eyes, which could by nought

But seas be quenched, t' eternal darkness brought.

Whilst pitying these, a sudden noise, whose strange
Confusion did their passion's object change.
Assaults their wonder ; which, by this surprise
Amazed, persuades them to inform their eyes 90

With its obscure original : when, led
By sounds that might in baser souls have bred
A swift aversion, clashing weapons they
Might soon behold— upon the sands that lay
Beneath the rock a troop of desperate men,
Unstartled with those dangers (which e'en then
Their ruined ship and dropping garments showed
Heaven freed them from — what mercy had bestowed)
Let their own anger loose ; which, flaming in
A fatal combat, had already been 100

In blood disfigured : but when now so near
Them drawn, that every object did appear
In true distinction, they, with wonder raised
To such a height as poets would have praised
Their heroes in, a noble Christian saw.
Whose sword (as if, by the eternal law
Of Providence, to punish infidels.
Directed) with each falling stroke expels
A Turk's black soul : yet valour, being opprest
By multitudes, must have at length sought rest no

From death, had not brave Ariamnes, by
His hunters followed, brought him victory ;
Whilst the approaching danger did exclude
E'en hope, the last support of fortitude.

The desperate Turks, that chose the sea to be
Their sad redeemer of captivity,
Though from that fear they fled to death, had now
Upon the shore left none life could allow

84 enthean] This, a rather favourite word with Chamberlayne and his contem-
poraries, ought not to have become obsolete ; for we have no single equivalent to
' divinely inspired ' or ' furnished.'

(19) C 2

William Chamberlayne [book i

But motion to ; though, stopped by death such store,

All the escaped appeared, but such as bore 120

The fatal story of destruction to

Their distant friends. When now a serious view,

By Arianines and that noble youth,

(Whose actions, honoured as authentic truth,

Made all admire him), of their pitied dead

With sorrow took, one worthy soul unfled

From life they found, which, by Argalia seen,

With joy recals those spirits that had been

In busy action lost ; but danger, that

Toward the throne of life seemed entering at 130

Too many wounds, denies him to enlarge

The stream of love, as noble Virtue's charge

To him, her follower. Ariamnes, by

His goodness and their sad necessity

Prompted to pity, fearing slow delays

As danger's fatal harbinger, conveys

The wounded strangers to the place where he

His palace made the throne of charity.

'Twas the short journey 'twixt the day and night,
The calm fresh evening, time's hermaphrodite, 140

The sun, on light's dilated wings, being fled,
To call the western villagers from bed,
Ere at his castle they arrive, which stood
Upon a hill, whose basis, fringed with wood.
Shadowed the fragrant meadows ; thorough which
A spacious river, striving to enrich
The flowery valleys with whatever might
At home be profit, or abroad delight,
With parted streams that pleasant islands made,
Its gentle current to the sea conveyed. 150

In the composure of this happy place
Wherein he lived, as if framed to embrace
So brave a soul as now did animate
It with his presence, strength and beauty sate
Combined in one : 'twas not so vastly large.
But fair convenience countervailed the charge
Of reparations, all that modest art
Affords to sober pleasure's every part.
More for its ornament ; but none were drest
In robes so rich, but what alone exprest 160

Their master's providence and care to be,
A prop to falling hospitality.
For he, not comet-like, did blaze out in
This country sphere what had extracted been
From the court's lazy vapours, l)ut had stood
There like a star of the first magnitude.
With a fixed constancy so long, that now.
Grown old in virtue, he began to bow
(20)

Canto I] Pharo7tnida

Beneath the weight of time ; and, since the calm

Of age had left him nothing to embalm 170

His name but virtue, strives in that to be

The glorious wonder of posterity :

Each of his actions being so truly good,

That, like the ground where hallowed temples stood,

Although by age the ruins ruined seem,

The people bear a reverend esteem

Unto the place ; so they preserve his name —

A yet unwasted pyramid of fame.

Rich were his public virtues, but the price
Of those was but the world to Paradise, 180

Compared with that rare harmony that dwells
Within his walls ; each servant there excels
All but his fellows in desert ; each knew —
First, when, — then, how his lord's commands to do ;
None more enjoyed than was enough, none less,
All did of plenty taste, none of excess ;
Riot was here a stranger, but far more,
Repining penury ; ne'er from that door
The poor man went denied, nor did the rich
E'er surfeit there ; 'twas the blest medium which, 190

Extracted from all compound virtues, we
Make, and then Christian Mediocrity.
Within the compass of his spacious hall.
Stood no vain pictures to obscure the wall.
Which useful arms adorned; and such as when
His prince required assistance, his own men.
Valiant and numerous, managed to defend
That righteous cause, but never to attend
A popular faction, whose corrupted seed
Hell did engender, and ambition feed. 200

His judgement, that, like life's attendant — sense.
To try each object's various difference.
Fit mediums chose, (which he made virtue), here
Beholding (though these wandering stars appear
Now in their greatest detriment) the rays
Of perfect worth, he to that virtue pays
Those attributes of honour, which unto
Their births, though now in coarse disguise, was due.
To Aphron's wounds successful art applies
Prevailing medicines, whilst invention flies a 10

To the aphelion of her orb to seek
Such modest pleasures as might smooth the cheek
Of ruffled passion ; which, being found, are spent
To cure the sad Argalia's discontent :
Which, long being lost to all delight, at length
Revives again his friend's recovered strength.

192 Christian] This must be in the sense of 'christen ' ; so Singer.

William Chamber layne [book i

They, having now no remora to stay
Them here but what their gratitude did pay
To his desires, (whose courtesy had made
Those bonds of love with as much zeal obeyed 220

As those which duty locks), preparing are
To take their leave ; even in whose civil war
Whilst they contend with courtesies, as sent
To rescue, when his eloquence was spent,
Brave Aminander, with such haste as shewed
His speed to some supreme injunction owed
Such diligence, a messenger brings in
A packet, which that noble lord had been
Too frequently acquainted with to fear

The unseen contents, which opened did appear — 230

A mandate from his royal master to
Attend him ere the next day's beauties grew
Deformed with age ; which honoured message read,
To banish what suspicion might have bred
In's doubtful friends, he, the enclosed contents,
With cheerful haste, unto their view presents.

Their fear thus cured by information, he.
That his appearance in the court might be
IMore glorious made by such attendants, to
Incite in them a strong desire to view 240

Those royal pastimes, thus relates that story.
Whose fatal truth transferred the Morea's glory
So often thither. "Twas, my honoured friends,
My fate ('mongst some that yet his court attends)
Then to be near my prince, when what now draws
Him to these parts did prove at once the cause
Of joy and grief. Not far from hence removed
The vale of Ceres lies, where his beloved
Pharonnida remains ; a lady that

Nature ordained for man to wonder at, 250

She not being more the comfort of his age
Than glory of her sex : but I engage
Myself to a more large discovery, which
Thus take in brief — When youth did first enrich
Beauty with manly strength, his happy bed
Was with her royal mother blest ; who fed
A flame of virtue in her soul, that lent
Light to a beauty, which, being excellent,
In its own sphere by that reflection shone
So heavenly bright — perfection's height of noon 260

Dwelt only there. Some years had circled in
Time's revolutions, since they first had been
Acquainted with those private pleasures that
Attend a nuptial bed, ere she did at
Lucina's tem])le offer ; whose barred gate.
Once open flow, both their good angels sate

(-)

Canto I] PharoTinida

In council for her safety. Hopes of a boy,

To be Morea's heir, fill high with joy

The ravished parents ; subjects did no less,

In the loud voice of triumph, theirs express. 370

' But when the active pleasures of their love.
Which filled her womb, had taught the babe to move
Within the morys mount, preceding pains
Tell the fair queen, that the dissolving chains.
Nature enclosed it in, were grown so weak
That the imprisoned infant soon would break
Those slender guards. The gravest ladies were
Called to assist her, whose industrious care
Lend nature all the helps of art, but in

Despair of safety send their prayers to win 280

Relief from heaven, which swift assistance lent
To unload the burthen ; but those cordials sent
By harbingers, with whom the fair queen fled
To deck the silent dwellings of the dead,
And lodge in sheets of lead ; o'er which were cast
A coverlet of the spring's infants past
From life like her — e'en whilst Earth's teeming womb,
Promised the world, and not a silent tomb,
That beauteous issue. But those nymphs, which spun
Her thread of life, the slender twine begun 290

Too fine to last long, undenied by
The ponderous burthen of mortality ;
Beneath whose weight, she sinking now to death,
The unhappy babe was by the mother's breath
No sooner welcomed into life before
She bids farewell ; of power to do no more
But, whilst her spirits with each word expires,
Thus to her lord express her last desires. —
"Receive this infant from thy dying queen.
Name her Pharonnida." — At which word between 300

His trembling arms she sunk; and had e'en then
Breathed forth her soul, if not recalled again
By their loud mournings from the icy sleep.
Which, like a chilling frost, did softly creep
Through the cold channels of her blood to bar
The springs of life ; in which defensive war,
The hasty summons, sent by death, allow
Her giddy eyes, whose heavy lids did bow
Toward everlasting slumber, no more light
Than what affords a dim imperfect sight, — 310

Such as the troubled optics, being by
Dying convulsions wrested, could let fly

273 morys] Orig. ' mory,' qu. ' ivory ' ? The orig. looks like a misprint, and ' ivory
mount' is a favourite Elizabethanism.

278 care] Again, a note on Chamberlayne's singular habit of putting a plural noun
to a singular verb may serve once for all.

(23)

William Chamherlayne [book i

Thorough their sullied crystals, to behold
Her woeful lord, whilst she did thus unfold
Her dying thoughts : — " O hear, O hear, (quoth she) I do
By all our mutual vows conjure thee to
Let this sweet babe — all thou hast left of me,
Within thy thoughts preserve my memory.
And since, poor infant, she must lose her mother,
To beg an entrance here, oh let no other 320

Have more command o'er her than what may bear
An equal poise with thy paternal care.
This, this is all that I shall leave behind 3
An earnest of our loves here thou may'st find,
Perhaps, my image may'st behold, whilst I,
Resolving into dust, embraced do lie
By crawling worms — followers that nature gave
To attend mortality, whilst the tainted grave
Is ripening us for judgement. O my lord,
Death were the smile of fate, would it afford 330

Me time to see this infant's growth, but oh !
I feel life's cordage crackt, and hence must go
■ From time and flesh, — like a lost feather, fall
From th' wings of vanity, forsaking all
The various business of the world, to see
What wondrous change dwells in eternity."

' This said, she faintly bids farewell, then darts
An eager look on all ; but, ere she parts,
E'en whilst the breath, with which in thin air slips
Departing spirits, on her then cold lips 340

In clammy dews did hang, she of them takes
Her last farewell, whilst her pure soul forsakes
Its brittle cabinet, and those orbs of light.
That swam in death, sunk in eternal night.

'Thus died the queen, Pharonnida thus lost,
Ere knew, her mother, when her birth had cost
A price so great, that brought her infancy
In debt to grief, until maturity
Ripened her age to pay it. After long

And vehement lamentation, such whose strong 350

Assaults had almost shook his soul into
A flight from the earth, her father doth renew
His long lost mirth, at the delight he took
In his soul's darling ; whose each cheerful look
Crimsoned those sables, which e'en whilst he wore,
A flood of woes his head had silvered o'er.
Had not this comfort stopt them, which beguiles
Sorrow of some few hours ; those pretty smiles
That drest her fair cheeks, like a gentle thief,
Stealing his heart through all the guards of grief. 360

315 The first Alexandrine. But the duplication of ' O hear ' may be a slip.
(24)

Canto I] Pharo7t7iida

' But when that time's expunging hand had more
Defaced those sable characters he wore
For sorrow's livery o'er his soul, and she,
Having out-grown her tender infancy,
Did now (her thoughts composed of heavenly seed)
To guide her life no other guardian need,
But native virtue ; for her calm retreat,
When burthened Corinth was with throngs replete,
He chose this seat, whose venerable shade,
(Waving what blind antiquity had made) 370

For sacred held, is not so slighted, but
A custom, ancient as our law, hath shut
Hence (as the hateful marks of servitude)
All that unbounded power did e'er obtrude
On suffering subjects ; which this happy place
Fits so serene a blessing to embrace
As is this lady : whose illustrious court.
Though now augmented by the full resort
Of her great father's train, doth still appear
This happy kingdom's brightest hemisphere. 3S0

'A hundred noble youths in Sparta bred.
Of valour high as e'er for beauty bled.
All loyal lovers, and that love confined
Within the court, are for her guard assigned.
But what (if aught in such an orb of all
That 's great or good may low as censure fall)
The court hath questioned, is — the cause that moved
The prince to give a party so beloved
Into his hands that leads them ; being one.
Whose birth excepted, (that being near a throne), 390

Those virtues v.-ants, on whose foundation, wise
Considerate princes let their favours rise.
Like the abortive births of vapours, by
Their male-progenitors enforced to fly
Above the earth their proper sphere, and there
Lurk in imperfect forms, his breast doth bear
Some seeds of goodness, which the soil, too hot
With rank ambition, doth in ripening rot.
Yet, though from those that praise humility
He merits not, a dreaded power, (which he 400

Far more applauds) raised on the wings of's own
Experienced valour, hath so long been known
His foes' pale terror, that 'tis feared he bends
That engine to the ruin of his friends.
Whose equal merits claim as much of fame
As e'er was due to proud Almanzor's name.

' Yet what may raise more strong desires to see
Her court than valour's wished society.
Is one unusual custom, which the love
Of her kind father hath so far above 410

( 25 )

William Chamber lay7te [book i

All past example raised — that, for the time

He here resides, no cause, although a crime

Which death attends, but is by her alone

Both heard and judged, he seeming to unthrone

His active power, whilst justice doth invest

His beauteous daughter; which, to the opprest,

Whose hopes e'en shrunk into despair, hath in

That harsh extreme their safe asylum been :

So that e'en those that feared the event could now

Mix their desires, — the custom would allow 420

Her reign a longer date. But that I may

Illustrate this by a more full survey

Of her excelling virtues, no pretence

Of harsh employment shall command you hence,

Till you have been spectators of that court,

Whose glories are too spacious for report.'

The noble youths, beholding such a flame
Of virtue shewn them through the glass of Fame,
First gaze with wonder on it, which ascends
Into desire, a rivulet which ends 430

Not till its swelling streams had drawn them through
All weak excuses, and engaged them to
Attend on Ariamnes : when, to show
How much man's vain intentions fall below
Mysterious fate, e'en in the height of all
Their full resolves, her countermands thus call
Back their intentions, by a summons that
The uncertain world hath often trembled at. —
The late recovered Aphron, whether by

Too swift a cure, life's springs, being raised too high, 440

Flowed to a dangerous plethora, or whe'er
Some cause occult the humours did prepare
For that malignant ill, did, whilst he lay
In tedious expectation of the day
Shook with a shivering numbness, first complain
Through all his limbs of a diffusive pain :
Which, searching each to find the fittest part
For its contagion, on the labouring heart
Fixes at length \ which, being with grief opprest.
By the extended arteries to the rest 45°

O' the body sends its flames. The poisoned blood
Through every vein streams in a burning flood ;
His liver broils, and his scorched stomach turns
The chyle to cinders ; in each cold cell burns
The humid brains. A violent earthquake shakes
The crackling nerves, sleep's balmy dew forsakes
The shrivelled optics ; in which trembUng fits,
'Mongst tortured senses, troubled Reason sits
So long opprest with passion, till at length,
Her feeble mansion, battered by the strength 460

(26)

Canto I] Pharomitda

Of a disease, she leaves to entertain

The wild chimeras of a sickly brain.

And, what must yet to 's friend's affliction add

More weights of grief, their courteous host, which had

Stayed to the latest step of time, must now

Comply with those commands, which could allow

No more delays, and leave Argalia to

Be the sole mourner for his friend, which drew

(As far as human art could guess) so near

His end, that life did only now appear 470

In thick, short sobs, — those frequent summons that

Souls oft forsake their ruined mansions at.

THE END OF THE FIRST CANTO.

Canto II

THE ARGUMENT

Whilst here Argalia in a calm retreat

Allays the sorrow felt for's sickly friend,
Two blooming virgins near him take their seat,

Whose harmless mirth soon finds a hapless end.

The fairest seized on, and near ruined by

Impetuous lust, had not Andremon's speed
Protected her, till from his fall drawn nigh

The same sad fate the brave Argalia freed.

That sad slow hour, which Art e'en thought his last,

With the sharp fever's paroxysm past,

Sick Aphron's spirits to a cool retreat,

Beneath a slumber, life's remotest seat,

Was gently stol'n, which did so long endure,

Till, in that opiate quenched, the calenture

Decayed forsakes him, leaving nought behind,

But such faint symptoms as from time might find

An easy cure ; which, though no perfect end

Is lent to th' care of his indulgent friend, 10

Yet gives him so much liberty, that now

Fear dares, without his friendship's breach, allow

Sometime to leave him slumbering, whilst that he

Contemplates nature's fresh variety.

The full-blown beauties of the spring were not
By summer sun-burnt yet, though Phabus shot
His rays from Cancer, when, prepared to expand
Imprisoned thoughts from objects near at hand
To eye-shot rovers, freed Argalia takes

A noon-tide walk through a fair glade, that makes 20

Her aged ornaments their stubborn head
Fold into verdant curtains, which she spread

William Chamber layite [book i

* In cooling shadows o'er the bottoms ; where
A crystal stream, unfettered by the care
Of nicer art, in her own channel played
With the embracing banks, until betrayed
Into a neighbouring lake ; whose spacious womb
Looked at that distance like a crystal tomb
Framed to inter the Naiades. Not far

From hence an oak, (whose limbs defensive war 30

'Gainst all the winds a hundred winters knew,
Stoutly maintained), on a small rising grew.
Under whose shadow whilst Argalia lies.
This object tempts his soul into his eyes —
A pair of virgins, fairer than the spring ;
Fresher than dews, that, ere the glad birds sing
The morning's carols, drop; with such a pace
As in each act showed an unstudied grace.
Crossing the neighbouring plain, were now so near
Argalia drew, that what did first appear 40

But the neglected object of his eye.
More strictly viewed, calls fancy to comply
With so much love, that, though no wilder fire
Ere scorched his breast, he here learnt to admire
Love's first of symptoms. To a shady seat.
Near that which he had made his cool retreat,
Being come, beneath a spreading hawthorn they,
Seating themselves, the sliding hours betray
From their short lives, by such discourse as might
Have made e'en Time, if young, lament his flight. 50

Retired Argalia, at the sight of these,
Though no obscener vanity did please
His eyes, than anch'rites are possest with, when
Numb'ring their beads, or from a sacred pen
Distilling Heaven's blest oracles, yet he,
Wondering to find such sweet civility
;Mixt with that place's rudeness, long beholds
That lovely pair, whose every act unfolds
Such linked affections as wise nature weaves
In dearest sisters ; but their form bereaves 60

That thought ere feathered with belief: although,
To admiration. Beauty did bestow
Her gifts on both, she had those darlings drest
In various colours ; — what could be exprest
By objects, fair as new created light ;
By roseal mixtures, with immaculate white ;

40 drew, 122 withdrew] Another not-to-be-repeatcd note may call attention here to
Chambcrlayne's singular liberties with preterite and past participle. In the first of
these two instances one is actually tempted to read ' where ' which, as it happens, makes
ordinary grammar. But it is evidently not the sense, and ' drew '= ' drawn ' as ' with-
drew ' = ' withdrawn.'

66 rosea]] Singer fulicie ' rosca/e,^ thereby effacing a delightful word and substituting
a very inferior one.

(.8)

Canto II] Pharonnidu

By eyes that emblemed heaven's pure azure, in

The youngest nymph, Florenza, there was seen ;

To which she adds behaviour far more free,

Although restrained to strictest modesty, 70

Than the more sad Carina, who, if there

Were different years in that else equal pair,

Something the elder seemed ; her beauty — such

As Jove-loved Leda's was, not praised so much

For rose' or lily's residence, though they

Did both dwell there, as to behold the day

Lose its antipathy to night ; such clear

And conquering beams, so full of light, to appear

Thorough her eyes, showed like a diamond set,

To mend its lustre, in a foil of jet. 80

Nor doth their dress of nature differ more

In colour than the habits which they wore,

Though fashioned both alike ; Florenza's, green

As the fresh Spring, when her first buds are seen

To clothe the naked boughs; Carina's, white

As Innocence, before she takes a flight

In thought from cold virginity. Their hair,

Wreathed in contracting curls beneath a fair

But often parting veil, attempts to hide

The naked ivory of their necks — that pride 90

Of beauty's frontispiece. On their heads sate

Lovely, as if unto a throne of state

From their first earth advanced, two flowery wreaths,

(From whose choice mixture in close concord breathes

The fragrant odour of the fields), placed by

Them in such order, as antiquity

Mysterious held. Being set, to pass away

The inactive heat of the exalted day,

They either tell old harmless tales, or read

Some story where forsaken lovers plead 100

Unpitied causes, then betwixt a smile

And tear bewail passion should ere beguile

Poor reason so ; at length, as if they meant

To charm him who, far from each ill intent.

So near them lay, melting the various throng

Of their discourse into a well-tuned song ;

Whose swift division moulds the air into

Such notes, as did the spheres' first tunes out-do.

Argalia, in his labyrinth of delight
To action lost, had drawn the veil of night, no

In quiet slumbers, o'er his heavy eyes :
Locked in whose arms whilst he securely lies,
Lest the mistakes of vain mortality
The brittle glass of earth should take to be
Perfection's lasting adamant, this sad
Chance did unravel all their mirth. — There had

(^9)

William Chafnberlayne [book i

Some of the prince's noblest followers, in

That morning's nonage, led by pleasure been

Far from their sphere — the court ; and now, to shun

The unhealthy beams of the reflected sun, 120

Whilst it its shortest shadows made, were to

The cool protection of the woods withdrew :

In which retreat, as if conducted by

Their evil genius, (all his company

An awful distance keeping) none but proud

Almanzor, in those guilty groves which shroud

The hapless virgins, enters ; who so near

Him sitting, that soon his informing ear

Thither directs his eye. Unto his view

Ere scarce thought obvious, swiftly they withdrew, 13a

But with untimely haste. His soul, that nurst

Continual flames within it, at the first

Sight kindles them, ere he discovers more

Than difference in the sex ; such untried ore,

Hot heedless lust, when made by practice bold,

I' th' flame of passion ventures on for gold.

But when drawn nearer to the place he saw

Such beauties, whose magnetic force might draw

Souls steeled with virtue, custom having made

His impious rhetoric ready to invade, '4°

He towards them hastes, with such a pace as might

Excuse their judgements, though in open flight

They strove to shun him, but in vain ; so near

Them now he's drawn, that the effects of fear

Obscuring reason, as if safety lay

In separation, each a several way

From danger flies ; but since both could not be

By that secure, whilst her blest stars do free

The glad Carina from his reach, the other

He swiftly seizes on : hot kisses smother 150

Her out-cries in the embryo, and to death

Near crushed virginity, ere, from lost breath,

She could a stock of strength enough recover

To spend in prayers. The tempting of a lover,

Mixt with the force of an adulterer, did

At once assail, and with joined powers forbid

All hopes of safety ; only, whilst Despair

Looked big in apprehension, whilst the air

Breathed nought but threatenings ; promising him to pay

For't in her answers, she doth lust betray 160

Of some few minutes, which, with all the power

Of prayer, she seeks to lengthen ; sheds a shower

Of tears to quench those flames. But sooner might

122 withdrew] See note on p. 28.

138 force] So Singer for 'form,' which I think quite possible.

(30)

Canto II] Pharonnida

Hell's sooty lamp extinguished be ; the sight

Of such a fair, but pitiful aspect,

When lust assails, wants power to protect.

By this hot parley, whilst she strove to shun
His loathed embraces, the thronged spirits run
To fortify her heart, but vainly seek

For entrance there, being back into her cheek 170

Sent in disdainful blushes : now she did
Entreat civility, then sharply chid
His blushless impudence ; but he, whose skill
In rhetoric was pregnant to all ill,
Though barren else, summons up all the choice
Of eloquence, that might produce a voice
To win fair virtue's fortress, though her chaste
Soul, armed against those battering engines, past
That conflict without danger; when, enraged
By being denied, with passion that presaged 180

A dangerous consequence, his fierce eyes fixt
On hers, that, melting with pale terror, mixt
Floods with their former flames, her soul's sad doubt
He thus resolves — 'Unworthy whore, that, out
Of hate to virtue, dost deny me what
Thou freely grant'st to every rude swain that
But courts thee in a dance — think not these tears
Shall make me waive a pleasure, that appears
Worth the receiving. Can your sordid earth
Be honoured more than in the noble birth 190

Of such a son, as, wouldst thou yield to love,
Might call thee mother, and hereafter prove
The glory of your family? From Jove,
The noblest mortals, heretofore that strove
To fetch their pedigree, thought it no stain
So to be illegitimate ; as vain
Is this in thee, there being as great an odds
'Twixt you and us, as betwixt us and gods.'

Trembling Florenza, on her bended knees.
Thus answers him: — 'That dreadful power that sees 200

All our disveloped thoughts, my witness be
You wrong my innocence ; I yet am free
From every thought of lust. I do confess
The unfathomed distance 'twixt our births, but less
That will not make my sin ; it may my shame
The more, when my contaminated name
Shall in those ugly characters be shown
To the world's public view, that now is known
B' the blush of honesty ; whose style, though poor,
Exceeds the titles of a glorious whore — 210

Attended, whilst youth doth unwithered last,
With envied greatness ; but, frail beauty past
Into a swift decay, assaulted by

(31)

William Chamber layne [book i

Rottenness within, and black-mouthed calumny
Without, cast off, blushing for guilt, the scorn
Of all my sex. My mother would unborn
Wish her degenerate issue, my father curse
The hour he got me. As infection worse
Than mortal plagues, each virgin, that hath nought
To glory in but what she with her brought 220

Into the world — an unstained soul, would fly
The air I breathe ; cast whores being company
For none but devils, when corrupted vice
A wilderness makes Beauty's paradise.
To this much ill, dim-eyed mortality
A prospect lends ; but what, oh ! what should be
When we must sum up all our time in one
Eternal day, since to our thoughts unknown,
Is only feared; but if our hallowed laws
Are more than fables, the everlasting cause, 230

'Twill of our torment be. If all this breath,
Formed into prayers, no entrance finds, my death
Shall buy my virgin-freedom, ere I will
Consent to that, which, being performed, will kill
My honour to preserve my life, and turn
• The unworthy beauty, which now makes you burn
In these unhallowed flames, into a cell
Which none but th' black inhabitants of hell
Will e'er possess. Those private thoughts, which give,
If we continue virtuous whilst we live 24c

On earth, our souls commerce with angels, shall
Be turned to furies, if we yield to fall
Beneath our vices thus. O ! then take heed —
Do not defile a temple ; such a deed
Will, when in labour with your latest breath.
With horror curtain the black bed of death.'

Though prayers in vain strove to divert that crime
He prosecutes, yet, to protract the time,
She more had said, had not all language been
Lost in a storm of's lust; which, raging in 250

His fury, gives a fresh assault unto
Weak innocence : for mercy now to sue —
To hope — seems vain ; robustious strength did bar
The use of language, which defensive war
Continuing, till the breathless maid was wrought
Almost beneath resistance, just heaven brought
This unexpected aid. A lowly swain,
Whose large possessions in the neighbouring plain
Had styled him rich, and powerful which to improve,
To that fair stock, his virtue added love ; 260

257 lowly] Orig. ' lovely,' which again is quite possible, though the words are often
confounded in the very bad printing of the original.

(33)

Canto II] Pharonfiida

Which, (un)to flattery since it lost its eyes,
The world but seldom sees without disguise.

This sprightly youth, led by the parallels
Of birth and fortune — whate'er else excels
Those fading blessings — to Florenza, in
His youth's fresh April, had devoted been.
With so much zeal, that what that heedless age
But dallied with, (like customs which engage
Themselves to habits), ere its growth he knew,
Love, equal with his active manhood, grew; 270

Which noble plant, though, in the torrid zone
Of her disdain, 't had ne'er distemper known,
Yet oft those sad vicissitudes doth find.
For which none truly loved that ne'er had pined.
Which pleasing passion, though his judgement knew
How to divert, ere reason it out-grew.
It often from important action brought
Him to those shades, where contemplation sought
Calm solitude ; in whose soft raptures. Love,
Refining fancy, lifts his thoughts above 280

Those joys, which, when by trial brought t' the test,
Prove Thought's bright heaven dull earth, when once possest.

Whilst seated here, his eyes did celebrate,
As to those shades Florenza oft had sat
Beneath kind looks ; to ravish that delight.
The tired Carina, in her breathless flight
Com-e near the place, assaults his wonder in
That dreadful sound, which tells him what had been
Her cause of fear ; which doleful story's end,
Arrived t' the danger of his dearest friend, 290

Leaves him no time for language, ere, winged by
Anger and love, his haste strives to outfly
His eager thoughts. Being now arrived so near
Unto the place, that his informing ear
Thither directs his steps, with such a haste.
As nimble souls, when they are first uncased.
From bodies fly, he thither speeds ; and now
Being come, where he beheld with horror how
His better angel injured was, disputes

Neither with fear nor policy — they're mutes 300

When anger's thunder roars — but swiftly draws
His falchion, and the justice of his cause
Argues with eager strokes, but spent in vain
'Gainst that unequal strength, which did maintain
The more unlawful ; all his power could do,
Is but to show the effects of love unto
Her he adored, few strokes being spent before
His feeble arm, of power to do no more,

261 (un)to] Altered from ' to ' by Singer. I am not sure that Chamberlayne would
not have risked the double trochee ' Which, t6 | flatt6 | ry.'

( 33 ) D

JVilliam Chamber layite [book i

Faints with the loss of blood ; and, letting fall

The ill-managed weapon^ for his death doth call, 310

By the contempt of mercy, so to prove

A sacrifice, slain to Florenza's love.

The cursed steel, by the robustious hand

Of fierce Almanzor guided, now did stand

Fixed in his breast, whilst, with a purple flood.

His life sails forth i' the channel of his blood.

This remora removed, the impious deed

No sooner was performed, but, ere the speed

Florenza made (though to her eager flight

Fear added wings) conveyed her from his sight, 320

His rude hand on her seizes. Now in vain

She lavished prayers, the groans in which her slain

Friend breathes his soul forth, with her shrieks, did fill

The ambient air, struck lately with the still

Voice of harmonious music. But the ear

Of penetrated heaven not long could hear

Prayers breathed from so much innocence, yet send

Them back denied ; white Mercy did attend

Her swift delivery, when obstructing fear

Through reason let no ray of hope appear. 330

Startled Argalia, who was courted by
Her pleasing voice's milder harmony
Into restrictive slumbers, wakened at
Their altered tone, hastes to discover what
Had caused that change ; and soon the place attains.
Where, in the exhausted treasure of his veins,
Andremon wallows, and Florenza lies,
Bathed in her tears, ready to sacrifice
Her life with her virginity ; which sight

Provoked a haste, such as his presence might 340

Protect the trembling virgin ; which perceived
By cursed Almanzor, mad to be bereaved
O' the spoils of such a wicked victory
As lust had then near conquered, fiercely he
Assails the noble stranger ; who, detesting
An act so full of villany, and resting
On the firm justice of his cause, had made
His guiltless sword as ready to invade
As was the other's, that had surfeited

In blood before. Here equal valour bred 350

In both a doubtful hope ; Almanzor's lust
Had fired his courage, which Argalia's just
Attempts did strive to quench. The thirsty steel
Had drunk some blood from both, ere fortune's wheel
Turned to the righteous cause. That vigour which
Through rivulets of veins spread the salt itch
Of feverish lust before, was turned into
A flame of anger; whilst his hands did do

(34)

Canto II] Pharo7t7iida

What rage doth dictate, fury doth assist

With flaming paroxysms, and each nerve twist 360

Into a double strength : yet not that flood.

Which in this ebuUition of his blood

Did through the channels boil till they run o'er

With flaming spirits, could depress that store

Of manly worth, which in Argalia's breast

Did with a quiet even valour rest ;

Moving as in its natural orb, unstrained

By any violent motion ; nor yet chained

By lazy damps of fiiint mistrust, but in

Danger's extreme, still confident to win 370

A noble victory ; or, i' the loss of breath.

If his fate frowned, to find an honoured death.

Filled with these brave resolves, until the heat
Of their warm fury had alarums beat
T' the neighbouring fields, they fought ; which tumult, by
Such of Almanaor's followers as were nigh
The grove reposed, with an astonishment
That roused them, heard, they hasten to prevent
The sad effects that might this cause ensue.
Ere more of danger than their fear they knew. 380

Arrived e'en with that fatal minute, he
Who against justice strove for victory,
With such faint strokes that their descent did give
Nought but assurance that his foe must live
A happy conqueror, they usurp the power
Of Heaven — revenge ; and, in a dreadful shower
Of danger, with their fury's torrent strive
To o'erwhelm the victor : but the foremost drive
Their own destruction on, and fall beneath
His conquering sword, ere he takes time to breathe 390

Those spirits, which, when near with action tired,
Valour breathed fresh, fast as the spent expired.

Here rash Araspes and bold Leovine,
Two whose descent i' the nearest collateral line
Unto Almanzor's stood, beholding how
His strength decayed must unto conquest bow
In spite of valour, to revenge his fate
With so much haste, attempt, as if too late
They'd come to rescue, and would now, to shun
His just reproof, by rashness strive to run 400

To death before him, finding from that sword
Their life's discharge ; which did to him afford
Only those wounds, whose scars must live to be
The badges of eternal infamy.

But here, o'erwhelmed by an unequal strength,
The noble victor soon to the utmost length
Had life's small thread extended, if not in
The dawn of hope, some troops, (whose charge had been,

( 35 ) D 2

JVilliam Chamber layne [book i

Whilst the active gentry did attend the court,

To free the country from the feared resort 41°

Of wild bandits), these, being directed by

Such frighted rurals as employment nigh

The grove had led, arriving at that time

When his slain foes made the mistaken crime

Appear Argalia's, soon by power allay

That fatal storm; which done, (a full survey

Of them that death freed from distress being took),

Them, through whose wounds Life had not yet forsook

Her throne, they view ; 'mongst whom, through the disguise

Of's blood, Almanzor, whose high power they prize 42°

More than discovered innocence, being found,

As Justice had by close decree been bound

To espouse his quarrels; whilst his friends convey

Him safely thence, those ponderous crimes they lay

Unto Argalia's charge, whose just defence

Pleads but in vain for injured innocence.

Now, near departing, whilst his helpful friends
Bore off Almanzor, where he long attends
The cure of's wounds, though they less torment bred
Than to behold how his lost honour bled; 43°

The sad Florenza comes to take her last
Leave of her lost Andremon, ere she past
That sad stage o'er. To his cold clammy lips
Joining her balmy twins, she from them sips
So much of death's oppressing dews, that, by
That touch revived, his soul, though winged to fly
Her ruined seat, takes time enough to breathe
These sad notes forth : — ' Farewell, my dear, beneath
The ponderous burthen of mortality

My fainting spirits sink. Oh ! mayest thou be 44°

Blest in a happier love ; all that I crave
Is, that my now departing soul may have
Thy virgin prayers for her companions, through

Those gloomy vaults, which she must pass, unto

Eternal shades. Had fate assigned my stay.

Till we'd together gone, the horrid way

Had then been made delightful; but I must

Depart without thee, and convert to dust.

Whilst thou art flesh and blood : I in a cold

Dark urn must lie, whilst a warm groom doth hold 450

Thee in thy nuptial bed ; yet there I shall—

Tf fled souls know what doth on earth befal, —

Mourn for thy loss, and to eternity

Wander alone. The various world shall be

Refined in flames ; Time shall afi"ord no place

For vanity, ere I again embrace

Society with flesh ; which, ere that, must

Change to a thousand forms her varied dust.

(36)

Canto II] . Pha7^07tnida

What we shall be, or whither we shall go,

When gone from hence — whe'er unto flames below, 460

Or joys above — or whe'er in death we may

Know our departed friends, or tell which way

They went before us — these, oh ! these are things

That pause our divinity. Sceptred kings.

And subjects die alike, nor can we tell.

Which doth in joy, or which in torments dwell.

Oh, sad, sad ignorance ! Heaven guide me right,

Or I shall wander in eternal night.

To whose dark shades my dim eyes sink apace.

Farewell, Florenza ! when both time and place 470

My separated soul hath left, to be

A stranger masked in immortality,

Think on thy murthered friend ; we now must part

Eternally ! the cordage of my heart

That last sigh broke.' With that the breath, that long

Had hovered in his breast, flew with a strong

Groan from that mortal mansion ; which beheld

By such of's friends whom courtesy compelled

To that sad charge, the bloodless body they

With sad slow steps to 's father's home convey. 480

THE END OF THE SECOND CANTO.

Canto III

THE ARGUMENT

The brave Argalia, who designed to raise

Through all approaching ills his weighty fate,

In smooth compliance that harsh guard obeys,
Who towards his death did prosecute their hate :

To death, which here unluckily had stained

Maugre his friends, the ill-directed sword
Of justice, had not secret love obtained

More mercy than the strict laws dare afford.

■>

Low in a fruitful pasture, where his flocks

Cloud with their breath those plains, whose leafy locks

Could hardly shadow them — those meadows need

No shearing — where in untold droves did feed

His bellowing herds, of which enough did come

Each day to's yoke to serve a hecatomb.

Lay old Andremon's country farm : in which,

Happy till now, being made by fortune rich.

And goodness honest ; from domestic strife

Still calm and free ; the upper robes of life, 10

466 in joy] Altered by Singer from ' enjoj',' plausibly, but perhaps idly.

(37)

JVillia7n Cha^nberlayne [book i

Till withered, he had worn ; to ease whose sad

And sullen cares less bounteous nature had

Lent him no numerous issue — all he'd won

By prayer, confined unto his murthered son,

The blasted blossom of whose tender age.

When blooming first, taught hope how to presage

Those future virtues, which, interpreted

By action, had such fruitful branches spread,

That all indulgent parents wished to be

Immortalized in blest posterity, 20

Had seen in him ; who, innocently good.

Still let his heart by 's tongue be understood.

In such a sacred dialect, that all

Which verged within deliberate thought did fall,

Towards heaven was graced, and in descent did prove

To 's parents duty, and to 's neighbours love.

This hopeful youth, their age's chief support.
Whose absence, though by's own desires made short.
Their love thought tedious, having now expired
His usual hours, the aged couple tired 30

With expectation, to anticipate
His slow appearance, to their mansion's gate
Were softly walked, where coolly shadowed by
An elm, which, planted at his birth, did vie
Age with his lord ; whilst their desires pursue
Its first design, they with some pleasure view
Their busy servants, whose industrious pain
Sweats out diseases in pursuit of gain.
All which, although the chiefest pleasure that
Their thoughts contain — -whose best are busied at 40

The mart o' the world, such small diversion lent
The aged pair, that his kind mother, spent
With a too long protracted hope, had let
E'en that expire, had not his father set
Props to that weakness, and, that mutual fear
Which filled their breasts, let his sound judgement clear,
By the proposing accidents that might,
Untouched, detain their darling from their sight.

But many minutes had not left their seals
On the records of time, ere truth reveals 50

Her horrid secrets. — A confused noise
First strikes their ears, which suddenly destroys
Its own imperfect embryocs, to transfer
Its object to that nearer messenger
O' the soul — the eyes, whose beamy scouts convey
A trembling fear into their souls, whilst they.
That bore their murthered son, arrived to tell
Their doleful message; which so fierce storm fell

33 Were] Singer, officiously, ' Had.'
(38)

Canto III] Pharo7i7iida

Not long in those remoter drops, before,

Swelled to a deluge, the swift torrent bore 60

The bays of reason down, and in one flood

Drowned all their hopes. When purpled in his blood,

Yet pale with death — untimely death, she saw

Her hopeful son, grief violates the law

Of slower nature, and his mother's tears

In death congeals to marble : her swoln fears.

Grown for her sex a burthen far too great,

Had only left death for her dark retreat.

Although from grief's so violent effects,
Reason, conjoined with manly strength, protects 70

His wretched father, at that stroke his limbs
Slack their unwieldly nerves, faint sorrow dims
His eyes more than his age, his hands bereft
His hoary head of all that time had left
Unplucked before ; nor had the expecting grave
Gaped longer for him, if they then had gave
His passion freedom — his own guilty hand
Had broke the glass, and shook that little sand
That yet remained into thin air, that so,

Unclogged with earth, his tortured ghost might go So

Beyond that orb of atoms that attend
Mortality ; and at that journey's end
Meet theirs, soon as swift Destiny enrols
Those new-come guests within the sphere of souls.
By these sad symptoms of infectious grief,
Those best of friends that came for the relief
Of sorrow's captives, being by that surprised
They hoped to conquer, sadly sympathized
With him in woe, till the epidemic ill,

Stifling each voice, drest sorrow in a still 90

And dismal silence : in which sad aspect.
None needing robes or cypress to detect
A funeral march, each dolefully attends,
To death's dark mansion, their lamented friends.
Where, having now the earthy curtain drawn
O'er their cold bed, till doomsday's fatal dawn
Rally their dust, they leave them ; and retire
To sorrow, which can ne'er hope to expire
In just revenge, since kept by fear in awe —
Where power offends, the poor scarce hope for law. 100

By sad example to confirm this truth —
From innocent and early hopes of youth
Led toward destruction, let 's return to see
That noble stranger, whose captivity,
Like an unlucky accident, depends
On this sad subject. By the angry friends
Of those accused, which in that fatal strife
To death resigned the charter of their life,

(39)

Willia^n Chamber layne [book i

He 's brought unto the princess' palace ; where

That age, (whose customs knew not how to bear nc

Such sails as these have filled with pride), was placed

The seat of justice ; whose stern sword defaced

Not Pleasure's smoothest front, since now 'twas by

Her fair hand guided, whose commanding eye.

If armed with anger, seemed more dreadful then

The harshest law e'er made by wrathful men.

Here, strictly guarded, till the important crime,
Which urged her to anticipate the time
By custom known, had called her forth to that
Unwilling office, still unstartled at j2o

The frowns of danger, did Argalia lie
An injured captive ; till, commanded by
The stern reformers of offended law.

He hastes t' the bar; where come, though death ne'er saw
A brow more calm, or breast more confident.
To meet his darts, yet since the innocent
Are stained with guilt, when, in contempt of fate,
They silent fall, he means to meet their hate
With all that each beholder could expect

From dying valour, when it had to protect 130

An envied stranger, left no more defence
But what their hate obscures — his innocence.

The clamorous friends of Aphron, backed by those
Which knew his death the only mean to close
Almanzor's bleeding honour, to the fair
And pitiful Pharonnida repair.
With cries of vengeance ; whose unwelcome sound
She by her father's strict command was bound
To hear, since that those rivulets of law,
Which from the sea of regal power did draw 140

Their several streams, all flowed to her, and in
That crystal fountain, pure as they had been
From heaven dispensed ere just Astraea fled
The earth, remained ; yet such aversion bred
In her soft soul, that to these causes, where
The law sought blood, slowly as those that bear
The weight of guilt, she came ; whose dark text she
Still comments on with noble charity.
High mounted on an ebon throne, in which
The embellished silver shewed so sadly rich, 150

As if its varied form strove to delight
Those solemn souls which death's pale fear did fright,
In Tyrian purple clad, the princess sate.
Between two sterner ministers of fate.
Impartial judges, whose distinguished tasks
Their varied habit to the view unmasks.

^33 Aphron] Mistake for 'Andremon.' 149 in] Singer alters to 'on.'

(40)

Canto III] Pharofifttda

One, in whose looks, as pity strove to draw

Compassion in the tablets of the law,

Some softness dwelt, in a majestic vest

Of state-like red was clothed ; the other, dressed i6o

In dismal black, whose terrible aspect

Declared his office, served but to detect

Her slow consent, if, when the first forsook

The cause, the law so far as death did look.

Silence proclaimed, a harsh command calls forth
The undaunted prisoner, whose excelling worth,
In this low ebb of fortune, did appear
Such as we fancy virtues that come near
The excellence of angels — fear had not

Rifled one drop of blood, nor rage begot 170

More colour in his cheeks — his soul in state
Throned in the medium, constant virtue, sat,
Not slighting, with the impious atheists, that
Loud storm of danger, but, safe anchored at
Religious hope, being firmly confident
Heaven would relieve whom earth knew innocent.

All thus prepared, he hears his wrongful charge
(Envy disguising injured truth) at large.
Before the people, in such language read,
As checked their hopes in whom his worth had bred 180

Some seeds of pity ; and to those, whose hate
Pursued him to this precipice of fate.
Dead Aphron's friends, such an advantage gave,
That Providence appeared too weak to save
One so assaulted : yet, though now depressed
E'en in opinion, which oft proves the best
Support to those whose public virtues we
Adore before their private guilt we see.
His noble soul still wings itself above

Passion's dark fogs ; and like that prosperous dove, 190

The world's first pilot for discovery sent,
When all the floods that bound the firmament
O'erwhelmed the earth. Conscience' calm joys to increase,
Returns, fraught with the olive branch of peace.
Thus fortified from all that tyrant fear
E'er awed the guilty with, he doth appear
The court's just wonder in the brave defence
Of what, (though power, armed with the strong pretence
Of right, opposed), so prevalent had been,
T' have cleared him ; if, when near triumphing in 200

Victorious truth, to cloud that glorious sun,
Some faithless swains, by large rewards being won

162 detect] For the sake of rhyme, no doubt. It can just be interpreted as =' remove
the concealment from,' ' extract.'
183 Aphron] Mistake as before.

(41)

Williaffi Cha7nberlay?te [book i

To spot their souls, had not, corrupted by

His foes, been brought, falsely to justify

Their accusations. Which beheld by him,

Whose knowledge now did hope's clear optics dim,

He ceased to plead \ justly despairing then.

That innocence 'mongst mortals rested, when

Banished her own abode; so thinks it vain

To let truth's naked arms strive to maintain 210

The field 'gainst his more powerful foes. Not all

His virtues now protect him, he must fall

A guiltless sacrifice, to expiate

No other crime but their envenomed hate.

An ominous silence — such as oft precedes

The fatal sentence — whilst the accuser reads

His charge, possessed the pitying court, in whicli

Presaging calm Pharonnida, too rich

In mercy, Heaven's supreme prerogative,

To stifle tears, did with her passion strive 220

So long, till what at first assaulted in

Sorrow's black armour, had so often been

For pity cherished, that at length her eyes

Found there those spirits that did symj^athize

With those that warmed her blood, and, unseen, move

That engine of the world, mysterious love,

The way that fate predestinated, when

'Twas first infused i' the embryo ; it being then

That which espoused the active form unto

Matter, and from that passive being drew 230

Divine ideas; which, subsisting in

Harmonious Nature's highest sphere, do win,

In the perfection of our age, a more

Expansive power; and, nature's common store

Still to preserve, unites affections by

The mingled atoms of the serious eye.

Whilst Nature's priest, the cause of each effect,
Miscalled disease, endeavours to detect
Its unacquainted operations in

The beauteous princess, whose free soul had been 240

Yet guarded in her virgin ice, and now
A stranger is to what she doth allow
Such easy entrance — by those rays that fall
From cither's eyes, to make reciprocal
Their yielding passions, brave Argalia felt,
E'en in the grasp of death, his functions melt
To flames, which on his heart an onset make
For sadness, such as weaker mortals take
Eternal farewells in. Yet in this high

Tide of his blood, in a soft calm to die, 250

His yielding spirits now prepare to meet
Death, clothed in thoughts white as his winding-sheet.

(4O

Canto III] Pharonnida

That fatal doom, which unto heaven affords
The sole appeal, one of the assisting lords
Had now pronounced, whose horrid thunder could
Not strike his laurelled brow ; that voice, which would
Have petrified a timorous soul, he hears
With calm attention. No disordered fears
Ruffled his fancy, nor domestic war

Raged in his breast ; his every look, so far 260

From vulgar passions, that unless amazed
At Beauty's majesty, he sometimes gazed
Wildly on that as emblems of more great
Glories than earth afforded, from the seat
Of resolution his fixed soul had not
Been stirred to passion, which had now begot
Wonder, not fear, within him. No harsh frown
Contracts his brow, nor did his thoughts pull down
One fainting spirit, wrapt in smothered groans.
To clog his heart. From her most eminent thrones 270

Of sense, the eyes, the lightning of his soul
Flew with such vigour forth, it did control
All weaker passions, and at once include
With Roman valour Christian fortitude.
Pharonnida, from whom the rigid law
Extorts his fate, being now enforced to draw
The longest line she e'er could hope to move
Over his face, that beauteous sphere of love,
Unto its great'st obliquity, she leaves

Him, in his winter solstice, and bereaves 280

Love's hemisphere of light, not heat ; yet, oft
Retreating, wished those stars, fate placed aloft
In the first magnitude of honour, might
Prove retrograde; so their contracted light
Might unto him part of their influence
In life bestow, passion would fain dispense
So far with reason, to recal again
The sentence she had past : but hope in vain
Those false suggestions moves. His jailors are
The undaunted prisoner hurrying from the bar, 290

His fair judge rising, the corrupted court
Upon removing, all the ruder sort
Of hearers rushing out, when, through the throng,
Kind Ariamnes (being detained so long
By strict employment) comes ; at whose request
The court their seats resuming, he addrest
Himself t' the princess in a language that,
(Whilst all Argalia's foes were storming at),
E'en on her justice so prevails, that he
Reprieved till all hope could produce, to free 3°°

257 petrified] Orig-. ' putrefied,' which I shall not say that Chamberlayne could not
have meant. 291 corrupted] Apparently in the derivative sense of ' broken up.'

(43)

JVilliam Chamhe?^layne [book i

Her love's new care, might be examined by
His active friend ; who now, being seated nigh
Pharonnida, whilst all attentive sate.
The stranger's story doth at large relate.

Pleased at this full relation, near as much
As grieved to see those jewels placed in such
A coarse cheap metal, which could never hold
The least proportion with her regal gold,
Pharonnida had now removed, if not

Thus once more stayed: — The rumour, first begot 310

From this sad truth, had, with the common haste
Of ill, arrived where his disease had placed
Aphron, whose ears, assaulted now with words
Of more infection than that plague, affords
Room for the stronger passion : though offended,
To leave a hold it had at first intended
To keep till ruined, the imprisoned blood,
And spirits are unfettered, by that flood
To wash usurping grief from off that part
Where most she reigned; but they, drawn near the heart, 320
And finding enemies too strong to be
Encountered, mix in their society ;
Which, thus supplied with auxiliaries, in
Contempt of weakness, (when he long had been
Languishing, underneath a tedious load
Of sickness), sends him from his safe abode,
'Mongst dangers which in death's black shape attend
His bold design, to seek his honoured friend.

Come on the spur of passion to the court,
A flux of spirits from all parts resort 530

To prompt his anger, which abruptly broke
Forth in this language : — ' Do not, sirs, provoke
A foreign power thus far — I speak to you
That have condemned this stranger — as to do
An act so opposite to all the law
Of nations, — here within your realm to draw
Blood that's near and allied unto the best
Of an adjacent state. If this request
Of mine too full of in.so!ence appear,

^Ve are spirits nobly born, and we are near 340

Enough to have 't, whatever crime 's the cause
Of this harsh sentence, tried by our own laws.' —

This bold opposer of stern justice (here
Pausing to see what clouds there did appear

313 Aphron] The real Aphron.

315 offended] Anoihcr e.xeynplary note may call attention to this characteristic instance
of Chamberlaync's syntax. ' OITcnded ' and ' it ' can only refer to ' disease,' or ' plague,"
though they have not the least grammatical connexion therewith or with anj'thing else.
For though grammar permits junction with 'the imprisoned blood,' sense forbids.

337 near] Singer alters to 'so near,' without any need.

(44)

Canto III] Pharofinida

In that fair heaven, whose influence only now

Could light to 's friend's declining stars allow),

To free the troubled court, which struggled in

A strange dilemma, had commanded been

To a more large discovery, if not by

His pitying friend discharged in a reply, 350,

Doubting how far irregular boldness had

Provoked just wrath. Argalia thus unclad

Amazement's dark disguise: — 'To you that awe

This court ' (with that kneels to Pharonnida)

' I now for mercy flee, that scorn to run

From my own doom, so I might have begun

The doubtful task alone ; but here to leave

My friend, from whom your justice did receive

This bold affront, in danger, is a crime

That not approaching death, which all my time 360

Too little for repentance calls, can be

A just excuse for ; let me then set free

His person with your doubts, and joined to those

What both their varied stories may compose. —

' For what this noble lord, whose goodness we
First found in needful hospitality.
From him hath differed in, impute it not
To cither's error ; both reports begot
From such mistakes, as nature made to be
The careful issues of necessity : 370

That fatal difference, whose vestigia stood.
When we Epirus left, fresh filled with blood, .
p By league so lately with Calabria made.
Being composed, that fame did not invade
Our ears with the report, till we had been
By a disguise secured ; which, shaded in.
Whilst fearing danger, we ne'er thought to leave
Till safe at home. Thus, what did first deceive
Kind Aminander, you have heard ; and now.
Without the stain of boasting, must allow 580

Me leave to tell you, that we there have friends,
On whom the burthen of a state depends.'

When, to the court's just wonder, thus far he,
With such unshaken confidence as we
Pray on the expanded wings of faith, displayed
His soul's integrity, the royal maid.
Whom a repented destiny had made
His pitying judge, endeavouring to evade
That doom's harsh rigour, grants him a reprieve,
Till thrice the sun, returning to relieve 390

352 wrath] I have tried various punctuations for this passage, but it defies all. The
sense is clear enough, however. 379 Aminander] i. e. Ariamnes. 383 court's]

Orig. ' court,' not quite impossibly.

(45)

William Chajnherlayiie [book i

Night's drooping sentinels, had circled in

So many days. In which short time, to win

The fair advantage of discovering truth,

Old Aminander, active as fresh youth

In all attempts of charity, to know

From what black spring those troubled streams did flow,

Hastes toward Andremon's; whilst Pharonnida,

Active as he toward all whence she might draw

A consequence of hope, lays speedy hold

On this design : — Commissioned to unfold 400

Their master's love toward her, there long had been

Ambassadors from the Epirot in

Her father's court ; whose message, though it might

Wear love's pure robes, yet, in her reason's light,

Seems so much stained with policy, that all

Those blessings, which the wise foresaw to fall
As influence from that conjunction, she
Opposes as her stars' malignity.

Proud of this new command, with such a haste
As those that fear more slow delays may waste 410

Their precious time, the ambassadors attain
The princess' court ; where come, though hoped in vain,
Only expect a speedy audience ; they.
That frustrated, are soon taught to betray
More powerful passions : — the first glance o' the eye
They on the prisoners cast, kind sympathy
Proclaimed, — love gave no leave for time to rust
Their memories — both the old lords durst trust
Eyes dimmed with tears, whilst their embraces give
A sad assurance there did only live 420

Their last and best of comforts. Which beheld
By those from whom kind pity had expelled
AH thoughts of the vindictive law, they strive
By all the power of rhetoric to drive
Those sad storms over ; which good office done.
They each inform the prince, which was the son
Of nature, which adoption ; withal tell how.
By their persuasions moved, they did allow
Them time to travel, which disasters had

So long protracted ; for some years, with sad 4301

And doubtful hopes, they had in vain expected
Their wished return, but that their stars directed
Their course so ill, as now near home to be
O'ertaken with so sad a destiny. —
Since such a sorrow could be cured by none,
They sadly crave the time to mourn alone.

THE END OF THE THIRD C.\NTO.

398 draw] In this rhyme, which is common, it is more likely that 'draw' wa?
pronounced ' dra' ' than that 'Pharonnida' became ' Pharonnidazc'
412 hoped] Orig. 'hope.'

(4O

Canto IV] Pharo7i7tida

Canto IV

THE ARGUMENT

At length the veil from the deluded law,

With active care by Aminander took,
The startled court in their own error saw

How lovely truth did in Argalia look.

The story of our youth discovered, he,

His merits yet in higher pitch to raise,
Morea's prince doth from a danger free.

Which unto death his noblest lords betrays.

That last sad night, the rigid law did give

The late reprieved Argalia leave to live,

Was now, wrapt in her own obscurity,

Stolen from the stage of time, when light, got free

From his nocturnal prison, summons all

Almanzor's friends to see the longed-for fall

Of the envied stranger ; whose last hour was now

So near arrived, faint hope could not allow

So much of comfort to his powerful'st friend

As told her fears — she longer might suspend lo

His fatal doom. Mournful attendants on

That serene sufferer, all his friends are gone

Unto the sable scaffold that's ordained,

By the decree of justice, to be stained

With guiltless blood ; all sunk in grief — but she,

Who by inevitable destiny

Doomed him to death, most deep. Dull sorrow reigns

In her triumphant ; sad and alone remains

She in a room, whose window's prospect led

Her eye to the scaffold, whither, from the bed 20

Where sorrow first had cast her, she did oft

Repair to see him ; but her passion's soft

Temper, soon melting into tears, denies

Her soul a passage through o'erflowing eyes.

Often she would in vain expostulate

With those two subtle sophisters that sate

Clothed in the robes of fancy, but they still

O'erthrow her weaker arguments, and fill

Her breast with love and wonder ; passion gave

Such fierce assaults, no virgin vow could save 30

Her heart's surrender — she must love and lose

In one sad hour ; thus grief doth oft infuse

Those bitter pills, where hidden poisons dwell,

In the smooth pleasures of sweet oxymel.

Argalia's friends, that did this minute use
As if the last of mortal interviews,

28 o'erthrow] Orig. ' o'erthrew.'

(47)

TVtlliam Chamber layne [book i

Had now reversed their eyes, expecting nought

But that stroke's fall, whose fatal speed had brought

Him to eternal rest ; when by a loud

And busy tumult, as if death, grown proud, 40

Expected triumphs, to divert their sight.

They from the scaffold's lofty station might,

Within the reach of an exalted voice,

Behold a troop, who (as the leader's choice,

Confined to strait necessity, had there

Enrolled all comers, if of strength to bear

Offensive arms) did first appear to be

Some tumult drest in the variety

Of sudden rage : for here come headlong in

A herd of clowns, armed as they then had been 50

From labour called ; near them, well ordered ride

(As greatness strove no longer to divide

Societies) some youths, brave as they had

Been in the spoils of conquered nations clad.

This sudden object, first obstructing all
Their court's proceedings, prompts their doubts to call
Their absent prince ; who, being too wise for fear's
Uncertain fictions, with such speed appears
As checks the tumult ; when, to tell them who
Had from their homes the frighted people drew, 6o

I' the van of a well-ordered troop rides forth
Loved Aminander, whose unquestioned worth,
That strong attractive of the people's love,
Expunged suspicion : whilst his troops did move
With a commanded slowness to inform
The expecting prince^ from whence this sudden storm
Contracted clouds, he to his view presents
Andremon's friends ; whose looks— the sad contents
Of sorrow, with a silent oratory
Beg pity, whilst he thus relates their story. — 70

'That we, great prince, we, whom a loyal fear
To strict obedience prompts, dare thus appear
Before your sacred person, were a sin
Mercy would blush to own, had we not been
Forced to offensive arms, by such a cause
As tore the sceptre-regulated laws
Forth of your royal hand, to vindicate
This suffering stranger, whom a subtle hate.
Not solemn law, pursued. I here have brought
Such witnesses as have their knowledge bought 80

At the expense of all their joy, whom I
Found so confined, as if their misery
^\'ere in their houses sepulchred ; a sad
And general sorrow in one dress had clad
So many, that their only sight did prove —
Lost virtue caused such universal love.

(48)

Canto IV] Pharonnida

To free this noble youth, whose valour lent

A late protection to this innocent

But injured maid, they, unconstrained, had here

Implored your aid, had not too just a fear, 90

Caused from some troops, raised by a wronged pretence

Of your commands, checked their intelligence,

With such illegal violence that I

Had shared their sufferings, if not rescued by

These following friends, whose rude conjunction shows

It was no studied plot did first compose

So loose a body. But, lest it appear

In me like envy, should I strive to clear

This doubtful story, here are those, (with that

Calls forth Andremon's friends), instructed at 100

The dearest price, which, by discovering truth.

Will not alone rescue this noble youth

From falling ruin — but, lest he retreat

Into rebellion, force before this seat

A man, whose power the people thought had been

To punish vice, not propagate a sin.'

Having thus far past toward discovery, here
The grave lord ceased : and, that truth might appear
From its first fair original, to her

Whose virtue. Heaven's affected messenger, no

Commands attention, the more horrid part
Of his relation leaves. And here, vain Art,
Look on and envy, to behold how far
Thy strict rules (which our youth's afflictions are)
Nature transcends, in a discourse which she,
With all the flowers of virgin modesty,
Not weeds of rhetoric, strewed; to hear her miss,
Or put a blush for a parenthesis.
In the relating that uncivil strife,

Which her sad subject was — so near the life 120

Limns lovely virtue, that, that copy whence
Art took those graces, she doth since dispense
T' the best of women. Fair Pharonnida,
Taught by that sympathy, which first did draw
Those lovely transcripts of herself, although
Varied as much as humble flowers, that grow
Dispersed in shady deserts, are from those
That nice art in enamelled gardens shows ;
Yet, like bright planets which communicate
To earth their influence, from exalted state 130

She now descends to cherish virtue in
Those lovely nymphs, whose beauties, though they'd been
Yet in the country clouded from report,
Soon grow the praise or envy of the court.

Emboldened by that gracious favour shown
To these fair nymphs, to prosecute their own

( 49 ) E

William Chamber layne [book i

Most just complaints, Andremon's wretched friends,

With prayers perceive that mercy which descends.

O'er all their sufferings, on the expanded wings

Of nol)le pity ; whose fair hand first brings 140

Argalia from the sable scaffold, to

Meet those rewards to his high merits due,

Not only in what death's dark progress stays.

But life's best joy— an universal praise

Acquired from just desert. Next she applies

Herself to those poor burthened souls, whose eyes

Look e'en on comforts through their tears, the dead

Andremon's mourners ; whose lost joy, though fled

Yox ever from those wintring regions, yet

As much received as sorrow would permit 150

Souls so opprest ; the splendid court they leave

With thankful prayers. And now called to receive

His sin's reward Almanzor is, whose shame,

Its black attendant, when b' his hated name

He'd oft been summoned, prompts him to deny

That legal call ; which being an act too high

For a depending power to patronise.

To shun feared justice' public doom, he flies

His prince's mandates, an affront that sent

Him to 's desert — perpetual banishment. 160

This comet lost in clouds of infamy,
The court, which had too long been burthened by
His injured power, with praises entertain
Impartial justice ; whilst to call again
Those pleasures which had in this interval
Of law been lost, the prince, convening all
That shared those sufferings, as the centre whence
Joy spread itself t' the court's circumference,
Crowns all their wishes, which, by that bright star
In honour's sphere — the auspicious princess, are 170

Exalted to their highest orbs. Her love
Unto Argalia, though it yet must move
As an unnoted constellation, here
Begins its era, which, that 't might appear
AV'ithout suspicion, she disguises in
The public joy. Which, 'mongst those that had been
His serious mourners, to participate,
That kind Epirot, who first taught his fate
The way to glory, comes ; to whom he now
Was on those knees merit had taught to bow, 180

With as much humble reverence as if all
The weights of nature made those burthens fall
A sacrifice to love, fixed to implore
Its constant progress, but he needs no more

178 Epirot] Observe the jumble with 'Calabrian,' 1. 189.
(50)

Canto IV] Pharo7i7tida

For confirmation, since his friend could move
But the Hke joy, where nature taught to love.

Passion's encounter, which too high to last,
Into a calm of thankful prayers being past.
The prince from the Calabrian seeks to know
By what collateral streams he came to owe 190

Such love unto a stranger — one that stood
Removed from him i' the magnetism of blood ;
Whom thus the lord resolves :— ' When blooming in
The pride of youth, whose varied scenes did win
Time on the morning of my days, a while,
To taste the pleasures of a summer's smile,
I left the court's tumultuous noise and spent
Some happy time blest with retired content,
In the calm country, where Art's curious hand,
As centre to a spacious round of land, 200

Had placed a palace, in whose lovely dress,
The city might admire the wilderness ;
Yet, though that ill civility was in
Her marble circle. Nature's hand had been
As liberal to the neighbouring fields, and deckt
Each rural nymph as gaudy, till neglect
Or slovenly necessity had drawn
Her canvass furrows o'er their vales of lawn.

'Near this fair seat, fringed with an ancient wood,
A fertile valley lay, where scattered stood 210

Some homely cottages, the happy seats
Of labouring swains, whose careful toil completes
Their wishes in obtaining so much wealth
To conquer dire necessity ; firm health.
Calm thoughts, sound, sleeps, unstarted innocence,
Softened their beds, and, when roused up from thence,
Suppled their limbs for labour. Amongst these.
My loved Argalia, (for till fate shall please
His dim stars to uncurtain, and salute

His better fortune with each attribute 220

Due to a nobler birth, his name must be
Contracted into that stenography)
Life's scenes began, amongst his fellows that
There first drew breath, being true heirs to what,
Whilst all his stars were retrograde and dim,
Unlucky fortune but adopted him.

' Whilst there residing, I had oft beheld
The active boy, whose childhood's bud excelled
More full-blown youths, gleaning the scattered locks
Of new-shorn fields amongst the half-clad flocks 230

Of their unripe but healthful issue ; by
Which labour tired, sometimes I see them try
The strength of their scarce twisted limbs, and run
A short breathed course; whose swift contention done,

( 51 ) E 2

JVilliafTi Chamber iayne [book i

And he (as in each other active sport)

With victory crowned, they make their next resort

T' the spring's cheap bounties ; but what did of all

His first attempts give the most powerful call

Both to my love and wonder was, what chanced

From one rare act : — The morning had advanced 240

Her tempting beauties to assure success

To these young huntsmen, who, with labour less

Made by the pleasure of their journey, had

The forest reached, where, with their limbs unclad

For the pursuit, they follow beasts that might

Abroad be recreation, and, when night

Summoned them home, the welcomest supply

Both to their own and parents' quality.

An angry boar, chafed with a morning's chase.

And now near spent, was come so near the place, 250

Where, though secured, on the stupendous height

Of a vast rock they stood, that now no flight

Could promise safety ; that wild rage, which sent

Him from the dogs, his following foes, is spent

In the pursuit of them ; which, to my grief,

Had suffered ere we could have lent relief.

Had not Argalia, e'en when danger drew

So near as death, turned on the beast, and threw

His happy javelin ; whose well-guided aim.

Although success it knew not how to claim 260

From strength, yet is so much assisted by

Fortune, that, what before had scorned to die

By all our power when contending in

Nice art, the honour of that day to win

To him alone, falls by that fqeble stroke

From all his speed ; which seen, he, to provoke

His hastier death, seconds those wounds which in

Their safety are by those with terror seen.

That had escaped the danger, and e'en by

Us that pursued with such amaze, that I, 270

Who had before observed those rays of w'orth

Obscured in clouds, here let my love break forth

In useful action, such as from that low

Condition brought him where I might bestow

On him what art required, to perfect that

Rare piece of nature which we wondered at.

From those whom I, 'mongst others, thought to be

Such whose affection the proximity

Of nature claimed, with a regret that showed

Their poverty unwillingly bestowed 280

238 give the most powerful call] This is Singer's mending of the orig. repetition
' did give the powerful call.'

280 bestowed] This bewildering Chamberlaynean construction seems = ' O/ihosefrom
whom I, thirtking (hon to be, &c., had procured.' But in this as in hundreds of future

(5O

Canto IV] Pharo727iicia

So loved a jewel, had procured the youth —
His foster father, loath to waive a truth
That in the progress of his fate might be
Of high account, discovers unto me
The world's mistake concerning him, and thus
Relates his story : — " He was brought to us,
(Quoth the good man) some ten years since, by two
Who (could men be discovered to the view
Of knowledge by their habits) seemed but such
As Fortune's narrow hand had gave not much 290

More than necessity requires to be
Enjoyed of every man, whom life makes free
Of Nature's city ; though their bounty showed
To our dim judgements, that they only owed
Mischance for those coarse habits, which disguised
What once the world at higher rates had prized.
I' the worst extreme of time, about the birth
O' the sluggish morning, when the crusted earth
Was tinselled o'er with frost, and each sprig clad
With winter's wool, I, whom cross Fortune had 300

Destined to early labours, being abroad,
Met two benighted men, far from the road,
Wandering alone ; no skilful guide their way
Directing in that infancy of day,
But the faint beams of glimmering candles, that
Shone from our lowly cottage windows, at
Which marks they steered their course : one of them bore
This boy, an infant then, which knew no more
Than Nature's untrod paths. These, having spied
Me through the morning's mists, glad of a guide, 31c

;, Though to a place whose superficial view
Lent small hopes of relief, went with me to
Mine own poor home; where, with such coarse cheap fare
As must content us that but eat to bear
The burthens of a life, refreshed, they take
A short repose ; then, being to forsake
Their new-found host, desire with us to leave
The child, till time should some few days bereave
Of the habiliments of light. We stood

Not long to pari, but, willing to do good 320

To strangers so distressed, were never by
Our poverty once tempted to deny.
My wife, being then a nurse, upon her takes
The pretty charge, and with our own son makes
Him fellow-commoner at the full breast,
And partner of the cradle's quiet rest.
Now to depart, one that did seem to have
The near'st relation to the infant gave

instances the reader must take his own choice of several doubtfully possible inter-
pretations.

(53)

Williafn Chamber layne [book i

Him first this jewel, (at which word they showed

One which upon ArgaUa was bestowed 330

By those that left him), then, that we might be

Not straitened by our former poverty,

Leaves us some gold, by which we since have been

Enabled to maintain him, though not in

That equipage, which we presume unto

His birth (although to us unknown) is due.

This done, with eyes that lost their light in tears.

They take their leaves ; since when, those days to years

Are grown, in which we did again expect

They should return ; but whether 't be neglect 340

Or else impossibility detain

Them from his sight, our care hath sought in vain."

' Having thus plainly heard as much as Fate
Had yet of him discovered, I, that late
Desired him for his own, now for the sake
Of 's friends, (whate'er they were), resolved to take
Him from that barren rudeness, and transplant
So choice a slip where he might know no want
Of education ; with some labour, I

Having obtained him, till virility 350

Rendered him fit for nobler action, stayed
Him always with me, when my love obeyed
His reason ; and then, in the quest of what
Confined domestics do but stumble at —
Exotic knowledge, with this noble youth.
To whom his love grew linked, like spotless truth
To perfect virtue, — sent him to pursue
His wished design, from whence this interview
First took its fatal rise : ' — And here the lord.
That a more full discovery might afford 360

Them yet more wonder, shows the jewel to
Sparta's pleased prince ; at whose most serious view
The skilfullest lapidaries, judging it,
Both for its worth and beauty, only fit
To sparkle in the glorious cabinet
Of some great queen, such value on it set,
That all conclude the owner of 't must be
Some falling star, i' the night of royalty,
From honour's sphere, the glories of a crown
To vaunt, the centre of our fears, dropt down. 370

And now the court, whose brightest splendour in
These fatal changes long eclipsed had been,
Resumes its lustre ; which to elevate.
With all the pleasures of a prosperous state,
For that contracted span of time designed
For ih' prince's stay, fancies are racked to find

367 owner] Orig. 'honour,' a strange mistake elsewhere repeated.

(54)

Canto IV] Pharofinida

New forms of mirth, such whose invention might

Inform the ear, whilst they the eye deh'ght.

All which, whilst to the less concerned they lent

A flux of joy, yet lost their first intent — 380

To please the princess ; who from mirth did move

Eccentrical, since first inflamed with love,

Which did soon from her fancy's embryon grow

A large-limbed tyrant ; when, prepared to go.

She sees Argalia, who, engaged to attend

The ambassadors, here soon put an end

To what, e'en from those unto love unkind.

Must now force tears ere it a period find.

That time expired — ordained to terminate
Her father's stay, and so that splendid state 390

That yet adorned the princess' court, to show
How much he did for 's frontiers' safety owe
Unto those moving citadels — a fleet,
His mandates call each squadron for to meet
Within Lepanto, in whose harbours lay
Those ships that were ordained for a convey
To the Calabrian's messengers ; who now,
With all that love or honour could allow
To noble strangers, being attended by

The brightest glories of two courts, draw nigh 400

A royal fleet, whose glittering streamers lent
Dull waves the beauties of a firmament :
Amongst which numbers, one, too stately far
For rough encounters of defacing war.
Whose gilded masts their crimson sails had spread
In silken flakes, advanced her stately head.
High as where clouds condense, where a light stands,
Took for a comet by far distant lands;
For cabins — where the imprisoned passenger
Wants air to breathe, — she 's stored with rooms that were 410
So fair without, and yet so large within,
A Persian sophi might have revelled in
Their spacious hulks. To this, Molarchus, he
Whom greatness, joined to know ability,
Had made Sicilia's admiral, invites
The royal train ; where, with whate'er delights
(Although invention all her stock had spent)
Could be upon that liquid element
Prepared their welcome; whilst, at every bowl
A health inters, the full-mouthed cannons troul 420

A peal of thunder, which in white waves drowned,
The softer trumpets do their dirges sound.

Now in the full career of mirth, whilst all
Their thoughts in perpendiculars did fall

414 know] One conjectures 'known,' but the other is more like our author.
(55)

Williajn Chainberlayjie [book i

From honours zenith, none incurvated

With common cares — parents that might have bred

A sly suspicion ; whilst neglective mirth

Keeps all within, from their deep bed of earth

Molarchus hoist his anchors, whilst that all

The rest lay still, expecting when his call 430

Commands their service : but when they beheld

His spread sails with a nimble gale were swelled ;

An oppressed slave, which lay at rest before,

Was, with stretched limbs, tugging his finny oar ;

Conceiving it but done to show the prince

That galley's swiftness, let that thought convince

Fear's weak suggestions, and, invited by

Their tempting mirth, still safe at anchor lie.

But now, w^hen they not only saw the night
Draw sadly on, but what did more affright 440

Their loyal souls— the distant vessel, by
Doubling a cape, lost to the sharpest eye,
For hateful treason taxing their mistake,
With anchors cut and sails spread wide they make
The lashed waves roar. Whilst those enclosed within
The galley, by her unknown speed had been
Far more deceived — -being so far conveyed,
Ere care arrives to tell them they're betrayed
Through mirth's neglective guards. Who now, in haste
With anger raised, in vain those flames did waste 450

In wild attempts to force a passage to
The open decks, whither before withdrew
Molarchus was ; who now prepared to give
That treason birth, whose hated name must live
In bloody lines of infamy. Before
They could expect it, opening wide the door
That led them forth, the noble captives fly
To seek revenge ; but, being encountered by
An armed crew, so fierce a fight begin.

That night's black mantle ne'er was lined within 460

With aught more horrid ; in which bloody fray,
The subtle traitor, valiant to betray —
Though abject else, unnoted, seizing on
The unguarded princess, from their rage is gone,
Through night's black mask, with that rich prize into
A boat, that, placed for that design, was drew
Near to the galley; whose best wealth being now
Thus made their own, no more they study how
To save the rest — all which for death designed.
The conquered rebels soon their safety find 470

429 hoist] Singer ' hoists,' but it is no doubt preterite.

434 oar] Orig. and Singer ' ore,' which must be wrong. In anybody but Ciiamber-
laync we should expect '^«f/ oppressed slaves' with no 'was.'

(56)

Canto IV] Pharonnida

From other boats, but first, that all but she

O' the royal train secured by death might be.

So large a leak in the brave vessel make,

That thence her womb soon too much weight did take

For her vast bulk to wield, which, sinking now,

No safety to her royal guests allow.

The ship thus lost, and now no throne but waves
Left the Sicilian prince, just Heaven thus saves
His sacred person : — Amongst those that fought
For timely safety, nimble strength had brought 480

Argalia and his following friend so near
One of the boats, in which, secured from fear,
The rebels sailed, that now they both had took
A hold so sure, that, though their foes forsook
Their oars to hinder 't, spite of all their force,
Argalia enters ; which, a sad divorce
From life, as he by strength attempts to rise
From falling wounds, unhappily denies
The valiant Aphron ; who, by death betrayed
From time and strength, had now left none to aid 490

His friend, but those attending virtues, that,
Ne'er more than now, for th' world to wonder at,
Brave trophies built. With such a sudden rage.
As all his foes did to defence engage,
Those bolder souls that durst resist, he had
From their disordered robes of flesh unclad ;
Which horrid sight forced the more fearful to
Such swift submission, that, ere fear outgrew
His hope, assisted by that strength which bought
Their lives' reprieve, their oars reversed had brought 500

Him back t' the place, in which the guilty flood
Was stained with fair Sicilia's noblest blood.

Assisted by those silver streams of light
The full-faced moon shot through the swarthy night
On the smooth sea, he first his course directs
Toward one, whose robes, studded with gems, reflects
Those feeble rays, like new-fallen stars ; he there
Finds Sparta's prince, then sinking from the sphere
Of mortal greatness in the boundless deep,
To calm life's cares in an eternal sleep. 510

From unexpected death, the grave's most grim
And ghastly tyrant, having rescued him —
With as much speed, as grief's distractions, joined
To night's confusion, could give leave, to find
More friends, before that all were swallowed by
The sea, he hastes ; when, being by chance brought nigh
Dead Aphron's father, to be partner in
Their cares, who, as they only saved had been

475 bulk] Singer, as elsewhere, arbitrarily prints ' Aulk,' which is possible but by no
means necessary.

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William Chamber lay7ie [book i

To mourn the rest, he from the rude sea saves

Him, to be drowned in sorrow's sable waves. 520

Now in the quest of that deserving lord.
Whose goodness did to 's infancy afford
Life's best of comforts — education, he.
To balk that needless diligence, might see
At one large draught the wide waves swallow all
Who vainly did till that sad minute call
To Heaven for help ; which dismal sight, beheld
By those that saved by accident, expelled
Their own just fears — for them to entertain
As just a grief. Their needful time in vain 530

They spend no longer in their search, but, though
Unwieldy grief yet made their motion slow,
Haste from that horrid place, where each must leave
Such valued friends. Numbers that did receive
Their blood, descended to nobility,

From th' royal spring, here the grieved prince might see
Interred in the ocean ; the Epirot lord,
His late found son, whom love could scarce afford
A minute's absence ; nor 's Argalia less

Engaged to grief — to leave whom the distress 540

Of's youth relieved; but what from each of these
Borrowed some streams of sorrow, to appease
A grief which since so many floods hath cost —
The noble Aminander here was lost.

Rowed with such speed as their desire, joined to
That fear which from the conquered rebels drew
A swift obedience, being conducted by
A friendly light, their boat is now drawn nigh
A rocky island ; in whose harbour they

Found where the boat that had outsailed them lay, 550

Drawn near the shore : but all the passengers
Being gone, the sight of that alone confers
No other comfort than to inform them that
The ravished princess had been landed at
That port ; which by their sailors they are told
Belongs unto a castle, kept to hold
That island, though but one unnoted town,
T' the scarce known laws of the Sicilian crown.

This heard b' the prince, who formerly had known
That castle's strength, being vexed (although his own) 560
That now 'twas such ; leaving the vessel, they,
Protected by night's heaviest shades, convey
Themselves into a neighbouring cottage, where
The prince, who now externally did bear
No forms of greatness, left to his repose.
Argalia, whilst night's shadows yet did close

558 Sicilian] i. e. Morcaii.

(58)

Canto IV] Pharo?intda

Discovering eyes, hastes back t' the harbour ; whence,

To give the royal fleet intelligence

O' the king's distress, he sends forth all but one.

Whose stoutness had best made his valour known, 570

Of those which, conquered by his sword, are now

By bounty made too much his own, to allow

E'en slight suspicion room. This being done,

That valour, though with love 'twere winged, might run

On no rash precipice, assisted by

That skilful seaman, from some ships that lie

Neglected, 'cause by time decayed, he takes

So much o' the tackling, as of that he makes

Ladders of length sufficient to ascend

The castle walls ; which, having to defend 580

Them nought but slave security, is done

With so much ease, that what 's so well begun

They boldly second, and first entering in

A tower, (which had b' the prudent founder been

Built to command the haven's mouth, which lay

Too low for th' castle), where, when come, all they

Found to resist, is one poor sentry, bound

In sleep, which soon by death is made more sound.

To lodge the prince in that safe place, before
His active valour yet attempted more, 590

The gate 's secured that led t' the castle. He,
Protected by that night's obscurity.
By a concealed small sally-port is to
Its strength soon brought ; when now prepared to view
More dreadful dangers, in such habit clad,
As by the out-guard's easy error had,
Soon as a soldier, gave him entrance, come
T' the hall he is : there being informed by some
O' the drowsy guards, where his pretended speed
Might find Molarchus, to perform a deed, 600

That future ages (if that honour's fire
Lose not its light), shall worthily admire.
His valour hastes : — Within a room, — whose pride
Of art, though great, was far more glorified
By that bright lustre the spectators saw.
Through sorrow's clouds, in fair Pharonnida, —
He finds the impious villain, heightened in
His late success to such rude acts of sin.
That servile baseness, the low distance whence
He used to look, grew saucy impudence. 6io

Inflamed Argalia, who at once beholds
Objects to which the soul enlarged unfolds
Its passions in the various characters
Of love and anger, now no more defers
The execution of his rage, but in
So swift a death, as if his hand had been

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Williajfi Cha7nberlay7ie [book i

Guided by lightning, to Molarchus sent

His life's discharge ; which, with astonishment,

Great as if by their evil angels all

Their sins had been displayed, did wildly fall (120

Upon his followers ; whom, ere haste could save.

Or strength resist, Argalia's sword had gave

Such sudden deaths, that, whilst amazements reigned

O'er all, he from the heedless tumult gained

That glorious prize— the royal lady ; who.

In all assaults of fears, not lost unto

Her own clear judgement, as a blessing sent

From Heaven, (whilst her base foes confusion lent

That action safety), follows that brave friend.

Whose sword redeemed her, till her journey's end, 630

Through threatening dangers, brought her to that place

"Where, with such passion as kind wives embrace

Husbands returned from bondage, she is by

Her father welcomed into liberty.

Thus rescued, whilst exalted rumours swelled
To such confusion as from sense expelled
Reason's safe conduct, whilst each soldier leaves
His former charge, fear's pale disease receives
This paroxysm : — The fleet, which yet had in
A doubtful quest of their surprised prince been, 640

Directed hither with the new-born day.
Their streamers round the citadel display ;
Which seen by them that, being deluded by
The dead Molarchus, to his treachery
Had joined their strength, guilt, the original
Of shame, did to defend the platform call
Their bold endeavour ; but, when finding it
Too strongly manned for undermining wit
Or open strength to force, despairing to

lie long secure, prompted by fear, they threw 650

Themselves on mercy ; which calm grace, among
Heaven's other blessings, whilst it leads along
The prince toward victory, made his conquest seem —
Such as came not to punish, but redeem.

THE END OF THE FOURTH CANTO.

(60)

Canto V] Pharonnida

Canto V

THE ARGUMENT

The grateful prince, to show how much he loved

This noble youth, whose merit's just reward
Too great for less abilities had proved,

Makes him commander of his daughter's guard.

Where seated in the most benign aspect

Kind love could grant to fair Pharonnida,
A sacred vision doth her hopes detect.

Whose waking joys his absence doth withdraw.

Freed from those dangers which this bold attempt

Made justly feared, whilst joy did yet exempt

Those cares, which, when by time concocted, shall

His kingdom to a general mourning call,

Sparta's pleased prince, with all the attributes

E'er gratitude learned from desert, salutes

That noble youth, which, even when hope was spent,

Kind Heaven had made his safety's instrument.

By acts of such heroic virtue, that,

Whilst all the less concerned are wondering at, lo

The grateful prince in all the noble ways

Of honour, lasting as his life, repays.

By whose example the fair princess taught,

To shadow love (her soul's most perfect draught)

In friendship's veil, so free a welcome gave

The worthy stranger, that all prayer durst crave,

Though sacrificed in zeal's most perfect fire,

Seemed now from Heaven dropt on his pleased desire.

Some days spent here, whilst justice vainly sought
That treason's root, whose base production, brought 20

Unto an unexpected period in
Molarchus' death, with him had buried been
To future knowledge — all confessions, though
In torments they extracted were, bestow
Upon their knowledge, being the imperfect shade
Of supposition, which too weak to invade
E'en those whose doubtful loyalty looked dim,
The prudent prince, burying mistrust with him,
Leaving the island with 's triumphant fleet,
On the Sicilian shore prepares to meet 30

That joy in triumph which, a blessing brought,
His loyal subjects with their prayers had sought.

To cure those hot distemperatures, which in
His absence had the court's quotidian been.
The princess' guard (as being an honour due
To noble valour) having left unto

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Willia^n Chamber layne [book i

That worthy stranger, whose victorious hand

Declared a soul created for command,

The prince departs from his loved daughter's court

To joyful Corinth ; where, though the resort 40

Of such as by their service strove to express

An uncorrupted loyalty made less

That mourning, which the kingdom's general loss

Claimed from all hearts, yet, like a sable cross.

Which amongst trophies noble conquerors bear,

All did some signs o' the public sorrow wear.

But leaving these to rectify that state
This fever shook, return to whom we late
Left gently calmed — that happy pair, which in
Desire, the shady porch of love, begin 50

That lasting progress, which ere ended shall
So oft their fate to strong assistance call.
Some months in happy free delights — before
Passion got strength enough to dictate more
Than Reason could write fair — they'd spent ; in which
Slumber of fancy, popular love grown rich.
Soon becomes factious, and engages all
The powers of Nature to procure the fall
Of the soul's lawful sovereign. Either, in
Each action of the other's, did begin 60

To place an adoration — she doth see
Whate'er he doth, as shining majesty
Beneath a cloud, or books, where Heaven transfers
Their oracles in unknown characters ;
Tike gold yet unrefined, or the adamant
Wrapt up in earth, he only seemed to want
Knowledge of worth. Her actions in his sight
Appear like fire's feigned element, with light.
But not destruction, armed ; like the fair sun.
When through a crystal aqueduct he 'th run 70

His piercing beams, until grown temperate by
That cooling medium, through humility.
Shuns her majestic worth. In cither's eyes,
The other seemed to wear such a disguise
As poets clothed their wandering gods in, when
In forms disguised they here conversed with men.

But long this conflict of their passions, ere
Resisted, lasts not; when, disdained to bear
Those leaden fetters, the great princess tries
To quench that fire i' the embryo, ere it rise 8c

To unresisted blazes — but in vain;
What her tears smother are by sighs again
Blown into flames, such as, since not to be
By aught extinguished, her sweet modesty
Strives to conceal, nor did them more betray
Than by such fugitives as stole away

(6.)

Canto V] Pharoitfiida

Through her fair eyes, those sally-ports of love,

From her besieged heart, now like to prove

(Had not her honour called the act unjust)

So feeble to betray her soul's best trust ; 90

Her flames being not such as each vulgar breast

Feels in the fires of fancy, when oppressed

With gloomy discontents ; her bright stars sate

Enthroned so high, that, like the bays of Fate,

It stopped the current of the stream, and, to

The sea of honour, love's fresh rivers drew.

Thus whilst the royal eaglet doth, i' the high
Sublimer region of bright majesty.
Upon affection's wings still hover, yet.

Loath to descend, on th' humble earth doth sit ; 100

Her worthy lover, like that amorous vine.
When crawling o'er the weeds, it strives to twine
Embraces with the elm, he stands ; whilst she
Desires to bend, but, like that love-sick tree.
By greatness is denied. He that ne'er knew
A swelling tumour of conceit, nor flew,
Upon the waxen wings of vain ambition,
A thought above his own obscure condition.
Thinks that the princess, by her large respect
Conferred on him, but kindly doth reflect 110

His father's beams ; and, with a reverent zeal
Sees those descending rays, that did reveal
Love's embassies, transported on the quick
Wings of that heart-o'ercoming rhetoric,
Instructing that the weakness of his eye,
Dazzled with beams of shining majesty,
Might, for too boldly gazing on a sight
So full of glory, be deprived of light —
Stifling his fancy, till it turned the air

That fanned his heart to flames, which pale despair 120

Chilled into ice soon as he went about
With them to breathe a storm of passion out.

But vain are all these fears — his eagle sight
Is born to gaze upon no lesser light
Than that from whence all other beauties in
The same sphere borrow theirs ; he else had been
Degenerate from that royal eyrie whence
He first did spring, although he fell from thence
Unfledged, the growing pinions of his fame
Wanting the purple tincture of his name 130

And titles — both unknown ; yet shall he fly,
On his own merit's strength, a pitch as high.
Though not so boldly claimed, and such as shall
Enhance the blessing, when the dull mists fall

95 It] Singer, again arbitrarily, ' They.' For ' bays ' in this sense see inf. II. v. 174.

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William Chamber lay 72e [book i

From truth's benighted eyes, whispering in

His soul's pleased ear — her passion did begin

Whilst all the constellations of her fate,

Fixed in the zenith of bright honour, sate ;

Whilst his, depressed by adverse fortune, in

Their nadir lay — even to his hopes unseen. 140

Whilst thus enthean fire did lie concealed
With different curtains, lest, by being revealed,
Cross fate, which could not quench it, should to death
Scorch all their hopes, burned in the angry breath
Of her incensed father— whilst the fair
Pharonnida was striving to repair
The wakeful ruins of the day, within
Her bed, whose down of late by love had been
Converted into thorns, she having paid

The restless tribute of her sorrow, staid 150

To breathe awhile in broken slumbers, such
As with short blasts cool feverish brains ; but much
More was in hers — A strong pathetic dream,
Diverting by enigmas Nature's stream.
Long hovering through the portals of her mind
On vain phantastic wings, at length did find
The glimmerings of obstructed reason, by
A brighter beam of pure divinity
Led into supernatural light, whose rays

As much transcended reason's, as the day's i6o

Dull mortal fires, faith apprehends to be
Beneath the glimmerings of divinity.
Her unimprisoned soul, disrobed of all
Terrestrial thoughts, like its original
In heaven, pure and immaculate, a fit
Companion did for those bright angels sit.
Which the gods made their messengers to bear
This sacred truth, seeming transported where,
Fixed in the flaming centre of the world.
The heart o' the microcosm, 'bout which is hurled 170

The spangled curtains of the sky, within
Whose boundless orbs, the circling planets spin
Those threads of time, upon whose strength rely
The ponderous burthens of mortality.
An adamantine world she sees, more pure,
More glorious far than this, — framed to endure
The shock of dooms-day's darts, in Avhich remains
The better angels of what earth contains,
Placed there to govern all our acts, and be
A medium 'twixt us and eternity. iSo

Hence Nature, from a labyrinth half above,
Half underneath, that sympathetic love,

141 thus] Singer ' this.'

('54)

Canto V] Pharontiida

Which warms the world to generation, sends

On unseen atoms ; each small star attends

Here for his message, which received, is by

Their influence to the astral faculty

That lurks on earth communicated ; hence

Informing Forma sends intelligence

To the material principles of earth —

Her upper garments, Nature's second birth, 190

Upon each side of this large frame^ a gate
Of different use was placed — At one there sate
A sprightly youth, whose angel's form delights
Eyes dimmed with age, whose blandishments invites
Infants i' the womb to court their woe, and be
By his false shape tempted to misery.
Millions of thousands swarm about him, though
Diseases do each minute strive to throw
Them from his presence ; since, being tempted by
His flattering form, all court it, though they lie 200

On beds of thorns to look on 't, saving some
More wretched malcontents, that hither come
With souls so sullen, that, whilst Time invites
Them to his joys, they shun those smooth delights.

This, the world's favourite, had a younger brother
Of different hue, each more unlike the other
Than opposite aspects ; antipathy
Within their breast, though they were forced to be
Almost inseparable, dwelt. This fiend

A passage guarded, which at the other end a 10

O' the spacious- structure stood ; betwixt each gate
Was placed a labyrinth, in whose angles sate
The Vanities of life, attempting to
Stay death's pale harbingers, but that black clew.
Time's dusky girdle. Fate's arithmetic,
Grief's slow-paced snail, Joys more than eagle-quick, —
That chain whose links composed of hours and days, —
Thither at length spite of delay conveys
The slow-paced steps of Time. There always stood
Near him one of the triple sisterhood, 220

Who, with deformity in love, did send
Him troops of servants, hourly to attend
Upon his harsh commands, which he, from all
Society of flesh, without the wall,
Down a dark hill conveyed; at whose foot stood
An ugly lake, black as that horrid flood,
Gods made by men did fear. Myriads of boats
On the dark surface of the water floats,

2i6 Grief's slow-paced snail] Singer has altered this to 'Griefs, slow, snail-paced,'
which, from what follows, an ordinary writer might more probably have written. But
it by no means follows that Chamberlayne did not dehberately write the other.

( 65 ) . F

William Cha^nberlayne [book i

Containing passengers, whose different hue
Tell them that from the walls do trembling view 230

Their course — that there's no age of man to be
Exempted from that powerful tyranny.

A tide, which ne'er shall know reflux, beyond
The baleful stream, unto a gloomy strond,
Circled with black obscurity, conveys
Each passenger, where their torn chain of days
Is in eternity peeked-up. Between
These different gates, the princess having seen
Life's various scenes wrought to a method by
Disposing angels, on a rock more high 240

Than Nature's common surface, she beholds
The mansion house of Fate, which thus unfolds
Its sacred mysteries : — A trine without
A quadrate placed, both those encompassed in
A perfect circle, was its form ; but what
Its matter was — for us to wonder at —
Is undiscovered left ; a tower there stands
At every angle, where Time's fatal hands.
The impartial Parcae, dwell. — I' the first she sees
Clothe, the kindest of the Destinies, 250

From immaterial essences to cull
The seeds of life, and of them frame the wool
For Lachesis to spin ; about her fly
Myriads of souls that yet want flesh to lie
AVarmed with their functions in, whose strength bestows
That power by which man ripe for misery grows.
Her next of objects was that glorious tower,
Where that swift-fingered nymph that spares no hour
From mortal's service, draws the various threads
Of life in several lengths — to weary beds 260

Of age extending some, whilst others in
Their infancy are broke ; some blacked in sin,
Others the favourites of heaven, from whence
Their origin, candid with innocence ;
Some purpled in afflictions, others dyed
In sanguine pleasures ; some in glittering pride,
Spun to adorn the earth, whilst others wear
Rags of deformity ; but knots of care
No thread was wholly freed from. Next to this
Fair glorious tower was placed that black abyss 270

Of dreadful Atropos, the baleful seat
Of death and horror; in each room replete
With lazy damps, loud groans, and the sad sight
Of pale grim ghosts — those terrors of the night.

237 pecked] This odd word (' peeckt ' in orig.) suggests (i) 'peak' in the Shake-
spearean sense of 'peak and pine,' (2) the same in that of 'brought to a point.'
' finished off,' (3) ' picked.' It seems to recur below i^II. v. 383) in ' night-peect,' which
Singer has altered to ' specked,' 250 Clothe] Sic in orig.

(66)

Canto V] Pharo727iida

To this, the last stage that the winding clew
Of life can lead mortality unto,
Fear was the dreadful porter, which let in
All guests sent thither by destructive Sin.
As its firm basis, on all these depends
A lofty pyramid, to which each sends 280

Some gift from Nature's treasury to Fame's
Uncertain hand. The hollow room with names
And empty sounds was only filled, of those
For whom the Destinies 'dained to compose
Their fairest threads ; as if but born to die —
Here all Ephemeras of report did fly
On feeble wings, till, being like to fall.
Some faintly stick upon the slimy wall.
Till the observant antiquary rents

Them thence to live in paper monuments ; 290

In whose records they are preserved to be
The various censures of posterity.
I' the upper room, as favourites to Fate,
There only Poets, rich in fancy sate ;
In that beneath — Historians, whose records
Do themes unto those pregnant wits afford ;
Yet both preparing everlasting bays
To crown their glorious dust, whose happy days
Were here spent well. Beneath these, covered o'er
With dim oblivion's shadows, myriads more, 300

Till dooms-day shall the gaudy world undress,
Lay huddled up in dark forgetfulness.
All which, as objects not of worth to cast
A fixed eye on, the princess' genius past
In heedless haste, until obstructed by
Visions, that thus fixed her soul's wandering eye.
A light, as great as if that dooms-day's flame
Were for a lamp hung in the court of Fame,
Directs her — where on a bright throne there sate
Sicilia's better Genius : her proud state 3'°

(Courted by aU earth's greatest monarchs) by
Three valiant knights supported was, whose high
Merits, disdaining a reward less great.
With equal hopes aimed at the royal seat;
Which since all could not gain, betwixt her three
Fair daughters both her crown and dignity
Is equally bestowed, by giving one
To each of them. When the divided throne
Had on each angle fixed a diadem,
Her vision thus proceeds : — The royal stem 330

284 'dained] Orig. 'dained,' which looks like 'deigned.' But the sense shows that
Chamberlayne must have further shortened the more usual contraction ' 'sdained.'

289 rents] Of course 'rends,' for the sake of rhyme. Chamberlayne interchanges
d and t endings freely, as ' reverenrf' for ' reveren/.'

( 67 ) F 2

William Chatnberlayne [book i

That bore her father's crown, to view first brings

Its golden fruit — a glorious race of kings,

Led by the founder of their fame, their rear

Brought by her father up ; next, those that bear

Epirus' honoured arms, the royal train

Concluding in Zoranza ; this linked chain

Drawn to an end, the princes that had swayed

Argalia's sceptre, fill the scene, till, stayed

By the Epirot's sword, their conquered crown

From aged Gelon's hoary head dropt down 330

At fierce Zoranza's feet. This she beholds

With admiration, whilst hid truth unfolds

Itself in plainer objects : — The distressed

/Etolian prince again appears, but dressed

In a poor pilgrim's weed ; in 's hand he leads

A lovely boy, in whose sweet look she reads

Soft Pity's lectures ; but whilst gazing on

This act, till lost in admiration,

By sudden fate he seemed transformed to what

She last beheld him, only offering at 340

Love's shrine his heart to her Idea. There

Joy had bereaved her slumbers, had not fear

Clouded the glorious dream — A dreadful mist,

Black as the steams of hell, seeming to twist

Its ugly vapours into shades more thick

Than night-engendering damps, had with a quick

But horrid darkness veiled the room ; to augment

Whose terror, a cloud's sulphury bosom, rent

With dreadful thunder-claps, darting a bright

But fearful blaze through the artificial night, 350

Lent her so much use of her eyes — to see

Argalia grovelling in his blood, which she

Had scarce beheld ere the malignant flame

Vanished again. She shrieks, and on his name

Doth passionately call ; but here no sound

Startles her ear but hollow groans, which drowned

Her soul in a cold sweat of fears. Which ended,

A second blaze lends her its light, attended

With objects, whose wild horror did present

Her father's ghost, then seeming to lament 360

Her injured honour. In his company

The slain Laconian's spirit, which, let free

From the dark prison of the cold grave, where

In rusty chains he lay, was come to bear

Her to that sad abode ; but, as she now

Appeared to sink, a golden cloud did bow

From heaven's fair arch, in which Argalia seemed,

Clad in bright armour, sitting, who redeemed

Her from approaching danger ; which being done,

The darkness vanished, and a glorious sun 370

(68)

Canto V] Pha?'07tnic/a

Of welcome light displayed its beams ; by which,

A throne the first resembling, but more rich

In its united glory, to the eye

Presents its lustre, where in majesty.

The angels that attend their better fate

Placed her and brave Argalia. — In which state,

The unbarred portals of her soul let fly

The golden slumber, whose dear memory

Shall live within her noble thoughts, until.

Treading o'er all obstructions, fate fulfil 3B0

These dark predictions, whose obscurity

Must often first her soul's affliction be.

When now the morning's dews — that cool allay
Which cures the fever of the intemperate day, —
Were rarified to air, the princess, to
Improve her joy in private thoughts, withdrew
From burthensome society within
A silent grove's cool shadows — -what had been
Her midnight's joy to recollect. In which
Delightful task, whilst memory did enrich 390

The robes of fancy, to divert the stream
Of thoughts, intentive only on her dream,
Argalia enters, with a speed that showed
He unto some supreme commander owed
That diligence ; but, when arrived so near
As to behold, stopped with a reverent fear.
Lest this intrusion on her privacies
Might ruffle passion, which now floating lies
In a calm stream of thought. He stays till she
By her commands gave fresh activity 400

To his desires, then with a lowly grace.
Yet such to which Pride's haughty sons gave place
For native sweetness, he on 's knee presents
A packet from her father, whose contents,
If love can groan beneath a greater curse
Than desperation, made her sufferings worse
Than fear could represent them — 'twas expressed
In language that not wholly did request.
Nor yet command consent ; only declare

His royal will, and the paternal care 410

He bore his kingdom's safety, which could be
By nought confirmed more than affinity
With the Laconian prince, whose big fame stood
Exalted in a spacious sea of blood,
On honour's highest pyramid. His hand
Had made the triple-headed spot of land
One of her stately promontories bow
Beneath his sword, and with his sceptre now

413 Laconian] This should be ' Epirot,' but Chamberlayne, as the reader has been
warned, uses these appellations almost at random.

( 69 )

Willia^n Chamber lay7te [booki

He at the other reaches ; which, if love

But gently sniile on 's new-born hopes, and prove 420

Propitious as the god of war, his fate

Climbs equal with his wishes. But too late

That slow-paced soldier bent his forces to

Storm that fair virgin citadel, which knew,

Ere his pretences could a parley call.

Beneath what force that royal fort must fall.

Enclosed within this rough lord's letter, she
Received his picture, which informed her he
Wanted dissimulation (that worst part

Of courtship) to put complements of art 430

On his effigies ; his stern brow far more
Glorying i' the scars, than in the crown he wore.
His active youth made him retainer to
The court of Mars, something too long to sue
For entrance into Love's ; like mornings clad
In grizzled frosts ere plump-cheeked Autumn had
Shorn the glebe's golden locks, some silver hairs
Mixed with his black appeared ; his age despairs
Not of a hopeful heir, nor could his youth
Promise much more ; the venerable truth 440

Of glorious victories, that stuck his name
For ornament i' the frontispiece of fame,
Together with his native greatness, were
His orators to plead for love : but where
Youth, beauty, valour, and a soul as brave,
Though not known great as his, before had gave
Love's pleasing wounds, Fortune's neglected gain
In fresh assaults but spends her strength in vain.

With as much ease as souls, when ripened by
A well-spent life, haste to eternity, 450

She had sustained this harsh encounter, though
Backed with her father's threats, did it not show
More dreadful yet — in a command which must
Call her Argalia from his glorious trust ;
Her guardian to a separation in
An embassy to him, whose hopes had been
Her new-created fears. Which sentence read
By the wise lady, though her passions bred
A sudden tumult, yet her reason stays

The torrent, till Argalia, who obeys 460

The strictest limits of observance to
Her he adored, being reverently withdrew,
Enlarged her sorrows in so loud a tone.
That ere he's through the winding labyrinth gone
So far, but tliat he could distinctly hear
Her sad complaints, they thus assault his ear : —
' Unhappy soul ! born only to infuse
Pearls of delight with vinegar, and lose

(70)

Canto V] Pharo7t7tida

Content for honour ; is 't a sin to be

Born high, that robs me of my hberty? 470

Or is't the curse of greatness to behold

Virtue through such false optics as unfold

No splendour, 'less from equal orbs they shine ?

What heaven made free, ambitious men confine

In regular degrees. Poor Love must dwell

Within no climate but what 's parallel

Unto our honoured births; the envied fate

Of princes oft these burthens finds from state,

When lowly swains, knowing no parent's voice

A negative, make a free happy choice.' — 480

And here she sighed ; then with some drops, distilled

From Love's most sovereign elixir, filled

The crystal fountains of her eyes, which e'er

Dropped down, she thus recalls again — 'But ne'er.

Ne'er, my Argalia, shall these fears destroy

My hopes of thee : Heaven ! let me but enjoy

So much of all those blessings, which their birth

Can take from frail mortality ; and earth,

Contracting all her curses, cannot make

A storm of danger loud enough to shake 490

Me to a trembling penitence; a curse.

To make the horror of my suffering worse,

Sent in a father's name, like vengeance fell

From angry Heaven, upon my head may dwell

In an eternal stain ; my honoured name

With pale disgrace may languish ; busy fame

My reputation spot ; affection be

Termed uncommanded lust ; sharp poverty,

That weed which kills the gentle flower of love,

As the result of all these ills, may prove 5°°

My greatest misery, — unless to find

Myself unpitied. Yet not so unkind

Would I esteem this mercenary band.

As those far more malignant powers that stand,

Armed with dissuasions, to obstruct the way

Fancy directs ; but let those souls obey

Their harsh commands, that stand in fear to shed

Repentant tears : I am resolved to tread

These doubtful paths, through all the shades of fear

That now benight them. Love! with pity hear 510

Thy suppliant's prayers, and when my clouded eyes

Shall cease to weep, in smiles I'll sacrifice

To thee such offerings, that the utmost date

Of Death's rough hands shall never violate.'

Whilst our fair virgin sufferer was in
This agony, Argalia, that had been
Attentive as an envied tyrant to
Suspected counsels, from her language drew

(7x)

Willia77t Chamberlayne

So much, that that pure essence, which informs

His knowledge, shall in all the future storms 520

Of fate protect him, from a fear that did

Far more than death afflict, whilst love lay hid

In honour's upper region. Now, whilst she

Calmly withdraws, to let her comforts be

Hopes of 's return, his latest view forsook

His soul's best comfort, who hath now betook

Herself to private thoughts ; where, with what rest

Love can admit, I leave her, and him blest

In a most prosperous voyage, but happier far

In being directed by so bright a star. 530

THE END OF THE FIRST BOOK

(rO

BOOK II. Canto I

THE ARGUMENT

Still wakeful guilt, Almanzor's rebel sin,

Taking advantage of unguarded mirth,
Which now without mistrust did revel in

The princess' court, gives thence new treason birth.

By treachery seized, and through night's shades conveyed.

She had for ever in this storm been lost,
Had not its rage by such rude hands been staid,

That safety near as much as danger cost.

These hell-engendered embryos, which had long

Lay hid within Almanzor's breast, grown strong.

Now for delivery strive ; clandestine plots,

Ripened with age and lust, dissolve the knots

Wherein his fear had fettered them, and fly

Beyond the circle of his loyalty.

Since his deserts made him a stranger to

His princess' court, he'd lived like those that do

Fly that pursuing vengeance which attends

A rebel's acts, seen only to such friends, lo

Whose blemished honour suffering in his fall,

Assist his rising, though they venture all

By that unlawful act, on paths that may

Precipitate to ruin. The dark way

Had long been sought for, consultations did

Whisper rebellion in soft airs, forbid

To live in louder language, until, like

Inevitable thunder, it could strike

As swift, as secret, and as sure as those.

Heaven's anger hurls through all that durst oppose. io

In all the progress of that dark design.
Whose unseen engines strove to undermine
That power, which since Heaven doth in kings infuse,
None but unhallowed rebels durst abuse.
Time, treason's secret midwife, did produce
No birth like this. — Such friends, as often use
Had taught him their soul's characters, he makes
Sharers of's guilt; but, whilst he troubled takes
A care to fit each smaller wheel unto

This fatal engine, those black powers, that do 30

Assist such dark designs, a moving spirit
Supply it with. Although Almanzor's merit
Purchased few friends, yet had his tempting gold
Corrupted some, 'mongst which it surest hold

(73)

William Chamber lay7te [book ii

Upon Amphibia took ; a lady who,

Before Florenza's sweeter virtues drew

Her favour to a better object, swayed

The princess' choice affections ; she, betrayed

By ghttering charms, persuades her thoughts — no deed

For guilt is branded, whose attempts may feed 40

Ambition's malice, and at one blow give

Envy and avarice a hope to live.

Pleased with their ruin, whose fair merits dwell

High in those thoughts from whence she justly fell.

To rack revenge unto as large extent
As hate could wish, what hell could ne'er invent
Without assistance of a female wit —
Man's first betrayer — all that seemed but fit
From treason's close embrace to propagate
Revenge, she lights him. What, though close as Fate 50

When parling with the Destinies, is by
Her counsel acted, swift as stories fly
From vulgar tongues, her treachery makes known
To the bold rebel ; whose intentions grown
Hence ripe for action, when his secret guilt
A strong retreat had for rebellion built,
By laying the foundation on 't in those
Who, since by want or envy made the foes
T' the public peace, are soon persuaded by
Their princess' fall to cure that malady. 60

This platform laid — some, whose wise valour he
By practice knew adorned with secrecy,
Amongst the number of his guilty friends,
Selected in its first attempt, attends
Treason's dark walks, which, now more secret by
Night's dismal shadows made, had brought them nigh
The princess' palace. Through the hemisphere's
Dark curtain now the big-bulked roof appears.
And dappled windows showed their several light.
Like rich enamel in the jet of night. 70

All rocked in sweet security they found
By Fate's false smiles, triumphant mirth had crowned
The glorious train, whose height of joy could taste
No poison of suspicion, each embraced
His free delights, yet feared no snake should lie
Lurking within those flowers. Amidst which high
Divine flames of enthean joy, to her
That levelled had their way, a messenger
Makes known their near approach ; for which before
She had prepared, and veiled the pavement o'er 80

In thin, but candid innocence. Accurst
By all that e'er knew virtue ! oh, how durst

45 rack] Singer 'wreak,' which seems unnecessary.
57 on 'tj Singer 'oft,' which loses an idiom.

(74)

Canto I] Pharofinida

Thy envy turn these comic scenes into

So red a tragedy as must ensue

Thy guilt's stenography, which thus writes fate

In characters of blood ! But now too late

'Tis to repent ; when punishment wrought fair

Shows thy foul crimes, thou only may'st despair.

Leaving this fiend to hatch her vipers here,
Let's breathe awhile, although in full career, 90

Stay on the brow o' the precipice to view
The court's full joys ; which, being arrived unto
Their zenith, seemed, to fate-discerning eyes,
Like garlands wore before a sacrifice.
The cornucopiae, from the tables now
Removed by full-fed rurals, did allow
Time for discourse, as nmch as modest mirth
Durst stretch her wings ; crowned cups gave lusty birth
To active sports ; the hearth's warm bounties flame
From lofty piles, and in their pride became 100

The lustre of the roof. To glorify
Which yet imperfect festival, the eye
That lent to this large body light divine,
Pharonnida, at whose adored shrine
These sacrifices offered were, appears
Within the hall, and with her presence clears
Each supercilious brow, — if hopes to see
What's now enjoyed suffered such there to be.
The princess on her honoured throne reposed,
A fancy-tempting music first unclosed no

The winding portals of the soul ; which done.
Four swains, whose time-directed knowledge won
Attention with credulity, by turn
Sicilia's annals sung, and from the urn
Of now almost forgotten truth did raise
Their fame — those branches of eternal bays :
Which sober mirth, preparatives unto
More active sports, continuing, whilst the new
Model of treason was disguising in

A mask ordained to candy o'er their sin, 120

To gild those pills of poison with delight,
And strew with roses deadly aconite.
Was now drawn near an end, when from without
A murmuring noise of several sounds about
The palace gates was heard ; which suddenly,
Dissolving to an antic harmony,
Proclaims their entrance, whose first solemn sight,
In dreadful shapes, mixed terror with delight.

In the black front of that slow march appears
A train, whose difference both in sex and years 130

94 wore] Orig. 'were.' 99 hearth's] Orig. 'hearts.'

(75)

Williajn Chamherlayne [book ii

Had spoke confusion, if agreement in

Their acclamation had no prologue been.

A dance, where method in disorder lay,

Where each seemed out, though all their rules obey,

Was first in different measures trod ; which done,

Twelve armed viragoes, whose strange habit won

More admiration than their beauty, led

As many captive satyrs ; in the head

O' the Amazonian troop, a matron, by

Two younger nymphs supported till come nigh 140

Pharonnida's bright throne, presents the rest —

Her issue ; who externally exprest

vSo many fair-souled virtues, born to be

Protectors of their mother — Chastity,

Who wants their help, although supported by

Her weaker daughters — Fear and Modesty.

Those obscene vices, whose rude hands betray
Nature's deformities forced to obey
Their brave opposing virtues, did appear

r the captive satyrs; who being now brought near, 150

A dreadful music 's heard without, whose sound
Did gentler airs in their first births confound.
Which being a signal to that act of blood
That soon ensues, whilst all expecting stood
Some happier change, the false viragoes drew
Their swords, and with a speedy fury slew
The struggling knights, who thus disguised had been,
With the more horror to be murthered in
Their royal mistress' sight, whose shrieks did tell
What trembling guests within her breast did dwell. 160

Sudden and cruel was the act ; yet stands
Not treason here ; but whilst their purpled hands
Yet reeked in blood, their guilty souls to stain
With blacker sins, her weak defenders slain,
Rush toward the trembling princess, who now lies
Betrayed by the soul's janitors — her eyes,
To passions insupportable, wliich grown
A burthen to her spirits, all were flown
T' the porch of death for rest. If souls new fled
From tainted bodies, that have surfeited 170

On studied sins, could be discerned when they,
Unarmed with penitence, are hurled away
By long-armed fiends — less pale, less horrid would
'I'heir guilty looks appear. Confusion could
Not live in livelier emblem ; each appears
To fly the danger, but about him bears
Its pale effects — so passengers forsake
A sinking ship ; such strong convulsions shake

17a hurled] Another would probably have written ' whirled' or ' haled.'
(76)

Canto I] Pharonnida

Surprised forts ; so dooms-day's trumpet shall

Startle the unprepared world, when all i8o

Her atoms in their then worn robes shall be

Ravished in flames to meet eternity.

The unguarded princess, being by all forsook
But poor Florenza, both from thence are took,
Whilst neither in that horrid agony
Beheld their danger, and transported by
Almanzor to his coach, which near attended
On his assured success ; who now, befriended
With the protecting darkness, hastes away.
Swift as desire, with the fair trembling prey. 190

Those few opposing friends, whose will was more
Than power to relieve her, overbore
By the victorious rebels, did in vain
Attempt her rescue ; which, since fruitless slain,
Her martyrs fall leaving their lives to be
An evidence of dying loyalty.
Success attends thus far ; but Fortune now
Left off to smile on villany, her brow
Contracted into frowns, she swiftly sent

This countermand : — Her followers, having spent 200

Their own endeavours to no purpose, raise
In haste the neighbouring villages ; nor stays
The swift alarum, till it had outfled
The speed Almanzor made. Roused from his bed.
And warm embraces of his wife, by those
Which had outrun the danger of their foes,
The drowsy villager in trembling haste
Snatches such arms as former fear had placed
Fit to defend ; with which, whilst horn-pipes call
In tones more frantic than a bacchinal, 210

They stumble to their rendezvous, which none
But only by the louder cries had known.

This giddy multitude, which no command
Knew, but what rage did dictate, hovering stand,
Like big swoln clouds drove by a doubtful wind,
Uncertain where to fall : one cries ' Behind
The greatest danger lies ' ; some like his choice,
And speedily retreat, until a voice

More powerful, though from the like judgement sprung,
Persuades them on again; some madly rung 220

The jarring bells — as far from harmony
As their opinions ; all which disagree
About the place whence the alarums come :
One cries — the princess' court ; until struck dumb
By a more terrifying fool that swears
The next port is surprised, toward which he stares,

209 horn-pipes] Orig. ' horn-/uV5,'

(77)

William Chamber lay^te [bookii

To see the beacon's blaze, but is from far

Deceived b' the light of an ascending star.

So many shapes bear their weak fancies, that

All would do something, but there 's none knows what. 230

In this strange medley of confusion, they

That could command, want such as would obey,

To exercise their power ; each thinks his own

Opinion best, so must perform 't alone.

Or else remain, as hitherto they had.

Busy in doing nothing. In which mad

Fit of distracted fury, like to fight,

For want of foes, amongst themselves, the night,

Grown grey with age, foreshowed her death; when each.

Thinking that now he'd done enough to teach 240

An active soldier vigilance in spending

A night abroad, which they will call defending

Their prince and country from a danger, but

What 't was they know not, swearing 't shall be put

In the next chronicle, they disunite

Their ne'er well-jointed forces, and a flight,

Rather than march t' the several hamlets take.

From whence at first, being scarce half awake,

Not so much clothed, their heedless haste had sent

Them only noise and number to augment. 250

One troop of this disbanded company.
Which, though but few, more than could well agree
To march together, by mistake being cast
Into a narrow strait, met, as they past.
The coach that bore the princess, being by those
That stole her guarded : the mad rout oppose
Their further passage, not because they thought
Them to be those their ignorance had sought
In their late meeting — the antipathy

'Twixt them and th' gentry is enough to be 260

That quarrel's parent, whose event shall make
Their prince and country blessed in their mistake.

Startled from all his temperate joys with this
Unlooked-for remora i' the road of bliss,
Enraged Almanzor vows to ford the flood
O' the present danger, or with his own blood
Augment the stream. With that he flies among
Those that are nearest of the numerous throng.
Who, when they found what difference was between
Their clubs (blunt as their valours) and the keen 270

Edge of his sword, would have fell back, but are
Forced on by those behind, who, being far

256 oppose] Orig. 't' oppose.'

262 mistake] One suspects, in this and other passages, satire on the very ineffectual
'Clubmen ' of the Western counties in the Rebellion.
265 vowsj Orig. 'rows.'

( 78 )

Canto I] Pharofinida

From danger, fear it not. Thus some are forced

To fight, till their unwilling souls, divorced

From their cold lodgings, made their peace. But here,

Whilst he a conqueror reigns, ingenious fear

Taught them that durst no nearer come, to do

Most mischief at a distance ; climbed unto

The rock's inequitable clifts, from thence

They shower down stones that equally dispense 280

Danger 'mongst friends and foes. Had she not been

Defended by her coach, their princess in

This storm had perished ; or, had fear of death

Unfixed her thoughts, she'd spent that precious breath

Now sacrificing in her prayers to be

From their wild rage delivered safe ; but she,

Oppressed with lethargies of sorrow, lends

No ear to this rude fight, on which depend

So much of fate, — danger appears to lie

Not more in the disease than remedy. 290

Whilst the opposed Almanzor now had near
Hewed forth his way through all of them, appear
More company by their loud clamours drew
Unto their timely aid. Now danger grew
Horrid and threatening, till the impetuous shower,
Wetting the wings of the fierce rebel's power.
Clog all his hopes of flight, unless he leave
His trembling prey behind him. To bereave
Him of his last of hopes, he sees his train
Begin to droop. With those that yet remain 300

He thinks it time, whilst undiscovered, to
Secure himself; which difficult to do.
At length (though not unwounded) he alone
Breaks through their forces, blest in being unknown ;
Else had their battered weapons spared to shed
The blood of others, and had surfeited
On his, which, adding knowledge to the fire
Of rage, they had most reason to desire.

The unsuccessful rebel thus secured
By speedy flight, his train not long endured 310

The circling danger, which from each side sends
Symptoms so deadly, all their strength defends
Not the rude torrent, nor their prayers could calm
Their foes' stern rage. Sweet mercy's healing balm
Is the extraction of brave spirits, which,
By innate valour rarified, enrich
With that fair gem the triumphs of success,
Whilst cowards make the victors' glory less —
Their highest flame of rage being but dull earth
Fired into tyranny, the spurious birth 320

279 clifts] This word does double duty for ' cliff' and * cleft.'

(79)

William Chamber lay ne [book ii

Of a precedent fear, whose baseness knows
No calm, but what from others' danger grows.

And now the field, scoured by the beastly rage
O' the savage clowns, had left no foe to engage
A life, nor could their policy persuade
Them to let one survive, till he had made
The plot discovered. With rude haste they crush
Their trembling souls out, and all weapons blush
In part o' the blood ; so many hands had gave
Them hurtless wounds, that the expecting grave 330

Needs only take their bones, for madly they
Had minced their flesh for the vulture's easier prey.

This victory gained, they haste t' the coach^ and thence
The unknown princess take, no large expense
Of prayers, poured from Florenza's fears, could be
So powerful to obtain civility.
She tells them whom their rage profanes, and by
Their princess' name conjures them ; but the high
Exalted outcries drown her voice, till one,
Who had the rape of the sad lady known, 340

When first performed, did with a louder voice
Proclaim her there ; and, having first made choice
Of a more civil company to oppose
The uncivil clowns, rescues her ; and then shows
How near their heedless rage had cast away
The glorious prize of that victorious day.

From fainting slumbers raised, the princess, now
Secure in their discovery, taught them how
To turn their fury into zeal, and show,

By serving her, the allegiance that they owe 350

Her royal father. To the palace corne,
Rewarding all, she there commands that some
Stay for her guard ; but soon that order grew
A troublesome obedience, none would to
His cottage whilst that any staid within
The palace gates. But long they had not been
Thus burthensomely diligent, ere, on
A new design, each struggles to be gone
From 's former charge ; a messenger is sought.
Who to the court must post, but each one thought 360

Himself of most ability, so all
Or none must go ; yet, ere the difference fall
Into a near approaching quarrel, he
Who rescued her, the princess chose to be
Her messenger. Euriolus, (for so
The youth was called), disdaining to be slow
Where such commands gave wings, with speed unto
The court was come; but busy fame outflow

349 their] Orig. ' her,'

(80)

Canto I] Phuronnida

His eager haste, and ere 's arrival spread

Some scattered fragments of the news, which bred 370

Suspicion of that doubtful truth, from whence

His message leads to doleful confidence.

THE END OF THE FIRST CANTO.

Canto II

THE ARGUMENT

Freed from suspicion by a cause that tells

His injured prince, Almanzor's guilt exceeds
His great'st mistrust — from thence just anger swells,

Till for that fever the whole nation bleeds.

Armies united in a dreadful haste

From distant places sad spectators bring,
To see by fortune justice so defaced,

The subjects here pursue a conquered king.

Morea's prudent prince, whose fears had been

Before this message but like truths wrapped in

Dark oracles, now, with a sense enlarged

Beyond imperfect doubts, no longer charged

His judgement with dilemmas, but, in all

The haste indulgent love, when by the call

Of danger frighted, could procure, without

Staying to let slow counsel urge a doubt

Which might but seem a remora unto

His fixed desires, having together drew lo

His guard, was marching ; when, in such a haste

As breathless speed foreshowed they had been chased

By some approaching danger, such as were

Too full of truth and loyalty to bear

Rebellion longer than their thoughts could be

Eased of the burthen by discovery.

Arrive at th' court with this sad news — that by

Almanzor, who, forgetting loyalty.

Had seized Alcithius' castle, they were drove

To fly their country, since that there he strove 20

To raise an army, by whose strength he might

To the sword's power subject the sceptre's right.

By this sad news startled out of his late
Fixed resolutions, the vexed prince, whose fate
Had not through all the progress of his reign
Darted so many plagues, to entertain
Them now with strength unballast, calls in haste
His late neglected council, and embraced

I Morea's] ' Morea' again : it was Sicilia at II. i. 114.
(81) G

Willia7n Cha7nberlay?ie [Book ii

This sudden, but mature advice — that he

Should with such forces as could soonest be 30

Prepared for service, having only seen

Pharonnida, possess that strait between

The castle and the mountains ; from whose rude

Inhabitants, which Nature did include

Within those rocks, rebellion soonest might

Grow to a dangerous tumour : the dim light

Of scarce discerned majesty, so far

Being from them removed, that, lest a war

Enforced him to command their aid, they ne'er

Heard of his mandates ; being more fit to bear 40

The weight of armour on their bodies, than

Of taxes on estates — so small that, when

With all the art of industry improved,

For want were kept, but not for ease beloved.

Through paths that no vestigia showed, to these,
As being retained or lost with greatest ease,
Since naturally unconstant, comes the king.
Not much too late, majestic rays did bring
Props to their wavering faith that yet remained
Unclad in lawless arms; some being gained 50

Unto Almanzor, whose revolt had brought
That freedom, those, whose subtle plots long sought
For innovations, wished. The sickly state,
In sad irruptions — such as future fate.
From sacred truths, speaks deadly symptoms in —
Relaxes all that order which had been
Till now her cement ; the soft harmony
Of peaceful contracts, sadly silenced by
That discord in whose flames the kingdom burned,
Had all their measures into marches turned. 60

Through'! his dominions speedy orders flew
For raising troops ; whilst, with such haste as new-
Shorn meadows, when approaching storms are nigh,
Tired labourers huddle up, both parties try
To levy armies. The sad scholar throws
His books aside, and now in practice shows
His studied theories ; the stiff labourer leaves
I' the half-shorn fields the uncollected sheaves
To female taskers, and exchanged his hook
Into a sword ; each busy trade, that took 70

Pains in the nicer ornaments of peace,
Sit idle till want forced them to increase
The new-raised troops ; that ornament o' the hall.
Old armours, which had nothing but a wall
Of long time saved from the invading dust,
From cobwebs swept, though its enamel rust
Stick close, and on the unpractised soldier put.
Forth of their breasts, nor fear, nor danger shut.
(8.)

Canto II] Pharo7t?iida

Yet, with an army of this temper in
Haste huddled up, the wandering prince had been 80

Enforced to fight, had not his just cause brought
Some loyal gentry, such whose virtue sought
Truth for reward, unto his side ; with which
He now advances, more completely rich
In noble valour, than's rebellious foes
In numerous troops. No enemies oppose
His speedy march, till being now come near
Alcithius' fort, Almanzor's timely fear
Hurries him thence. His better fate depends
On larger hopes : unto such constant friends 90

As equal guilt by sympathy secured,
To them he leaves the castle ; and assured
Them of relief, with what convenient speed
Those of his faction (which did only need
His presence to confirm rebellion by
An injured power) could draw their armies nigh.

As hence he marches, each successful hour
Augments his strength, till the unlawful power
Trebled his injured prince's. But as they
Who carry Guilt about them, do betray joo

Her by her sister, Fear, so these, whose crimes
Detected, durst not, in more peaceful times,
Look justice in the face, and therefore now
Stood veiled in arms against her, fearing how
She might prevail 'gainst power, march not till
A greater strength their empty bosoms fill
With hope — a tumour which doth oft dilate
The narrow souls of cowards, till their fate
Flatter them into ruin, then forsakes

Them in an earthquake, whose pale terror shakes no

Base souls to flight, whilst noble valour dies
Adorned with wounds, fame's bleeding sacrifice.

Almanzor's doubtful army, since that here
The threatening storm at distance did appear
Locked in a calm, possessed with confidence,
Slowly their squadrons moves ; but had from thence
Not a day's journey marched, before the sad
News of Alcithius' desperate danger had
Paled o'er their camp ; which whilst the leaders strove
To animate, Almanzor faster drove i-:o

On those designs, which, prospering, might prevent
It from surrender ; but the time was spent
Too far before. The governor that kept
It now against his prince, too long had slept
In the preceding down of peace, to be
Awakened into valour. Only he
Had seen 't kept clean from cobwebs, and perhaps
The guns shot off, when those loud thunderclaps
( 83 ) G 2

William Chafnberlayne [bookii

Proclaimed a storm of healths ; yet, till he saw

The threatening danger circularly draw 130

An arm^d line about him, in as high

A voice as valour could a foe defy,

He clothes his fears, which shook the false disguise

Off with the first assault, and swiftly flies

To 's prince's mercy ; whose pleased soul he found

Heightened to have his first attempt thus crowned

With victory, which nor made his army less,

Nor steeped in blood, though travailed to success.

To this new conquest, as a place whose strength
He best might trust, if, to a tedious length, 140

Or black misfortune, the ensuing war
His fate should spin, his choicest treasures are,
Together with her in whose safety he
Placed life itself, brought for security.
This done, that now no slow delays might look
Like fear, he with his loyal army took
The field ; in which he'd scarce a level chose
To rally 's army, ere his numerous foes
Appear o' the tops of the adjacent hill,

Like clouds, which, when presaging storms, do fill 150

Dark southern regions. In a plain that lay
So near that both the armies' full survey
Might from the clifts on which Alcithius stands
Be safely viewed, were the rebellious bands
Of 's enemies descending, on each side
Flanked by a river which did yet divide
Him from the prince ; who, having time to choose
What ground to fight on, did that blessing use
To 's best advantage. On a bridge, which by
Boards closely linked had forced an unity 160

Betwixt the banks, his army passed. He now
Within a plain, whose spacious bounds allow.
Together with a large extension, all
An ancient leader could convenient call.
Removed no tedious distance from his rear
Stood a small town, which, as the place took care
How to advance so just an interest, might
Be useful — when, tired in the heat of fight,
Strength lost in wounds should force some thither by
Wants which a camp's unfurnished to supply. 170

More near his front, betwixt him and the plain
Through which Alnianzor led his spacious train.
On a small hill, which gently rose as though

137 nor] Orig. 'nere,' which for ' never,' is not impossible. In the next hne one
suspects 'f.rcess': but with Chainberlaj'nc, more tlian witli others, the least probable
is the most likely.

149 tops] Singer ' top,' which seems unnecessary.

(84)

Canto II] Pharo7tnida

Its eminence but only strove to show

The fragrant vale, how much nice art outwent

Her beauties in her brow's fair ornament,

A splendid palace stood ; which, having been

Built but for wanton peace to revel in.

Was as unfit for the rough hand of war

As boisterous arms for tender virgins are. 180

To this, since now of consequence unto
The first possessor, had both armies drew.
Commanded parties, which ere night shut in
Light's latest rays, did furiously begin
The first hot skirmish ; which, continuing till
Dark shadows all the hemisphere did fill,
To such as fear or novelty had sent
T' the hills' safe tops, such dreadful prospect lent.
By the swift rising of those sudden fires.

In whose short close that fatal sound expires, 190

Which tells each timorous auditor — its breath.
To distant breasts, bears unexpected death.
That, whilst their eyes direct their thoughts unto
Their danger whom reward or honour drew
To the encounter, all the uncouth sight
Affords — to horror turns that strange delight.

These circling fires drawn near their centre, in
Such tumult as armies engaged begin
Death's fatal task, a dreadful sound surprised
The distant ear. Danger, that lay disguised 200

In darkness yet, now, as if wakened by
The conquerors' shouts, so general and so high.
That it e'en drowned the clamorous instruments
Of fatal war, her veil of sables rents
From round the palace, by that horrid light
Which her own turrets through the steams of night
In dreadful blazes sent, discovering both
The shadowed armies ; who, like mourners loath
To draw too near their sorrow's centre, while
Their friends consume, surround the blazing pile, 210

In such a sad and terrible aspect.
That those engaged in action could neglect
Approaching danger, to behold how they
Like woods grown near the foot of ^tna lay,
Whilst the proud palace from her sinking walls
In this sharp fever's fiery crisis falls.
' But now the night, as wearied with a reign
So full of trouble, had resigned again
The earth's divided empire, and the day,
Grown strong in light, both armies did display 220

203 it] Singer ' they,' as he usually reads in such cases. But ' it ' is idiomatic and
probable.

(85)

JVilliatn Cha7nherlay7ie [book ii

To their full view, who to the mountain (in

Sad expectation of the event) had been

Early spectators called. Here, seated nigh

Their female friends, old men, exempted by

Weakness from war's too rough encounters, show

Those colours which their active youth did know

Adorn the field, when those that now engage,

Like tender plants kept for the future age.

In blooming childhood were ; 'mongst this they tell

What heroes in preceding battles fell, 230

Where victory stooped to valour, and where rent

From brave desert by fatal accident ;

Then, ere their story can a period have,

Show wounds they took, and tell of some they gave.

This sad preludium to an action far
More dismal past, the unveiled face of War
Looks big with horror : now both armies draw
So near, that their divided brothers saw
Each other's guilt — that too too common sin
Of civil war. Rebellious sons stood in 240

Arms 'gainst their fathers clad ; friends, that no cross
Could disunite, here found the fatal loss
Of amity, and as presaging blood
1' the worst aspect, sad opposition, stood :
One was their fashion, form, and discipline ;
Strict heralds in one scutcheon did combine
The arms of both armies — yet all this must be
By war's wild rage robbed of its unity.

Whilst like sad Saturn, ominous and slow,
Each army moved, some youths, set here to grow, 250

By forward actions, stately cedars to
Adorn Fame's court, like shooting stars were flew.
So bright, so glittering, from the unwieldy throng
Of either army ; which, being mixed among
Each other, in a swift Numidian fight.
Like air's small atoms when discovering light
Betrays their motions, show ; some hours had past
In this light skirmish — till now, near war's last
Sad scene arrived, as the distressed heart calls,
Before the body death's pale victim falls, 260

Those spirits that dispersed by actions were.
Back to their centre, their commander's care
Summons these in ; that so united strength
Might swiftly end — or else sustain the length
Of that black storm, where yet that danger stood.
Which must ere long fall in a shower of blood.

A dismal silence, such as oft attends
Those that surround the death-beds of their friends

240 Rebellious] Orig. ' Rebellion's,' nescio an rede.
(86)

Canto II] Pharofinida

In the departing minute, reigns throughout

Both armies' troops; who, gathered now about 270

Their several standards, and distinguished by

Their several colours, such variety

Presents the eye with, that, whilst the sad thought

Beholds them but as fallen branches brought

To the decay of time, their view did bring

In all the pleasures of the checkered spring ;

Like a large field, where being confined unto

Their several squares — here blushing roses grew,

There purpled hyacinths, and, near to them,

The yellow cowslip bends its tender stem, 2 So

T' the mountain's tops, the army, marching low

Within the vale, their several squadrons show.

This silent time, which by command was set
Aside to pay confession's needful debt
To oft-offended Heaven, whose aid, though gave
Ere asked, yet, since our duty is to crave.
Expects our prayers. The armies, from their still
Devotion raised, declare what spirits fill
Their breast, by such an universal joy.

As, to get young, and not the old destroy, 290

Each had by beauteous paranymphs been led,
Not to rough war, but a soft nuptial bed.

That fatal hour, by time, which, though it last
Till fixed stars have a perfect circle past.
We still think short, to action brought ; which now
So near approached, it could no more allow
The generals to consult, although there need
Nought to augment, when valour's flame doth feed
High on the hopes of victory, the rage

Of eager armies. Ere their troops engage, 300

Their several leaders all that art did use.
By which loud war's rough rhetoric doth infuse
Into those bodies, on whose strength consists
Their safety, souls whose brave resolves might twist
Them into chains of valour, which no force.
Than death less powerful, ever should divorce.

The prince, as more depending on the just
Cause that had drawn his sword, which to distrust
Looks like a crime, soonest commits the day
To Fate's arbitrement. No more delay 310

Comforts the fainting coward, — a sad sound
Of cannon gave the signal, and had drowned
The murmuring drum in silence ; Earth did groan
In trembling echoes ; on her sanguine throne.
High mounted, Horror sits ; wild Rage doth fill
Each breast with fury, whose fierce flames distil

273 presents] Singer, as always where he notices, ' present.' I think it well to draw
occasional but not constant attention to this,

(87)

William Chamber lay 7te [Book ii

Life through the alembics of their veins : that cloud

Of dust, which, when they first did move, a shroud

Of darkness veiled them in, allayed with blood,

Fell to the earth ; whose clefts a crimson flood 320

Filled to the brim, and, when it could contain

No more, let forth those purple streams to stain

The blushing fields, which being made slippery by

The unnatural shower, there lets them sink and die ;

Whose empty veins rent in this fatal strife,

Here dropped the treasure of exhausted life.

In sad exchange of wounds, whilst the last breath.

E'en flying forth to give another death.

Supports the fainting spirits, all were now

Sadly employed; armed Danger could allow 330

In this loud storm of action, none to stand

Idle spectators ; but each busy hand

Labours, in death's great work, his life to sell

At rates so dear — that foe by which he fell.

To boast his gain, survives not. But now, in

This mart of death, blind Fortune doth begin

To show herself antagonist unto

Less powerful Justice. In the common view

Of Reason, which by the external shape

Of actions only judges, no escape 340

From their desert — captivity, was left

The rebels' army, but the unmanly theft

Of secret flight to some, protected by

Their fellows' loss ; when, in a rage as high

As if it had attempted to outroar

The battle's thunder, a rude tempest, bore

F"rom southern climates on the exalted wings

Of new-raised winds, a change so fatal brings

T' the royal army, that from victory's near

Successful pride, unto extremes which fear 350

Did ne'er suggest, it brought them back to view

Their glorious hopes thus sadly overthrew. —

A strong reserve, raised by his friends to be
Almanzor's rescue, if that victory
Seemed to assist the juster part, was now
Brought near the river ; which endeavouring how
To ford, they there unwillingly had been
Detained, till strength had proved but useless in
The prince's conquest, if the swelling flood,
Whose added streams, too strong to be withstood, 360

Had not in that impetuous torrent tore
That bridge which passed the royal army o'er;
Whose severed boats born down the river made
So sad a change, that, whilst their foes invade

317 veins] Orig. ' reins ' which, again, is quite possibly not wrong.
(88)

/

Canto II] Pharonnidu

Their rear on them, the late lamented loss
Forbid the others when dispersed to cross
The waves by dangers, which in each breast bred
Terrors as great as those from whence they fled.

The valiant army, like life's citadel —
The heart, when nought but poisonous vapours swell 370

Every adjacent part, long struggling in
Death's sharp convulsions, out of hopes to win
Aught there but what buys the uncertain breath
Of future fame at the high price of death ;
At length, not conquered, but o'erburthened by
A flood of power, in night's obscurity,
When dreadful shadows had the field o'erspread.
As darkness were a herse-cloth for the dead.
That this day's losses might not grow too great
For reparation, by a hard retreat, 380

Attempt to save such of their strengths, as, since
Enforced to fly, might safely guard the prince
PYom dangers ; which could but his foes have viewed,
Their motions all had unto death pursued.

In this distress, from that vast sea of blood —
The field where late his army marshalled stood —
The wretched prince retires ; but with a train
So small, they seemed like those that did remain
After a deluge. Where the river's course.
Stopped with dead bodies, ran with smallest force, 390

He ventures o'er the flood, whose guilty waves
Blushes in blood. Some few, whom Fortune saves
To attend on him, alike successful by
That bold adventure, whilst the prince doth fly
To guard Alcithius, by his mandates are,
Since the disasters of this fatal war
Forced him to seek for more assistance, sent
To the Epirot. Striving to prevent
Those wild reports, that, on the quick belief
Of female fear, might be imposed by grief, 400

He hastes to bear the sad report to her^
Whose sorrow 's lost to see the messenger.

368 whence] Singer, in an arbitrary mood of book-grammar, 'which.'

THE END OF THE SECOND CANTO.

(89)

William Chamber layjte [book ii

Canto III

THE ARGUMENT

Through the dark terrors of a dreadful night,

The prince to 's daughter comes with flying speed ;

From dangers, great as those he feared in flight,
Is by Argalia's forward valour freed.

Who having with successful fortune gave

His master freedom, their joint strength pursue
Their flying foes unto an uncouth cave,

In whose vast womb Fate's dark decrees they view.

This last retreat, which seemed but to defer

Danger by being Honour's sepulchre,

Attained in haste ; there, calming all the strife

Of various passion, since her father's life

Paid all the tears she owed his losses, he

His virtuous daughter found, prepared to be

No sad addition to his sorrow by

The faults of female imbecility —

Untimely tears ; but with a confidence

High as e'er taught brave valour to dispense lo

With sad disasters, armed to entertain

The worst of ills : to ease the wounded's pain,

Or stop their blood, those hands which once she thought

Should have to victors Triumph's garlands brought,

Are now employed ; yet, that her acts may be

The best examples to posterity,

Her present ill, she with such strength withstood^

Its power was lost in hopes of future good.

Precipitated from a throne to be
Subjected by a subject's tyranny ; 20

To want their pity — who of late did know
No peace, but what his influence did bestow;
With sad presaging fears, to think his fair,
His virtuous daughter, his rich kingdom's heir.
Like to be ravished from his baffled power —
A trophy to a rebel conqueror ;
With such afflicting griefs as did exclude
The comforts of his passive fortitude.
Oppressed the prince : when now an army, led
By their pursuing enemies, o'erspread 30

The circHng fields, and brings their fear within
The reach o' the eye. Heightened with hope to win
That now by pari, which, ere the sad success
Of battle made their conquered numbers less,
He feared in fight ; the confidently bold
Almanzor, in a scroll that did unfold

(90)

Canto III] Pharomiida

A language, whose irreverent style affords

Far more of anger than his soldiers' swords

Had ere stirred fear within his prince's breast,

His fixed intentions thus in brief exprest : — 4©

GREAT SIR,

No airy tumour of untamed desire,

Nursed my ambition, prompts me to aspire

To any action that may soar above

My birth or loyalty ; — it was the love

I bore your virtuous daughter that first clad

Me in defensive arms, which never had

Been else unsheathed, though't had been to defend

Me from injustice — should your sword extend

Its power to tyranny ; but, failing in 50

That first attempt, ere streams of blood had been

Shed in addition to those drops, my hand

Had broke my sword as guilty, had this land

To whom I owe for the first air I breathed.

Not washed the stain in tears, and since unsheathed

It in the name of Justice. To their good,

Which trembling on uncertain hopes hath stood,

Whilst fearing foreign governors, I have

Added my love, and satisfaction crave

For both, before a greater ill may fall, 60

To make our sufferings epidemical — ■

By being slaves to some proud tyrant, that

In politic ambition reaches at

A kingdom by professed affection, and

Marries your daughter, to command your land.

This scroll, spotted with impudence, received
By the vexed prince, whom passion had bereaved
Of politic evasions, he returns
A swift defiance ; but his high rage burns
Nought but his own scorched breast — the fainting fire, 70

Quenched by constraint, wants fuel to blaze higher
Than flashy threaten ings, which, since proved a folly,
Sink in the ashes of melancholy ;
For which his ablest council could prepare
No cordial of advice — they rather share
With him in sorrow, whose harsh burthen grows
Not lighter by the company of those
That now lend hearts to bear it. Only in
This sullen cloud's obscurity, this sin

Of their nativity, the noble soul 80

Of the undaunted princess did control

37 irreverent] Orig. 'irreverent/.' 43 my] 'by'?

73 Singer inserts 'his' before melancholy, but Chamberlayne may have accented
the antepenultimate, without scruple as to the rhyme.

(91)

JVilliam Chamber layne [bookii

The harshest lectures of her stars, and sate
Unshaken in this hurricane of fate :
Calming her father's hot adversity
With dews of comfort, taught him how to be
Prince of his passions — a command more great
Than his that trembles in a regal seat.

The enemy, that vainly had till now
Toiled forth their strength, no more endeavours how
By force to conquer ; some small time, they knew, yo

Would, with the bloodless sword of famine, do
More than their cannon could. — The meagre fen
Already grew tyrannical, his men.
Like walking ghosts, wait on their prince, and stand
For shadows on their platforms ; not a hand,
But was unnerved with want ; yet, whilst each part
Languished toward death, each bosom held a heart,
Which, though most large, could never empty be,
Being doubly filled with grief and loyalty ;
Amongst both which, hope for a part puts in — loo

As the supporter of what else had been
A burthen insupportable, and spoke
This pleasing language — That the royal oak,
Beneath whose winter fortune now they stood,
Pining for want — the withered underwood
That all his miseries dropped on — yet they shall,
Whene'er his brighter stars again do call
His fortune into light, be comforted
By his kind shadow ; which shall those, that fled
Him in this sad extreme, then leave to be no

Scorched in the rays of angry majesty.

Reduced unto this pitied exigence.
Yet, by his honour, which could not dispense
With aught that like suspicion looked, detained
From what by pari might have their freedom gained.
The loyal sufferers, to declare how far
They fear declined: those mourning weeds of war,
Whose sight a desperate valour doth betray,
Black ensigns, on their guarded walls display.
When to augment their high resolves, with what 120

Their valour was to pity softened at,
After, with all those coarse, though scarce cates, they
By sparing, first attempted to betray
Time till relief with, they'd been fed till now
There nought remained, that longer could allow
Life further hopes of sustenance, to do
An act so great, all ages to ensue,
Shall more admire than imitate ; within
The hall appears their sovereign, leading in
His hand the princess; whose first view, though drest 130
In robes as sad as sorrows e'er exprest,

(9O

Canto III] Phar07l7lida

Was but the frontiers of their grief to what,
When nearer seen, whilst sorrow silenced at
So sad an object, might for death be took,
Made solemn grief like grave religion look.

Whilst all thus in sad expectation stand
Of future fate, disdaining to command
Those whom an equal sorrow seemed to make
His fellow sufferers, the sad prince thus spake
His fixed resolves : — ' Brave souls, whose loyal love, 140

Oppressed by my unhappy woes, must prove
Part of my grief, since by my wretched fate
Forced with my own life to precipitate
Your's into danger; from whose reach, (since by
No crime — until the love of loyalty
Become a sin — you are called guilty), yet
Seek some evasion : 'tis not you that sit
Upon the throne he aims at, nor doth here
A rival in Pharonnida appear.

No, 'tis our lives, our lives, brave subjects, that 150

His bold ambition only reaches at ;
By this pretence — what to my daughter, love,
To 's country, 's pity called, — could he remove
Those now but small obstructions soon would grow,
To 's pride united, till it overflow
All limits of a subject's duty by
Rebellious reach, usurped tyranny.

'Go then, and let not my unhappiness
Afflict you more i' the shadow of distress :
'Twill like warm comfort swell my soul, to know 160

That to his favour you for safety owe.
Did not those sacred canons, that include
All virtue in a Christian's fortitude.
Obstruct our passion's progress, we, ere this.
In death had made the haughty rebel miss
The glory of his conquest ; which since now
Denied, although unwieldly age allow
Not strength to sell my life at such a rate
Honour aims at, yet shall the slow debate.
E'en in my fall, let the world know I died, 170

Scorning his pity, as they hate his pride.'

Here stopped the prince ; when, as if every breast
One universal sorrow had possest.
Grief (grown into more noble passion) broke
The attentive silence, and thus swiftly spoke
Their resolutions: — 'On, on, and lead
Us unto death, no critic eye shall read
Fear through the optics of our souls ; but give
Command to act — here 's not a heart durst live
Without obedience.' Comforted with this 180

Rich cordial, from his sorrow's dark abyss

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William Chainherlayne [Book ii

Raised to resolves, whose greatness equalled all
His former glory, by their fatal fall
To darken the ensuing day, the prince
Gives a command to all his train — that since
Their own free votes elected death, they now
With souls that no terrestrial thought allow
A residence, 'gainst the next morn prepare
That wished-for freedom with himself to share.

All sadly sat, expecting but that light 190

Whose near approach must to eternal night
Their last conductor be. A sudden, still,
And doleful silence, such as oft doth fill
The room where sick men slumber, when their friends
Stand weeping by, to contemplation bends
Their busy thoughts ; within each troubled breast,
Being to leave the mansion she'd possessed
So long, yet with so short a warning, all
Her faculties the frighted soul did call

Forth of the bosom of those causes, in 200

Whose form they'd fettered to their crasis been.
To join those powers (yet strong in living breath)
For her assistance in the grasp of death.

The whispering trumpet having called them by
Such sharp notes, as, when powerful foes are nigh
Retreating, parties use, all swiftly rise
From bended knees, and the last sacrifice
They e'er expect to pay to Heaven, until
Their soul's last gasp the vocal organs fill.
Concluded was the last sad interview, 210

The prince was marched, Pharonnida withdrew.
And now, all from the opened ports were in
A swift march sallying, had their speed not been
Thus swiftlier stopped : — Those scattered horse that fled
The battle to the Epirot's court had sped
So well in their embassage, that the prince,
Whom the least negligence might now convince
Of want of love, proud of so fair a chance
To show 's affection, swiftly doth advance
With a vast army toward them. Lest the fear 220

Prevailing danger, ere their strength come near
To their necessitated friends, might force
Them to unworthy articles, some horse
Selected are, whose swifter speed might, by
A desperate charge broke through tlieir foes, supply
Their fainting friends. The much desired command
Of these few men, committed to the hand
Of brave Argalia, (ne'er more blest than now
In serving the fair princess), did allow

His sword so fair a field to write the story 230

Of honour in, that his unblasled glory

(94)

Canto III] Pharountda

Beyond this day shall live — outlive the reach
Of long-armed envy, and those weak souls teach,
That fear the frowns of Fate, in spite of all,
Heroic Virtue sits too high to fall.

With the day's close they take their march, and, ere
The silver morning on her brow did bear
The burnished guilt o' the sun's warm rays, arrive
In view o' the place. AVhen Fortune, that did strive
To crown their hopes, had wrapped the earth in thick 240
And heavy mists, the sluggish morning, sick
Of midnight surfeits, from her dewy bed
Pale and discoloured rose. This curtain spread
To veil their plot in, they assault their foes ;
Which when surprised could not themselves dispose
Fit for resistance, but whilst some did fly
From the distracting danger, others die
To their neglect a sacrifice. The swift
Alarum, like a rude wind's circling drift.

Hurries confusion through the field, and shook 250

The trembling soldier; some unclad forsook
Their half-fired cabins ; death's large gripe did take
Whole troops that destiny ordained to wake
No more till dooms-day, and in 's march prevents
The unition of unrallied regiments.

This frighted language of confusion heard
By those o' the castle, which were now prepared
For their last desperate sally, swiftly draws
Them to assist their friends; and though the cause.
Being yet unknown, was only thought to be 260

Some private jar grown to a mutiny ;
Or else the noise the enemy had made,
When all their force was drawing to invade
Them in their works : howe'er they stand not to
Consult with reason, but, as striving who
Shall first encounter death, each several hand
Sought for his own from those that did withstand
His rage-directed strength. Their cannon in
A funeral peal went off, whose steam had been
Their covert to the camp; where finding such 270

A wild confusion, they assisted much
The fortune of the day, which now was grown
Indubitable — they might call their own
A glorious conquest. The thick sulphury cloud,
AVhose dismal shade did that destruction shroud,
Rent with those thunder claps, dissolved into
A shower of blood ; what she vouchsafed to do,
Fortune lends light to show them. Having left
Their camp, whilst darkness did protect a theft

255 unition] Singer ' union,' which seems to me rather a bad emendation.
(95)

William Cha7nberlay?ie [book ii

That only stole dishonour, which they were 2S0

Now in an open flight enforced to bear,

They see Almanzor's broken troops o'erspread

The neighbouring fields : those clouds of men that fled,

Being pursued by companies so small,

That they appeared but like those drops that fall

After a storm. Yet, as the labouring heart

Long struggles for that life, which doth depart

From the less noble members to lend aid

To her in death's pale conflict, having staid

Some of his best commanders, hoping by 290

Their valour to recall the rest, with high

Undaunted force, Almanzor doth oppose

His enemy's pursuit, till like to enclose

Him in, disdaining the reproachful end

He must expect, no longer stands to attend

The glimmering light of hope : the field he leaves

To conquering Argalia, but deceives

Him of himself — the prize most sought for ; which

When lost beyond recovery, he grown rich

In shining honour, that, like sun-beams placed 300

Within a field of gules, by being defaced,

Had beautified his armour. That dark mist.

Which did at first such contradictions twist,

That he both curst, and blest it — one, 'cause 't did

Aid his design, the other, 'cause it hid.

His heaven of beauty in their dewy bed

Had left the blushing roses, and was fled

Upon the wings o' the wind. With wonder now

Discovered colours taught each party how

To know their friends. The royal standard in 310

The prince's party had developed been,

By that fair signal to discover who

Was present there. But ere ArgaHa to

That place arrived, Pharonnida, who had,

Whilst desperation all her beauties clad

In the pale robes of fear, heard all the loud

Shock of the conflict ; but, until the cloud

Removed his fatal curtain, never knew

How near the hour of her delivery drew;

That being dissolved, through those which grief had raised 320

In her fair eyes, did see, and seeing praised

Just Heaven which sent it. Each of those that

Fought for her she commends; but wonders at,

Although unknown, the lightning valour she

Saw in Argalia, whilst with just rage he

Unravels nature's workmanship — a rent

Which were a sin, if not a punishment,

304 did] The text, which is probable and characteristic enough, is Singer's. Orig.
one cause did ' and in next line ' cause' without apostrophe.

(96)

Canto III] Pharofinida

And from the slender web of life did send

Forth rebels' souls, fast as each busy fiend

That wait their fall transport them. Fain she would, 330

Ere known, conceit 'twere he, but how he should

Come there, and so attended, did exceed

Imagination. Thus whilst her hopes feed

On strange desires, being come near unto

The coach wherein she sat, prepared to do

His love's oblations, he that face disarms;

Which, when beheld, by those attractive charms,

Within the centre of her best desires.

Contracted all her hopes, whose life expires

Soon as they're crowned with wished success. Too great 340

A distance parts them yet — she leaves her seat,

And flies to his embraces, but concealed

Her passion in his merit, being revealed

To him alone, whose better judgement knew.

That, in those spirit-breathing beams that flew

Through the fair casements of her eyes, did move

The secret language of an ardent love.

This conflict of her passions, which had been
Fought betwixt fear and hope, was settled in
A silent joy, that from her noble breast 350

Struggled for passage ; whilst Argalia; blest
Above his hopes, in burning kisses seals
His service on her virgin hand, that steals
From thence new flames into her heart ; which ere
Fed with desire, e'en whilst she did prepare
To entertain those welcome guests, appears
The prince, who now, thawed from the icy fears
Of desperation, was come there to give
Thanks to his unknown friends ; but words did live
Within a place too barren to bestow 3''°

That fruitful zeal, whose plenty did o'erflow
His eyes, those clouded orators, which till
Disburthened did capacious passion fill.

This moist gale o'er, when now they had awhile
Melted in joy, clothing it with a smile,
He thus unfolds his comfort : ' Blessed Fates,
You have out-tried my charity, he hates
All real virtue, that confesses not
My care of thee was but an unknown spot
To this large world of satisfaction.' — Here 370

Kind sorrow stopped his voice again. When fear
Their enemies might rally, and i' the bud
Blast all their blooming joys, even whilst the blood
Reeked on his sword, leaving their eyes to pay
Pursuing prayers, Argalia posts away,

330 wait, transport] Singer, with his usual well-intentioned officiousness. ' waite '
and ' transports.'

(97 ) H

Willia^n Chamber lay ne [book ii

But finds his foes dispersed, excepting one

Stout regiment, whose desperation, grown

To valour, spite of all pursuers, made

Good their retreat ; till forced at length to shade

Themselves from the pursuing danger in 380

A deep dark cave, whose spacious womb had been

Their receptacle, when unlawful theft

Was their profession. In this place they'd left

Their dearest pledges, as most confident

Those dark meanders would their loss prevent.

These stout opposers being protected here,
Before Argalia brought his army near,
Had fortified the narrow pass, and now
Presume of safety, since none else knew how
Without their leave to enter. Hemmed about 390

With all the castle foot, his horse sent out
To clear the field, the careful general sees ;
Then every quarter made secure, he frees
His own from all suspected danger. While
This busy siege did better things beguile
Of some few steps of time, the prince arrives,
To see the leaguer, where each captain strives
With entrance to be honoured : but in vain
The subtle engineer here racks his brain ;
The mountains yield not to their cannon shock, 400

Nor mine could pierce the marble-breasted rock.

Thus whilst they lay despairing e'er to force
A place so difficult, with some few horse
Only attended, the vexed prince surrounds
The spacious hill, whose uncouth sight confounds
His ablest guides; making a stand to view
A promontory, on whose brow there grew
A grove of stately cedars, from a dark
And hidden cleft, proud of so rich a mark,
Some muskets are discharged ; which missing, by 410

A desperate sally 's seconded. To fly
The danger thorough such a dreadful way
As now they were to pass, was not to stay —
But hasten ruin ; though too weak, in fight
More safety lay, than an unworthy flight.

But valour, like the royal eagle by
A cloud of crows o'ermastered, less to die
With honour, had no refuge left; and that
Here each plebeian gains. When, frighted at
The unusual clamour, with such troops as were 430

Most fit for speed, Argalia was come there —
Arrived even with that minute which first saw
His prince a captive. Now the rebels draw
Back to their private sally-port, but are

415 an] Singer ' in ' perhaps unnecessarily.

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Canto III] Pharonnida

Too speedily pursued to enter far

Within their dark meanders, ere o'ertook

By their enraged foes, who had forsook

Their other stations, and to this alone

Drew all their forces, entering the unknown

And horrid cave, whose troubled womb till then 430

Ne'er such a colic felt. Argalia's men.

Following so brave a leader, boldly tread

Through the rock's rugged entrails ; those that fled,

Though better skilled in their obscure retreat,

No safety find. The cave's remotest seat

Was now the stage of death ; together thronged,

After their swords had life's last step prolonged.

There all the villains in despair had died.

Had not the fear their prince in such a tide

Of blood might have been shipwrecked ; whom to save, 440

A general pardon to the rest is gave.

And now the dreadful earthquake, which had turned
The rock to MXx\z., could its top have burned
With subterranean fires, being ceased ; the prince,
Desirous by his knowledge to convince
Those word-deep wonders, which report had spread
Of that strange cave, commands some to be led
By an old outlaw, whose experience knew
The uncouth vault's remotest corners, to

Those seats of horror. Which performed, and word 450

Returned again, the danger did afford
Subject for nobler spirits ; forthwith he,
Attended by Argalia, goes to see
What had affrighted them. The dreadful way
Through which he passed, being steep and rugged, lay
Between two black and troubled streams, that through
The cleft rock rolled with horrid noise, till to
An ugly lake, v/hose heavy streams did lie
Unstirred with air, they come, and there are by
That black asphaltos swallowed. A strange sound 460

Of yelling dragons, hissing snakes, confound
Each trembling auditor; till comforted
By bold Argalia venturing first to tread
On stones, which did like ruined arches lie
Above the surface of the lake, he 's by
Their aid brought to an ancient tower, that stood
Fixed in the centre of the lazy flood : —
Its basis founded on a rock, whose brow,
With age disfigured into clefts, did now

AVith loud and speedy ruin threaten to 470

Crush all beneath it ; round about it flew
On sooty wings such ominous birds as hate
The cheerful day ; vipers and scorpions sate
Circled in darkness, till the cold damp breath

( 99 ) H 2

William Chamberlayne [book ii

Of near concreted vapours, singed to death

B' the numerous light of torches, which did shine

Through the whole mountain's convex, and refine

Air with restraint corrupted, forcing way

By conquering flames recalls the banished day.

Come now to a black tower, which seemed to be 480

The throne of some infernal deity,
That his extended laws reaches unto
The brazen gate, whose folded leaves withdrew
Assaults their eyes with such a flux of light,
That, as the dim attendants of the night
In bashful duty shun the prince of day.
So their lost tapers unto this give way ;
Whilst it, with wonder that belief outgrew,
Transports their sights to the amazing view
Of so much beauty, that the use of sense 490

Was lost in more than human excellence.

A glorious room, so elegantly fair
In 'ts various structure, that the riotous heir
O' the eastern crescent that might choose to be
The theatre of shining majesty.
They now behold ; yet than its mighty strength,
Which had preserved such beauty from the length
Of Age's iron talons, there appear
More rare perfections — the large floor, of clear
Transparent emeralds, lent a lustre to 503

The oval roof; whose scarce seen ground was blue^
Studded with sparkling gems, whose brightness lent
The beauties of the vaulted firmament
To all beneath their beams ; the figured walls,
Embossed with rare and antic sculptury, calls
For th' next observance : though the serious eye,
The way to truth in secret mystery
Here having lost, lets the dark text alone,
To view the beauties of a glorious throne,
Which, placed within the splendid room, did stand 510

Beneath an ivory arch, o'er which the hand
Of art, in golden hieroglyphics, had
The story of ensuing fate unclad,
But vainly, since the art-defective times
Struck nought but discords on those well-tuned chimes.

Upon the throne, in such a glorious state
As earth's adortid favourites, there sate
The image of a monarch, vested in
The spoils of nature's robes, whose price had been
A diadem's redemption ; his large size, 520

Beyond this pigmy age, did equalize
The admired proportion of those mighty men.
Whose cast-up bones, grown modern wonders, when
Found out, are carefully preserved to tell
(loo)

Canto III] Pharofinida

Posterity — how much these times are fell

From Nature's youthful strength ; if ['t] be not worse,

Our sin's stenography, the dwarfish curse

Ordained for large-sized luxury. Before

The throne, a lamp, whose fragrant oils had more

Perfumed the room than all the balmy wealth 530

Of rich Arabia, stood ; light, life, and health,

Dwelt in its odours, but what more contents

The pleased spectators, that fair hand presents

The rest t' the view : — the image to declare

Of whom the effigies was, on 's front did bear

A regal crown, and in his hand sustained

A threatening sceptre; but what more explained

Antiquity's mysterious dress was seen

In a small tablet ; which, as if 't had been

Worth more observance than what Fate exprest 540

In unknown figures, he did gently rest

His left hand on, as if endeavouring by

That index to direct posterity,

How in their wonder's altitude to praise

The deeper knowledge of those wiser days.

By reading in such characters as Time

Learned in her nonage — this — in antic rhyme,

When striving to remove this light.

It princes leaves involved to night,

The time draws near, that shall pull down 550

My old Morea's triple crown ;

Uniting, on one royal head.

What to disjoin such discord bred :

But let the more remote take heed,

For there's a third ordained to bleed';

For when I'm read, not understood,

Then shall Epirus' royal blood.

By ways no mortal yet must know,

Within the Aetolian channel flow.

This strange inscription read, not only by 560

The prince, but those whom wonder had drawn nigh
The sacred room, their fancies' civil war
Grows full of trouble ; 'tis a text so far
Beyond a comment, that their judgements, in
Enigmas mazed, had long let motion been
In epileptic wonder lost, until
(As that alone contained their dreaded ill)
The greater part with joined consents advise
To have the lamp removed, since in it lies.
If those lines prove prophetic, the linked fate 57°

Of all letian princes. Which debate
549 to] Singer 'in.' 571 letian] In the extraordinary confusion of propernames,

which has been already noticed, it would probably be quite vain to guess at this.

( lOI )

LIBRARY

university of california

rivers:de

William Chamber layiie [bookii

Being carried in the affirmative, the rest

Drew back, whilst bold Argalia forward prest ;

But 's thus soon staid ; — the stone, on which he slept

Next, was by art so framed, that it had kept

Concealed an engine's chiefest spring, which, by

The least weight touched, in furious haste let fly

Unpractised wheels, and with such vigour strook

The sceptre on the long-lived lamp — it shook

Its crystal walls to dust ; — not thunder's strong 580

Exagitations, when it roars among

Heaps of congested elements, a sound

More dreadful makes. But what did most confound

Weak trembling souls, was the thick darkness that

Succeeds the dying flame ; which wondering at,

Whilst all remain, art's feeble aids supply

The lamp's lost virtue with new lights, but by

Cold damps so darkened, that contracted night

Scorned their weak flames, showing that hallowed light

Contained more sacred virtues. Now, as Fate 590

Had only to that hour prolonged the date

Of all within, a sudden change, to dust

The mighty body turns ; consuming rust

Had ate the brazen imagery, and left

No sign of what till then safe from the theft

Of time remained ; darkness had repossessed

The sullen cave to an eternal rest ;

In the rude chaos of their ashes, all

Art's lively figures in an instant fall.

Pleased with the sight of these strange objects more 600
Than with war's dangers he was vexed before,
The prince with all his train of conquerors now
Is gone to teach the expecting army how
To share their wonder; but not far from thence
Removes, before confirmed intelligence
Acquaints him with the Epirot's march ; who in
His swift advance so fortunate had been.
That falling on such as the morning's flight
Flattered with hope, they there met endless night
At unawares: but of these added numbers 610

Was cursed Almanzor none ; yet Justice slumbers
r the prosecution of his unripe fate.
Which must more horrid sins accumulate :
Before cut off, his clamorous guilt must call
For vengeance louder, and grow hectical
With custom, till the tables of his shame
Into oblivion rot his loatht;d name.

THE END OF THE THIRD CANTO.

(103 )

Canto IV] Pharonnida

Canto IV

THE ARGUMENT

From war's wide breaches, whence his brave friends had
With victory brought him, the old prince arrived

In safety, whilst fear punishes the bad,

Rewards that virtue which his cause revived.

In which brave act, Argalia's merits met

With a reward that e'en desert outgrew,
Whilst him it the fair princess' guardian set,

The root on which love's fruit to ripeness grew.

That too inferior branch, which strove to rise

With the basilic to anastomize,

Thus drained, the state's plethoric humours are

Reduced to harmony ; that blazing star,

Which had been lifted by rebellious breath

To's exaltation, in the House of Death

Now lay oppressed. Which victory complete,

Leaving his army where before the seat

O' the rebels was, his entertainment by

The welcome harbinger of victory lo

Before prepared, the pleased Epirot goes

With an exalted joy to visit those

His goodness, whilst unknown, relieved; where he

Such noble welcome finds, as not to be

Imagined but by grateful souls that know

The strength of courtesy, when 'twould o'erflow

Those merits, which, whilst love incites to praise

Our friend's deserts, to pyramids we raise.

The narrow confines of Alcithius' wall,
Which kept them safe from dangers past, too small 2q

Grows for that present triumph, that blots out
All thoughts of grief, but what are spent about
Thanksgiving for delivery ; which they do
Perform in sports, whose choice delights might woo
Cold anchorites from their sullen cells. The earth.
The air, the sea, all, in a plenteous birth,
Exhausted their rich treasuries to pay
Tribute to their desires ; which, could Time stay
Her chariot wheels from hurrying down the hill
Of feeble nature, man's vain thoughts would fill 30

With subaltern delights, most highly prized,
Till the conclusion. Death, hath annalized
The doubtful text with what lets mortals know
Their blooming joys must drop to shades below.

29 Her] Singer alters, on general principles, to ' His.' But Chamberlayne is
so eccentric that he might have imagined Time as feminine, which is not at all
unthinkable.

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William Chamherlayne [book ii

That great eclipse of glory's rays, within
Whose shades sad Corinth had benighted been,
Since, like a widowed turtle, first she sate
A mourner for her wandering prince's fate ;
Now, like the day's recovered reign, breaks forth
In fuller lustre. All excelling worth, 4°

That honoured virtue, or loved beauty, placed.
Her ornaments, with their appearance graced
Those public triumphs she prepares to meet
The princes in ; in every splendid street
The various pride of Persia strove to outvie
Rich English wool dipped in the Tyrian dye :
Each shop shines bright, and every merchant shows
How little to domestic toil he owes.
By the displaying beauteous wardrobes, where
The world's each part may justly claim a share : 50

Though what in all art's stiff contention lent
Most lustre, was the windows' ornament —
Fair constellations of bright virgins, that.
Like full-blown flowers, first to be wondered at.
Display their beauties, but that past withal.
Tempt some kind hand to pluck them ere they fall.

Their entrance in this triumph made, whilst now
Each busy artist is endeavouring how
To court their fancies, Time's small stock to improve.
The grave Epirot, whose designs toward love 60

Yet only by ambition led, had made
His first approach so seeming retrograde
By state's nice cautions, and what did presage
More ill — the inequality of age.
That when converse his private captive led,
His largest hopes on the thin diet fed
Of a paternal power ; assisted by
Whose useful aid, with all the industry
Of eager love, he still augments that fire
Which must consume, not satisfy desire. 70

But, as occasion warned him to prevent
Unequal flames, he but few days had spent
In love's polemics, ere unpractised art.
From this calm field to war's more serious part
Is sadly summoned. Those large conquests he
Had triumphed in, whilst glorious victory
Waited on's sword, too spacious to be kept
Obedient whilst that glittering terror slept
In an inactive peace, disclaiming all

The harsh injunctions of proud victors, fall 80

Off from 's obedience ; and to justify
Their bold revolt, to the unsafe refuge fly
Of a defensive power. To crush whose pride.
With such a force as an impetuous tide

( i°4 )

Canto ivj Phavonnida

Assaults the shore's defence, he's forced to take

A march so sad, as souls when they forsake

The well-known mansions of their bodies to

Tread death's uncertain paths, and there renew

Acquaintance with eternity; perplexed

To hear those new combustions, but more vexed 90

With love's proud flames burning. In which we'll leave

Him on his hasty voyage, and receive

A smile from the fair princess' fate ; which, till

Enjoyment stifles strong desire, will fill

The tragic scene no more, but, with as sad

A progress to her hopes, as ever had

Poor virgin to the throne of Love, will frame

Those harsh phylacteries, which in Cupid's name

She must obey, unless she will dispense

With sacred vows, and martyr innocence. 100

These storms blown o'er, and the Epirot gone.
Her father, that till now had waited on
His entertainment, with a serious eye
Looks o'er his kingdom's wounds, and doth supply
Each part, which in this late unnatural war
Was grown defective. Unto some that are
Not lethargized in ill he gently lays
Refreshing mercies ; sometimes, danger stays
From an approaching gangrene, by applying
Corroding threats; but unto those that, flying no

All remedies prescribed, had mortified
Their loyalty, stern justice soon applied
The sword of amputation : which care past,
As 'twas his greatest, so becomes his last —
Pharonnida he places, where she might
At once enjoy both safety and delight.

Her thoughts' clear calm, too smooth for th' turbulent
And busy city, wants that sweet content
The private pleasures of the country did

Afford her youth ; but late attempts forbid lao

All places far remote : which to supply,
He unto one directs his choice, that by
Its situation did participate
Of all those rural privacies, yet sate
Clothed in that flowery mantle, in the view
O' the castle walls, which, as placed near it to
Delight not trouble, in full bulk presents
Her public buildings' various ornaments.

This beauteous fabric, where the industrious hand
Of Art had Nature's midwife proved, did stand 130

Divided from the continent b' the wide
Arms of a spacious stream, whose wanton pride
In cataracts from the mountains broke, as glad
Of liberty to court the valley, had

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William Chamber lay ?ie [bookii

Curled his proud waves, and stretched them to enclose

That type of paradise, whose crown-top rose

From that clear mirror, as the first light saw

Fair Eden 'midst the springs of Havilah ;

So fresh as if its verdant garments had

Been in the first creation's beauties clad, 140

Ere, by mistaking of the fatal tree.

That blooming type of blest eternity.

Subjected was, by man's too easy crime,

Unto the sick vicissitudes of time.

Nor was she in domestic beauty more
Than prospect rich — the wandering eye passed o'er
A flowery vale, smooth, as it had been spread
By nature for the river's fragrant bed.
At the opening of that lovely angle met

The city's pride, as costlier art had set 150

That masterpiece of wit and wealth to show —
Unpolished nature's pleasures were below
Her splendid beauties, and unfit to be
Looked on, 'less in the spring's variety :
Though from the palace where in prospect stood
All that nice art or plainer nature would.
If in contention, show to magnify
Their power, did stand, yet now appeared to vie
That prospect which the city lent ; unless,
Diverted from that civil wilderness, 160

The pathless woods, and ravenous beasts within,
Whose bulk were but the metaphors for sin,
We turn to view the stately hills, that fence
The other side o' the happy isle, from whence
All that delight or profit could invent
For rural pleasures, was for prospect sent.

As Nature strove for something uncouth in
So fair a dress, the struggling streams are seen,
With a loud murmur rolling 'mongst the high
And rugged clifts; one place presents the eye 170

With barren rudeness, whilst a neighbouring field
Sits clothed in all the bounteous spring could yield
Here lovely landscapes, where thou might'st behold,
When first the infant morning did unfold
The day's bright curtains, in a spacious green,
Which Nature's curious art had spread between
Two bushy thickets, that on either hand
Did like the fringe of the fair mantle stand,
A timorous herd of grazing deer ; and by
Them in a shady grove, through which the eye 180

Could hardly pierce, a well-built lodge, from whence
The watchful keeper's careful diligence

i6a bulk] Singer ' bulks ' obviously but perhaps unnecessarily.
170 clifts] Orig. ' clefts ' as often.

(.06)

Canto IV] Pharon7iida

Secures their private walks ; from hence to look
On a deep valley, where a silver brook
Doth in a soft and busy murmur slide
Betwixt two hills, whose shadows strove to hide
The liquid wealth they were made fruitful by,
From full discoveries of the distant eye.

Here, from fair country farms that had been
Built 'mongst those woods as places happy in 190

Their privacy, the first salutes of light
Fair country virgins meet, cleanly and white
As were their milky loads : so free from pride,
Though truly fair, that justly they deride
Court's nice contentions, and by freedom prove
More blest their lives — more innocent their love.
Early as these, appears within the field
The painful husbandman, whose labour steeled
With fruitful hopes, in a deep study how
To improve the earth, follows his slow-paced plough. aoo

Near unto these, a shepherd, having took
On a green bank placed near a purling brook
Protection from the sun's warm beams, within
A cool fresh shade, truly contented in
That solitude, is there endeavouring how
On 's well-tuned pipe to smooth the furrowed brow
Of careful Want, seeing not far from hence
His flock, the emblems of his innocence.
Where the more lofty rock admits not these
Domestic pleasures. Nature there did please 210

Herself with wilder pastimes ; — on those clifts,
Whose rugged heads the spacious mountain lifts
To an unfruitful height, amongst a wild
Indomitable herd of goats, the mild
And fearful cony, with her busy feet.
Makes warmth and safety in one angle meet.

From this wild range, the eye, contracted in
The island's narrow bounds, would think 't had been
I' the world before, but now were come to view
An angel-guarded paradise; till to 2io

A picture's first rude catagraph the art
Of an ingenious pencil doth impart
Each complement of skill : or as the court
To the rude country ; as each princely sport
That brisks the blood of kings, to those which are
The gross-souled peasant's rude delight — so far
These objects differ : here well-figured Nature
Had put on form, and to a goodly stature,
On whose large bulk more lasting arts were spent,
Added the dress of choicest ornament. 230

189 farms] Chamberlayne, who always spells ' alarum ' ' alarm,' apparently gave
' farm ' the sound of ' farum.'

( 107 )

William Chamber lay ne [book ii

The stately mount, whose artificial crown
The palace was, to meet the vale stole down
In soft descents, by labour forced into
A sliding serpentine, whose winding clew
An easy but a slow descent did give
Unto a purling stream ; whose spring did live,
AVhen from the hill's cool womb broke forth, within
A grotto; whence before it did begin
To take its weeping farewell, into all

The various forms restrictive Art could call 240

Her elemental instruments unto
Obedience by, it courts the admiring view
Of pleased spectators — here, exalted by
Clear aqueducts, in showers it from those high
Supporters falls ; now turned into a thin
Vapour, in that heaven's painted bow is seen;
Now it supplies the place of air, and to
A choir of birds gives breath, which all seemed flew
From thence for fear, when the same element,
With such a noise as seas imprisoned rent 250

Including rocks, doth roar : which rude sound done,
As noble conquerors who, the battle won,
From the loud thunders of impetuous war
To the calm fields of peaceful mercies, are
By manly pity led ; so, Proteus-like,
Returned from what did fear or wonder strike,
The liquid nymph, resuming her own shape
Within a marble square, a clear escape,
Till from her winding stream the river takes
Still fresh supplies, from that fair fountain makes. 260

Upon those banks which guarded her descent.
Both for her odour and her ornament,
Lilies and fragrant roses there were set ;
To heighten whose perfume, the violet
And maiden primrose, in their various dress,
Steal through that moss, whose humble lowliness
Preserves their beauties ; whilst Aurora's rose,
And that ambitious flower that will disclose
The full-blown beauties of herself to none
Until the sun mounts his meridian throne, 270

(Like envied Worth, together with the view
Of the beholders), being exposed unto
Each storm's rough breath, in that vicissitude
Find that their pride their danger doth include.
When scorched with heat or l)urthened with a shower,
From blooming beauty sinks the fading flower ;
Though here defended by a grove that twined
Mutual embraces, and with boughs combined.
Protects the falling stream, which it ne'er leaves,
Till thence the vale its flowery wealth receives. 280

(108)

Canto IV] Phuronnida

Placed as the nobler faculty to this
Of vegetation, like an emphasis
Amongst the flowers of rhetoric, did stand
The gorgeous palace ; where Art's curious hand
Had, to exceed example, centred in
One exact model what had scattered been —
But as those fragments which she now selects,
The glory of all former architects.
Here did the beauties of those temples shine,
Which Ephesus or sacred Palestine 290

Once boasted in ; the Persian might from this
Take patterns for his famed Persepolis ;
This, which had that fair Carian widow known,
Mausolus' tomb had ne'er a proverb grown,
But been esteemed, after her cost, by her
That did erect, a homely sepulchre.

Though to describe this fabric be as far
Above my art as imitations are
Beneath its worth, yet if thy Fancy's eye
Would at its outside glance, receive it by 300

This cloudy medium. — On a stately square,
Which powerful art forced to a level where
The mountain highest rose, compassed about
With a thick grove, whose leafy veil let out ,
Its beauties so, 'tis at a distance seen,
A silver mount enamelled o'er with green,
The shining palace stood; whose outward form
Though such as if built for perpetual storm.
Yet in that strength appeared but armed to be
Beauty's protector : whose variety, 310

Though all met in an artful gracefulness,
In every square put on a several dress.
The sides, whose large balcones conveyed the eye
T' the fields' wild prospects, were supported by
A thousand pillars; where in mixture shone
The Parian white and red Corinthian stone,
Supporting frames, where in the like art stood
Smooth ivory mixed with India's swarthy wood :
All which, with gold, and purer azure brought
From Persian artists, in mosaics wrought, 320

The curious eye into meanders led.
Until diverted by a sight that bred
More real wonder. — The rich front wherein
By antic sculpture, all that ere had been
The various acts of their preceding kings,
So figured was; no weighty metal brings

296 erect] Singer supplies < 't'—' erect— 't.' But though Chamberlayne certainly
does not go out of his way to avoid these uglinesses, one need not go out of one's way
to insert them.

324 antic] 'antic' of course = ' antique.'

( 109)

William Chamberlayne [book ii

Aught to enhance its worth, Art did compose

Each emblem of such various gems — all chose

Their several colours — Under a sapphire sky

Here cheerful emeralds, chaste smaragdi lie — 330

A fresh green field, in which the armfed knights

Were all clad in heart-cheering chrysolites.

With rubies set, which to adorn them twist

Embraces with the temperate amethyst ;

For parts unarmed — here the fresh onyx stood,

And Sardia's stone appeared like new-drawn blood ;

The Proteus-like achates here was made

For swords' fair hilts, but for the glittering blade,

Since all of rich and precious gems was thus

Composed, was showed of flaming pyropus : 340

And lest aught here that 's excellent should want.

The ladies' eyes were shining adamant.

These glorious figures, large as if that in

Each common quar these glittering gems had been

By sweaty labourers digged, united by

Successful art, unto the distant eye

Their mixed beams with such splendid lustre sent,

That comets, with whose fall the firmament

Seems all on fire, amazes not the sight

With such a full and sudden flux of light. 350

As lines extended from their centre, hence
Unto the island's clear circumference,
Four flowery glades, whose odoriferous dress
Tempted the weary to forgetfulness,
Cutting the mountain into quadrants, led
Into the valley — Pleasure's humbler bed.
Where come, if Nature's stock can satisfy
The fancy at the fountains of the eye,
'Twas here performed, in all that did include
What active mirth or sacred solitude 360

Could happy call — Groves never seen b' the eye
O' the universe, whose pleasing privacy
Was more retired from treacherous light than those.
To hide from Heaven, Earth's first Offender chose.

When Contemplation, the kind mother to
All thoughts that e'er in sacred rapture flew
Toward celestial bowers, had here refined
The yet imperfect embrj'os of the mind ;
To recreate contracted spirits by

The soul's best medicine — fresh variety, 370

An easy walk conducts them unto all
That active sports did e'er convenient call.
All which, like a fair theatre b' the bank
O' the river verged, was guarded by a rank
Of ancient elms ; whose lofty trunks, embraced
By clasping vines, with various colours graced

(110)

Canto IV] Pharo7inida

Their spreading branches — Whose proud brows, being crowned

With stately walks, did from that ample round

The well-pleased eye to every place convey.

That in the island's humble level lay. 380

To guard her court, a hundred gentlemen,
Such as had glorified their valour, when
Tried in her father's wars, attended; which,
Commanded by Argalia, did enrich
His merit with such fair reward, that all
His better stars, should they a synod call.
Those fires convened ne'er with more glorious light
Could clothe his hopes ; his fortune's dim-eyed night
Enflamed to noon, and the fair princess blest
By the same power ; for though his fate invest 390

His noble soul within the obscure mask
Of an unknown descent, his fame shall ask,
In time to come, a chronicle, and be
The glory of that royal family
From whence he sprung. But ere he must attain
The top of Fortune's wheel, that iron chain,
By whose linked strength it turns, too oft will grate
Him with most hot afflictions ; his wise fate
Digs deep with miseries, before it lays

The ground-work of his fame, which then shall raise, 400

On the firm basis of authentic story,
To him eternal pyramids of glory.

Thou that art skilled in Love's polemics here
Wish they may rest awhile ; and though drawn near
A sadder fate, if Pity says — too rath
'Tis to let Sorrow sad the scene, we'll bathe
Our pen awhile in nectar, though we then
Steep it in gall again. The Spring did, when
The princess first did with her presence grace
This house of pleasure, with soft arms embrace 410

The Earth — his lovely mistress — clad in all
The painted robes the morning's dew let fall
Upon her virgin bosom ; the soft breath
Of Zephyrus sung calm anthems at the death
Of palsy-shaken Winter, whose large grave —
The earth, whilst they in fruitful tears did lave.
Their pious grief turned into smiles, they throw
Over the hearse a veil of flowers ; the low
And pregnant valleys swelled with fruit, whilst Heaven
Smiled on each blessing its fair hand had given, 420

Becalmed on this pacific sea of pleasure.
No boisterous wave appearing, the rich treasure
Of Love, being ballast with content, did fear
No threatening storm, so safe a harbour near,

400 ground-work] Orig. ' ground-/ork' not perhaps possibly.
416 lave] Orig. ' leave' which is obviously worth noting.

(hi)

William Chamber layjie [book ii

As the object whence it sprung. Such royal sports,

As take their birth from the triumphant courts

Of happy princes, did contract the day

To pitied beauty ; Time steals away

On downy feet, whose loss since it bereaves

Them of no more than what new birth receives 430

From the next teeming day, by none is thought

Worth the lamenting. Sometimes, rocked i' the soft

Arms gf the calmest pleasures, they behold

A sprightly comedy the sins unfold

Of more corrupted times ; then, in its high

Cothurnal scenes, a lofty tragedy

Erects their thoughts, and doth at once invite,

To various passions, sorrow and delight.

Time, motion's aged measurer, includes
Not more, in all the hours' vicissitudes, 440

Than their oft changing recreations ; that.
When the sun's lofty pride sat smiling at
The earth's embroidered robes, or Winter's cold
And palsied hand did those fresh beauties fold
Up in her hoary plush, each season lends
Delights of 'ts own — such a beguiled time spends
Its stock of hours unwasted on, in chaste
Though private sports. Here happy lovers past
Fancy's fresh youth, whose first attempts did prove
Too innocent for th' sophistry of love ; 45°

There scornful beauty, or the envious eye
Of jealous rivals, ne'er afflicts — all by
An equal and a noble height so blest,
Pride none had raised, nor poverty depressed.

THE END OF THE FOURTH CANTO.

Canto V

THE ARGUMENT

Whilst serene joy sat smiling in her court,

As shadows to illustrate virtue b^'.
Fantastic Love becomes the princess' sport,

Whose harsher dictates she ere long must trj'.

For now suspicion, Virtue's secret foe,

Fired with Argalia's just-deserved fame,
Makes her great father think each minute slow.

Till separation had alla3cd the flame.

Lest that her court, which seems composed of all
That 's great or good, the o'erweening world should call
Perfection's height — a word which, whilst on earth,
Vain as Delight, only from name takes birth —
(112)

Canto V] Pha?^o?2nida

In this the largest and most glorious sphere

E'er greatness moved in, some few stars appear

To virtue retrograde. The informing spirit —

Love, by whose motion on the pole of merit

This bright orb turned, e'en 'mongst these heroes finds

A pair of followers, whose imperfect minds ro

Transgressed his dictates ; and, though no offence

So full of guilt as foul incontinence

Durst here approach, by ways less known unto

What love intends, those various figures drew,

Whose aspects ne'er more near conjunction move,

Than eyes — the slight astronomy of love.

That new Platonic malady, the way
By which imperfect eunuchs do betray
Nature's diseases to contempt, whilst by

Such slight repast they strive to satisfy 20

Love's full desires, which pines or else must crave
More than thin souls in separation have.
Being lately by some sick fantastics brought
But near the Court, within it long had sought
For residence, till entertained by two
Whose meeting souls no more distinction knew
Than sex, a difference which, whilst here it grows
Toward Heaven, it to corporeal organs owes.
But since that these so uncouth actors here
But as intruders on the scene appear, 30

Ere in their story we engulph too far.
Let 's first behold them in their character.

If e'er thy sober reason did submit
To suppling Mirth, that wanton child of Wit,
Beholding a Fantastic, drest in all
His vain delights, what's analogical
To our Acretius then conceive thou'st seen ;
Though if compared, those short to him had been
As transcripts are to copies : to complete
A humorist, here Folly had chose a seat 40

'Mongst more than vulgar knowledge, and might pass
The same account an academic ass
Makes of his father's four-year charge, when he
Frights villagers with shreds of sophistry.
'Mongst foreign parts, of which, like Coriate,
He'd run through some, he had acquired to prate
By privilege ; and, as if every nation
Contributed, is in each several fashion ;
Which, like their tongues, all so imperfect find,
That both disguised his body and his mind. 50

Though self-conceit, vain youth's fantastic crime,
Made him steal singly from the front of time,
I' the medium, which but seldom proves the seat
For lust's wild fire or zeal's reflected heat,

("3) I

William Chamber layne [bookii

He amorous grows ; and doubting to prevail,
For all his wings caught Pegasus b' the tail,
And being before with Cupid's engines fired.
From his posteriors doubly was inspired.
She that at first this sympathetic flame
Inspired him with, the court knew by the name 60

Of Philanta ; to whom, all would impair
Their skill, that gave the epithet of fair,
Except Acretius, — since her beauty fit
For praises was, where paralleled by wit.
Yet now, although time's sad discovery tells —
Her Autumn's furrows were no parallels
In Beauty's sphere, those youthful forms being grown
So obsolete, scarce the vestigia 's shown :
A native pride and strange fantastic dress.
More admiration than e'er comeliness 7°

Could do, acquires. She formerly had been
A great admirer of romances, in
Whose garb she now goes drest; a medley piece
Made up of India, Turkey, Persia, Greece,
With other nations, all enforced to be

Comprised within five foot's stenography.

Her wit, that had been critical, and ranged

'Mongst ladies' more than the ushers' legs, was changed

To gratify; and every word she said.

An apophthegm unto the chamber-maid, 80

From whom, her long experienced knowledge in

Some of the female mysteries of sin.

Had gained the applause of being skilled in all

That could prevent decaying beauty's fall.
Acretius and she, being such a pair

As Nature when tired with more serious care

For recreation made, instructed by

Their meeting natures' secret sympathy.

Soon learn to love; but, as if now too wise

For youth's first dictates. Love's loose rules comprise 90

In such strict bounds, that each the object saw

Of their desires, like sacred things, some law,

Fear made obeyed, forbids the world to use.

Lest the adored enjoyment should abuse

Into contempt ; nor are their meetings in

Those plainer paths — which their nice art calls sin —

At all performed; — that, the dull road unto

The bridal bed ; this, the fantastic clew

To a delight, which doth in labyrinths sit.

None e'er beheld while they preserved their wit. 100

Like wanton Jove committing secret rapes

On mortal beauties, they transmute their shapes

At every interview ; now, in a dress

Resembling an Arcadian shepherdess.

Canto V] Pharofintda

She in the woods encounters him, whilst he,

Armed Hke a furious knight, resolved to be

Her ravisher, approaches, but, being by

Her prayers charmed into pity, there doth lie

Fettered in soft embraces ; now he must

Turn hermit, and be tempted unto lust iic

By her, a lady errant; like distressed

Lovers, whose hopes by rigid friends oppressed

Pine to despair, they now are wandering in

Unhaunted groves, whose pensive shades had been

So oft their shady veil, that every tree,

In wreaths where love lay wrapped in mystery.

Held their included names — a subtile way

To the observant courtiers to betray

Their serious folly, which, from being their own

Delight, was now the sport o' the pages grown ; 120

The pleasant offsprings of whose wanton wit

Disturb their peace, that, though secured they sit

In shady deserts, with as much of fear.

As wandering ladies, when the giant 's near,

They're still possessed ; less terrible were all

The dreadful objects, Amadis de Gaul

Or wittier Quixote from their enemies

E'er met, than was the fear of a surprise

By those which did such strict observance take.

They thus their folly the court's laughter make. — 130

Near to the island's utmost verge did lie
Retired e'en from Heaven's universal eye,
A deep dark vale; whose night-concealing shade
By a fresh river's silver stream was made
So sweetly cool, it often did invite
Pharonnida to meet the smooth delight
Of calm retirement there. Where, to impart
With Nature's bounty all that liberal Art
Thought fit for so remote a pleasure, stood
A grotto, where the macrocosm's cold blood 140

Ran more dispersed in various labyrinths then
It circulates within the veins of men.

Hither the inventive lovers, who long sought
Some way which Fancy ne'er her followers taught
To express their serious folly in, repair,
Oft as the sun made the insalubrious air
Unfit for publick walks. To entertain
Them here with what exceeded all their vain
Delights before, — newly erected by

Successful art, each various deity J 5°

Old Fancy placed the sea's commanders, here
They with delight behold ; but when drawn near
They saw, i' the midst o' the blue-eyed Tritons, placed
Neptune's and Thetis' chariot — yet not graced

( "5 ) 12

JVilliam Chamber layne [book it

With their unfinished figures, this they took

For so much favour, as they had forsook

Their thrones to give them place. But what adds yet

More to the future mirth, they swiftly fit

Themselves with habits, such as art had drew

Its fancies in — both of their robes being blue i6o

Enchased with silver streams ; their heads, with fair

Dishevelled periwigs of sea-green hair.

Were both adorned ; circling whose crowns they wore

Wreathed coronets of flags ; his right hand bore

A golden trident ; hers, yet hardly red,

As if new plucked from the sea's frothy bed,

A branch of coral. — But whilst here they sit

Proudly adorned, both void of fear as wit,

The gates o' the grotto swiftly shutting in,

A torrent, such as if they'd seated been 170

At Nile's loud cataracts, by ways (before

Unseen) breaks forth ; by which the engine bore

From its firm station, floats aloft, and, by

A swift withdrawing of those bays which tie

Floods from commerce, is wafted forth into

A spacious pool ; where the bold artist drew

The unfathomed sea's epitome within

A circling wall, but such as might have been

A pattern to Rome's big-bulked pride, when they

Showed sea's loud battles for the land's soft play. 180

Our amorous humorists, that must now appear.
This narrow sea's commanders, shook with fear.
Sit trembling — whilst the shrill-voiced Tritons sound
Their crooked shells, whose watery notes were drowned
B' the lofty laughter of that troop, they saw
Their pleased spectators ; for Pharonnida,
Being now with all her beauteous train come to
Behold this pageant, taught them how to view
A shame as dreadful as their fear, which yet
Was full of horror; for though safe they sit 190

r the floating chariot, yet the mounting waves
So boisterous grew, that e'en great Neptune craves
Himself relief, till frighted from all sense
By second dangers : — -From that port from whence
They sallied forth, two well-rigged ships are now
Seen under sail, whose actions taught them how
Sea fights are managed, in a method that
They being too near engaged to tremble at.
By fear's slow conduct to confusion led,

Fall from their thrones ; and through the waves had fled 200
From shame to death, had they not rescued been
By swift relief — a courtesy that, in
Its first approach, though welcomed — when they come
To stand the shock o' the court's loud mirth, as dumb

(,i6)

Canto V] Pharonfitda

As were the fishes they so late forsook,
Makes Mercy court them in a dreadful look.

But, leaving these to pay with future hate
Each courtier's present mirth, a sadder fate
Commands my pen no longer to attend

On smooth delights, before it gives an end 210

To that ephemera of pleasure ; which,
Whilst a free conversation did enrich
Their thoughts, too fast did ripen in the breasts
Of both our royal lovers, whose fate rests
Not long in downy slumbers, ere it starts
In vain phantasmas — Hope herself departs
In a distracted trembling. Their bright sphere
Of milder stars had now continued clear
So long, till what their smiling influence drew
From the unthankful earth contracted to 220

A veil of clouds ; whose coolness, whilst some praised,
Obscured those beams by which they first were raised.

Hell's subtle embryos — the ingratitudes
Of cursed Amphibia, whose disguise includes
Mischiefs epitome, had often strook
In secret at their envied joys, which took
Ne'er its effects till now. So heavenly free
The virtuous princess was from what could be
Of human vice, she knew not to mistrust
It in another, but thinks all as just 230

As her own even thoughts ; wherefore, without
Oppressing of her soul with the least doubt
Raised from suspicion, she dares let her see
She loved Argalia, though it could not be
Yet counted more than what his merits might
Claim as desert. But this small beam of light,
Through the prospective of suspicion to
Envy's malignant eye conveyed, to do
An act, informs the cursed Amphibia, that
Makes love lament for what she triumphed at. 240

Since virtue, Heaven's unspotted character,
On the beloved Argalia did transfer
Merits of too sublime a height to be
Shadowed with vice — from that flower's fragrancy
She sucks her venom \ and, from what had built
His glory, now intends to raise his guilt.
For though the prince no engines need to move
His passion's frame, but just desert — his love —
Her close endeavours are to heighten 't by
Praises that make affection jealousy ; 250

Whose venom, having once possessed his soul,
It swiftly doth, like fatal charms, control

237 prospective] Singer 'perspective,' unnecessarily.

( 117 )

JVilliam Chamber layne [book ii

Reason's fair dictates ; and although no fear

From such well-ordered actions could appear

To strengthen it, Argalia's merits caused

Some sad and sullen doubts, such as, when paused

Awhile upon, resolve their cure must be —

Their cause removed — though in that action he

From his breast's royal mansion doth exclude

The noblest virtue — generous gratitude. 360

To cure this new-felt wound, and yet not give
Strong arguments — great virtues cannot live
Safe in corrupted courts^the poison's sent
In gilded pills. — A specious compliment,
To call him from his calm and quiet charge,
Pretends by new additions to enlarge
His full-blown fame, to an extent as far
As valour climbs in slippery heights of war :
Which now, though calmed in 's own dominions, by
A friendly league invites him to supply 270

The stout Epirot with an army that.
Though rich in valour, more was trembled at
For being commanded by Argalia, than
Composed of Sparta's most selected men.

As if no grief could be commensurate
Unto their joys, but what did blast their fate
In its most blooming spring : our lovers were.
When first assaulted by the messenger
Of this sad news, sate, in the quiet shade —
A meeting grove of amorous myrtles, made 380

To veil the brow of a fair mount, whose sides
A beauteous robe of full-blown roses hides ;
In such discourse, the flying minutes spending,
As passion dictates, when firm vows are ending
Those paries by which love toward perfection went
In the obliging bliss of full consent.

The fatal scroll received, and read until
She finds their parting doom ; the spring-tides fill
Her eyes, those crystal seas of grief — she stops —
Fans with a sigh her heart, then sheds some drops 290

Upon the guilty paper. Trembling fear
Plucks roses from her cheeks, which soon appear
Full-blown again with anger — red and white
Did in this conflict of her passions fight
For the pre-eminence. Which agony
Argalia noting, doubtful what might be
The cause of so much ill, he in his arms
Circles his saint ; with all the powerful charms
Of love's soft rhetoric, her lost pleasure strives
To call again ; — but no such choice flower thrives, 300

279 sate] Singer ' set ' : but I am not sure that the other is not right.
(..8)

Canto vj Phuronnida

Though springs of tears thither invite this rest,
In the cold region of her grief-swollen breast.

Long had she strove with grief's oppressive load
Ere sighs make way for this : — ' Is thy abode
Become the parent of suspicion ? Look
On this, Argalia, there hath poison took
Its lodging underneath these flowers, whose force
Will blast our hopes — there, there, a sad divorce
'Twixt our poor loves is set, ere we more near
Than in desires have met.' As much of fear, 310

As could possess his mighty soul, did shake
His strenuous hand, whilst 'twas stretched forth to take
The letter from Pharonnida. Which he
Having looked o'er, and finding it to be
An honourable policy to part
Them without noise, he curtains o'er his heart,
Pale as was hers with fear, in a disguise
Which, though rage drew his soul into his eyes,
So polished o'er his passion — to her grief.
His own concealed, he thus applies relief : — 320

' Dear virtuous princess, give your reason leave
But to look through this cloud, which doth receive
Its birth from nought but fear. — This honour, which
Your royal father pleases to enrich
My worthless fortunes with, will but prepare
Our future happiness. — The time we spare
From feeding on ambrosia, will increase
Our wealthy store, when the white wings of peace
Shall bear us back with victory; there may.
Through the dark chaos of my fate, display 333

Some beam of honour; though compared with thine
(That element of living flame) it shine
Dim as the pale-faced moon, when she lets fall
Through a dark grove her beams : — thy virtues shall
Give an alarum to my sluggish soul.
Whene'er it droops ; thy memory control
The weakness of my passions. When we strive
I' the heat of glorious battle, I'll revive
My drooping spirits with that harmony

Thy name includes — thy name, whose memory 340

(Dear as those relics a protecting saint
Sends humble votaries) mentioned, will acquaint
My thoughts with all that's good. Then calm again
This conflict of thy fears, I shall remain
Safe in the hail of death, if guarded by
Thy pious prayers — Fate's messengers that fly
On wings invisible, will lose the way.
Aimed at my breast, if thou vouchsafe to pray

345 hail] Singer 'vale'— a possibly right but rather large change.

("9)

' William Chamber lay 7te [book ii

To Heaven for my protection. — But if we

Ne'er meet again — yet, oh ! yet let me be 350

Sometimes with pity thought on.' At which word

His o'ercharged eyes no longer could afford

A room to entertain their tears; both wept,

As if they strove to quench that fire which kept

Light in the lamps of life, whose fortunes are

r the House of Death, whilst Mars the regal star.

Some time in silent sorrow spent, at length
The fair Pharonnida recovers strength.
Though sighs each accent interrupted, to

Return this answer : — ' Wilt, oh ! wilt thou do 360

Our infant love such injury — to leave
It ere full grown ? When shall my soul receive
A comfortable smile to cherish it,
When thou art gone? They're but dull joys that sit
Enthroned in fruitless wishes ; yet I could
Part, with a less expense of sorrow, would
Our rigid fortune only be content
With absence ; but a greater punishment
Conspires against us — Danger must attend
Each step thou tread'st from hence ; and shall I spend 370
Those hours in mirth, each of whose minutes lay
Wait for thy life? When Fame proclaims the day
Wherein your battles join, how will my fear
With doubtful pulses beat, until I hear
Whom victory adorns ! Or shall I rest
Here without trembling, when, lodged in thy breast,
My heart's exposed to every danger that
Assails thy valour, and is wounded at
Each stroke that lights on thee — which absent I,
Prompted by fear, to myriads multiply. 3S0

— But these are Fancy's wild-fires, we in vain
Do spend unheard orisons, and complain
To unrelenting rocks — this night-peekt scroll,
This bill of our divorcement, doth enrol
Our names in sable characters nought will
Expunge, till death obliterate our ill.' —

' Oh ! do not, dear commandress of my heart,
(Argalia answers), let our moist eyes part
In such a cloud as will for ever hide

Hope's brightest beams; — those deities that guide 390

The secret motions of our fate will be
More merciful, than to twist destiny
In such black threads. Should Death unravel all
The feeble cordage of our lives, we shall,

356 Mars] i. e. Mars is in the ascendant. Chamberlayne dares these clashes of s
impcrturbably.

383 night-peekt] Singer ' night-speckt.' But we have had tliis odd word • peekt,'
' pcect,' &c. before.

( '20 )

Canto vj Pharojifiida

Spite of that Prince of Terrors, in the high

And glorious palace of Eternity,

Being met again, renew that love, which we

On earth were forced, before maturity

Had ripened it, to leave. I' the numerous throng

Of long departed souls, that stray among 400

The myrtles in Elysium, I will find

Thy virgin ghost ; and whilst the rout, inclined

To sensual pleasures here, refining are

In purging flames, laugh at each envious star

Whose aspect, if ill sited at our birth.

With poisonous influence blasts the joys of earth.'

'Oh! waste not (cries the princess) dear time in
These shadows of conceit — the hours begin
To be 'mongst those inserted that have tried
The actions of the world, which must divide 410

Us from our joy. The sea through which we sail
Works high with woe, nor can our prayers prevail
To calm its angry brow — the glorious freight
Of my unwelcome honours hangs a weight
'J'oo ponderous on me for to steer the way
Thy humbler fortunes do ; else, ere I'd stay
To mourn without thee, I would rob my eyes
Of peaceful slumbers, and in coarse disguise.
Whilst love my sex's weakness did control.
Command my body to attend my soul — 420

My soul, my dear, which hovering near thee, not
Midnight alarums, that appear begot
By truth, should startle : 'twixt the clamorous camp,
Lightened with cannons, and the peaceful lamp
That undisturbed here wastes its oil, I know
No difference, but what doth from passion flow,
Whose close assaults do more afflict us far,
Than all the loud impetuous storms of war.'

' We must, we must (replies Argalia) stand
This thunderbolt, unmoved, — since his command — 430

Whose will confirms our law. Happy had we,
Great princess, been, if in that low degree.
From whence my infancy was raised, I yet
Had lived a toiling rural ; then, when fit
For Hymen's pleasures, uncontrolled I'd took
Some homely village girl, whose friends could look
After no jointure for to equalize
Her portion but my love ; no jealous eyes
Had waited on our meetings, we had made
All our addresses free ; the friendly shade 440

Cast from a spreading oak, as soon as she
Had milked her cows, had proved our canopy ;
Where our unpolished courtship had a love
As chaste concluded, as, from the amorous dove

(X2l)

William Chamberlayne [book ii

Perched near us, we had learned it. When arrived

Unto love's zenith, we had, undeprived

By disagreeing parents, soon been led

To church b' the sprucest swains ; our marriage-bed,

Though poor and thin, would have been neatly drest

By rural paranymphs, clad in the best 450

Wool their own flocks afforded. In a low

And humble shed, on which we did bestow

Nought but our labour to erect, we might

Have spent our lusty youth with more delight

Than glorious courts are guilty of; and, when

Age had decayed our strength, grown up to men,

Beheld our large coarse issue. Our days ended,

Unto the church been solemnly attended

By those of our own rank, and buried been

Near to the font that we were christened in. 460

Whilst I in russet weeds of poverty

Had spun these coarse threads, shining majesty

Would have exhausted all her stock to frame

A match for thy desert — some prince, whose name

The neighbouring regions trembled at, from whom

The generous issue of thy fruitful womb

Might have derived a stock of fame to build

A future greatness on, such as should yield

Subjects of wonder to the world.' About

To interrupt him, ere he had drawn out 470

This sad theme, she began to speak, but by

Night's swift approach was hindered. Now drew nigh

The time of his departure. Whilst he bleeds

At thought o' the first, a second summons speeds

His preparations to the city, where

That big-bulked body, unto which his care

Must add a soul, was now drawn up, and staid

Only to have his wished commands obeyed.

His powerful passion, love's strict rules respecting
More than bright honour's dictates, yet, neglecting 480

All summons, staid him till he'd sacrificed
His vows to her, whose every smile he prized
Above those trivial glories. Ere from hence
He dares depart, each, with a new expense
Of tears, pays interest to exacting Fate
For every minute she had lent of late
Unto poor Love, whose stock since not his own,
Although no spendthrift, is a bankrupt grown.

Look how a bright and glorious morning, which
The youthful brow of April doth enrich, 490

Smiles, till the rude winds blow the troubled clouds
Into her eyes, then in a black veil shrouds
Herself, and weeps for sorrow — so wept both
Our royal lovers — each would, and yet was loath

( 122 )

Canto V] Pharo7inida

To bid farewell, till stubborn time enforced

Them to that task. First his warm lips divorced

From the soft balmy touch of hers ; next parts

Their hands, those frequent witnesses o' the heart's

Indissoluble contracts ; last and worst,

Their eyes — their weeping eyes — (O fate accurst, 500

That lays so hard a task upon my pen —

To write the parting of poor lovers) when

They had e'en lost their light in tears, were in

That shade — that dismal shade, forced to begin

The progress of their sorrow. — He is gone.

Sweet sad Pharonnida is left alone

To entertain grief in soft sighs ; whilst he

'Mongst noise and tumult, oft finds time to be

Alone with sorrow, though encompassed by

A numerous army, whose brave souls swelled high 510

With hopes of honour ; — lest Fame's trump lost breath,

Haste to supply 't by victory or death.

But, ere calmed thoughts to prosecute our story,
Salute thy ears with the deserved glory
Our martial lover purchased here, I must
Let my pen rest awhile, and see the rust
Scoured from my own sword ; for a fatal day
Draws on those gloomy hours, whose short steps may
In Britain's blushing chronicle write more
Of sanguine guilt than a whole age before — 520

To tell our too neglected troops that we
In a just cause are slow. We ready see
Our rallied foes, nor will 't our slothful crime
Expunge, to say — Guilt wakened them betime.
From every quarter the affrighted scout
Brings swift alarums in ; hovering about
The clouded tops of the adjacent hills.
Like ominous vapours, lie their troops ; noise fills
Our yet unrallied army ; and we now

Grown legible, in the contracted brow 530

Discern whose heart looks pale with fear. If in
This rising storm of blood, which doth begin
To drop already, I 'm not washed into
The grave, my next safe quarter shall renew
Acquaintance with Pharonnida. — Till then,
I leave the Muses to converse with men.

THE END OF THE SECOND BOOK.

(•^3)

BOOK HI. Canto I

THE ARGUMENT

Beneath the powerful tyrannj' of love,

Whilst the fair princess weeps out every star
In pleasure's sphere, those dark clouds to remove,

All royal pastimes in it practised are.

Amongst whose triumphs, that her train might lend

Her their attendance in the shades of grief,
Passion brings some so near a fatal end.

That timely pity scarce affords relief.

Some months now spent, since, in the clouded court

Of sad Pharonnida, each princely sport

Was with Argalia's absence masked within

Sables of discontent, robes that had been

Of late her chiefest dress : no cheerful smile

E'er cheered her brow ; those walks which were erewhile

The schools where they disputed love, were now

Only made use of, when her grief sought how

To hide its treacherous tear : the unfilled bed

O' the widow, whose conjugal joy is fled, lo

I' the hot and vigorous youth of fancy, to

Eternal absence, sooner may renew

(Though she for tears repeated praises seeks)

The blooming spring of beauty on her cheeks.

When bright-plumed Day on the expanded wings
Of air approaches. Light's fair herald brings
No overtures of peace to her ; each prayer
In pious zeal she makes, a pale despair
In their celestial journey clogs. But long
Her feeble sex could not endure these strong 20

Assaults of passion, ere the red and white,
Vanquished, from beauty's throne had took their fiight.
And nought but melancholy paleness left
To attend the light of her dim eyes — bereft
Of all their brightness ; pining agues in
The earthquake of each joint, leaving within
The veins more blood than dwelt in hers which beat
The heart's slow motions with a hectic heat.

Long passion's tyrant reigns not, ere this change
Of mirth and beauty, letting sorrow range 30

Beyond the circle of discretion, in
Her father that suspicion which had been
Kindled before, renewing, he removes
His court to hers ; but the kind visit proves

Pharonnida

A paroxysm unto that strong disease

Which combats in her blood. No mirth could please

Her troubled soul, since barred society

With all its better angels — gone to be

Attendant on Argalia ; she beholds

Those studied pleasures which the prince unfolds 40

His love and greatness in, with no delight

More smooth than that a sullen anchorite,

Which a harsh vow hath there enforced to dwell.

Sees the cold wants of his unhaunted cell.

Amongst these sports, whose time-betraying view
Ravished each pleased spectator, the fair clew
Contracts some sable knots, of which my pen
Is only one bound to unravel. When
War had unclasped that dreadful book of hers,
Where honoured names in sanguine characters 50

Brave valour had transcribed, fair virtue fixed
Euriolus in honour's orb, and mixed
Him with the court's bright stars : but he who had,
Whilst unregarded poverty had clad
His virtues in obscurity, learned how
To sail in fortune's boisterous storms, is now
By her false smiles becalmed and sunk, before
Desert (bound thither) touched love's treacherous shore.

r the playful freedom of their youth, when she
Was only a fair shepherdess, and he 60

A humble swain, he truly did adore
The fair Florenza ; but aspired no more,
Since poverty clogged love's ambitious wing,
Than by his private muse alone to sing
Her praise — with such a flame of wit, that they
Which have compared, say, envied Laura may
Look pale with spleen, to hear those lines expressed,
Though in her great Platonic raptures dressed.

But now his worth, by virtue raised, did dwell
High as his hopes, and that a parallel 70

To hers appearing ; either's merits had
A climax to preferment, and thus clad
Virtue in honour's robes ; which equal fate
Gave his affection language to relate
What their disparity kept dumb : nor did
Those motions find acceptance, such as chid
Them for presumption, rather 'twas a frost
Of virgin ice, than fire of pride that crost
His masculine desires ; her eyes unfold

So much of passion, as by them she told 80

Who had most interest in her heart, which she
From all brave rivals his resolves shall be.

76 chid] Orig. ' hid.'
(1^5)

JVilliam Chamber layne [book hi

'Mongst those, Mazara, one whose noble blood
Enriched the gems of virtue, though they stood
In honour's altitude, was chief; nor could
A nobler choice, were her affections ruled
By worth, commend her judgement, — his fresh youth
Being crowned with virtues which might raise a truth
Above hyperboles ; his nature mild.

As was the gall-less dove, yet not the wild 90

And furious lion, when provoked, could have
More daring valour; an untimely grave.
Whilst it i' the embryo was, to every vice,
But unto virtue a fair paradise ;
Whose weedless banks no pining winter knew
Till death the influence of warm life withdrew.

That sympathy of meeting virtues, which
Did both their souls with equal worth enrich,
'Twixt him and brave Euriolus had tied

A league not to be broke, — could Love divide joo

His blessings amongst friends ; but that of all
Our passions brooks no rival : Fear may call
Friends to partake of palsies. Anger strives
To fire each neighbouring bosom. Envy thrives
By being transplanted, but a lover's pure
Flames, though converted to a calenture,
Unwillingly with the least flame will part —
Although to thaw another's frozen heart.

Few 'mongst the observant wits o' the court yet knew
(Though it with twisted eye-beams strengthened grew no

At every interview, and often dropped
Some tears to water it) whose love 'twas stopped
Mazara's suit. Euriolus, to her
Whose melting pity only could confer
A cure, unlocks the secret; whilst the other,
More confident to win, ne'er strives to smother
A passion so legitimate, but, by
All actual compliments, declares how high
He prized her virtues : but this worthy's fate
Fixed him in love's intemperate zone; too late 120

The pining fruit was sown, the spring so far
Being spent, its days were grown canicular,
Scorching all hopes, but what made able were
By fruitful tears — love's April showers, — to bear
Neglect's untimely frosts ; which oft have lost.
In bloomy springs, the unhappy lover's cost.

When this accomplished youth, whose tongue and pen,
With negatives more firm and frequent then
Cursed usurers give impoverished clients, oft
Had been repulsed, truth for discovery brought 130

128 then] ' then ' for ' than ' as often.

(,26)

Canto I] Phuronnida

This accident — Within the royal court

Of bright Pharonnida, a full resort

Of valiant knights were met, convened to try

Whose valour fortune meant to glorify.

Of which selected number there was one,

Who, though a stranger, virtue soon made known

To all, 'cause feared of most; his valour had.

Before the first triumphant day unclad

The silver-vested hemisphere, been oft

Clothed in the ornaments of honour — brought 140

On fame's fair wings from the opposing part,

Uncresting them to crown his high desert.

But now, when this new constellation near

Its zenith drew in honour's hemisphere,

Called thither by deciding lots, the brave

Euriolus appears, whom victory gave

In the first shock success, and placed his name

In the meridian altitude of fame ;

Where, though the valiant stranger prove no foe

So fortunately valiant to o'erthrow 150

The structure of his fate, yet his close stars

Now sink a mine, to which those open wars

But easy dangers were. Mazara, in

His crest, a scarf that formerly had been

Known for Florenza's, seeing, jealous love

Converted into rage, his passions move

Above the sphere of reason, and, what late

Was but a gentle blaze, by altered fate.

Fires to a comet, whose malignant beams

Foretold sad ills, attending love's extremes. 160

Loath to betray his passions in so great
A breach of friendship, to a close retreat
Mazara summons forward rage ; yet in
The stranger's name, whose fortune might have been
The parent of a private quarrel, sends
To call Euriolus, (who now attends
Nought but triumphant mirth), unguarded by
Applauding friends, in secret fight to try
What power did him from threatening danger guard,
When public fame was victory's reward. 170

This fatal scroll received by him that thought
It real truth, since passion might have sought
In him the same delay, a swift consent
Returns his answer. But the message went
So far from its directed road, that, ere
It reached Mazara's, loose neglect did bear
It to Carina's ear ; — a lady that
In silent tears her heart had offered at
His virtue's shrine, yet with such secret zeal.
Her eyes forbid their Cupids to reveal iSo

( 127)

William Chamberlayne [book hi

That language of her heart. She knew that in
Florenza's sea of merits, hers had been
Shipwrecked and lost ; yet, with a soul as far
From envying her, as hating him, this war
Of factious passions she maintains, and since
Reason now wanted language to convince
Those headstrong rebels, she resolves to be,
Though ruined, ruled by their democracy.

The information her officious maid
Had from Mazara's careless page betrayed, 190

Assures Carina — the preceding night.
Such horse and armour as the stranger knight
Euriolus had conquered in, had been
By his most cautious diligence within
A not far distant wood, in whose black shade
He meant his fury should his foe invade.
Lodged by his master. Which discovered truth,
Frightening her tears from the swift chase of youth
And beauty into froward age, to meet

Sorrow in private shades, withdraws the sweet 200

But sad Carina, who resolves to spend
Her sighs unnoted by her dearest friend.

This in Florenza, who foresaw that nought
But passions more than common could have wrought
So swift a change, works high ; who, that she might
Displume these ravens ere the babes of light
Smile in their weeping mother's face, prepares
To see Carina : who, with wakeful cares,
(Her sad companions) by her friend surprised,
No longer in their ebon veil disguised 210

Her thoughts' pure candour ; but with looks that did
Seem to implore assistance, whilst they chid
Her own indulgent nature, shows her how
Preposterous love made her to passions bow,
Whose fruit, since none of her first planters came
From forward man, could be but female shame.

This, with its fatal author, known, to free
Her friend from shame, herself from cruelty,
Unto Mazara, whose firm love attends

Her least commands, incensed Florenza sends. 320

Whose zeal-transported soul no sooner hears
That welcome sound, but, though presaging fears
Prompt him to stay, lest haughty honour fall,
Ruined by fame, he lets her standards fall
Before commanding love, and goes to wait
On 's honoured mistress. lUit this sly deceit
Of hope no cordial proves unto the sad
Carina's grief; the long experience had
Of his affection to Florenza, tells
Her doubtful soul, those even parallels

(138)

1x0

Canto I] Pharoiinida

Could not by all her friend's persuasions be
Wrested into the least obliquity.
Which sad mistrust did love precipitate
On paths whose danger frights protecting fate.

Assured the combat's hour drew on, and that
Mazara's love-sick soul was offering at
Florenza's shrine, and by that willing stay
Might be enforced some minutes to delay
The time, in which his readier opposite

Expected him, she, being resolved to write 240

Affection in her blood, with love's wild haste
Makes toward the lists ; there finds his armour placed
Within the dark shade of an ancient wood,
In whose black breast that place of horror stood
Where they appoint to meet, like those of fate
Obscure and dark, by beasts and birds that hate
The light alone frequented ; but love had
Displumed fear's haggars : being resolved, she clad
Beauty's fair pearl, where smooth delights did dwell,
r the rough-cast mould of that Cyclopian shell. 250

But that no arms nor bounding steeds affright,
Where love's fair hand hath valour's passport writ,
Here we should pause, and pity her that now
Fancy beholds, whilst she is learning how
To manage stubborn steel within her sleek
And polished hand, through devious paths to seek
For doubtful dangers, such whose horrid shape
On man's best judgement might commit a rape.

Her swift conductor, love, ere this had brought
Her to the place, where passion had not sought 260

Long for the object of her hate, ere she
Her valiant brother, that was come to be
His fame's protector, sees, but so disguised
In 's arms, that both, with envy unadvised
By knowledge, an unthought-of guilt prepare
In blood to meet. Their foaming horses were
Now freed from the commanding rein, and in
Their full career ; but love in vain to win
The field from valour strives, her eager haste
But argues such an envy as did \vaste 370

Itself in weak attempts ; which, to the length
Of power extended, falls beneath the strength
Of her victorious foe, whose fortune had
In robes of joy, what he must weep for, clad.

Conquered Carina, now dismounted, lay

248 haggars] It is a pity that ' haggars ' has been allowed to become obsolete : for
we want something answering to the French affres. At tiie same time, the word may
be used in a sense closer to the usual one of haggard,' in relation to the person, — ' those
who are made wild and haggard by fear.' In either case, of course, the poet has the
' untamed hawk ' in mind : and, perhaps, nothing else.

( 129 ) K

William Chamber layne [book iif

Struggling for life ; whose fortress to betray

Toward nature'-s tyrant, death, her blood transports

False spirits through their purple sallyports.

Her brother, with an anger that was grown

Into disdain, his fury should be shown 280

On such resistless subjects, ere he knows

How much of grief his soul to sorrow owes

For this unhappy act, from 's finished course

Was now returning, not by strength to force

The harsh commands of tyrant victors, but

By calm advice a bloodless end to put

To that ill-managed quarrel : but before

He there arrives, to make his sorrows more

When truth unveils their dark design, a knight.

With haste as speedy as the secret flight 290

Of wrath when winged from angry Heaven, he saw,

Bolted into the lists ; who soon did draw

Too near, in sober language to dispute

Their fatal quarrel. Both with rage grown mute.

Disdaining conference, found no place for words

Amidst the mortal language of their swords ;

Which, the first shock passed o'er and lances broke,

In haste took place, and at each furious stroke

Unbayed the fountains of their blood, to stain

With purple guilt the flower-enamelled plain. 300

Whilst each did thus with silent rage employ
An art-directed fury to destroy
The other's strength, the bordering shadows weep
In trickling dews, and with sad murmurs keep
Time with the hollow and ill-boding note
Sent from a fatal raven's stretched-out throat.
Which from an old oak's withered top did sing
A baleful dirge. But these sad omens bring
No terror to their busy thoughts, which were
Too much employed in action, to take care 310

For any danger more remote than what
With the next stroke might fall. Perceiving that
Their horses faint, they both dismount, and do
On equal terms the fight on foot renew,
Till a cessation, from the want of breath
Not valour, was enforced. The veil, which death
Contracted from those steams his reeking blood
Breathed forth its spirits in, already stood
Over Mazara's eyes, which clouded sees

Not that approach of night ; his trembling knees 320

Stagger beneath their fainting load, which in-
T' the grave had dropped, had not their fury been,
When its last heat was with life's flame near spent,
From further rage restrained by accident.

Some of the lost Carina's frighted friends,

(•30)

Canto I] Pharontiida

Fearing those ills which desperate love attends,

Spending that morning in the fruitless quest

Of her had been, and now (their hopes distrest

With vain inquiries) to communicate

Their grief returning were ; which secret fate 330

To interpose through dark meanders brought

Neglect, to find what care in vain had sought.

Whilst yet no more than brave humanity
Prompts them to part a quarrel that might be
Defiled with blood, which, if not shed in wars,
With murder stains what it doth gild with scars,
They toward them haste, even in that critical
And dangerous minute when Mazara's fall,
With victory's laurels to adorn his crest,

His valiant friend had robbed of future rest, 340

Had not this blest relief of innocence,
The one from death, the other from expense
Of tears, restrained, before revenge had found
So much of guilt as might his conscience wound.

His high-wrought rage stopped by too many hands
To vent its heat, Euriolus now stands.
Shook with the fever of his anger, till
Those friends, which saw Mazara grown so ill
With wounds to gasp for breath, by giving way
For air, they to the victor's view betray 350

His best of friends. At which afflicting sight,
Cursing the cause of that unhappy fight.
His sword as guilty thrown aside, he hastes
To his relief; in which kind act none wastes
Their friendly help : life, as but stolen from pain
Behind the veil of death, appears again
On Nature's frontiers; whose returning flame,
Though scarce of strength to warm, looked red with shame,
When he so many well-known friends beheld.
Sad witnesses, how much his passion swelled 360

Above the banks, where reason should have staid,
When to that meeting it his friend betrayed.

Their veils of steel removed, each now beholds
What shame and wonder in firm contracts folds.
Amazed stands brave Euriolus to see.
None but his friend — his honoured friend — should be
The parent of that quarrel ; shame confounds
Mazara more, and from internal wounds.
Though like the Red Sea's springs his other bled,
Perhaps less danger, but more torment bred. 370

Both now by his unforced confession knew
Whose equal-honoured beauty 'twas that drew
Them to this fatal combat, whose event
Him near the grave on love's vain errand sent.

372 equal-honoured] Orig. ' equalled-honoured.'

( 131 ) K 2

William Chaml?e?^layne [book hi

Friendship renewed in strict embraces, they
Are now arrived where weak Carina lay,
So faint with love's phlebotomy that she,
Masked in forgetful slumbers, could not see
Approaching shame ; which, when discovered, sticks
Life's fair carnations on her death-like cheeks. 380

Hasting to see what over-forward rage
That unknown stranger's weakness did engage
In that unhappy quarrel, they beheld,
At the first glance, an object that expelled
Into the shades of sorrow's wilderness
All temperate thoughts: — his sister's sad distress,
Wrought by his arm whose strength betrayed her near
The grave, did to Euriolus appear.
Dreadful as if some treacherous friend had shown
Those flames in which his scorched companions groan. 390
Nor did Mazara, though but prompted by
Pity, that tender child of sympathy.
With less relenting sorrow live to see
Love's bloody trophies, though unknown to be
By his victorious beauty reared. To save
From the cold grasp of an untimely grave
So ripe a virgin, whilst her brother stands
Unnerved with grief, amongst the helpful hands
Of other friends are his employed, till, by
Their useful aid, fled life returns to try 400

Once more the actions of the world, before
It shot the gulf of death ; but on the shore
Of active 'Nature was no sooner set,
But that, together with the light, she met
Her far more welcome lover. Whom whilst she
Beholds with trembling. Heaven, resolved to free
A suffering captive, turns his pity to
So much of passion, as ere long love grew
On the same stem ; whose flowers to propagate,
She in these words uncurtains mystic fate: — 410

' Forbear your aid, brave sir, and let me die.
Ere live the author of a prodigy
That future times shall curse ! Yet pardon me.
Dear brother. Heaven will ne'er impute to thee
The guilt of blood — 'twas my unhappy love
Which raised this storm ; which, if my prayers may prove
In death successful, let me crave of you.
Dear sir, to whom I long have borne a true
But indiscreet affection, that from hence,

For poor Carina's sake, for this expense 420

Of tears and blood, you would preserve those dear
Respects of friendship, that did once appear
Confirmed betwixt you ; and, although my fate
Unto the worst of ills precipitate

( 132 )

Canto I] PharoTinida

My fame and life, oh ! let my name not be

Offensive to )'our ear. This, this for me,

Is all you shall perform.' — Which spoke, she'd let

Her hovering soul forth, to have paid the debt

Of nature to the grave, had not she been

By some assisting friends, whilst dropping in, 430

Staid at the last step, and brought back to meet

The bridal pair, no single winding sheet.

This doubtful combat ended, they are to

The court conveyed ; where Fame, upon this new

Text commenting, in various characters

Transcribes her sense : — some this bold act of hers

Term unbecoming passion, others brave, '

Heroic love. But what most comfort gave

To cured Carina, was, that this lost blood

Had proved love's balm, and in a purple flood 44°

Washed from her heart grief's sable stains ; for now

Merit had taught her dear Mazara how

To prize her virtuous love, and for its sake

Its cabinet her heart's best temple make.

Thus passion's troubled sea had settled in
K smooth and gentle calm, had there not been
Unhappily, to blast their sweet content,
Not long before an act, for th' banishment
Of all such courtiers, made, as should, without
A licence from the council, fight about 45°

Whatever private quarrel. But not this
Mazara or his new choice frights — their bliss
Stood on more firm foundations than the court's
Uncertain favours were : whose glorious sports
Although he left, it was not to retire
To sullen cares ; what honour could require,
A state, which called him her unquestioned lord,
Without depending favours did afford.

But whilst Ave leave this noble lover, by
This mandate freed from what before did tie 460

Unto a troublesome attendance, we
From brave Euriolus are forced to be
With sorrow parted, since the general love
His virtue had obtained, wants strength to move
The ponderous doom. Ere his impoverished heart.
Grown poor in streams, could from life's springs impart
Warm blood enough for his pale cheeks to drink
A health to beauty, he's enforced to think
Of that sad theme of parting ; on whose sense
His grieved soul dictates sighs, yet could dispense 47°

Even with its harshest rigour, were there but
Any exception in it, that might put

472 exception] Orig. ' acception.'
( '33)

William Cha^nberlayne [book in

Out parting with Florenza, that though he

Were shrunk into his former poverty,

Calling the rugged frowns of Fate, would bear

A brow unclouded with Ambition's care.

But he must go : — not all the rhetoric

Of tempting love could plead against the quick

Approach of time ; whose speedy motion now

Only some slippery minutes did allow 480

Their parting tears : in whose exalted flood,

Had reason not with future hopes withstood

The rising stream, Love's summer fruits had been,

O'erwhelmed with grief, for ever buried in

A deluge of despair ; but that, whilst she,

With such sad looks as wintering Scythians see

The sun haste toward the arctic pole, beholds

His slow departure, glimmering hope unfolds

Twilight, which now foretells their frozen fear —

Day may return to Love's cold hemisphere. 490

THE END OF THE FIRST CANTO.

Canto II

THE ARGUMENT

The princess, by unlucky accident,

Having Love's secret embassies betrayed
To her great father, by that action spent

That stock of hope which promised future aid.

His rage being to such rash extremes inflamed,
That he, whose mandates none durst disobey.

As if his power were of such acts ashamed,

Shrinks from 't himself, and poorly- doth betraj'.

If angry Age, the enemy to love,

Tells thy grave pride — thy judgement is above

What with contempt, although it injure truth.

Thy spleen miscalls the vanity of youth ;

If harsh employment, gross society.

That feast of brutes, make thee an enemy

To love, the soul's commercive language, then

Remove thy eye, whilst my unenvied pen,

That long to passion hath a servant been.

Confines the fair Pharonnida's within 10

These paper limits. Frozen still she lies

Beneath opposing passions ; her bright eyes,

Arg. 8, 't himself] Orig. ' itself.'

I Age] Orig. 'Aid,' which is of course pure nonsense and betrays, only more
distinctly than many other misprints, the fact that the copy was set up from dictation,
and never ' read.'

(•34)

Canto II] Pharon7iida

Those stars whose best of influence scarce had power

To thaw what grief congealed into a shower

Of heart-disburthening tears, their influence spend

In sorrow's polar circles, and could lend

No light to beauty's world. I' the vigorous reign

Of this pale tyrant, whilst she did remain

Unlightened with a beam of comfort, in

A bower being set, that formerly had been 30

Her seat when she heard the unhappy news

Of parting with Argalia ; whilst she views

She blames the guiltless shadows, who, to ask

Pardon, in trembling murmurs did unmask

Their naked limbs, and scattered at her feet

The fragrant veil ; in 's death-bed sat the sweet

But pining rose, each grass its heavy head,

Laden with tears, did hang, whilst her eyes shed

A pattern to instruct them. Hence, whilst she

Looks thorough on a way conceived to be 3°

The same her lord marched with his army when

He left Gerenza, with a haste more then

A common traveller, she sees one post

Towards her court, whose visage had not lost

Its room within her memory — he 's known

Argalia's page. And now, each minute grown

A burthen to her thoughts that did defer

A nearer interview, the messenger

Arrives, and to her eager view presents

His master's letters : whose enclosed contents 40

Are now the object her expecting soul

Courts with desire, nor doth she long control

Their forward haste — a diamond being by

The messenger returned, whose worth might vie

Price with an Indian fleet when it sails slow

With 'ts glittering burthen. Though each word o'erflow

With joy, whilst her inquisitive discourse

Was on this pleasing theme, time did enforce

The page's swift departure ; who, with all

Affected epithets that love can call 50

To gild invention, when it would express

Things more sublime than mortal happiness,

Is gone to carry his expecting lord

What pleasure could, when rarified, afford.

Whilst this sweet joy was only clothed in fresh

Blossoms of hope, like souls ere mixt with flesh,

She only by desire subsisted ; but

Now to her chamber come, and having shut

The treacherous door, from the conjugal seal

The white-lipped paper freed, doth soon reveal 60

32 Gerenza] I follow Singer in adopting this form. The orig. wanders between
* Ghirenza,' ' Ghieranza,' &c.

( 135 )

Willia7n Chamber lay ne [book in

Love's welcome embassies. — She reads, and, by

Each line transported to an ecstasy.

In fancy's wild meanders lost the way

She rashly entered ; faint desire would stay

At every word in amorous sighs to breathe

A love-sick groan, but she is yet beneath

The mount of joy, and must not rest until

Her swift-paced eye had climbed the flowery hill ;

Which now passed lightly o'er, with an intent

Of a review to its best ornament, 70

His name, she comes ; which whilst bathed in the balm

Of fragrant kisses, from joy's gentle calm

She thus is startled — A redoubled groan,

That sign of neighbouring sorrow, though unknown

From whence, affrights her soul ; but she too soon,

Too sadly knows the cause. The height of noon

Raged in reflected heat, when, walking in

Those outer rooms, her father long had been

In expectation of her sight ; but not

Finding her there, a golden slumber got 80

The start of 's meditations : to comply

With whose calm council, he did softly lie

Down on a stately couch, whose glittering pride

A curtain from the public view did hide.

Where, having plucked from off the wing of Time

Some of her softest down, the dews, that climb

In sleep to stop each ventricle, begin

To steal a soft retreat : hovering within

His stretched-out limbs sleep's vapours lie ; his hand

Rubs from his eyes those leaden bolts that stand 90

Over their heavy lids ; which scarce was done.

When first surprised Pharonnida begun

'l"o read her letter, and by that sad chance

Betray her love. Passion strove to advance

Her father from his lodging when he first

Heard the discovery, but though anger thirst

For swift revenge, yet policy persuades

Him to hear further, ere his sight invades

Her troop of pleasures. Whose thin squadrons broke

By what she'd heard, before she could revoke 100

Her vanquished spirits, that were fled to seek

Protection in her heart, robbing her cheek

Of all the blood to waft in ; whilst she stands

A burthen to her trembling legs, her hands

Wringing each other's ivory joints, her bright

Eyes scattering their distracted beams, the flight

O' the curtain from her father's angry touch.

Discovers whence that groan, which caused so much

Her wonder, came. Grief and amazement strives

Awhile with love, which soon victorious drives no

( 136 )

Canto II] Pharofinida

Those pale guests from her cheeks ; unto whose aid

Her noble heart, secure from being betrayed

By its own strength, did send a quick supply

Of its warm blood ; her conscience knows not why

To fear, 'cause knows no guilt, nor could have been

By love so virtuous e'er drawn near a sin.

But as the evening blushes for the rude

Winds of the ensuing day, so fortitude,

Upon the lovely roses that did grow

Within her face, a deeper dye bestow 120

Than fear could e'er have done, and did presage

The ensuing storm's exagitated rage.

Silent with passion, which his eyes inflamed,
The prince awhile beholds her, ere he blamed
The frailty of affection ; but at length,

Through the thick throng of thoughts, armed with a strength
Which crushed the soft smiles of paternal love.
He thus begins : ' And must, oh, must that prove
My greatest curse, on which my hopes ordained
To raise my happiness? Have I refrained 130

The pleasures of a nuptial bed, to joy
Alone in thee, not trembled to destroy
My name, so that, advancing thine, I might
Live to behold my sceptre take its flight
To a more spacious empire? Have I spent
My youth till, grown in debt to age, she hath sent
Diseases to arrest me, that impair
My strength and hopes e'er to enjoy an heir
Which might preserve my name, that only now
Must in our dusty annals live ; whilst thou 140

Transfer'st the glory of our house on one,
Which, had not I warmed into life, had gone,
A wretch forgotten of the world, to the earth
From whence he sprung? But tear this monstrous birth
Of fancy from thy soul, quick as thou'dst fly
Descending wrath, if visible, — -or I
Shall blast thee with my anger, till thy name
Rot in my memory ; not as the same
That once thou wert behold thee, but as some
Dire prodigy, which to foreshow should come 150

All ills, which through the progress of my life
Did chance, were sent. I lost a queen and wife.
Thy virtuous mother, who for her goodness might
Have here supplied, before she took her flight
To heaven, my better angel's place ; have since
Stood storms of strong affliction ; still a prince
Over my passions until now — but this
Hath proved me coward. Oh ! thou dost amiss

132 not] Singer 'nor' perhaps unnecessarily.

(137)

JVilliam Chamber layite [bookiii

To grieve me thus, fond girl. With that be shook

His reverend head ; beholds her with a look i6o

Composed of grief and anger, which she sees

With melting sorrow : but resolved love frees

Her from more yielding pity. To begin

The prologue to obedience, which within

Her breast still dwelt, though swayed by love, she falls

Prostrate at 's feet ; to his remembrance calls

Her dying mother's will, by whose pale dust,

She now conjures him not to be unjust

Unto that promise, with which her pure soul

Fled satisfied from earth, as to control 170

Her freedom of affection. Rather she

Desires her interest in his crown might be

Denied her, than the choice of one to sway

It in her right. She urges how it may

Be by his virtue far more glorified

Whom she had chose, than if by marriage tied

To any neighbouring prince, who only there

Would rule by proxy, whilst his greater care

Secured his own inheritance. She then

Calls to remembrance who relieved him when iSo

Distressed within Alcithius' walls ; the love

His subjects bore Argalia, which might prove
Her choice their happiness ; with all, how great

A likelihood it was — but the retreat

Of royalty to a more safe disguise,

Had showed him to their state's deluded eyes

So mean a thing. Love's boundless rhetoric

About to dictate more, he with a quick

And furious haste forsakes the room, his rage

Thus boiling o'er: — 'And must my wretched age 190

Be thus by thee tormented? But take heed.

Correct thy passions, or their cause must bleed

Until he quench the flame.' At which harsh word

He leaves the room, nor could her strength afford

Her power to rise ; which whilst she strives to do,

Her memory adding more weights unto

The burthen of her thoughts, her soul opprest

Sinks in a pale swoon, catching at the rest

It must not yet enjoy ; swift help lends light,

Though faint and glimmering, to behold what night 200

Of grief o'ershadowed her. You that have been.

Upon the rack of passion, tortured in

The engines of forbidden love, that have

Shed fruitless tears, spent hopeless sighs to crave

A rigid parent's fair aspect, conceive

What wild distraction seized her. I must leave

206 distraction] Orig. ' destruction.'

(^38)

Canto II] Pharo7i7iida

Her passion's volume only to be read,

Within the breasts of such whose hearts have bled

At the like dangerous wounds. Whilst she sits here

Amazed with grief, know that no smiles appear 210

To smooth her father's angry brow : yet to

None he unfolds his thoughts, but, bent to do

Whate'er his rage should dictate, to appease

This high-wrought storm, which turned into disease

Each motion of the brain, he only takes

Scorn and revenge, to whose ill counsel shakes

The quiet of the soul, to be his guides

Thorough those night-specked walks, whose shadow hides

The languished beams of love. Awhile their strong

Ingredients boil in 's blood, before they throng 220

The scattered thoughts into a quintessence

Of poisonous resolutions. First from thence

There sprung this black disaster to attend

Argalia's fortune — He doth forthwith send

A secret messenger t' the warlike prince

Of Syracuse, to let him know that since

He sent those forces to assist him in

His war, their general, that till late had been

The darling of his love, by arguments

Too strong was proved a traitor, whose intents 230

Aimed at his crown and life. To aggravate

His spleen the more, he writes him word — their fate

On the same ominous pinions flew, if that

He proved successful. Having warmed him at

This flame of passion, he concludes with — ' Sir,

You guess my meaning, I would have no stir

About dispatching of him, for he 's grown

Strong in affection, and may call his own

The hearts of half my kingdom. Let this give

Your justice power; he's too much loved to live.' 240

The startled Syracusan having read
These bloody lines, which had not only bred
A new, but nourished growing envy in
His mighty soul — a stranger to all sin —
So full of guilt, as to dissemble till
The new made general's just deserts did fill
Fame's still augmented volume, and was grown
More legible than what he called his own.
What in a rival prince had been a high

And noble emulation, kindled by 250

A smaller star, blasts virtue. He beholds
His lightning valour, which each hour unfolds
Examples for posterity, destroy
What, though he trembled at, creates no joy
Within his sullen soul ; a secret hate
By envy fed, strives to unhinge his fate

( 139 )

Willia^n Chamber lay ne [Book in

From off its lofty pyramids, and throw

What merit raised unto a place more low

Than their first step to glory : yet, whilst nought

But honour was engaged, disdain ne'er sought 260

For life-excluding corrosives ; but love

Bearing a part, two suns might sooner move

In the same sphere, than that hot guest endure

A rival flame. Desert could not secure

Worth thus besieged ; yet this accurst intent

Dares not unveil itself. The army sent

By him from fair Gerenza, ere the sun

Performed his summer's progress, had begun

To garrison their weary force within

Such towns as their own valour first did win 270

From the retired Aetolians. Ere this task

Was fully ended, curtained in the mask

Of merit's lawful claim, reward, there came

A large commission, which Zoranza's name

Had made authentic — That the government

Of Ardenna, a town whose strength had spent

The baffled foe whole fields of blood, should be

Conferred on him. By the vicinity

O' the place freed from a tedious journey, in

The city he arrives ; and, what had been 280

Sent from his prince, presents those mandates that

Informed the governor : who, frighted at

The strange commands, lets a pale guilt o'ertake

His swift resolves, till glorious hopes did shake

Those mourning robes of conscience off; and, in

The purple garments of a thriving sin,

Shadows his trembling soul, lest she appear

Shook with a cold fit of religious fear.

The discomposure of his look, which did
Appear the birth of discontent, forbid 290

Suspicion of a blacker sin. That night.
As being the last of's charge, he did invite
Argalia to remain his guest, the next
Promising to be his ; yet seeming vext
To leave the place, though only to conceal
His dark design, that did itself reveal
To none but some selected soldiers, by
Whose help he meant to murther him. To vie
Its benefits with the day's, night had bestowed
Refreshing slumbers upon all that owed .300

It to the last day's labour ; when, without
Fear of approaching danger, hemmed about
With guards of honest valour, all his train,
Save such as mere necessity detain,

269 force] Orig. 'fort.' 277 whole] Orig. 'whose."

( '40 )

Canto II] Pharonntdu

Lodged in the city, fearless Argalia in

The castle lies : where having tempted been

By midnight revels, full crowned cups, to be

Betrayed from reason to ebriety.

But nought prevailing, he at length is led,

Like an intended sacrifice, t' the bed 310

Ordained to be his last, until the earth

AVithin her womb afford him one. The birth

O' the morn grew near her slow approach, ere all

Those engines, by whose strength they meant his fall,

Could be prepared. The governor, that held

The helm of this black mischief, had expelled

The poisonous guilt of staining his own sword

With blood, providing villains that abhorred

No sin's contagion, though revenge did wait

On every guilty step. That evening's bait 320

Their liquid mirth had laid, although it took

No use of reason from his soul, had shook

Its labouring faculties into a far

More sudden slumber ; which composed the war

Of wandering fancy in a harmony

Of the concordant humours, until, by

The sudden noise of those ordained to be

His murderers, he wakes. Amazed to see

His chamber so possessed, he catches hold

On one of them, but finds his strength controlled 330

By the assistance of the other : in

The embryo of this treachery, ere their sin

Was past to execution, he conjures

Them to forbear so black a deed, assures

Them of rewards, greater than hope could call

A debt from him that basely sought his fall.

But deadly silence had barred up the gates

Of every voice ; those cursed assassinates

Prepared for action were ; but Heaven prevents

That aged sin of murdering innocents 340

With miracles of mercy. There was found

Not long before an ancient story, crowned

With a prophetic honour, that contained

This sacred truth : — ' When Ardenna is stained

With treachery, in friendship's veil disguised.

Her sable tower shall be by foes surprised.'

This known, but misconceived, to cozen Fate,
They did unwounded bear without the gate
The now resistless lion, that did lie,

Like that brave prince o' the forest, fettered by 350

A crew of trembling hunters. To the brow
Of a high promontory, that did bow-
Its black clifts o'er the clamorous waves, they had
Conveyed the noble youth. The place a sad

( HI )

William Chamber layne [book in

And dismal horror wore ; the grim aspects

Of lowering rocks the grey-eyed sea reflects

In ugly glaring beams ; the night-raven beats

His rusty wings, and from their squalid seats

The baleful screech-owls fly, to bear their parts

In the sad murmur of the night. Those hearts 360

Custom had steeled with crimes, perhaps had been

Here frighted to repentance, had not sin,

Assisted by the hands of avarice, drawn

The bridge of reason, and obscured the dawn

Of infant goodness. To redeem the time

Astonishment had lost, towards their crime

They now themselves precipitate ; the hand

Ordained to ruin that fair structure, and

Unravel his life's even thread, prepares

To strike the fatal blow ; but He that dares 370

Obstruct commanded villany forbid

The further progress of their guilt, and chid

That pale sin in rough language of a strange

Confused sound, striking their ears — did change

The ominous dirges of the night into

A various noise of human voices. Who

Durst in that secret place approach, 'twas now

Too late to think on ; the rock's spacious brow

Was clouded o'er with men, whose glittering arms

Threatened destruction, ere their swift alarms 380

Could summon sleep's enfeebled aid. Whilst they

Forsake their prisoner, who becomes a prey

To the invaders, seeking safety in

Their flight, they fall before him that had been

Ordained to speedier ruin ; entering at

The open sallyport, they give by that

Rash act directions to the foe that mixed

Promiscuously with them, and now had fixed

Their standards on the gates. The castle, in

Feverish alarums sweating, did begin 390

To ease her fiery stomach, by the breath

O' the full-mouthed cannon : ministers of death

In this hot labour busily distils

Extracted spirits ; noise and tumult fills

The frighted city, whose fired turrets lent

A dismal light. But the assailants spent

Their blood in vain, the soldiers that had been

At the first trembling fit distracted in

Confusion's giddy maze, had rallied now

Their scattered spirits, and were seeking how 400

To purge dishonour's stains in the bright fire

Of rage-contracted valour. To retire

393, 4 distils, fills] Singer corrects both false concords — things which, it may be
well to repeat just once, Chamberlayne certainly commits knowingly in some places.

( mO

Canto II] Phuronnida

Unto their ships in safety, now is all

The invaders hope for ; but so many fall

In that attempt, it leaves no triumph due

To Fortune's temple. By this winding clew

Of various fate, Argalia only finds

That stroke of death deceived ; no hand unbinds

His corded arms, but that which meant to lay

Bondage as hard; so corrosives do stay 410

A gangrene, fed by springs of poisonous blood,

When reaching at the heart, as these withstood

The cataracts of death. With tyrants more

Indomitable than the sea that bore

Their black fleet, leave our hero to untie

This knotty riddle of his fate, whilst, by

The ignis fatuus of a fancy led.

With slow-paced feet through other paths we tread.

The tumults of the city silenced in
A peaceful calm ; what the effects had been 420

Of those loud clamours, whilst all seek to know,
Argalia's loss makes giddy wonder grow
Into suspicion — that this act might be
Some stratagem o' the governor, to free
Himself from a successor. But those sly
Darts of mistrust were rendered hurtless by
His prince's mandates, whose envenomed hate
That spurious birth had made legitimate.
Yet swift revenge affronts his treason in

Its full career ; his master, having been ^ 430

By him informed of a surprisal where
AH sounds but death affrighted, could not bear
The burthen of his fears, and yet not sink
Deeper in sin. Ere the poor wretch could think
On aught but undeserved rewards, he, by
A brace of mutes being strangled, from the high
But empty clouds of expectation drops.
To let the world know what vain shadow props
Those blood-erected pyramids that stand
On secret murder's black and rotten sand. 440

When thus the Syracusan had secured
His future fame, passion, that still endured
A strong distemperature, slept not until
The story of their crossed design did fill
Palermo's prince's ear. Argalia's loss
Was now the ball that babbling Fame did toss
Thorough the court; upon whose airy wing,
Reaching the island, it too soon did bring
The heavy news, disguised in robes more sad
Than truth, to her, whose stock of virtues had 450

444 crossed] Orig. ' crosse ' : and ' cross ' is not at all impossible.

445 Palermo's] ' Palermo ' introduces a fresh confusion of scene.

(H3)

William Chamber lay 7^e [book hi

Been ventured on that sea of merit. In

Such forms of grief, as princes that have been

Hurled from the splendent glories of a throne

Into a dungeon, her great soul did groan

Beneath the weights of grief: the doleful tale

Had thunder-struck all joy ; her spirits exhale

Their vigour forth in sighs, and faintly let

That glorious fabric, unto which they're set

Supporters, fall to the earth. Yet sorrow stays

Not in this frigid zone, rude grief betrays 460

Her passions to her father's jealous ear.

Who, fearing least Argalia's stars might clear

Their smoky orbs, and once more take a flight

From death's cold house, by a translated light.

To separate from sorrow, and again,

In fortune's house, lord of the ascendant reign ;

He doubts that island's safety, and from thence

Removes her with what speedy diligence

Fear could provoke suspicion to. Her train,

Shook with that sudden change, desire in vain 470

The island's pleasure, ere they know how much

Their fates must differ. As it oft in such

Unlooked for changes happens, each man vents

His own opinion ; — some said, discontents

Of the young princess ; others, that the season

O' the year was cause : but though none know his reason.

All must obey his will. The pleasant isle,

Whose walks, fair gardens, prospects, did beguile

Time of so many happy hours, must now,

A solitary wilderness whose brow 480

Winter had bound in folds of ice, be left

To wail their absence ; whilst each tree, bereft

Of leaves, did like to virgin mourners stand.

Clothed in white veils of glittering icelets, and

Shook with the breath of those sharp winds that brought

The hoary frost. The pensive birds had sought

Out springs that were unbarred with ice, and there

Grew hoarse with cold ; the crusted earth did wear

A rugged armour; every bank, unclad

With flowers, concealed the juicy roots that had 490

Adorned their summer's dress ; the meadows' green

And fragrant mantle, withering, lay between

The grizly mountain's naked arms; — all grows

Into a swift decay, as if it owes

That tribute unto her departure, by

Whose presence 'twas adorned. Seated did lie,

Within the circuit of Gerenza's wall.

Though stretched to embrace, a castle, which they call

474 said] Orig. 'did.' 486 frost] 'Frost' is Singer's correction for 'fish'

which cannot be right, and was piobably suggested by 'birds.'

( M4 )

Canto II] Pharo7inida

The prince's tower — a place whose strength had stood

Unshook with danger. — When that violent flood 500

Of war raged in the land hither were brought

Such, if of noble blood, whose greatness sought

From treacherous plots extension ; yet, although

To those a prison, here he did bestow

His best of treasure : briefly, it had been

Unto the Spartan kings a magazine

Since first they ruled that kingdom, and, whene'er

A war drew near them, their industrious care

Made it their place of residence. The hill

'Twas built upon, with 's rocky feet did fill 510

A spacious isthmus ; at its depth a lake.

Supplied b' the neighbouring sea let in to make

The fort the more impregnable, with slow

But a deep current running, did bestow

A dreadful prospect on the bended brow

O' the hill ; which, covered with no earth, did bow

Its torn clifts o'er the heavy stream. The way

That led to it was o'er a bridge, which they

That guard it did each night draw up ; from whence

A steep ascent, whose natural defence 520

Assisted by all helps of art, had made

The fatal place so dangerous to invade —

Each step a death presented. Here when he

Had placed his daughter, whose security

Rocks, walls, nor rivers warranted, without

A trusty guard of soldiers hemmed about

The walls less hard than they. Those gentlemen

That on her happier court attended, when

Argalia did command them, as too mild

Were now discharged ; their office on a wild .^3°

Band of those mountain soldiers, who had in

His last great war most famed for valour been,

Being conferred ; and these, lest they should be

Forced by commands into civility.

Bestowed upon the fierce Brumorchus ; one

Whose knotty disposition nature spun

With all her coarsest threads, composing it

For strength, not beauty, yet a lodging fit

For such a rough unpolished guest as that

Black soul ; whose dictates it oft trembled at 540

In feverish glooms, whose subterranean fire

Inflamed that ill-formed chaos with desire

Its vigour to employ in nought of kin

To goodness, till 'twas better tempered in

The prince's court ; where, though he could not cast

His former rudeness off, yet having past

540 oft] Orig. ' ought,' another, no doubt, of the slips oi ear.
( 145 ) L

JVillia^n Cha7nherlay7te [bookiii

The filing of the courtiers' tongues, at length

It thus far wrought him — he converts that strength

To 's prince's service, which till then had lay

In passion's fetters, learning to obey 550

The gentle strokes of government. Though bred

In savage wildness, nurst with blood, and fed

With hourly rapine, since he had forsook

Those desert haunts a firm obedience took

Hold on 's robustious nature, not to be

By that effeminate wanton, Flattery,

Stroked to a yielding mildness. Which being known

To the mistrustful prince, whose passions, grown

So far above the reach of reason that

Her strength could not support them, bending at 560

Their own unwieldy temper, sunk into

Acts that his milder thoughts would blush to do,

Make him from all his nobler captains choose

Forth this indomitable beast. To use

So harsh a discipline unto the sole

Heir to his crown, a lady that did roll

More virtues on the spindle of her life.

Than Fate days' length of thread, had raised a strife

So high in his vexed subjects' blood, that all

Murmur in secret ; but there 's none durst call 570

His prince's acts in question : to behold

Her prison through their tears, and then unfold

Their friends a veil of sorrow, is the most

Their charity durst do. But that which crost

Distressed Pharonnida above the grief

Of her restraint, or aught but the belief

Of her Argalia's death, is — now to be

Barred, when she wants it most, society

With sorrowful Florenza, whilst she staid,

The partner of her secrets, now betrayed 580

By false Amphibia to her father, and

Banished the court, retiring, to withstand

The storms of greatness, to her father's own

Poor (juiet home ; which, as if ne'er she'd known

The beauties of a palace, did content

Her even thoughts, at leisure to lament

In pensive tears her wretched mistress' fate,

Whose joys eclipsed, converts her robes of state

To mourning sables. What delights the place

Was capable of having, to deface 590

The characters of grief, her fatlier strives

To make them hers; but no such choice flower thrives

In the cold region of her breast, — she makes

Her prison such as theirs, whose guilt forsakes

All hopes of mercy. The slow-footed day,

Hardly from night distinguished, steals away

(146)

Canto II] Pharonntdu

Few beams from her tear-clouded eyes, and those

A melancholy pensiveness bestows

On saddest objects. The o'ershadowed room,

Wherein she sat, seemed but a large-sized tomb, 600

Where beauty buried lay ; its furniture

Of doleful black hung in it, to inure

Her eyes to objects like her thoughts. In which

Night-dress of sorrow, till a smile enrich

Impoverished beauty, I must leave her to

Her sighs, those sad companions ! and renew

His fatal story, for whose love alone

She dares exchange the glories of a throne,

THE END OF THE SECOND CANTO.

Canto III

THE ARGUMENT

From treachery, which two princes' annals stained,

The brave Argalia by protecting fate
Dehvered, land on Rhodes' fair isle attained.
Being there elected champion for their state.

In which design, although with victory blest,

The common fate him soon a prisoner makes
To a proud Turk, beneath whose power distressed,

His virtue proffered liberty forsakes.

Through the dark paths of dusty annals, we,

Led by his valour's light, return to see

Argalia's story ; who hath, since that night

Wherein he took that strange distracted flight

From treacherous Ardenna, performed a course

So full of threatening dangers, that the force

Of his protecting angel trembled to

Support his fate, which cracked the slender clew

Of destiny almost to death. His stars,

Doubting their influence when such horrid wars 10

The gods proclaimed, withdrew their languished beams

Beneath heaven's spangled arch. In pitchy streams

The heavy clouds unlade their wombs, until

The angry winds, fearing the flood should fill

The air, their region where they ruled, did break

Their marble lodgings ; nature's self grew weak

'^^'g- 3' on] Orig. ' or,' and I would not undertake that Chamberlayne's restless and
unconventional thought did not understand by 'land' 'continent' or 'main,' and
suggest a sort of parenthesis of correction.

15 their] Singer ' the region,' to some positive loss.

( 147 ) L 2

Willi a 771 Cha77therlay7ie [bookiii

With these distemperatures, and seemed to draw

Toward dissolution ; her neglected law

Each element forgot — the imprisoned flame,

When the clouds' stock of moisture could not tame 20

Its violence, in sulphury flashes break

Thorough the glaring air ; the swoln clouds speak

In the loud voice of thunder ; the sea raves

And foams with anger, hurls his troubled waves

High as the moon's dull orb, whose waning light

Withdrew to add more terror to the night.

When the black curtain of this storm that took
The use of art away, had made them look
For nought but swift destruction, being so vain
For th' mariners to row that the proud main 30

Scorned to be lashed with oars, to ease distress.
The night forsook them : but a day no less
Dreadful succeeds it ; by whose doubtful light
The wretched captives soon discover right
Near them a Turkish navy ; to whose aid
The renegadoes (having first displayed
Their silver crescents) join. Nor did they meet
That help untimely ; a brave Rhodian fleet
Set forth from those, the Christian bulwarks, to
Obstruct the Turks' invasions, was in view. 40

To meet the threatening danger, which 'twas then
Too late to waive, that miracle of men,
The brave Argalia, chained unto an oar,
Is with a thousand noble captives more
Forced to assist damned infidels. And now
The well-armed fleets draw near, their swift keels plough
The ocean's angry front. First, they salute
Each other with their cannon ; those grown mute,
Come to more desperate fight ; unfriendly bands
Unite their vessels ; the fierce soldier stands 50

Firm on his hatches, whilst another boards
His active enemies, whose ship affords
No room for such unwelcome guests, but sends
Their scattered limbs into thin air ; each bends
His strength to 's foe's destruction. Plunging in
Which bloody sweat, the Rhodians' hopes had been
Lost with their fleet, had not kind fortune smiled
Thus on their fear. — Whilst action had beguiled
Each soul of passive cares, Argalia sees

A way to unlock his rusty chain, and frees 60

Himself and fellows from their bank ; which done,
Those that continued at their oars did run
The vessel from the rest, and, ere unto
Their sight betrayed, the trembling pirates slew.

34 right] Orig. ' night.'
( M8 )

Canto III] Pharofinida

Then, closing with their unsuspicious foes,

r the vigour of the fight, they discompose

Their well-ranged fleet, and such confusion strook

Into the van, to see their rear thus shook

With an unlooked for hurricane, that in

A fearful haste the numerous Turks begin 70

To stretch their fins and flee. But all their speed

Was spent in vain, Argalia's hand had freed

So many captives, that their galleys must

Unto the winds' uncertain favour trust,

Or else, becalmed, but feebly crawl before

Their eager foes, who both with sail and oar

Chased them to ruin. Glorious victory

Thus to the Christian party being by

A stranger purchased, with such high applause

As those that rescue a declining cause 80

From the approach of ruin, welcomed, he

Is now received into th' society

Of the brave Christian order. But they not

Long joyed in victory, ere the Turk, to blot

The stains of being conquered out, had made

A mighty army ready to invade

The valiant Rhodians ; where Argalia shows

So brave a spirit, their whole army owes

His valour for example. The Turks had oft

Made desperate onslaughts on the isle, but brought 90

Nought back but wounds and infamy ; but now,

Wearied with toil, they are resolved to bow

Their stubborn resolutions with the strength

Of not-to-be-resisted want. The length

O' the chronical disease extended had

To some few months, since, to oppress the sad

But constant islanders, the army lay

Circling their confines. Whilst this tedious stay

From battle rusts the soldier's valour in

His tainted cabin, there had often been, 100

With all variety of fortune, fought

Brave single combats, whose success had brought

Honour's unwithered laurels on the brow

Of either party ; but the balance now.

Forced by the hand of a brave Turk, inclined

Wholly to them. Thrice had his valour shined

In victory's refulgent rays, thrice heard

The shouts of conquest, thrice on 's lance appeared

The heads of noble Rhodians, which had strook

A general sorrow 'mongst the knights. All look no

89 oft] Orig. ' ought.' There can be no doubt about the right word in meaning,
but it is an interesting point in the History of Rhyme, whether 'brought' was pro-
nounced 'broft,' with the sound of 'cough,' or whether 'oft' was forced, in a
/>/«<sfy«a»/- Spenserian fashion, to suit the eye.

( 149 )

William Chafnberlayjte [book hi

Who next the lists should enter; each desires

The task were his, but honour now requires

A spirit more than vulgar, or she dies

The next attempt, their valour's sacrifice ;

To prop whose ruins, chosen by the free

Consent of all, Argalia comes to be

Their happy champion. Truce proclaimed until

The combat end, the expecting people fill

The spacious battlements, the Turks forsake

Their tents, of whom the city ladies take 120

A dreadful view, till a more noble sight

Diverts their looks. Each part behold their knight

With various wishes, whilst in blood and sweat

They toil for victory. The conflict's heat

Raged in their veins, which honour more inflamed

Than burning calentures could do ; both blamed

The feeble influence of their stars that gave

No speedier conquest ; each neglects to save

Himself — to seek advantage to offend

His eager foe. The dreadful combat's end 130

Nought but their loss of blood proclaims ; their spirits

In that reflux of heat and life inherits

Valour's unconquered throne. But now so long

The Turks' proud champion had endured the strong

Assaults of the stout Christian, till his strength

Cooled on the ground, with 's blood, he fell at length

Beneath his conquering sword. The barbarous crew

O' the villains, that did at a distance view

Their champion's fall, all bands of truce forgot,

Running to succour him, begin a hot 14c

And desperate combat with those knights that stand
To aid Argalia, by whose conquering hand
Whole squadrons of them fall : but here he spent

His mighty spirit in vain, their cannons rent

His scattered troops, who for protection fly

T' the city gates ; but, closely followed by

Their foes, did there for sad oblations fall

To dying liberty. Their battered wall

Groaned with the wondrous weight of lead, and in

Its ruins hides her battlements; within 150

The bloody streets the Turkish crescents are

Displayed, whilst all the miseries of war

Raged in their palaces. The common sort

Of people make the barbarous soldier sport

In dying, whilst those that survive them crave

Their fate in vain ; here cruelty did save

And mercy only kill, since death set free

Those happier souls from dire captivity,

At length the unrestrained soldier tires,

Although not satisfies his foul desires, 160

('50)

Canto III] Pharofifiida

With rapes and murder. When, amongst those poor

Distressed captives that from thence they bore,

Argalia lies in chains, ordained to die

A sacrifice unto the cruelty

Of the fierce bashaw, whose loved favourite in

The combat late he slew ; yet had not been

In that so much unhappy, had not he,

That honoured then his sword with victory,

Half-brother to Janusa been,— a bright

But cruel lady, whose refined delight, i^o

Her slave, though husband, Ammurat, durst not

Ruffle with discontent. Wherefore to cool that hot

Contention of her blood, which he foresaw

That heavy news would from her anger draw.

To quench with the brave Christian's death, he sent

Him living to her, that her anger, spent

In flaming torments, might not settle in

The dregs of discontent. Staying to win

Some Rhodian castles, all the prisoners were

Sent with a guard into Sardinia, there iSo

To meet their wretched thraldom. From the rest

Argalia severed, soon hopes to be blest

With speedy death, though waited on by all

The hell-instructed torments that could fall

Within invention's reach. But he 's not yet

Arrived to 's period, his unmoved stars sit

Thus in their orbs secured. — It was the use

O' the Turkish pride, which triumphs in the abuse

Of suffering Christians, once, before they take

The ornaments of nature off, to make 190

Their prisoners public to the view, that all

Might mock their miseries. This sight did call

Janusa to her palace window, where.

Whilst she beholds them, love resolved to bear

Her ruin on her treacherous eye-beams, till

Her heart infected grew ; their orbs did fill,

As the most pleasing object, with the sight

Of him whose sword opened a way for th' flight

Of her loved brother's soul. At the first view

Passion had struck her dumb, but when it grew 200

Into desire, she speedily did send

To have his name ; which known, hate did defend

Her heart, besieged with love ; she sighs, and straight

Commands him to a dungeon ; but Love's bait

Cannot be so cast up, though to deface

His image in her soul she strives. The place

For 's execution she commands to be

'Gainst the next day prepared ; but rest and she

Grow enemies about it : if she steal

A slumber from her thoughts, that doth reveal 210

(151)

Willia7n Chamber lay?ie [book hi

Her passions in a dream ; sometimes she thought

She saw her brother's pale grim ghost, that brought

His grisly wounds to show her, smeared in blood,

Standing before her sight, and, by that flood

Those red streams wept, imploring vengeance ; then,

Enraged, she cries — Oh, let him die. But when

Her sleep-imprisoned fancy, wandering in

The shades of darkened reason, did begin

To draw Argalia's image on her soul,

Love's sovereign power did suddenly control 220

The strength of those abortive embryoes, sprung

From smothered anger. The glad birds had sung

A lullaby to night, the lark was fled,

On drooping wings, up from his dewy bed,

To fan them in the rising sun-beams ; ere

Whose early reign, Janusa, that could bear

No longer locked within her breast so great

An army of rebellious passions, beat

From Reason's conquered fortress, did unfold

Her thoughts to Manto, a stout wench, whose bold 2,50

Wit, joined with zeal to serve her, had endeared

Her to her best affections. Having cleared

All doubts with hopeful promises, her maid.

By whose close wiles this plot must be conveyed

To secret action, of her council makes

Two eunuch-panders; by whose help she takes

Argalia from his keeper's charge, as to

Suffer more torments than the rest should do.

And lodged him in that castle, to affright

And soften his great soul with fear. The light, 240

Which lent its beams unto the dismal place

In which he lay, without presents the face

Of horror smeared in blood — A scaffold, built

To be the stage of murder, blushed with guilt

Of Christian blood, by several torments let

From the imprisoning veins. This object set

To startle his resolves if good, and make

His future joys more welcome, could not shake

The heaven-built pillars of his soul, that stood

Steady, though in the slippery paths of blood. 250

The gloomy night now sat enthroned in dead

And silent shadows, midnight curtains spread

The earth in black for what the falling day

Had blushed in fire, whilst the brave prisoner lay

Circled in darkness ; yet in those shades spends

The hours with angels, whose assistance lends

Strength to the wings of Faith, which, mounted on

The rock of hope, was hovering to be gone

Towards her eternal fountain, from whose source

Celestial love enjoined her lower course. 260

Canto III] Pha7^07t7lida

270

Whilst in this holy ecstasy, his knees'
Descent did mount his heart to Him that sees
His thoughts developed ; whilst dull shades opprest
The drowsy hemisphere ; whilst all did rest,
Save those whose actions blushed at day-light, or
Such wretched souls whose sullen cares abhor
Truce with refreshing slumbers ; he beholds
A glimmering light, whose near approach unfolds
The leaves of darkness. Whilst his wonder grows
Big with amazement, the dim taper shows
What hand conveyed it thither ; he might see
False Manto entered, who, prepared to be
A bawd unto her lustful mistress, came,
Not with persuasive rhetoric to inflame
A heart congealed with death's approach, but thaw
Him from the frozen rocks of rigid law
With brighter constellations, that did move
In spheres, where every star was fired with love.

The siren, yet to show that she had left
Some modesty, unrifled by the theft 280

Of mercenary baseness, sadly wept —
Her errand's prologue ; but guilt was not kept
Within the curtain long, she only sate
A mourner for the sickness of his fate
Until esteemed for pitiful, and then
Prescribes this remedy : — ' Most blest of men
Compose thy wonder, and let only joy
Dwell in thy soul ; my coming 's to destroy,
Not nurse thy trembling fears. Be but so wise
To follow thy swift fate, and thou may'st rise 290

Above the reach of danger. In thy arms
Circle that power, whose radiant brightness charms
Fierce Ammurat's anger, when his crescents shine
In a full orb of forces. What was thine
Ere made a prisoner, though the doubtful state
Of the best Christian monarch, will abate
Its splendour, when that daughter of the night,
Thy feeble star, shines in a heaven of light.
If life or liberty, then, bear a shape

Worthy thy courting, swear not to escape 3°°

By the attempts of strength, and I will free
The iron bonds of thy captivity.'

A solemn oath, by that Great Power he served,
Took and believed, his hopes no longer starved
In expectation. From that swarthy seat
Of sad despair, his narrow jail, replete
With lazy damps, she leads him to a room,
In whose delights Joy's summer seemed to bloom ;
There left him to the brisk society
Of costly baths and Corsic wines, whose high v-o

( 153 )

William Cha^nberlayne [bookiii

And sprightly temper from cool sherbets found
A calm allay. Here his harsh thoughts unwound
Themselves in pleasure, as not fearing fate
So much, but that he dares to recreate
His spirits, by unwieldy action tired,
With all that lust into no crime had fired.

By mutes, those silent ministers of sin.
His sullied garments were removed, and in
Their place such various habits laid, as Pride
Would clothe her favourites with, she means to hide 320

From those deformities, which, accident.
On Nature's issue, striving to prevent
Form's even progress, casts, when she would twine
That active male with matter feminine.

Unruffled here by the rash wearer, rests
Fair Persian mantles, rich Sclavonian vests.
The gaudy Tuscan, or transmuted shape
Of the fantastic French — the British ape,
The grave and constant Spaniard, all might here
Find garments, such as princes would appear .^3°

To grace their honoured nuptials in, or tell
Strangers how much their treasure doth excel.
Though on this swift variety of fate
He looks with wonder, yet his brave soul sate
Too safe within her guards of reason, to
Be shook with passion : that there 's something new
And strange approaching after such a storm.
This gentle calm assures him ; but the form
Of pleasure softens not that which the other
And worse extreme not with fear's damps could smother. 34°
He flies not with the rugged separatist
Pleasure's smooth walks, nor doth, enjoying, twist
Those threads of gold to fetters ; he dares taste
All mirth, but what religion's stock would waste.
His limbs, from wounds but late recovered, now
Refreshed with liquid odours, did allow
Their suppled nerves no softer rest, but in
Such robes as wore their ornament within.
Veiled o'er their beauty. Linen, smooth and soft
As Phoenix' down, and whiter than what's brought 35°

From furthest China, he puts on; and then,
"What habit custom made familiar, when
Clothed in his own, makes choice of for to be
Most honoured of that rich variety.

In an Italian garb t' the doublet clad,
Manto, lust's swift and watchful spy, that had
With an officious care attended on
That motion, entering, hastes him to be gone

312 allay] Orig. ' ally.'
( 'H )

Canto III] Pharofinida

Toward more sublime delights. Which though a just

And holy doubt proclaim the road of lust, ?,6o

Knowing his better angel did attend

Upon each step, he ventures to descend

The dreadful precipice so far, until

The burning vale was seen, then mounts the hill

Of heaven-bred fortitude, from whence disdain

Floods of contempt on those dark fires did rain.

His guilty conduct now had brought him near

Janusa's room ; the glaring lights appear

Thorough the window's crystal walls ; the strong

Perfumes of balmy incense, mixed among 37°

The wandering atoms of the air, did fly ;

Sight's nimble scouts yet were made captive by

A slower sense, as if but to reveal

What breathed within, those fugitives did steal

Thorough their unseen sallyports, which now

Were useless grown ; The open doors allow

A free access into the room^ where come,

Such real forms he saw as would strike dumb

Their Alcoran's tales of paradise ; the fair

And sparkling gems i' the gilded roof impair 380

Their tapers' fires, yet both themselves confess

Weak to those flames Janusa's eyes possess.

With such a joy as bodies that do long
For souls, shall meet them in the doomsday's throng,
She that ruled princes, though not passions, sate
Waiting her lover, on a throne whose state
Epitomized the empire's wealth ; her robe,
With costly pride, had robbed the chequered globe
Of its most fair and orient jewels, to

Enhance its value ; captive princes, who 39°

Had lost their crowns, might here those gems have seen
That did adorn them : yet she trusts not in
These auxiliary strengths, her confidence
In her own beauty rests, which no defence
Of chastity ere yet withstood ; and now
She scorns to fear it, when her power did bow
Unto a slave condemned, that ne'er could look
To see the light, but whilst some torment took
The use of eyes away. Whilst he draws near
By her command, no less it did appear 4°°

Her wonder, to behold his dauntless spirit.
Than his, what virtue to applaud as merit.

Placed in a seat near her bright throne, to stir
His settled thoughts, she thus begins : — ' From her
Your sword hath so much injured, as to shed
Blood so near kin to mine, that it was fed

367 conduct] 'Conduct' for 'conductress' may just deserve a note because of the
odd reversal of meaning involved. 383, 4 Blake ! 398 light] Orig. ' sight.

(155)

William Cha7nberlay7te [book hi

By the same milky fountains, and within

One womb warmed into life, is such a sin

I could not pardon, did not love commit

A rape upon my mercy : all the wit 410

Of man in vain inventions had been lost,

Ere thou redeemed ; which now, although it cost

The price of all my honours, I will do : —

Be but so full of gratitude as to

Repay my care with love. Why dost thou thus

Sit dumb to my discourse? It lies in us

To raise or ruin thee, and make my way

Thorough their bloods that our embraces stay.'

This on the spur of passion spoke, she strains
His hand in hers ; where feeling the big veins 420

Beat with intemperate heat, conceiving it
The strokes of lust, to aggravate the fit
Into a paroxysm of guilt, she shows
More than with modesty, how much she owes
To Nature's treasure, for that ill-spent stock
Of beauty she enjoyed : — Her eyes unlock
Two cabinets of sparkling diamonds, which
The even foils of ebon brows enrich
With a more orient brightness ; on her cheek
The roses, conquering the pale lily, seek 430

To counterfeit a blush, but vanquished shame
Submits to love, in whose insulting flame
The modest virgin a sad martyr dies,
And at Fame's wounds bleeds — Passion's sacrifice ;
Nature's embossed work, her soft swelling breasts,
Those balls of living ivory, unprest
Even with the weight of tiffany, displays
Whiteness that shamed the swan's : the blood, that strays
In azure channels over them, did show

By their swelled streams, how high the tide did flow 440

Wherein her passions sailed ; the milky way,
Love's fragrant valley that betwixt them lay.
Was moist with balmy dew, extracted by
The busy spirits that did hovering fly
Thorough her boiling blood, whose raging flame
Had scorched to death the April flowers of shame.

To charm those sullen spirits that within
The dark cells of his conscience might have been
Yet by religion hid — that gift divine.

The soul's composure, music, did refine 450

The lazy air ; whose polished harmony,
Whilst dancing in redoubled echoes, by
A wanton song was answered, whose each part
Invites the hearing to betray the heart.

434 bleeds] Orig. * bled.'
(156)

CANTO III] Pharonnida

Having with all these choice flowers strewed the way

That leads to lust, to shun the slow delay

Of his approach, her sickly passions haste

To die in action. ' Come (she cries) we waste

The precious minutes. Now thou know'st for what

Thou'rt sent for hither, which if active at, 460

Thou only liv'st in my esteem.' And then.

Oh, impudence ! which from the worst of men

Might force a blush, she swiftly hastes to tread

Within lust's tropics, her polluted bed.

And here, black sinner, thou, whose blood's disease,

Of kin to hell's, wants numbers to appease

Its flaming calenture, blush to behold

A virgin virtue spotless leaves unfold

In youthful volume, whilst thy ripe years, spent

In lust, hath lost thy age's ornament. 470

In this, as hot and fierce a charge of vice,
As, since he lost the field in Paradise,
Man ever felt, the brave Argalia sits.
With virtue cooled in passion's feverish fits :
Yet at life's garrisons his pulses beat
In hot alarums, till, to a soft retreat
Called by that fair commandress, spite of all
Beauty's prevailing rhetoric, though he fall
Ruined beneath her anger, he by this

Unwelcome language her expected bliss 480

Converts to rage:— 'And must my freedom then
At such a rate be purchased? Rather, when
My life expires in torments, let my name
Forgotten die, than live in black-mouthed fame,
A servant to thy lust. Go, tempt thy own
Damned infidels to sin, that ne'er had known
The way to virtue : not this cobweb veil
Of beauty, which thou wear'st but as a jail
To a soul pale with guilt, can cover o'er

Thy mind's deformities ; a tainted whore _ 49°

Conscience proclaim thee will, when thou shalt sit,
Shook with this spotted fever's trembling fit.
Rent from these gilded pleasures, send me to
A dungeon dark as hell, where shadows do
Reign in eternal silence; let these rich
And cosdy robes, the gaudy trappings which
Thou mean'st to clothe my sin in, be exchanged
For sordid rags. When thy fierce spleen hath ranged
Through all invented torments, choose the worst
To punish my denial ; less accursed 5°°

I so shall perish, than if by consent
I'd taught thy guilty thoughts how to augment

470 hath] Singer, as usual, changes to ' have.'
(^57)

William Chamber layiie [book hi

Their sins in action, and, by giving ease

To thy blood's fever, took its loathed disease.'

To have the spring-tide of her pleasures, swelled
By lust's salt waters, thus by force expelled
Back to confusion's troubled sea, had made
Such troops of passion ready to invade
An ill-defended conscience, that her look.
Like a cast felon's out of hopes o' the book, 510

Was sad with silent guilt. The room she leaves
To her contemner, who not long receives
The benefit of rest ; she that had been
The prologue unto this obstructed sin,
With six armed slaves was entered, thence to force
Him to his dismal jail : but the divorce
Of life from those which first approached, joined to
The others' flight, had put her to renew
That scattered strength, had not that sacred tie.
His solemn oath, from laurelled victory 520

Snatched the fair wreath, and, though brave valour strives
To reach at freedom through a thousand lives.
At her command more tamely made him yield,
Than conquered virgins in the bridal field.

THE END OF THE THIRD CANTO.

Canto IV

THE ARGUMENT

Anp:er, improved by lust's enormous flame,

Fires vexed Janusa with such sad extremes
Of rage, that her sweet sex's native shame

Is scorched to death in those prodigious beams.

Which whilst they to her angry lord betray
Her honours loss, such tumults in him breed,

That both their deaths must serve for an allay ;
Whose sudden fall our Christian champion freed.

Our noble captive, to fair Virtue's throne

In safety passed, though through Lust's burning zone,

Finds in his dungeon's lazy damps a rest

More sweet, though with the heavy weights opprest

Of iron bondage, than if they had been

Love's amorous wreaths, Janusa's arms, within

Whose ivory circles he had slept. IJut she.

Her grief composed of all malignity,

Lust's flames unquenched converts to, whilst they burn,

Black thoughts within her breast— the beauteous urn 10

510 hopes o' the book] i.e. ' benefit of clergy.'
(158)

Canto IV] Pliarofinida

Of lust's corruption. Sometimes anger flies

Above the sphere of reason, and there dies

With tears extinguished ; she breathes curses in

Her soul's pale agony, such as had been

More deadly than infectious damps if not

Strangled in the embryo, — dead before their hot

Poison could work upon her fancy more

Than spleenful thoughts, which were recalled before

Ripened for execution. Now she steeps

Her down in tears, a flood of sorrow weeps, 20

Of power, if penitent, to expiate

Youth's vigorous sins ; but all her mourning sate

Beneath a darker veil than that which shades

Repentant grief, since sin but wished invades

The soul with that which leads to horror, when

Grief for sins past brings into light again :

One through a sea of trouble leads the way

To a safe harbour, the other casts away

Poor shipwrecked mortals, wheii by death's swift stroke

Life's feeble hold is from Hope's anchor broke. 30

So far the fair Janusa in this sad
Region of grief had gone, till sorrow had
That fever turned, upon whose flaming wings
At first lust only sat, to one which brings
Death's symptoms near her heart ; which had so long
Beneath the burden groaned, until the strong
Disease had wrought up all the blood within
Her cheeks into consuming flames ; the skin
Had lost its soft repose of flesh, and lay

On nought but bones, whose sharpness did betray 40

Their macerated nerves ; the rose had lost
His ensigns in her cheeks, and though it cost
Pains near to death, the lily had alone
Set his pale banners up ; no brightness shone
Within her eyes' dim orbs, whose fading light.
Being quenched in death, had set in endless night,
Had not the wise endeavours of her maid,
The careful Manto, griefs pale scouts betrayed
By sly deceit : knowing if she should want
Health, until cured by that exotic plant, 50

The captive's love, what lust at first did burn
With inflammations might a gangrene turn.
Although she cures not, yet gives present ease
By laying opiates to the harsh disease.

A letter, which did for uncivil blame
His first denial, in the stranger's name
Disguised, she gives her ; which, with eyes that did
O'erflow with joy, read o'er, had soon forbid
Grief's sullen progress, whose next stage had been
O'er life's short road, the grave — death's quiet inn. 60

. ( »59 )

William Chamber lay7te [book in

From whose dark terror, by this gleam of h'ght,
Like trembling children by a lamp's weak light
Freed from night's dreadful shadows, she'd embraced
Sleep, Nature's darkness, had not joy defaced
Those sooty characters, and on the wings
Of airy hope — that wanton bird which sings
As soon as fledged — advanced her to survey
The dawning beauties of a longed-for day.

But ere this pyramid of pleasure to
Its height arrives, with 's presence to undo 70

The golden structure, dreadful Ammurat
From 's floating mansion safely landed at
The city's port, impatient love had brought
In an untimely visit : ere swift thought.
Fettered with guilt, could from his eager eye
By an excuse to sanctuary fly.
He enters, and she faints ! In which pale trance
His pity finds her, but to no such chance
Imputes the cause ; rather conceives it joy,
Whose rushing torrent made her heart employ 80

Its nimble servants, all her spirits, to
Prevent a deluge, which might else undo
Love's new-made commonwealth. But whilst his care
Hastens to help, her fortune did declare
Her sorrow's dark enigma : from her bed
The letter drops — which, when life's army fled
Their frontier garrisons, neglected had
Been left within 't ; — this seen, declares a sad
Truth to the amazed bassa, though 'twere mixt
With subtle falsehood. Whilst he stands, betwixt 90

High rage and grief distracted, doubtful yet
In what new dress to wear revenge, the fit
Forsakes Janusa ; who, not knowing she
Detected stood of lust's conspiracy
'Gainst honour's royal charter, from a low
Voice strains a welcome, which did seem to flow
From fickle discontent, such as the weak
Lungs breathe the thoughts in whilst their fibres break.

To counterfeited slumbers leaving her.
He 's gone, with silent anger to confer ; 100

And, though rage lives in fire, the fury lies
Unseen through the false optics of his eyes.
With such a farewell as kind husbands leave
Their pregnant wives, preparing to receive
A mother's first of blessings, he forsakes
The room, and into strict inquiry takes
The wretched Manto ; who, ere she could call
Excuse to aid, surprised, discovers all
Her sin's black art, from whose dark theorems he
This method draws: — That night, designed to be no

(,60)

Canto IV] Pharofinida

Lightened with lust's hot triumphs, he pretends

Commanded absence, yet the false stroke bends

But towards that guard, ere, by a swift reverse

Brought back, his soul's sly scouts had gained commerce

With all those enemies to honour, by

Whose aid Janusa ruins chastity.

Placed by false Manto in a closet, which,
Silent and sad, had only, to enrich
Its roof with light, some few neglected beams
Sent from Janusa's room, which serve as streams 120

To waft intelligence ; — here he beheld,
Whilst she, who with his absence had expelled
All thoughtful cares, was with her joy swelled high
As captives are when called to liberty.
Her linen, like a princely bride's that meets
In the soft folds of her first nuptial sheets
Perfumed and costly ; her fair bed was more
Adorned than shrines, whose saints rich kings adore ;
Incense, in smoky curls, climbs to the fair
Roof, whilst choice music rarifies the air : 130-

Each element, in more perfection here
Than in their first creation, did appear.
Yet Hved in harmony ; — the winged fire lent
Perfumes to the air, that, to moist cordials pent
In crystal vials, strength ; and those impart
Their vigour to that ball of earth, the heart.
The nice eye here epitomized might see
Rich Persia's wealth, and old Rome's luxury.

But now, like Nature's new made favourite,
Who, until all created for delight 140

Was framed, did ne'er see paradise, comes in
Deceived Argalia, thinking he had been
Called thither to behold a penitent
Arming for death, not heaven's choice blessings, spent
On th' vanities of life ; but mirth soon gives
That thought its mortal wound, and shows she lives
Beyond that dark sphere — where her joys did move
As if her eyes alone gave laws to love ;
Where beauty's constellations all did shine
As if no cross aspect could e'er untwine 150

Their clasped conjunctions, which did seem to guide
Old nature's steps, till from their zenith's pride.
By virtue, the soul's motion, which the world
In order keeps, into confusion hurled :
For here gay Vanity, though clothed in all
Her gaudy pageants, lets her trophies fall
Before bright virtue's throne. With such a high
Heroic scorn as aged saints, that die
Heaven's favourites, leave the trivial world, he slights
That gilded pomp ; no splendent beam invites 160

( 161 ) M

William Chamber lay?ie [book hi

His serious eye to meet their objects in

An amorous glance : reserved as he had been

Before his grave confessor, he beholds

Beauty's bright magic, while its art unfolds

Great love's mysterious riddles, and commands

Captive Janusa to infringe the bands

Of matrimonial modesty. When all

Temptation fails, she leaves her throne to fall,

The scorn of greatness, at his feet : but prayer,

Like flattery, expires in useless air, 170

Too weak to batter that firm confidence

Their torment's thunder could not shake. From hence

Despair, love's tyrant, had enforced her to

More wild attempts, had not her Ammurat, who,

Unseen, beheld all this, prevented by

His sight the death of bleeding modesty.

Made swift with rage, the ruffled curtain flies
His angry touch— he enters— fixed his eyes.
From whence some drops of rage distil, on her
Whose heart had lent her face its character. 180

Whilst he stood red with flaming anger, she
Looks pale with fear; — passion's disparity,
In such extremes as nature's laws require,
'Twixt earth's cold centre and the air's circling fire.
Dwelt in their troubled breasts ; his wild eyes stood,
Like comets when attracting storms of blood,
Shook with portentous sadness, whilst hers sate
Like the dull earth, when trembling at the fate
Of those ensuing ills — heavy and fixt

Within their orbs. Passions thus strangely mixt, 190

No various fever e'er created in

The frenzied brain, when Sleep's sweet calm had been
From her soft throne deposed. This lightning past,
Thunder succeeds ; as burning mountains cast
But horrid noise after their flaming smoke.
So having paused, his dreadful voice thus broke
The dismal silence :—' Thou prodigious whore.
The curse of my nativity, that more
Afflicts me than eternal wrath can do

Spirits condemned — some fiends instruct me to 200

Heighten revenge to thy desert ; but so
I should do more than mortals may, and throw
Thy spotted soul to flames. Yet I will give
Its passport hence; for think not to outlive
This hour, this fatal hour, ordained to see
More than an age before of tragedy.'

She that fell from a firmament of pride
To fortune's lowest region, and there died

207-220. A remarkable and almost unique example of a passage where poetry is
absolutely 'above grammar.'

( 162 )

Canto IV] Phuronntda

A sad example to ensuing times —

That honour's altitude supports not crimes, 210

When in their stretched extensions reaching to
Justice, which can through reversed optics view
Giants, though pigmy sins do oft appear,
Like the dim moon, more great, because more near;
Sins that, till fear their guilt did aggravate,
Wore virtue's frontispiece, since now too late
To hope for life, in their own monstrous form
Encounter reason's guards, till the big storm
Of various passions all were settled in

Dregs of despair. When, fearing tears should win 220

The victory of anger, Ammurat draws
His cimetar, which had in blood writ laws
For conquered provinces, and with a swift
And cruel rage, ere penitence could lift
Her burthened soul in a repentant thought
Towards Heaven, sheathes the cold steel in her soft
And snowy breast. With a loud groan she falls
Upon the bloody floor, half breathless, calls
For his untimely pity ; but perceiving

The fleeting spirits with her blood, were leaving 230

Her heart unguarded, she employs that breath
Which yet remained, not to bewail her death.
But beg his life that caused it — on her knees
Struggling to rise. But now calmed Ammurat frees
Her from disturbing death, in 's last great work,
And thus declares some virtue in a Turk. —
'I have, brave Christian, by perusing thee
In this great act of honour, learnt to be
Too late, thy slow-paced follower : this ring (with that
Gives him his signet) shall, when questioned at 240

The castle-guards, thy safety be. And now
I see her blood's low water doth allow
Me only time to launch my soul's black bark
Into death's rubric sea — for to the dark
And silent region, though we here were by
Passion divorced, fortune shall not deny
Our souls to sail together. From thy eyes
Remove death's load, and see what sacrifice
My love is offering.' With that word, a stroke
Pierces his breast, whose speedy pains invoke 250

Death's opiates to appease them. He sinks down
By's dying wife, who, ere the cold flood drown
Life in the deluge of her wounds, once more
Betrays her eyes t' the light ; and though they bore
The weight of death upon their lids, did keep
Them so long open, till the icy sleep
Began to seize on him, and then she cries —
' Oh see, just Heaven ! see, see my Ammurat dies,

( 163 ) M 2

William Chamber layne [book hi

To wander with me in the unknown shade

Of immortaHty — But I have made 260

The wounds that murdered both : his hand that gave

Mine, did but gently let me blood to save

An everlasting fever. Pardon me,

My dear, my dying lord ! Eternity

Shall see my soul washed white in tears ; but oh !

I now feel time's dear want — they will not flow

Fast as my stream of blood. Christian, farewell !

Whene'er thou dost our tragic story tell,

Do not extenuate my crimes, but let

Them in their own black characters be set 270

Near Ammurat's bright virtues, that, read by

The unpractised lover, which posterity,

Whilst wanton winds play with our dust, shall raise

On beauty's throne, the good may justice praise

By his example, and the bad by mine

From Vice's throne be scared to Virtue's shrine.'

And here the speed Death's messengers did make
To hurry forth their souls, did faintly shake
Her words into imperfect accents. ' This,'
She cries, 'is our last interview' — a kiss 380

Then joins their bloodless lips— each close the eyes
Of the other, whilst the parting spirit flies
Mounted on both their breaths, the latest gasp
They e'er must draw. Whilst with stiff arms they clasp
Each other's neck, Argalia through a cloud
Of liquid sorrow did behold the proud
Triumphs of death in their untimely fate :
He sees great Ammurat for a robe of state
Grovelling in blood, the fair Janusa lie,

Purpled in death, like polished ivory 290

Dipped in vermilion ; the bright crystals, that
Her soul in conquering flames looked thorough at,
Both quenched and cooled in death. But time did lend
His tears scarce passage, till a drop could end
Its journey o'er his cheeks, before a page,
Whose cruelty had far out-grown his age,
Enters in haste; and with an anger that,
Though indiscreet, at wrongs seemed kindled at,
In wounds did on the bassa's body vent
A spleen that death's discharge could not content. 300

This seen, Argalia, to whom all must be
Ofience that injures fair humanity.
Stops the vain torrent, and a nearer way
To just revenge directs the angry boy :
Who, by unfolded truth, now lets him know,
His rage to that uncivil height did grow,
Not from a childish spleen, but wrongs that he,
A Christian, suffered in captivity.

(164)

Canto IV] Pharonnida

Assured by this confession that he might

Be useful, more than in a secret flight, 310

Argalia bids him, in his bassa's name,

A mandate write for some of worthiest fame,

'Mongst all the Christian citizens, and those

To send the guard for, ere the morning rose

On the black ruins of the night. This done,

Before that time the victory had won

Of opportunity ; their warders slain,

Each Christian captive from his rusty chain

His bold hand frees, and by their happy aid,

The gates being first secured, with ease dismayed 320

The drowsy garrison, from whom they found

But weak resistance ; — some soft sleep had bound

To beds of ease, intemperate riot kept

Others more vainly waking ; here one slept

Between a mistress' arms, and there another,

Stole to a private catamite, did smother

Delight in whispers ; in which loose garb found.

Ere time rolls up what slow neglect unwound,

Even in security's soft lap surprised,

They met grim death in pleasure's shape disguised. 330

All now being slain but feeble eunuchs and
Poor trembling maids, the new but valiant band
Of late, freed captives crown the walls, from whence
They saw the soldiers' wicked diligence
In finding those which the false mandate had
Designed for ruin general : as sad
The city's sorrows were ; a desolate
And silent horror unregarded sate
In the empty streets, which action had not filled
Yet with employment. But when day did gild 340

The ebony of night, to hear the rude
Murmur that did from the mixed multitude
Open together with their doors, assures
Argalia, that their fear, which yet secures
That handful of insulting tyrants, might.
With anger being charged home, be put to flight
With a reserve of hope ; whilst every breast
Was swelled with stifled spirits ; whilst, opprest
With silent grief, helpless spectators, they

Saw those they once for virtue did obey — 350

Their reverend senators, whose silvered heads
Age now made fit for ease, forced from their beds
By feverish power's rude fits, whose heat, not all /

The juleps of their tears, though some drops fall
From Beauty's lovely blossoms, cool— Their rage
Neglected youth slights like unreverent age.

343 open] Orig. ' opened.'

( 165 )

Willia?n Cha^nberlayne [book hi

But when the conquering captives, by the brave
Argaha rescued from the castle, gave
Bright victory's signal ; when they saw each lance
The bleeding head of a grim Turk advance, 360

Anger, like unobstructed love, breaks forth
In flaming haste. Yet here the want of worth
And valour 'mongst the city herd, had drove
Them all to death's dark fields, if, whilst they strove
With that stout band of Janissaries, they
Had not been by Argalia taught the way
To victory ; who in a sally meets
Retreating fear when creeping from the streets
T' the vain protection of their doors. And now,
His, conquering sword having taught all to bow 370

Beneath its burnished splendour, since the high
Applause o' the loudest acclamations fly
Beneath his worth, a general vote elects
Him for their prince : but his brave soul affects
Not so sublime a burthen, knowing they,
Bred under a democracy, obey
Contracted power; but harshly he returns
All to their senate, who of late, like urns.
Nought but the useless ashes did contain
Of their own laws, which were by conquest slain. 380

But his refusal, where acceptance not
Envy could say Ambition had begot,
But new plants virtue ; who from thence did take
The deeper root, and 'mongst the throng did make
That choice so epidemical, that he,
For valour feared, loved for humility.
The people's prayer, those humble shrubs that owe
For safety to power's cedars, join to grow
Shadowed beneath his merit, and create

Him prince o' the senate ; who, their doubtful state 390

Requiring strong allies, a fleet prepared.
To seek those princes who their danger shared.
Which ready, with a prosperous gale of wind.
He, though employed by honour, sails to find
Out Love's rich Indies ; and, with 's white-winged fleet,
Hastens Palermo's nearest port to meet.

THE END OF THE FOURTH CANTO.
363 herd] Orig. * heard.'

( '^^' )

Canto V] Pharomtidu

Canto V

THE ARGUMENT

With prosperous sails moved from Sardinia's shore,

Argalia safe doth now from danger set
The Cyprian prince, who, though so largS in score

With noble friendship, soon repays the debt.

In Sparta's court they're now arrived, where he

That life he saved ventures, to save him in
An act so great — it sets the princess free,

Who for his sake had long a prisoner been.

Whilst with bent oars Argalia's squadrons move,

Like the light wings of Time's physician, Love,

Who steered his course, and now had safely drawn

Him through the Ionian waves, when by the dawn

Of a still morning, whose pale sickly light,

Yet bounded in the ebony of night,

Showed like a dull quicksilver foil spread o'er

The world's great glass, whose even surface bore

W^ithin their view two galleons, whom they saw,

Like timorous hares base hunters give no law, lo

Chased by a nimble numerous fleet. Drawn near.

Christians the chased, the chasers Turks appear ;

Which, like a shoal of smaller fishes made

So bold by number that they durst invade

The big-bulked whale, on every side assails

The slow-paced fleet : who, since not strength prevails

Against such odds, their fiery spirits spent

In thunder, which had from their broadsides sent

The last great groan for power's decease, and they.

Not their foe's terror, but good fortune, lay. 20

Whilst cramped in this convulsion of their fear.
Which honour gilding, made despair appear
The child of fortitude, they all prepare
Bravely to die, Argalia's squadrons bear
Up with the wind ; and ere the Turk's proud fleet.
Deceived by their own crescents, fear to meet.
A danger, like a hurricane, falls in
Destruction ; which was suffered whilst unseen.
So wealthy merchants, whose returning cost
A storm on the pacific sea hath lost, 30

Fall from the arms of hope : sudden and swift
As inundations, whose impetuous drift
Swallows a sleeping city up, had they
Lost the firm hold of victory, and lay
Sad captives in their own lost ship — for flight
Saves few, where all in hopes of conquest fight.

Fair victory made more bright by accident,
(Even when despair hope's wasted stock had spent),
(167)

JVilliam Cha^nherlayite [book in

Those that were rescued from their soft prayers raise.

To pay Heaven's tribute in their louder praise : 40

Which oft-neglected debt discharged, they gave,

Allayed with thanks, to him, whose hand did save —

A miracle in their delivery — all

Deserved applause, that can when mounted, fall

r the circle of humanity. To kiss

Those hands which plucked him from the black abyss

Of death, their brave commander goes ; where he

Discovered by majestic courtesy

Such real forms of worth, that he was grown

Rich in esteem before more fully known. 50

But long truth stands not veiled in a disguise
Of ignorance, ere they are taught to prize
His friendship at a higher rate, by seeing
Their active valour had been blest in freeing
The Cyprian prince ; for such he was, and then
Bound for Morea. This made public, when
Acquaintance had taught love more boldness, he,
All that discretion would permit to be
Lodged in the closet of a friendly breast,
Tells to Argalia : who, though in his best 60

Of hopes a rival knowing him, was in
Love too secure to harbour envious sin.

Their prosperous fleet, ere Time's short steps had trod
In hours a full day's journey, safely rode
At anchor in Gerenza's bay ; from whence,
When known, their cannons in a loud expense
Proclaim their welcome. The acquaintance that
The Cyprian's father, ere his youth staid at
Its summer solstice, with Cleander had.

Revives i' the son's embraces, which the glad 70

City i' the triumphs echoes, ere 'twas known
That his resolves were such — as love was grown
The wishes of the people's throng, who thought
That that unpolished prince Zoranza brought
Unequal strength of merit, ere to win
The fort Pharonnida lodged virtue in.

When first they entered the admiring court.
Fame (wise men's care, but the fools' busy sport)
Making the ear the eye's wise harbinger,

By learning first their virtues, did confer 80

More honour on their persons. They beheld
r the Cyprian prince heroic worth, yet swelled
With no ambitious tumour ; calm and free
As wholesome air, when its ubiquity

Breathes healthful blasts, were his smooth thoughts — to all
Most sweetly affable, but few could call

69 Cleander] Cleander, seldom if ever named before, is the King, Pharonnida's
father.

(168)

Canto V] Pharonfitda

His love familiar; his youth had not

Yet learnt rough war^ although from precept got

Its useful rudiments, and by valour shows

Future command may pay what action owes 90

To speculation : by the grave sad man,

Whose counsel could conspiracies unspan

When ready to give fire, he is beheld

As one whose virtues far his years excelled,

And might, when at maturity, afford

Length to the sceptre from 's victorious sword.

From this young prince, Heaven's hopeful blossom, they,

Pleased but not satisfied, their souls convey

On those winged messengers — their eyes, unto

Manly Argalia ; finding there a new 100

And various form of worth : — on 's brow did sit

Reserved discretion reconciled to wit ;

Serious and grave his carriage, yet a face

Where Love's fair shrine did Wisdom's temple grace ;

His scars, those broad seals which protecting fate

His future safety signed in, on him sate

Not to deform, but until age remain.

Like maids of honour placed in Beauty's train.

True worth dwelt in the other, but in this

Brave hero's breast had her metropolis. j 10

The Cyprian's safety and Sardinia's brave

Redemption, were the passports which fame gave

Unto his travelling praise ; which, fled in haste

Through the ears' short stages, in each breast had placed

A love of 's worth ; which wise men softly praise

Whilst the loud throng to acclamations raise.

Not long these true-born sons of honour in
Palermo's court remain, ere, what had been
The cause which had the youthful Cyprian drew
From 's father's court, white fame presents unto 120

Busy inquirers. Which design from all —
Those swift but weak recruits, good wishes — call.
Except from some it most concerned ; 'mongst which
Cleander staggers unresolved. The rich
And powerful kingdom, which affinity
With Cyprus promised, was a prize to be
Valued before Epirus' wealth, who, though
Of late victorious, yet could never grow
Up to that glorious height. This thought, the most
Of all that e'er obstructed love, had crost 130

Zoranza's hopes, had not his wishes been,
Though covetously vast, confined within
The other's merits ; amongst which the chief
Opposes first itself, and, the relief.
Whispers in 's soul, that had been thence brought by
Him, when his state wept blood for liberty.
(169)

William Chafnberlayne [book hi

This in the scale of justice seemed as large
As love's dimensions, till a second charge
Of thoughts proclaim the Cyprian's power to do
The same if in necessity sought to ; 140

Which blames becoming gratitude, as, in
Relation to servility, a sin
In the great soul of princes, who can be^
If they remain in debt for courtesy,
But captives in the throne— too oft the cause
Why meritorious subjects meet the law's
Harsh rigour for reward, when their deserts,
Many and great, o'erfill their princes' hearts.

Before Cleander's gravity had laid
This tempest of his passions, fame betrayed 150

Their cause to the Epirot prince, who hears
The Cyprian's welcome ; which his various fears
But briefly comment on, before, without
More slow delays than what were spent about
The swiftest preparations, he intends
To visit fair Pharonnida, and ends
His journey, ere a thought unwinged with love
Could lead him forth of 's court : which haste did prove
His passions stronger than the strength of age
Appeared to promise. What it might presage, 160

To see at once two royal strangers in
Their glorious court, which both employed had been
About one amorous errand, strangely did
Affect the citizens ; whose fears, forbid
The public stage, in private whispers tells
What danger lay betwixt those parallels.

Yet, in the opposition of those stars
That shine in passion's sphere^ Love's civil wars
Had no field army ; all his power did rest
^^'ithin the private garrisons o' the breast, 170

Which, though besieged by sly suspicion, made
No verbal sallies, but prepare to invade
Beauty's bright province. Yet, each only had
A single visit given unto the sad
Sweet object of their hopes, and thence received
A welcome, such as neither had bereaved
The other's hopes — both rather finding cause
Of cold despair. Cleander pleads the laws
Of nature and free choice, to wave his own
Engagements to Zoranza ; which had blown 180

Love's sickly flame with the tempestuous breath
Of anger forth, had not those thoughts to death
r the bud been doomed. Whilst thus his passions slept
In Love's soft arms, the noble Cyprian kept
A distance 'twixt his hopes and wishes by
The staid Epirot's interest : — both rely

Canto V] Pharo7t7iida

On their own merits, and Love's doubtful fate
Makes subject to the monarchy of Fate.

But whilst this busy combat of the heart
On equal terms is fought, time bent to part 190

The royal champions. Through the obscure ports
Of dark disguise into Love's field resorts
A third brave combatant, whose merit had
(Though not i' the armour of great titles clad)
By parley won that maiden fort, which they.
Although they scaled on golden mountains, lay
Before in vain. Argalia, though within
Gerenza's court, had yet a stranger been,
More than in fame and big report, to her
Whose best of thoughts wore his soul's character: 200

And yet, although a virgin's bashful grace
Concealed her own, for to behold that face
So much in debt t' the people's praises, to
Her window oft the royal maid had drew ;
Where, whilst his eyes did. waste their beams in vain
To pierce those stubborn walls that did contain
Rich Love's unvalued treasure, she beholds
His brave deportment ; which, since strange, unfolds
New volumes of unprinted joy, which she

(Sorrow affording so much liberty) 210

Oft with delight looks o'er, beholding in 't
Argalia's virtues in a different print.

But his wise fate, even when his prayer grew weak
In faith, did through hope's cold antarctic break
In a long summer's day. — His noble friend,
The princely Cyprian, did so largely spend
His stock of eloquence in 's praise, when he
Last saw divine Pharonnida, that she,
Although from no remoter cause than springs
From virtue's public love, tells him — he brings 220

His next best welcome with his friend : which, proud
To be observant in, when time allowed
A visit, he performs. Now to the court,
Beauty's dull cloister, which no thronged resort
Of clients fill they're come ; the surly guard,
Those wakeful dragons, did without reward
Let in that danger in disguise, which had
Met death i' the entrance, if in that unclad.

The way that cleft the scowling rock being by
A thousand steps ascended, they i' the high 230

Clifts find the royal eaglet, trying that
Bright eye of her fair soul, discretion, at
The fiery beams of anger, which were shot
From her majestic father. Being got

187, 8 fate] The first ' fate ' should of course be ' state.'

(J70

William Chafnberlayne [bookiii

Once more to breathe his soul upon that hand

Where love's first vows, sealed with his lips, did stand,

(Knowledge inflaming passion's fever), like

Unpractised saints, which miracles do strike

Into a reverend zeal, he trembling takes

That holy relic, which a cold fear shakes 240

In that warm touch. Her eyes' fair splendour shone

Like bright stars in heaven's trepidation.

Shook with the general motion, though betwixt

The spheres of love and wonder they stood fixt

In their own orbs, and their united beams

Centred on him ; yet (like dead friends which dreams

Imperfectly present) his lovely form,

As mariners when land is through a storm

With doubtful joy descried, she sees : but yet

Knowledge had met with no prospective fit 250

To guide her through the dark disguise unto

The road of truth ;— his valour was in new

Habiliments of honour clothed, and scars

Made her love's heaven adorned with unknown stars.

But whilst her recollecting spirits were
All busied — his idea to compare
With what she saw, a sudden glance of the eye
Develops truth ; that jewel, which was by
His first protector left, is seen, by which

Hope, near impoverished with despair, grows rich 260

In faith, heaven's tenure. But the rushing tide
O'erflows so much, that love's fresh rivers glide
Over weak Nature's banks, — she faints, and in
A silent joy contracted what had been
By love dilated : from which giddy trance
To rescue her, Argalia doth advance
To charge those troops of passions, which o'er her
Had proved victorious ; nor did Fate defer
The conquest long, ere she displays again
Beauty's fair banner in Love's ivory plain. 270

'i'he imprisoned spirits freed, the blood in haste,
Tearing her love had Wisdom's throne defaced,
To Beauty's frontiers flies ; so mornings weep
And blush together, when they oversleep

Themselves in night's black bed. Though fear's dull charms,
\Vhilst in the circle of Argalia's arms.
Like dream's fantastic visions, vanish in
Her waking joys ; yet, knowing they had been
Betrayed into a stranger's view, they both
Stood mute with passion, till the Cyprian, loath 280

To add more weights unto affliction, by
Imping Love's wings with noble courtesy.
Fans off the southern clouds of fear, and thus
Calms the loud storm : — ' Doubt not, because to us,

(^70

Canto V] Pharofinida

Fair princess, Love's mysterious riddles are

By accident resolved, the factious war

Shall be renewed ; such base intelligence

Traitors and spies give, when the dark offence

Starts at discovery. If my service may

Be useful, know I sooner dare betray 290

My sins t' the world, than your intentions to

A smooth seducer. This rare interview

May be my wonder — but shall never prove

My guilt, though all the stratagems of Love

Lay open to my heart, which, though unskilled

In his polemics, yet with truth is filled.'

Since now too late to seek protection by
A faint denial, the wished privacy
Their room afforded, gives them leave to lead
His apprehension where conceit did read 300

The story of Love's civil wars : whose rage,
Since treaty could not calm, makes him engage
His stock of power in their defence, and end
His passion's progress to let Love attend
On Friendship's royal train ; what not the force
Of earth's united beauties could divorce ;
Nor wealth's, nor honour's strong attractions draw
To other objects ; by that holy law
Informed, as hateful sacrilege, doth fiy
The bold intrusion on love's hierarchy. 310

With joy assured of such a powerful friend,
The hopeful lovers sadder cares suspend,
To lay the platform of their safety by
A fair escape. But fear doth oft untie
The golden webs of fancy. When they come
To name the means, invention, then struck dumb.
Startles into distraction ; no smooth stroke
Of soft-palmed flattery could ere provoke
Sleep in her watchful dragons, nor no shower
Of ponderous gold pierce through her sable tower — 320

The harsh commander of her surly guard.
Wakeful as foaming Cerberus, and hard
As Parian quars, a heart that could not melt
In love's alembic ; the slave never felt
His darts but when lust gave the wound, and then,
Seared with enjoying, the blood stops again,
And leaves behind the fever ; which disease
Now in him raged. Amphibia, that could please
None but a sympathizing nature, in

His blood had both disease and medicine been, — 330

With lust's enchantments, thick loose glances, first
Breeding a calenture, whose sickly thirst
Consenting sin allays again. But long
This monster thrives not in the dark, ere, strong

(^73)

William Chamberlayne [bookiii

By custom grown, with impudence he dares

Affront unveiled report, and boldly bears

Himself above those headstrong torrents, by

Whose streams harsh censure grew to calumny.

Which careless pride did unobstruct the way,

Through which to liberty love's progress lay. 34°

A short delay, which lets not fancy rest
In idle thought, their actions did disgest
Into a method. The succeeding night
To that great day, by whose triumphant light
Their annual feasts her birth did celebrate.
The time designed. Which done, to stroke rough fate
Into a calm, Argalia first finds out
Despised Florenza, then employed about
Coarse housewifery in the dull country, where
She soon became a partner of his care ; 35°

Prepares for safety with a diligence
Whose privacy pays lavish time's expense.

Now from night's swarthy region rose that day,
'Gainst which Invention taught her babes the way
To level at delight, though she flew high
As monarchs' breasts. Beauty and valour vie
Each other in a conquering pride within
A spacious field, that oft before had been
The theatre of martial sports ; each knight.
Whom the desire of honour did invite 360

By her swift herald, Fame, were met ; and all,
Whom the respects of either part did call
To the Epirot's or young Cyprian's part.
Repair unto their tents, which, rich in art.
Adorned both sides o' the stately lists, and lent
Their beauties to be prospect's ornament.

Near to the scaffold every seat was filled
With bright court beauties, ladies that did gild
Youth, Nature's throne of polished ivory, in
Pride — there but greatness, though low fortune's sin. 370

Ranged next to these the city madams, that
Came both to wonder and be wondered at.
Fine as on their first Lady-days, did sit
Comparing fashions, to commend their wit;
Besides the silk-worms' spoils, their husbands' gain.
Jewels they wore, like eyes in beauty's wane
Grown dim with age, so dim, that they did look
As if they'd been from plundered Delphos took ;
Although that sprung from faction, yet each face
Was all set form, hardly affording place 380

342 disgest] Sic in orig. : and perhaps worth keeping, the pronunciation being even
now hardly obsolete as a vulgarism.

366 be] Singer ' the' for ' be.' It is not at all improbable, considering his system of
versification, that Chamberlayne wrote 'be th'.'

('74)

Canto V] Pharo7tnicia

For a stolen smile, save when some ticklish lord

Strikes sail, which they could wish should come aboard.

Below, near to the over-heated throng.

Sweet country beauties, such as ne'er did wrong

Nature with nicer art, were seated ; where

Though big rude pride cast them in honour's rear,

Yet in Love's province they appeared to have

Command from their acknowledged beauty gave ;

Humble their looks, yet Virtue there kept state,

And made e'en Envy wish to imitate 390

Their fashions — not fantastic, yet their dress

Made gallantry in love with comeliness.

Whilst here the learned astronomers of love
Observed how eyes, those wandering stars, did move.
And thence with heedful art did calculate
Approaching changes in that doubtful state ;
The princess, like the planet of the day.
Comes with a lustre forth that did betray
The others' beams into contempt, and made
The morning stars of meaner beauties fade, 400

Sadly confessing by their languished light.
They shone but when her absence made it night.
Stately her look, yet not too high to be
Seen in the valleys of humility ;
Clear as Heaven's brow was hers, her smiles to all,
Like the sun's comforts, epidemical ;
Yet by the boldest gazer, with no less
Reverence adored, than Persians in distress
Do that bright power, who, though familiar by
An airy medium, still is throned on high. 410

Lest the ungoverned multitude which raise
Their eyes to her, should in their lavish praise
From zeal to superstition grow, they 're now
Drawn off — the entered combatants allow
Their eyes no further leisure, but beginning
Their martial sports, with various fate were winning
Bright victory's laurels. But I here must let
Honour in their own stories live, the debt
I owe to promise but extends unto

The fortune of our royal lovers; who, 420

Though both concerned in this, have actions far
More full of fate approaching. That bright star
Which gave Argalia victory here, scarce shows
Its spangled records, unto which he owes
Far more sublime protection, yet it lends
Vigour to that bright planet which attends
His future fortune, and discovers all
His astracisms in rising cosmical.

Followed with acclamations, such as made
The troops of envy tremble to invade 430

(^75)

Willi a 7n Chamber layne [book hi

His conquering fame, he leaves the field ; and by

Cleander, with rewards of victory

First honoured in the public view, is brought

From thence to meet delicious mirth in soft

Retired delights ; which in a spacious flood,

From princes' breasts to tenify the blood

Of the blunt soldiers, hastes; whose dull souls swelled

With airy pleasures had from thought expelled

All sullen cares, and levelled paths unto

Designs which did to their neglect ensue. 440

The black-browed night, to court the drowsy world.
Had put her starry mantle on, and hurled
Into the sea (their spacious-breasted mother)
Her dark attendants ; silent sleep did smother
Exalted clamours ; and in private meets
The busy whisperer, sporting 'twixt his sheets.
Veiled in which shady calm, Argalia, by
The noble Cyprian only in his high
Attempt assisted, now prepares to free
The great preserver of his liberty. 4-0

Come to the bridge, that to secure the sleep
O' the careless guard, which slender watch did keep,
Finding it drawn, the depth and ugly look
O' the heavy stream had from the Cyprian took
All hopes of passage, till that doubt did end
In greater fear — the danger of his friend ;
Who, with a courage high as if in that
He'd centred all the world did tremble at
In his precedent victories, had cast

Himself t' the mercy of the stream, and past 460

In safety o'er, though nets enough were spread
On her dark face to make his death's cold bed.

Giving his spirits leave to fortify
His heart with breath, he then ascends the high
Opposing clifts, which in an ugly pride
Threatened beneath her ruined scales to hide
That rising flame of honour. Being come
To the other side, a sentry, but struck dumb
With sleep's prevailing rhetoric, he finds;

Upon whose keys he seizes, and then binds 470

His sluggish limbs, ere full awake, conveys
Him to a place whence no loud cry betrays
The sounds of danger to his fellows, that
Revelled in louder mirth. Unstartled at

433> 4 brought] This couplet confirms the view of the pronunciation of ' brought,'
taken above.

436 tenify] This unusual word should of course be ' tenuify' and was very probably
written so. Singer, in next line, ' haste.'

466 scales] ' Scales ' no doubt in sense of 'staircase.'

('76)

Canto V] Pharoitfiida

The river's depth, the wondering Cyprian now
Crossed the united bridge, and, being taught how
By imitation to slight danger, goes
^^^ith his brave friend toward their careless foes.

Not far were they advanced before they hear
Approaching steps ; a soldier was drawn near, 480

Which to relieve the other came, but shared
In his misfortune ere he had prepared
To make resistance ; which attempt succeeds
So equal to their wishes, that there needs
No more to strengthen faith. By the command
O' the will's best leader, reason, both did stand
Awhile to view their danger ; — through a way
Narrow and dark their dreadful passage lay;
The rugged rock upon each side so steep,
That, should they 've missed, no trembling hold could keep 490
Them from the grasp of death : to add to this
More forms of horror, from the dark abyss
Which undermined the rock's rough sides, they hear
A hollow murmur ; the black towers appear
Flanked with destruction, every part did hold
Peculiar terror, but the whole unfold,
Through the black glass of night, a face like that
AVhich chaos wore, ere time was wakened at
The first great fiat — or, could aught appear
More dark and dreadful, know 'twas emblemed here. 500

Safe passed through the first steps of danger, they
Now to the main guard come ; whom they betray
By a soft knock — of all conceived 't had been
The voice their sentry called for entrance in.
Their errand undisputed, postern-gates
Are open thrown, at which the royal mates
Both rushing in, strangely amaze them ; but
Now being entered, 'twas too late to shut
The danger forth, nor could confusion lend
Their trembling nerves a strength fit to defend 510

By opposition. In base flight lay all
Their hopes of life, which some attempting fall
On the dark road of death, but few escape
To show their fellows danger's dreadful shape.

Whilst here, like powerful winds that dissipate
Infectious damps, in unobstructed state
Their valour reigned, to tell them that the way
Which led unto the princess' freedom lay
Yet through more slippery paths of bloody with haste
Wild as their rage, Brumorchus' brothers, placed 520

That guard's commanders, enter. Loose neglect,
Which drew them thence, since cause of that effect,
They now redeem with speed. Riot had not
Unnerved their limbs ; although their blood grew hot

( 177 ) N

Williafn Chamberlayne [book hi

With large intemperate draughts, the fever yet

I' the spirits only dwelt, till this rude fit

On the stretched heart lays hold in flames, which had

Scorched valour's wings if not in judgement clad.

Here, though their numbers equal were, yet in

A larger volume danger had not been 530

Often before presented to the view

Of the brave champions ; as if she had drew

With doubtful art lines in the scheme of fate

For them and their proud foes, pale virtue sate

Trembling for fear her power should not defend

Her followers, 'gainst that strength which did attend

Those big-boned villains' strokes. Beneath whose force

The Cyprian prince had felt a sad divorce

Of Nature's wedlock, if, when sinking in

The icy sleep, Death's wide gorge had not been 540

Stopped by a stroke from fierce Argalia, sent

To aid him when in his defence he'd spent

His stock of strength. Freed by which happy blow

From Janus' guard, since now his friend lay low,

Near Death's dark valley, he contracts his power

To quench the other's lamp of life : a shower

Of wounds lets fall on 's enemy, which now

Clogged his soul's upper garments, and allow

His eyes' dim optics no more use of light,

Than what directs him in a staggering flight. 550

Yet in the darkness of approaching death.

In mischief's sables, that small stock of breath

That yet remains, to clothe, he suddenly

Gives fire unto a cannon that was by

Wise care ordained to give intelligence,

When big with danger fear could not dispense

With time's delays. The princess, that within

Her closet had that fatal evening been

Retired and sad, whilst strong-winged prayer acquaints

Her flaming zeal with Heaven's whole choir of saints, 560

Thus startled by the treacherous thunder, all

Her yet unnumbered stock of beads lets fall

'Mongst those that prayer had ranked, and did implore

In one great shriek deliverance ; to her door

Hastes to behold the danger of those friends

On whose success love's fortress — hope, depends.

Where being come, her eyes' first progress met

Her prayers' reward, e'en whilst his sword was wet

With blood, the balm of victory. But long

The ecstasies of fancy, though more strong 570

Than sacred raptures, last not, all was now

Too full of noise and tumult to allow

544 Janus' guard] ' Janus' guard ' I suppose means that if he had had to face the
two, he would have had to look both ways at once, to prevent being attacked behind.

('78)

Canto V] PharoTinida

A room for passion's flow : disputes within
The schools of action, loud alarums in
The castle court and city raged ; all were
Huddled into confusion ; some prepare
To fly what others with an ignorance
As great (though bolder) to oppose advance.

Here had our heaven-protected lovers lost
What such large sums of prayer and tears had cost, 5 So

Had not the torrent of the people's throng,
When rushing towards the castle, by a strong
Voice — danger, been diverted, to prevent
A hungry flame which, in the Cyprian's tent
Begun, had spread its air-dilated wings
Over the city : whose feared danger brings
On them a worse distemperature than all
Their last night's surfeits. Whilst proud turrets fall
In their own ashes, the discordant bells,

Ordained to call for aid, but ring their knells 590

That in a drunken fury, half-awake,
First their warm beds, and then their lives forsake ;
For to destruction here big pride had swelled,
Had not night's errors been by day expelled.

With swift calls frighted, but more terrified
At their sad cause, fear being his doubtful guide,
The stout Epirot to Cleander's court
Repairs ; and there amongst a thick resort
Of subjects, finds the prince distracted by
Those epidemic clamours that did fly 6co

From every part o' the city. To appease
Whose fury whilst he goes, the sharp disease
In flames feeds on her ruined beauty, and
Mounts on insulting wings ; which to withstand,
The mazed inhabitants did stop its flight
With the whole weight of rivers, till that light,
Which an usurper on the sooty throne
Of darkness sat, vanished, or only shone
From their, dim torches' rays. The prince thus staid
In 's hasty journey till the flames allayed 610

Lent safety to the city, by it gave
The royal fugitives the time to save
Themselves by flight from those ensuing ills,
Whose clamorous scouts, rude sounds, the stirred air fills.

Descended to the garden's postern gate,
A place where silence yet unrufiled sate
(A night obscure and an unhaunted way.
Conspiring their pursuers to betray
To dark mistakes) with silent joy, which had
All fear's pale symptoms in love's purple clad, 6ao

Close as that bold Attempter, whose brave theft
Was sacred fire, the walks behind them left,

( 179 ) N 2

Williajn Chamberlayne

Argalia hastes unto the castle moat
With his rich prize, there a neglected boat,
Half-hid amongst the willow beds, finds out ;
In which Pharonnida, that nought could doubt
Whilst her successful lover steered, passed o'er
To meet the safety of a larger shore.

THE END OF THE THIRD BOOK.

(.80)

BOOK IV. Canto I

THE ARGUMENT

Whilst noise and tumult fill the court, the sad

Orlinda, to lament alone retired,
Finds the brave Captain in death's symptoms clad,

Whose perfect health her friendly care acquired.

The scouts with an unwelcome emptiness

Of news returned ; the princess' secret flight

Yet well succeeds, but now in sad distress
Finds a black morning to that dismal night.

When Fear, like an unskilful pilot in

A storm distracted, long in vain had been

Placed at the helm of Action, whilst those rude

Waves raised by greater winds, the multitude,

Swelled with uncertain counsels, all met in

A thick and dangerous confluence ; those within

The castle, by a hotter passion to

A high-wrought fury startled, did undo

Those links of counsel, which the other broke

With corrosives of fear, by the rude stroke lo

Of heedless anger; whose uncivil strife

Had robbed revenge of justice, and each life

That here was in death's inundations spilt,

Shed but to aggravate a private guilt.

Had not the prince, whose anger's flame they feared

More than grim death, to appease the storm appeared.

Beat from the out-works of their hopes, aU in
A busy tumult are employed within
The princess' lodgings ; but there only find
Their knowledge by her secret flight struck blind, 20

Stumbled on errors. No characters, but what
The wasteful hand of death had scattered at
The guard, inform them ; and even those seem left
The weak opposers of successful theft,
Dropt as their foe's victorious fate flew by.
To show his fortune and their loyalty.
Leaving which late warm tenements of breath,
Without once throwing up that bed of death,
Their grave-clothes o'er them, every active friend
Hastes toward her search, whilst suffering females spend 30
The hours (grown slow since burdened by their fears)
In prayers, whose doubts they numbered by their tears.

■^'S'- 3) Captain] Singer * Cyprian ' which is no doubt correct in sense, but by no
means necessary. Arg. 8 finds] Orig. ' find.'

(181)

William Chamberlayne [book iv

But amongst all of those that sacrificed

Tears to her loss, sorrow had most disguised

Lovely Orlinda, the fair sister to

The vexed Messenian ; who, with love that grew

From equal attributes of honour, in

The parallels of beauty placed, had been

In this restraint of liberty so long

Her pleased companion, that her grief too strong 40

For comfort grown, to mourn her absence she,

Forsaking all her friends' society.

Whilst seeking of some shady grove, is brought

To one whose veil, black as her darkest thought.

Appeared so much a stranger to the light,

That solitude did thither soon invite

The pensive lady : who, whilst entering, by

A deep groan's sound diverted, turns her eye

Toward one, who, near the utmost ebb of life

Disguised in 's blood, was with the latest strife 50

Of death contending. At the dreadful view

Of which sad object she, retreating to

Some of her maids, who, fearing to intrude

Whilst she appeared intending solitude,

A distance kept ; made bold by number, now
Return to see if life did yet allow

A room for help, or, if his soul were fled,

To let their care entomb the helpless dead.

Arrived so near, that through the rubric veil
Of's blood they saw how life did yet prevail 60

O'er death's convulsions, they behold one lie,
Whose wounds, an object for their charity.
Soon drew them nearer in such trembling haste,
As if they feared those lavish springs would waste
Life's stock too fast. Where come, with linen soft
And white as were those hands that thither brought
That blessing, having gently wiped away
His blood, his face discovered did betray
Him to their knowledge. For the Cyprian prince
All soon conclude him, whose desert e'er since 70

That court she knew, had to Orlinda proved
A dear delight ; yet she ne'er knew she loved,
Till her soft pity and his sad distress,
Conspiring to betray that bashfulness
Whose blushes scorched that tender plant, did now,
Even in their fortune's roughest storm, allow
It leave to grow safe, since yet passing by
No other name but noble charity.

By all the nimblest stratagems which Art
E'er learnt from Nature, striving to impart 80

The best of mortal blessings, health, unto
Her royal patient, praised Orlinda grew
( 182)

Canto I] Pharo7i7iida

So high in his deserved esteem, that, though

Posterity doth to his friendship owe

For their most perfect copy, knowing she

Too much adored Pharonnida to be

Her base betrayer, when his health's advance

Gave way for language, every circumstance

Declares which was in that so fatal night

The sad preludiums to her secret flight. 90

By which when she, whose love (though full of fire)

Yet lay raked up in a remote desire,

Unstirred by hope, with joy had learned that he,

More than what friendship patronized, was free

From all affection to the princess ; in

Her eyes, which unto then had clouded been.

Love, with as bright and pure a flame as e'er

Did in the shades of modesty declare

Passion, breaks forth. Which happy signs by him

Whose heart her eyes, e'en whilst they shone most dim, 100

With mutual flames had fired ; — that loyal love.

Which fate in vain shall struggle to remove,

Begins with flames as innocently bright

As the first rays of new-created light.

But stay, rash reader ! think not they are led
Through these smooth walks unto their nuptial bed ;
But now, behold that their misfortune prove.
Which thou hast wept for if thou e'er didst love,
A separation. The suspicion, that

Sparta's vexed king (when first distempered at no

His daughter's loss) did of this stranger prince
Justly conceive, persuades him now, that since
Not found within the Cyprian court, that he
Who had been vainly sought abroad might be
Yet lodged at home. Which suppositior^ bred
So strict a search, that, though the silent dead
Not silenter than her attendants were.
Yet kind Orlinda, whom a pious care
Prompted to save what she did yet possess.
Whilst seeking with a lover's tenderness lao

How to secure him, doth at length convey
Her roving fancy to this hopeful way. —

Not long before, though now 'twere silenced in
Domestic ills, report had busied been
In the relating of the sad distress
Of a brave Lybian prince ; whom Heaven, to bless
With an eternal crown, in midst of all
His youth's fresh glories, by a powerful call
Summons to serve her : and that faith, which he
Had from the early dawn of infancy 130

Sucked from the great Impostor of the East,
Though now by time opinion's strength increast,

(183)

Williajn Chamber lay7ie [book iv

Spite of a people's prayers or father's threats,
Wholly forsaking ; which revolt begets
So much aversion, pity could invent
Nought easier than perpetual banishment,
To punish what their faith, mistaken in
Its object, terms a black apostate's sin.

Disguised in such a dress as pity might
Expect to encounter so distressed a wight 140

As was that wandering prince, attended by
No train but what becomes the obscurity
Of such a fortune, to the Spartan court
Amindor comes \ where, though the thick resort
Of well-known friends might justly make him fear
Some treacherous eye, knowledge could ne'er appear
Through that black veil his happy art had took,
To make him like a sun-burnt Lybian look.

Yet what engaged them more than safety in
Prayers to Heaven, his person had now been 150

Not long the wonder of the court, before
His fairer virtues, which adorned him more
Than the other could disguise, did justly prove
The happy object of the prince's love :
Whose influence, whilst it him to power did raise,
Taught by reflex the people how to praise
That fair election, till the pyramid.
Raised to his fame, had fixed its lofty head
Above the clouds of fortune. Yet not this
Fate's fairest smile, a lover's best of bliss — 160

A free commerce (which unsuspected rnight.
Though long and pleasant as the summer's light,
Be ne'er disturbed) with fair Orlinda, gives
Content such fullness, that although he lives
To all unknown but her alone, in that
Enjoyed more than ambition e'er aimed at.

And now from all the fruitless diligence
Of inquisitions, and the vain expense
Of time, returned were every troop that had
Through forlorn hopes been active in the sad 170

Search of Pharonnida ; which ending in
A just despair, some that till then within
The castle walls had (though as vainly) sought
Their sorrow forth, before the grieved prince brought
Brumorchus ; whom they in a small lodge, where,
Secured by solitude, the household care
Of locks and bolts were vain, unsought, they found
In the soft bands of grief's best opiate bound,
Sleep ; who, though throned within her ebon seat,
From lust's hot field appears but his retreat ibo

150 now] Orig. 'not.'

( >S4 )

Canto I] Pharofifiida

When tired with action ; for besides him they,

Where 's poison's antidote, Amphibia, lay

Locked up in 's arms, beheld. The air, with all

Their voices struck, at length had raised a call

That drowned their sleeping thunder ; from the bed

Brumorchus starting struggles to have fled

The shameful danger, whilst Amphibia creeps

Beneath her sheets' protection, but nought keeps

Pursuing vengeance back. They 're took and brought

Before the prince; who, startled at the thought 190

Of such a complicated crime, refers

Their punishment to death's dire messengers.

The yet successful lovers, long ere this
Safely arrived at their first stage of bliss,
Florenza's low and envied roof, did there,
Since speed was now the fairest child of care,
Stay only to exchange their horse, and take
With her a guide whose practic skill could make
Their untrod paths familiar. Through a low
Dark vale, where shade-affecting weeds did grow 200

Eternal strangers to the sun, did lie
The narrow path, frequented only by
The forest tyrants, when they bore their prey
From open dangers of discovering day.

Passed through this desert valley, they were now
Climbing an easy hill, where every bough
Maintained a feathered chorister to sing
Soft panegyrics, and the rude winds bring
Into a murmuring slumber ; whilst the calm
Morn on each leaf did hang her liquid balm, 210

With an intent, before the next sun's birth,
To drop it in those wounds which the cleft earth
Received from 's last day's beams. The hill's ascent,
Wound up by action, in a large extent
Of leafy plains, shows them the canopy
Beneath whose shadow their large way did lie.
Which being looked o'er, whilst thankful praise did pay
Their debts to Heaven, they thence with a convey
Of prayers, those swift ambassadors, did send
A hopeful glance toward their large journey's end. 220

These short surveys past, since the place assures
A safe repose, to cool the calentures
Of feverish action, down a way that led
From Pleasure's throne unto her fragrant bed,
A rank of laurels, spreading to protect
The flowery path which not unpruned neglect
Robbed of delight, they passed ; the slow descent
Soon brings them where her richest ornament

218 ' Convey ' = convoy.

William Chamherlayne [book iv

(Although with art unpleited) Nature in

A lovely landscape wore, that once had been 230

Sacred to the island's fruitful goddess. Here

Whilst they behold the infants of the year

r the spring's unsullied livery clad, the fair

And large-limbed trees preparing to repair

Autumn's spent stock, from out a humble hill

A tributary fountain did distil

The earth's cold blood, and murmuring conveys

It on a bed of pebbles, till it pays

Her debts to the neighbouring river; near to it

Full choruses of feathered heroes sit 240

Amidst their willow mansions, to whose ease

Their shrill notes call the sportive Dryades.

^ Whilst by the brightest glories of that age
This royal robe, worn in a hermitage.
Is seen with such a silent sad delight
As smoothes the furrows of an anchorite,
Their solemn walk had brought them to a green
Skirt of that mantle, fairly spread between
Two mossy rocks, that near the crystal flood
Appendices to larger mountains stood. 250

Near which they saw, with mournful majesty
A heap of solitary ruins lie,
Half sepulchred in dust, the bankrupt heir
To prodigal antiquity, whose fair
Composures did, beneath time's pride sunk low,
But dim vestigia of their beauty show.

Yet that it might unreverend gazers tell
It once was sacred, Ceres' image, fell
From a throne's splendour, did neglected lie,
Sunk with her temple to deformity. 260

Dark gloomy groves, which holy altars shade
With solitude, such as religion made
Full of an awful reverence, and drew
The ravishing soul from the world's wandering view,
Circled the sacred valley : into one
Of which our royal lovers were alone
Retired, in private solitude to pay
Sleep's forfeitures, whilst the bright bloomy day
Sweats the hydroptic earth ; but joy denies
That sullen guest an entrance in their eyes — 270

Their eyes, which now like wandering planets met
After a race of cross aspects, and set
Within a firmament of beauty, thence
On Love's cold region dropped their influence ;
Warmed by whose vigour, springs of pleasure had,
Watering their cheeks, those fields in roses clad.

239 unpleited] Singer ' unplighted.' But I should rather take the orig. as = 'un-
pleated,' i. e. not 'folded up in,' 'complicated with.'

( -Sfi )

Canto I] j Pharoiinida

Fear, that till now had made them languish in
A dangerous hectic, or at best had been
But eased with intervals, which did include
Ambiguous hopes in time's vicissitude, 280

Ceased to usurp ; yet (though the throne expelled)
A large command in Reason's empire held,
Leading those parties which wise counsel sent
Close ambuscadoed dangers to prevent :
Nor could the conduct fail, assailed by aught
Within the circuit of extended thought ;
Deliberation, the soul's wary scout.
Being still employed to lead fresh parties out
'Gainst the known enemies of hope. But here
Black troops of danger, undiscerned of fear^ 290

Assaults unrallied Fortitude, whilst she
Slept 'mongst the rose-beds of security,

Exalted far above the gross mistakes
Of vulgar love — clothed in such thoughts as shakes
Ripe souls from out their husks of earth to be
Picked up by angels, joy's stenography
In their embraces met; not with less strength
Of love (though yet not to be wrought at length)
Than that which meets in nuptial folds when they
Reap Heaven's first blessing, in their blood's allay 300

Met their full seas of passion ; yet both, calm
As Virtue's brow, their blood but warmed like balm
To pour in sorrow's wounds, not boiled into
A scum of lust; the world's first man did woo
The blushing offspring of his side, the first
Unpractised virgin, with as great a thirst
Of blood as theirs, when, in the safe defence
Of paradise, each act was innocence.

Here whilst their sweet employment was discourse,
Taught in the school of virtue, to divorce 310

Those maiden brides, their twisted eye-beams, Sleep^
Which flies the open gates of care, did creep
In at their crystal windows, to remove
The lamp of joy filled with the oil of love.
The princess' spirits, fled from the distress
Of action into forgetfulness.
Having the curtains drawn, Argalia's head
Softly reposing on her lap, that bed
Of precious odours, there receives awhile

A rest, for sweetness — such as saints beguile 320

Time [with] in their still dormitories, till
Heaven's summons shall their hopes on earth fulfil.
Removed from them, feeding his horses in
A well-fleeced meadow, which that age had seen

321 'with' is Singer's insertion, no doubt rightly.

(^87)

JVillia^n Cha7nberlay7te [book iv

Till then ne'er lose its summer robe before

Russet with age he put it off, and wore

A glittering tissue furred with snow, did lie

Their careful guide, secured ; till frighted by

A dreadful noise of horse, whose rushing wakes

Him to behold— what seen, with terror shakes 330

Off sleep's declining weights, in such a strange

Amaze as (forts surprised) the scared guards change

Their swords for fetters : flying he looks back

On the steel-fronted troop, till at his back

Approaching danger, gathering in a cloud

Of death, o'erwhelms him ; frighting with its loud

Exalted clamours from their then closed eyes —

Love's altars, sleep's intended sacrifice.

Shook from their slumber with the first salutes
Of light to meet their ruin, thick recruits 340

Of brave resolves into Argalia's breast
Had swiftly summoned ; but the princess' rest
Exchanged for wild amazement : in which sad
Restraint of spirits, life with beauty had
Fled to the silent region, if not by
Her royal friend supported; who, the high
Pitch of exalted anger, whilst he draws
His sword to vindicate their righteous cause.
Descends to comfort her. Thinking those troops
Her father's messengers, his brave soul stoops 350

Not to request a favour ; but although
Their multitude, in hope's account outgrow
Life, more than those diseases which attend
On age's cold extreme, he dares defend
Love, though, by vigour of supreme commands,
Deprived of favour's mercenary bands.

Prompted by power, that sovereign antidote
'Gainst Nature's poison, baseness, and by rote,
Not Art's fair rules, taught lessons of defence,
These dregs of men, not having more pretence 360

Than what from riot was extorted, in
Unwieldy throngs the concjuest strive to win
From single valour. Not the powerful prayer
Of her, whose voice had purified the air
To a seraphic excellence, the sweet
Heaven-loved Pharonnida, could come to meet
Pity in this rude wilderness ; her words.
Losing their form in the wild air, affords
Their busy souls no heedful leisure, but
With wilder passions the soul's portals shut. 370

That sober friend to happy solitude.
Silence, which long those blest shades did include,
By rude noise banished from her solemn throne,
Did in a deep and hollow echo groan ;
(188)

Canto I] Pharon7iida

Whilst the brave champion, whose own worth did bring

Assistance, yet had in a bloody ring

Strewed death's pale triumphs, and in safety stands

The dangerous business of so many hands.

All which had in the grave joined palms, if by

One stroke, that index unto victory, 380

His sword, had not with sudden breaking proved

Traitor t' the strength by whose command it moved.

Robbed of this safe defence, valour's brave flame
In vain is spent ; that pyramid of fame,
Built by his hand o'er Love's fair temple, now
Even in the view of 's saint, is forced to bow
Beneath an earthquake. His commanding soul,
In this sharp conflict striving to control
Nature, rebellious to her power, lets fly

In vain the piercing lightning of the eye, 390

Whose dark lids, drooping in a death-like close,
Forbid high fury thundering on his foes.
He falls, and from each purple sallyport
Of wounds, tired spirits, in a thick resort,
Fly the approach of death ; in which wild trance,
His eyes did their declining lights advance
Above their gloom of darkness, to convey
The last faint beam of nature's falling day
To his distressed Pharonnida. But she.

In clouds of sorrow lost, was gone to be 400

Close mourner for his rigid fate beneath
A pale swoon's shady veil, and could not breathe
One sigh to welcome those sick guests, nor lend
A beam to light them to their journey's end.
Which being deprived of, in death's dark disguise
Forgetful shadows did obscure his eyes.

Branded with an ignoble victory,
His base oppressors, staying not to try
Whe'er fire remain in life's dark lamp, forsake
Their bleeding shame, and only with them take 410

The trembling ladies ; whose amazement yet
Grief's flood-gates shuts in a distracting fit
Of wilder passions : circled in which cloud
She 's hurried thence ; and, ere that damp allowed
Light through her soul's prospectives, had passed o'er
Much of the desert, and arrived before
A barren rock's proud front ; which, being too steep
For the laborious traveller, a deep
Dark vault did pierce, whose dismal black descent
Safe passage to a distant valley lent. 420

With slow ill-boding steps this horrid way
O'ercome, they meet the beauties of the day

409 'Whe'er 'is Singer's reading, and very likely ; but the 'where ' of the original
is not quite impossible.

(189)

William Chamberlay^ie [book iv

Within the pregnant vale, a place that showed
Some art had pruned what nature's hand bestowed.
No earth-encumbering weeds, but wholesome plants,
Such as relieve the winter of our wants,
Were here in comely order placed; each tree,
Tired with his fruitful burden, stoops to be
Eased by the lowliest hand ; for want of which
Their feeble stems had dropped them to enrich 43°

Their pregnant mother. This civility.
Proclaiming more than art had meant to be
The dress of deserts, did at first appear
As if those useful blessings had, for fear
That wasteful man should ravish them to feed
His luxury, fled thither : none that need
Such thrifty joys, in the circumference
O' the valley seeming to have residence.
All whose exalted pride did terminate
The levelled eye, was a round hill that sate 44°

As centre to the golden vale ; come near

To which, what did externally appear

A rock in ivy dressed, being entered, shewed

The beauties of a gorgeous palace, hewed

Out of the Uving stone, whose vaulted breast

Had by the union of each part exprest

The strength of concord. The black rock was all

Tinselled with windows, over which did fall

Thin ivy wreaths, like cobweb veils that shade

The sallyports of beauty, only made 45°

To cool, not darken, and on those that sit

Within bestow a shady benefit.

They being drawn near, a sad old man that sate

Unwilling porter, from the spacious gate

Withdrew the verdant curtain. — She is now

Entered the castle, where, could fear allow

Her eyes that liberty, she had surveyed

Buildings, whose strength with beauty joined, betrayed

Time's modern issues to contempt, and by

A lasting glory praised antiquity. 460

But pleasure spreads her baits in vain; she sate

Beneath the frozen arctic of her fate,

Whilst he, from whose aspect she only felt

Delightful heat, in's winter-solstice dwelt.
More to depress her sinking spirits, she

Too soon finds cause to think that gravity

She met in the entrance but the reverend shade

Of injured worth, which accident had made

Stoop to that bondage ; — virtue drooping in

His furrowed cheeks, as if disposed, she'd been 470

Thither confined within the walls, to let

Imjxirious vice her painted banners set.

( 193)

Canto I] Pharofintda

A troop of wild bandits, villains whose guilt
Shunned public haunts, Heaven's private blessings spilt
There in luxurious riot, which grown bold
By toleration, durst t' the light unfold
Vice's deformedst issues ; nought b' the name
Of sin being known, but sin's betrayer, shame :
In such a loose intemperance as reigns

In conquered cities, when the soldier's pains 480

With spoils of peace is paid, they lived. 'Mongst these
Some few unhappy women, kept to appease
Lust's tumults, she beheld ; whose looks betrayed
A sickly guilt, and made the royal maid,
Amidst her grief's cold symptoms, blush to see
How pale they looked with lust's deformity.

Whilst these are viewed, with such a change as that
Poor village drunkards are enforced to at
An officer's approach, when the night grows
Deep as their draughts, she sees them all compose 490

Their late wild looks ; nor was this dress of fear
In vain put on, Almanzor did appear —
Dreaded Almanzor, who on them had built
A power, which though by unsuccessful guilt
Banished t' the desert, forced their wants to be
The helpless sufferers of his tyranny.

Passed through the fear-dispersed throng, he 's to
The princess come ; where, startled at the view
Of majesty, shrinks back. Unsteady haste,
Which brought him there but to view beauties placed 500

Within the reach of 's lust, assaulted by
Objects that both to love and loyalty
Had proved him an apostate, to retreat
Within a blush attempts ; but that 's too great
A friend to bashful virtue, in that face.
Whose heart deposes her, to sprinkle grace.

Ruffled with this recoil of spirits, in
Such troubled haste as novices begin
New conned orations, he himself applies

To the injured lady; whose brave spirit flies 510

Not what see feared, but with the brave defence
Of scorn opposes blushless impudence,
Crushing the embryos of that language, in
Whose guilty accents he attempts to win
Opinion's favour, and by that redeem
What former guilt had lost in her esteem.

Contemned with such a look as princes cast
On overbold usurpers, he is past
The first encounter of her eye, and she
Turned in disdain, to show her great soul free 520

473 bandits] Note the accent of Aa/irf/V/j preserved in 'bandits,'
(>90

Willia7n Chamber layne [book iv

From low submission ; by which fired into
A sullen anger, he resolves to mew
The royal eaglet, until freedom grow
A favour, whose fair streams might overflow
Those barren fields of indesert, in which
His fortune pines — lest this fair prize enrich
The cursed soil, and on its surface place
The long-abstracted beams of princely grace.

She to the narrow confines of a room
Restrained, to let his muffled thoughts resume 530

Their calm composture, counsel's throne, he goes
Aside, and on that doubtful text bestows
The clearest comment of his judgement ; yet
Falls short of truth, and must contented sit
To know her there^ though not the accident
Which from her father's glorious court had sent
Her so ill guarded : but referring that
To time's discovery, he, transported at
What was a truth confirmed, within the wide
Arms of his hope, grasps what aspiring pride 540

Or lust's loose rhetoric, when youth's vigorous fire
Beauty hath kindled, prompts him to desire.

Yet by two several paths to tread that way,
His crimes' dark roads, lust and ambition, lay,
The poor Florenza, that long since had been
The trembling object of the baser sin,
To make his sly access to either free
From the other's thoughts, must from her lady be
In this dark storm removed ; he fearing less
That counsel aiding virtue in distress, 550

Though wanting strength the battle to maintain.
Might countermine the engine of his brain.

To this sad separation leaving them,
Whom innocence had licensed to condemn
Fortune's harsh discipline, Almanzor goes,
Fate's dark enigmas, by the help of those
That took her, to unveil ; but 'twas a work
Too full of subtle mystery : — A Turk,
Her brave defender, by those garments which
Rash fear had only rifled to enrich 560

Nice inquisition, seemed. By which betrayed
To dark mistakes, his policy obeyed
Domestic counsels ; and by subtle spies,
Whose ears were more officious than their eyes,
Soon from the love-sick lady's close complaints
His wiser knowledge with their cause acquaints.

THE END OF THE FIRST CANTO.

526 lest] Orig. ' least,' is here as not seldom = * unless.*
541 vigorous] Orig. ' rigorous,' possibly.

( 193 )

Canto II] Pharon?iic!a

Canto 11

THE ARGUMENT

From all the hopes of love and liberty

O'envhelmed in the vast ocean of her grief,

The wretched princess is constrained to be

A prisoner to her youth's first dreadful thief —

The cursed Almanzor ; in whose dismal cell
She comments on the various texts of grief

In every form, till from the tip of hell,
When seeming darkest, just Heaven sent relief.

Distracted in the agony of love,

Pharonnida, whose sad complaints did prove

Her sorrow's true interpreters, had made

Argalia's name, wrapped up in sighs, invade

The ears of an unseen informer ; whence,

Almanzor's thoughts, delivered from suspense,

Shake off their doubtful dress of fears, and teach

Hypocrisy by paths untrod to reach

The apex of his hopes. What not the fear

Of ills, whilst her own interest did appear lo

The only sharer, could perform, he now

Presumes affection to her friend would bow

With low submission, if by that she might

Aid his dim stars with a reserve of light.

With frequent visits, which on sin's dark text
Wrought a fair gloss, Almanzor oft had vext
The calmer passions of the princess in-
To ruffled anger ; but when all could win
No entrance on her favour, fury tries

A harsher corrosive — Stern power denies 20

Her even of those poor narrow comforts which
Her soul's dark region, that was only rich
In sorrow's sables, could possess. Withdrew
Were all those slippery parasites that knew
To her no pity, but what did reflect
The rays o' the tyrant's favour, whose neglect
Taught them the lesson of disdain, whilst she
Her practised soul trained in humility.

Pensive as an unpractised convert, in
A bath of tears she shadowed lies within 30

The unfrequented room ; a curtain-bed
Her close retreat, till light's fair angel fled

Arg. 7 tip] ' lip ? '

20 denies] ' denies of is a characteristic blending — ' deprives of and ' denies.'
31 curtain-bed] Singer ' curtained,' but ' curtain-bed ' (cf. ' arm-chair ') is quite prob-
able.

( 193 ) O

JVilliam Chamber layne [book iv

The swarthy region. But whilst here she lies,
Like in a dark lantern that in black disguise

Circles imprisoned light

Grief from the sullen world concealed : to turn

The troubled stream — as if the silent urn

Of some dead friend, to private sorrow had

Summoned her hither, entered was a sad

And sober matron ; in her hands she bore 40

A light, whose feeble rays could scarce restore

The sick successor of the day unto

A cheerful smile. Sad pilgrims, that renew

Acquaintance with their better angels by

Harsh penitence, have of humility

Less in their looks than she ; — her habit showed

Like costly ruins that for fashion owed

To elder pride, in whose reversion she

Appeared, the noble choice of charity.

This shadow of religious virtue drawn 50

Near her disordered bed, a sickly dawn
Of light breaks through the princess' clouded eyes
To meet the welcome object ; the disguise
Of sorrow, which at first appearance sate
Fixed on her brow, a partner of her fate
Making her seem. Nor was the fancy crushed
In the infancy of faith, fair truth first blushed
For verbal crimes. Near to the bed reposed
Where the sad lady lay, she thus disclosed
Her cause of entrance : — ' Cease, fair stranger, to 60

Monopolize a sorrow, which not you
Here share alone ; pity, instructed by
Experience in the rules of misery,
Hath brought me from complaining of my own
To comfort thine. This castle once hath known
Me for its mistress, though it now behold
Me (in the dress of poverty grown old)
Despised and poor, the scorn of those that were
Nursed into life by my indulgent care.'

This, in her tears' o'erflowing language spoke, 70

Persuades the pensive princess to revoke
Depraved opinion's doom, confessing she
Wedded not grief to singularity.
But comfort in the julep of her words
Was scarce dissolved, ere a reply affords
Conceived requital, striving to prevent
The oft more forward thanks. ' Rise to content,
Fair soul, (she cries) ; be but so wise to let
Sick passion die with just neglect, I'll set
Thy dropped stars in their orbs again. I have, 80

P'orced by command, a late attendance gave
Unto a wounded stranger, that remains

( '94)

Canto II] Pkaronntda

Within this castle in the heavy chains

Of cruel bondage ; from whose weight unless

Your love redeem him, dark forgetfulness

Will draw the curtains of the grave about

His dull mortality, and the sick doubt

Of hope resolve in death. This evening I

O'erheard his heavy doom, from which to fly

He hath no refuge but your mercy ; which 90

Stripped of light passion, must be clothed in rich

But graver robes of reason, when it sits

In council how to reconcile the fits

Of feverish love — when, being most prepense

To passion's heat, a frost of abstinence

Benumbs it to a lethargy. In brief,

'Tis he, whose prosperous tyranny the chief

Command within this castle gave, that in

His swift destruction doth attempt to win

Free passage to enjoying you, then prove ico

He friend to him that begs you to change love

For now more useful pity, and so save

A life that must no longer live to crave.

If now denied. This ring' (with that presents

A jewel, that, when love's first elements

The harmony of faith united, she

Gave to confirm her vows) ' he sends to be

A note that he denies whate'er was made

Authentic, when your mixed vows did invade

Unwilling Heaven, which in your sufferance shows no

We may intend, but wiser powers dispose.'

Pharonnida, whose fears confirmed, did need
No more to wound a fancy that did bleed
At all the springs of passion, being by
The fatal present taught, whose liberty
Her love's exchange must purchase, with a sad
Reverse of the eye beholding it, unclad
Her sorrow thus: — 'And did, oh, did this come
By thy commands, Argalia ? no ; by some
Unworthy hand thou'rt robbed of it— I know 120

Thou sooner wouldst be tempted to let go
Relics of thy protecting saint. — Oh, cease,
Whate'er you are, to wrong him ; the calm peace
He wears to encounter death in, cannot be
Scattered by any storm of fear. Would he,
That hath affronted death in every shape
Of horror, tamely yield unto the rape
Of's virgin honour, and not stand the shock
Of a base tyrant's anger? But I mock

My hopes with vain phantasms; 'tis the love 130

He bears to me, carries his fear above

loi He] So orig. and Singer. Emendation is not easy.
( 195 ) 0 2

JVilliafn Chajnberlayne [book iv

The orb of his own noble temper to

An unknown world of passions, in whose new

Regions ambitious grown, it scorns to fall

Back to its centre — reason, whither all

The lines of action until now did bend

From 's soul's circumference. Yet know, his end,

If doomed unto this cursed place, shall tell

The bloody tyrant that my passing bell

Tolls in his dying groans, and will ere long 140

Ring out in death — if sorrow, when grown strong

As fate, can raise the strokes of grief above

The strength of nature ; which if not, yet love

Will find a passage, where our souls shall rest

In an eternal union — whilst opprest

With horror, he, by whose commands he dies.

Falls to the infernal powers a sacrifice.

' If that your pity were no fiction, to
Betray my feeble passions, and undo

The knots of resolution, tell my friend — 150

I live but to die his, and will attend
Him with my prayers, those verbal angels, till
His soul 's on the wing, then follow him, and fill
Those blanks our fate left in the lines of life
Up with eternal bliss, where no harsh strife
Of a dissenting parent shall destroy
The blooming springs of our conjugal joy.'

Vexed by this brave display of fortitude
To sullen anger, with a haste more rude

Than bold intrusions, lust's sly advocate 160

Forsakes her seat, and though affronts too late
Came to create a blush, yet passion had
Her cheeks in red revenge's livery clad ;
Her eyes, like Saturn's in the house of death,
Heavy with ills to come ; her tainted breath
Scattering infectious murmurs : with a look
Oblique and deadly, the cursed hag forsook
That ebon cabinet of grief, and hastes
To tell Almanzor how his passion wastes

More spirits in persuasion's hectic, than 170

If power had quenched ambition's fever when
'Twas first inflamed with hope, whose cordials prove
Oft slow as opiates in the heat of love.

This, with a heat that spoiled digestion, by
The angry tyrant heard, rage did untie
The curls of passion, whose soft trammels had
Crisped smooth hypocrisy ; from which unclad,
Developed nature shows her unfiled dress
Rough as an angry friend, by no distress

Of beauty to be calmed. Since sly deceit i8o

Virtue had now unmasked, no candid bait

( '96 )

Canto II] P/iaronnida

Conceals his thoughts, which soon in public shows
From what black sea those mists of passion rose.

Day's sepulchre, the ebon-arched night,
Was raised above the battlements of light;
The frenzied world's allaying opiate, sleep,
O'ertaking action, did in silence steep
The various fruits of labour, and from thence
Recovers what pays for her time's expense :
In which slow calm, whilst half the drowsy earth 190

Lay in the shade of nature, to give birth
Unto the burthen of sick fancy — fear.
Groans, deep as death's alarums, through her ear
Fly toward the throne of reason, to inform
The pensive princess, that the last great storm
Of fate was now descending, beyond which
Her eyes, o'erwhelmed in sorrow, must enrich
Their orbs with love no more, but in the dawn
Of life behold her friend's destruction drawn,
Since threatened danger sad assurance gives — ^co

In those deep groans he now but dying lives.

More swiftly to destroy the falling leaves
Of blasted hope, with horror she receives,
By a convey of wearied light, that strook
Through rusty gates, intelligence which shook
The strength of fortitude — There was a room,
Deep and obscure, where, in a heavy gloom,
The unstirred air in such a darkness dwelt
As masked Egyptians from Heaven's vengeance felt,
Till by the struggling rays of a faint lamp 210

Forced to retreat, and the quicksilver damp
Shed on the sweaty walls, which hid within
That glittering veil, worn figures that had been
The hieroglyphic epitaphs of those
Which charity did to the earth dispose
In friendship's last of legacies, except
What is to cure loose fame's diseases kept.

Here, 'mongst the ruins of mortality,
In blood disfigured, she beholds one lie.

Who, though disguised in death's approach, appears 220

By 's habit, that confirmer of her fears
Her gentle love, alone and helpless, in
The grasp of death, striving in vain to win
The field from that grim tyrant; who had now
Embalmed him in his blood, and did allow
Him no more spirits, but what in that strife
Served to groan out the epilogue of life.
And then depart Nature's cold stage, to be
Sucked up from time into eternity.

When thus the everlasting silence had 230

Locked up his voice, and death's rude hand unclad

( 197 )

William Chamber layne [book iv

His hovering soul, whose elemental dress

Is left to dust and dark forgetfulness ;

When Nature's lamps being snuffed to death, he lay

A night-pieced draught of once well-modelled clay :

With such a silent pace. as witches use

To tread o'er graves, when their black arts abuse

Their cold inhabitants, his murderers were

Entered the vault, from the stained floor to bear

The cold stiff corpse ; which having softly laid 240

In's doomsday's bed, unto the royal maid,

Whose beauty, in this agony defaced,

Grief's emblem sat, with eager speed they haste.

Either a guilty shame, or fear to be
Converted by her form's divinity,
Made them choose darkness for protection ; in
AVhose hideous shade, she of herself unseen
Is hurried thence unto that dreadful place
Where he entombed lay, whom she must embrace
In death's dark lodgings ; and, ere life was fled, 250

Remain a sad companion of the dead-
Confining beauty, in youth's glorious bloom,
To the black prison of a dismal tomb :
Where, fast enclosed, earth's fairest blossom must
Unnaturally be planted in the dust ;
Where life's bright star, Heaven's glorious influence,
Her soul, in labour with the slow suspense
Of lingering torments, must expecting lie,
Till famine Nature's ligatures untie.

And can, oh, can we never hope to save 260

Her that 's in life a tenant to the grave !
Can aught redeem one that already lies
Within the bed of death, whose hot lust fries
In the enjoyment of all beauties that
The aged world ere had to wonder at !
To feed whose riot, the well-tempered blood,
That sanguine youth's smooth cheek mixed with a flood
Of harsh distemperatures, o'erflows, and brings
Some to their lodgings on the flaming wings
Of speedy fevers; whilst the others creep 270

On slow consumptions, millions from the steep
And dangerous precipice of war : some in
A stream of their own humours that have been
Swelled to a dropsy, being even pressed to death
By their own weight ; whilst others part with breath
From bodies worn so thin, they seemed to be
Grown near the soul's invisibility.

But whither strays our fancy ? have we left
The woful lady in a tomb, bereft

261 to] Singer, unnecessarily and I think unwisely, 'of.'
{.98)

Canto II] Pharonnidu

Of all society, and shall I let 280

My wandering pen forsake her ? Such a debt

Would bankrupt pity. The undistinguished day,

Whose new-born light did but e'en then display

Its dewy wings, when first she was confined

To the dark tomb, was now grown almost blind

With age, when thus through Fate's black curtain broke

Unlooked-for light : that darkness — which did choke

All passages by which the thin air held

Commerce with neighbouring rooms, being now expelled

By the dim taper's glimmering beams — let fall 290

Part of the rays through an old ruined wall

That fenced an ugly dungeon, where the night

Dwelt safe as in the centre. By the sight

Of which unlooked-for guest, some prisoners, who

Had there been staid, even till despairing to

Be e'er released, in eager fury tries

To force their way, where their directing eyes.

Led by the light, should guide them ; come at length

Where, with time's burden tired, the building's strength, .

Losing its first firm union, was divorced 300

With gaping clefts, an easy strength enforced

Those feeble guards : but come into the room

Where, o'er the living lady's sable tomb,

Hung the directing light, they there in vain

For further passage seeking, were again

To the black dungeon, horror's dismal seat,

In sad despair making their slow retreat.

Now near departing, a deep doleful groan

Reversed their eyes, amazement almost grown

To stupefaction stays them, whilst they hear 310

New sighs confirm their wonder, not their fear ;

Till thus Euriolus, whose bold look spoke

The braver soul, the dismal silence broke.

' Whate'er thou art that hoverest here within
This gloomy shadow, speak what wrong hath been
Thy troubled ghost's tormentor? art thou fled
From woe to stir the dust o' the peaceful dead ?
Or com'st from sacred shadows to lament
Some friend's dead corpse, which this dark tenement
Hath lodged in dust?' The trembling lady, hearing 320

A human voice again, and now not fearing
The approaches of a greater danger, cries : —
' Whate 'er you are, fear mocks your faith ; here lies
A woful wretch entombed alive, that ne'er
Must look on light again ; my spirit were
Blest if resolved to air, but here it must
A sad companion, in the silent dust.
To loathed corruption be, until the pale
Approaching fiend, harsh famine, shall exhale,

( 199)

Williatn Chamber layne [book iv

In dews of blood, the purple moisture, that 330

Fed life's fresh springs -.—but none shall tremble at

My doleful story, 'tis enough that Fate

Hath for this tomb exchanged a throne of state.'

To active pity stirred^ the valiant friends
Attempt her rescue, but their labour ends
In fruitless toils, the ponderous marble Hes
With too much weight to let the weak supplies
Of human strength remove 't ; which whilst they tried
To weary sweats^ kind fortune lends this guide
To their masked virtue — The informing ear 34°

Proclaims approaching steps, which ushered fear
Into Ismander's breast ; but his brave friend,
The bold Euriolus, resolved to end
By death or victory their bondage, goes
Near to the gate, where soon were entered those
Which in Pharonnida's restraint had been
The active engines of that hateful sin,
With them, that hag whose cursed invention had
Revenge in such an uncouth dressing clad.

Whilst her Ismander seized, and with a charm 350

Of nimble strength commands, the active arm
Of fierce Euriolus, directed by
Victorious valour, purchased liberty
By strokes whose weight to dark destruction sunk
His worthless foes, and sent their pale souls, drunk
With innocent blood, staggering from earth, to be
Masked in the deserts of eternity.

This being beheld by her whose hopes of life
With them departed, she concludes the strife
Of inquisition by directing to 360

An engine, which but touched would soon undo
That knot which puzzled all their strength, and give
The captive princess hopes again to live
Within the reach of light ; whose beams, whilst she
Unfolds her eyes — those dazzled stars, to see,
Dark misty wonder in a cloud o'erspread
His faith that raised her from that gloomy bed,
Amazed Euriolus ; whose zeal-guided eyes
Soon know the princess through grief's dark disguise.
Could his inflamed devotion into one 37°

Great blast of praises be made up, 't had gone
Toward heavenly bowers on the expanded wings
Of his exalted joy ; nor are the springs
Of life less raised with wonder in the breast
Of's royal mistress, whose free soul exprest

331 nonel Orig. ' now.'

357, 378 masked] Both these passages illustrate, in the same word 'masked,'
Chambcrlayne's curious locution. The first passage looks quite wrong ; the second
helps to gloss the word as = ' bewildered,' ' out of themselves.'

( 2C0 )

Canto II] Pharo7t7iida

As much of joy as, in her clouded fate,
With reason at the helm of action sate.

Here had they, masked in mutual wonder, staid
To unriddle fate, had not wise fear obeyed
Reason's grave dictates, and with eager speed 3S0

Urged their departure ; for whose guide they need
No more but her directions, who then lay
Taught by the fear of vengeance to obey
Their just demands. By whom informed of all
That might within the castle's circuit fall
AVith weights of danger, and taught how to free
Confined Florenza, to meet liberty
They march in triumph, leaving none to take
Possession there, but her whose guilt would make
The torment just, though there constrained to dwell 390

Till death prepared her for a larger hell.
Whilst sleep's guards, doubled by intemperance, reigned
Within the walls, with happy speed they gained
The castle's utmost ward ; and furnished there
With such choice horses, as provided were
For the outlaws' next day's scouts, a glad adieu
Of their loathed jail they take. Ismander knew
Each obscure way that in their secret flight
Might safely promise ; so that sullen night
Could not obstruct their passage, though, through ways 400
So full of dark meanders, not the day's
Light could assist a stranger. Ere the dawn
O' the wakeful morn had spread her veils of lawn
O'er the fair virgins of the spring, they 're past
That sylvan labyrinth, and with that had cast
Their greatest terror off, and taught their eyes
The welcome joys of liberty to prize.

And now the spangled squadrons of the night.
Encountering beams, had lost the field to light,
The morning proud in beauty grown, whilst they 410

With cheerful speed passed on the levelled way
By solitude secure ; of all unseen.
Save early labourers that resided in
Dispersed poor cottages, by whom they're viewed
AVith humble reverence, such as did delude
Sharp-eyed suspicion, they are now drawn near
Ismander's palace ; whose fair towers appear
Above the groves, whose green enamel lent
The neighbouring hills their prospects' ornament.

A river, whose unwearied bounty brings 420

The hourly tribute of a thousand springs
From several fragrant valleys here, as grown
So rich, she now strove to preserve her own

381 Urged] Orig. ' urge.'

(201 )

William Chamberlayne [book iv

Streams from the all-devouring sea, did glide

Betwixt two hills, which Nature did divide

To entertain the smiling nymph, till to

An entrance where her silver eye did view

A wealthy vale she came — a vale in which

All fruitful pleasures did content enrich ;

Where all so much deserved the name of best, 430

Each, took apart, seemed to excel the rest.

Rounded with spacious meads, here scattered stood
Fair country farms, whose happy neighbourhood,
Though not so near as justling palaces
Which troubled cities, yet had more to please
By a community of goodness in
That separation. Nature's hand had been
To all too liberal, to let any want
The treasures of a free inhabitant ;

Each in his own unracked inheritance 440

Where born expired, not striving to advance
Their levelled fortunes to a loftier pitch
Than what first styled them honest, after rich ;
Sober and sweet their lives, in all things blest
Which harmless nature, living unopprest
With surfeits, did require ; their own flocks bred
Their homespun garments, and on that they fed
Which from their fields' or dairies' plenteous store
Had fresh supplies : what fortune lent them more
Than an indifferent mean, was sent to be 450

The harbingers of hospitality.
Fair virgins, in their youth's fresh April drest,
Courted by amorous swains, were unopprest
By dark suspicion, age's sullen spies.
Whose spleen would have the envious counted wise
Love was religious here, and for to awe
Their wilder passions, conscience was their law.
More to complete this rural happiness,
They were protected from the harsh distress
Of long-winged power by the blest neighbourhood 460

Of brave Ismander ; whose known greatness stood
Not to eclipse their humble states, although
It shadowed them when injured power did grow
To persecution, by which means he proved — •
Not feared for greatness, but for goodness loved.
Which gentle passion his unhappy loss
Had soured to grief, and made their joy their cross.

But now their antidote approaches, he
From heavy bondage is returned to be

435 Which troubled cities] In another writer one might suspect ' In troubled cities '
or ' Which trouble cities.' But it is quite like Chamberlayne to attract his verb into the
form of ' stood ' and • had.'

( 202 )

Canto II] Pharonnidu

Their joyful wonder. At his palace gate 470

Being now arrived, his palace, that of late

With 's absence dimmed in her most beauteous age,

Stood more neglected than a hermitage,

Or sacred buildings, when the sinful times

To persecution aggravate their crimes :

But being entered, sadder objects took

Those outside wonders off; each servant's look

Spoke him a sullen mourner, grave and sad

Their sober carriage, in no liveries clad

But doleful sable, all their acts like those 480

Of weeping wives, when they t' the grave dispose

Their youthful husbands. Yet all these were but

Imperfect shadows of a sorrow, put

In distant landscape, when to trial brought

Near his fair Ammida's; whose grief had sought

As dark a region for her sad retreat

As desperate grief e'er made pale Sorrow's seat :

In sacred temples the neglected lamp

So wastes its oil, when heresies do cramp

Religion's beams ; with such a heavy look 490

Monarchs deposed behold themselves forsook

By those that flattered greatness ; shut from all

Those glorious objects of the world that call

Our souls in admiration forth, her time

Being spent in grief, made life but Nature's crime.

The rough disguise of time, assisted by
The meagre gripe of harsh captivity,
Had now expunged those characters by which
Ismander once was known, and even the rich
In love and duty rendered strangers to 500

Their honoured master; from whose serious view
Neglective grief withdraws them, so that he
An unknown pilgrim might have gone to be
Theirs and his own afflicter, had that fear
Not thus been cured : — A spaniel, being of dear
Esteem to Ammida, since the delight
Of her Ismander once, come to the sight
Of's first protector, stays not till a call
Invites acquaintance, but preventing all

The guides of reason by the sleights of sense, 510

Fawning on 's master, checks the intelligence
Of's more forgetful followers. Which being seen
By an old servant (whose firm youth had been
Spun out amongst that family, till by
Grave age surprised), it led his sober eye
To stricter observations, such as brought
Him near to truth, and on contracted thought
Raised a belief, which though it durst conclude
Nought on the dark text, yet, i' the magnitude
( 203 )

William Chamber lay7te [book iv

Of hope exalted, by his joy he hastes 520

To's mourning mistress, tells her that she wastes
Each minute more she spends in grief, if he
Dares trust his eyes to inform his memory.

Contracted spirits, starting from the heart
Of doubtful Ammida, to every part
Post through the troubled blood ; a combat, fought
Betwixt pale fear and sanguine hope, had oft
Won and lost battles in her cheeks, whilst she,
Leaving her sullen train, did haste to see
Those new-come guests. But the first interview 530

Unmasks Ismander ; winged with love she flew
To his embraces : 'twas no faint disguise
Of a coarse habit could betray those eyes
Into mistakes, that for directors had
Love's powerful optics ; nuptial joys unclad
In all their naked beauties — no delight
So full of pleasure, the first active night
Being but a busy and laborious dream
Compared with this — this, that had swelled the stream
Of joy to fainting surfeits ; whose hot strife 540

Had overflowed the crimson sea of life,
If not restrained by a desire to keep
What each had lost in the eternal sleep.

But now, broke through the epileptic mist
Of amorous rapture, rallied spirits twist
Again their optic cordage ; whose mixed beams
Now separate, and on collateral streams
Dispersed expressions of affection bore
To each congratulating friend, that wore

Not out those favours with neglect, but by 550

A speedy, though unpractic sympathy,
Met their full tide of bliss. Glad Fame, which brings
Truth's messages upon her silver wings
In private whisper hovers for awhile
Within the palace ; every servant's smile
Invites a new spectator ; who from thence
(Proud to be author of intelligence
So welcome) hastes, till knowledge ranged through all.
Diffusive joy made epidemical :

For though that noble family alone 560

Afforded pleasure a triumphant throne,
Yet frolic mirth did find a residence
In every neighbour's bosom. They dispense
With their allegiance to their labour, and
Revel in lusty cups ; the brown bowls stand
With amber liquor filled, whose fruitful tears
Dropped loved Ismandcr's health, till it appears
In sanguine tincture on their cheeks. All now
Had if not calmed their passions, smoothed a brow

( 204 )

Canto II] Pharoitnida

To temporize with pleasure. The sad story 570

Of his own fortune, and that age's glory,
Pharonnida, whilst each attentive dwells
On expectation, brave Ismander tells.

THE END OF THE SECOND CANTO.

Canto III

THE ARGUMENT

From the sad consort of her silent grief

The princess doth with pleasing wonder hear
Poor Vanlore's fate, and the unjust relief
Which his unworthy father freed from fear.

Whose hell-deep plots, the dregs of avarice

Had so defiled, that whilst he seeks for aid, '

His subtlety, masked on the road of vice,
By his presumed assistant is betrayed.

Composing time did now begin to slack
The reign of mirth ; exalted joy shrunk back
From pleasure's summer-solstice, and gave way
For more domestic passions to obey
An economic government ; which brought
Loose fancy on the wings of serious thought
Back to her sober home, in that to find
Those several burthens that were left behind
In the career of mirth ; amongst which number,
Pharonnida, that had let sorrow slumber, 10

In the high room of joy, awakes again
That clamorous elf, which she must entertain
At beauty's cost. Yet in this dark retreat,
From pleasure's throne to sorrow's dismal seat.
She finds a sweet companion ; one that had,
By fatal love opposed, with loss unclad
Delight of all his summer-robes, to dress
Her trembhng soul in sables of distress.
The sad Silvandra (for surviving fame
Hath on record so charactered her name) 20

Being sister to returned Ismander, in
This flourish of triumphant joy had been
So much eclipsed with grief, that oft her tears
Dimmed beauty's rays, whilst through them she appears
A fit companion for the princess to
Twist those discourses with, whose mourning clew
Led through the labyrinth of their lives. They oft,
In shades as secret as their closest thought

2 reign] Orig. ' rain,' Singer ' rein.' The curious thing is that both, as well as the
text, are possible.

( 205 )

William Chamber layne [book iv

With pensive paces meeting, sit and tell

Stories so sad, that nought could parallel — 30

But love and loss ; a theme they both had been

By rigid power made hapless students in.

One eye-bright morning tempting them to take
The start of time, soon as the lark did wake,
Summons them from the palace to the side
Of a small wood, whose bushy crest, the pride
Of all the flowery plains, they chose to be
'Gainst the invading sun their canopy.
Reposed beneath a full-grown tree, that spread
His trembling arms to shade their fragrant bed, 40

They now are set ; where for awhile they view
The distant vale, whilst contemplation grew
Pregnant with wonder, whose next prosperous birth
Had been delight, had they not sent their mirth
In sad exchange, whilst tears did usher in
Silvandra's fate ; who, weeping, did begin.
With such a look as did command belief,
The late-past story of a present grief.

' In yonder fields (with that directs her eye
To a black fen, whose heavy earth did lie 50

Low in a dark and dirty vale) is placed
Amarus's castle, which though now defaced
More by the owner's covetous neglect

Than time's rough strokes, that strength, which did protect
Once its inhabitants, being now but made
Use of when want doth with weak prayers invade
The gates, being thought sufficient — if they keep
The poor at bay, or, whilst his stiff hinds sleep,
Their labouring beasts secure. But I, alas,
Blush to discover that this miser was 60

Father to my dead Vanlore, and to her
Whose living virtues kind Heaven did confer
As blessings on my brother ; but the sun
Ne'er saw two sweeter streams of virtue run
From such a bitter fountain. This accurst
And wretched man (so hated that he durst •

Scarce look abroad, fearing oppression would
Be paid with vengeance, if he ever should
Fall into the hands of those whose faces he
Ground with extortion, till the injury 70

Fear clothed like justice), venturing once to view
A manor, whose intemperate lord outgrew
In debts the compass of a bond, besides
His common guard of clowns, fellows whose hides
Served for defensive armour, he commands
His son's attendance ; who, since from his hands
Racked tenants hoped for ease, he thought that they
Would for that hope with reverent duty pay.
( 206 )

Canto III] Phavonnida

But vain mistakes betray opinion to

A fatal precipice, which they might view 80

r the objects of each glance ; one side affords

Large plains, whose flocks — the wealth of several lords,

By him contracted, but the spoils appears

Of beggared orphans, pickled in their tears ;

Farms for whose loss poor widows wept, and fields,

Which being confined to strict enclosure, yields

To his crammed chests the starving poor man's food ;

For private ends robbing their public good,

With guilt enclosed those ways which now had brought

Him by some cottages, whose owners bought 90

Poor livelihoods at a laborious rate

From his racked lands ; for which pursuing Hate

Now follows him in curses : for in that

They yet take vengeance ; till arriving at

The thicker-peopled villages, where, more bold

By number made, the fire of hate takes hold

On clamorous women, whose vexed husbands thirst

I' the fever of revenge ; to these, when first

They kindled had the flame, swiftly succeeds

More active men, such as resolved their deeds, 100

Spite of restrictive law, should set them free

From the oppressors of their liberty.

' His son, the noble Vanlore, to appease
The dangerous fury of this rash disease^
Spends all his stock of rhetoric, but in
Fruitless attempts. His rustic guard had been
At the first onset scattered, and were now
Posting for safety ; whilst his son, taught how
By frequent injuries to entertain

Anger's unusual guests, shows it in vain, no

Though brave attempts of valour, by whose high
Unhappy flame whilst circling foes did die
Unworthy hecatombs for him, at length
Engaged him had beyond the power of strength,
Though backed by fortune to redeem ; which when
Beheld by those whose characters of men
In rage was lost, they wildly persecute
Revenge, till life, nature's harmonious fruit,
Was blasted to untimely death.' — And here
Her fatal story in its full career, 120

The memory of him, who died to be
The people's curse and crime of destiny,
Grief did obstruct, whilst liquid passion feeds
Her crystal springs ; which stopped, she thus proceeds : —

' His brave defender now retreating to
The road to death, whilst he did vainly sue

90 owners] Orig. ' honours.'

{ 207)

JVillia7n Chamherlayne [book iv

For undeserved remorse^ Amarus lies

Their fury's object ; in whose wild disguise,

Whilst giddy clouds of dark amazement dwell

O'er his dim eyes, the exalted tumult fell 130

In a black storm of danger ; in whose shade

They drag him thence, — that fury, being made

Wise by delays, might study torments great

As was their rage ; but in their wild retreat

They thus are stopped : — A wandering knight that near

The place approached, directed by his ear

How to inform his eye, arrives to see

The wretched trophies of this victory ; —

A dying son, whose latest beams of light

Through death's dim optics bids the world good night, 140

With looks that did so black a sorrow limn — ■

He frowned on earth though Heaven did smile on him ;

Hurried from thence by unrelenting hate,

A living father of more woful fate.

' Pity, that brave allay of manly heat,
Persuades the noble stranger to entreat
A parle with rage ; which, being denied, he then
Attempts to force ; and since their ablest men
Were wounded in the former conflict, soon
Successful proves. Like mists i' the pride of noon, 150

Being huddled into hurtless clouds, they fly
Before his fury, till from reach of the eye
Shrunk to the wood's protection ; where, whilst each,
With such a fear a sanguine guilt did teach
The world's first murderer, seeks for safety, he
Retreating leaves the scattered herd — to be
Their own afflicters ; and hastes thence to find
Him to whom fortune proved so strangely kind
In his approach, as by his sword to be.

When hope lost anchor, blest with liberty, 160

Come to the place where old Amarus lay
With fear so startled, that he durst betray
Life through no motion ; yet he 's followed by
That train of cowards, which, though they did fly
The danger, when they saw their foes pursued,
On the reward — the victory, intrude ;
Whose easy spoils, those invitations to
A coward's daring, such a distance drew
Them from their homes, that they with labour were
Recalled from rifling enemies to bear 170

Their feeble masters off— Amarus lying
As weak with fear as Vanlore was with dying.

'Before the black obstructions of the night
Did interpose, they were arrived i' the sight
O' the castle's ruined walls, a place whose hue,
Uncouth and wild, banished delight unto
(208)

Canto III] Phavonnida

Uncomely profit, and at distance gives
A sad assurance — that its owner lives
By men so hated, and by Heaven unblest,
■ As he enjoyed not what he there possest. 180

'Come to the front of the house, whose dirt forbid
A cleanly entrance, he sees pavements hid
With heaps of rubbish — time's slow hand let fall
From the neglected ruins of the wall \
Green arbours, pleasant groves, all which were now
Swiftly dismantling to make way for th' plough ;
Only his barns, preservers of that store
Detained with curses from the pining poor,
Their upper garments of warm thatch did wear
So thick to keep them dry, whilst thin and bare 190

E'en his own lodging stood ; the hall, first built
To have that wealth, which he in sparing spilt,
Spent there in hospitality, ne'er by
More heat warmed than a candle gave, did lie
Moulded with lazy damps — the wall o'ergrown
With moss and weeds — unhaunted and alone
The empty tables stood ; for never guess
Come there, except thin bankrupts, whom distress
Spurred on with sharp necessity to crave

Forbearing months, which he, when bribed, forgave. 200

Hence, by a rude domestic led, he goes
To view the cellar, where, like distant foes
Or buildings in a new plantation, stand
The distant barrels, yet from all command
But his own keys exempted. To bestow
A welcome on him, which he ne'er did show
To man before, led by a rusty slave,
Whose iron limbs, rattling in leather, gave
Alarums to the half-starved rats, he here

Is by Amarus visited; whose fear 210

That place should too much suffer, soon from thence
Sounds a retreat to supper, where the expense
Became a usurer's purse : yet what was by
Sparing defective, neatness did supply,
A virtue, where repining penury
Prepares, unusual ; but he soon did see
Whence it proceeds — The sad sweet Ammida
Whom shame and grief attempted to withdraw
From public view, was by her father's call.
To crown that entertainment, brought; whose all 220

178 o^vne^] Orig. again 'honour.' The constant occurrence of this suggests not
merely dictation, as observed before, but a probably Irish dictater.

197 guess] Singer boldly prints 'guests,' which the sense of course requires.
But 'guess ' is in original, and I leave it to the reader to decide whether the sense,
or the rhyme, or the pronunciation is to yield the place.

( 209 ) P

William Cha7nherlayne [book iv

Was else so bad, it the first visit might
Repented make, not to the next invite.

' Here, with afflicted patience, he had spent
Some few, but tedious days, whose slow extent
Behind his wishes flagged, ere he had seen
Vanlore interred, whose obsequies had been
In secret huddled up, but then prepares
To take his leave ; when adverse fate, that shares
Double with man's intentions, in the tart

Of 's full resolves opposing, claims her part 230

By harsh command : — A dangerous fever, that
Threatened destruction ere arriving at
Its distant crisis, and on flaming wings,
Posts through the blood ; whose mass infected brings
Death's banners near the fort of life, which in
Acute distempers it attempts to win
From Nature's guards, had not the hot assault
By youth sustained, made Death's black army halt
Whilst marching to the grave— the swift disease
Like a proud foe repulsed, forced to give ease 240

By slow retreats ; yet of those cruel wars
Left long remaining bloodless characters.

' But ere the weak Euriolus (for he
This hapless stranger was) again could be
By strength supported, base Amarus, who
Could think no more than priceless thanks was due
For all his dangerous pains, more beastly rude
Than untamed Indians, basely did exclude
That noble guest : which being with sorrow seen
By Ammida, whose prayers and tears had been 250

His helpless advocates, she gives in charge
To her Ismander — that till time enlarge
Her then restrained desires, he entertain
Her desolate and wandering friend. Nor vain
Were these commands, his entertainment being
Such as observant love thought best agreeing
To her desires. But here not long he staid,
Ere fortune, prompted by his wit, obeyed
That artful mistress, and reward obtains

By fine imposture for firm virtue's pains. 260

The gout, that common curse of slothful wealth.
With frequent pain had long impaired the health
Of old Amarus, who, though else to all
Griping as that, for ease was liberal.
From practised physic to the patient's curse —
Poor prattling women, or impostors worse —
Sly mountebanks, whose empty impudence
Do frequent murders under health's pretence,

261. Although I have barred myself from frequent annotation on matter, the
following passage may deserve an invitation to observe the poet's professional spirit,

( 2to )

Canto III] Pharo727tida

He all had tried, yet found he must endure

What, though some eased, none perfectly could cure. 270

Oft had his judgement, purse, and patience been

Abused by cheats, yet still defective in

The choice of men ; which error known unto

My brother and Euriolus, they drew

Their platform thus : — Euriolus, clad in

An antic dress, which showed as he had been

Physician to the Great Mogul, first by

Ismander praised at distance, doth apply

Himself unto Amarus : where, to enhance

The price of's art, he first applauds the chance 280

That had from distant regions thither brought

Him to eclipse their glory, who had sought

For 't in his cure before, then seconds that

With larger promises ; which^ tickled at,

Amarus vies with his, threatening to break

His iron chests, and make those idols speak

His gratitude, though, locked with conscience, they

To his own clamorous wants had silent lay.

'Some common medicines which the people prize,
'Cause from their knowledge veiled in slight disguise, 290

Applied to 's pain, and those assisted by
Opinion, whose best antidotes supply
The weak defects of art, he soon attains
So much of health, that now his greatest pains
Had been the engaged reward, had he not been
By future hopes kept from ungrateful sin
So far, that in performing action he
Exceeds his passion's prodigality —
Large promises, with such performance, that,
Whilst his deluders smile and wonder at, 3°°

Thus speaks its dark original. To show
Euriolus how fortune did outgrow
Desert in his estate, he was one day
From th' castle walls taking a pleased survey
Of spacious fields, whose soils, made fertile by
Luxurious art, in rich variety

Still youthful nature clothed ; which, whilst he views,
An old suspicion thus his tongue renews : —

' " How blest, my worthy friend, how blest had I
Been in my youth's laborious industry 310

T' have seen a son possessed of this ! But now,
A daughter's match a stranger must endow
With what I've toiled to get ; and what is more
My torment, one that, being betrothed before
My son's decease, wants an estate to make
Her marriage blest. But knew I how to shake
This swaggerer off, there lives, not far from hence.
One that to match her to were worth the expense

( 211 ) p 2

JVilliam Chamber lay7ie [book iv

Of my estate ; his name is Dargonel —

A wary lad, who, though his land do swell 320

Each day with new additions, yet still lives

Sparing and dose, takes heed to whom he gives.

Or whom he lends, except on mortgage, by

Whose strength it may securely multiply.

This worthy gentleman, with wise foresight

Beholding what an object of delight

Our Hnked estates would be, hath, since I lost

My heir, been in 's intention only crost

By this Ismander, whom though I confess

A braver man, yet since a fortune less, 330

Ne'er must have my consent ; only since by

Her contract I have lost the liberty

Of second choice, unless I vainly draw

Myself in danger of the o'erbusy law,

I want some sound advice that might inform

Me how to rid him, yet not stand a storm

Broke from his rage. Although my daughter love

Him more than health, I shall command above

Her feeble passions, if you dare impart

So much of aid from your almighty art 340

As to remove this remora." — And here

He stopped, yet lets a silent guilt appear

In looks that showed what else the theme affords

He 'd have conceived, as being too foul for words.

Which seen by him whose active wit grew strong

In friendship's cause, as loath to torture long

His expectations, thus their streams he stays

With what at once both comforts and betrays : —

' " Raise up your spirits, my blest patron, to
Sublime content, Heaven sent me to renew 350

Your soul's harmonious peace ; that dreadful toy
Of conscience wisely waived, you may enjoy
Uninterrupted hopes. Yet since we must
Be still most wary where we're most unjust.
Let 's not be rash ; swift things are oft unsure,
Whilst moles through death's dark angles creep secure.
Then, since it 's full of danger to remove
Betrothed Ismander, whilst his public love,
By your consent raised to assurance, may
A granted interest claim — first let us stay 360

His fury and the people's censures by
A nuptial knot, whose links we will untie.
Ere the first night confirms the hallowed band,
By ways so secret, that death's skilful hand
Shall work unknown to fate, and render you
To the deluded world's more public view,

329 whom] Singer ' who,' obliterating attraction and not quite conciliating the more
rigid grammar.

( 212 )

Canto III] Pharonnida

A real mourner, whilst your curtained thought
Triumphs to be from strict engagements brought.
Besides the veiling of our dark design

Like virtue thus, this plot will sink a mine 370

Whose wealthy womb in ample jointure will
Bring much of dead Ismander's state, to fill
The vast desire of wealth. This being done,
I with prevailing philtres will outrun
Sorrow's black bark, which whilst it lies at drift,
I'll so renew her mirth, no sigh shall lift
Its heavy sails, which in a calm neglect
Shall lie forgot ; whilst what 's not now respect
To Dargonel, shall soon grow up to be.

Like Nature's undiscovered sympathy, 380

A love so swift, so secret, all shall pause
At its effects, whilst they admire the cause."
' This by Amarus, with belief which grew
Into applause, heard out, he doth renew
With large additions what he'd promised in
His first attempts. Then hasting to begin
The tragic scene, which must in triumph be
Ushered to light, his known deformity
Of wretched baseness for awhile he lays

Aside, and by a liberal mirth betrays 390

Approaching joy ; which, since incited by
His wishes, soon lifts Hymen's torches high
As their exalted hopes. The happy pair,
Dear to indulgent Heaven, with omens fair
As were their youthful paranymphs, had been
In the hallowed temple taught without a sin
To taste the fruits of paradise ; and now
The time, when tedious custom did allow
A wished retirement, come, preparing are

To beautify their beds, whence that bright star, 400

Whose evening's blush did please the gazers' eyes,
Eclipsed in sorrow, is ordained to rise.
But such whose superficial veil opprest
Only her friends, whose knowledge were not blest
With the design, which to our proscript lovers
Euriolus with timely zeal discovers.
The morning opens, and the wakened bride,
By light and friends surprised, attempts to hide
Her bashful beauty, till their hands withdrew
The curtains, which betrayed unto their view 410

Ismander cold and stiff. Which horrid sight,
Met where they looked for objects of delight,
At first a silent sad amazement spread
Through all the room, till Fear's pale army fled
In sad assurance ; Sorrow's next hot charge
Began in shrieks, whose terror did enlarge

( 213)

William Chamberlayne [book iv

Infectious grief, till^ like an ugly cloud

That cramps the beauties of the day, grown proud

In her black empire. Hymen's tapers she

Changes to funeral brands, and, from that tree 420

That shadows graves, pulls branches, which, being wet

In tears, are where love's myrtles flourished set.

Their nuptial hymns thus turned to dirges, all

In sad exchange let cloudy sable fall

O'er pleasure's purple robes, whilst from that bed,

Whence love oppressed seemed, to their sorrow, fled

To death for refuge, sadly they attend

T' the last of homes— his tomb — their sleeping friend :

Who there, with all the hallowed rights that do

Betray surviving friendship, left unto 4r.o

Darkness and dust, they thence with sober pace

Return ; whilst shrouded near that dismal place

Euriolus conceals himself, that so.

When Sleep, whose soft excess is Nature's foe,

Hath spent her stupefactive opiates, he

Might ready to his friend's assistance be.

' And now that minute come, which, to comply
With Art's sure rules, gives Nature leave to untie
Sleep's powerful ligatures, his pulses beat

The blood's reveille, from whose dark retreat 440

The spirits thronging in their active flight.
His friend he encounters with the early light ;
By whose assistance, whilst the quiet earth
Yet slept in night's black arms, before the birth
O' the morn, whose busy childhood might betray
Their close design, Ismander takes his way
Toward a distant friend's, whose house he knew
To be as secret as his love was true.

There whilst concealed e'en from suspicion he

In safety rests, Euriolus, to free 4.=^o

Her fear's fair captive, Ammida, hastes back

To old Amarus ; who, too rash to slack

Sorrow's black cordage by degrees that might

Weaken mistrust, lets mirth take open flight

Into suspected action, whilst he gives

To Dargonel, who now his darling lives.

So free a welcome that he in 't might read.

If love could not for swift succession plead,

Power should command ; yet waives the exercise

Of either, till his empiric's skill he tries. 460

Who now returned, ere Dargonel, that lay

Slow to attempt since certain to betray,

Had more than faced at distance, he pretends

To close attempts of art, whose wished-for ends,

Ere their expecting faith had time to fear.

In acts which raised their wonder did appear. —

(214)

Canto III] Phavonnida

' Love, which by judgement ruled, had made desert
In her first choice the climax to her heart.
By which it slowly moved ; now, as if swayed
By heedless passion, seems to have betrayed 470

At one rash glance her heart, which now begins
To break through passion's bashful cherubins,
Spreading, without a modest blush, the light
Of morning beauty o'er that hideous night
Of all those dull deformities that dwell,
Like earth's black damps, o'er cloudy Dargonel.
Who, being become an antic in the mask
Of playful love, grows proud, and scorns to ask
Advice from sober thought, but lets conceit
Persuade him how his worth had spread that bait ; 4«o

Which sly Amarus, who presumed to know
From whence that torrent of her love did flow.
With a just doubt suspecting, strives to make
His thoughts secure, ere reason did o'ertake
Passion's enforced career. Nor did his plot
Want an indulgent hope ; like dreams, forgot
In the delights of day, his daughter shook
Off grief's black dress, and in a cheerful look
Promised approaching love, no more disguised
Than served to show strict virtue how she prized 490

Her only in applause ; whose harmony
Still to preserve, she is resolved to be.
If secret silence might with action dwell.
Swift as his wish, espoused to Dargonel.

* More joyed than fettered captives in the year
Of Jubilee, Amarus did appear

Proud with delight ; in whose warm shine, when 's haste
Had with officious diligence embraced
Euriolus, he, waving all delays.

To Dargonel the welcome news conveys ; 500

Who, soon prepared for what so long had been
His hope's delight, to meet those joys within
The sacred temple, hastes. The place they chose
For Hymen's court, lest treacherous eyes disclose
The bride's just blushes, was a chapel, where
Devotion, when but a domestic care.
Was by his household practised ; for the time —
'Twas ere the morn blushed to detect a crime.

' All thus prepared, the priest conducting, they
With sober pace, which gently might convey 510

Diseased Amarus in his chair, they to
The chapel haste : which now come near, as through
The ancient room they pass, a sad deep groan
Assaults their ears ; which, whilst with wonder grown
Into disease they entertain, appears
A sad confirmer of their doubtful fears —

William Cha7nherlayne [eook iv

Ismander, whom but late before they had

Followed t' the grave, his lively beauty clad

In the upper garments of pale death. Which sight

The train avoiding by their speedy flight, 520

Except the willing bride, behind leave none

But lame Amarus ; who, his chair o'erthrown

By his affrighted bearers, there must lie

Exposed to fear, which, when attempts to fly,

Through often struggling, proved his labour vain,

He grovelling lies unseen to entertain.

'Thus far successful, blest Ismander, thence
Conveys his lovely bride, whilst the expense
Of time being all laid out in fear, by none
He was observed. Amarus long alone 530

Lying tormented with his passions, ere
His frighted servants durst return to bear
Their fainting master off; but being at length,
When greater numbers had confirmed the strength
Of fortitude, grown bold, entering again
The room, which yet fear told them did retain
The scent of brimstone, there they only found
Their trembling master, tumbling on the ground.
Horror, augmented by internal guilt.

Had in his conscience's trepidations spilt 540

Both prayers and tears, which, since Heaven's law they crost,
For human passions in despair were lost.
Obscured in whose black mists, not daring to
Unclose his eyes, fearing again the view
Of that affrighting apparition, he
Is hurried from that dreadful place, to be
Their mirth, whom he (for fiends mistaking) cries
For mercy to, scarce trusting of his eyes,
When they unfolded had discovered none
But such whom long he 'd for domestics known. 550

'Yet to torment him more, before these fears
Wholly forsake him, in his room appears
Some officers ; whose power, made dreadful by
The dictates of supreme authority,
As guilty of Ismander's death, arrest
Him for his murderer. By which charge opprest
More than before with fear, he, who now thought
On nought but death, to a tribunal brought,
Ere asked, confesses that foul crime, for which
He this just doom receives : — Since to enrich 560

What had before wealth's surfeit took, this sin
Was chiefly acted, his estate, fallen in
1"' the hands of justice, by the judge should be
From hence disposed of; then, from death to free

556 charge] Orig. ' change.'

(316)

:anto III] Pharonftida

His life, already forfeited, except

Murdered Ismander, whom he thought had slept

In 's winding sheet, his hopeless advocate

Should there appear. In which unhappy state

The wretch, now ready to depart, beholds

This glorious change ; — Ismander first unfolds 570

Himself and her, who, bound by Nature's laws.

Implore his pardon ere they plead his cause ;

Which done, the judge, that his lost wealth might be

No cause of grief, unmasking, lets him see

Euriolus, by whom from th' worst of sin

To liberal virtue he 'd deluded been.'

THE END OF THE THIRD CANTO.

Canto IV

THE ARGUMENT

Whilst we awhile the pensive lady leave

Here a close mourner for her rigid fate,
Let "s from the dark records of time receive

The manner how Argalia waived the hate

Of his malignant stars ; which, when they seem

To threaten most, through that dark cloud did lead
Him to a knowledge of such dear esteem, —
He his high birth did there distinctly read.

Freed from the noise o' the busy world within

A deep dark vale, whose silent shade had been

Religion's veil, when blasted by the beams

Of persecution, far from the extremes

Of solitude or sweaty labour, were

Some few blest men, whose choice made Heaven their care,

Sequestered from the throngs of men to find

Those better joys, calms of a peaceful mind.

Yet though on this pacific sea^ their main

Design was Heaven, that voyage did not restrain 10

Knowledge of human arts, which as they past

They safely viewed, though there no anchor cast ;

Their better tempered judgements counting that

But hoodwinked zeal, which blindly catches at

The great Creator's sacred will, without

Knowing those works that will was spent about ;

Which being the climax to true judgement, we

Behold stooped down to visibility

In lowliest creatures. Nature's stock being nought

But God in 's image to our senses brought. 20

In the fair evening of that fatal day,
By whose meridian light love did betray

William Chamberlayne [book iv

Engaged Argalia near to death, was one

Of these, Heaven's happy pensioners, alone,

Walking amongst the gloomy groves, to view

What sovereign virtues there in secret grew,

Confined to humble plants ; whose signatures

Whilst by observing, he his art secures

From vain experiments. Argalia's page.

Crossing a neighbouring path, did disengage 3^

His serious eye from Nature's busy task.

To see the wandering boy, who was to ask

The way ; for more his youth's unprompted fear

Expects not there, to the blest man drawn near.

But when, with such a weeping innocence

As saints confess those sins which the expense

Of tears exacted, he had sadly told

What harsh fate in restrictive wounds laid hold

Of 's worthy master, pity, prompted by

Religious love, helps the poor boy to dry 4^

His tears with hopes of comfort ; whilst he goes

To see what sad catastrophe did close

Those bloody scenes, which the unequal fight

Foretold, before fear prompted him to flight.

Not far they 'd passed ere they the place had found
Where, grovelling in a stream of blood, the ground
His purple bed, the wearied prince they see
Struggling with death : from whose dark monarchy
Pale troops assail his cheeks, whilst his dim eyes,
Like a spent lamp, which, ere its weak flame dies, 50

In giddy blazes glares, as if his soul
Were at those casements flying out, did roll.
Swifter than thought, their blood-shot orbs ; his hands
Uid with death's agues tremble ; cold dew stands
Upon his clammy lips ; the springs of blood.
Having breathed forth the spirits, clotted stood
On that majestic brow, whose dreadful frown
Had to death's sceptre laid its terror down.

The holy man, upon the brink o' the grave
Finding such forms of worth, attempts to save 60-

His life from dropping in, by all his best
Reserves of art ; selecting from the rest
Of his choice store an herb whose sovereign power
No flux of blood, though falling in a shower
Of death, could force ; which gently bruised, and to
His wound applied, taught Nature to renew
Her late neglected functions, and through short
Recruits of breath, made able to support
His blood-enfeebled body, till they reach
The monastry, where nobler art did teach 70

70 monastry] Chamberlayne probably meant this spelling.

(-8)

Canto IV] Pharo7inida

Their simple medicines to submit to those
Which skill from their mixed virtues did compose.

Life, which the unexpected gift of Fate
Rather than Art appeared, in this debate
Of death prevailing, in short time had gained
So much of strength, that weakness now remained
The only slothful remora that in
His bed detained him. Where, being often seen
By those whom art alike had qualified

For his relief, as one of them applied 80

His morning medicines to a spacious wound
Fixed on his breast, he that rare jewel found
Which, in his undiscerning infancy
There hung by 's father, fortune had kept free
From all her various accidents, to show
How much his birth did to her favour owe.

Shook with such silent joy as he had been
In calm devotion by an angel seen.
The good old man, his wonder rarified

Into amazement, stands : he had descried 90

What, if no force had robbed him of it since
'Twas first bestowed, none but his true-born prince
Could wear, since Art, wise Nature's fruitful ape,
Ne'er but in that had birth which bore that shape.
Assured by which, with unstirred confidence
He asks Argalia — Whe'er he knew from whence,
When Nature first did so much wealth impart
To earth, that jewel took those forms of art?
But being answered — That his infancy.

When first it was conferred on him, might be 100

The excuse of 's ignorance ; that voice alone
Confirms his aged friend : who, having known
As much of fortune, as in Fate's dark shade
His understanding legible had made.
From weak Argalia, to requite him leads
Knowledge where he his life's first copy reads
Dressed in this language :

'Twas, unhappy prince !

(For such this story must salute you, since

Told to confirm 't a truth) my destiny 110

When youth and strength rendered me fit to be

My dearest country's servant, placed within

Mantinea's glorious court ; where, having been

Made capable by sacred orders, I

Attained the height of priestly dignity,

Being unto him, whose awful power did sway

That crown, in dear esteem ; but honour's day.

Which gilded then the courtly sphere, sunk down,

I lost my mitre in the fall o' the crown.

Sad is the doleful tale; yet, since that in 120

( 219 )

William Chamberlayne [book iv

Its progress you may find where did begin

Your life's first stage, thus take it. — When the court,

Stifled with throngs of men, whose thick resort

Plenty and peace called thither, being grown

Sickly with ease, viewed, as a thing unknown.

Danger's stern brow, which even in smiling fates

Proves a quotidian unto wiser states ;

Whilst Pride grew big, and Envy bigger, we,

Sleeping i' the bed of soft security,

Were with alarums wakened. — Faction had, 130

To show neglect's deformities, unclad

That gaudy monster, whose first dress had been

The night-pieced works of their unriper sin ;

And those that in contracted fortunes dwelt.

Calmly in favour's shadow, having felt

The glorious burthen of their honour grown

Too large for all that fortune called their own,

Like fishes which the lesser fry devour.

Pride having joined oppression to their power,

Preyed on the subject, till their load outgrew 140

Their loyalty, and forced even those that knew

Once only to obey, in sullen rage

To mutter threats, whose horror did presage

That blood must in domestic jars be spilt,

To cure their envy, and the people's guilt.

'These seeds of discord, which began to rise
To active growth, by the honourable spies
Of other princes seen, had soon betrayed
Our state's obscure disease, and called, to aid
Ambitious subjects, foreign powers ; whose strength, 150

First but as physic used, was grown at length
Our worst disease, which, whilst we hoped for cure,
Turned our slow hectic to a calenture.

' A Syracusan army, that had been
Against our strength often victorious in
A haughty rebel's quarrel, being by
Success taught how to ravish victory
Without his aid, which only useful proved
When treason first for novelty was loved.

Seizing on all that in 's pretended cause 160

Had stooped to conquest, what the enfeebled laws
In vain attempted, soon perform, and give
The traitor death from what made treason live :
This done, whilst their victorious ensigns were
Fanned by Fame's breath, they their bold standards bear
Near to our last hopes ; — an army which.
Like oft-tried ore, disasters made more rich

133 ' Night pieced,' ' secrelly combined,' is quite Chamberlaynian ; but the word
»iay have been tiiat odd ' Ti\^\.-pieked ' which we have had before.

(230)

Canto IV] Pharo72nida

In loyal valour than vast numbers, and

By shaking fixed those roots on which did stand

Their well-elected principles; which here, 170

Opprest with number, only did appear

In bravely dying, when their righteous cause,

Condemned by Fate's inevitable laws,

Let its religion — virtue — valour — all

That Heaven calls just, beneath rebellion fall.

' Near to the end of this black day, when none
Was left that durst protect his injured throne ;
When loyal valour, having lost the day,
Bleeding within the bed of honour lay ;

Thy wounded father, when his acts had shown iSo

As high a spirit as did ever groan
Beneath misfortune, is enforced to leave
The field's wild fury, and some rest receive
In faithful Enna ; where his springs of blood
Were hardly stopped, before a harsher flood
Assails his eyes : — Thy royal mother, then
More blooming than Earth's full-blown beauties when
Warmed in the ides of May, her fruitful womb
Pregnant with thee, to an untimely tomb.
Her fainting spirits, in that horrid fright 190

Losing the paths of life, from time, from light.
And grief, steals down : yet ere she had discharged
Her debts to death, protecting Heaven enlarged
Thy narrow lodging, and that life, which she
Lost in thy fatal birth, bestowed on thee —
On thee, in whom those joys, thy father prized
More than loved empire, are epitomized.

'And now, as if the arms of adverse fate
Had all conspired our ills to aggravate

Above the strength of patience, we are by 200

Victorious foes, before our fear could fly
To a remoter refuge, closed within
Unhappy Enna ; which, before they win.
Though stormed with fierce assaults, the restless sun
His annual progress through the heavens had run ;
But then, tired with disasters which attend
A slow-paced siege, unable to defend
Their numbers from resistless famine, they
With an unwilling loyalty obey

The next harsh summons, and so prostrate lie 310

T' the rage or mercy of their enemy.
But ere the city's fortune was unto
This last black stage arrived, safely withdrew
T' the castle's strength thy father was, where he,
Though far from safety, finds the time to be
Informed by sober counsel how to steer
Through this black storm ; love, loyalty, and fear,
(221 )

JVilliam C hamper layne [book iv

Had often varied judgements, but at last
Into this form their full resolves were cast.

'To cool hot action, and to bathe in rest 220

More peaceful places, darkness dispossest
The day's sovereignty ; to usher whom
Into her sable throne, a cloud's full womb,
Congealed by frigid air, as if that then
The elements had warred as well as men.
In a white veil came hovering down — to hide
The coral pavements ; but forbid b' the pride
O' the conqueror's triumphs, and expelled from thence
As that which too much emblemed innocence —
Since that the city no safe harbour yields, 230

It takes its lodging in the neighbouring fields ;
Which, mantled in those spotless robes, invite
The prince through them to take his secret flight.

' In sad distress leaving his nobles to
Swallow such harsh conditions as the view
Of danger candied o'er, from treacherous eyes
Obscured in a plebeian's poor disguise,
His glorious train shrunk to desertless I —
The sad companion of his misery ;

He, now departing, thee, his infant son, 240

Heir to his crown and cares, ordained to run
This dangerous hazard of thy life before
Time taught thee how thy fortune to deplore
When venturing on this precipice of fate,
We slowly sallied forth, 'twas cold and late ;
The drowsy guard asleep, the sentries hid
Close in their huts did shivering stand, and chid
The whistling winds with chattering teeth. When now
A leave as solemn as haste would allow,

Of all our friends, our mourning friends, being took, 250

We, like the earth, veiled all in white, forsook
Our sallyport ; whilst slowly marching o'er
The new-fallen snow, thee in his arms he bore.
Whilst this imposture made the scared guards, when
They saw us move — then make a stand again.
Either to think that dallying winds had played
With flakes of snow, or that their sight betrayed
Their fancy into errors ; we were past
The reach of danger, and in triumph cast
Off, with our fears, what had us safety lent, 360

When strength refused to save the innocent.
The eager lover hugs himself not in
Such roseal beds of joy, when what hath been
His sickly wishes is possessed, as we,
Through watchful foes arrived to liberty,

263 roseal] Singer again 'rosea/f,' which is even worse than before, because it
would simply mean a ' pink ' bed, not a ' bed of roses.'

( "2 )

Canto IV] Pharofinida

Embrace the welcome blessing. First we steer
Our course towards Syracuse, whose confines near
The mountain stood, upon whose cloudy brow
Poor Enna did beneath her ruins bow.

' The stars, clothed in the pride of light, had sent 270

Their sharp beams from the spangled firmament.
To silver o'er the earth, which being embost
With hills, seemed now enamelled o'er with frost ;
The keen winds whistle in the justling trees,
And clothed their naked limbs in hoary frieze ;
When, having paced some miles of crusted earth,
Whose labour warmed our blood, before the birth
O' the sluggish morning from his bed had drawn
The early villager, the sober dawn

Lending our eyes the slow salutes of light, 280

We are encountered with the welcome sight
Of some poor scattered cottages, that stood
I' the dark shadow of a spacious wood
That fringed an humble valley. Towards those.
Whilst the still morn knew nought to discompose
Her sleepy infancy, we went ; and now,
Being come so near, we might discover how
The unstirred smoke streamed from the cottage tops ;
A glimmering light from a low window stops
Our further course : we're come to a low shed, 290

Whose happy owner, ne'er disquieted
With those domestic troubles that attend
On larger roofs, here in content did spend
Fortune's scant gifts ; at his unhaunted gate
Hearing us knock, he stands not to debate
With wealthy misers' slow suspicion, but
Swift, as if 'twere a sin to keep it shut.
Removes that slender guard. But when he there
Unusual strangers saw, with such a care

As only spoke a conscious shame to be 300

Surprised, whilst unprovided poverty
Straitened desire, he starts ; yet entertains
Us so, that showed by an industrious pains
He strove to welcome more. Here being by
Their goodness and our own necessity
Tempted awhile to rest, we safely lay
Far from pursuing ill ; yet since the way
To danger by suspicion lies, we still
Fear being betrayed by those that meant no ill.
Since oft their busy whispers, though they spring 310

From love and wonder, slow discoveries bring.

' Being now removing, since thy tender age
Threatened to make the grave its second stage,

291 owner] Here again in orig. the misprint, or misprision, of ' honour.'
( 223 )

William Chamber layne [book iv

If thence conveyed by us, whose fondest love

Could to thy wants but fruitless pity prove :

T' enlarge thy commons though increase our fears,

To those indulgent rurals, who for tears

Had springs of milk to feed thee, thou remain'st

An infant tenant ; for thy own name gain'st

What since thou hast been known by; which when we 320

Contracted had to the stenography.

Some gold, the last of all our wealth, we leave

To make their burden light ; which they receive

With thankful joy, amazed to see those bright

Angels display their strange unwonted light

In poverty's cold region, where they had

Been pined for want, if not by labour clad.

' When age should make thee capable to tell
Thy wonder how thy infancy had fell

From honour's pyramids, a jewel, which 33°

Did once the splendour of his crown enrich,
About thy neck he hangs ; then breathing on
Thy tender lips a parting kiss, we're gone —
Gone from our last delight, to find some place
Dark as our clouded stars, there to embrace
Unenvied poverty, in the cold bed
Of sad despair; till on his reverend head.
Once centre to a crown, grief makes him wear
A silver frost, by frequent storms of care

Forced on that royal mount, whose verdure fades, 342

Ere Time — his youth's antagonist, invades.

' Not far, through dark and unknown paths we had
Wandered within those forests, which, unclad
By big winds of their summer's beauteous dress,
Naked and trembling stood, ere fair success.
Smiling upon our miseries, did bring
Us to a crystal stream, from whose cold spring,
With busy and laborious care, we saw
A feeble hermit stooping down to draw

An earthen pot, whose empty want supplied 35°

With liquid treasure, soon had satisfied
His thirsty hopes : who now returning by
A narrow path, which did directing lie
Through the unfrequented desert, with the haste
Of doubtful travellers in lands laid waste
By conquering foes, we follow, till drawn near
To him whom innocence secured from fear,

319 gain'st] Orig. 'against,' wliich Singer duly corrected, as he did nearly all such
things. And I should like to observe that the notes in which I have sometimes
differed with him imply no slight to the very great care and intelligence which he
bestowed on our text.

341 This is Singer's reading. The orig. has ' Time by' and I am not sure that, as in
some other cases, it is not right. If it is, ' youth's antagonist ' would be Age, Time's
general in the attack. 1 do not think this is unlike Chambcrlayne.

Canto IV] Pharo7t7ticia

Disburthening of his staff, he sits to rest
What was with age and labour both opprest.

'Our first salutes when we for blessings had 360

Exchanged with him ; being set, we there unclad
All our deformed misfortunes, and, unless
A kingdom's loss, developed our distress.
Which heard with pity, that he safely might
Be the directing Pharos, by whose light
We might be safely guided from the rocks
Of the tempestuous world, his tongue unlocks
A cabinet of holy counsel ; which
More than our vanished honour did enrich
Our souls (for whose eternal good was meant 370

This cordial) with the world's best wealth, content,
Content, which flies the busy throne, to dwell
With hungry hermits in the noiseless cell.

' More safe than age from the hot sins of youth,
Peaceful as faith, free as untroubled truth,
Being by him directed hither, we
Long lived within this narrow monastry ;
Whose orders, being too strict for those that ne'er
Had lost delight i' the prosecuting care

Of unsuccessful action, suited best 380

With us whose griefs compared taught the distrest
To slight their own, as guests that did intrude
On reason in the want of fortitude.
That brave supporter, which such comfort brings.
That none can know but persecuted kings.

'The purple-robe, his birth's unquestioned right,
For the coarse habit of a carmelite
Being now exchanged ; and we retired from both
Our fears and hopes, like private lovers, loath
AVhen solved from the observant spy, to be 390

Disturbed by friends, from want or greatness free,
Secure and calm, we spent those happy days,
In nought ambitious, but of what might raise
Our thoughts towards Heaven, with whom each hour acquaints,
In prayer more frequent than afflicted saints.
Our happy souls ; which here so long had been
Refining, till that grand reward of sin,
Death, did by Age, his common harbinger —
Proclaim 's approach, and warned us to defer
For the earth's trivial business nought that might 400

Concern eternity, lest life and light,
Forsaking our dark mansions, leave us to
Darkness and death, unfurnished of a clew
Which might conduct, when time shall cease to be,
Through the meanders of eternity.

362 Here, as elsewhere, 'unless '=' except.'
391 from] Orig. ' for.'

22

)

William Chamherlayne [book iv

'Thy pious father, ere the thefts of age,
Decaying strength, should his stiff Umbs engage
In an uneasy rest, to level all
Accounts with heaven, doth to remembrance call
A vow, which though in hot affliction made, 410

Whilst passion's short ephemeras did invade
His troubled soul, doth now, when the disease
Time had expunged, from solitary ease
Call him again to an unwilling view
Of the active world, in a long journey to
Forlorn Enna ; unto whose temple he
Had vowed, if fortune lent him liberty,
Till tired with the extremes of weary age,
The cheap devotion of a pilgrimage.

THE END OF THE FOURTH CANTO.

Canto V

THE ARGUMENT

To the grave author of this happy news

The pleased Argalia with delight did hear,
Till, whilst the fatal story he pursues,

He brings his great soul near the gates of fear

By letting him in full discovery know

The dreadful danger that did then attend
His royal sire ; who to his sword must owe

For safety, ere his sad atHictions end.

' Forsaking now our solitary friends,

Whose prayers upon each slow-paced step attends,

From danger by a dress so coarse exempt,

As wore religion to avoid contempt,

Through toils of many a tedious day, at last

We Enna reach ; where when his vows had past

The danger of a forfeiture, and we.

That debt discharged to heaven, had liberty

To look abroad, with sorrow-laden eyes

We view those ruins in whose ashes lies 10

Sad objects of our former loss, not then

Raked up so deep, but old observant men,

When youths were in procession led, could tell

Where towers once stood, and in what fights they fell ;

Which to confirm, some in an aged pride

Show wounds, which then though they did wisely hide

As signatures of loyal valour, they,

Now unsuspected, with delight display.

' Hence when commanded by the wane of light,
We sought protection from approaching night 20

( 326 )

Canto V] Pharonnidu

In an adjacent monastry ; where we,

The wandering objects of their charity,

Although by all welcomed with friendly zeal,

Found only one whose outside did reveal

So much of an internal worth, that might

To active talk our clouded souls invite

From grief's obscure retreats ; his grave aspect.

Though reverend age dwelt with unpruned neglect,

Seemed dressed with such a sacred solitude,

As ruined temples in their dust include. 30

' My royal master, as some power divine
Had by instinct taught great souls how to twine,
Though 'mongst the weeds of poverty, with this
Blest man consorting ; whilst their apt souls miss,
In all their long discourse, no tittle set
For man's direction in Heaven's alphabet ;
Whilst controverted points, those rocks on which
Weak faiths are shipwrecked, did with gems enrich
Their art-assisted zeal, a sudden noise.

Clamorous and loud, in the soft womb destroys 40

That sacred infant ; — The concordant bells
Proclaim a joy, which larger triumph tells
To be of such a public birth, that they
In quiet cells for what they late did pray
In tears — the soul's o'erflowing language, now
(Being by example's common rule taught how)
They vary passions, and in manly praise
Their silent prayers to hallelujahs raise.
By swift report informed that this day's mirth
From the proclaiming of their prince took birth, 50

These private mourners for the public faults
Of busy nations, by the hot assaults
Of triumph startled from their gravity,
Prepare for joy ; all but grave Sophron : he
Then with the pilgrim prince, who both were sate
Like sad physicians when the doubtful state
O' the patients threatens death : — the serious eye
Of Sophron as a threatening prodigy
Viewing that flattering smile of Fate, which they
Of shallower souls praised as approaching day. 60

'When both, their souls from active words retired
Awhile had silent sat, the prince desired
To know the cause why in that triumph he
Of all that convent found the time to be
With thoughtful cares alone ; whom Sophron gave
This satisfaction : — " Worthy sir, I have
In the few hours of our acquaintance found
In you such worth, 'twould question for unsound
My judgement, if unwilling to impart

A secret, though the darling of my heart. — 70

( 227 ) Q 2

Willia7n Chamber layne [book iv

Know then, this hapless province, which of late

Faction hath harassed, a wise prince, whom Fate

Deprived us of, once ruled ; but so long since,

That age hath learned from time how to convince

The hot enormities of youth, since we

With such a ruler lost our liberty.

For though at first, (as he alone had been

Our evil genius, whose abode brought in

All those attendant plagues), our fortune seemed

To calm her brow, and captive hope redeemed 80

In the destruction of our foes, which by

A hot infection were enforced to fly

From conquest near obtained : yet we^ to show

That only 'twas our vices did o'erthrow

The merits of his weaker virtues, when

Successful battles had reduced again

Our panting land from all external ill,

Domestic quarrels threatened then to kill

What foreign powers assailed in vain, and made

Danger surprise, which trembled to invade. 90

For many years tossed by the uncertain wind

Of wild ambition, we had sailed to find

Out the Leucadian rocks of peace ; but in
A vain pursuit : for we so long had been
A headless multitude, the factious peers
Oppressing the injured commons, till our fears

Became our fate, few having so much left
Unsequestered, as might incite to theft

Even those whom want makes desperate ; all being spent

On those that turn to th' worst of punishment 100

What wore protection's name — villains that we,

Enforced, maintained to Christian tyranny

I' the injured name of justice, such as kept

Litigious counsels, for whose votes we wept,

From punishment so long, till grown above

The blinded people's envy or their love.
' " But lately these prodigious fires, that led

Us through the night of anarchy, being fled

At the approach of one, who since hath stood

Fixed like a star of the first magnitude, no

Diff"usive power, which then was only shown

In faction's dress, being now rebellion grown,

By the uniting of those atoms in

One haughty peer, ambitious Zarrobrin ;

Whose pride, that spur of valour, when 't had set

Him in the front of honour's alphabet.

The sole commander of those forces whence

Our peace distilled, and in as large a sense

As subjects durst, whilst loyal, hope to have

Adorn their tombs, the highest titles gave 120

( "8)

Canto V] Pharo7i7iida

Of a depending honour ; to repay
Their easy faiths that levelled had the way
Unto his greatness, that command he made
The steps by which he struggled to invade
A throne, and in their heedless votes include
Unnoted figures of their servitude.

' " When with attempts, frequent as fruitless, I
With others, whose firm love to loyalty
Time had not yet expunged, had oft in vain
Opposed our power; which found too weak to gain 130

Our country's freedom, we, as useless, did
Retire to mourn for what the Fates forbid
To have redressed. Since when, his pride being grown
The people's burthen whilst he urged his own
Ambitious ends, he hath, to fix their love
On principles whose structure should not move,
Unless it their allegiance shook, brought forth
Their prince, whose father's unforgotten worth
Did soon command their full consent, and he,
For treason feared, made loved for loyalty. 140

But since that 'mongst observant judgements, this
So sudden change might stand in doubt to miss
A fair construction, to confirm 't he brings
An old confessor of their absent king's,
The reverend Halophantes ; one whose youth
Made human hearts submit to sacred truth
So much, that now, arrived to graver age,
He (like authentic authors) did engage
The people's easy faith into a glad

Belief — that, when his youth's afflictions had 150

Unthroned their prince, he in that fatal night,
Wisely contracting his imagined flight,
As roads unto destruction leaving all
Frequented paths, did in the night's silence call
At 's unfrequented cell ; where, entertained
With all the zeal that subjects, which have gained
From gracious sovereigns, study to express
A virtue in, which thrives by the distress
Of an afflicted patron's, he betrays

Inquiring scouts, till some expunging days 160

Make them forsake their inquisition in
Despair to find : which vacancy did win
Time to bestow his infant burthen where
Some secret friends did with indulgent care
Raise him from undiscerning childhood, to
Be such as now exposed unto their view."

'Thy father, who with doubtful thoughts had heard
This story, till confirmed in what he feared.
Starts into so much passion as betrays
Him, through the thick mask of those tedious days 170

( 229 )

Williafn Chamber layne [book iv

Time had in thirty annual journeys stept,

To Sophron ; who, when he awhile had wept

A short encomium to good fortune, in

Such prostrate lowliness as seemed — for sin

To censure guiltless ignorance, he meets

His prince's full discovery ; whom he greets

With all the zeal, such whose uncourtly arts

Make tongues the true interpreters of hearts,

To those wise princes whom they know to start

At aguish flattery, as if indesert i8o

Ushered it in :— Those that know how to rate

Their worth, prize it by virtue, not by fate.

' With arguments, which to assist he made
Reason's firm power Passion's light scouts invade,
He had so oft the unwilling prince assailed,
That importunity at length prevailed
On his resolves ; from peaceful poverty.
His age's refuge, hurrying him to be
Once more an agent unto fortune in

Uncertain toils. Whose troubles to begin, 190

Leaving his prince to so much rest as those
Whose serious souls are busied to compose
Unravelled thoughts into a method, now
Sophron forsakes him, to discover how
His fellow-peers of that lost party stand
Disposed for action, if a king's command
Should give it life ; all which he finds to be
So full of yet untainted loyalty.
That in a swift convention they prepare

By joining judgements to divide their care. 200

From distant places, with such secret haste
As did declare a flaming zeal, though placed
In caution's shadow, old considerate peers.
Such whose light youth the experienced weight of years
Had long since ballast with discretion, met
To see their prince, and to discharge the debt
Of full obedience. Each had with him brought
His state's surviving hope, snatched from the soft
Hands of lamenting mothers, that to those,
If fit for arms, they safely might dispose 210

The execution of those councils, which
Their sober age with judgement did enrich.

' In Sophron's palace, which being far removed
From the street's talking throngs, was most approved
For needful privacy, these loyal lords.
Whose faithful hearts— the infallible records
The heedless vulgar (whose ncglective sin
Had lost the copies of allegiance in

179 To those] Singer ' Do,' of which I fail to make sense.

( 230 )

Canto V] Pharo7i7iida

This interregnum) trust to — being met,

To shun delays, man's late-repented debt, 220

The prince with speed appears ; whom no disguise

Of youth's betrayer, time, could from their eyes

Long undiscovered keep : through the rough veil

Of age, or what more powerful did prevail

On beauty's ruins, they did soon descry

The unquenched embers of a majesty,

Too bright for time to hide with curtains less

Dark than that mansion of forgetfulness.

The grave, which man's first folly taught to be

The obscure passage to eternity. 230

' That their example might be precept to
Unknowing youth, with all the reverence due
To awful princes on their thrones, the old
Experienced courtiers kneel ; by which grown bold
In their belief, those of unriper age
Upon their judgements did their faith engage
So far, that they in solemn vows unite
Their yet concordant thoughts, which, ere the flight
Of time should leave the day behind, desired
To live in action. But this rising fire 240

Of loyal rage, which in their breasts did burn,
The thankful prince thus gently strives to turn
Into a milder passion, such as might
Not scorch with anger, but with judgement light. —

' " How much 'tis both my wonder and my joy,
That we, whom treason studied to destroy
With near as much of miracle, as in
The last of days lost bodies, that have been
Scattered amongst the elements, shall be

Convened i' the court of immortality. 250

Depressed with fortune, and disguised with age,
(Sad arguments, brave subjects, to engage
Your loyal valour !) I had gone from all
My mortal hopes, had not this secret call
Of Heaven, which doth with unknown method curb
Our wild intention, brought me to disturb
Your peaceful age, whose abler youth had in
Defending me exposed to ruin been.
I had no more, my conscience now at rest.
With widows' curses, orphans' tears opprest ; 260

No more in fighting fields, those busy marts
Where honour doth for fame with death change hearts,

246 we] Left entirely ' in the air,' for the reader to supply 'are now convened' or
something similar.

259 had] Similarly deprived of ' been.' I note these two because, little as Cham-
berlayne seems to have revised the earlier books, he appears to have left this last part
even more in ostrich-fashion.

(231 )

William Chamber layne [book iv

Beheld the sad success of battles, where

Proud victors make youth's conquest age's care ;

But, hid from all a crown's false glories, spent,

Like beauteous flowers, which vainly waste the scent

Of odours in unhaunted deserts, all

My time concealed till withered age should fall

From that short stem of nature — life, to be

Lost in the dust of death's obscurity. 270

' " When in the pride of youth my stars withdrew
Their influence first, I then had stood with you
Those thunderbolts of fate, and bravely died,
Contemning fortune, had that feverish pride
Of valour not been quenched in hope to save
My infant son from an untimely grave.
But he, when from domestic ills conveyed
In safety, being by treacherous fate betrayed.
Either by death or ignorance, from what

His stars, when kindled first, were pointed at, 2S0

Either lives not, or else concealed within
Some coarse disguise, whose poverty hath been
So long his dull companion, till he 's grown

Not less to us than to himself unknown.

'"AH this being weighed in Reason's scale, is there

Aught in 't can tempt decrepit age to bear

Such glorious burthens, which if fortunate

In the obtaining of, in Nature's date

Can have no long account, ere I again

What I had got with danger, kept with pain, 290

Summoned by Death — the grave's black monarch, must

With sorrow lose ? Yet since that Heaven so just,

And you so loyal I have found, that it

Might argue fear, if I unmoved should sit

At all your just desires, I here, i' the sight

Of Heaven declare, together with my right,

To prosecute your liberties as far

As justice dares to patronize a war."
' This, with a magnanimity that showed

His youth's brave spirits were not all bestowed 300

On the accounts of age, had to so high

A pitch of zeal inflamed their loyalty,

That in contempt of slow-paced counsels they

Did, like rash youth, whose wit wants time's allay,

Haste to unripe engagements, such as found

The issue weak, whose parents are unsound.

' All, to those towns where neighbourhood had made

Them loved for virtue, or for power obeyed.

Whilst each with his peculiar guard attends

His honoured prince, employ their active friends; 3'o

Who having with collecting trumpets made

Important errands ready to invade

( 332 )

Canto V] Phuronnida

The people's censure, for a theme to fame —

Their long-lost prince's safe return proclaim :

Which, though at first a subject it appeared

Only for faith, when circumstance had cleared

The eye of reason, from each nobler mind

The embraces of a welcome truth did find.

In public throngs, whilst every forward friend

Spoke his resolves, his sullen foes did spend 320

Their doubts in private whispers ; by exchange

Of which they found hate had no further range

Than close intelligence, whose utmost bounds

Ere they obtain, the useful trumpet sounds

No distant summons, but close marches to

His loyal friends ; whom now their foes might view

In troops, which if fate favour their intents.

Ere long must swell to big-bulked regiments.

Through country towns, and cities' prouder streets,

The murmuring drum in busy marches meets 330

Such forward valour — husbandmen did fear

The earth would languish the succeeding year

For want of labourers ; nor could business stop

The straitened 'prentice, who, the slighted shop

Left to his angry master (who must be

Forced to abridge his seven years' tyranny),

Changes the baser utensils of trade

For burnished arms, and by example made

More valiant, scorns those shadows which they feared

More than rough war, whilst 'mongst the city's herd. 340

'To regiments from scattering bands being grown,
From that to armies, whose big looks made known
Those bold designs, which justice feared to own,
Though her's till placed in Power's imperial throne.
They now toward action haste. Which to begin,
Whilst castles are secured, and towns girt in
With armed lines, whose palisadoes had
Whole forests of their whispering oaks unclad ;
The prince, his mercy willing to prevent

Approaching danger, by a herald sent 35°

To Zarrobrin, commands him to lay down
His arms, and, as he owed unto his crown
A subject's due allegiance, to appear.
Before a month was added to that year,
Within his court ; which now, since action gave
Life to that body whose firm strength did save
His life — by treason levelled at, was in
His moving camp. But this too weak to win

358 this] Here either ' is ' might be absorbed or ' being ' left out. Singer apparently
thought the former was the case and put a semi-colon at 'rebel.' I think the latter
more Chamberlaynian, and prefer a comma. Cf. ' But come ' infra, 1. 365.

( 233 )

William Chaml?erlay?te [book iv

The doubtful rebel, since his lawful right

Swords must dispute, the prince prepares to fight. 360

' Proud Zarrobrin, who had by late success
Taught Syracuse how to avoid distress
By seeking peace, like a black storm that flies
On southern winds, which in a tumult rise
From neighbouring seas, was on his march. But come
So near the prince, that now he had by some
Of 's spreading scouts made full discovery where
His army lay, whose scarce discovered rear
Such distance from their well-armed van appeared,
That such, whose judgements were with numbers feared, 370
Making no further inquisition, fled — •
By swift report their pale disease to spread.
Disturbing clouds, which rather seemed to rise
From guilt than fear, spread darkness o'er the eyes
O' the rebels, who, although by custom made
To death familiar, wish their killing trade
In peace concluded ; and with murmurs, nigh
Grown to the boldness of a mutiny.
Question their own frail judgements, which so oft
Had life exposed to dangers, that had brought 380

No more reward than what preserved them still
The slaves unto a proud commander's will.
To stop this swift infection, which, begun
In lowly huts, to lofty tents had run,
Sly Zarrobrin, who to preserve the esteem
Of honour, least liberality might seem
The child of fear, with secret speed prevents
What he appears to slight — their discontents.
As if attending, though attended by

Their young mock-prince, whose landscape royalty 390

Showed only fair when viewed at distance, he
Passing with slow observant pace to see
Each squadron's order, he confirms their love
With donatives, such as were far above
Their hopes if victors ; then, to show that in
That pride of bounty he'd not strove to win
Assistance by unworthy bribes, he leads
Them far from danger, since his judgement reads
In long experience — that authentic story.

Whose lines have taught the nearest way to glory — 400

That soft delays, like treacherous streams, which by
Submitting let the rash intruder try
Their dangerous depth, to an unwilling stay
His fierce pursuers would ere long betray :
Whose force, since of the untutored multitude.
By want made desperate and by custom rude.
Would soon waste their unwieldy strength ; whilst they,
Whom discipline had taught how to obey,

(^34)

Canto V] Pliaronnida

By pay made nimble and by order sure,

Would war's delays with easier wants endure. 410

' This sound advice meeting with sad success
From the pursuing army, whose distress,
From tedious marches being too clamorous grown
For's friends' estates to quiet, soon was shown
In actions such, which though necessity
Enforced on virtue, made their presence be
To the inconsiderate vulgar, whose loose glance
For virtue takes vice glossed with circumstance,
Such an oppression, that comparing those
Which fled with mildness, they behold as foes, 420

Only their ruder followers, whom they curse —
Not that their cause, but company was worse.

'When thus their wants had brought disorder in,
And that neglect whose looser garb had been
At first so shy, that what was hardly known
From business then, was now to custom grown ;
This large-limbed body, since united by
No cement but the love to loyalty,
Loses those baser parts, such as to please
Unworthy ends turned duty to disease, 430

Retaining only those whose valour sought
No more reward than what with blood they bought.
But here, — to show that slumbering Justice may,
Oppressed with power, faint in the busy day
Of doubtful battle — when their valour had
So many souls from robes of flesh unclad
Of his brave friends, that the forsaken prince.
Whose sad success taught knowledge to convince
The arguments of hope, unguarded, left

Unto pursuing foes, was soon bereft 440

Of all that in this cloud of fortune might,
By opposition or unworthy flight.
But promise safety ; and, when death denied
Him her last dark retreat, to raise the pride
Of an insulting foe, is forced to see
The scorn of greatness in captivity.

' Yet with more terror to limn sorrow in
His mighty soul, such friends, as had not been
By death discharged in fatal battle, now

Suffered so much as made even fear allow 450

Her palest sons to seek in future wars
Brave victory, got by age's honour — scars,
Or braver death— that antidote of shame.
Whose stage none pass upon the road of fame ;
Those that fared best being murdered, others sent
With life to more afflicting banishment.'

436 flesh] Orig. ' fresh.' 447 hmn] Orig. ' limb.'

( 235

William Cha7nberlay7te

When thus by him, whose sacred order made
The truth authentic, from his fortune's shade
Argaha was redeemed ; the prelate, to

Confirm his story, from his bosom drew 460

The jewel, which having by ways unknown
To him that wore it opened, there was shown
By wit contracted into art, as rare
As his that durst make silver spheres compare
With heaven's light motion, an effigies, which
His royal sire, whilst beauty did enrich
His youth, appeared in such epitome.
As spacious fields are represented by
Rare optics on opposing walls, where sight
Is cozened with imperfect forms of light. 470

When with such joy as Scythians, that grow proud
Of day, behold light gild an eastern cloud,
Argalia long had viewed that picture, in
Whose face he saw forms that said his had been
Drawn by that pattern, with such thanks, as best
The silent eloquence of looks exprest.
The night grown ancient ere their story's end,
With solemn joy leaves his informing friend.

465-467 which . . . appeared] 'In which' or 'displayed' would of course be required
bj' precisians.

THE END OF THE FOURTH BOOK.

('36)

BOOK V. Canto I

THE ARGUMENT

Tired with afflictions, in a safe retreat

From the active world, Pharonnida is now
Making a sacred monastry her seat ;

Where, near approaching the confirming vow,

A rude assault makes her a prisoner to

Almanzor's power ; to expiate whose sin,
The subtle traitor swiftly leads her to

The court, where she had long a stranger been.

Here harsh employments, the unsavoury weeds

Of barren wants, had overrun the seeds

Of fancy with domestic cares, and in

Those winter storms shipwrecked whate'er had been

My youth's imperfect offspring, had not I,

For love of this, neglected poverty —

That meagre fiend, whose rusty talons stick

Contempt on all that are enforced to seek

Like me a poor subsistence 'mongst the low

Shrubs of employment ; whilst blest wits, that grow lo

Good Fortune's favourites, like proud cedars stand.

Scorning the stroke of every feeble hand.

Whose vain attempts, though they should martyr sense,

Would be repulsed with big-bulked confidence :

Yet blush not, gentle Muse ! thou oft hast had

Followers, by Fortune's hand as meanly clad.

And such as, when time had worn envy forth,

Succeeding ages honoured for their worth.

Then though not by these rare examples fired
To vain presumption, with a soul untired 20

As his, whose fancy's short ephemeras know
No life — but what doth from his liquor flow.
Whose wit, grown wanton with Canary's wealth.
Makes the chaste Muse a pandress to a health,
Our royal lovers' story Til pursue

Through Time's dark paths ; which now have led me to
Behold Argalia, by assisting Art
Advanced to health, preparing to depart
From his obscure abode, to prosecute

Designs, which, when success strikes terror mute 30

With pleasing joy, shall him the mirror prove
Of forward valour, glossed with filial love.

But let us here with prosperous blessings leave
Awhile the noble hero, and receive

( 237 )

Willia?n Chamber layne [book v

From Time's accounts the often varying story

Of her whose love conducted him to glory,

Distressed Pharonnida; whose sufferings grown

Too great for all that virtue ere had known

From human precepts, flies for refuge to

Heaven's narrowest paths, where the directing clew 40

Of law, to which the earth for order owes.

Lost in zeal's light, a useless trouble grows.

Returned were all the messengers, which she
Had at the first salutes of liberty
To seek Argalia sent : but since none brought
Her passion's ease, sick Hope no longer sought
Those flattering empirics ; but at Love's bright fires
Kindhng her zeal, with sober pace retires
From all expected honours, to bestow

What time her youth did yet to Nature owe, 50

A solemn recluse, by a sacred vow
Locked up from action, whilst she practised how,

By speculation safely to attain

What busier mortals doubtfully do gain.
Within the compass of the valley, where

Ismander's palace stood, the pious care

Of elder times had placed a monastry.

Whose fair possessors, from life's tumults free,

In a calm voyage towards Heaven— their home, there spent

The quiet hours, so sweetly innocent, 60

As if that place, that happy place, had been

Of all the earth alone exempt from sin ;

Some sacred power ordaining (when 'twas given)

It for the next preparing school to heaven,

From whence those vestals should, when life expires,

Be for supplies advanced to heavenly choirs.

Lost to the world in sorrow's labyrinths, here

Pharonnida, now out of hope to clear

This tempest of her fate, resolves to cast

Her faith's firm anchor: but before she passed Jo

The dangerous straits of a restrictive vow,

She, to such friends as judgement taught her how

To prize, imparts it; 'mongst which few, the fair

Silvandra, whom lost love had taught despair,

With sad Florenza, both resolve to take

The same strict habit, and with her forsake

The treacherous world. But to disturb this clear

Stream of devotion, soon there did appear

Dissuading friends — Ismander, loath to lose

So loved a guest, whilst she 's of power to choose, 80

Together with the virtuous Ammida,

Spend their most powerful arguments to draw

Her from those cold thoughts, that her virtue might,

Whilst unconcealed, lend weaker mortals light.

Canto I] PkarO?272tcla

Long had this friendly conflict lasted, ere
Her conquered friends, whom a religious care
Frighted from robbing Heaven of saints, withdrew
To mourn her loss ; yet ere they left her to
Her cloistered cell, Ismander, to comply

With aged custom, calls such friends whom nigh 90

Abode had made familiar, to attend
His royal guest. Some hasty days they spend
In solemn feasting, where each friend, although
Clothed as when they at triumphs met, did show
A silent sadness, such as wretched brides.
When the neglected nuptial robe but hides
The cares of an obstructed love, before
Harsh parents wear. The mirthless feast passed o'er.
The noble virgins, in procession by

The mourning train, unto the monastry 100

Slowly conducted are ; each led by two
Full-breasted maids, whom Hymen, to renew
The world's decaying stock, his joys to prove
By contracts summoned to conjugal love.
These as they passed, like paranymphs which led
Young beauties to espouse a maidenhead.
With harmony, whose each concording part
Tickled the ear, whilst it did strike the heart
With mournful numbers, rifling every breast
Of their deep thoughts, thus the sad sense exprest. 110

To secret walks, to silent shades,
To places where no voice invades
The air, but what 's created by
Their own retired society,
Slowly these blooming nymphs we bring
To wither out their fragrant spring ;
For whose sweet odours lovers pine.
Where beauty doth but vainly shine :
Cho. Where Nature's wealth, and Art's assisting cost,

Both in the beams of distant Hope are lost. 120

II.

To cloisters where cold damps destroy
The busy thoughts of bridal joy ;
To vows whose harsh events must be
Uncoupled cold virginity ;
To pensive prayers, where Heaven appears
Through the pale cloud of private tears ;
These captive virgins we must leave,
Till freedom they from death receive :
Cho. Only in this remote conclusion blest.

This vale of tears leads to eternal rest. 130

( 239 )

William Chamber layne [book v

in.

Then since that such a choice as theirs,
Which styles them the undoubted heirs
To Heaven, 'twere sinful to repent ;
Here may they live, till beauty spent
In a religious life, prepare
Them with their fellow-saints to share
Celestial joys, for whose desire
They freely from the world retire :
Cho. Go then, and rest in blessed peace, whilst we

Deplore the loss of such society. 140

Through all the slow delays of love arrived

To the unguarded gate. Friendship, that thrived

Not in Persuasion's rhetoric, withdravvs

Her forces to assist that juster cause —

Prayers for their future good — with which whilst they

Are taking leave, the unfolded gates give way

For the blest votaries' entrance, whom to meet,

A hundred pair of maids, more chastely sweet

Than flowers which grow untouched in deserts, were

Led by their abbess; to whose pious care 150

These being joined, with such a sad reverse

Of eyes o'erflowing, (as the sable herse

Close mourners leave, when they must see no more

Their coffined dead), their friends are from the door

With eager looks, woe's last — since now denied

A further view — departs unsatisfied.

This last of duties, which the dearest friend
Ought to perform, brought to successful end ;
For here no custom with a dowry's price

At entrance paid, nursed slothful avarice ; 160

They 're softly led through a fair garden where
Each walk was by the founder's pious care,
For various fancies, wanton imagery.
To catch the heart, and not to court the eye,
Adorned with sacred histories. From hence
T' the centre of this fair circumference.
The fabric come, the roving eye, confined
Within the buildings, to enlarge the mind
In contemplation, saw where happy art

Had on the figured walls the second part 170

Of sacred story drawn, in lines that had
The world's Redeemer, from His first being clad
In robes of flesh, presented to the view
Through all His passions, till it brought Him to

156 departs] Singer, on general grammatical principles as usual, 'depart.' But he
does not seem to have noticed that, if any alteration is made. Ti. participle is required for
*are.' Chambcrlayne would not have hesitated to write 'are departed ' and I am not
sure that he would have hesitated to scan 'depart'd.'

( 240 )

Canto I] Pharo7tnida

The cross, that highest seal of love, where He
A sinless offering died, from sin to free
The captived world, which knew no other price
But that to pay the debts of paradise.

Passed through this place, where bleeding passion strove
Their melting pity to refine to love, i8o

They 're now the temple entered ; where, to screen
Their thoughts yet nearer Heaven, whom they had seen
I' the entrance scourged, contemned, and crucified,
They there beheld, though veils of glory hide
Some part of the amazing majesty.
In His ascension, as when raised to be.
For them that hear His death freed from the hate
Of angry Heaven, the powerful advocate.

Besides these bold attempts of art that stood
To fright the wicked, or to prompt the good, 190

Something more great, more sacred, than could by
Art be expressed, without the help of the eye
Reached at the centre of the soul ; from whence
To Heaven, our raised desires' circumference,
Striking the lines of contemplation, she.
Wrapped from the earth, is, in an ecstasy
Holy and high, through faith's clear optic shown
Those joys which to departed saints are known.

Before those prayers, which zeal had tedious made,
With their last troops did conquered Heaven invade, 200

The day was on the glittering wings of light
Fled to the western world, and swarthy night
In her black empire throned ; from silver shrines
The kindled lamps through all the temple shines
With dappled rays, that did to the eye present
The beauties of the larger firmament.
In which still calm, when all their rites were now
So near performed, that the confirming vow
Alone remained, a sudden noise, of rude

And clamorous sound, did through the ear intrude 210

On their affrighted fancies, in so high
A voice, that all their sacred harmony.
In this confusion lost, appeared so small,
As if that whispered which was made to call.

Although the awful majesty that here
Religion held, the weak effects of fear
With faith expelled, yet when that nearer to
Their slender gates the murmuring tumult drew,
The abbess sends not to secure, but see

Who durst attempt what Heaven from all kept free 220

By strictest law, save those unhallowed hands
That follow curses whilst they fly commands :
But they being entered, ere the timorous scout
Could notice give, fear, which first sprung from doubt,

( 241 ) R

William Chamherlayite [book v

Being into wild confusion grown, from all

Set forms affrights them ; whilst at once they call

For Heaven's protecting mercy, to behold

That place where peaceful saints used to unfold

Heaven's oracles, possessed with villains that

Did ne'er know aught but want to tremble at, 230

Which looked like those that with proud angels fell,

And to storm Heaven were sent in arms from Hell ;

Converts that scene, where nothing did appear

But calm devotion, to distracting fear.

Amazed with horror, each sad vot'ress stands.

Whilst sacred relics drop from trembling hands ;

Here one whose heart with fear's convulsions faint,

Flies to the shrine of her protecting saint ;

By her another stands, whose spirits spent

In passion, looks pale as her monument : 240

One shrieks, another prays, a third had crossed

Herself so much, ill angels might have lost

The way to hurt her, if not taught to do 't,

'Cause she t' the sign too much did attribute.

The royal stranger, by her fear pursued,
To the altar fled, had with mixed passion viewed
This dreadful troop, whilst from the temple gate
They passed the seat where trembling virgins sat
Free from uncivil wrongs, as if that they

That entered had been men prepared to pray, 250

Not come to ravish ; from which sight her fear
Picks flowers of hope, but such as, they drawn near,
From fancy's soft lap, in a hurricane
Of passion dropped her prayers and tears in vain,
As words in winds, or showers in seas, when they
Prepare for ruin the obstructed way
To pity, which her stock of prayers had cost,
In the dark shade of sudden horror lost.

Seized on by two o' the sacrilegious train,
Whose black disguise had made the eye in vain 260

Seek to inform the soul, she and the poor
Florenza, whilst their helpless friends deplore
With silent tears so sad a loss, are drew
I'Vom the clasped altar in the offended view
Of their protecting saints ; from whose shrines in
A dismal omen dropped whate'er had been
With hopes of merit placed. Black sulphury damps
With swift convulsions quenched the sacred lamps,
The fabric shakes, and, as if grieved they stood
To circle guilt, the walls sweat tears of blood. 270

Shrieks, such as if those sainted souls, that there
Trod Heaven's straight paths, xw their just cjuarrel were

071 sainted] Orig. ' fainted ' — of course a mere * literal ' for the long s.

Canto I] Pharon7iida

Rose from their silent dormitories to

Deter their foes, through all the temple flew.

But here in vain destroying angels shook
The sword of vengeance, whilst his bold crimes struck
'Gainst heaven in high contempt ; with impious haste,
Snatched from the altar, whilst their friends did waste
Unheard orisons for their safety, they

Unto the fabric's utmost gate convey 280

Their beauteous prizes, where with silence stood
Their dreadful guard, which, like a neighbouring wood,
When vapours tip the naked boughs in light,
With unsheathed swords through the black mists of night
A sparkling terror struck, with such a speed
As scarce gave time to fear what would succeed
To such preceding villanies. Within
Her coach imprisoned, the sad princess, in
A march for swiftness such as busy war

Hastes to meet death in, but for silence far 290

More still than funerals, is by that black troop,
With such a change as falling stars do stoop
To night's black region, from the monastry
Hurried in haste ; by whom, or whither, she
Yet knows no more than souls departing, when
Or where to meet in robes of flesh again.

The day salutes her, and uncurtained light
Welcomes her through the confines of the night,
But lends no comfort ; every object that

It showed her, being such as frighted at, 300

The prince of day, grieved he 'd no longer slept.
To shun, shrunk back beneath a cloud, and wept.
When the unfolded curtains gave her eyes
Leave to look forth, a troop, whose close disguise
Were stubborn arms^ she only saw, and they
So silent, nought but motion did betray
The faculties of life ; by whom being led.
In such a sad march as their honoured dead
Close mourners follow, she, some slow-paced days
'Mongst strangers passing, thorough stranger ways 310

At both amazed, at length, unfathomed by
Her deepest thought, within the reach of the eye
Her known Gerenza views ; but with a look
From whence cold passion all the blood had took,
And in her face, that frozen sea of fear.
Left nought but storms of wonder to appear.

Convened within the spacious judgement-hall
Of Reason, she ere this had summoned all
Her weaker passions to the impartial bar
Of moral virtue, where they sentenced are 320

310 thorough] Orig. ' through,' contrary to contemporary practice where this metrical
value is required.

( 243 ) R 2

JVilliam Chamberlayiie [book v

Only to an untroubled silence ; in

Which serious act whilst she had busied been,

She is, unnoted, ere the fall of day

Brought by her convoy to a lodge that lay

Off from the road, a place, when seen, she knew

Ere his rebellion had belonged unto

Her worst of foes, Almanzor ; which begins

At first a doubt, whose growing force soon wins

The field of faith, and tells her timorous thought.

Her father's troops would ne'er have thither brought 330

Her, if designed to suffer, since that he

Knew those more fit for close captivity.

But long her reason lies not fettered in
These cross dilemmas ; the slow night had been
With tedious hours passed o'er, whilst she by none
But mutes, no less unheard than they're unknown,
Is only waited on ; by whom, when day
To action called, she veiled, is led the way
To the attending convoy, who had now

Varied the scene ; — Almanzor, studying how 340

To court compassion in his prince, dares not
At the first view, ere merit had begot
A calm remission of rebellious sin.
Affront an anger which had justice been
In his confusion ; his arms he now behind,
As that which might too soon have called to mind
His former crimes, he leaves, and for them took.
To gain the aspect of a pitying look,
A hermit's homely weed : his willing train.
By that fair gloss their liberties to gain, 350

Rode armed ; but so, what for offence they bore.
Was in submission to lay down before
The throne of injured power, to cure whose fear
Their arm^d heads on haltered necks appear.

Near to the rear of these, the princess in
A mourning litter, close as she had been
In a night-march unto her tomb, is through
The city's wondering tumults led unto
The royal palace, at whose gates all stay,
Save bold Almanzor ; whom the guards obey 363

For his appearing sanctity so much,
That he unquestioned enters, and, thought such
As his grave habit promised, soon obtained
The prince's sight ; where with a gesture feigned
To all the shapes of true devotion, he
By a successful fiction comes to be
Esteemed the true converter of those wild
Bandits, which, being by their own crimes exiled,

345. 347 he] One of these is of course superfluous and the first is not even necessary
for the metre.

( 244 )

Canto I] Pharo7inida

In spite of law had lived to punish those

Which did the rules of punishment compose. 370

These being pardoned, as he 'd took from thence
Encouragement, veiled under the pretence
Of a religious pity, he begins.
In language whose emollient smoothness wins
An easy conquest on belief, to frame
A sad petition ; which, although in name
It had disguised Pharonnida, did find
So much of pity as the prince, inclined
To lend his aid for the relief of her

Whose virtue found so fair a character 380

In his description, it might make unblest
That power which left so much of worth distrest.

Though too much tired with private cares to show
In public throngs, how much his love did owe
To suffering virtue ; yet since told that she
AVas too much masked in clouds of grief to be
The object of the censuring court, he to
The litter goes, whose sable veil withdrew,
With wonder, that did scarce belief admit.
Shadowed in grief, he sees his daughter sit, 390

His long-lost daughter, whom unsought, to be
Thus strangely found, to such an ecstasy
Of joy exalts him, that his spirits by
Those swift pulsations had been all let fly
With thanks towards Heaven, had not the royal maid
With showers of penitential tears allayed
Those hotter passions, and revoked him to
Support her griefs, whose burthen had outgrew
The powers of life, but that there did appear
Kind Nature's love to cure weak Nature's fear. 400

In this encounter of their passions, both
With sorrow silent stood, words being loath
To intrude upon their busy thoughts, till they
In moist compassion melted had away
His anger's fever and her frozen fears
In nature's balm, soft love's extracted tears :
Like a sad patient, whose forgotten strength
Decayed by chronic ills, hath made the length
Of life his burthen, when near death, meets there
Unhoped-for health ; so from continual care, 410

The soul's slow hectic, elevated by
This cordial joy, the slothful lethargy
Of age or sorrow finds an easier cure
Than the unsafe extreme, a calenture.

Nor are these comforts long constrained to rest
Within the confines of his own swelled breast,
Ere its dismantled rays did in a flight.
Swift as the motions of unbodied light,

(245)

William Chafnberlayne [book v

Disperse its epidemic virtues through

The joyful court ; which now arrived unto 420

Its former splendour, Heaven's expected praise

Doth on the wings of candid mercy raise :

Which spreading in a joyful jubilee

To all offenders, tells Almanzor he

Might safely now unmask; which done, ere yet

Discovered, at the well-pleased prince's feet.

Humbled with guilt, he kneels ; who, at the sight

As much amazed as so sublime a flight

Of joy admitted, stands attentive to

What did in these submissive words ensue. 430

' Behold, great sir, for now I dare be seen
An object for your mercy, that had been
Too dreadful for discovery, had not this
Preceding joy told me no crime could miss
The road of mercy, though, like mine, a sin
The suffering nation is enveloped in.
Sunk in the ocean of my guilt, I 'd gone,
A desperate rebel, waited on by none
But outlaws, to a grave obscure, had not

Relenting Heaven thus taught me how to blot 440

Out some of sin's black characters, ere I
Beheld the beams of injured majesty.'

This, in his passion's relaxation spoke,
Persuades the prince's justice to revoke
Its former rigour. By the helpful hand
Of mercy raised, Almanzor soon did stand
Not only pardoned, but secured by all
His former honours from a future fall,
Making that fortune, which did now appear
Their pity's object, through the glass of fear 450

With envy looked on ; but in vain, he stood
Confirmed in love's meridian altitude,
The length of life from Honour's western shade,
Except in new rebellion retrograde :
Which plotting leave him, till the winding clew
Of fancy shall conduct your knowledge to
Those uncouth vaults ; and mounting the next story,
See virtue climbing to the throne of glory.

THE END OF THE FIRST CANTO.

426 prince's] Singer, nodding, ' princess'.' In orig. these words arc often inter-
changed.

(246)

Canto II] Pharomiida

Canto II

THE ARGUMENT

1^, Leaving Pharonnida to entertain

The various passions of her father, vi'e
Must now return to see Argalia gain

That power by which he sets his father free.

From the command of haughty rebels, who

By justice sent to a deserved death,
Argalia takes the crown, his merits' due.

And the old prince in peace resigns his breath.

Returned to see what all the dark records

Of the old Spartan history affords

r the progress of Argalia's fate, I found

The chahied historian here so strictly bound

To follow truth, although at danger's cost,

No silent night, nor smoky battle lost

The doubtful road ; which often did appear

Through floods of faction filled with storms of fear,

Obscure and dark to the belief of that

Less guilty age ; though then to tremble at lo

Rome's bold ambition, and those prodigies

Of earth, their tyrants, to inform their eyes,

Left mourning monuments of ill, but none

Like what they now attempt, a sin unknown

To old aspirers, which should have been sent

Some ages forward for a precedent

To these, with whom compared, their crimes had been,

Though past to act, but weak essays of sin.

With such a speed as the supplies of air,
Fearing a vacuum, hasten to repair 20

The ruptures of the earth, at our last view
We left revived Argalia posting to
^tolia's distant confines ; where arrived.
He found their army, whose attempts had thrived,
Since he Epirus had forsook, so far
Advanced, that now the varied scene of war,
Transferred to faithless Ardenna, was there
Fixed in a siege, whose slow approaches were
The doubts of both. The city pines for fear
Remote supplies might fail, which drawn so near, 30

The circling army knows, that either they
Must fly from conquest near obtained, or stay
To meet a danger, which by judgement scanned,
Their strength appears unable to withstand.

Whilst thus their pensive leaders busied are
In cross dilemmas, as by public war
He meant to meet revenge in private, to
Their camp x^rgalia comes ; a camp which knew

(247)

JVillia^n Cha^nberlayiie [book v

Him by the fair wrought characters of fame

So well, that now he needs no more than name 40

Himself to merit welcome, all mistrust

Being cleared by them which left, as too unjust

To be obeyed, the false Epirot's side, *

When by his loss made subject to the pride

Of stranger chiefs ; these for their virtue praised,

For number feared, to such a height had raised

Applauding truths of him, that Zarrobrin,

Conjoined to one he trembled at whilst seen

In opposition, slights what did of late

Appear a dreadful precipice of fate. 50

Lest poor employments might make favour show
Like faint mistrust, he doth at first bestow
On the brave stranger the supreme command
Of some choice horse, selected to withstand
The fierce Epirot's march ; whose army, ere
The slow ^tolians could their strength prepare
Fit to resist, if not by him withstood.
With ease had gained a dangerous neighbourhood.
But he, whose anger's thunderbolts could stay,
Though hurled from clouds of rage, if the allay 60

Of judgement interposed, here finding nought
More safe than haste, ere his secure foes thought
Of opposition, strongly had possessed
A strait in which small troops had oft distressed
Large bodied armies, until brought so low,
Those they contemned did liberty bestow.

Whilst stopped by this unlooked-for remora.
The baffled army oft had strove to draw
Argalia from his safe retreats, but found

His art of more advantage than his ground ; 70

In the dead age of unsuccessful night
A forward party, which had learned to fight
From honour's dictates, not commands, being by
Youth's hasty guide, rash valour, brought so nigh
Argalia's troops, that in a storm which cost
Some lives, they many noble captives lost :
Amongst which number, as if thither sent
By such a fate as showed Heaven's close intent
Pointed at good, Euriolus appears

First a sad captive : but those common fears 80

Soon, whilst in conflict with his passions, rest
On the wished object of his long inquest —
Admired Argalia, to whose joy he brings
As much of honour, as elected kings
Meet in those votes, which so auspicious prove,
They light to honour with the rays of love.

Having from him in full relation heard
Pharonnida yet lived, whom long he feared
(248)

Canto II] Pha?^072nida

Beyond redemption lost, they thence proceed

To counsels, whose mature results might breed 90

Their heedless foes confusion ; which, since they

That now were captives bore the greatest sway

In the opposing army, proves a task

So free from danger, death did scarce unmask

The face of horror in a charge, before

Argalia's name, echoed in praises o'er

The rallied troops, summons from thence so large

A party, that the valour of a charge

In those that stood were madness, which to shun,

Base cowards taught brave fighters how to run. 100

This easy conquest gained, ere Zarrobrin
^Vas with his slower army drawn within
The noise o' the battle, to such vast extent
Of fame, high virtue's spreading ornament.
Had raised Argalia's merits, that the pride
Of his commander wisely laid aside
For such advantage, to let Honour stand
On her own basis, the supreme command
Of all the strangers in his camp to him

He freely gives; a power which soon would dim 110

His, if ere by some harsh distemper placed
In opposition, but his thoughts embraced
In all suspicion's darkest cells no fiend
So pale as fear ; fixed on the sudden end
Of high designs, he looks on this success
As the straight road to future happiness.

With such a speed as prosperous victors go
To see and conquer, when the vanquished foe
Retreats from honour, the ^tolian had

Followed success, till that fair hand unclad 120

The sunk Epirot of his strength ; and now.
Secured from foreign ills, was studying how
To cure domestic dangers : which since he
The weak foundation of his tyranny
Had fixed in sand but only cemented
With loyal blood, such just contempt had bred
In the age's deep discerning judgements, that
The unsettled herd, ere scarcely lightened at
Those sober flames, like ill-mixed vapours break
In blustering murmurs forth; which, though too weak 130
To force his fortune on the rocks of hate.
With terror shook the structure of his fate.

Like wise physicians, which, when called to cure
Infectious ills, with antidotes make sure
Themselves from danger ; since hypocrisy
Could steal no entrance to affection, he
Leads part of 's army for his guard, that they,
Where mines did fail, by storm might force a way.

( 249 )

William Chamber lay?ie [book v

But since he doubts constrained domestics, tliough

Abroad obedient, might, when come to know 140

From burthened friends their cause of grief, forsake

Unjust commands, his wiser care did take

ArgaHa and his stranger troops, as those

Which, unconcerned, he freely might dispose

To wind up all the engines of his brain.

So guilt was gilded with the hopes of gain.

By hasty marches being arrived with these
Within ^tolia, where his frowns appease
Those bubbles that, their Neptune absent, would
Have swelled to waves ; ere his hot spirits cooled 150

Were with relaxing rest, he visits him.
The weak reflex of whose light crown looks dim
T' the burnished splendour of his blade, that set
Him only there to be the cabinet
Of that usurped diadem ; which he.
Whose subtle arts in clouded brows could see
The heart's intended storms, beheld without
His unstrained reach, until the people's doubt,
A\^hich yet lived in the dawn of hope, he saw
O'ershadowed with the forms of injured law. 160

Though Time, that fatal enemy to truth,
Had not alone robbed the fresh thoughts of youth
O' the knowledge of their long lost prince, but been.
Even unto those that had adored him in
His throne. Oblivion's handmaid ; yet left by
Some power occult, that in captivity
Forsakes not injured monarchs, there remained
In most some passions, which first entertained
At Pity's cost, at length by Reason tried

Grew so much loved, that only power denied 170

Them to support his sinking cause. Which seen
By Zarrobrin, whose tyranny had been
At first their fear, and now their hate, he brings
His army, an elixir, which to kings
Transforms plebeians, by the strength of that
To bind those hands that else had struggled at
Their head's offence ; which wanting power to cure,
They now with griefs convulsions must endure.

A court convened of such whose killing trade
The rigid law so flexible had made, 180

That their keen votes had forced the bloodiest field
To the deep tincture of the scaffold yield ;
Forth of his uncouth prison summoned by
The rude commands of wronged authority.
An object which succeeding ages, when
But spoke of, weep, because they blushed not then,
The prince appears — a guarded captive in
That city where his morning star had been

( »5o )

Canto II] P/iar 072721 da

Beheld in honour's zenith ; slowly by

Inferior slaves, which ne'er on majesty, 190

Whilst uneclipsed, durst look, being led to prove

Who blushed with anger, or looked pale with love.

By these being to a mock tribunal brought.
Where damned rebellion for disguise had sought
The veil of justice, but so thinly spread,
Each stroke, their envy levelled at his head,
Betrayed black Treason's hand, couched in that vote
Which struck with law to cut Religion's throat.
From a poor pleader, whose cheap conscience had
Been sold for bribes, long ere the purple clad 200

So base a thing, their calm-souled sovereign hears
Death's fatal doom ; which when pronounced, appears
His candour, and their guilt : the one exprest
• By a reception, which declared his breast
Unstirred with passion ; the other struggling in
Their troubled looks, which showed this monstrous sin.
That this damned plot did to rebellion bear.
Even frighted those that treason's midwives were.

Hence, all their black designs encouraged by
The levelled paths of prosperous villany, 210

High-mounted mischief, stretched upon the wing
Of powerful ill, pursues the helpless king '

To the last stage of life, a scaffold ; whence,
With tears, cheap offerings to his innocence,
Such of his pitying friends as durst disclose
Their passions, view him ; whilst insulting foes,
Exalted on the pyramids of pride
By long-winged power, with base contempt deride
Their sorrow, and his sufferings whom they hate,
Had followed near the period of his fate ; 220

Which being now so near arrived, that all
With various passion did expect the fall
Of the last fatal stroke, kind Heaven, to save
A life so near the confines of the grave,
Transcends dull hope by so sublime a flight,
That dazzled faith, amazed with too much light,
Whilst ecstasies of wonder did destroy
Unripe belief, near lost the road of joy.

Even with the juncture of that minute when
The axe was falling, from those throngs of men 230

Swayed by 's command, Argalia, with a speed
That startled action, mounts the stage, and freed
The trembling prince from death's pale fear ; which done.
To show on what just grounds he had begun
So brave, so bold an action, seizes all
That knowledge or suspicion dares to call

235 action] Singer reads ' act, he.' But the nominative is quite easily supplied from
' mounts.'

William Chamber layfie [book v

The tyrant's friends. The guilty tyrant, who,

Whilst he doth from his distant palace view

This dreadful change, with a disdain as high

As are his crimes, being apprehended by 240

Argalia's nimble guards, is forced to be

Their sad conductor to a destiny

So full of horror, that it hardly lies

In 's foes to save him for a sacrifice

From their wild rage, who know no justice but

What doth by death a stop to fury put.

From noiseless prayers and bloodless looks being by
The bold attempters of his liberty
Raised to behold his rescue; heedless fear.
Hatched by mistake, from those that bordered near, 250

Had with such swiftness its infection spread,
That the more distant, knowing not what bred
The busy tumult, in so wild a haste.
As vanquished troops which at the heels are chased
Fly the pursuing sword, they madly run
To meet those dangers which they strove to shun :
In which confusion none o' the throng had been
Left to behold how justice triumphed in
Revenge's throne, had not a swift command.
By power enabled, hastened to withstand 260

That troubled torrent which the truth outgrew,
Until their fears' original they knew.

The onset past, Argalia, having first
Secured the tyrant, for whose blood the thirst
Of the vexed people raged, he mounted on
That scaffold whence his father should have gone

A royal martyr to the grave, did there

By a commanded silence first prepare

The clamorous throng to hear the hidden cause

Which made him slight their new-created laws. 270

Then, in that mart of satisfaction which

With knowledge doth the doubtful herd enrich,

The public view, he freely shows how far

Through Fortune's deserts the auspicious star

Of Heaven's unfathomed providence had led

Him — from the axe to save that sacred head;

Whose reverend snow his full discovery had

In the first dress of youthful vigour clad,

Could constant Nature sympathize with that

Reviving joy his spirits panted at. 280

His son's relation, seconded by all

That suffering .sharer in his pitied fall,

Mantinea's bishop, knew, joined to the sight

Of that known jewel, whose unwasted light

Had served alone to guide them, satisfies

The inquisition e'en of critic eyes

( 252 )

Canto II] Pha?^07l72ida

With such a fullness of content, that they,

Each from his prince being lightened with a ray

Of sprightly mirth, endeavoured to destroy

Their former grief in hope of future joy : 290

Which to attain to, those whose counsels had

The land in blood, and then in mourning clad.

Called forth by order to confession, there

Are scarce given time the foulness to declare

Of their past crimes, before the people's hate.

That head-strong monster, strove to anticipate

The sword of vengeance, and in wild rage save

The labour of an ignominious grave

To every parcel of those rent limbs that.

When but beheld, they lately trembled at. 300

Such being the fate of falling tyrants, when

Conquering, the fear, conquered, the scorn of men.

But here lest inconsiderate rage should send

Their souls to darkness, ere confession end

Their tragic story, hated Zarrobrin,

With that unhappy boy whose crown had been

Worn but to make him capable to die

A sacrifice to injured liberty.

Rescued by order from the rout, is to

A public trial brought ; where, in the view 310

Of all the injured multitude, the old

Audacious traitor did t' the light unfold

His acts of darkness, which discovered him

They gazed on, whilst unquestioned power did dim

Discerning wits, but a dull meteor — one

By hot ambition mounted to a throne.

By an attractive policy, which when

Its influence failed, back to that lazy fen.

His fortune's centre, hurling him again.

The only star in honour's orb would reign. 320

This sly impostor, seconded by that
Rebellious guilt his actions offered at
In all its bold attempts, had kindled in
The late supporters of unprosperous sin
So high a rage, that in wild fury they.
Their anger wanting what it should obey — ■
A sober judgement, stands not to dispute
With the slow law, but with their strength confute
All tending to delay; like torrents broke

Through the imprisoning banks, to get one stroke 330

At heads so hated, all rush in, until
Their severed limbs want quantity to fill
A room in the eyes' receiving beams. This done,
With blood and anger warmed, they wildly run
To search out such whom consanguinity
Had rendered so unhappy, as to be

( 253 )

JVilliam Chamber layne [book v

Allied to them : all which, with rage that styled

Beasts merciful, and angry soldiers mild.

They to destruction chase ; whilst guiltless walls,

In which they dwelt, in funeral blazes falls ; 340

Where burns inviting treasure, as they saw

In the gold's splendour an anathema

So full of horror, as it seemed to be

A plague beyond unpitied poverty.

Impetuous rage, like whirlwinds unopposed,
Hushed to a calm, as hate had but unclosed
The anger-blinded eyes of love, the bold
Flame, like a fire forced from repulsive cold,
Breaks through the harsh extreme of hate, to show
How much their loyal duty did outgrow 350

Those fruits of forced obedience, which before
They slowly to intruding tyrants bore.

In which procession of their joy, that he j

Might meet their hopes with a solemnity

Large as their love, or his delight, the prince, ,

Taught by informing age how to convince |

Ambition's hasty arguments, calls forth
His long-lost son, whose late discovered worth
Was grown the age's wonder, to support

The ponderous crown, whilst he did tread the short 360

And sickly step of age, untroubled by
The burthen of afflicting majesty.

His coronation passed, in such a tide
Of full content, as to be glorified
Blest souls in the world's conflagration shall
From tombs their reunited bodies call,
The feeble prince, leaving the joyful throng
Of his applauding subjects, seeks among
Religious shades, those cool retreats, to find
That best composer of a stormy mind — 370

A still devotion ; on whose downy bed
Not long he 'd laid, before that entrance led
Him to the court of Heaven, though through the gate
Of welcome death, a cross, which though from fate,
Not accident, he being instructed by
Age and religion to prepare to die
On Nature's summons, yet so deep a strain
Spreads o'er those robes that joy had died in grain,
That his heroic son, to meet alone

So fierce a foe, leaving the widowed throne, 380

Retreats to silent tears ; whose plenteous spring,
By the example of their mourning king,
From those small clouds there first beheld to rise,
Begets a storm in every subject's eyes.

353 procession] Singer ' profession,' b3' no means necessarily, I tliinlt.

{ '^54 )

Canto II] Pharo7i7tida

Betraying Time, the world's unquestioned thief,
Intending o'er obliterated grief
Some new transcription, to perform it brings
A ravished quill from Love's expanded wings.
Presenting to Argalia's willing view

Whate'er blind chance rolled on the various clew 390

Of his fair mistress' fate, unfolded by
Euriolus ; who was, w'hen victory
First gave him freedom, by Argalia sent
With speed that might anticipate intent,
The unconfined Pharonnida to free
From her religious strict captivity.
But being arrived where, contrary to all
His thoughts, he heard how first she came to fall
Into Almanzor's hand, by whom conveyed
Thence to her father's court, his judgement stayed 400

Not to consult with slow advice, but hastes
On the pursuit of her ; whom found, he wastes
Few days before fair opportunity
Was so auspicious to his prayers, that he
Not only proves a happy messenger
Where first employed, but in exchange for her
Returns the story of what had been done
Since first this tempest of their fate begun. —
How she forsook the monastry, and in

What agonies of passion thence had been 410

Forced to her father's court, where all her fears
Dissolve in pity, he related hears
With calm attention ; but when come to that.
Whose first conceptions he had trembled at,
The Syracusan's fresh assaults unto
That virgin fort, whose strength although he knew
Too great for storm, yet since assisted by
Her father's power, the wreaths of victory,
Rent by command from his deserts, might crown
Another's brows. To pull those laurels down, 420

Ere raised in triumph, he prepares to move
By royal steps unto the throne of love.

THE END OF THE SECOND CANTO.

(^55)

William Cha7nherlay7te [book v

Canto III

THE ARGUMENT

From the ^tolians' late victorious king
Ambassadors in Sparta's court arrive ;
Where slighted, back they this sad message bring,
That force must only make his just claim thrive.

Which to confirm, the Epirot's power invades

His land, in hopes for full reward to have
Pharonnida ; but close Almanzor shades

His glorious hopes in an untimely grave.

An unripe rumour, such as causes near

Declining catch at, when betraying fear

Plunges at hope, had through Gerenza spread

The story of Argalia's fate, but shed

From such loose clouds of scattered fame, as by

Observant wits were only thought to fly

In the airy region of report, where they

Are forced each wind of fancy to obey ;

Whose various blasts, when brought unto the test

Of judgement, rather the desires exprest, lo

Than knowledge of its authors. Here, 'mongst those

Of various censure, sly Almanzor chose

To be of the believing part, since that

Might soonest crush all hopes that levelled at

Affection to Pharonnida, whom he

Strove to preserve in calm neutrality.

But here he fails to countermine his plot,
This seeming fable soon appears begot
By solid truth ; a truth which scorns to lie
Begging at th' gates of probability : 20

Which to avoid, she from Argalia brings
Ambassadors, those mouths of absent kings.
To plead her right ; at whose unlooked-for view,
Almanzor, whose fallacious schemes were drew
Only for false phenomena, is now
Forced to erect new figures, and allow
Each star its influence ; but declared in vain,
Since pride did lord of the ascendant reign —
Pride, which, conjoined to policy, had made
All other motions seem but Pctrograde. 30

His black arts thus deceived, since nought could make
The dull spectator's ignorance mistake
This constellation for a comet, he
Attempts with fear of its malignity
To fright each busy gazer ; and since all
The circles of opinion were to fall

( 256 )

Canto HI] Pharo?t7tida

Like spacious azimuths in that zenith, to

Settle the prince, through whom the people view

All great conjunctions, where the different sign

Should force those aspects, which might 'mongst that trine 40

Of love else hold a concord, to dispense

On him its most destructive influence.

The court being thus prepared, he boldly now
Dares the delayed ambassadors allow
A long expected audience, which in brief
Makes known their master's fate in the relief
Of's injured father; thence proceeds to show
How much of praise his thankful friends did owe
To Heaven for his own restored estate, which he
Desires to join in calm confederacy 50

With them, his honoured neighbours ; hence they past
To what concerned Pharonnida, their last
And most important message. Which, when heard
In such a language as the rivals feared ;
A language, which, to prove his interest
In her unquestioned, come but to request
The freedom of a father's grant, a high
But stifled rage began to mutiny
In all their breasts, such as, if not withheld
B' the law of nations, had her father swelled 60

To open acts of violence ; which seen
By some o' the lords, they calm his passion in
A cool retreat, such as might seem to be.
Though harsh contempt, wrapped in civility.

Fired with disdain, the ambassadors, in such
A speed which showed affronts that did but touch
Their master's honour wounded theirs, forsook
Gerenza ; whilst Euriolus betook
Himself to some more safe disguise that might
Protect him, till the subject of delight, 70

The course his royal master meant to steer
In gaining her, his story makes appear
Unto distressed Pharonnida : who, in
That confidence secure as she had been
From all succeeding ills protected by
A guard of angels, in a harmony
Of peaceful thoughts, such as in dangers keep
Safe innocence, rocks all her cares asleep.

But here she rests not long before the fall
Of second storms proves this short interval 80

But lightning, which in tempests shows unto
Shores, which the shipwrecked must no more than view.
Anger, Ambition, Hate, and jealous Fear,
Had all conspired Love's ruin, which drew near

54 the] Singer ' their.'

( 357 ) s

JVilliam Chamherlay?ie [book v

From hasty counsels' rash results, which in

His passion's storm had by her father been,

Like rocks which wretched mariners mistake

For harbours, fled to, when he did forsake

That safer channel of advice that might,

From free conventions, like the welcome light 90

Of Pharos, guided his designs, till they

At anchor in the road of honour lay.

As if his fears by nothing could have been
Secured, but what proved him ungrateful in
Argalia's ruin, all discourses are
Distasteful grown, but what to sudden war
Incites his rage : which humour, though it needs
No greater fire than what his envy feeds,
Besides those court tarantulas whose breath
Stings easy princes, till they dance to death 100

At the delightful sound of flattery, there
Were deeper wits, such whom a subtle care,
Not servile fear, taught how to aggravate
His anger's flame, till their own eager hate.
Though burning with a mortal fury, might
Pass unobserved, since near a greater light.
Amongst those few whose love did not depend
So much on fortune, but the name of friend
Was still preserved, the faithful Cyprian prince
Durst only strive by reason to convince 1 10

Their wilder passions ; but each argument
With which affection struggled to prevent
A swift destruction, only seemed to prove
His friendship more eff"ectual than his love.
From which mistake, such as did strive to please
The angry prince's passionate disease.
With what might feed the sickly humours, draw
A consequence that proves Pharonnida
A blessing which was to his merits due

Who most opposed the bold aspirer to 120

That throne of beauty, which before possest,
Whole armies must dispute their interest.

The slighted Cyprian, since their fear could trust
None but confederates, from their counsels thrust,
Those swift conclusions, which before to stay
Their violence had reason's cool allay,
Hurried to action, strict commands are sent
From fierce Zoranza through each regiment
Which stooped their ensigns to his power, — that, by
Such marches as they'd follow victory, 130

They reach ./Etolia, ere its new-crowned king,
Warned by report, had liberty to bring

91 guided] The omission of ' have ' is characteristic.

Canto III] Pharo?inida

opposing strengths, — a task too hard to be

Performed with ease in power's minority.

Nor fails this counsel, for their army draws

No sooner near, but such as in the cause

Of unsuccessful rebels late had been

Exposed to danger, seek for refuge in

A fresh revolt ; and, since their ulcerous guilt

Was so malignant, that e'en mercy spilt 140

Its balm in vain, their injured prince forsake,

To strengthen his proud enemies, who make

Those poisons up in cordials, and compound

Them with their army : which being thus grown sound,

Whereas it lately fainted, durst provoke

Unto the trial of another stroke

His late victorious forces ; which, though yet

Faint with the blood lost in the last great fit

Of honour's fever, when the crisis proved

To cure's prognostic, had with ease removed 150

The proud invaders, had Morea been.

As heretofore, a hurtful neuter in

That war ; which now, since double strengths oppose,

Brave fortitude like base oppression shows.

So long both parties with variety
Of fortune fought, that fearing whose might be
The sad success, that old Cleander, in
Such speed as if his crown engaged had been,
Raises an army ; whose command, since he
Base flattery takes for brave fidelity, 160

Waiving those peers to whose known faith he owes
The most of trust, in hoodwinked hope bestows
On false Almanzor; who by power advanced
Near to those hopes at which ambition glanced,
But like weak eyes upon the dazzling sun,
From that last fatal stage his plots begun
Mischiefs dark course, which, ere concluded, shall
Crush the Epirot in Morea's fall.

In this, the hot distemper of their state,
Amindor, whom the destinies of late, 170

To double-dye his honour's purple thread,
Robbed of a father, most disquieted
Their secret counsels ; since they knew the love
He bore Argalia, propped with power, might prove
A sad obstruction to their plots, if he.
Urged by distastes, shook their confederacy
Off to assist his friend. Which to oppose.
With flattery — fleeting as the gourd that rose
But to discover his just wrath that made

The plant to cover, when it could not shade, — 180

They all attempt ; though he engage not in
Their party, yet his easy youth to win
( 259 ) s 2

William Chamber layne [book v

By honour's moths, by time's betrayers, soft

And smooth deUghts, those serpents which too oft

Strangle Herculean virtues : but they here

In age's April find a wit appear

Of such full growth, that by his judgement they

Are undermined, who studied to betray.

Being thus secured from foreign fears, they now
Employ that rage, whose speed could scarce allow 190

Advice from counsel, to extirpate those
New planted laurels victory did compose
To crown Argalia. But before they go
To ravish conquest from so cheap a foe.
Whose valour by o'erwhelming power was barred
From lying safe at a defensive guard.
Till old Cleander, that their league might be
Assured by bonds whose firm stability
Death only could divorce, intends, though she,
With such aversion as their destiny aoo

Wretches condemned would shun, attempt to fly
The storm of fate ; yet countermanded by
His power, the fair Pharonnida, although
He not to love, but duty, seemed to owe
For such a blessing, should Zoranza's be,
Confirmed by Hymen's high solemnity.

This resolution, whose self-ends must blame
Her father's love, once registered by fame,
Submits to censure ; whilst Pharonnida

Laments her fate, some, prompted by the law 210

Of love and nature, are to entertain
So much of freedom, as they prove in vain
Her advocates ; others, whose cautious fear
Dares only pity, in that dress appear
Silent and sad ; only Almanzor, in
This state distemper, by that subtle sin,
Dissimulation, so disguises all
His black intentions, that whilst truth did call
Him treason's agent, its reflected light.

Appearance, spoke him virtue's proselyte; 220

So much a convert, as if all those hot
Crimes of his youth ambition had begot,
Discreeter age had either cooled, or by
Repentance changed to zeal and loyalty.

Whilst thus i' the court the most judicious eyes
Deluded were by faction's false disguise,
By rumours heav}' as the damps of death
When they fly laden with the dying breath
Of new-departed souls, this fatal news

Assaults the princess ; which whilst reason views 230

With sad resentments, to support her in
This storm of fate, Amindor, who had been
( 360 )

Canto III] Pharonnicla

In all her griefs her best adviser, now

Enters, to tell her fainting sorrows how

They 'd yet a refuge left, from whom she might

Reap hopes of safety. The first welcome sight

Of such a friend, whose former actions had

Enhanced his worth, encountering with her sad

And serious thoughts, so rarifies that cloud

Of grief, that ere dissolving tears allowed 240

A vocal utterance, as intended words

Something contained too doleful for records,

Both sighed, both wept : at length the princess broke

Silence, and thus her dismal passions spoke.

' Dare you, my lord, approach so near unto
A factious grief, in this black storm to view
Distressed Pharonnida ! Have either I
Or my Argalia's slighted memory
Yet in Morea a remaining friend,

Whose virtue dares by its own strength contend 250

Against this torrent of court factions ? Now,
Now, royal sir, that doom which will allow
My soul no more refreshing slumbers, by
My father's passed — my father, sir, whom I
Must disobey with all the curses due
To black rebellion, or else prove untrue
Those vows, those oft repeated vows, which in
Our love's full growth hath to Argalia been
Sealed in the sight of Heaven.' — About to speak
Her passions fuller, sorrow here did break 260

The sad theme off, and to proclaim her fears,
Except the o'erflowing language of her tears.
No herald left. In which sad silent fit
The valiant Cyprian, who at first did sit
His passion's prisoner, from that bondage free,
To her disease prescribes this remedy.

' Cease, madam,

Cease to eclipse illustrious beauty by

Untimely tears ; your grief's deformity

Frights not Amindor from his friendship. When 270

I first beheld that miracle of men,

Adored Argalia, pluck from victory

His naval laurels, honour told me I

Was then so much his virtue's captive, that

Not all the dangers mortals tremble at

Can make me shun assisting of him in

Retaining you ; though my attempts have been

Employed in vain, in public council to

Procure your peace, there 's something left to do.

By which our private plots may undermine 280

Their public power, and unperceived, decline

That danger which, without this secret friend,

(261)

William Chamber layne [book v

It lies not in our fortune to defend.'

From griefs cold swoon to living comforts by

This cordial raised, Pharonnida's reply

Owns this pathetic language : ' If there be

In all the dark paths of my destiny

Yet left a road to safety, name it, sir.

What I'll attempt, no danger shall deter,

So brave Amindor be my conduct through 290

The dismal road ; but my wild hopes outgrow

AVhate'er my reason dictates. Noj my lord,

Fly that sad fate whose progress can afford

Nought but disasters, and live happy in

Orlinda's love. Should I attempt to win

You from so fair a virtue, 'twere a wrong

Too full of guilt to let me live among

The number of your friends, 'mongst whom let me

In all your future thoughts remembered be

As the most wretched — to whom rigid fate 300

All hope's weak cordials hath applied too late.'
Here ceased the sorrowing lady, to suspend

Whose following tears, her charitable friend

Prescribes this comfort : — ' I'hough my zeal hath been,

When serving you, so unsuccessful in

My first attempts, it gives just cause to doubt

My future actions ; yet to lead you out

Of this dark labyrinth, Avhere your sorrow stands

Masked with amazements, not the countermands

Of my affection to Orlinda, though 310

Confirmed by vows, shall stop ; let Grief bestow

But so much time, unclouded by your fear.

To look Hope's volumes o'er, there will appear

Some lines of comfort yet ; which that we may

Not in a heedless horror cast away,

Prepare for speedy action ; to prevent

Ensuing ills, no time is left unspent,

But only this approaching night ; by which,

To fly from danger, you must stoop to enrich

A coarse disguise, whose humble shadows may 320

Inquiring eyes to dark mistakes betray.

'Our first retreat, which is designed to be

No further than the neighbouring monastry.

Where I of late did lie concealed, I have

Thus made secure : — There stands an ancient cave,

Close hid in unfrequented shadows, near

Your garden's postern-gate ; which, when the fear

Of bordering foes denied a free access

To the old abbey, they, from the distress

Of threatening scouts were safe delivered by 330

A vault that "through it leads ; which, though so nigh

Unto the city, careless time, since not

( 262 )

Canto III] PharoTinida

Forced to frequent, hath wholly left forgot

By busy mortals. In this silent cell,

Where nought but light's eternal strangers dwell

In the meridian depth of night, whilst all

Are robed in rest, you none encounter shall

Except myself, but him, who may with us

This secret share, esteemed Euriolus ;

With whom, and your endeared Florenza, we, 340

Within the unsuspected monastry

Protected by some secret friends, may stay

Till fruitless searches waste their hopes away,

Whose watchful spleen, by care conducted, might

Stop our intentions of a further flight.'

Raised from the cold bed of despair from this
Mature advice to hopes of future bliss.
The heavenly fair Pharonnida had now
Withdrawn the veil of grief, and could allow
Some smiles to wait upon those thanks which she 350

Returned her friend; who, that no time might be
Lost by neglect from needful action, in
A calm of comforts, such as had not been
Her late associates, leaves the princess to
Pursue those plots, which Fortune bent to undo,
Whilst Hope on Expectation's wings did hover,
Did thus by fatal accident discover.

That knot in her fair thread of destiny,
That lurking snake, the purgatory by

Which Heaven refined her, cursed Amphibia, had, 360

Whilst mutual language all their thoughts unclad.
Close as an unsuspected plague that in
Darkness assaults, an unknown sharer been
Of this important issue ; which with hate
Her genius met, soon strives to propagate
A brood of fiends. Almanzor, whose dark plots,
Like images of damned magicians, rots
Themselves to ruin others, like in this
Last act of ill by too much haste to miss
The road that led through slippery paths of sin, 35-0

From pride's stupendous precipice falls in
A gulf of horror ; in whose dismal shade
A private room his dark retreat is made.

Here, whilst his heart is boiled in gall, his brain
O'erwhelmed in clouds, whose darkness entertain
No beam of reason ; whilst ambition mixed
Examples of the bloodiest murders fixed
Upon the brazen front of time, all which
Lends no unfathomed policy to enrich

346 from this] Singer ' by this,' probably, according to expectation, and still more
probably in consequence of the previous 'from': but not, I think, Chamberlayne being
Chamberlayne, quite certainly.

(263)

Williajn Cha7nberlay7ie [book v

His near impoverished brain, he hears one knock, 380

Whose sudden noise soon scattering all the flock

Of busy thoughts, him in a hasty rage

Hurries t' the door ; where come, his eyes engage

His tongue to welcome one whose cursed advice

His tortured thoughts turned to a paradise

Of pleasing hopes, on whose foundation he

Prepares to build a future monarchy.

A slow-consuming grief, whose chronic stealth
Had slily robbed Palermo's prince of health,
In spite of all the guards of art had long 39°

Worn out his strength, and now had grown too strong
For age to bear. Each baffled artist in
A sad despair forsaking what had been
Tried but to upbraid their ignorance, except
An aged friar, whose judgement long had slept
From watchful practice, but i' the court of arts
Been so employed, that the mysterious parts

Of clouded theories, which he courted by

High contemplation, to his mind's clear eye

Lay all undressed of that disguise which in 400

Man's fall, to afflict posterity, they'd been

By angry Heaven wrapped in ; so that he knew

What astral virtues vegetables drew

From a celestial influence, and by what

Absconded magic Nature fitted that

To working humours, which they either move

By expulsive hate, or by attractive love.

This art's true master, when his hope was grown

Faint with delays, to the sick prince made known,

A swift command calls from his still repose 4'°

The reverend sire : who come, doth soon disclose

That long concealed malignity which had

The feeble prince in sickly paleness clad :

Nor stays his art at weak prognostics, but

Proceeds to practise whatso'er may put

His prince in ease — cordials abstracted by

A then near undiscovered chemistry,

Such as in single drops did all comprise

Nature e'er taught Art to epitomize :

Such as, if armed with a Promethean fire, 420

Might force a bloodless carcass to respire ;

Such as curbed Fate, and, in their hot assault

Whilst storming Life, made Death's pale army halt.

This rare elixir by the prince had been,

With such success as those that languish in

Consuming ills, could wish themselves, so long

Used, that those fits, which else had grown too strong

389 Palermo's] Observ^e that we are once more hovering between the Morea and
Sicily,

(264)

Canto III] Pliarofinida

For Nature to contend withal, were now

Grown more remiss ; when Fate, that can allow

No lasting comforts, to declare her power 430

O'er Art itself, arrests that conqueror

Of others' ills with a disease that led

Him a close prisoner to an uncouth bed.

Which like to prove Nature's slow chariot to

The expecting grave, loath to the public view

To prostitute a secret, yet bound by

The obligation of his loyalty

To assist his prince, he to Pharonnida

That sovereign secret, which could only awe

Her father's threatening pain, declares ; which she 440

Hath since composed, whene'er 's extremity

Suffered those pains : whose progress to prevent

She'd by Amphibia now the cordial sent.

The sly Amphibia, who did soon obey

What lent her hate a freedom to betray.

His first salutes being past, with such a speed
As did declare the guilt of such a deed
Might doubt discovery, she unfolds that strange
Amazing truth, which from the giddy range
Of wild invention soon contracts each thought 450

Into resolves, such as no object sought
But the destruction of whate'er might stop
Ambition's progress ; towards the slippery top
Of which now climbing, on Conceit's stretched wings,
He silent stands, whilst teeming Fancy brings
That monster forth, for whose conception he
Long since deflowered his virgin loyalty.

Few minutes, by that auxiliary aid
Which her discovery lent, his thoughts conveyed
Through all the roads of doubt ; which safely past, 460

Strictly embracing her who in this last
And greatest act of villany must have
A further share, he thus begins : — ' Oh save,
Save, thou that art my better genius now.
What thou alone hast raised ; my hopes must bow
Beneath impossibilities, if not
By thee assisted. Fortune hath begot
The means already ; let this cordial be
With poison mixed — Fate knows no enemy
Dares grapple with me— Do not start, there's here 470

No room for danger, if we banish fear.'

His thoughts thus far discovered, finding in
Her various looks, that apprehended sin,
The soul's mercurial pill, did penetrate
Her callous conscience, in whose cell this sat
With gnawing horror, whilst all other lives
Whom her fraud spilt, proved hurtless corrosives,

( 265 )

William Chamherlayne [book v

From the cold ague of repentance he

Thus rouses her : — ' Can my Amphibia be

By fear, that fatal remora to all 480

That 's great or good, thus startled ? Is the fall

Of an old tyrant grown a subject for

This soft remorse ? Let thy brave soul abhor

Such sickly passions : when our fortune stands

Fixed on their ruin, the unwilling hands

Of those that now withstand our glorious flight,

Will help enthrone us ; whilst unquestioned right,

Which is for power the world's mistaken word,

Is made our own b' the legislative sword,'

Raised from her fear's cold trepidations by 490

These hot ingredients, in an ecstasy
Of flatuous hopes, she casts herself into
This gulf of sin ; and being prepared to do
An act, which not the present times could see
With sense enough, whilst in the extremity
Of wonder lost, through all his guards' strict care
Death to the unsuspecting prince doth bear.
Freed from this doubt, Almanzor, to avoid
That storm of rage, which, when their prince destroyed
The court should know, might rise from fear, pretends 500
Haste to the army ; but being gone, suspends
That speedy voyage, and being attended by
A wretch whose guilt assured his privacy,
Through paths untrod hastes to the cave wherein
Those habits, which had by Amindor been
(Whilst he his beauteous charge did thence convey)
Prepared to cloud illustrious beauty, lay :
Of which, in such whose size did show they were
For th' largest sex, they both being clad, with care
Secret as swift, haste to augment the flood 51°

Of swelling sins with yet more royal blood.
The Epirots' constant prince, by custom had
Made known a walk, which, when the day unclad
Of glittering tissue in her evening's lawn
Sat coolly dressed, to court the sober dawn, —
He often used. Near this, Almanzor, by
Hell made successful in his villany.
Arrived some minutes ere the other, lies
Concealed, till darkness and a close disguise,
Those safe protectors, from his unseen seat 520

Call him to action ; where, with thoughts replete
With too much joy to admit suspicion, he
Finds the Messenian, whom no fear to be
Assaulted there had armed, his spacious train
Shrunk into one that served to entertain
Time with discourse. Upon which heedless pair
The armed Almanzor rushing unaware,

( 266 )

Canto III] Phavonnida

Ere strength had time their valour to obey,

In storms of wounds their senses lose the way

To external objects ; in which giddy trance 530

The other lord, whose spirits' re-advance

To life they fear not, lies secure, whilst by

Redoubled wounds his prince's spirits fly

From the most strong retreats of life ; which now,

Battered by death, no safety could allow.

Revenge's thirst being in this royal flood
Quenched for awhile, that from the guiltless blood
His honour might not yet a stain receive.
First hasting to the cave, he there doth leave
Those injured habits, which by him were meant 540

For the betrayers of the innocent.
This done, that he e'en from suspicion might
Secure his guilt, before the wasted night
Looks pale at the approach of day, he flies
T' the distant army ; there securely lies.
Till all those black productions of his brain,
Now ripening to perfection, should attain
Maturity, and in the court appear
In their most horrid dress ; knowing the fear
Of the distracted city soon would call 550

Him and his army, to prevent the fall
Of such distracting dangers, as might be
Attendants on the eclipse of majesty.

THE END OF THE THIRD CANTO.

Canto IV

THE ARGUMENT

Now, as if that great engineer of ill,

Accursed Almanzor, had accomplished all

Those black designs, which are ordained to fill
The Spartan annals, by his prince's fall ;

With secret spite, yet such as seemed to be
From an advised protector of the state,

Pharonnida's ill fate assisting, he

Toward her destruction prosecutes his hate.

That dismal night, which in the dark records

Of story yet so much of fate affords

In the Morean annals, had to day

Resigned its reign, whose eastern beams display

Their morning beauties ; by whose welcome light,

The early courtier, tired with tedious night,

(267)

William Chamber layne [book v

Rises to meet expected triumphs in

Their princess' nuptials, which so long had been

The joyful business of their thoughts, that now

Sallying to action, they 're instructed how lo

To court observance from the studied pain

Of best inventions — by attractive gain,

Joined to the itch of ostentative art,

Were thither drawn from each adjacent part.

In this swelled torrent of expected mirth.
Which all conclude must make this morning's birth
To future ages celebrated by
An annual triumph, the disparity
Of passion, sorrow, first breaks forth among
The slain Epirot's followers ; who so long 20

Had missed their master, that they now begin
To doubt his safety. Every place had been
By strict inquiry searched, to which they knew
Either affection or employment drew
His frequent visits ; but with an effect
So vain, their care served only to detect
Their love, not him its object ; who might have
Lain till corruption sought itself a grave,
Had not an early forester so near

The place approached, that maugre all that fear 30

Alleged to stop a full discovery, he
Beheld so much as taught him how to free
His friends from further fruitless searches, in
Discovering what beneath their fears had been.

In sorrow, such as left no power to vent
Its symptoms, but a deep astonishment.
The amazed Messenians, whom a sad belief
Deprived of hope, did entertain their grief.
Whose swift infection to communicate —

Their murdered prince, as if pale death kept state 4^

Clad in the crimson robes of blood, is to
The city brought ; where, whilst the public view
In busy murmurs spread her sable wings.
Pale terror to the court, griefs centre, brings
The dreadful truth; which some officious lord.
Whom favour did the privilege afford
Of easy entrance, through the guards of fear
In haste conveys, to assault the prince's ear.

With such a silence as did seem to show
Unwelcome news is in its entrance slow, 50

Entered the room, he's with soft pace unto
The bed approached ; whose curtains when withdrew,
Discovered Horror in the dismal dress
Of Death appears — Freed from the slow distress
Of Age, that coward tyrant which ne'er shows
His strength till man wants vigour to oppose,
( 268 )

Canto IV] Pharo7i7iida

Through Death's dark gates fled to the gloomy shade,

Whose fear, or hope, not knowledge doth invade

Our fancies yet, he man's material part

There only sees ; which Form, whose heavenly art 60

Tunes motion into th' faculties of life.

Had now forsook ; the elemental strife,

Which had so long at concord aimed, was now

Silenced in death ; on his majestic brow

No awful frown did sit ; the blood's retreat

From life and action left his cheeks the seat

Of Death's cold guest, which, summoned by his fate,

There in a pale and ghastly horror sat.

Whilst the astonished courtier did behold
This, with such trembling as, when graves unfold 70

Their doomsday's curtains, sinful bodies shall
Rise from their urns, eternally to fall —
His stay, caused from restrictive fear, had drew
In more spectators ; to whose wondering view
This ghastly object when opposed had strook
So swift a terror, that their fears forsook
The safe retreats of reason. Seeing life
Had now concluded all the busy strife
Of Nature's conflicts, by delivering those

Time-shaken forts unto more powerful foes, So

Outcries in vain attempt for pity to

Scale Heaven; whose ear when from their prayers withdrew,
The court, now of her royal head bereft,
In a still calm of hopeless sorrow left.

Infectious grief, disdaining now to be
Confined within the brief stenography
Of first discoverers, spreads itself among
The city herd ; whose rude unsteady throng
Raised grief, which in the mourning court did dwell
In such a silence as an anchorite's cell 90

Ne'er knew a heavier solitude, into
Exalted outcries : whose loud call had drew
From their neglected arts so many, that
What first was choler, now being kindled at
Their rage, like humours grown adust, had been
The open breach to let rebellion in ;
Had not the wiser nobles, which did know
That vulgar passions will to tumult grow
When backed with power, by a new-modelled form
Of counsel soon allayed this rising storm. 100

Their tears, those fruitless sacrifices to
Unactive grief, wiped off, whilst they did view
The state's distempered body, to supply
The wants of that departed majesty,
Which, when their prince from life's horizon fell,
Fled from their view, before report should tell
( 369 )

William Cha7nberlayne [book v

This fatal story to the princess^ they
A council call; by whose advice she may,
Whilst floating in this sea of sorrow, be

Saved from those unseen rocks, where Treachery, no

Rebellion's subtle engineer, might sit
To wreck the weakness of a female wit ;
Which, though in her such that it might have been
The whole world's pilot, could, since clouded in
Such a tempestuous sea of passions, see
No star that might her safe director be.
A messenger, whose sad observant wit
By age allayed, seemed a conveyer fit
For such important business, with the news
Hastes towards the princess. Whom whilst Fear pursues 120
On wings of Pity, being arrived within
The palace, he, as that alone had been
The only seat where rigid Sorrow took
Her fixed abode, beholds each servant's look
Obscured with grief; through whose dark shades whilst he
Searches the cause, the strange variety
Explains itself — As families that have
Led their protecting ruler to the grave.
Whose loss they in a heedless sorrow mourn
So long, till care doth to distraction turn, 130

Her servants sat ; each wildly looking on
The other, till even sense itself was gone
In mourning wonder ; whose wild flight to stay,
Its cause they to the pitying lord display
In such a tone, as, whilst it did detect
The princess' absence, showed their own neglect.

When this he'd heard, with such a sympathy
Of sorrow, as erected Grief to be
The mourning monarch of his thoughts, to those
Returned that sent him, he that transcript shows J40

Of this obscure original — the flight
Of the absent princess, whilst the veil of night
Obscured her passage, tells : but, questioned — how,
With whom, or whether knowledge did allow
No satisfaction, all inquiry gained
From her amazed attendants, but explained
Their grief; whose troubled rivulet flowed in
To that vast ocean, where before they'd been
By sorrow shipwrecked, in the general flood
Mixed, wants a language to be understood 150

In a peculiar character, and so
Conjoined, makes up one universal woe.

Only, as if Love knew alone the art

114 pilot] Orig. as elsewhere 'Pilate'

120 Whom] Singer 'Who,' not only unnecessarily, but, 1 think, wrongly.

( 270)

Canto IV] Phuronnida

That taught his followers how to mourn apart,

Sad, sweet Orlinda, whose calm innocence

Had fostered passion at her health's expense ;

Whilst wet with griefs o'erflowing spring, she to

Her brother's ghost did pay soft Nature's due,

In sorrow of such sad complexion, that

Others might lose their own to wonder at ; .160

Yet when, as in the margin placed, she hears

Amindor lost, with new supplies of tears

Grief sallying forth, as if to be betrayed

Love now did fear, he draws the bashful maid

From those that did the mourning concert keep.

Where she unseen for Love's decease doth weep ;

Frail woman's faith, and man's neglect doth blame,

And softly then sighs out Amindor's name —

Her lost Amindor, whose supposed disdain

Destroyed those spirits grief could ne'er have slain. 170

And now before that power's decay engage
Too many hands in a vindictive rage,
The wise supporters of the state, to stay
Increasing factions, which can ne'er obey
Lest Fear commands, unto Almanzor send
A mandate, which enjoins him to attend
Their councils in this interregnum, till
Their joint consent had found out one to fill
The empty throne. Which summons, prompted by
A care which they interpret loyalty, 180

Though truly called ambition, he obeyed
With such a speed as Love would fly to aid
A ravished lady ; having to impede
His march no more than what his care could lead —
Even with a winged speed, yet that a strength
Enough to make his will confine the length
Of their desires, who soon in council sit
But to bewail the abortion of their wit.

The frighted city having entered in
A mourning march, as if his thoughts had been 190

A stranger to the sad events of this
So dismal night, he by relation is
Informed of each particular : which he
Seeming to hear in griefs extremity.
From silent sorrow which appeared to wait
On still attention, his prepared deceit
Disguised in rage appears ; a rage which, in
Its active flight to find what hearts had been
Defiled with thoughts of such foul crimes, did seem
So full of zeal, its actions did redeem 200

185 winged] This is Singer's ingenious emendation for the orig. vox nihili
' singes.'

(^70

William Cha^nherlayne [book v

The lost report of loyalty in those

His former crimes made his most constant foes.

By guarded gates, and watchful parties that

Surround the walls, till th' people, frighted at

Their fury, shrink from public throngs. They now

Assured of safety, whilst inquiring how

Hell hatched these monsters — whose original

Whilst searching, they, by the consent of all

His best physicians, whose experienced skill

From outward signs knew what internal ill 210

Death struck the prince, informed the cause could be

From nought but such a subde enemy

As poison ; which, when every accident

They had examined, all conclude was sent

Mixed with that cordial, whose concealed receipt

Unknown to art, their envy termed the bait

To tempt the easy prince's faith into

That net which Death, allured by Treason, drew.

With power, from this embraced suspicion sprung,
Almanzor, whom not envy's spotted tongue 220

Durst call profane, though rudely forcing those
Weak gates, which need no greater strength to oppose

Unclean intruders, than the reverence they,

Enforced by zeal, did with religion pay

Unto that place's sanctity; which he

Contemning, ere the wronged society

Expecting such injurious visits, in

Rude fury entering, those whose power had been

Employed by noble pity to attend

The suffering princess, in such haste did send 230

Them to her close and dark abodes, that now

Their doubts confirmed, they're only studying how

To shun that danger which informing fear

Falsely persuades towards them alone drew near.

Which dark suspicion, ere unclouded by

Seizing on him whose innocence durst fly

To no retreat, the royal fugitives

Back to the vault where first they entered, drives.
Now, at the great'st antipathy to day,

The silent earth oppressed with midnight lay 240

Vested in clouds, black as they had been sent

To be the whole world's mourning monument;

When through the cave's damp womb, conducted by

A doubtful light that scarce informed the eye

To find out those unhaunted paths, they, in

A faint assurance, with soft pace begin

To sally forth ; where, unsuspected, they

Are seized by guards that in close ambush lay :

Which, ere amazement could give action leave

To seek for safety, did their hopes deceive 250

(37O

Canto IV] Pharo?inicla

By close restraint. Awed by whose power, they're to
Almanzor brought ; who from that object drew
Such joy as fills usurpers, when they see
Wronged princes struggling with captivity.

From hence in such disdainful silence led
As taught their fear, from just suspicion bred,
To tremble at some unknown ill ; about
That sober time when Hght's small lamps go out
At the approach of day's bright glories, brought
Back to the court, they there not long had sought 260

Their sorrow's sad original, before
A court convened of such whose power had bore
(Whilst God's own choice, a monastry, had lent
Their dictates law) the weight of government.
They, hither called by summons that did sound
Like bold rebellion, in sad omen found
More than they feared : — A mourning train of lords
Placed round a black tribunal, that affords
To the spectator's penetrated eye

A dismal horror clothed in majesty. 270

Like hieroglyphics pointing to that fate
Which must ensue, all yet in silence sate —
A dreadful silence ! such as unto weak
Beholders seemed to threaten, when they speak.
Death and destruction dictates. When they saw
Their princess entered, as if rigid law
To loyal duty let the sceptre fall.
In an obedient reverence raised, they all
Lowly salute her ; but that compliment

To bribe their pity, fear in vain had spent. 28c

When all resuming now their seats, command
The royal captives, whose just cause did stand
On no defence but unknown truth, to be
Summoned t' the bar ; where, that they first might see
What rigour on the royal blood was shown,
From no unjust conspiracy had grown,
A sable curtain from their herses drawn.
Betrays her eyes, then in the sickly dawn
Of grief grown dim, unto that horrid place
Where they met death drawn in her father's face ; 290

By whom, now turned into well-modelled clay,
Fitted for 's tomb, the slain Epirot lay.

At this, as if some over-venturous look
For temperate rays, destructive fire had took
In at her soul's receiving portals, all
Life's functions ceased ; sorrow at once lets fall

269 penetrated] Singer, with less than his usual judgement, ' penetrating.' ' Pene-
trated ' of course means, as it does in French and did in English as late as Madame
d'Arblay, ' strongly moved.'

( 273 ) T

Willia^n Chamber layiie , [bookv

The burthen of so many griefs> which in

A death-Hke slumber had forgotten been,

Till human thoughts, obliterated by

The wished conversions of eternity, 300

Oppressed no more, had not injurious haste,

Before this conflict could those spirits waste,

Which had, to shun passion's external strife,

Fled to the priimim mobile of life.

Recalled with them her sorrows to attend

Their nimblest motions, which too fast did spend

Her strength, to suffer weakness to obey

The court's intentions of a longer stay.

From ruffled passions which her soul opprest,
By the soft hand of recollecting rest 310

Stroked to a calm, which settled Reason in
Her troubled throne ; by those that first had been
Her guards, the princess — that fair pattern whence
Men drew the height of human excellence.
Is now returned, to let her proud foes see.
That the bright rays of magnanimity.
Though envy like the ungrateful moon do strive
To hide that sun, except what 's relative
Ne'er knows eclipse, the darkness taking birth
From what 's below, whilst that removed from earth, 320

Her clear unclouded conscience, ever stays
Amongst bright virtue's universal rays.

The mourning court, those ministers of fate,
In expectation of their prisoners sate : —
They now appear in those disguises which
They first were took, being habits, though not rich
Enough to gild their rare perfections, yet
Such as did seem by sorrow made to fit
Their present sufferings : — both the men clothed in
Monastic robes, black as their threads had been 330

Spun from Peruvian wool ; the women, clad
Like mournful votaries, showed so sweetly sad,
As if their virtues, which injurious fate
Did yet conceal, striving to anticipate
The flights of time, had to the external sense
Showed these as emblems of their innocence.

But love, nor pity, though they both did here
Within their judges' sternest looks appear.
Durst plead for favour ; their indictments read.
So guilty found, that those whose hearts e'en bled, 340

Disdained their eyes should weep, since justice did
In such foul crimes mercy as sin forbid.
Yet more to clear what circumstance had made
Level with reason, from the approaching shade
Of death redeemed, that lord, whose wounds had been
But slumbers to recover safety in,

( 274)

Canto IV] Pharo7t7iida

When the Messenian murdered was, did now

Declare, as far as reason could allow

The eyes to judge, those habits, which they then

Did wear, the same which clothed the murderers when 350

His prince was slain ; which open proof appears

So full of guilt, it stops her friends' kind fears.

Ere raised to hope, and in appearance shows

A guilt, which all but pity overgrows.

The vexed Epirots, who for comfort saw
Revenge appearing in the form of law,
Retired, to feed their spleen with hope, until
The extent of justice should their vengeance fill.
When noWj by accusations that denied

Access to pity, for a parricide 360

The princess questioned, whose too weak defence,
Being but the unseen guards of innocence.
Submits to censure. Yet to show that all
Those scattered pearls, which from her eyes did fall.
Dropped not to attempt their charity, but show
That no injurious storm could overflow
Her world of reason — which exalted stood
Above the surface of the spacious flood,
(Her tears for grief, not guilt, being shed), whilst in
The robes of magnanimity, not sin 370

Grown impudent, her brave resolved soul sate
Unshaken in this hurricane of fate.

To meet her calm, which like religion drest
Doth all become, but female virtues best.
The rough Amindor, whose discoloured face
Anger did more than native beauty grace.
Since justly raised, disdaining thus to be
By a plebeian base captivity
Forced to submit his innocence unto

Their doubtful test, had from his anger drew 380

A ruin swifter than their hate intends,
Had not his rage, while it toward danger bends,
Been taught by her example to exclude
Vain passions with a princely fortitude ;
Whose useful aid, like those good works which we
For comforts call in death's necessity.
Brought all their better angels to defend
Them from those terrors which did death attend.

In busy whispers, which discovered by
Their doubtful looks the thoughts' variety, 390

Long in sad silence sat the court ; until
Those noiseless streams of fancy which did fill
Each several breast, united by consent,
Want only now a tongue so impudent
As durst condemn their sovereign ; which being in
Theumantius found, a lord whose youth had been

( 275 ) T 2

JVillia7n Chamber layne [book v

By favours nursed, till power's- wild beast, grown rude.

Repays his foster with ingratitude.

This bold, bad man, love's most unhappy choice,

From flattery's treble now exalts his voice, 400

Without the mean of an excuse^, into

The law's loud bass, and what those feared to do

That had been favoured less, that black decree

Pronounced, which discords all the harmony

Of subject fear and sovereign love, by what

Succeeding ages justly trembled at

Whilst innocent, but have of late been grown

So bad to show such monsters of their own.

This sentence passed, which knew no more allay
Of mercy, than what lets their judgement stay 410

From following life to death's obscure retreat.
Till twenty nights had made their days complete,
The court breaks up ; yet ere from public view
To close restraint the royal captives drew,
Grant them this favour from their rigid laws —
That if there durst, to vindicate their cause,
In that contracted span of time appear
Any whose forward valour durst endear
The people's love and prayers so much — to be
Their champion, that his victory should free 420

Them from that doom's strict rigour \ to oppose
Which brave attempter they Almanzor chose.
Since high command that honour did afford
To him alone, to wield the answering sword.

Now near departing, whilst the Cyprian in
A brave disdain, which for submissive sin
Looks on an answer, as his haste would show
An anger that did scorn to stoop so low
To strike with threats, stands silent ; whilst that she,
Whose temper Heaven had made too calm to be 430

By rage transported, with a soul unmoved
By stormy passions, thus their sin reproved : —

'Should I, my lords, here with a female haste
Discharge my passions, 'twere, perhaps, to waste
My prayers or threats, whilst one you would not fear,
Nor the other pity : but when Heaven shall clear
This curtained truth, wrapped in whose cloudy night,
Unjustly you, from my unquestioned right
By birth, obedience, into faction stray,

Then, though too late, untimely sorrow may 44^

Strive by repentance to expunge these stains
Cast on your honour. These exhausted veins,
Fixed eyes, pale cheeks, death's dismal trophies, in
This royal face I now could not have seen

398 foster] 'forester' which Singer prints, is of course a result of confusion with
the form of that word common in Malory, &c.

(276)

Canto IV] Pharo7inida

With a less sorrow than had served to call

Me to attend him, had not the rude fall

Of your injustice, like those dangerous cures

Performed by turning into calentures

Dull lethargies, upon my heart laid hold

In such a flame of passion, as the cold 45°

Approach of death wants power to quench, until

You add that crime to this preceding ill.

'Yet, though no fear can prompt my scorn to crave
A subject's mercy for myself, to save
This noble stranger, whose just acts, being crost
By misconstruction, have their titles lost,
I shall become your suppliant, lest there be
A sin contracted by his serving me ;
And only in such noble ways as might

Unveil themselves t' the sun's meridian light. 460

Sure he unjustly suffers ; which may cause
You want more swords to vindicate your laws,
Than his you late elected to make good
Your votes, ere scarce cleansed of that loyal blood
He in rebellion shed : — but I am now
Too near my fatal period, to allow
Disturbing passion any place within
My peaceful soul. Whate'er his crimes have been
In public war, or private treason, may

Kind Heaven, when with the injustice of this day 470

Those shall be quickly questioned, to prevent
Their doom, conceal them in the large extent
Of Mercy's wings, which there may prove so kind
To you, though here I can no justice find ! '

This spoken, in a garb that did detect
A sorrow which was ripened to neglect.
She silent stands ; whilst through the thick resort
Of thronged spectators, toward the rising court
Orlinda comes, with such a haste as showed
That service she by Love's allegiance owed — 480

Love, which had Sorrow's sable wings out-fled,
To mourn the living, not lament the dead.
Come where her fears' now near lost object she
Within the shadow of the grave might see
By sentence shut, neglecting death that lay
In ambush there her reason to betray
To hate, when, by the false informing law,
Her friend she as her brother's murderer saw,
In actions such as Scythian tyrants feel

Some softness from, she that ne'er used to kneel 490

To aught but Heaven, a lowly suppliant falls
Before the court; from whose stern breast she calls
So much of sorrow as perhaps had strook
Them all with horror, if a sudden look

{277)

JVillia^n Chamber lay 7ie [book v

Obliquely on her murdered brother cast,

Had not, ere Love assaulted with her last

And powerfuUest prayers, whilst hot with action, in

A cool retreat of spirits silenced been.

She, fainting fallen, as an addition to
Their former grief, is from the throng withdrew 500

Into the free untainted air — where, by
Assisting friends, which gently did apply
Their needful aid, heat, which was then grown slack
In Nature's work, antipathy calls back
To beauty's frontiers ; where, like bashful light,
It in a blush meets the spectators' sight,
But such an one, as, ere full blown, is by
Her friend's disasters forced again to fly
Beneath those clouds of grief, whose swelling pride,
Spread by report, did now not only hide 510

The court or city, but to bear a part
Of that sad load summons each subject's heart.

Whilst now the prisoners, ere the people's love
To anger turn, the active guards remove.
To still the clamorous multitude, who, swayed
By various passions, did, whilst each obeyed
Opinion's dictates, but in darkness rove
At shadowed truth, whence now they boldly strove
To pluck the veil from declarations that

Contained those falsehoods, which whilst wondering at, 520
They wept to force upon their faith, are sent
Through th' land's each town, and army's regiment ;
By which Almanzor, who attempted in
This plot to join security with sin,
Doubting, if e'er this story reach his ear,
Argalia might their combatant appear.
Besides those stains which common fame did take
For sin's just debts, slily attempts to shake
The heaven-erected fabric of his love

By closer engines, such as seemed to move 530

On noble pity, which with grief engrost
That faith which envy in disdain had lost.

Black rumour, on the wings of raised report
Flying in haste, had soon attained the court
Of the amazed Aetolian prince ; who hears
The dreadful story with such doubtful fears
As shook his noble soul, but not into
An easy faith each circumstance was true ;
He knew Almanzor's villainy to be

Of that extent, so foul a progeny 540

As all those horrid murders, might from thence
Take easy birth : but when the innocence
Of's virtuous princess, and his honoured friend.
The noble Cyprian prince, come to contend
(278)

Canto IV] Pharo7i7iida

With oft confirmed report, that strikes a deep

And solemn grief, yet such as must not keep

A firm possession in his soul, until

A further inquisition either kill

His yet unfainting hopes, or raise them to

Joy by confirming those reports untrue. 550

THE END OF THE FOURTH CANTO,

Canto V

THE ARGUMENT

Through royal blood to level that dark way

Which rebels pass unto the injured throne,
Pharonnida is now condemned to pay

A debt for crimes that none durst call her own.

When near the last step, brave Argalia, who
In close disguise Truth's secrets had betrayed,

When most did doubt 'twas now too late to sue
To Heaven for pity, brings a timely aid.

If on those vanished heroes that are fled

Through the unknown dark chasms of the dead,

To rest in regions so remote from hence —

'Twixt them and life there's no intelligence,

Whene'er thou look'st through Time's dim optics, then

Brave emulation of those braver men

Rouses that ray of heaven — thy soul, to be

A sharer in their fame's eternity ;

Thou 'st then a genius fit to entertain

A muse's flight : which may be raised again 10

To sing thy actions, when there 's left no more

Of thee, but what by life, whilst passing o'er

Nature's short stage, had either scattered been

By careless youth, or firmly planted in

Maturer age ; whose wasted talent spent,

Those were his friends — This is his monument

Is all, except some muse thy life records.

That to thy worth the unthankful world affords.

But if thy uninspired soul do bear
A lower sail, which, flagging with the care 20

Of humid pleasures, ne'er is swelled into
Sublimer thoughts than such as only view
Earth for its object, which ne'er yet did lend
Her favourites more than what they here do spend
To improve her barren wants, may none rehearse
Thy name — beneath the dignity of verse.
But trivial flatterers, such as strive to gain
Thy favour from ephemeras of the brain,

( 279 )

Williafn Chaml?erlay72e [book v

Unsalted jests ! Pleased at whose painted fire

1 leave fond thee in vapour to expire, 30

Whilst from thy living shadow I return

To crown the dust in brave Argalia's urn.

From common Fame, that wild impostor, he
Had often heard what Love denied should be
For truth admitted — his Pharonnida
Accused for sins which envy strove to draw
Objects for Heaven's severest wrath ; and now,
Ere his considerate judgement would allow
Report for real, secret messengers

To Corinth sends ; who, ill-informed, transfers ^o

His further trouble, in confirming what.
Whilst others wept for, he, transported at
So sad a change in her whose virtue had
Inflamed his thoughts, by passion near unclad
His soul of all his robes of flesh, which now
So loosely hung, as if she practised how
To strip herself, should unexpected death
To Heaven's hard course call forth the nimble breath.

Could earth here conquer, or had it within
The power of whatsoe'er is mortal been, 50

T' have wrought disorders of amazement, where
The noble soul such true consent did bear
With the harmonious angels, (he in all
His acts like them appears, or, ere his fall,
Perhaps like man, that he could only be
Distinguished from some hallowed hierarchy,
By being clothed in the specific veil
Of flesh and blood), this grief might then prevail
Over his perfect temper, but he bears

These weights as if unfelt ; on his soul wears 60

The sable robes of sorrow, whilst his cheek
Is dressed in scarlet smiles ; no frown his sleek
And even front contracts — like to a slow

And quiet stream, his obscured thoughts did flow,

With greater depths than could be fathomed by

The beamy lines of a judicious eye.

Whilst those good angels, which fond men call wit

Reformed by age, did all in council sit.

To steer those thoughts by which he did attend

Pharonnida's escape, they to this end 7°

At length reduced his counsels : — That he must,

To succour her, leave grovelling in the dust

His kingdom, which being by domestic strife

Late wounded, was but newly rubbed to life :

Yet since that there to her redemption lay

In all the progress of his thoughts no way

Less full of danger, such of's lords as he

Honoured for age, and praised for loyalty,

( 280 )

Canto V] Phuromtida

Called to a secret council, he discovers

His fixed resolves ; which they, though now no lovers, 80

With such consenting souls did hear, that though

They knew his danger might e'en fear outgrow,

They, to oppose that score of cowards, brings

His vows, his sacred vows, those sceptred kings

AVhich justly rule the conscience, that awed by

Usurping fear submits to tyranny.

Their first proposals, whence their judgement sought
To hide his absence, to conclusion brought,
They thence proceed to level him a way

Through that thick swarm of enemies that lay 90

Circling the walls ; where reason stays awhile
In various censure, ere 't could reconcile
Their differing judgements ; but at length in this,
As that which in this danger's dark abyss
Seems to lend fear most of the helpful light
Of hope, concludes — That when succeeding night
With strength of age was grown so gravely staid.
That dark designs feared not to be betrayed
B' the wanton twilight, he in close disguise.
Whilst some of's troops diverted by surprise 100

His watchful foes, might pass their guards ; which done.
Their care might be with 's further march begun.
In dismal darkness — that black throne of fear,
Night's silent empress awed the hemisphere ;
^^'hen now Argalia's ready troops with slow
And noiseless marches issued through their low
Close sallyports, are swiftly rallied by
Such as had long taught Valour how to die
For Honour's rescue — captains that had been,
From youth's first bud till age was reverenced in no

Her honoured scars, such strict disciples to
War's hardest precepts, that their fame outgrew
Their power, which that had so authentic made,
Where fear was scorned, they were for love obeyed.

By these brave heroes, which had often led
Armies to sleep in Honour's purple bed,
The prince assisted, was with secret haste,
By ways where fear no sentinel had placed.
Drawn near the leaguer ; which, the alarum took
From a stormed fort, had with such speed forsook 120

Their huts, that haste, which was intended to
Preserve, being now to wild confusion grew.
Helps to destroy. In undistinguished sounds,
Which not inform, but frighted sense confounds
With wild amazement, the unnoted words
Even of command are lost; no ear affords
Room for advice, nor the most serious eye
A place for order ; ensigns vainly fly,
(281)

JVillia^n Chamberlayne [book v

Since unperceived, through the dark air, which in

A storm ne'er knew more tumult than had been, 130

Since first their fear on this alarum fled

From reason, through the troubled leaguer spread.

In this loud horror, whilst they need no lamp
To guide them more than their own flaming camp,
His frighted foes, fled from their quarter, lend
The prince some hope this sudden charge might end
Their slow-paced siege ; yet since approaching day,
Persuading haste, denies his longer stay.
The power to those commanders left, which he
For valour knew might force from victory 140

Unwilling laurels, though their judgement such.
Those hallowed wreaths they ne'er durst rashly touch.
He leaves (when first his sword, which none did spare
Within its reach, had of his being there
Left bloody marks) the conquered foes, to find
Out sterner foes in his afflicted mind :
Which, since usurping doubt with peaceful love
For empire strove, taught passion how to move
In spheres so differing from his reason's right
Ascension, tha,t his cares' protracted night 150

From this oblique position caused, had made
His sorrow tedious as those nights which shade
Cold arctic regions, when the absent sun
Doth underneath the ant^-rctic tropic run.

This passage forced through his obstructed foes.
That now the treacherous day might not disclose
Him, whilst unguarded, to their view that might
In larger troops pursue a baser flight.

Through deep dark paths, which ne'er t' the sun had shown
Their uncouth shades, being to all unknown 160

Save neighbouring rurals, he, conducted by
A faithful guide, directs his liberty
Towards stately Corinth. Near whose confines, ere
Six morning dews had cooled the hemisphere,
Arrived in safety, that kind Heaven might bless
His future actions with desired success
To seek to them, he first sought those that in
The wane of 's blood had life's supporters been,
Those holy hermits, to whose art he owed
For life, next Heaven, which first that gift bestowed 170

Come to their quiet cell, where all receive
Him with a wonder that did hardly leave
A room for welcome, till their fear had, in
A full relation of his fortune, been
Changed for as much of sanguine mirth as they
Could know, that had religion's cool allay
To check delight. He being retired with him,
Whose first discoveries in his fortunes' dim
{282)

Canto V] Pharoftfiida

Imperfect light directed him to know

His royal offspring, lets his language flow i8o

With so much freedom as discovers what,

Whilst he by active war was aiming at

His kingdom's safety, called him thence to save

Sweet virtue from an ignominious grave.

The fatal story heard by him, whose love
Fixed by religion, passion could not move,
Although he pitied all the afflicted, to
More softness than what had its offspring drew
From Heaven's strict precepts, which are then misspent
When easy man mistakes the innocent; 190

Since what permits hypocrisy to win
Remorse, by mercy doth but cherish sin.
Which to avoid, ere his consent approve
Of the design, neglecting all which love,
Prompted by pity, could allege to draw
Him to the combat, though he in it saw
Nought to defend but innocence, since in
That shape deluded, charity hath been
Too oft deceived ; that his victorious sword
Might not, but where fair Justice could afford 200

Victory, be drawn, he, like a Pharos placed
'Mongst rocks of doubt, thus rectifies his haste : — •

' Take heed, brave prince, that, in this doubtful way
'Twixt love and honour, thy bright virtues stray
Not from religion's latitude into
More dangerous stations ; reason's slender clew
Is here too short to guide thee, and may in
Its conduct but obliquely lead to sin.
Be cautious then, and rashly venture not

On unknown depths, where valour seems begot 210

By vain presumption. Mortal beauty, that
Imperfect type of Heaven, though wondered at,
Yet may not be so much adored to make
Our passions Heaven's directing road mistake.

' Though thy affections were legitimate
As man's first choice, since in that happy state
Of innocence frail woman then found out
A way to fall, still let thy reason doubt
The same deceit, since that affected she

Which thou ador'st, yet wears mortality; 220

A garment which, since man first wore, hath been
But once cast off without some spots of sin.
Yet, know, my counsel strives not to prevent
Thy sword's assisting of the innocent ;
As much of mercy on neglect being spilt.
As there 's got vengeance from presumptuous guilt.
Only, before thy valour dares to tread
This rubric path, whose slippery steps have led

(283)

Williajn Cha7nberlay7te [book v

So oft to ruin, let religion be

Thy prompter unto so much policy 230

As may secure thy conscience ; which to do,

(31aim my assistance as thy virtue's due.'

The grateful prince with lowly looks had paid
His thankful offerings, when, that promised aid
Might not fall short of expectation, he.
Whose words, like vows that hold affinity
With Heaven, breathed nought but constant truth, did thus
Proceed towards action : — ' Whilst, loved prince, with us
Of this poor convent, you, by wounds restrained
From action, lived ; you know that what 's contained 240

In our calm doctrine, gives us leave to be
So intimate with each society,
No secret, though masked in the clouds of sin.
Flies those discoveries which informs us in
Their last confessions ; by which means you may
Know whether justice calls your sword to pay
These bloody offerings, as a victim to
'J'he appeasing of an inward virtue due.'

By this advice instructed to convince
What love suggests, the apprehensive prince, 250

Since this includes nothing but what 's too just
'I'o disobey, although he all mistrust
Of her, like sin, avoids, consents to be
Ruled by his counsel, whose assistance he
So oft successful found. Which, that delay,
That slow-paced sin, might not obstruct the way
With time's too oft neglected loss, he now
So fast toward action hastes, they could allow
The night scarce time to steal a dark retreat.
Ere, having left that melancholy seat, 260

Devotion's dark retiring place, he goes
To see how much her frowns did discompose
That city's dress, of whom he'd ne'er a sight
Before, but when 'twas polished with delight.

His arms, bright Honour's burnished robes, into
Such weeds as showed him to the public view
A coarse monastic, changed ; attended by
His aged friend, soon as the morning's eye
Adorned the east, the prosperous prince began
His pious journey; which, before the sun 270

jBlushed in the west, found a successful end
In clouded Corinth. Where arrived they spend.
The hours of the succeeding night to find
How, in that factious troubled sea, inclined
The city stood ; whose shallow sons dare vent
By nothing but their tongues, that discontent
Their hands might cure, were not those useful parts
Restrained from action by unmanly hearts,
(284)

lantc. V] Pharo7i?iida

Which being at once with grief and fear oppressed,
Durst do no more but pity the distressed ; 2S0

Which gentle passion, since so general, lends
Some light of hope to her inquiring friends.
To usher in that dismal day, whose light
Designed to lead into eternal night
As much of beauty as did e'er give place
To death, the morning shows her gloomy face
Wrapped up in clouds, whose heavy vapours had
Hung Heaven in black ; when, to perform the sad
And serious ofifice of confessors to

Those royal sufferers whom harsh Fates pursue 290

To Death's dark confines, through their guard of foes
Argalia and his grave assistant goes.
Where he, whose love to neither did surmount
His zeal, to take the Cyprian's last account
Himself addressed ; whilst his kind passions lead
Argalia from Pharonnida, to read
Her life's last story, made authentic by
The near approach of her eternity.

Entered the room, which to his startled sight
Appeared like sorrow sepulchred in night, 300

So dismal sad, so silent, that the cold
Retreat of death, the grave, did ne'er unfold
A heavier object ; by a sickly light,
Which was e'en then to the artificial night
That filled the room resigning 'ts reign, he saw
Grief's fairest draught, divine Pharonnida,
Amidst her tears, fallen like a full-blown flower,
Whose polished leaves, o'erburthened with a shower,
Drops from their beauties in the pride of day
To deck the earth. — So sadly pining lay 310

The pensive princess, whom an ecstasy
Of passion led to practise how to die,
In such abstracted contemplations, that
Angels forsook their thrones to wonder at.

Wet with those tears, in whose elixir she
Was bathing of the lilies' nursery,
Her bloodless cheeks — her trembling hand sustained
A book, which, what Heaven's mercy hath ordained
For a support to human frailty in

I Storms of affliction, lay ; which, as she'd been 320

I Now so well in repentant lectures read,

\ That Faith was on the wings of Knowledge fled

I To Meditation, her unactive grief

I Lets softly fall, whilst Time, wise Nature's thief,

That all might look like Sorrow's swarthy night,

j Is stealing forth of the neglected light ;

I Whose sullen flame, as it would sympathize

ji 318 which] for ' in which.'

(^85)

William Cha7nberlayne [book v

With those quenched beams that once adorned her eyes,

After a feeble blaze, that spoke its strife

But vain, in silence weeps away its life. 330

Come to behold this beauteous monument
Of mourning passion, his great spirits spent
On love and wonder, the astonished prince
Here silent stands, valour could not convince
His wild amazement. To behold her lie,
By rigid laws restrained from liberty,
To whom his soul was captive, troubles all
His reason's guards : but when, how she must fall
From beauteous youth and virtuous life, to be
One of the grave's obscure society, — 340

Must fall no martyr, whose lamented death
Grows pity's object, but depart with breath
'Mongst ignominious clouds of guilt, that must
Stick an eternal odium on her dust —
That thought transports him from his temper to
Passions, in which he had forgot to do
His priestly office : and, in rage as high
As ever yet inflamed humanity,
Sent him to actions, whose attempt had been
The road his valour must have perished in, 350

Had not her sorrow's agony forsook
The princess. By whose first unsteady look,
He, being as far as his disguise gave leave
Discovered, is invited to receive
Those last confessions, in whose freedom she
Seeks by absolving comforts how to free
Her soul of all which a religious fear
Like spots on her white conscience made appear.

Having from her unburthened soul learned how
To ease his own, the priestly prince had now, 360

As far as bold humanity durst dive
Into remission, Heaven's prerogative,
Pronounced that pardon for whose seal there stood
The sin-polluted world's redeeming blood :
By which blest voice raised from what did appear
Like sorrow, till her faith had banished fear,
The princess, in such gentle calms of joy
As souls that wear their bodies but to cloy
Celestial flights can feel, to entertain

Her fatal doom with a resolved disdain 370

Of death, prepares. Whilst he, whom Heaven to her
Had made their mercy's happy messenger.
Forsaking her, repairs to him that had
With the same hand the Cyprian's thoughts unclad.
By whom informed, how that in their defence
His sword protected nought but innocence ;

338 when] ' he thinks ' has of course to be supplied from ' that thought ' below.
( 286 )

Canto V] PharoHJiida

Armed with those blessings which so just a cause

Proclaimed his due, he secretly withdraws

To change those emblems of religious peace,

Monastic robes, for such as might increase 380

Their joy and wonder, whose contracted fear

Despaired to see a combatant appear.

Although they knew his sword defended then

The best of causes 'gainst the worst of men.

Whilst he prepares, with near as much of speed
As incorporeal substances that need
But will for motion, to defend her in
The assaults of death, that hour, which long had been
The dreadful expectation of those friends

That pitied her, arrived, in sorrow ends 390

Fear's cold disease. Those ministers of fate,
The props to all that's illegitimate.
The army, to suppress the weak essays
Of love or pity, guarded had the ways
By which illegal power conducted her
From that dark room, grief's curtained theatre,
To be beheld upon the public stage.
The glory, yet the scandal of the age ;
Which two extremes met on the scaffold in
A princess' suffering, and a people's sin. 400

Which now, joined to the dreadful pomp that calls
His subjects to attend the funerals
Of her loved father, whose life's virtues won
Tears for his death, thus solemnly begun.

Removed no farther from the city then
An hour's short walk, though undertaken when
Sol raged in Cancer, might with ease convey
Scorched travellers, a dismal temple lay.
In a dark valley, where more ancient times
Had perpetrated those religious crimes 410

Of human offerings to those idols that
Their hands made, for their hearts to tremble at.
Yet this, since now made venerable by
Those reverend relics of antiquity.
The Spartan princes' monuments, by those
Of latter times, though altered faith, is chose
For their retreat, when life's extinguished glory
Sought rest beneath a silent dormitory.
Nor stood this fabric all alone ; long since
A palace, by some melancholy prince 420

Which hated Hght, or loved the darkness, built
To please his humour, or conceal his guilt.
So near it stood, to distant eyes which sent
Thither their beams, it seemed one monument;
Whose sable roof 'mongst cypress shadows fills

393 Another of the interesting Royalist flashes.

(287)

Willia^n Chamber layne [book v

The deep dark basis of those barren hills

With such a mournful majesty, as strook

A terror into each beholder's look,

Awful as if some deity had made

That gloomy vale to be the sacred shade, 430

Where he chose in enigmas to relate

The dark decrees of man's uncertain fate.

Betwixt this temple and the city stood,
In squadrons thick as shows an ancient wood
To distant sight, the army, placed to be
In this sad march their guilt's security ;
Whose glittering swords shone, as if drawn to light
Day's beauties to the palace of the night.
Toward which the prisoners, yet detained within
The city, in this dreadful pomp begin 440

Their mournful march, led by that doleful call
By which loud war proclaims a funeral.
Those that had been the common guards unto
The murdered princes, to the people's view
Are first presented ; on an ebon spear
Each bore a scutcheon, where there did appear
The arms which once adorned those princes' shields.
Sadly displayed within their sable fields.

Next these, some troops, whose prosperous valour in
'i'heir courts had steps unto preferment been, 450

Come slowly on ; but slowlier followed are
By elder captains, such whom busy war.
Whose victories had their youth in honour died,
As useless now for council laid aside.
r the rear of these, the oflicers of state,
Grave as they'd been of council unto Fate,
r the purple robes of royal mourners clad.
With heavy pace conducted in a sad
And dismal object — two black chariots, drawn
Like hideous night when it assaults the dawn 460

In dreadful shadows ; where, to fright the day
With sadder objects, on black herses lay
The effigies of the murdered princes ; in
Whose form those spots of treason that had been
Fate's agents to unravel Nature's law,
In bloody marks the mourning people saw.
At which sad sight, from silent sorrow they
Advanced, had let external grief betray
Their love and loss, if not diverted by

Succeeding objects, which assault the eye 470

\Vith what, though living, yet more terror bred
Than what they found for the lamented dead.

In such a garb as sorrow strives to hide
The hot effluviums of a sullen pride,

474 effluviums] Singer, most improperly, * effluvia.'
( 288 )

Canto V] Pharonfitda

Almanzor next, with slow portentous pace,

Follows the herses ; his discovered face

So subtly dyed in sorrow, as it had

Strove to outmourn the sable arms which clad

His falser breast ; whose studied treason knew

No such disguise, as first to meet the view 480

O' the censuring people, in a dress that shows

Him by their state's maturer council chose,

'Gainst whoe'er durst maintain the prisoners' cause,

By 's valour for to vindicate their laws.

But now, to lose these rivulets of tears
In the vast ocean of their grief, appears
Their last and most lamented object, in
The royal captives ; whose sad fate had been
Not so disguised in attributes of guilt.

But that the love their former virtue built 490

In every breast, broke through their fear, to show
How much their duty did to sorrow owe.
In that black train they had beheld before,
Though full of sadness, wearied life passed o'er
The stage of Nature, is their darkest text
To comment on ; which, since good men perplexed
With life's cares are, finds less regret than now
To living sufferers justly they allow :
Friends, though less near, since death is but that rest
They vainly seek that are in life distrest, 500

Being pitied more than those whose worst of fate
We have beheld destruction terminate.

That nought might in this scene of sorrow be
Wanting to perfect grief's solemnity.
The kingdom's marshal — who supported in
His hand a sword, which, glittering through a thin
Wreathed cipers, through the sad spectator's eye
Struck such a terror, as if shadowed by
Death's sooty veil — conducting, after goes

The undaunted Cyprian, with a look that shows 510

A soul whose valour was of power to light
Such high resolves as by their splendour might
Make death look lovely ; on his upper hand
Her sex's glory, she whose virtues scanned
Her actions by Heaven's strictest rules, the sweet
Pharonnida, unmoved, prepares to meet
The ministers of death, her train being by
Florenza, who must in that tragedy
Act her last part, sustained. The garment which
The beauteous princess did that day enrich, 520

507, 528 cipers] Singer, with more excuse perhaps, ' Cyprus.' But where an antique
spelling definitely indicates pronunciation and the modern obscures it, it is probably
better to keep the former.

( 289 ) U

William Chambei^layne [book v

Was black, but cut on white, o'er which the fair

Neglected treasure of her flowing hair

Hung loosely down ; upon her head she wore

A wreath of lilies, almost shadowed o'er

With purple hyacinths, on which the stains

Of murder yet in bloody marks remains ;

Over all this, a melancholy cloud

Of thick curled cipers from the head did shroud

Her to the feet, through which those spots of white

Appeared like stars, those comforts of the night, 530

When stole through scattered clouds ; in her right hand

She held a watch, whose next stage should have spanned

The minutes of her life; her left did hold

A branch of myrtle, which, as grown too old

To live, began to wither ; — for defence

O' the falling leaves, as death and innocence

Had both conspired to save 't, the bough was round

In mystic wreaths of black and silver wound.

Near to the royal prisoners, many peers
Of either kingdom, men o' the gravest years 540

And loyalest hearts, did with a doleful pace
Bring up the rear ; each melancholy place
Through which they passed being with those pensive flowers
That wait on funerals strewed. The lofty towers
Of chequered marble had their stately brows
In sables bound, their pinnacles with boughs
Of dismal yew adorned, as if their knell
Should next be rung ; a solemn passing bell
In every church was tolled, whose doleful sound,
Mixed with the drum and trumpet's Dead March, drowned 550
The people's cries, whose grief can ne'er be shown
In 'ts native dress, till loud and clamorous grown.

In this black pomp the mourning train had left
The sable city, which, being now bereft
Of all her sad and solemn guests, did bear
The emblem of an empty sepulchre, —
So full of silence, all her throng being gone
With heavy pace to be attendants on
Those funeral rites, which ere performed must have
More virtue for attendants to the grave 560

Than e'er they could again expect to see,
Whose hopes of life lay in minority.

Come to the desert vale, which yet had kept
A solitary loveliness — that slept
There in untroubled rest, a levelled green,
Chose for the lists, which nature lodged between
Two barren hills ; upon whose bare front grew,
Though thinly scattered, here a baleful yew,
And there a dismal cypress, placed as they
Had only chose that station to display 570

( 390 )

Canto V] Pharon7tida

The people's passions ; who, with eyes fixed in

Full orbs of tears, ere this had sorrowing seen

The pitied prisoners to those scaffolds brought,

Where those lamented lives whom treason sought

To ruin, must be sacrificed to please

Ambitious man, not angry Heaven appease.

This curds their bloods, which soon inflamed had grown,

Had not the varied scene of sorrow shown

The murdered princes ; who, produced as they

Had been reserved as opiates to allay 580

Their anger's flame, are both exposed unto

The satisfaction of the public view,

Mounted on herses, which, on either side

O' the temple gate, with death's most dismal pride

On ebon pillars stood, as raised to show

What justice did to their destruction owe.

Placed near to these, their sorrows' sad records,
Almanzor's tent, to show that it affords
For red revenge a close reception, stood

Like a black rock ; from whence in clouds of blood 590

The sanguine streamers through the thickened sky
Did waving with unconstant motion fly.
In view of which, though at the other end,
If any durst appear that could defend
Their cause, whom Heaven alone knew innocent,
There to receive him stood an empty tent ;
Whose outside, as if fancied to deter
His entrance, there appeared a sepulchre.
Over whose gate her false accusers had

Transcribed those crimes which so unjustly clad Soo

In purple sins those candid souls ; which seen
In their bright virtue's spotless robes, had been
The hated wonders of those foes, whose ends
Now find success i' the pity of their friends.

Near this black tent, on mourning scaffolds, where
Death did to encounter Innocence prepare
His heaviest darts, such as were headed by
That more than mortal plagues, foul infamy,
The prisoners mounted. At the other gate,
Almanzor, like the messenger of Fate, 610

Fraught with revenge, appears ; his dreadful form.
More full of terror than a midnight storm
To straitened fleets, appearing to the view
O' the multitude ; who, whilst their prayers pursue
The prisoners' safety on the flagging wings
Of sickly hope, his sure destruction brings,

577 curds] This is Singer's reading for orig. 'curls' which is not quite impossible
and even rather vivid — for passion meeting and ruffling the blood as wind docs water.
And if one begins guessing, why not ' cools ' ?

( 291 ) U 2

William Chamberlayne [bookv

Since from their knowledge more remote to cure,
Unto their hates' impatient calenture.

Thrice had their trumpet sadly sounded been,
And thrice a herald's voice had summoned in 620

Some bold defendant ; but both yet so vain,
As if just Heaven neglected to maintain
That righteous cause : which sadly seen of all,
The sorrowful but helpless people fall,
Since hopes of life was shrunk into despair,
To be assistant by their private prayer
At death's distracting conflict. In a brief
Effectual speech, which answered to the chief
Heads of's indictment, in those powerful words
Conceived his last, the Cyprian prince affords 630

Their sorrow yet a larger theme. Which done.
Being first to die, having with prayer begun
That doubtful road, he now a short leave takes
Of all his mourning friends, then calmly shakes
Off each terrestrial thought ; and, heightened by
The speculations of eternity

Above those damps, which Nature's hand did weave,
Of human fear, submitting to receive
The fatal stroke, that centre to a crown,
But orb of wit — his sacred head, lays down. 640

Fled to the dark cell of their utmost fears.
With eyes whose lids were cemented in tears,
Each still spectator's thoughts did now repair
To the last refuge of a silent prayer ;
In which close pari, from that deep lethargy
They are to joy and wonder wakened by
A trumpet's voice, which from the other gate
Sounds a defiance. 'Twas not yet so late
In Hope's dim twilight, but they once more may,
In expectation of a glorious day, 650

Dare look abroad ; which done, unto their view,
A Cyprian herald being designed unto
That office, they, leading a stranger knight
Into the lists, behold ; whose welcome sight
Was entertained with acclamations that
Raised thunder for his foes to trem.ble at.

This valiant hero, whose brave gesture gave
Life to that hope which told them Heaven would save
Such suffering virtue, now drawn near unto
The tent, is taking a disdainful view 660

Of that accursed inscription ; whilst all eyes,
Centred on him, see through his steel disguise
A goodlier shape, though not so vastly great
As that cursed lump Nature had made the seat
Of's enemy's black soul. The armour which
He wore, they knew not whether for more rich
( 392 )

Canto V] Pha7^07i7lida

Or rare to prize. The ground of it, as he

For those had mourned which now from infamy

His sword sought to redeem^ was black, but all

Enamelled o'er with silver hearts, let fall 670

From flaming clouds ; which hovering above

Them, looked like incense fired by heavenly love :

'Mongst these, in every vacant place, was found

A death's head scattered ; some of which were crowned

With laurel, others on their bare fronts wore

A regal diadem. In's shield he bore,

In a field argent, on the dexter side,

A new-made grave, to which a lamb, denied

Succour on earth, to shun the swift pursuit

Of a fierce wolf, was fled ; but ere one foot 680

Was entered there, from a red cloud, that charged

The field in chief, a thunderbolt, enlarged

By Heaven's just wrath, from 's sulphury seat was sent

So swiftly, that what saved the innocent

The guilty slew ; which now in 's blood doth lie,

A precedent for powerful tyranny.

Those short surveys o' the people hardly took,
Ere, having now the unuseful tent forsook.
The brave defendant with a loud salute

Had passed the scaffold in the bold pursuit 690

Of glorious victory ; whom his angry foe.
Whose valour's flame ne'er an allay did know
So cold as fear, in that wild flame which rage
Opposed had kindled, hastens to engage
Him with so high a storm of fury, that.
Each falling stroke, others did tremble at
What they sustained. Strength, valour, judgement, all
Which e'er made conquerors stand, or conquered fall.
Here seemed to meet. As if to outrun desire.
Each nimble stroke, quick as aethereal fire 700

When winged by motion, fell ; yet with a heft
So full of danger, most behind them left
Their bloody marks, which in this fatal strife
Seemed like the opened sallyports of life.

Sadly expecting w^hom by Fate would be
This day chose favourite unto destiny,
The people in such silent ecstasies,
As if their souls only informed their eyes,
Sat to behold the combat ; when, to give
Their faith assurance, justice yet did live 710

Unchained by faction, from a fatal blow
Struck near his heart, Almanzor fallen so low
From hopes of victory they beheld, that in
His ruin, what before their fear had been,
Grew now their comfort. When, that speedy death
Might not transport his soul ere his last breath

( 293 )

JVilliam Chamber lay72e [book v

Confessed his guilt, the noble champion stays

His just raised rage, whilst his own tongue displays

His thoughts' black curtains, by discovering all

Those crimes, beneath whose burthen he did fall, 720

Heavy as curses which from Heaven are sent

For th' people's plague, or prince's punishment.

In which short close of life, to ease the grief

Of late repentance, that successful thief.

Whose happiest hour his latest proved, being took

For precedent, he in a calm forsook

That world, which, whilst his plots did strive to build

Ambition high, he had with tempests filled.

The multitude, whose universal voice
Had taught even such, though distant to rejoice, 730

As age or sickness had detained within
The city walls, forced those that yet had been
Her foes, converted by the general votes
For joy, to change their envy's ill-set notes
To calm compHance ; in whose concord they,
With as much speed as duty did convey
Her best of subjects, to congratulate '

Her freedom hastes. Who, in this smile of fate,
AS'hilst all her friends strove to forget those fears
AV'hose form they lately trembled at, appears 740

Shadowed in grief; on whose joy could reflect
No beam of comfort, the supposed neglect
Of her Argalia, whose victorious sword
Did in her fears' extremity afford
Some hopes of comfort, which to opinion lost.
More sorrow than the assaults of death had cost ;
Had not, whilst she did in dark passion stray,

His full discovery glorified the day.

Amidst the people's acclamations, she.
Though from a scaffold now conveyed to be 750

Raised to a crown, all that vain pomp beholds
With eyes o'ercast in grief, till he unfolds
Her further comfort, by discovering what,

Whilst each spectator was admiring at.

Becomes to her so much of joy, that in

This calm, that courage which before had been

Unshook in tempests, now begins to move ;

And what scorned hate, submits to powerful love.

Prom whose fixed centre, with as swift a flight

And kind a welcome, as the nimble light 760

Salutes the morning. Pleasure now imparts

Her powerful beams, until those neighbouring hearts

That lived by Hope's thin diet, drew from hence

Substantial lines to Joy's circumference.
Her innocence unveiled by his success,

And both by that black foil of wickedness,

( 294 )

Canto V] Pharon7tida

Almanzor's guilt, more glorious made, is now

The only volume wonder could allow

Those that before her worst of foes had been.

Sadly to read repentant lectures in. 770

Which seen by her observant peers, that all

Succeeding discords in that tyrant's fall

Might find a tomb, him, being their princess' choice,

The Spartan army's universal voice

Salute their chief. Which precedent affords

A pattern to the wise Epirot lords ;

Who had a law, age made authentic, which

Prohibited their diadem to enrich

A female brow : on him, whose title stood

Nearest of all collateral streams of blood, 780

They wisely fix a choice, which proves to be

Their glory and their state's security.

And now raised from that lowly posture in
Which fear had left them, the vast rout begin
Their motion toward fair Gerenza; where
The varied scene did such proportion bear
With joy's exalted harmony, which in
Their rescued princess dwelt, all that had been
Their sorrow's dismal characters they now
Obliterate, and her late clouded brow 790

Crown with delights. The solemn bells, whose sad
Toll, when they left your mourning city, had
Frighted the trembling hearer, now are all
Rung out for joy, as if so loud a call
Only became a love which could not be
Expressed until the full solemnity
Of their approaching nuptials did unite
Their hearts or crowns, not with more full delight
Than what did near as great a blessing prove.
Discording subjects, in your bonds of love. 800

Thus, after all the wild variety
Through Fate's dark labyrinths, now arrived to be
Crowned with as much content as e'er was known
By any that death did enforce to own
The frailties of mortality, we leave
Our celebrated lovers to receive

Those blessings which Heaven on such kings showers down,
Whose virtues add a lustre to the crown.

792 your] Singer, obviously, ' their ' : but strangely enough he leaves ' 3' our ' in 800.
The double oddity suggests that Chamberlayne originally meant this to form part
of a speech ; then changed his mind, and with his usual equanimity omitted the
necessary adjustment.

806 celebrated] A vivid instance of the correct use of the word as opposed to
tlie modern vulgarity.

( 295)

ENGLAND'S JUBILE[E]

[I do not know why Singer did not complete his edition by reprinting
this Poem — but perhaps he had not seen it. To me, the tedium of copying
it has been not a little alleviated by the interest of its prosody, and of the
comparison with Dryden's. As we might expect, both from the fact of its
being an address, not a narrative, and from its composition being later than
at least the earlier part of Fharonnida, the stopped, or nearly stopped
couplet is much more in evidence than the enjambed, though this latter is
also common enough. And the good side of the change has sufficient
exemplification — there are some couplets, and more lines, of the new stamp,
of which Dryden himself need not have been ashamed. The older side is
not so well shown : for the flowing similes and conceits which it so well
suited would have been out of place. But the poem has vigour, adequacy, J
and not more than a proper share of exaggeration, where required. It is
certainly the best of the poems on the Restoration next to Dryden's \ — Ed.]

' The British Museum copy has no title-page.

i

( ^90

ENGLAND'S JUBILE :

OR, A POEM ON THE HAPPY RETURN OF
HIS SACRED MAJESTY, CHARLES THE U

To THE King's Most Sacred Majesty.

Pardon, great Prince, for all our offering here,

But weak discoveries of our wants appear.

No language is commensurate with thee,

Our loftiest flights but plain humility.

Yet since we may, our frailty to conceal,

Be guilty of a crime in smothering zeal.

That bids thy blest returns more welcome then

Plenty to the starved, or land to shipwrackt men.

For such were we, or if there's ought can more

Demonstrate ill, that wo was ours before. lo

Heaven, to restore our lost light, sent us him.

Without whose raise our sphere had still been dim.

Dim as in that dark interval, when we

Saw nothing but the clouds of anarchy,

Raised by the witchcraft of Rebellion, to

So vast a height, none durst pretend to view.

Whilst they lay curtained in that black disguise,

Majestic beams, but 'twas with bloodshot eyes.

Then if such of necessity must pine.
Who 're robbed of food, both human and divine, 20

How could we thrive, when those that did pretend
To feed did all on their ambition spend.
Who with the sword, not reason, did convince,
And rackt the subject to unthrone the Prince.
The doleful years of thy exile have been
At once our Nation's punishment and sin ;
Tost in a storm of dark afflictions we
Floated at random, yet still looked on thee
As our safe harbour, but had none to guide
Us to 't ; False pilots with the winds complied. .^o

We saw what crime drenched the amazed rout.
Yet wanted strength to cast that curst thing out.

7 then] then = than. 12 raise] raise = rise.

30 pilots] Orig. ' Pilates,' with a possible play (?), though, as we have seen in
Pharomiida, the mere misprint is common.

( 297 )

William Chamberlayiie

Though oft 'twas vainly struggled for, yet we —
^Vho were exiled from nought but Liberty,
Who durst hve here spectators of those times,
Do now in tears repent our passive crimes,
And with one universal voice allow
We all deserve death, since we live till now.

But this is England's Jubilee, nor must
Thy friends doubt mercy, where thy foes dare trust. 40

Thou art our great Panpharmacon, which by
Its virtue cures each various malady.
Giving their pride a cool allay of fears.
Whilst to restore our hectic, Hope appears :
And these began the cure, which to complete
Expansive Mercy makes thy throne her seat :
So that there now (except the guilt within)
No sign remains there hath a difference been.

The giddy rout, who in their first address,
Cried Liberty, but meant licentiousness, 5'=

When depraved judgements, not content to see
A heaven of stars their prhmim mobile,
Did change the system, and i' th' spite o' th' love
Or fear of Heaven, taught earth's base dregs to move
In the bright orb of Honour, where to all
'I'hat's great, or good, they were eccentrical —
Having long found their direful influence
In nought but plagues descended — did from thence
Learn sad repentant lectures, and dare now
Present the sword, where late the knee did bow : 60

Dare tell their damn'd impostors they but made
False Zeal the light, whilst Treason cast the shade :
Dare curse their new discoveries which placed in
Hell's geography Americas of sin.

But these, like dust raised 'twixt two armies, do
Hurt or assist, as they are hurried to
Either by levity ; and therefore must
By none be held an object of their trust;
For though they are Usurpers' Lands, they've found
They rent at night, what they i' th' morning crowned. 70

But you, great Sir, whose fate has been so mixt
As to behold these volatile and fixt.
May, since the offspring of their sufferings, be
More certain of their future loyalty.
And though your tide, and heaven-settled state,
Needs not, usurper-like, measure your fate
By such vain love, yet may you still be sure
They'll ne'er again a rebel's scourge endure.

These past years of infatuation, which
Hath drained their coffers, did their hearts enrich So

With so much eager loyalty that when
With wonder — like those new recovered men,
(298 )

England's yubile

A\'ho, by Our Saviour's miracles escaped

From darkness, thought men had Hke trees been shaped —

They only through mist rarefied, gazed at

Those glimmering beams, whilest they knew not what

Th' event would be, now, winged with hope, did they

Each feeble glance praise as approaching day.

But when, with such advantage as the light
(iains by succeeding the black dress of night, 90

Through all the fogs of their preceding fear.
They from the North saw loyal Monk appear,
How in petitions did their prayers exhale
To waft him on, until the gentle gale
(Although by ways so wisely intricate
They raised our fear whilst they did calm our fate)
Brought him at length through all our doubts to be
The great assertor of our liberty !
Then did we think that modest blush but just,
Whose present dye displayed our late mistrust. 100

And to requite those injuries we'd done
To myriads raised what single praise begun.

Through all the devious paths which he did tread,
From the base Rump unto the glorious Head,
We scanned his actions, which did nought comprise
That might offend, but that he was too wise
For vulgar judgements, whose weak fancies guessed
By present actions what would be the rest.

But when their eyes unveiled, discovered who
Had, to destroy the monster, found the clew, no

How did they praise his wisdom, valour, all
That could within the name of subject fall,
And to complete whate'er his due might be,
Knit up those laurels with his loyalty —
That noble virtue, without which the rest
Had only burdened, not adorned, his crest.
Then since we now by this heaven-guided hand
Once more behold the glory of our land,
Whom midnight plots long studied to exclude
Again fixed in 's meridian altitude, 120

Let's cease to mourn, and whilst those fogs attend
Such miscreant wretches as dare still offend
By flying mercy, raise our souls, deprest
E'er since this Star set in the gloomy West —
For then begun that dreadful night, which we
Have since with terror seen, brave Loyalty
Being so opprest by a prevailing fate
'Twas only known by being unfortunate.

Yet, though Rebellion in unnatural wars
So far did thrive, to prove us falling stars, 130

88 glance] one might expect ' glimpse.'
( 299 )

William Chamberlayne

The wiser world saw those that did aspire,

Not as Heaven's lamps, but Hell's impetuous fire.

As monsters of ambition, such whose wild

Chimeras since Rebellion first defiled

Our English annals, only were advanced ;

But Fortune's light ephemeras, to be glanced

A while with secret envy on, and then

Hurled from the ill-managed helm to be by men

Pursued with such a just deserved hate

As makes each curse add weights unto their fate, 140

Horrid as are their names, which ne'er shall be

Mentioned without adjuncts of infamy

So full of guilt, all ages to ensue

Shall weep to hear what this ne'er blushed to do.

Whilst we were in these uncouth shades o'ercast
To tell what wild meanders hath been past
By thee, our Royal Sovereign, is a task
That would the tongues of inspired angels ask :
Yet since domestic miseries hath taught

Us part of the sad story's ruder draught, 150

We may, by weak reflection, come to see
With what dire weight these dark storms fell on thee :
Who, whilst thou didst, from hence excluded, stand
The pitied wonder of each foreign land,
Learnd'st, by commanding passions, how to sway
A nation more rebellious far than they.
So that the school which thou wert tutored in,
Though thy disease, our antidote hath been —
We suffering not our crime's desert, because
From hence you learned to pity, and the laws' ifio

Just harness with such candour mitigate
As once you bore the rigour of your fate.

What earthquakes breeds it in our breasts, when we
But think o'er thy progressive misery!
How thou, our restless dove, seeing no mark
Of land, wert hurried from our floating ark.
And, whilst those villains, that exposed thee, lay
Forced every wind of faction to obey,
Wert long with billows of affliction beat

Ere thou didst with thy olive-branch retreat. 170

How by poor friends and powerful enemies,
By flattering strangers, and by false allies,
Were thy afflictions varied, for all these
Shared in the complicating thy disease.

Like doleful mourners that surround the bed
Of a departing friend, those few that fled

161 harness] Orig. 'harnesse': but it is almost certainly a misprint for ' harrf'noss.'
candour] With the sense of ' mildness.' Thus ' a candid critic ' used to mean, what it
scarcely does now, a favourable and polite censor.

( 300 )

England s yiihile

Hence on the wings of Loyalty, to be

Partakers of whate'er attended thee —

Whilst they did mourn, but could not lend relief

Did by their sorrow but increase thy grief. iSo

Such was the power of thy prescribing foes,
No place afforded safety, some of those
Whom poverty sent to attend thy train
To cure that malady, did entertain
Infectious counsels, which did festering lie
Till rebels' gold outweighed their Loyalty,
And from the black pernicious Embryo bred
Monsters whose hands strove to destroy their head.

Nor whilst these secret sorrows sunk a mine
Which, if not hindered by a power divine, 190

Had blown up all thy patience, wert thou free
From public injuries — that amity.
Which former leagues, or the more sacred ties
Of blood could claim, veiled in the base disguise
Of policy starts back, and doth give way
For treason to expel or else betray.
Great birth and virtues which did that excel
As the meridian doth each parallel.
Are but weak props : a rebel's threats convince
And all avoid a persecuted Prince. 200

When after these big storms of ill abroad
Some loyal subjects had prepared the road
Unto thy throne, and thou didst once more here
Armed for redemption of thy crown appear.
Whilst all our hearts, whose distant Lands could not
Come to assist thy righteous cause, waxed hot
With loyal hopes — how were we planet-strook
When Fortune, with pretended friends forsook
Thy side at fatal Worcester, and to raise

A rebel's trophies, robbed thee of thy bays! 210

How dismal sad, how gloomy was each thought
Of thy obedient subjects, whilst they sought
Their flying Sovereign, curtained from their eyes,
In the dark dress of an unsafe disguise !
All wished to know, what all desire should be
A secret kept, such strange variety
Of contradictions did our passions twist :
We would behold the Sun, yet praised the mist.
But whilst Desire thus shot at rovers, that
More powerful sacrifice our prayers being at 220

Heaven's penetrated ear directed, found
Our hopes by thy deserting us near crowned.

192 that] = ' so that.' Orig. has ' amitj'^s,' which is obviously wrong and easily
accounted for.

232 crowned] Orig. absurdly, ' Crown.'

( 301 )

JVillia7n Chamberlayne

For though to want thee was our great'st distress,
Yet now thy absence was our happiness.

Then, though we ne'er enough can celebrate
The praise of this, yet thy mysterious fate,
Great favourite of Heaven ! so often hath
Advanced our wonder that the long trod path
Directs us now without more guides to see
Those miracles wrought in preserving thee 230

Were God's immediate acts, to whose intents
Were often fitted weakest instruments,
From whose success faith this impression bore,
He that preserved thee would at length restore,
Which now through such a labyrinth is done,
We see the end, ere know how 'twas begun.

That big-bulked cloud of poisonous vapours in
Whose dismal shades, our liberty had been
Long in amaze of errors lost, was by

A wholesome northern gale enforced to fly 240

Easy as morning mists, so that the fate
Seem'd not more strange, which did at first create.
Than what did now destroy in it, did appear
As far from Hope, as was the first from Fear.

When a rebellious tyranny had been
So strengthened by a prosperous growth in sin
That the contagious leprosy had left
None sound but what were honest by their theft —
Then to behold that hydra, which had bred
So many, in an instant, her last head 250

Submit to justice, is a blessing we
Must praise i' th' raptures of an ecstasy,
Till from the pleasing trance, being welcomed by
Loud acclamations, raised from Loyalty,
We come, we come, with all the reverence due
To Heaven's best gifts, great Prince, to welcome you —
You, who by suffering in a righteous cause
Safely restored that Liberty, those Laws,
Which after long convulsive fits were now
Expiring, so that future times, told how 260

This great work was performed, shall wonder most
To see the fever cured, yet no blood lost.

But these are mercies fit to usher in
Him to a throne, whose virtuous life hath been
Beyond detraction good : therefore attend
Those joys which Heaven to us, by you, did send :
Whose sacred essence, waited on by all
The most transcendant blessings that can fall.
Within the sphere of human virtue, still
Surround your throne ! May all imagined ill 270

243 in it1 If the poem were less badly printed, the extended form 'in if lur the
usual ' in 't ' would have prosodic interest : but it is probably mere accident.

( 302 )

Kjigland s yuhile

Die in the embryo ! May no dark disguise

Of seeming friends, or foes that temporize,

E'er prejudice your peace ! May your foes prove

All blushing converts ! May all those that love

You do 't for zeal, not gain ; and though that we

(What was of late your mark) our poverty

Are still enforced to wear, oh may there thence

Ne'er spring a thought to take or give offence !

May all toward you be fraughted with desires

That may in flaming zeal outblaze the fires ;So

That you were welcomed in with ! May delight

Within your royal breast no opposite

E're find, but so let gentle pleasure grow.

That it may kiss the banks, but ne'er o'erflow !

When Hymen leads you to the temple, let

It be to take that gem which Heaven hath set

The world's adorning ornament — that we

May by that blest conjunction's influence see

Such hopeful fruit spring from our royal stem

As may deserve the whole world's diadem. 390

May Peace adorn your throne ! Yet if the sword

Must needs be drawn, may it no sound afford

But victory, until extended power

Adds weight unto your sceptre ! May no hour

E'en set a seal to the records of Time,

But what still makes your pleasure more sublime,

Till they, being grown too pure for earth, shall be

Called to the triumphs of Eternity !

By Will. Chamberi.aink.

London, Printed for Robert Clavell

at the Stags-head in St. Pauls

Church yard, 1660.

292 sound] So in orig.

299 Chamberlainej So here in orig. In Pharonnida ' Chamberla) ne.'

( 303 )

THEOPHILA

OR

LOVES SACRIFICE.

A

Divine Poem.

— — — — - - — " - — ■ ■ - ■

WRITTEN BY £. S. Efq-
Several Tarts thereof fet to fit Jtres by M' f . ^E:I^:^(S.

Longum Iterfer Praecepta, breve cj7* efficaxfer Exempla,
Si Praeceptis non accendimur, faltem Exemplis incitemur^ atq^^ in
JppetitH Reditudinis niljibi Mens noftra difficile ajltmet,
qHodferfeBeperagiahAliisvidet, Greg.Mag. 1. 9. c.^3.
Id peragasY'm, qmdvellcs lAonzperaUum.

Lo:^(po^

Printed by '^ ^' Sold by Henrj Seile in Fleetfireet, and

Humphrey Mojeley at the Princes Arms in S. "Pauls
Qhurch-jard. i6^i. __^___

I X

;

(
t

INTRODUCTION TO
EDWARD BENLOWES

The fate of Benlowes has been one of the hardest in the history of
English poetry. Such approval as he met with, in his own time and from
persons likely to sympathize with his general way of writing, was chiefly
interested ; he was savagely though very amusingly satirized by the greatest
satirist, save one, of his own later day ; he came in, long after his death,
for sneers, suppressed and not suppressed, from Pope, as well as for a
gratuitous salutation from Warburton's bludgeon ^ ; and at the Romantic
revival he was almost entirely passed over. Neither Ellis nor Campbell, who
were both pretty equitable to the Caroline poets, gave him admission : even
Southey, so far as I remember, lets him alone, which is a pretty clear sign
that he did not know him. Of late he has received more attention. But
most of it has been of the unsatisfactory bibliographical character, little
calculated to allay the thirst of the clear spirit in life or after death : and
most, even of this, has been due to the very cause which (it may be more
than suspected) has made Benlowes so rare. At one time (see biographical
note ^), he was a rich man or at least well-to-do, and with the nascent interest
in art which distinguished the Cavalier party, from the King downwards, he

^ Notices of Benlowes have been apt to dwell only on Warburton's note at Dune. iii.
21 which hits our poet's titles. But Pope himself, probably from some traditional Roman
Catholic grudge ^t the convert-revert, had set the example. The actual passage just cited
is not crushing :

Benlowes, propitious still to blockheads, bows.

But he had thought of including in Prol. Sat. the couplet :

How pleased I see some patron to each scrub ;
Quarles had his Benlowes, Tibbald has his Bubb.

with the note, at 1. 250, — A. gentleman of Oxford who patronized all bad poets of that
reign.

^ Information about Benlowes is mainly derived from Anthony Wood, with some
slight SLippLements. According to it, he was born about 1603, the son and heir of a
man of fortune who owned Brent Hall, in Essex. He was sent to St. John's College,
Cambridge, in 1620 ; and after leaving the University, made the grand tour. Some
say that he was brought up a Roman Catholic; others that he adopted Roman
Catholicism abroad ; but it is agreed that he died a faithful Anglican. According to
Butler he served in the Civil War, which may have assisted his lavishness to friends
and relations, and his expenditure on collecting and otherwise, in producing that
exhaustion of his fortune which is also agreed upon. He spent the last eight years of
his life at Oxford, making good use of the Bodleian, but (according to Wood) in a state
of great poverty, which on the same authority) even shortened his life by insufficient
provision of food and firing during a severe winter. At any rate he died in December,
1676, aged seventy-three, and was buried in St. Mary's. Hazlitt attributes to him eight
other works besides Theophila, and the Dictionary of National Biography ten with a
possible eleventh ; but all of these are short and most of them are in Latin.

( 307 ) X 2

Edward Be7ilowes

set himself to embellish his principal work, Theophila, in a manner very
uncommon before his time. An uncertain number (for hardly any two
copies agree, and the tale seems to vary from six-and-thirty downwards) of
illustrations— sometimes separate, sometimes in the text, and ranging from
more than full folio plates to two-inch-square vignettes — decorate the
poem. These have in most instances been ruthlessly ravished from it —
often, in the case of those backing matter, to the mutilation of the text, and
almost always to the danger and disintegration of the book. It is also
probable that no very large number of copies was printed, while the poem
was never reissued : so that its rarity is not surprising.

But rarity is very far from being always or necessarily a cause of neglect.
On the contrary, it notoriously, and very often, serves as a direct attraction
and stimulant to reprinters. It is more difficult to know whether to admit
or disallow as a vera causa of Benlowes' obscurity, the fantastic ingenuity
(as 'metaphysical' in reality as its prey) of Butler's attack. A similar
combination of rarity and satire has had no doubt much to do with
Shadwell's practical occultation : but this was never so complete as that
of Benlowes, and moreover Dryden's consummate art had contrived to kill
even curiosity about his victim. For few people care to explore simple and
unmitigated dulness. There was something — at least after the eighteenth
century was over — which might have excited, instead of quenching, this
curiosity in Butler's * Character of a Small Poet ' where, after several pages of
general ridicule, Benlowes is gibbetted by name. The woes of Mr. Prynne —
when having put a new hat in a hat-box which had been unfortunately
lined with leaves from Theophila, or something else of its author's, he
suffered from singing in the head, vertigo, and even after blood-letting,
a tendency to write harsh poetry ; the poet's mastery of high-rope ' wit '
and low-rope wit alike ; his improvement on altars and pyramids by
frying-pans and gridirons in verse; his troop-horse's furniture 'all in
beaten poetry ' ; the fatal effect of his printed sheets even upon tobacco ;
his Macaronic Latin and so forth : — these are things which might rather
tempt at least a slight exploration than discourage it. One does not object
to a glimpse, at any rate, of the extravagant and absurd ; though one may
have a holy horror of the merely dull. And as for Warburton nobody, even
in his own time, took him for much of an authority on poetry: while his
condemnation was rather likely to serve as a commendation, after the be-
ginning of the nineteenth century, to anybody except the neoclassic remnant,
whether the individual took his ideas of poetry from Coleridge or from
Wordsworth, from Southey or from Byron, from Shelley or from Keats.

We shall hardly be epigrammatic out of season if we solve or evade the
difficulty by saying that accident probably assisted rarity, and that
Benlowes himself certainly assisted Butler. He has done (except in the
(3c8)

hitrodiiCtt07i

matter of the sculpturesque embellishments which have so often disappeared)
almost everything he could to ' fence his table ' against at least modern
readers. Some (let it be hoped not too many) would drop off at once on
perceiving that ' Theophila ' is but a name for the soul, in its mystical status
as the bride of Christ. More might faint at the prospect before them on
coming to the information in the Preface that ' The glorious projection
and transfusion of ethereal light, both in the Sun and the six magnitudes,
constitute, by astronomical computation, more than 300 suns upward to the
Empyrean Heaven. A star in the Equator makes 12,598,666 miles in
an hour, which is 209,994 miles in a minute, a motion quicker than thought.'
For even Dante, though he may double Theology with Astronomy, does not
cumulate both with Arithmetic in this fashion. And of those who still
hold their course, across prefaces and prefatory poems, to the actual text,
not a few more may break down at or a little past the gateway.

Benlowes has chosen one of the most awkward stanzas (if it is to be called a
stanza) possible — a triplet composed of decasyllabic, octosyllable, and alexan-
drine— the jolt of which only after long familiarity becomes rhythmical even
to the most patient and experienced ear, and never reaches a perfect charm.
These triplets are monorhymed : but the author begins with three on the
same sound, and never expresses the slightest consideration as to
symphonic or symmetrical effect in rhyme. He showers italics and capitals
in a fashion which might give pause to the sternest stickler for literal
typographic reproduction. But undoubtedly the most serious objects of
distaste are likely to be found, w^here Butler long ago found them, in his
style — taking that word in the wide sense which admits both diction and
expression of thought.

Even before arriving at these one may quarrel (far from captiously) at
his general plan and ordonnance. Despite more than one declaration of the
author's design, explicit enough in intention, it is very difficult to put this
design with any intelligible brevity : and his introductory panegyrists
in verse take very good care not to attempt it. The Praelibation,
Humiliation, Restoration, Inamoration, Representation, Contemplation,
Admiration, Recapitulation, Translations, Abnegation, Disincantation, Segre-
gation, Reinvitation, and Termination — as the several Cantos are headed —
refuse reduction to any common denomination except perhaps this : — ' a very
discursive treatise on mystical theology and passions of the soul, succeeded
by an equally discursive comment on the sins of the flesh.' The author adopts
as his vehicle sometimes English, sometimes Latin, sometimes both in
face-to-face translation. The mere lexicon of the vernacular parts is
distinctively Caroline : out-of-the-way catchwords such as ' remora ' and
' enthean,' both of which he shares with Chamberlayne, being alternated with
extremely familiar phrases and archaisms, as well as with the hideous
( 309 )

Edward Benlowes

abbreviations (' who's days ' for ' who his days ' and the like), which are the
greatest blot upon the poetry of this time. He coins pretty freely (e. g.
' angelence ' in a very early and by no means bad stanza) and one of the
things which shocked Butler was the certainly tremendous Macaronic
invention of hypocondruncicus : while one can imagine the almost stuttering
rage of some critics to-day at such another word as ' Proteustant,' for the
Covenanters. But, on the whole, his licences this way, though considerable
and no doubt excessive, are certainly less frequent, if perhaps to the
grave and precise more shocking, than the irresponsible and irrepressible
libertinism of his composition as regards clause and sentence, material
and contexture.

The late Greek rhetoricians, in that mania for subdividing and labelling
figures which Quintilian soberly ridicules, might have lost themselves in
endeavouring to devise tickets for the subdivisions of Benlowes' indulgence
in good, or hectic, or horse-playful, conceit. Already the twentieth couplet
of the ' Praelibation ' provides us with this : —

Each gallon breeds a ruby ;— drawer ! score 'um —

Cheeks dyed in claret seem o' th' quorum,
When our nose-carbuncles, like link-boys, blaze before 'um.

But an even less dignified use of ' the blushmg grape of western France '
occurs later : —

War hath our lukewarm claret broach'd with spears
where it would be really interesting to know whether there is an earlier
instance of the ' fancy ' use of the word. It would not be easy to find a
wilder welter of forced metaphors than here : —

Betimes, when keen-breath'd winds, with frosty cream,

Periwig bald trees, glaze tattling stream :
For May-games past, white-sheet peccavi is Winter's theme \

And he surpasses even his usual quaintness when he concludes a long
interruption of Theophila's address to him on heavenly things in the
Fifth Canto :—

Fond that I am to speak. Pass on to bliss,

That with an individual kiss
Greets thee for ever ! Pardon this parenthesis.

1 Of course Benlowes, ihough he added the absurdity of ' cream,' borrowed this from
the famous locus of Sylvester which Dryden ridicules in the Dedication to The Spanish
Friar. But what is even more noteworthy, and to my knowledge has never yet been
noted, is that Dryden himself, in the error which Scott has detected in quoting 'And
periwig with snow the bald-pate woods' for Sylvesters 'wool' has been anticipated
by Benlowes in another passage of Theophila,

When periwigg'd with snow's each bald-pate wood.
Now, Dryden, who was twenty-one when Theophila came out, and was probably not
past the stage when he wrote the ■ Lines on Lord Hastings,' may very likely have read
Benlowes himself.
( 310 )

Introduction

He does not hesitate to rhyme ' Hades ' to ' Shades ' and will draw
attention in the margin, with modest pride, to a versus cancrinus (it is in
Latin), that is to say one which reads the same with the letters taken
backwards or forwards. I have thought it well to make no secret or
'abscondence' of these absurdities. They are such, and there are many others;
indeed, the man who could commit some of them evidently could not have
guarded himself against others if he would, and perhaps would not if he
could. If any be of the mood of Butler on this particular occasion (for as
I have hinted above his own method is often only that of Benlowes
changed from unconscious indulgence to conscientious and deliberate
utilization for comic effect), or of Boileau always, he had better abstain from
Benlowes. For ' awful examples ' of the metaphysical gone mad are on
record plentifully already, and there is no need to do again what Johnson
did sufficiently more than a hundred years ago in the Life of Co7vley.
Indeed, I do not know, despite the greater sureness of Crashaw's command
of poetical expression, that Benlowes has ever gone beyond Crashaw when
he pictured the eyes of St. Mary Magdalen as walking baths and portable
oceans, though modern practice has brought out an extra whimsicality
for us in this. But the arguments which have been sketched in the
General Introduction apply here with special force. We know that
Crashaw was not a fool ; and, though there is no reason for adopting the
opinions of parasites and pensioners ^ about Benlowes, there is nearly as
little for agreeing with Butler that our poet was one. We come in him
to one of the most remarkable examples provided by English literature of
the extreme autumn of the Elizabethan annus mirabilis. The belief in
conceits is as strong as ever : and though the power of producing them poeti-
cally is dying down, and except for flickers has almost died, a fresh, deliberate,
critical, h€^\^i\\\ furor poeticus\\2,?, come to blow the embers. There is still
a too exclusive reliance on one of the great pair of poetic instruments —
the method of making the unfamiliar acceptable, of procuring a welcome for
the strange. But the exercise and employment of this is forced, mechanical^
what was called two hundred years later, in a fresh though only momentary
revival of the circumstances, ' spasmodic' One perfectly understands how,
in presence of such things, men, especially not feeling any particular
enthusiasm themselves, turned to the other method — the method of raising
and inspiring the familiar, the ordinary, the common-sense. And one
understands with scarcely less fulness and ease why men like Butler felt
their own sense of the ridiculous stimulated and, as it were, exacerbated by
the consciousness (half-conscious as it might be) that it was their own
method which was thus caricatured and brought into contempt — that their
own matters were at stake, or at least one side of them. Meanwhile the

^ Who anagrammatized his name into ' Benevolus,' and swallowed up his fortune.
(311)

Edward Benlowes

other side — that which leant to the new dispensation of Prose and Sense —
was wholly and genuinely hostile to all the works, all the spirit, all the
tastes, methods, intellectual habits of persons like the author of Theophila.
The opportunity of such understanding is not fully provided till we know
these persons in their own work — in that ' horse-furniture of beaten poetry '
in which they ambled and jingled across the stage.

But we are, or ought to be, more disinterested now than Butler or even
Dryden, though it is unnecessary to repeat what should have been said on
this head before. And Benlowes, besides his interest of absurdity — his
mere helotry which, though it might almost suffice for some, cannot be
expected to do so for all — has other and less dubious claims. The earlier,
larger, and better part of his poem is a really remarkable, and beyond all
reasonable doubt a perfectly genuine, example of that glowing intensity of
mystical devotion which plays, like a sort of Aurora, on the Anglican
High Churchmanship of the seventeenth century, and has made it, to some,
one of the most attractive phases of religious emotion to be found in all
history. It may be prejudice or partisanship, but there seems to me some
reason for connecting Benlowes' return to Anglican orthodoxy, as contrasted
with Crashaw's permanent estrangement, with the freedom from over-
lusciousness which is remarkable in the lesser poet. Benlowes is afraid
of no metaphor, however extravagant and however doubtful in point of
taste : but his metaphors are not, to use the Persian criticism,

Limber in loin and liquid on the lip

like those of some others. His ' Clevelandisms,' his astonishing contortions
and bizarrenesses of thought and phrase, are not more incompatible with
true and intense piety than some to be found in the poetical books of
the Bible, and even no doubt, to some extent, owe suggestions to them.
Those who insist upon ' sanity ' as the first and last distinction of religion
cannot like him ; but they will find (and as is notorious enough have found)
not very much less difficulty with a rather formidable body of Prophets,
Saints, Apostles, Fathers, Divine Poets, from the earliest and the latest
days of Christianity.

Coming to still closer quarters, the eccentricity of Theophila does not
prevent it from containing not a few passages, sometimes of length, that
require very little allowance or apology from any tolerably catholic-tasted
reader of poetry. There is a fine outburst, justifying its own pretty phrase,

The opal-coloured dawns raise fancy high,

beginning at stanza LXHI of the * Praelibation ' itself; another, fantastic
enough but not uncharming, on Theophila in penance, at Canto ii. LXX sq.
Theophila's Love-Song, in the six-lined stanza, shows at once the relief from
(312 )

Introduction

the stricture of the blood caused by the ' cross-gartered ' triplet which
Benlowes has perversely used elsewhere ; the address to the Ancient of
Days at vi. LII sq. is really impressive (one rather likes the idea of Blake
illustrating Benlowes anew) and at the end there is a delightful country-
and-evening piece to match the opal-coloured dawns of the opening.

But (as was once said in a phrase which, as it happens, chimes in with
the Latin anagram that cost Benlow^es part of his fortune), apologies are
things which lectori benevolo supervacanea, nihil curat malevohis. It is at any
rate open to the former, as well as to the latter, to treat this poet each after
his own kind.

In the setting up of Pharonnida Singer's reprint, already modernized in
spelling, was utilized ; but as Theophila is printed directly from the original
it may be desirable to explain the principles of orthography which have
been observed here, and will be observed in similar cases. I am, of course,
well aware that there is, as there has long been, a habit of demanding
adherence to original spelling, and of regarding those editions which comply
with this demand as ' scholarly,' and those which do not as ' slovenly.' I
disagree with the opinion and decline to comply with the demand. As a
matter of fact, the retention of the old spelling gives the editor very little
trouble, and the alteration of it a very great deal. But this is nothing. In
the first place there is no real reason, in the case of any writer at any rate
later than the beginning of the seventeenth century, for throwing in the way
of the modern reader an unnecessary obstacle to enjoyment. In the
second place, and in the case of such authors as those with whom we are
now dealing, the advantage of the original spelling, even to the severest
reader for knowledge and not enjoyment, is almost infinitesimally small.
I have before writing these words carefully gone over a page, selected at
random, of the text which follows. It contains twenty-six lines, and in
round numbers over two hundred words. Of these (putting some classes of
typographical peculiarity, to be mentioned presently, aside) exactly eight zxid^
eight only are spelt differently from our present system, and these differences
supply us with the immensely important and interesting knowledge that 'less'
was spelt ' less^ (twice), that adjectives like ' natural' were spelt with two
I's (twice), that ' obey ' was sometimes spelt ' obay,' that ' wild ' and ' find ' had
a final e \ and that the contraction of ' over ' was carelessly written ' o're ' '.
Of the general variations, the habit of beginning nouns with a capital can
be neither surprising nor instructive to any one who has interest enough in
English literature to open such a book as this : and it frets the eyes of
some who have a good deal of such interest. The other habit of frequent

' By no means always. Those who think that each spelling should be registered,
may also regret evidence that ' gem ' and 'jem ' were used according to the taste and
fancy of the moment and the person ; and that ' to Day ' with a capital, and ' to morrow '
without, occur in the same line.

(313)

Edward Ben low es

italicizing {without personification or the like) has a still more fretting
effect, and is very difficult to reduce to any logical system ; while though the
presence of apostrophes in such words as ' pow'r ' is undoubtedly important
as showing metrical theory, and is therefore kept here, the absence of it in
the genitive case is again fretting and sometimes confusing, so that it is
worth correction. The same is not quite the case with Benlowes' frequent
habit of pfrinting "whole words in capitals : and this is therefore frequently
retained. But in those other things, general and particular, nothing is
gained by the reproduction of what were in most cases mere arbitrary
printers' caprices or fashions. And even putting aside, as a question not to
be disputed, the question which makes the prettier page, there can be
little dispute that retention of such things prevents that horizontal study
of English poetry — that taking it all on equal terms — which some think the
great desideratum and desiderandum. We want these things to be regarded
as poems, not as curiosities and bric-a-brac. You cannot modernize
Chaucer without loss, because his language itself is not modern: you cannot
modernize Chatterton without unfairness, because his archaism was part^of
his deliberate method. But Chamberlayne and Benlowes lose (except in
the very rarest instances) nothing at all and may gain something : while
innumerable instances — whole lines, whole stanzas, whole passages, present
not a single actual variation from modern practice except the initial capital.
And the extraordinary 'harlequin ' effect of the original printing of Theophila,
of which a specimen is given, emphasizes unduly, for modern readers, the
already sufficient eccentricity of the text. In every case where there is the
slightest direct or indirect interest, historical, phonetic in the good sense,
prosodic, grammatical, or other, attention will be drawn in the notes to the
original spelling. Elsewhere, that method will be adopted which will give
the poetry the best chance of producing any poetical effect of which it is
capable.

After examining the minor poems attributed to Benlowes, I have
decided to add only two, to Theophila, Most, as said above, are wholly in
Latin ; and though I did not think it fit to exclude the Latin parts of his
inagmim opus there is no reason for including these. Some are very doubt-
fully his : — the initials E. B. being treacherous. The Summary of Wisdom,
however, in a hundred triplets of the Theophila stamp, though it duplicates
that poem largely does not do so wholly, and should therefore be given ;
while the little musical piece which follows it is fresh, pleasing, and very
characteristic ^

' I may perhaps refer to an article of mine on Benlowes in The [American] Biblio-
grapher (New York, Jan. 19031 at the end of which is an elaborate collation, text and
plates, of an iiniisiially complete copy of Theophila by Miss Carolyn Shipman.

(314)

Mens Authoris^

Te, w/z'CHRISTE, Tuceq^cana7n Suf-

piria Spons^e ;
Ardores^ pios, & Gaudia coelica,

Mundo
Abdita\ divinas pandam Mysteria

Mentis,
Accetifasq^ Faces Ccelo ! Fuge, cceca

Libido,
Et Faftus populator Optem, Livorqs

sectindis
Pallidus, &» rabidis violenta Calumnia

Dictis,
Diraq^ pacatas lacerans Difcordia

Mentes,
Et Scelerum male-fuada Cohors. Te,

mitis lES V,
Da mild velle fequi ! Greffus alato

/eqiee?ttis !
DiviNiE/ww tejla RoTiE ; Vas obline

Jido

Rwiflfum Gyp/o, flc Vas ego reddar

Honoris :
Sum tenebro/a Tui radiantis LUMINIS

umbra.
Quod, veniente Die, quod, decedente,

videreni !
Ctijtis «^r ViSUS Spatium, nee GLORIA

Laudem,
Nee Vox ulla capit Meritum, nee

Terminus itvum !
Unius est inN &\\>2. fatis jiiraffe Magi-

STRI,

Et Te prcEfetite7n Causae petiiffe
PATRON UM !

ThemayzV yEthereofacranda Theo-

phila Templo,
Pura repurgato folvens Libamina

Corde.

The Author's Design

Of Christ, and of the Spouse's sighs,

I sing,
And of the joys that from those ardours

spring,
The world ne'er knew ; of her soul's

mystic sense,
And of her heav'nly zeal. Blind Lust,

pack hence,
Hence Pride, exhausting Wealth ;

hence. Envy, fly,
Pal'd at success ; hence foul-mouth'd

Calumny,
And savage Discord, striving to divide
LTnited minds ; with all Sin's troop

beside.
Jesus ! grant I may follow Thee, my

feet
Wing Thou, and make them in pur-
suance fleet !

Close up my cracks by faith, so shall

I be
A vessel made of honour unto Thee.
I'm but a faint resultance from Thy

light,
Which, at Sol's rise and set, encheers

my sight.
No space Thy view, no glory bounds

Thy praise,
No terms do reach Thy worth, no age

Thy days !
May I but swear obedience to Thy

laws.
And crave Thee Patron to my pre-
sent cause !
My subject 'sTheophil, for Heav'n

design'd,
OfiTring pure Sacrifice with sacred

Mind.

^ Printed exactly from original as a specimen.

(315)

Edward Be7ilowes

Ladies,

We jangle not in schools, but strain to

set
Church-music, at which saints being

met,
May warble forth Heav'n's praise, and

thence Heav'n's blessing get.

Church-anthems irksome to the

factious grow ;
In what a sad case were they, trow,
Should they be penn'd in Heav'n,

where hymns for ever flow ?

As, fir'd affections to your beauties

move —
So, stillatories be of love ;
That, what was vapour, may, by virtue,

essence prove.

Survey Theophila ; her rules apply,
That you may live, as you would

die :
Virtue enamels life ; 'tis Grace does

glorify.

O, may those fragrant flow'rs that in

her grew.
Blown by such breath, drench'd by

such dew,
Spring, and display their buds, ladies

elect, in you !

To this Spring-Garden, virgins, chaste

and fair,
Coacht in pure thoughts, make your

repair,
To recreate your minds, and take fresh

heav'nly air.

Ye snowy fires, observe her in each

grace ;
So, may you, bright in soul as face,
Have in the Gallery of Heroic Women

place.

Nay, when your days and piety shall

sum
Up their completeness, may ye come
To endless Glory's Court, and with

blest souls have room !

THE PREFACE

Sad Experience confirms, what the
Ancient of Days foretold ; that the last
times shall be worst : for, in this dot-
age of the world (where Atheism stands
at the right hand of Profaneness, and
Superstition on the blind side of
Ignorance ; where there is unmerci-
ful oppression, and overmerciful con-
nivence, her beloved favourites (who
are of past things mindless, of
future regardless, having different
opinions, yet but one Religion, Money,
one Cjod, Mammon) do laugh at others,
who fall not down, and worship the
Golden Image that secular Nabucho-
donosors have set up ; but let them,
who think themselves safe in the herd,
being night-wildered in their intellects,
prosecute their sensuality, which will
soon, like Dalila, put out their eyes;
for earthly complacencies and ex-
terior gaieties are not only chaft' in the
hand, Vanity, but also chaff in the eye,
Vexation of Spirit, How art thou,

(3'6)

foolish World, loaden with sin, fond of
trifles, neglecting objects fit for Chris-
tians, fit for men ! Could thy minions
consider, that thou canst give but
what thou hast, a smoke of Honour, a
shadow of Riches, a sound of Pleasure,
a blast of Fame, which can neither add
to length nor happiness of life ; that
thy whole self art an overdear bargain,
if bought of the Devil, at the expense
of a deadly sin, when as sudden chance
or sickness may snatch and rend
them hence in a moment, they would
not then so madly rant it as they do,
but court sobriety, being aware of the
dangers that proceed from, and wait
upon the abused opulency of an indul-
gent fortune, whose caresses are apt to
swell into exorbitances of spirit, and
run wildly into dissoluteness of man-
ners. But, for want of circumspection,
men grow covetous as Jewish mer-
chants, ambitious as Eastern poten-
tates, factious as the giddy multitude.

Preface

revengeful as jealousy, and proud as
usurpers ; though soon such swallowed
baits dissolve into a gaily bitterness ;
■wherefore, it were highly to be wished,
that in the midst of theirextravagancies
they would ponder, that nothing is
more unhappy than the felicity of sin-
ners, who prosper as if they were the
beloved of GOD, when, indeed, by His
patience they are only (probably)
hardened to their more dreadful de-
struction ! How, how will eternal
anguish be aggravated by temporary
past happiness ! If we contemplate
what unspeakable torments are for
ever there, we should have no cause to
envy Worldlings prosperity, but rather
wonder that their portion on earth is
not greater, and that ever they should
be sensible of sickness, affront or
trouble ; since, if their fortunateness
should far exceed their ambition, it
could not any way recompense that
torture for an hour, which yet shall
hold to the duration of an infinite
Eternity I wh'en as all the play and
pageantry of earth is ever changing,
and nothing abides but the stage of
the world, and the Spectator GOD.
That bliss is not true of whose Eternity
we may doubt. View then, Christian
reader, the folly of ill counsel unmasked;
and demonstrated that all policy is
wretched without piety, without Scrip-
tural wisdom, without Christ the
Essential Wisdom ; and that all ini-
quity has so much of justice in it,
that it usually condemns, yea leads it-
self to execution ; witness Absolon's
head, Achitophel's hands, and the
surrender of Caesar's citadel, (sum-
moned by Judgement's herald, and all
his glory's cobweb-guard yielded to
the storm) just before the statue of
Pompey, whose ruin he had so am-
bitiously puisued. Would then any
wise man choose to be Caesar for his
glory, Absolon for his beauty, Achito-
phelforhis policy, Dives lor his wealth,
or Judas for his office ? Seeing then
that happiness consists not in the
afifluence of exorbitant possessions,
nor in the humours of fickle honour,
all external splendours being unsatis-
factory, let Christians neglect terres-
trial vanities, and retire into the re-
cesses of Religion, nothing being so
great in human actions as a pious

(3.7)

knowing mind, which disposeth great
things, and may yield such permanent
monuments, as bring felicity to man-
kind above the founders of empires ;
being an Antepast to the overflowing
Feasts of Eternity. Man endued with
altitude of wisdom, in the sweetness
of conscience and height of virtue,
is of all creatures sub-angelical the
Almighty's masterpiece, the image of
his Maker, a candidate of Divinity,
and model of the universe ; who, in
holy colloquies, whisperings, and secret
conferences with GOD, finds Him a
torrent of pleasure, a fountain of hon-
our, and an inexhaustible treasure ;
whose divine life is a character of the
Divine Nature, by taking GOD for the
text, Truth for the doctrine, and Holi-
ness for the use, without which the
highest endowments of the most
refined wit are but the quaint magic
of a learned lunacy. Most wretched
therefore are they, beyond all syno-
nyms of misery, whose undisciplined
education leaves them unfurnished of
skill to spend their time in anything,
but what in the prosecution of sin
tends to death ; wealth and greatness
rendering them past reproof, even
ready to tempt their very tempter ;
whereby they are wholly inclined to
sensualities, being in their entertain-
ments commonly intemperate, in their
drink humorous, their humours quarrel-
lous, their duels damnable, concluding
a voluptuous and brutish life in a
bloody and desperate death, preferring
the Body before the Soul, Sense before
the Spirit, Appetite before Reason ;
temporary fooleries, fantastic visits,
idle courtships, gay trifles, fascinating
vanities (as if the pleasure of life were
but the smothering of precious time in
those things, which are mere putfs in
expectation, vanity in enjoyment, and
vexation of spirit in departure) before
solid goodness, and eternal exultations.
To divert thee, therefore, from such
shelves of indiscreet vice, and to direct
thee to the safe and noble channel of
virtue, even to faith with good works,
to piety with compassion, to zeal with
charity, and to know the end which
distinguisheth thee from a beast, and to
choose a good end, which differenceth
thee from an evil man, be so much thine
own friend as to peruse seriously this

Edward Benlowes

spiritual poem which treateth on Sub-
ccelestials, Ccelestials, and Supercosles-
tials, whereby a delightful curiousness
may steal thee into the pleasure of Good-
ness. Know then that Sub-coelestials, or
Sublunaries, have their assignment
in the lowest portion of the universe,
and being wholly of a corporeal nature
do enjoy spiritual gifts, the chief of
which is life, by loan only ; where there
is no generation without corruption,
no birth without death. From the
surface of the earth to the centre is
3,436 miles, the whole thickness 6,872
miles, the whole compass 2 1 ,600 miles ;
from its centre to the moon is 3,924,912
miles. Now Ccelestials, or aethereal
bodies, are seated in the middle,
which, participating of a greater
portion of perfection, impart innumer-
able rare virtues, and influential efifi-
cacies to things below, not enduring a
corruption, only subject, having
obtained their period, to change. The
glorious projection and transfusion of
aethereal light, both of the sun and of
the stars of the six magnitudes, con-
stitute, by astronomical computation,
more than 300 suns upward to the
Empyrean Heaven. A star in the
Equator makes 12,598,666 miles in
an hour, which is 209,994 miles in a
minute, a motion quicker than thought.
Super-coelestials are intelligencies, al-
together spiritual and immortal, excel-
lent in their beings, intuitive in their
conceptions ; such as are the glorious
quire of the Apostles, the exulting
number of the Prophets, the innumer-
able armyof crowned Martyrs, triumph-
ing Virgins, charitable Confessors, &.C.,
or the blessed hierarchy of Angels,
participating somewhat of God and
man ; having had a beginning as man,
and now being immortal with GOD,
having their immortality for His sempi-
ternity ; void of all mixture, as is
God, and yet consisting of matter and
form as doth man ; subsisting in
some subject and substance as doth
man, yet being incorporeal, as is GoD ;
they having charity, impassibility,
subtility, and agility, having under-
standing without error, light without
darkness, joy without sorrow, will with-
out perturbation, impassibility without
corruption ; pure as the light, ordained
to serve the Lord of Light. They are

(318)

local and circumscribed by place, as
is man ; yet are they in a place not
properly by way of circumscription,
but by way of definition ; though they
cannot be in several places at once,
yet are they able in a moment to be
anywhere, as GOD always is every-
where ; of admirable capacity and
knowledge, resembling GoD ; yet
ignorant of the Essence of GOD, much
less see they all things in It, in that
like man. Even these incorporeal
substances would pine and starve, if
an all-filling, and infinitely all-sufifi-
cient and superabundant GOD were
not the object of their high contem-
plation, whose bliss of theirs is the
nearest approach to that Divine
Majesty, Who is a true, real, sub-
stantial, and essential Nature, sub-
sisting of Himself, an eternal Being,
an infinite Oneness, the radical Prin-
ciple of all things ; whose essence is
an incomprehensible light. His power
is omnipotency, and his beck an abso-
lute act; Who, before the Creation,
was a book rolled up in Himself,
having light only in Himself; Who is
a Spirit existent from everlasting to
everlasting ; One Essence, Three
Subsistencies ; whose Divine Nature
is an essential and infinite Under-
standing, which knows all things
actually always ; which cannot possibly
be comprehended by any finite creature,
much less by Man grovelling on earth
in the mud of error and gross ignor-
ance, who are unable by any art or
industry to find out the true nature,
form and virtue of the least fly or
gnat. The whole universe is the look-
ing-glass of God's power, wisdom, and
bounty ; He loves as Charity, knows
as Truth, judges as Equity, rules as
Majesty, defends as Safety, works as
Virtue, reveals as Light, tSic. He is
a never deficient Brightness, a never
weary Life, a Spring ever-flowing, the
Principle of Beginning, &c. If any
creature knew what God is, he should
be God; for none knoweth Him but
Himself, Who is good without quality,
great without quantity, present without
place, everlasting without time; Who
by a body is nowhere, by energy every-
where, above all by power, beneath all
by sustaining all, without all by com-
passing all, within all by penetrating

Pf^eface

all, being absent seen, being present
invisible ; of Whom to speak, is to be
silent, Whom to value is to exceed all
rate, Whom to define, is still to in-
crease in definition ; Infiniteness being
the right Philosopher's stone, which
turns all metals into gold, and one
dram of it being put, not only to
a Seraphin, or to a whole element, but
even to the least gnat in the world, or
the least mote in the sun, is offeree to
make it true and very GOD : For, first,
It maketh it to be the first Essence,
derived from none other. 2. It maketh
it to be but One, because there can-
not be two Infinites ; where there are
two, there is division ; where division,
there is end of one, and beginning of
another, and so no Infinite. 3. It
maketh the subject to be immaterial,
for no matter can be infinite ; for, a
body is contained, and, if contained,
not infinite ; being without matter, it
is also without passion ; for, sola
materia paiitur : and so becometh also
immutable, for there can be no change
without passion. 4. It maketh a thing
to be immoveable, for whatsoever
moveth hath bounds, but in Infinite
there is no bounds. 5. The Infinite
Thing is simple, for in composition
there is division and quality, and so
by consequent limits. Thus, Infinite-
ness distinguisheth from all creatures,
and is first primary without cause, but
existing absolutely in Himself, and of
Himself, and is to all other things the
cause and beginning, yet not diminish-
ing Him, having all their essence, but
no part of His Essence from Him. But
oh, here the most superlative expres-
sions of eloquence are no other than
mere extenuations. I tread a maze,
and thread a labyrinth on hills of ice,
where, if I slip, I tumble into heresy ;
I am with St. Peter in the deep, where,
without the Hand of Power, I should
sink eternally, and be swallowed up by
the bottomless gulf. The prosecution
of this argument were fitter for the
pens of Angels, than for the sons of
corruption ; whereof we may say, that
if all should be written of Infiniteness,
not only the whole world, but even
Heaven itself would not suffice to hold
the books which should be written.
I satisfy my incapacity with rejoicing
in God's incomprehensibility. And

(319)

now, descending from these amazing
heights, know, reader, that Divine
Poesy is the internal triumph of the
mind, rapt with St. Paul into the third
heaven, where she contemplates in-
effables : 'tis the sacred oracles of faith
put into melodious anthems that make
music ravishing, no earthly jubilation
being comparable to it. It discovers
the causes, beginnings, progress, and
end of things, it instructeth youth,
comforteth age, graceth prosperity,
solaceth adversity, pleaseth at home,
delighteth abroad, shorteneth the night,
and refresheth the day. No star in
the sphere of Wisdom outshines it :
Natural Philosophy hath not anything
in it which may satisfy the soul, be-
cause that is created to something
more excellent then all Nature ; but
this divine rapture chains the mind
with harmonious precepts from a di^-
vine influence, whose operations are
as subtle and resistless as the influence
of planets ; teaching mortals to live as
in the sight of God, by whom the
coverts of the thickest hypocrisy (that
white Devil) are most clearly seen
through. Now 'tis Judgement begets
the strength. Invention the ornaments
of a poem ; both these joined form
Wit, which is the agility of spirits :
vivacity of Fancy in a florid style dis-
poseth light and life to a poem, where-
in the masculine and refined pleasures
of the understanding transcend the
feminine and sensual of the eye : From
the excellence of Fancy proceed grate-
ful similes, apt metaphors, &c. Sub-
lime poets are by Nature strengthened,
by the power of the mind inflamed,
and by divine rapture inspired ; they
should have a plentiful stock to set up,
and manage it artfully, their concep-
tions should be choice, brief, per-
spicuous, well-habited. In Scripture
Moses, Job, David, Solomon, and
others, are famous for employing their
talents in this kind. St. Paul like-
wise cited three of the heathen poets
(whom he calls prophets) as evident
convictions of vice, and demonstra-
tions of Divinity : viz. Epimenides to
the Cretians, Tit. i. 12 K/j/jre? a^X
yj/evarai, KaKO. drjpla, yaarepes apyai.
Menander to the Corinthians, I Cor.

XV. 33 ^dflpovaiv I'jdr} )(prja6' op.i\iai

KUKai. And Aratus to the Athenians,

Edward Benlowes

Acts xvii. 28 ToC yap Km yevos icrfiiv.
From these results I fell in love with
our more divine and Christian poesy,
observing that in the sayings and
writings of our Blessed Saviour and
His disciples, there are no less than
sixty authorities produced from above
forty of David's Psalms. Hence from
that high Love, which hath no wea-
pons but fiery rays, my spirit is struck
into a flame to enter into the secret
and sacred rooms of Theology, and,
reader, if thou wilt not prejudice thine
own charity by miscrediting me,
I dare profess, thou wilt neither repent
of thy cost or time in reviewing these
interval issues of spiritual recreation,
which may thus, happily, prove a
pleasant lure to thy pious devotion.
May likewise thy charity suggest to
thy belief, that I have done my best
to that end, and if thou thinkest that
I have wanted salt to preserve them to
posterity, know that the very subject
itself is balsam enough to make them
perpetual. Delightest thou in a
Heroic Poem ? If actions of mag-
nanimity and fidelity advancing moral
virtue merit the title of heroic, much
more may Theophila, a combatant
with the world, hell, and her own cor-
ruptions, gain an eternal laurel ; whose
example and precepts, well followed,
will without doubt bring honour, joy,
peace, serenity, and hopes full of con-
fidence. The Composer hath extracted
out of the even mixture of theory and
action this cordial water of saving
wisdom, by distilling them through
the limbeck of Piety, whereof they
drink to their soul's health, who not
only take it in, as parched earth docs
rain, but turn it into nourishment by
a spiritual digestion, being made like
it Divine. This metrical Discourse of
his serious day, to which he was led by
instigation of conscience, not titillation
of fame, inoculates grafts of reason on
the stock of religion, and would have
all put upon this important considera-
tion, that the life of Nature is given
to seek the life of Grace, which
bringeth us to the life of Glory ; the
obtainment of which is his only aim,
being fully persuaded, that as every
new star gilds the firmament, and in-
creaseth its first glory : so those, who
are instruments of the conversion of

(320)

others, shall not only introduce new
beauties, but, when themselves shine
like other stars in glory, they shall
have some reflexions from the light of
others, to whose fixing in the orb of
Heaven they themselves have been
instrumental. He would not run thee
out of breath by long-winded strains ;
for in a poem, as in a prayer, 'tis vi-
gour not length that crowns it ; Ou/c
ev rci) /xe-yaXo) ro eii, aW iv rw ev ro/xeya.

TcBci/a ut Ambages pariaftt, nervosa
Favorem
Sic Brevitas J Labor est non brevis
esse brevem.

He wisheth it might be his happiness
to meet with such readers, as discern
the analogy of Grounds, as well as the
knowledge of the letter, and have as
well a system of Reason, as the under-
standing of Words : yea, such as have
judgement and afifections refined, and
with Theophila be love-sick too,
which love is never more eloquent,
than when ventilated in sighs and
groans, Heaven's delighted music being
in the broken consort of hearts and
spirits, the will there accepted for the
work, and the desire for desert.
Behold here in an original is presented
an example of life, with force of pre-
cepts, happy who copy them out in
their actions ! Indeed examples and
precepts are as poems and pictures ;
for, as poems are speaking pictures,
and pictures are silent poems : so
example is a silent precept, and precept
a speaking example. And as musick
is an audible beauty, and beauty a
visible music : so precepts are audible
sweets to the wise, and examples silent
harmony to the illiterate, who may
unclasp and glance on these poems,
as on pictures with inadvertency ; yet
he who shall contribute to the improve-
ment of the author, either by a prudent
detection of an error, or a sober
communication of an irrefragable truth,
deserves the venerable esteem and
welcome of a good Angel ; and be
who by a candid adherence unto, and
a fruitful participation of what is good
and pious confirms him therein, merits
the honourable entcrt.'iinment of a
faithful friend. But he who shall tra-
duce him in absence, for what in
presence he would seem to applaud,

Preface

incurs the double guilt of flattery and
slander ; and he who wounds him
with ill reading and misprision, does
execution on him before judgement.

Noiv He who is the Way, the Truth,
and the Life, bring those to everlastifig
Life, zvho love the Way, and Truth in
sincerity /

The several Cantos

(Praelibation.
Humiliation.
Restoration.
Inamoration.
'Representation.
Association.
Contemplation.
\ Admiration.

/Recapitulation.

Translations ^.

Abnegation.
The { Disincantation.

Segregation.

Reinvitation.
\Termination.

Be pleased, Reader, first to correct these Typographical Errours.

Acres circuntfert cen/mn licet Argus Ocellos,
Non iamen errantes cernat ubique Typos.

At the bottom B 4. Line 20. Read Ecstasies, Pag. i. Stanza i. Strains, p. 54. St. 23.
Candescent, p. 76. St. 71. Unbounded, p. 84. St. 25. Thee. p. 106. St. 86. doth most. 132.
31. )ion. p. 144. rectifie the Figures, p. 169. St. 60. repurgat. 173. 90, eversis, 203. 82.
For. 214. 1. 12. examines. 217. 1. 7. spkndet. 239. 29. didst, 268. 1. 25. Nectare, ifc.

Pneumato-Sarco-Machia : or
Theophila's Spiritual Warfare

The life of a true Christian is a
continual conflict ; each act of the
good fight hath a military scene ; and
our blessed Saviour coming like a
Man of War, commands in Chief, under
the Father, who hath laid help upon
One that is mighty, by anointing Him
with the Holy Ghost and with power.
This world is His pitched field ; His
standard the cross; His colours Blood ;
His armour Patience ; His battle Per-
secution ; His victory Death. And in
mystical Divinity His two-handed
sword is the Word and Spirit, which
wounds and heals ; and what is shed
in this holy war is not blood but Love ;

His trumpeters are Prophets and

Preachers; His menaces Mercies; and
His arrows Benefits. When He offers
Himself to us, He then invades us ;
His great and small shot are volleys

of siy;hs and

when we are

converted we are conquered ; He binds
when He embraceth us. In the cords
of love He leads us captives ; and kills
us into life, when He crucifies the old,
and quickens in us the new man. So
then here is no death, but of inbred
corruptions : no slaughter, but of
carnal affections, which being mortified
the soul becomes a living sacrifice,
holy and acceptable unto GoD.

(3^0

^ Plural in orig,

y

Edward Benlowes

When that great Gen'ralissimo of all

Infernal janissaries shall
His legions of temptations raise, enroll,
And muster them 'gainst thee, my
Soul ;
And ranks of pleasures, profits, hon-
ours bring,
To give a charge on the right wing ;
And place his dreadful troops of deadly
sins
Upon the left, with murth'ring gins :
And draw to his main body thousand
lusts,
And for reserve — wherein he trusts,
Shall specious Sanctity's Brigade pro-
vide.
Whose leader is Spiritual Pride :
And having treacherously laid his trains

In ambush, under hope of gains
By sinning, as so many scouts, to find
Each march andposture of thy mind:
Then, Soul, sound an alarm to Faith,
and press
Thy Zeal to be in readiness ;
And levy all thy faculties to serve
Thy Chief. Take PrayV for thy
reserve
Under the conduct of His SPIRIT; see
Under the banner that they be

Of thy Salvation's CAPTAIN. Then be
sure
That all thy outworks stand secure.
Yet narrower look into th' indenting
line
Of thy ambiguous thoughts. Design
With constant care a watch o'er every
part ;
Ev'n at thy Cinque-ports, and thy
heart
Set sentinels. Let Faith be captain
o'er
The life-guard, standing at the door
Of thy well-warded breast : disloyal
Fear
That corresponds with Guilt, cashier.
Nor let Hypocrisy sneak in and out

Thy garrison, with that spy. Doubt.

The watchword be I MMANUEL. Then

set

Strong parties of thy tears ; and let

Them still to sally forth prepared stand,

And but expect the Soul's command;

Waiting until a blest recruit from High

Be sent, with Grace's free supply.

Thus where the LORD of hosts the van
leads, there
Triumphant palms bring up the rear.

To My Fancy upon Theophila

Fly, Fancy, Beauty's arched brow.

Darts, wing'd with fire, thence spark-
ling flow.

From flash of lightning eye-balls turn ;

Contracted beams of ^ crystal burn.

Waive ^ curls, which Wit gold-tresses
calls.

That golden fleece to tinsel falls.

Evade thou peach-bloom cheek-
decoys,
Where both the roses blend false joys.
Press not the two-leav'd ruby gates,
Which fence their pearl-portcullis

grates.
Suck not the breath, though it return
Fragrant, as Phoenix' spicy urn.

Lock up thine ears, and so disarm
The magic of enamouring charm.
The lilied breasts with violets vein'd
Are flow'rs, as soon deflowr'd as

gain'd.
Love-locks, perfume, paint, spots dis-
praise ;
These by the black-art spirits raise.

Garnish no Bristows * with rich mine,
Glow-worms are vermin, though they

shine.
Should one love-knot all lovelies tie.
This one, these all, soon cloy and die.
Cupid, as lame as blind, being gone.
Live one with Him, Who made thee

one.

' Corrected to ' on ' in my cop3'.

* Orig. 'Wave' : but this is the common spelling for 'waive,' which seems to be
rcquiied to match ' Fly' and ' Evade.'

^ Bristol being famous as a stronghold and also for ' diamonds.'

(322 )

Commendatory Poems

Avoid exotic pangs o'th' brain,
Nor let thy margent blush a stain.
With artful method misc'line^ sow:
May judgement with invention grow.
Profit with pleasure bring to th' test,
Be ore refin'd, before imprest.

Pass forge and file, be point and edge
'Gainst what severest brows allege.
Mix balm with ink ; let thy salt heal :
T' each palate various manna deal.
Have for the wise strong sense, deep

truth :
Grand-sallet of choice wit for youth.

Cull metaphors well-weigh'd and clear,

Enucleate mysteries to th' ear.

Be wit stenographied, yet free ;

'Tis largest in epitome.

Fly through Arfs heptarchy, be clad

^Vith wings to soar, but not to gad.

Thy pinions raise with mystic fire.
Sometimes 'bove high-roof'd sense as-
pire.
So draw Theoph'la, that each line,
Cent'ring in Heav'n, may seem divine.
Her voice soon fits thee for that quire ;
W are cind'red by intrinsic fire.

Magnetic Virtue 's in her breast
Impregn'd with Grace, the noblest

guest.
Who in Love's albo ^ are enroll'd,
Unutterable joys behold.
Geographers Earth's globe survey,
Fancy, Heav'n's astrolabe display.

Six hast thou view'd of Europe's

Courts,
Soon, as Ideas, pass'd their sports.

Sense, canst thou parse and construe

bliss?
Only souls sanctified know this.
Then hackney not, to toys, life's span.
The Saint's rear tops the Courtier's van.

In Hope's cell holy hermit be :

Let ecstasies transfigure thee.

There, as Truth's champion, strive

always.
To storm Love's tower with hosts of

praise.
Keep strong Faith's Court of Guard.

The stars
March in battalia to these wars.

Zealous in pray'r besiege the sky.
Conquests are crown 'd by constancy :
Stand sent'nel at the BRIDEGROOM'S

gates ;
Who serve there, reign o'er earthly

states,
Rais'd on Devotion's flaming wings
Disdain the crackling blaze of things.

No music courts spiritual ears

Like high-tun'd anthems ; this up-

rears
Thee, Fancy, rapt through mists of

fears.
And clouds of penitential tears ;
Eagling 'bove transitory spheres.
Till ev'n the Invisible appears.

Divorc'd from past and present toys,
'Spouse New Jerus'lem's future joys ;
Be re-baptiz'd in Eye-dew-Fall,
Of all forgot, forget thou all.

These acts well kept, commence, and
prove

Professor in Seraphic Love.

A Friend's Echo, to his Fancy upon Sacrata

When Fancy bright Sacrata courts,
It is not with accustom'd sports ;
'Tis not in prizing of her eyes,
To the disvalue of the skies ;
Nor robbing gardens of their hue.
To give her flow'ry cheeks their due.

II

'Tis not in stripping of the sea
For coral, to resign that plea
It hath to the vermilion dye.
If that her ruddy lips be nigh,
Or that I long to see them ope.
As if I thence for pearl did hope.

* ' Misc'line ' in various forms = ' mixed seed.
( 323 ) Y 2

' Alhuni ' declined.

Edward Benlowes

III

Nor is't in promising my ears
Ratiier to her than to the spheres ;
Or that a smile of hers displays
As much content as Phoebus' rays,
Or that her hand for whiteness shames
The down of swans on silver Thames.

IV
Let such on these Romances dwell,
Who do admire Love's husk and shell.
Hark, wanton fair-ones, all your fawns
Are Happiness's hapless pawns :
With these alone the mind does flag ;
Beauty is oft the soul's black bag.

V
Pure flames that ravish with their fire,
Ascend unmeasurably higher ;
Which, after search we find to be
In virtue link'd with piety.
The radiations of the soul
All splendours of the flesh control.

VI

Fond sense, cry up a rosy skin,
Sacrata rosied is within :
But brighter Theophil behold,
Whose vest is wrought with purfled

gold.
Love's self in her his flame em-
beams,
Love's sacrifice Zeal's rapture seems.

VII

Of Paradise before the Fall
This Saint is emblematical.
Then, Fancy, give her due renown.
She 's Queen of Arts ; this book, her
crown.

Sacrata turns Castara unto us.

And Benlowes (anagramm'd) Bene-

VOLUS.

Jer. Collier^, M.A. and
Fell, of S.John's Coll., Camb.

Non me Palma negata Macrum, data
reddet Opimum

A smooth clear vein should have it ^

source
From Nature, and have Art but nurse :
Which, though it men at Athens feasts,
May fight at Ephesus with beasts.

Wits, rudely hal'd to Momus' bar,
By braying beasts condemned are.
Reason ! How many brutes there be
'Mong men, 'cause not inform'd by
thee ?

Vates Poet-Prophet is ; if good.
Alike both scorn'd, and understood.
Though readers' censure's writers' fate,

Spleen sha'nt contract, nor praise
dilate.

Or clap, or hiss. The moon sails

round,
Though bark'd at by each yelping

hound.
The brighter she, the more they bark ;
But slumb'ring quetch^ not in the dark.

Deign him, bright souls, your piercing

glance,
(Art's foes are sons of Ignorance)
So, freed from Night's rude overseers,
The Poet may be tried by his Peers.

' This is not the famous Jeremy, who was born only two years before Thcophila
appeared.

■■' 'It' for 'it's,' as so often.

' 'Quetch,' more usually ' quitch,' 'to move,' ' stir.'

(3H)

Commendatory Poems

A Verdict for the Pious Sacrificer

To shine, and light, not scorch, thy

Muse did aim ;
And so hath rais'd this quintessential

flame.
By th' salt, and whiteness of her lines,

we think
With holy water (tears) she mixt her ink ;
And both the fire and food of this chaste

Muse [use.

Is more what Altars, than what Tables

Who does not pray with zeal thy Faith

may move,
Rightly concentric with thy Hope and
Love .'
So, in the Temple these religious

hosts
From Hecatombs may rise to Holo-
causts.

Walter Montague S
Co7n. Manch. Filius.

A Glance at Theophila

Who sacrificM last ? The hallow'd
air
Seems all ensoul'd with sweet per-
fume.
Which pleased Heav'ti deigns to
assume,
The smiling sky appeareth brightly
fair ;
Was'tnotTHEOPHiLA'sfam'd sire,
Say, sacred Priest, obtain'd the holy
fire
To bless, and burn his victim of sub-
lime desire ?

Know, curious mortal, this rare
sacrifice.
Scarce known to our now-bedrid

age.
Was got by Zeal, and holy Rage,
And offer'd by Benevolus the wise :
For, speckled Craft, and a loose
fit
Of aguish knowledge, glimm'ring
acts beget ;
Chaste Piety bears fruit to Wisdom,
not to Wit.

No tiger's whelp with blood-be-
smear&d jaws,
No cub of bears, lick'd into shape,
No lustful offspring of the ape,
No musky panther with close guileful
claws.

No dirty gruntling of the swine,
No Hon's whelp of e'er so high
design.
Is offer'd here : keep off, Unclean !
Here 's all divine.

The chosen wood (as harbinger to all
Those future then, now passed

rites)
Was Laurel, that guards lightning
frights,
The weeping Fir, sad Yew for funeral,
The lasting Oak, and joyful Vine,
The fruitful Fig-tree billets did con-
sign ;
The peaceful Olive with cleft Juniper
did join.

On knees in tears think altar'd
Theophil,
Incensed with sweet Obedience,
Who makes Love's life in death
commence,
Scaling with heart, hands, eyes,
Heav'n's lofty hill :
Hercircledhead you might behold
Was glorified with burnish'd crown
ot gold,
Embost with gems ; embrac'd by
Angels manifold.

Thus in a fiery chariot up She flies.
Perfuming the forsaken earth

1 A rather remarkable person, born about 1603, who died in 1677 after becoming
a Roman Catholic, being imprisoned lor Royalism in the Tower, and enjoying the
abbacy of St. Martin, at Pontoise.

(325)

Edward Benlowes

(The midwife orbs do help her birth),
Into the glory of the Hierarchies.
Where ecstasies of joys do grow,
Which they themselves eternally do

sow,

But 'tis too high for me to think, or thee
to know.
Priests thus by hieroglyphic keys
Unlock their hidden mysteries.

W. Dennie, Baronet^.

To the Author, upon his Divine Poem

Till now I guess'd but blindly to what

height
The Muses' eagles could maintain their

flight !
Though poets are, like eaglets, bred to

soar,
Gazing on stars at Heav'n's mysterious

pow'r ;
Yet I observe they quickly stoop to

ease
Their wings, and perch on palace-pin-
nacles :
From thence more usefully they Courts

discern ;
The Schools where greatness does

disguises learn ;
The stages where iShe acts to vulgar

sight
Those parts which statesmen as her

Poets write ;
Where none but those wise poets may

survey
The private practice of her public play ;
Where kings, God's counterfeits, reach

but the skill .
In studied scenes to act the Godhead

ill:
Where cowards, smiling in their closets,

breed
Those wars which make the vain and

furious bleed :
Where Beauty plays not merely

Nature's part,
But is, like Pow'r, a creature form'd by

Art;
And, as at first, Pow'r by consent was

made.
And those who form'd it did themselves

invade :
So harmless Beauty (which has now far

more
Injurious force than States' or Mon-

archs' power)

Was by consent of Courts allow'd

Art's aid ;
By which themselves they to her sway

betray'd.
'Twas Art, not Nature, taught excessive

power ;
Which whom it lists does favour or

devour :
'Twas Art taught Beauty the imperial

skill
Of ruling, not by justice, but by will.
And, as successive kings scarce seem

to reign.
Whilst lazily they empire's weight sus-
tain ;
Thinking because their pow'r they

native call
Therefore our duty too is natural ;
And by presuming that we ought [t'J

obey.
They lose the craft and exercise of sway :
So, when at Court a native Beauty

reigns
O'er Love's wild subjects, and Art's

help disdains ;
When her presumptuous sloth finds

not why Art
In Pow'r's grave play does act the

longest part ;
When, like proud gentry, she does

level all
Industrious arts with arts mechanical;
And vaunts of small inheritance no less
Than new States boast of purchas'd

provinces ;
Whilst she does every other homage

scorn,
But that to which by Nature she was

born :
Thus when so heedlessly she lovers

sways.
As scarce she finds her pow'r ere it

decays ;

^ Author of The Shepherd'' s Holiday, 1653, and other Poems, which might be included
in this Collection if we had room. This piece strikes one as above the ordinary
commendatory work.

(326)

Commendatory Poems

Which is her beauty, and which un-

supplied
By what wise Art would carefully pro-
vide,
Is but Love's lightning, and does hardly

last
Till we can say it was ere it be past ;
Soon then when beauty 's gone she

turns her face,
Asham'd of that which was erewhile her

grace ;
So, when a monarch's gone, the chair

of State
Is backward turn'd where he in glory

sate.
The secret arts of Love and Pow'r ;

how these
Rule courts, and how those courts rule

provinces.
Have been the task of every noble Muse;
Whose aid of old nor Pow'r nor Love

did use
Merely to make their lucky conquests

known
(Though to the Muse they owe their

first renown ;
For she taught Time to speak, and ev'n

to Fame,
Who gives the great their names, she

gave a name),
But they by studying numbers rather

knew
To make those happy whom they did

subdue.
Here let me shift my sails ! and

higher bear
My course than that which moral poets

steer !
For now (best poet !) I divine would be.

And only can be so by studying thee.
Those whom thy flights do lead shall

pass no more
Through dark'ning clouds when they to

Heav'n would soar ;
Nor in ascent fear such excess of light
As rather frustrates than maintains the

sight ;
For thou dost clear Heav'n's darken'd

mysteries,
And mak'st the lustre safe to weakest

eyes.
Noiseless, as planets move, thy numbers

flow.
And soft as lovers' whispers when they

woo !
Thy labour'd thoughts with ease thou

dost dispense,
Clothingin maiden dress a manly sense ;
And as in narrow room Elixir lies,
So in a little thou dost much comprise.
Here fix thy pillars ! which as marks

shall be
How far the soul in Heav'n's discovery
Can possibly advance; yet, whilst they

are
Thy trophies, they but warrant our

despair :
For human excellence hath this ill fate,
That where it virtue most doth elevate
It bears the blot of being singular,
And Envy blasts that Fame it cannot

share :
Ev'n good examples may so great be

made
As to discourage whom they should

P^ ■ Will. Davenant.

Tower, May 13, 1652.

For the Author, truly Heroic, by Blood,
Virtue, Learning

Scholar, Commander, Traveller com-

mixt ;
Schools, Camps, and C^«r/j raise Fame,

and make it fixt.
Your fame and feet have Alps and

Oceans past : [Envy blast.

Fam'd feet ! which Art can't raise, nor

Beaie7)umi diVid Fletcher coin'd a golden

way, [play.

T' express, suspend, and passionate a

( 327 )

Nimble and pleasant are all motions

there,
For two intelligences rul'd the sphere.

Both sock and buskin sunk with them,

and then
Davenant a.nd Denham buoy'd them up

agen.
Beyond these pillars some think

nothing is :
Great Britain's wit stands in a precipice.

Edward Ben low es

But, Sir, as though Heav'n's Straits

discover'd were.
By science of your card, Unknowns

appear :
Sail then with prince of wits, iUustrious

Dtinne ^,
Who rapt earth round with Love, and

was its sun.

But your first love was pure : whose

ev'ry dress
Is inter-tissu'd Wit and Holiness ;
And mends upon itself; whose streams

(that meet
\\'ith Sands' - and Herbert's) grow more

deep, more sweet.

I, wing'd with joy, to th' Praeliba-

TION fly ;
Thence view I Error's Tragi-comedy :
With Theophil from fear to faith

I rise,
The mys'ic Bridge, 'twixt Hell and

Paradise.

Hell scap't seems double Heav'n :

Renew'd, with bands
Of pray'rs, vows, tears, with eyes, and

knees, and hands,
1 see her cope with Heav'n, and

Heav'n does thence.
As in the Baptist's days, feel violence.

But her ecstatic SONGS OF LovE
declare,

Ho Jedidiah she's apparent heir.

Be those then next, The SONG OF
Songs. Love styles

'B.er fourth, The Second Book of Can-
ticles.

But with what dreadful yet delightful

tones
She sings when glorified! then,

stingless drones
Are Death and Hell : Joy's crescent

then 's increast.
To fullest lustre, at her Bridal Feast.

Sixth, sev'nth, and eighth such ban-
quets' frame would make

Wisdom turn Cormorant ; my spirits
shake

V th' reading. Soul of joy ! thy ravish-
ing sp'rit

Draws bed-rid minds to longing
appetite.

* Donne.

Fame, wTite with gold on diamond

pages ; treat
Upon the glories of a work so great.
Be V then enacted, that all Graces

dwell
In Thee Theoph'la, Virtue's Chro-

?ticle :

Who gemm'st it in Jerusalem above,
Where all is Grace and Glory, Light

and Love.
To that Unparallel this comes so

near,
That, 'tis a glimpse of Heav'n to read

thee here.

O, blest Ambition ! Speculations high
Enchariot thee, Elijah-like, to the

sky!
What state worth envy, like thy sweet

abode,
That overtops the world, and mounts

to God?

Walkt through your Eden stanzas, you

invite
Our ravisht souls to recreate with

delight,
In bow'r of compt discourse : great

verse, but prose
Such, none but our great Master could

compose.

For bulk, an easy Folio is this all ;
Yet we a volume may each Canto

call.
For solid matter : where we should

consult
On paragraphs, mark what does thence

result :

For, every period 's of Devotion
proof,

And each resolve is of concern'd be-
hoof.

Peruse, examine, censure ; oh, how
bright

Does shine Religion, chequer'd with
delight !

Diffusive Soul ! your spirit was soar-
ing, when

This manna dew'd from your inspired
pen.

Such melting passions of a soul divine,

Could they be cast in any mould but
thine .''

^ George Sandi's.

Comme7tclatory Poems

Wonder arrests our thought ; that you

alone
In suchcombustions, wherein thousands

groan,
(And when some sparkles of the public

flame
Seiz'd on your private state, and scorcht

the same)

Could warble thus. Steer ships each
pilot may

Those ladies, Sir, we virtuosas

call.
But copies are to this original ;
Whose charming empire of her grace

does sense
Astonish by a super-excellence.

And, \\\i&a.s Midas'' touch made gold:

so, thus
Theophila's touch may make

Theophilus.

Zcuxes cuU'd out perfections of each

sort
For his Pandora; yet did all come

short
As far of this embellishment as she

In calms ; but whoso can in stonny

day
May justly domineer. But what may

daunt
Him, who, like mermaids, thus in

storms can chant t
Grace crowns the suffering, Glory the

triumphing Saint.

Th. Pestil,

Regi quondam a Sacris.

Had been limn'd out in Painting's

infancy.
For, magisterial virtue draws no

grace
Fromcorp'ral limbs, or features of the

face.

Here Heav'n-born SuadaS ^ star-like,

gild each dress
Ofthe Bride Soulespous'd to Happiness,
Here Piety informs poetic art ;
As all in all, and all in every part.
For all these died not with fam'd

Cartwf-ight, though
A score of poets join'd to have it so.
T. Benlowes, a. M.

For the much honoured Author

The winged Intellect once taught to fly
By Art and Reason, may be bold to pry
Into the secrets of a wand'ring star,
Although its motions be irregular :
And from the smiles and glances that

those bright
Corrivals cast, that do embellish night,
Guess darkly at, though not directly

know,
The various changes that fall here be-
low.
And perching on the high'st perimeter,
May find the distances of every sphere.
Which in full orbsdomove, tunicledso
That the less spheres within the greater

As cell in cell, spun by the dying fly ;
Or ball in ball, turn'd in smooth ivory.
Each hath a prince circled upon a

throne.
In a refulgent habitation.

Only the constellations seem to be

Like nobles, in an aristocracy.

Their Milky Way like Innocence, and
thus

Should all great actions be diaphanous.

But the great Monarch, Light, dis-
poses all :

His stores are magazine, and festival :

And by his pow'r Earth's epicycle may

Move in a silver sphere, as well as they.

Else, her poor little orb appears to be

A very point to their immensity.

Thus strung, like beads, they on their
centres move ;

But the great centre of this all, is Love.
Though the brute creatures by the
height of sense

Foretell their calm and boisterous
influence.

Yet to find out their motions is man's
part,

* ' Suada' or ' Suadela," one of the subsidiary goddesses of Love and Marriage, who
' persuades ' the Beloved.

( 329 )

Edward Benlowes

Not by the help of Nature, but of Art,
Which rarefies the soul, and makes it

rise,
And sees no farther than that gives it

eyes.
And by that prospect will directly tell
What regions stoop to every parallel.
Which cities furred are with snow,

which lie
Naked, and scorch'd under Heav'n's

canopy.
How men, like cloves stuck in an

orange, stand
Still upright, with their feet upon the

land.
And where the seas oppos'd to us do

flow,
Yet quench they not that heat where

spices grow.
It sees fairMorning's risingneck beset
With orient gems, like a rich carcanet.
W^ho every night doth send her beams

to spy
In what dark caves her golden trea-
sures lie :
And there they brood and hatch the

callow race.
Till they take vving, and fly in every

place.
It sees the frozen Fir shrouding its

arms.
While Cocus trees are courted with

blest charms,
That swell their pregnant womb : whose

issue may
Sweeten our world, but that they die

by th' way.
It sees the Seasons lying at the door,
Some warm and wanton, and some cold

and poor ;
And knows from whence they come,

both foul and fair.
And from their presence gilds, or soils

the air.
It sees plain Nature's face, how rude

it looks
Till it be polished by men and books:
And most of her dark secrets can dis-
cover
To open view of an industrious lover,
whatever under Heav'n's great

throne we prize
Orvalue, in Art's chamber-practice lies.
But when before the Almighty Judge

he come
To speak of IIlM, my Orator is dumb.
Go then, thou silenced Soul, present

thy plea

( 11^ )

By the fair hand of sweet Theophila.
Hap'ly thy harsh and broken strains

may rise
In the perfume of her sweet sacrifice ;
And if by this access thou find'st a way
To th' highest THRONE, alas ! what

canst thou say ?
What can the bubble (though its breath

it bring
Upon the gliding stream) say of the

spring .''
Can the proud painted flow'r boast

that it knows
The root that bears it, and whereon it

grows ?
Or can the crawling worm, though

ne'er so stout,
With its meand'rings find the centre

out ?
Can Infinite be measur'd by a span ?
And what art thou, less than all these,

O man ?
Man is a thing of nought I yet from

above
There beams upon his soul such rays

of love,
As may discover by FaitJCs optic,

where
The Burning Bush is, though not see

Him there.
The meekest man on earth did only see
His shadow shining there, it was not

He,
And if that great soul, who with holy

flame.
And ravish'dspirit to the Third Heav'n

came.
Saw things unutterable, what can we
Express of those things that we ne'er

did see ?
The Senses' strongest pillars cannot

bear
The weight of the least grain of glory

there.
No more than where to bound, or com-
prehend
Infinity, they can begin, or end.

Since then the Soul is circumscrib'd

within
The narrow limits of a tender skin ;
Let us be babes in innocence, and grow
Strong upwards, and more weak to

things below.
By sacred chemistry, the spirit must
Ascend and leave the sediment to dust.
This cordial is distilled from the eyes.
And we must sprinkle 't on the sacri-
fice:

Comme7idatory Poems

Ofifer'd i' th' virtue of Theoph'LA'S

name.
Which must be to it holocaust and

flame.
Then, wing'd with Zeal, we may aspire

to see

The hallow'd Oracles exprest by THEE,
Who art Love'S Flai?ien, and with

Holy fire
Refin'st thy Muse, to make her mount

the higher.

Arth, Wilson.

For the Renowned Composer

A Poet's ashes need nor brass, nor

stone
To be their wardrobe ; since his name

alone
Shall stand both brass and marble to

the tomb.
Nor doth he want the cere-cloth's

balmy womb
T' enwrap his dust, until his drowsy

clay
Again enliven'd by an active ray.
Shot from the last day's fire, shall

wake, and rise,
Attir'd with Light. No ; when a

Poet dies.
His sheets alone wind up his earth.

They'll be
Instead of Mourner, Tomb, and Obse-

quy;
And to embalm it, his own ink he

takes :
Gum Arabic the richest mummy

makes.
Then, Sir, you need no obelisk, that

may
Seclude your ashes from plebeian

clay.
For, from your mine of Fancy now we

see
Y' have digg'd so many gems of Poesy,
That out of them you raise a glorious

shrine,
In which your ever-blooming name

will shine ;
Free from th' eclipse of age, and

clouds of rust,
Which are the moths to other com-
mon dust.
Then, could we now collect th' all-

worshipt ore,

With which kind Nature paves the
Indian shore ;

And gather to one mass that stock of
spice,

Which copies out afresh old Paradise,

And in the Phoenix' od'rous nest is
pent.

All would fall short of this rich monu-
ment.
About the surface of whose verge,
you stick

So many fragrant flow'rs of Rhetoric

That lovers shall approach in throngs,
and seek

With their rich leaves t' adorn each
beauty's cheek;

So that these sacred trophies will be-
come

In after-times your altar, not your tomb.

To which the poets shall m well-dressed
lays.

Offer their victims, with a grove of bays.
For here among these leaves, no
speckled snake,

Or viper doth his bed of venom make :

No lust-burnt goat, nor looser Satyr
weaves

His cabin out, among these spotless
leaves.
A virgin here may safely dart her eye,

And yet not blush for fear, lest any by

Should see her read. These pages do
dispense

A julep, which so charms the itch
of sense,

That we are forc'd to think your guilt-
less quill

Did, with its ink, the turtle's blood
distil.

T. Philipot.

( 331 )

Edward Be7ilowes

Pietatis, Poeticesque, Cultori

Igne cales tali, quali cum Nuncius

Ora
Seraphicus sacro tetigit Carbone

Prophetae.
Macte Dei plenum Pectus ; Te his

dedito Flammis,
Sancte Pdetarum Phoenix ! Repara-

bilis Ignis
Te voret hie Totum ; Quo plus con-

sumeris Illo,
Hoc magis ^Eterno Tu consummaberis

yEvo,

Incipe Censuri major, qui Fonte

Camtenas
Idalias tingis casto ; Tua Metra

Sionem
Parnasso jungunt celebri ; tam digna

Lituris
Nulla canis, qukm sunt omni dignis-

sima Laude.
Theiophilam resonare docens Modu-

lamine diam,
Impia priscorum lustrasti Carmina

Vatum.

Perge, beatifico correptus Numine,

Perge,
Vivida felici fundendo Poemata

Flatu,
Pectore digna tuo, COELI penetrare

Recessus :
Et, quK densa tegit Nubes, Mysteria

claro
Lumine perlustra, solito non concite

Plectro,
Quaslibet altisono prosterne Piacula

Versu.

Perfice, terrenum transcende, Poeta,

Cacumen :
Conversus converte Vagos ; Quos

decipit Error
Incautos, Meliora doce; Britonesque

bilingues
Lingua fac erudiat Britonum, sit

quanta superbi
Pectoris Ambitio et Veri Caligo ;

Camsenis
Subdola vesani depinge Sophismata

Secli. Jo. Gaudentius, S.T.D.

In Sanctos Theophilae Amores

ViX mihi Te vidisse semel concessit
Apollo,
Inque tuo pictam Carmine Theiophi-
lam :
Ouum gemino Ipse miser, sed fortu-
natus Amore
Deperii ; dubius sic Ego factus
Amans.
Cur Dubius ? Fallor. Nam, quamvis
partibus acquis,
Igne simul duplici me novus urat
Amor,
Afficitur tamen Objecto, atque unitur in
uno,
Totaque divisis una Favilla manet.
Ne, Lector, mircre ; Novum est.
Sed protinus Ignes,
Si sine felle legas, experiere meos.
Theiophila ! In cunctis Prascellentis-
sima Nymphis ;
Nominisad Famam quot Tibi Corda
cadent !

(332 )

Corporis, Ingeniique Bonis dotata
triumphas,
Binaque cum summa Laude, Tro-
phasa geris.
Docte, Tibi teternas quales Specta-
cula Chartie,
Ouotque Ilii efficient Pagina docta
Procos I
Sexus uterque pari, visa Hac, ardebit
Amore ;
Hacque frui ex aequo Sexus uterque
volet.
Ne vereare tamen, Cuncti licet Oscula
figant
Theiophilas,ne sit casta, vel una Tibi.
FaniEe Ejus nil detrahitur si publica
liat {
Hanc ut ament Omnes, Nil Tibi,
Amice, perit.
Tu solus Domina dignus censeberis Ilia,
111am qui solus pingere dignus eras.
P. DE CARDONEL.

Latin Comme?idatory Poems

In celeberrimam Theophilam, feliclter

elucubratam

Anne novi, veterisve prius Monumenta

revolvam
Ingenii : et Tragicos superantia

Scripta Cothurnos,
Atque Sophoclceis numerari digna Tri-

umphis ?
Ou^m bene vivificis depingitur

Artibus Echo ?
Qukm bene monstriferas Vitiorum

discutis Hydras?
Carminibusque in doces quantum pec-

caverit yEvum ?
Quanta Polucephalis repserunt Agmina

Sectis ?
Sphinge Theologica quje dia Poemata

pangis ?
Mira et Vera canens, nodosa ^nig-

mata solvis.
Nee vit?e pars uUa perit, nee tran-

sigis unam
Ingratam sine Luce Diem ; dum

pervigil Artes
Exantlas, avidisque bibis Permessida

Labris. [catus Eoo,

Jamque, velut primo Phoenix revo-

Apparet nostris nova Sponsa Theo-

phila Terris.
Illius h roseis flammatur Purpura malis ;
Et Gemmis Lux major adest, et

blandius Aurum

A Calamo, Benlose, tuo ; dum Dotibus

amphs
Excolis, Ingeniique Opibus melioribus

ornas.
Lactea Ripheas praecellunt Colla

Pruinas ;
Fronte Decor radiat, sanctoque Mode-
st ia Vultu ;
Suada verecundis et Gratia plena

Labellis
Assidet, et casti Mores imitata Poetas,
Te Moderatorem fusis amplectitur

Ulnis.
Hisce Triumphatrix decorata Theo-

phiLi Gemmis,
Celsior assurgit, Mundumque nitentior

intrat
Virgineis comitata Choris ; Quam

Tramite longo
Agmina Cecropiis stipant Heliconia

Turmis.
Non ahter quoties adremigat

yEquoris Undas
Fraenatis Neptunus Equis, fluit ocyus

Antris
Nereidum Gens tota suis, Dominumque

salutant,
Blandula caeruleo figentes Oscula

Collo.

P. F.

Qui Virtutes Theo[p]hilae praedicat, Religioni
non Gloriae studeat. Noverim Te, Domine,
noverim me .

Laudis in Oceano me submersistis,
Amici : [patet.

Maxima pars Decoris me nihil esse,
Laus, famulare Deo, submissi Victima
Cordis
Est Hecatombceis anteferenda
Sacris.
Christe, meas da par ut sit mea Vita
Camaeuce ;
Sim neque Laus Aliis prodiga, parca
TiBI.

( 333)

O'ercome me not with your perfumes,
O Friends !
My greatest worth, to show I'm
nothing, tends.
Praise, wait on Heav'n. Th' Host of
an humble heart
Excels the sacred hecatombs oi Art.
Grant, LORD, my life may parallel my
lays !
They me too much, I Thee too
little, praise.

Edward Benlowes

In Divinos Poetas

Sancto Sancta Columba Musa Vati.
Parnassus superte Cacumen ^thras.
Christ! Gratia Pegasus supremus.
Vati Castalis Unda Dius Imber.
Pennam dat Seraphin suis ab

Alis.
Agni scribitur Optimi Cruore.

Vati Bibliotheca Sphasra Coeli.

Vitas h Codice foenerans Medullam,

Internes penetrat Poli Recessus.

O, Conamina fructuosiora !

O, Solamina delicatiora !

Per Qu£e creditur Angelus Poeta,

Patronusque pio Deus Poetas !

On Divine Poets

A HALLOw'd Poet's Muse is th' Holy

Dove.
Parnassus th' Empyrean Height above.
Hislofty-soaring Pegasus Christ's Love.
Heav'n's Show'r of Grace is his Casta-

lian spring.
A Seraphin lends pen from his own

wing.
His ink is of the best Lamb's purple

dye.
To Him Heav'n's sphere is a vast

library.

Rais'd by th' advantage of th' Eternal

Book,
His piercing eye ev'n into Heav'n

does look.
O, what endeavours can more fruitful

be!
What comforts can we more delightful

see !
By which the poet we an Angel

deem;
Yea, God to's sacred Muse does

Patron seem.

Ergo brevi stringam Coelestia Cantu

Aiming to profit, as to please, we
bring
No usual hawk to try her wing.
Come, come Theoph'la, fresh as
May:
Hark how the falc'ner lures ! This is
Love's Holy-Day.

Her stretch is for Devotion's quarry,
which
Mounts up her Zeal to eagle-pitch :

Cheerthouherpresenttim'rous flight,
Whilst she thus cuts with wing the
driving rack of height.

From thence, 'bove sparkling stars,
she'll spritely move,
Her plumes of Faith being prun'd

by Love.
As Grace shall imp her pinion, more,
Or IcFS, she will, or flag, or 'bove
v.-hat 's mortal, soar \

^ Of these later pieces Davenant's has not only the most famous author but the
most striking interest from contrast of style. Pestil f-cll) was a Cambridge man who
contributed to Lacrymae Musarum. If Arthur Wilson is the A. W. who died in the
j'car of our book he was a man of some mark. T. PhiI[i]pot was a 'miscellaneous
writer ' ; ' Gaudentius ' the famous ' editor ' of Eikon Dasilike ; Cardonel probably the
father of Marlborough's secretary. Of T. Benlowes and P. F. I know nothing.

( 334)

THEOPHILA

THE PRELIBATION TO THE SACRIFICE

Canto I

THE ARGUMENT

Spes alit occiduas qui Sublunaribus hseret ;

Rivales Jesus non in Amore sinit.
Quid mihi non sapiat Terra, mihi dum sapit ^ther?

Sed sapiet, sapias ni mihi, Christe, nihil.

Awake, arise, Love's steersman, and first taste

Delight; sound that; ere anchor's cast
On Joy ; steer hence a pray'rful course to Heav'n at last.

STANZA I

Might souls converse with souls, by

Angel-way,
Enfranchis'd from their pris'ning

clay,
What strains by intuition, would

they then convey !

11
But,Spirits,sublim'dtoofast,evap'rate
may.
Without some interpos'd allay ;
And notions, subtiliz'd too thin, ex-
hale away.

Ill
The Gold (Sol's child) when in
Earth's womb it lay
As precious was, though not sogay.
As, when refin'd, it doth itself abroad
display.

IV

Mount, Fancy, then through orbs
to Glory's sphere lo

(Wild is the course that ends not
there) :

You, who are Virtue's friends, lend
to her tongue an ear.

V

Let not the wanton love-fights,
which may rise

( 335 )

From vocal fifes, flame-darting eyes
(Beauty's munition), hearts with
wounds unseen surprise :

VI

Whose basilisk-like glances taint the

air

Of virgin pureness, and ensnare
Entangled thoughts i' th' trammels of
their ambush-hair.

VII

Love's captive view, who 's days in

warm frosts spends ; u)

On 's idol dotes, to wit pretends ;

Writes, blots, and rends ; nor heeds
where he begins or ends.

VIII

His stock of verse in comic frag-
ments lies :
Higher than Ten'riff 's Peak he flies :

Sol 's but a spark ; thou outray'st
all diamonds of the skies.

IX

'Victorious flames glow from thy

brighter eye ;
Cloud those twin-lightning orbs

(they'll fry
An ice-vein'd monk), cloud them,

or, planet-struck, I die.

Edward Bejilowes

[Canto I

' Indians, pierce rocks for gems ;
negroes, the brine
For pearls ; Tartars, to hunt com-
bine

For sables ; consecrate all offrings
at her shrine. 30

XI

' Crouch low, O vermeil-tinctur'd

cheek ! for, thence
The organs to my optic sense
Are dazzled at the blaze of so

bright angelence.'

XII

Does Troy-bane Helen (friend)

with angels share ?
All lawless passions idols are :
Frequent are fuco'd cheeks ; the

virtuosa 's rare :

XIII

A truth authentic. Let not skin-
deep white
And red, perplex the nobler light

O' th' intellect ; nor mask the soul's
clear piercing sight.

XIV

Burn odes, Lust's paperplots ; fly
plays, its flame ; 40

Shun guileful courtisms ; forge
for shame

No chains ; lip-trafific and

dialogues disclaim.

XV

eye-

Hark how the frothy, empty heads

within
Roar and carouse i' th' jovial sin.
Amidst the wild Levaltos on their

merry pin !

XVI

Drain dry the ransack'd cellars, and

resign
Your reason up to riot, join
Your fleet, and sail by sugar rocks

through floods of wine :

XVII

Send care to Dead Sea of phleg-
matic age ; 49
Ride without bit your restive rage ;

And act your revel-rout thus on
the tippling stage.

XVIII

' Swell us a lustybrimmer, — more, —

till most ;
So vast, that none may spy the

coast :
We'll down with all, though therein

sail'd Lepanto's host :

XIX

' Top and top-gallant hoise ; we

will outroar
The bellowing storms, though

shipwrackt more
Healths are, than tempting'st sirens

did enchant of yore.

XX

' Each gallon breeds a ruby ; —
drawer, score 'um ;
Cheeks dyed in claret seem o' th'
quorum,

When our nose-carbuncles, like link-
boys, blaze before 'um.' 60

XXI

Such are their ranting catches, to
unsoul,
And outlaw man ; they stagger, roll,
Their feet indent, their sense being
drunk with Circe's bowl.

XXII

Entombed souls ! Why rot ye thus

alive,
Meltingyoursalttolees? and strive
To strangle Nature, and hatch Death ?

Healths, health deprive.

XXIII

The sinless herd loathes your sense-
stifling streams,
When long spits point your tale :
ye breams

In wine and sleep, your princes
are but fumes, and dreams.

41 courtisms] -^ 'ceremonies of courtship.'
68 breams] = ' fish ' chosen for rhyme merely
different.

(336)

see the Latin, p. 411, 1. 68, which is

Canto I] TheophHu : T'/ie Prelibation

XXIV

I'd rather be preserv'd in brine, than

rot 70

In nectar. Now to dice they're got :

Their tables snare in both ; then
what can be their shot ?

XXV

Yet blades will throw at all, sans

fear, or wit ;
Oaths black the night when dice

don't hit ;
When winners lose at play, can

losers win by it ?

XXVI

Egypt's spermatic nurse, when her

spread floor
Is flow'd 'bove sev'nteen cubits o'er.
Breeds dearth : and spendthrifts

waste, when they inflame the

score.

XXVII

Tell me, ye piebald butterflies, who

poise
Extrinsic with intrinsic joys ; 80
What gain ye from such short-liv'd,

fruitless, empty toys ?

XXVIII

Ye fools, who barter gold for trash,

report.
Can fire in pictures warm ? Can

sport
That stings, the mock-sense fill ?

How low 's your Heav'n ! how

short !

XXIX

Go, chaffer Bliss for Pleasure ; which

is had
More by the beast, than man ;

the bad
Swim in their mirth (Christ wept,

ne'er laugh'd) : the best are sad.

XXX

Brutes covet nought but what's
terrene ; Heav'n's quire
Do in eternal joys conspire ;
Man, 'twixt them both, does inter-
mediate things desire. 90

XXXI

Had we no bodies, we were angels ;

and
Had we no souls, we were un-

mann'd
To beasts : brutes are all flesh, all

spirit the heav'nly band.

XXXII

At first God made them one, thus;

by subjecting
The sense to reason; and directing
The appetite by th' spirit : but sin,

by infecting

XXXIII

Man's free-born will, so shatters

them, that they
At present nor cohabit may
Without regret, nor without grief

depart away.

XXXIV

Go, cheating world, that dancest
o'er thy thorns ; 100

Lov'st what undoes ; hat'st what
adorns :

Go, idolize thy vice, and virtue
load with scorns.

XXXV

Thy luscious cup, more deadly than

asp's gall,
Empois'neth souls for hell: thou all
Time's mortals dost enchant with

thy delusive call.

XXXVI

Who steals from Time, Time steals

from him the prey :
Pastimes pass Time, pass Heav'n

away :
Few, like the blessed thief, do steal

Salvation's Day.

XXXVII

Fools rifle Time's rich lott'ry : who

misspend 109

Life's peerless gem, alive descend ;

And antedate with stings their
never-ending end.

XXXVIII

Whose vast desires engross the
boundless land

7a Probably ' table's ' should be read ; and possibly ' share.

(337) Z

Edward Be^tlowes

[Canto I

By fraud, or force ; like spiders
stand,
Squeezing small flies ; such are their
netSj and such their hand.

XXXIX

When Nimrod's vulture-talons par'd

shall be,
Their house's name soon changed

you'll see ;
For their Bethesda shall be turn'd

to Bethany.

XL

Better destroy'd by law, than rul'd
by will;
What salves can cure, if balsams
kill?

That good is worst that does de-
generate to ill. 1 20

XLI

Had not God left the Best within

the power
Of persecutors, who devour ;
We had nor martyrs' had, nor yet

a Saviour.

XLII

Saints melt as wax, fool's-clay grows

hard at cries
Of that scarce-breathing corse,

who lies
With dry teeth, meagre cheeks, thin

maw, and hollow eyes.

XLIII

God made life ; give 't to man ; by

opening veins,
Death 's sluic'd out, and pleuretic

pains :
Make God thy pattern, cure thyself,

alms are best gains.

XLIV

Heav'n's glory to achieve, what

scantling span 130

Hath the frail pilgrimage of man !

Which sets, when risen ; ends, when
it but now began.

XLV

Who fight with outward lusts, win
inward peace ;

Judgements against self-judges
cease :
Who face their cloaks with zeal do
but their woes increase.

XLVI

The mighty, mighty torments shall
endure,
If impious : hell admits no cure.
The best security is ne'er to be secure.

XLVII

Oaks, that dare grapple with Heav'n's

thunder, sink
All shiver'd ; coals that scorch do

shrink 140

To ashes ; vap'ring snuffs expire in

noisome stink.

XLVIII

Time, strip the writhell'd witch ;
pluck the black bags
From off Sin's grizzly scalp ; the
hag's

Plague-sores show then more loath-
some than her leprous rags.

XLIX

'Twas she slew guiltless Naboth ;

'twas she curl'd
The painted Jezebel; she hurl'd
Realms from their centre ; she un-

hing'd the new-fram'd world.

L

Blest then who shall her dash 'gainst

rocks (her groans.
Our mirth), and wash the bloody

stones
With her own cursed gore ; repave

them with her bones. 150

LI

By Salique law she should not reign :

storms swell
By her, which halcyon days dispel :
Nought 's left that 's good where she

in souls possest does dwell.

LII

'Twas her excess bred plagues ! in-
fecting stars,
Infesting dearth, intestine wars

Surfeit with graves the earth, 'mongst
living making jars.

128 ' Pleuretic ' sic. in orig. but should be of course < pleun'tic'
( 338 )

Canto I] TheophUa : The Prelihation

LIII

My soul, enkbyrinth'd in grief,

spend years
In sackcloth, chamleted with

tears,
Retir'd to rocks' dark entrals, court

unwitness'd fears.

LIV

There pass with Heraclite a gentler

age, 1 60

Free from the sad account of rage.

That acts the toilsome world on its
tumultuous stage.

LV

There, sweet Religion strings, and
tunes, and screws
The soul's the orb, and doth infuse
Grave Doric epods in th' enthusiastic
Muse.

LVI

There, Love turns trumpets into
harps, which call
Off sieges from the gun-shot wall ;
Alluring them to Heav'n, her seat
imperial.

Lvn

Thence came our joy, and thence

hymns eas'd our grief; 169

Of which th' angelical was chief ;

' Glory to God ; earth peace ; good

will for man's relief.'

LVIII

Quills, pluck'd from Venus' doves,

impress but shame :
Then, give your rhymes to Vulcan's

flame ;
He'll elevate your badger feet : he 's

free, though lame.

LIX

I

Old

Things fall, and nothings rise !

Virtue fram'd
Honour for Wisdom : Wisdom

fam'd
Old Virtue: such times were ! wealth

then Art's page was nam'd.

LX

Lambeth was Oxford's whetstone :
yet above
Preferment's pinnacle they move,

(339)

Who string the universe, and
bracelet it for love. 180

LXI

Virtue's magnific orb inflames their

zeal ;
By high-rais'd anthems plagues

they heal ;
And threefork'd thunders in

Heav'n's outstretch'd arm repeal.

LXII

Shall larks with shrill-chirpt matins

rouse from bed
Of curtain'd night Sol's orient head ?
And shall quick souls lie numb'd,

as wrapt in sheets of lead?

LXIII

Awake from slumb'ring lethargy ;

the gay
And circling charioteer of day.
In 's progress through the azure

fields sees, checks our stay.

LXIV

Arise ; and rising, emulate the rare

Industrious spinsters, who with fair

Embroid'ries checker-work the

chambers of the air. 192

LXY

Ascend ; Sol does on hills his gold

display.
And, scatt'ring sweets, does spice

the day,
And shoots delight through Nature

with each arrow'd ray.

LXYI

The opal-colour'd dawns raise fancy

high;
Hymns ravish those who pulpits

fly;
Convert dull lead to active gold

by love-chemy.

LXVII

As Nature's prime confectioner, the

bee, 199

By her flow'r-nibbling chemistry,

Turns vert to or : so, verse gross
prose does rarefy.

LXVIII

Pow'rs cannot poets, as they pow'rs
up-buoy ;

Z 2

Edward Bejtlowes

[Canto I

Whose soul-enliv'ning charms
decoy
Each wrinkled care to the pacific
sea of joy.

LXIX

As, where from jewels sparkling

lustre darts,
Those rays enstar the dusky parts :
So, beams of poesy give light, life,

soul to arts.

LXX

Rich poesy ! thy more irradiant gems

Give splendour unto diadems,
And with coruscant rays emblaz'st
Honour's stems. 210

LXXI

Thee, Muse (Art's ambient air. In-
vention's door,
The stage of wits) both rich and
poor

Do court. A prince may glory to
become thy wooer.

LXXII

Poets lie entomb'd by kings. Arts

gums dispense ;
By rumination bruis'd, are thence
By verse so fir'd, that their perfume

enheav'n's the sense.

LXXIII

Its theory makes all wiser, yet few
better;
Practice is spirit, art the letter;

Use artless doth enlarge, art use-
less does but fetter.

LXXIV

Sharp sentences are goads to make

deeds go;

220

Good works are males, words
females show :
Whose lives act precedents, pre-
vent the laws, and do.

LXXV

So far we know, as we obey God; and
He counts we leave not His com-
mand,

When as our interludes but 'twixt
our acts do stand.

LXXVI

Honour's brave soul is in that body

shrin'd,
Which floats not with each giddy

wind
(Fickleas courtly dress),but Wisdom's

sea does find :

LXXVII

Steering by Grace's pole-star, which
is fast
In th' apostolic Zodiac plac'd a.t^o
Whose course at first four evangelic
pilots trac'd :

LXXVIII

The Theanthropic Word ; that

mystic glass
Of revelations ; that mass
Of oracles ; that fuel of pray'r ;

that wall of brass ;

LXX IX

That print of Heav'n on earth ;

that Mercfs treasure
And key ; that evidence and

seizure ;
Faith's card, Hope's anchor ; Love's

full sail ; abyss of pleasure.

LXXX

Such saints' high tides ne'er ebb

so low, to shelf
Them on the quicksand of their

self-
Swallowing corruption : Sin 's the

wrack, they fly that elf, 240

LXXXI

Gloomier than west of death ; than

north of night ;
Than nest of triduan blacks,

with fright
Which Egypt scar'd when He brought

darkness who made light.

LXXXII

Compar'd to whose storm, thund'r-

ing peals are calm :
Compar'd to whose sting, asps

yield balm :
Compar'd to whose loath'd charm,

death is a mercy-psalm.

222 Orig. ' Presidents' as often. 236 seizure] In the legal sense.

242 triduan blacks] Characteristic for 'three days' darkness,' or 'mourning,' of.

II. 211.

(340)

Canto I] Tkeop/iHa : The Prelihatio7i

LXXXIII

Her snares escap'd, soar, Muse, to

Him, whose bright
Spirit-illuminating sight
Turns damps to glorious days ; turns

fogs to radiant light.

LXXXIV

Religion 's Wisdom's study ; that
display, 250

Lord, countermand what goes
astray ;

And smite the ass (rude Flesh) when
it does start or bray.

LXXXV

Soul, thou art less than Mercy's

least ; three ne'er
Depart from sin : Shame, Guilt,

and Fear :
Fear, Shame, Guilt, Sin are four;

yet all in one appear.

LXXXVI

Crest-fall'n by sin, how wretchedly
I stray !
Methinks 'tis pride in me to pray :
Heav'n aid me struggling under this
sad load of clay.

LXXXVII

No man may merit, yet did One,

we hold ;
Who most do vaunt their zeal,

are cold : 260

Thus tin for silver goes with these,

and brass for gold.

LXXXVIII

Renew my heart, direct my tongue,

unseal
My hand, inspire my faith, reveal
My hope, increase my love, and my

backslidings heal !

LXXXIX

Let language (man's choice glory)
serve the mind :
Thy Spirit on Bezaleel shin'd :
Help, Blood, by faith applied 1 Thy
spittle cur'd the blind,
xc
Turn sense to spirit ; Nature 's
chang'd alone

279 magisterial] In the alchemical sense
386 bow 's] The metre requires is in full

(3ft)

By grace ; that is the chemic-stone :

And Thy all-pow'rful Word is pure

projection \ 270

xci

Truth's touchstone, surest rule that

ere was fram'd
(Tradition, man's dark map, 's

disclaim'd).
The paper burns me not, yet I am

all inflam'd :

xcii
For, as I read, such inward splendour
glows ;
Such life-renevving vigour flows,
That all, what's known of Thy most
righteous will, it shows :

XCIII

Whose spells make Enoch's walk
with Thee; withhold
Corruption, and translate ere old :

All Vaticans are dross ; this magi-
sterial gold.

xciv
Thus, poor numb'd Tartars, when
they're brought into 280

Warm Persia's gem-pav'd court,
are so
Reviv'd, that then they live ; till
then half dead with snow.

xcv
Good thoughts from Thee infus'd I
do derive;
Good words effus'd Thou dost me
give;
Good works diffus'd by Thee, in
Thee do live and thrive.

xcvi
Nerve-stretching Muse, thy bow 's
new strung ; shoot
Hymns to the Best, from worst
of men ;
Make arts thy tributaries, twist heart,
tongue, and pen.

'pure' 'precipitated from an admixture.'
but the habit of contraction prevailed.

Edward Beniowes

[Canto I

XCVII

But how can Eve's degenerate issue,
bent
To sin, in its weak measures vent
Thy praise : Unmeasurable ! and

Omnipotent

291

XCVIII

Shrubs cannot cedars, nor wrens

eagles praise ;
Nor purblind owls on Sol's orb

gaze :
What is a drop to seas, a beam to

boundless rays?

xcix

Yet Hope and Love may raise my

drooping flight ;
And faith in Thee embeam my

night :
Great Love, supply Faith's nerves

with winged hope — I write.

My spirit, Lord, my soul, my body, all
My thoughts, words, works, hereafter
shall 299

Praise Thee, and sin bemoan.
Jesu, how lov'dst Thou me !
Me blessed, Thy Love make !
Me raised. Thy Love take !
Jesu, my precious One !
May this, Love's Offering, be !
My heart, tongue, eye, hand, bowed
knee ,
As all came from, let all return to Thee !

Nunc sacra primus habetFinem, mea
Cura, Libellus ;
Jam precor impellat sanctior Aura
ratem !
I felix, rapidas diffindas Caerula
Syrtes ;
Te Divina regit Dextera; Sospes
abi.

NON NOBIS DOMINE.

THEOPHILA'S LOVE-SACRIFICE
The Summary of the Poem

Theophila, or Divine Love, ascends
to her Beloved by three degrees : by
Humility, by Zeal, by Contemplation.
In the first she is sincere, in the second
fervent, in the third ecstatical. In her
humiliation she sadly condoles her sin,
in her devotion she improves her grace,
in her meditation she antedates her
glory, and triumphantly congratulates
the fruition of her Spouse. And by
three Ways, which divines call the
Purgative, Illuminative, and Unitive,
she is happily led into the disquisition
of sin by man ; of suffering by Christ
as Sponsor; of salvation by Him as
Redeemer. In the Purgative Way she
falls upon repentance, mortification,
self-denial ; helped in part by the

knowledge of herself, which breeds
contrition, renunciation, and pur|30se
of amendment : in the Illuminative
she pursues moral virtues, theological
graces, and gospel promises, revealed
by Christ, as the great Apostle, which
begets in her gratitude, imitation, and
appropriation. In the Unitive she is
wholly taken up with intuition of super-
celestial excellences, with beatifical
apprehensions and adherences, as to
Christ in body, to the Holy Ghost in
spirit, to God the FATHER in a bright
resemblance of the Divine Nature.
All which are felt by the knowledge
of Christ as Mediator ; whence flow
admiration, elevation, consummated
in glorification. And were mysteriously

Stanza c] This, which even as printed has the shape of an altar, is in orig. framed
with an actual altar outlined and shaded. See Introduction for Butler's flings at our
poet's indulgence in this not uncommon nor uncomely Ireak.

(342 )

Theophilas Love-Sac?^ifice

intimated in the symbolical oblations
of the star-led Sophies ', who by their
myrrh signified faith, chastity, morti-
fication, the purgative actions; by
their incense implied hope, prayer,
obedience, the illuminative devotions ;
by their gold importing charity, satiety,
radiancy, the unitive eminences : and
it is the only ambition of Theophila
to offer these presents to her Beloved ;
by whom her sin is purged, her under-
standing enlightened, her will and
affections inflamed to the communion
of all His glories. Thus she, by recol-
lecting past creation, present corrup-
tion, and future beatifical vision,
endeavours to rouse us up from hellish
security, worldly solicitude, and carnal
concupiscence, that, being raised, we

may conform to the will, submit to the
power, and sympathize with the Spirit
of Christ, by a total resignation of self-
comforts, abilities, ends ; and by the
internal acts of love, devotion, con-
templation, she makes Sense subser-
vient to Reason, Reason to Faith, and
Faith to the written Word. By Faith
she believes what He has revealed, and
yields Him up all her understanding:
by Hope she waits for His promises,
and refers to Him all her will. By
Charity she loves His excellences, and
resigns to Him all her affections. And
by all these she triumphs over sin,
death, hell, in the sensual world, and
by His virtue, grace, favour, enjoys an
eminent degree of perfection in the
intellectual.

The Author's Prayer

O Thou most High, distinct in Per-
sons, undivided in Essence ! Eternal
Principle of all substances, essential
Being of all subsistences. Cause of all
causalities. Life of our souls, and Soul
of our lives ! Whose Deity is as far
beyond the comprehension of our
reason as Thy omnipotency transcends
our impotency : We, wretched dust,
acknowledge that Adam's fall, as it
deprived us of all good, so hath it
depraved us with all evil ; for, from our
production to our dissolution, our life, if
strictly discussed, will be found wholly
tainted, always tempted with sin. We
discover our condition to be more
corrupt than we can fully discover :
the sense of our sin stupefies us, the
sight of it reveals our blindness, and
the remembrance thereof doth put us
in mind of our forgetfulness of Thee.
The number of our transgressions
surpasseth our skill in arithmetic ;
their weight is insupportable, depres-
sing us even to the abyss ; their guilt
more extense than anything but thy
mercy. O Lord, we have loved dark-
ness more than light, because our
deeds were evil ! therefore. Thou hast
showed us terrible things ; we have

sucked out the dregs of deadly wine !
Our national crimes have extorted
from Thy justice national judgements !
Our hellish sins inflame Thy wrath,
and Thy wrath inflames hell-fire against
us ! W^e want so much of happiness
as of obedience (our beatitude con-
sisting in a thorough submission of our
determinations unto Thy disposings,
and our practice to Thy providence),
which causeth us, with humbly-press-
ing importunity, to implore Thy good-
ness (for His sake, who of mere love
took upon Him a nature of infirmities
to cure the infirmities of our nature)
that Thou wouldst give us a sense of
our senselessness, and a fervent desire
of more fervency ; and true remorse and
sorrow for want of remorse and sorrow
for these our sins. Oh, steer the
mystical ship of Thy Church safe
amidst the rocks and quicksands of
schism and heresy, superstition and
sacrilege, into the fair havens of Peace
and Truth ! Give to Thy disconsolate
Spouse, melting in tears of blood, the
spirit of sanctity and prudence ! May
the light which conducts her to Thy
celestial Canaan be never mocked
by new false lights of apostatizing

^ i. e. the Wise Men or Three Kings : to whom Benlowes extends the form commonly
reserved for the Persian monarch.

( 343 )

Edward Be7ilowes

hypocrisy, nor extinguished by bar-
barism ! Thou, our FATHER, art
the God of Peace ; Thy Son, our
Saviour, the Prince of Peace ; Thy
Spirit, the Spirit of Peace, Thy ser-
vants, the children of Peace, whose
duty is the study of Peace, and the end
of their faith the Peace of GOD which
passeth all understanding ! Let all
submit to Thy sceptre, adore Thy judge-
ments, revere Thy laws, and love Thee
above all, for Thine own sake, and
others (even their enemies) for Thy
sake, having Thee for our pattern, Thy
precepts for our rule, and Thy Spirit
for our guide.

And now, in particular, I throw my-
self (who have unmeasurably swerved
from Thy statutes) upon Thy mercies ;
beseeching Thee to give me a deep
sense of my own un worthiness, and
yet withal sincere thankfulness for Thy
assistances : grant that my sorrow for
sin may be unfeigned, my desires of
forgiveness fervent, my purpose of
amendment steadfast ; that so my
hopes of Heaven may be advanced,
and, what Thou hast sown in Thy
mercy Thou mayst reap from my
duty ! Let religion and right reason
rule as sovereign in me, and let the
irascible and concupiscible fliculties
be their subjects ! Give me an estate
balanced between want and waste S
pity and envy ; give me grace to spend
my wealth and strength in Thy service ;
let all my melancholy be repentance,
my joys spiritual exultations, my rest
hope, my peace a good conscience, and
my acquiescence in Thee ! In Thee, as
the principle of truth, in Thy Word as
the measure of knowledge, in Thy law
as the rule of life, in Thy promise as
the satisfciction of hope, and in Thy
union as the highest fruition of glory !
Oh, Thou Spring of Bounty, who hast
given Thy SON to redeem me, Thy
Holy Spirit to sanctify me, and Thy-
self to satisfy me : give me a gener-
ous contempt of sensual delusions, that
I may see the vanity of the world, the
deceitfulness of riches, the shame of
pleasures, the folly of sports, the in-
constancy of honours, the danger of
greatness, and the strict account to be
given for all ! Oh, then give me an un-

^ There is humorous pathos in this, consid
(344)

daunted fortitude, an elevated course
of contemplation, a resignation of
spirit, and a sincere desire of Thy glory!
Add, O Lord, to the cheerfulness of my
obedience, the assurance of faith, and
to the confidence of my hope, the joys
of love ! Oh, Thou who art the fountain
of my faith, the object of my joy, and
the rock of my confidence, guide my
passion by reason, my reason by re-
ligion, my religion by faith, my faith
by Thy Word ; be pleased to improve
Thy Word by Thy SPIRIT ; that so,
being established by faith, confirmed
in hope, and rooted in charity, 1 may
be only ambitious of Thee, prizing
Thee above the delights of men, love
of women, and treasures of the world !
Nothing being so precious as Thy
favour, so dreadful as Thy displeasure,
so hateful as sin, so desirable as Thy
grace ! Let my heart be always fixed
upon Thee, possessed by Thee, estab-
lished in Thee, true unto Thee, up-
right toward Thee, and entire for Thee !
that being thus inebriated with the
sweet and pure streams of Thy sanctu-
ary, I may serve Thee to the utmost
of each faculty, with all the extension
of my will, and intention of my affec-
tions, till my love shall ascend from
earth to Heaven, from smallbeginnings
to the consummation of a well-regu-
lated and never-ceasing charity ! O
God, who art no less infinite in wisdom
than in goodness, let me, where I can-
not rightly know Thee, there reverently
admire Thee, that in transcendencies
my very ignorance may honour Thee.
Let Thy Holy Spirit inflame my zeal,
inform my judgement, conform my will,
reform my affections, and transform me
wholly into the image and imitation
of Thy only SON ! Grant that 1 may
improve my talent to Thy glory, who
art the imparter of the gift, the blesser
of the action, and the assister of the
design ! So that having sown to the
Spirit, I may by Thy mercies and
Thy Son's merits (who is the Son of
Thy love, the anchor of my hope, and
the finisher of my faith) reap life ever-
lasting! And now, in His only Name
vouchsafe to accept from dust and
ashes the oblation of this weak, yet
willing service ; and secure the pos-

ering what we are told of Benlowes' fortunes.

Theophild s Love-Sacrifice

session to Thyself, that sin may neither
pollute the sacrifice, divide the gift,
nor question the title. Fill my mouth
with praises for these happy oppor-
tunities of contemplation, the manag-
ing of public actions less agreeing with
my disposition ; and though my body
be retired, yet let my soul be enlarged
(like an uncaptived bird) to soar in
the speculation of divine mysteries !
Oh, be praised, for that, in this general
combustion of Christendom, Thou
hast vouchsafed me a litttle Zoar, as
refuge, in which my soul doth yet live
to magnify Thee ; but above all for my
redemption from the execution of Thy
wrath by the execration of the SON of
Thy love, having made innocence to
become guilty, to make the guilty
innocent, and the Sun of Righteous-
ness to suffer a total eclipse to expiate
the deeds of darkness. Be Thou
exalted for the myriads of Thy mercies
in my travels through Europe, as far

transcending my computation as com-
pensation ; but chiefly for the hope
Thou hast given me, that when I have
served Thee in humbly strict obedience
to the glory of Thy Name, Thou art
pleased that I shall enter into the glory
of my Lord to all eternity ; where I
shall behold Thee in Thy majesty,
Christ Thy Son in His glory, the
Spirit in His sanctity, the Hierarchy
of Heaven in their excellency, and the
saints in their rest ; in which rest there
is perfect tranquillity, and in this tran-
quillity joy, and in this joy variety, and
in this variety security, and in this
security immortality, with Thee, who
reignest in the excellences of transcen-
dency, and in the infinite durations of
a blessed eternity. To whom, with
the image of Thy goodness, and the
breath of Thy love, O most glorious
Trinity and ineffable Unity, be all
sanctity and adoration sacrificed now,
and for evermore. Amefi, Aine7t.

Into the most Holy Treasury
Of the ever-glorious praises
Of the Mediator between
God and man, Christ Jesus;
The empyraean flame of the Divinity,
Indefinable, interminable, ineffable ;
The immiaculate earth of the Humanity,
Inseparable, inconfusible, inconver-
tible ;
Mysterious in an hypostatical Union,

Who is.

The true Light enlightening the World

The Eternal WORD,

By Energy incarnated,

Embrightening our knowledge,
Enlivening our Faith,
Quickening our Hope,
Enflaming our Love :
Prostrated dust and ashes,
With an adoring awfulness and trem-
bling veneration.
To his Infinite Majesty
Doth humbly cast this mite
(Acknowledging from GOD all oppor-
tunities of good) to be improved
by His grace, to His glory \

^ The matter of these two cols, is in orig. continuous and arranged pedestal-fashion.
But there is no frame as in the former case, and it is therefore not certain that Benlowes
intended the shape.

(345)

Edward Benlowes

[Canto II

Canto II. The Humiliation

THE ARGUMENT

Unde superbit Homo? cujus Conceptio, Culpa;

Nasci, Poena, Labor, Vita ; necesse mori.
Totus homo pravus ; Caro, Mens, Natura, Voluntas ;
Ccelicus ast Hominis Crimina tollit Amor.

The Deiform'd soul, deformed by sin, repents ;

In pray'rs and tears, her grief she vents.
And, till faith cheer her by Christ's love, life, death, laments.

STANZA I

Almighty Power, who didst all souls

create ;
Who didst redeem their fall'n

estate ;
Who still dost sanctify, and them

redintegrate.

II

Source, river, ocean of all bliss,

instil
Spring-tides into my low-ebb'd

quill :
Each graceful work flows from (what

works all grace) Thy Will.

Ill
Lord ! Thou, before time, matter,
form, or place.
Wast all ; ere nature's mortal race :
Thyself, host, guest, and palace,
nature's total space.

IV

When yet (though not discern'd)
in that abyss lo

Creator, Word, and Spirit of bliss,
In Unity the Trine, one God, ador-
ed is.

V

Ere Thou the crystal-mantled

Heav'n didst rear,
Or did the earth, Sol's bride,

appear,
First race of intellectuals mad'st,

Thee to revere.

VI

Praise best doth Inexpressibles
express :

(346)

Soul, th' Architect of wonders
bless ;
Whose all-creating Word embirth'd
a nothingness.

VII

Who, brooding on the deep, produc-
tion
Dispos'd, then call'd out Light,
which on 20

The formless world's rude face was
all dispers'dly thrown.

VIII

When callow Nature, pluck'd from

out her nest
Of causes, was awak'd from rest,
Her shapeless lump with fledg'd

effects He trimly drest.

IX

Then new-born day He gilt with

glittering sun
(Contracted light); with changing

Moon
He night adorn'd, and hung up

lamps, like spangled bullion.

X

The earth, with water mixed, He

separates :
Earth plants brought forth, and

beasts all mates ;
The waters fowl, and fish to yield

man delicates. 30

XI

Then did of th' elements' dust man's

body frame
A perfect microcosm, the same
He quickened with a sparkle of

pneumatic flame.

Canto II] TlieophUd s Love-Sacrifice

XII

More heav'nly specified by life

from th' Word;
That, Nature doth, this, Grace

afford ;
And Glory from the Spirit design'd,

as threefold cord.

XIII

Man, ere a child ; by infusion wise ;
though He
Was of, yet not for earth, though
free

Chanc'llor install'd of Eden's Uni-
versity.

XIV

His virgin-sister-wife i' th' grove he
woo'd 40

(Heav'n's nursery); new fruit his
food,

Skin was his robe : clouds wash'd,
winds swept his floor.

XV

Envy, that God should so love man,

first mov'd all good.
Satan, to ruin Heav'n's belov'd:
The serpent devill'd Eve, she 's dam

to Adam prov'd.

XVI

Both taste, by tasting, tasteless

both became ;
Who all would know, knew nought

but shame :
They blush for that which they,

when righteous, could not name.

XVII

Still in our maw that apple's core

doth stick.
Which they did swallow, and the

thick 50

Rind of forbidden fruit has left

our nature sick.

XVIII

Now serves our guiltiness as winding

sheet,
To wrap up lepers ; cover meet ;
While thus stern vengeance does

our wormships sadly greet.

XIX

' Disloyal slaves, look out, see, Mis-
chief revels ;
Look in, see your own den of evils;

Look up, see Heav'n's dread Judge;
look down, see Hell's fierce
devils.

XX

' Created in God's image to look high ;

Corrupted, like to brutes, you lie:

Perdition 's from yourselves : no cure

for those will die. 60

XXI

' Your beauty, rottenness skinn'd o'er,

does show
Like to a dunghill, blanch'd with

snow,
Your glorious nature 's by embasing

sin brought low.

XXII

' Hence you the heavy doom of

death do gain,
Enforc'd unto laborious pain ;
And th' Angel's flaming sword doth

you, expuls'd, restrain.'

XXIII

Thus she reproach'd; yet more (alas)

remain'd ;
Man's issue in his loins is stain'd :
Sin set his throne in him, and since

o'er all has reign'd.

XXIV

Black sin ! more hideous than green
dragon's claws, 70

Dun gryphon's talons, swart bear's
paws.

Than chequer'd panther's teeth, or
tawny lion's jaws.

XXV

Forfeit to the Creator 's thus man's

race.
And by the Word withdrawn is

grace.
From him the Spirit of Glory turn'd

His pleasing face.

45 dam] Of course as a play on dauunirn and perhaps with reminiscence of the
actual French word. Benlowes often shows Fr. influences.

(347)

Edward Be7tlowes

[Canto II

XXVI

Yet that this second race, in fallen

plight,
Might not with the first be ruin'd

quite,
The Word doth interpose to stop th'

incensed Might.

XXVII

Then undertakes for man to satisfy,

And the sad loss of Grace supply

That us He might advance to Glory's

hierarchy. 8i

XXVIII

Then Peace is preach'd i'th' woman's

Seed ; but then
As men increase, so, sins of men,
And actual on original heap'd, God 's

vex'd again.

XXIX

Till drench'd they were in Deluge,

had no shore;
And burnt in Sodom-flames, of

yore ;
Plagued in Egypt, plung'd into the

gulf of Core ;

XXX

And gnawn by worms in Herod :

sin 's asp's womb,
Plotter, thief, plaintiff, witness,

doom,
Sledge, executioner, hell's inmate,

horror's tomb. 90

XXXI

Misgotten brat ! thy trains are

infinite
To ruin each entangled wight ;
Mischiefs ne'er rest in men, th' have

everlasting spite.

XXXII

Spite wageth war, then war turns

law to lust ;
Lust crumbles faith into distrust ;
Distrust by causeless jealousy betrays

the just;

XXXIII

The just are plunder'd by thy rage ;
thy rage

Bubbleth from envy ; envy's page
To thy misdeeds ; misdeeds their
own misfate engage.

XXXIV

Thus link'd to Hell 's thy chain !
Curs'd be that need 100

Makes sinners in their sins pro-
ceed :

Shame, to guilt's forlorn hope, leads
left-hand files. Take heed.

XXXV

God's fort (the conscience) in the

worst does stand ;
Though sin the town keeps by

strong hand,
Yet lies it open to the check at

Heav'n's command.

XXXVI

Hence Hell surrounds them : in

their dreams to fall
Headlong they seem, then start,

groan, crawl
From furies, with excessive frights

which them appal.

XXXVII

Ne'er was more mischief, ne'er was

less remorse ;
Never Revenge on his black horse
Did swifter ride ; never to God so

slow recourse ! m •

XXXVIII

The age-bow'd earth groans under

sinners' weight ;
While guiltless blood cries to

Heav'n's height,
Justice soon takes th' alarm, whose

steeled arm will smite.

XXXIX

Inevitable woes a while may stay,
Vengeance is God's, who will

repay
The desperately wilful nor will

long delay.

XL

'Tis darkest near daybreak. He will
o'erturn
Th' implacable, who mercy spurn

Benlowes obviously has

87 Cf. A. V. Ep. S. Jiide ver. 11 'the gainsaying of Core.'
the context in mind.

102 left-hand files] Perhaps one of the military passages which drew Butler's fire.

(348)

Canto II] iCheophUd s Love-Sacrtfice

Superlative abuses in th' abyss shall
burn. I20

XLI

Death's hell Death's self out-deaths !

Vindictive place !
Deep under depths ! Eccentric

space !
Horror itself, than thee, wears a

less horrid face !

XLII

Where pride, lust, rage (sin treble-
pointed) dwell ;
Shackled in red-hot chains they yell

In bottomless extremes of never-
slaking Hell !

XLIII

Riddle ! Compell'd, at once, to live
and die !
Frying they freeze, and freezing fry!
On helpless, hopeless, easeless,
endless racks they lie !

XLIV

And rave for what they hate !

Cursing in vain, 130

Yet each curse is a pray'r for pain,

For, cursing still their woe, they woo

God's curse again !

XLV

Devils and shrieks their ears, their

eyes affright !
There's blazing fire, yet darkest

night !
Still paying, ne'er discharg'd. Sin's

debt is infinite !

XLVI

Angels by one sin fell ; so, man :

how then
May sinners stand! Let's quit

sin's den :
This moment 's ours ; life hastes

away ; delays gangrene.

XLVII

Conviction ushers Grace ; fall to

prevent
Thy fall, Time's forelock take;

relent. 140

Shall is to come ; and Was is past;

then, N'ow repent.

XLVIII

Before the sun's long shadows span

up night;
Ere on thy shaking head snows

light ;
Ere round thy palsied heart ice be

congealM quite ;

XLIX

Ere in thy pocket thou thine eyes

dost wear;
Ere thy bones serve for calender ;
Ere in thy hand 's thy leg, or silver

in thy hair ;

L

Preventing physic use. Think, now
ye hear
The dead-awakening trump ; lo ;
there

The queasy-stomach'd graves dis-
gorge worms-fat'ning cheer 150

LI

Sin's sergeants wait t' attach you ;
then make haste.
Lest you into despair be cast :
The Judge unsway'd : take days at
best, count each your last.

LII

Time posts on loose-rein'd steeds.

The sun ere 't face
To west, may see thee end thy race :
Death is a noun, yet not declin'd

in any case.

LIII

The cradle 's nigh the tomb. That

soul has woe,
Whose drowsy march to Heav'n

is slow,
As drawling snails, whose slime

glues them to things below.

LIV

Anathema to lukewarm souls. Lo,

here 160

Theophila's unhing'd with fear,

Clamm'd with chill sweat, when as
her rankling sins appear.

LV

Perplex'd in crime's meand'ring maze,
God's law,

XLViii-xLix] The poetry and the grotesque of the ' metaphysical ' style are well
shown in this pair of stanzas.

(349 )

Edward Benlowes

[Canto II

And guilt, that does strict judge-
ment draw,
And her too carnal, yet too stony
heart she saw.

LVI

' Yet rocks may cleave/ she cries.

Then weeps for tears,
And grieves for grief; fears want

of fears ;
She hell, Heav'n's prison, views ;

distress, for robe, she wears.

LVII

Deprav'd by vice, depriv'd of grace ;

with pray'r.
She runs Faith's course ; breaks

through Despair, 170

O'ertakes Hope. Broken legs by

setting stronger are.

LVIII

Shame, native Conscience, views that
Holy One,
Who came from God to man un-
done.

Whose birth produc'd a star, whose
death eclips'd the sun.

LIX

She sees Earth-Heav'n, Flesh-spirit,

Man-God in stamp
Of Him who shakes, but does not

cramp
The bruised reed ; snuffs puts not

out the sputt'ring lamp.

LX

She sees for creatures the Creator

came
To die ; the Shepherd prov'd the

lamb
For sacrifice, when Jews releas'd

a spotted ram. 180

LXI

She sees defamed Glory, wronged

Right,
Debased Majesty, crush'd Might,
Virtue condemn'd, Peace robb'd,

Love slain ! and all by Spite.

LXII

She streaming sees, like spouts,
each broached vein
With gore, not to be match'd
again !

( 350 )

Her grief thence draws up mists to
fall in weeping rain.

LXIII

Vast cares, long dumb, thus vent.

' Flow tears, Soul's wine,
Juice of an heart opprest ; incline,
Lord, to this heart-broke altar

cemented with brine !

LXIV

' Remorseful clouds, dissolve in

show'rs ; 'tis blood 190

Turns rocky hearts into a flood :

Eyes, keep your sluices ope ; Heav'n
best by tears is woo'd.

LXV

' Thou, who one shoreless sea of all

didst make.
Except one floating isle, to take
Vengeance on guilt ; my salt flood

rais'd, drown sin i' th' lake.

LXVI

' Oh, how these words, " Arise to

judgement," quell !
On wheels in torments broke I'd

dwell,
So as by grace I might be sav'd

from endless Hell.

LXVII

' To Angel-intercessor, I'm forbid
To pray; yet pray to One that

did 200

Pray to Another for Himself when 's

blood-drops slid.

LXVIII

* Father ! Perfection's self in Christ

does shine;
Thy justice then in Him confine;
Through 's merits make Thy mercies,

both are endless, mine !

LXIX

' See not, but through 's abstersive

blood, my sin ;
By which I being cleans'd withirt,
Add perseverance. 'Tis as hard to

hold as win.'

LXX

Her eyes are sentinels to pray'r, to
moans
Her ears, her nose courts charnel-
bones ;

Canto II] TheophHas Love-Sacrifice

Her hands breast-hammers are, her
constant food is groans. 210

LXXI

Her heart is hung with blacks, with

dust she cloys
Her golden tresses ; weds annoys,
Breeds sighs, bears grief, which,

ibis-like, sin-snakes destroys.

LXXII

Thus mounts she drizzling Olivet ;

the plains
Of Jericho she leaves. (While rains
The farmer wet, they fully swell his

earing grains.)

LXXI 1 1

She, her own farmer, stock'd from

Heav'n, is bent
To thrive; care 'bout the pay-day's

spent.
Strange ! She alone is farmer, farm,

and stock, and rent.

LXXIV

The porcupine so's quiver, bow, and
darts 220

To herself alone ; has all war's
arts ;

Her own artillery needs no aid from
foreign parts.

LXXV

Sad votaress ! thy earth, of late o'er-

grown
With weeds, is plough'd, till'd,

harrow'd, sown.
The seed of grace sprouts up when

Nature is kept down,

LXXVI

Thy glebe is mellow'd with faith-

quick'ning juice;
The furrows thence hope-blades

produce ;
Thy valley cloth'd with Love will

harvest joys diffuse.

LXXVII

Live, Phoenix, from self-death. I' th'
morn who dies
To sin, does but immortalize : 230
Who study death, ere dead, ere th'
Resurrection rise.

(351)

LXXVIII

Rachel, thy children goal and crown

have won.
Ere they had skill or will to

run.
Blest, who their whole day's work

in their life's morn have done.

LXXIX

Like misty morn, she rose in dew ;

so found
She ne'er was, till this sickness,

sound ;
Till sin, in sorrow's flowing issue

(tears) lay drown'd.

LXXX

Soul's life blood tears, prevailing

pleaders, tame
Such rebels, as by Eve did shame
Man's glory ; only these the old

fall'n world new frame. 240

LXXXI

Lust causeth sin, sin shame, shame

bids repent.
Repentance weeps, tears sorrow

vent,
Sorrow shows faith. Faith hope,

Hope love. Love soul's content.

LXXXII

Thus, from bruis'd spiceries of her

breast, doth rise
Incense, sweet-smelling sacrifice :
Whilst she lifts up to Heav'n her

heart, her hand, her eyes.

LXXXIII

' I'm sick with trembling, sunk with

mourning, blasted
With sinning, and with sighing

wasted ;
New life begins to breathe ; O joy,

too long untasted !

LXXXIV

' Twice didst new life (by breath,
by death) bestow 250

On man prevaricating, who.

By yielding to a woman, made man
yield to woe.

LXXXV

' Then didst his soul restore (as first
inspire)
With second grace, renewing fire ;

Edward Be7ilowes

[Canto II

Whence he hath part again in Thy
celestial quire.

LXXXVI

' Once more for this Heav'n-denizen

didst get
A never-fading coronet,
Which was with two bright jewels,

Grace and Glory, set.

LXXXVII

' 'Twas at my blood-stain'd birth
Thy Love said. Live :
Links of Thy previous chain re-
vive 260

Ev'n crumbled dust : so, thou my
soul from death reprieve !

LXXXVIII

'Christ, th' unction art. Salvation

Jesus ; in
Thy death redemption, blood for

sin
Gives satisfaction. Thy Ascension

hope does win ;

LXXXIX

'Thy session comfort. Though I
did offend,
Lord, fears disband, give grace
t' amend,
That, hope, which reaps not shame,
may rise, and peace descend,
xc
' My pardon sign. The spear pierc'd
Thee 's the pen.
Thy blood the ink. Thy Gospel then
The standish is, Oh, let my soul
be paper clean ! 270

xci
' Kind, angry Lord, since Thou dost
wound, yet cure ;
I'll bear the yoke, the cross endure ;
Lament, and love ; and, when set
free, keep conscience pure,'

XCII

Thus mourns she, and, in mourning

thus, she joys ;
Ev'n that adds comfort which

annoys ;
Sighs turn to songs, and tears to

wine, fear Fear destroys.

XCIII

As holy flame did from her heart
arise,
Dropt holy water from her eyes,
While pray'r her incense was, and
Love her sacrifice.

xciv

Arm ! arm ! she breaks in with

strong zeal ; the place 280

Sin quits, now garrison'd by Grace;

Illustrious triumphs do the steps of

victors trace.

xcv
When the loud volleys of her pray'rs
begin
To make a breach, they soon
take in
The parapets, redoubts, and counter-
scarps of sin.

xcvi
At once she works and fights : with
lamp she waits.
Midst virgins, at the Bridegroom's
gates,
With Him to feast her with His
bridal delicates.

xcvii
To Heav'n now goes she on her
knees ; which cry
Loud, as her tongue ; much speaks
her eye : 290

Heav'n, storm'd by violence, yields.
Eyes, tongue, and knees scale
high.

xcviii
' My last crave pardon for my first
extremes ;
Be prais'd, who crown'st my morn
with beams ;
Converted age sees visions, erring
youth dreamt dreams.

XCIX

' Religion 's its own lustre ; who this
shun,
Night-founder'd grope at midday
sun.

(35O

256 denizen] Original 'denison.

Canto II] TheophUd s 'Lov 6- Sacrifice

Rebellion is its own self-tort'ring
dungeon.'

Man's restless mind, God's image,

can't be blest
Till of this One, this All, possest.
Thou our Soul's Centre art, our

everlasting Rest ! 300

Pars superata Freti, Lucem prae-
bentibus Astris ;
Longior at nostrse Pars superanda
Viffi.
Da, Deus, ut Cursus suscepti nostra
propinquet
Meta, laboranti grata futura Rati.

MAGNIFICAT ANIMA MEA DOMINUM.

Canto III. The Restoration

THE ARGUMENT

Laetior una Dies, Jesu, tua Sacra Canenti ;

Quam sine Te, melicis Secula mille Lyris.
Ut paveam Scelus omne, petara super Omnia Ccelum ;

Da mihi Frjena Timor, Da mihi Calcar Amor !

The author's rapture ; Grace is prais'd ; a flood

Of tears is pour'd for Albion's blood,
Shed in a mist ; for sraot[ej Micaiahs, Peace is woo'd.

STANZA I

Muse, twang the pow'rful harp, and
brush each string
O' th' warbling lute, and canzons
sing
May ravish earth, and thence to
Heav'n in triumph spring.
II
Noble Du Bartas, in a high-flown
trance,
Observ'd to start from 's bed and
dance ;
Said : ' Thus by me shall caper all
the realm of France.'
Ill
As vicious meteors, fram'd of earthly
slime,
By motion fir'd, like stars, do
climb
The woolly-curdled clouds, and
there blaze out their time,

IV

Streaming with burnish'd flames ;
yet those but ray 10

13 when] This is not in orig., but there is a space before 'enlivened' (not to
mention the sense , and the metre requires something. The clash of ' w/;e;; V»-'
probably puzzled the compositor. I have altered the full stop at ' wise ' to a comma :
but this is not necessary now if ' when ' be inserted.

To spend themselves, and light
our way ;
And panting winds, to cool ours,
not their own lungs, play.

V

So [when] enliven'd spirits ascend

the skies.
Wasting to make the simple wise,
Who bears the torch, himself shades,

lightens others' eyes.

VI

As Lust for Hell, Zeal sweats to build

for Heav'n,
When fervent aspirations, driv'n
By all the soul's quick pow'rs, to that

high search are giv'n.

VII

High is the sphere on which Faith's
poles are hinged :
Pure Knowledge, thou art not

restringed,

20

Thy flames enfire the bushy heart,
yet leave 't unsinged.

( Ihl )

A a

Edward Bejilowes

[Canto III

VIII

Suburbs of Paradise I Thou saintly

land
Of visions, woo'd by Wisdom's

band ; '

By dull mules in gold-trappings how

dost slighted stand !

IX

Whose world 's a frantic sea ; more

cross winds fly
Than sailor's compass knows ;

saints ply
Their sails through airy waves, and

anchor still on high.

X

'Tis Holiness landst here ; where

none (distasted)
Rave with guilt's dread, nor with

rage wasted ;
Nor beauty-dazzled eyes with female

wantons blasted. 30

XI

No childish toys ; no boiling youth's

wild thirst ;
No ripe ambition ; no accurst
Old griping avarice ; no doting

sloth there 's nurst :

XII

No glutt'ny's maw-worm ; nor the
itch of lust ;
No tympany of pride ; nor rust
Of envy ; no wrath's spleen ; nor
obduration's crust :

XIII

No canker of self-love ; nor cramp
of cares ;
No schism-vertigo ; nor night-
mares

Of inward stings affright ; here lurk
no penal snares.

XIV

Hence earth a dim spot shows ;
where mortals toil 40

For shot-bruis'd mud-walls (child-
ish broil) ;

For pot-gun cracks 'gainst ant-hill
works ; oh, what a coil !

24 mules] A reminiscence possibly of Phi
one of a thousand things that might be noted

XV
Where Glutt'ny is full gorg'd ; where
Lust still spawns ;
Where Wrath takes blood and
Avarice pawns ;
Where Envy frets. Pride struts, and
dull Remissness yawns.

XVI

Where Mars th' ascendant 's : how

realms shatter'd lie
With scatter'd courts, beneath

mine eye ;
Which show like atoms chas'd by

wind's inconstancy.

XVII

Here, th' Universe in Nature's frame

doth stand,
Upheld by Truth and Wisdom's

hand : 50

Zanzummims show from hence as

dwarfs on Pigmy-land.

XVIII

How vile 's the world ! Fancy, keep

up thy wings
(Ruffled in bustle of low things,
Toss'd in the common throng), then

acquiesce 'bove kings.

XIX

Thus, thou being rapt, and struck

with enthean fire.
In sky's star-chamber strike thy

lyre :
Proud Rome, not all thy Caesars

could thus high aspire.

XX

Man's spiritual state, enlarg'd, still

widening flows,
As th' Helix doth : a circle shows
Man's nat'ral life, which Death soon

from its zenith throws. 60

XXI

Heav'n's perspective is over-reas'n-

ing Faith,
Which soul-entrancing visions

hath ;
Truth's beacon, fir'd by Love, Joy's

empire open lay'th.

lip's 'ass laden with gold.' I note this as
if the plan of this edition were different.

(354)

Canto III] TheophUd s Love-Sacrifice

XXII

This all-informing Light i' th' preg-
nant mind,
The hal)e Theophila enshrin'd :

Grace dawns when Nature sets :
dawn for fair day design 'd.

XXIII

Breathe in thy dainty bud, sweet

rose ; 'tis Time
Makes thee to ripened virtues

climb,
When as the Sun of Grace shall

spread thee to thy prime.

XXIV

When her life's clock struck twelve
(Hope's noon) so bright 70
She beam'd, that queens admir'd
her sight,

Viewing, through Beauty's lantern,
her intrinsic light.

XXV

As, when fair tapers burn in crystal

frame,
The case seems fairer by the flame :
So, does Heav'n's brighter love

brighten this lovely dame ;

XXVI

Her soul the pearl, her shell out-
whites the snow.
Or streams that from stretch'd
udders flow;

Her lips rock-rubies, and her veins
wrought sapphires show.

XXVII

Attractive graces dance about her

lips ;
Spice from those scarlet portals

skips ; 80

Thence Gilead's mystic balm

(Grief's sov'reign balsam) slips.

XXVIII

Such precious fume the incens'd
altar vents :
So, gums in air breathe compli-
ments :

So, rose's damask'd robe, prank'd
with green ribbons, scents.

XXIX

Her eyes amaze the viewers, and

inspire
To hearts awarm, yet chaste desire
(As Sol heats all), yet feel they in

themselves no fire.

XXX

Those lights, the radiant windows

of her mind.
Who would portray, as soon

may find
A way to paint the viewless, poise

the weightless wind. 90

XXXI

But, might we her sweet breast.

Love's Eden, see;
On those snow-mountlets apples

be.
May cure those mischiefs wrought

by the forbidden tree.

XXXII

Her hands are soft, as swanny

down, and much
More white ; whose temperate

warmth is such,
As when ripe gold and quick'ning

sunbeams inly touch.

XXXIII

Ye sirens of the groves, who, perch'd

on high.
Tune gutt'ral sweets, air-minstrels,

why
From your bough-cradles, rock'd

with wind, to Her d'ye fly?

XXXIV

See, lilies, gown'd in tissue, simper

by her ; 100

With marigolds in flaming tire ;

Green satin'd bays, with primrose
fringed, seem all on fire.

XXXV

Th' art silver-voic'd, teeth-pearl'd,
thy head 's gold-thatch'd.
Nature's reviver. Flora 's patch'd,

Though trick'd in May's new raiment,
when with thee she 's match'd.

gi] This and the following stanzas give us (I say this not to say it again) one of the
passages for which those who love poetry cannot spare Benlowes. It is one of the
finest.

( 355 )

A a 2

Fjdward Be7ilowes

[Canto III

XXXVI

Thou, chaste as fair, Eve ere she

blush'd ; from thee
The lib'ral arts /// capite.
The virtues by knight-service, Graces

hold in fee.

XXXVII

A gracious soul, figur'd in beauty, is
Best portraiture of heavenly bliss.
Drawn to the life : wit-feign'd Pan-
dora vails to this. m

XXXVIII

So, Cynthia seems Star-chamber's

President,
With crescent splendour from Sol

lent,
Rallying her starry troop to guard

her glittering tent.

XXXIX

(Pearl'd dews add stars) Yet earth's

shade shuts up soon
Her shop of beams ; whose cone

doth run
'Bove th' horned moon, beneath the

golden-tressed sun.

XL

Wh' on sky, clouds, seas, earth,
rocks doth rays disperse.
Stars, rainbows, pearls, fruits,
diamonds pierce ;

The world's eye, source of light,
soul of the universe. 120

XLI

Who glows like carbuncles, when

winged hours
Dandle the infant morn, which

scours
Dame Luna, with hertwinklingspies,

from azure tow'rs.

XLII

Thee, Theophil, Day's sparkling eye

we call;
Thy faith's the lid, thy love the

ball,
Beautying thy graceful mien with

form angelical.

XLIII

That lady-prioress of the cloister'd

sky,
Coach'd with her spangled vestals

nigh,
Vails to this constellation from

divinity.

XI.IV

Virtue's her spring of honour, her
Allies 17,0

Are saints. Guard angels, Heav'n
her prize ;

Whose modesty looks down, while
thus her graces rise.

XLV

Eugenia wit, Paidia art affords,

Eusebia truth for her uphords.
(Poets have legislative pow'r of
making words.)

XLV I

Her heart 's a court, her richly-
temper'd breast
A chapel for Love's regent Guest :
Here feasts she sacred poets, she
herself a feast.

XLVII

Ye bay-crown'd Lords, who dig from

Wisdom's pits
The ore of arts, and v.-ith your

wits 140

Refine 't, who prop the doting world

in stagg'ring fits ;

XLVIII

And in Fame's court raise obelisks
divine ;
Such symphonies do ye combine.

As may inspirit flesh with your soul-
ravishing wine.

XLIX

While Winter Autumn, Summer

clasps the Spring ;
While tenter'd Time shall pceans

sing.
Your eagle-plumes (that others

waste) shall imp Lame's wing.

112 The political historian is sometimes severe on the Star-chamber: the literary
could collect a set of plays on the word which more than save it.

133 Note the correct quantification of Paidia as compared with her sisters.

134 Benlowes' note in the next line dispenses one from correcting ' uphoards.'

(356)

Canto III] T'heopJiild s Love-Sacrifice

The rampant juice of Teneriffe re-
cruits
Wildly the routed spirits : so, lutes,

Harps, viols, organs ; ah ! and trum-
pets, drums, and flutes ! 150

LI

Though Art should humour grum-
bling basses still,
Tort'ring the deep-mouth'd cat-
lins, till

Hoarse-thund'ring diapasons should
the whole room fill ;

LII

Yet those but string this lady's

harp; she'll try
Each chord's tun'd pulse, till she

descry
Where most harmonious Music's

mystic soul does lie.

LIII

Now grace with language chimes :
'Thrice blest, who taste
Their Heav'n on earth, in Life's
book grac'd ;

Who leaving sense with sense, their
spirit with spirits have plac'd.

LIV

' With those divine patricians, who

being not

160

Eclips'dwith sense, or body's spot.
Are in the spring of living flame
seraphic hot.

LV

' One taste gives joys ! joys at which

words but rove ;
Schools, purblind, grope at things

above,
Cimmerian-like, on whose sun's

brow clouds darkly move.

LVI

' Heav'n's paths are traceless, by
excess of light ;
O'er fulgent beams daz'd eyes be-
night.

Say Ephata, and clay's collyrium for
my sight !

152 catlins] So in orig., and better for
' kittens.' For Benlowes' interest in music

(357)

LVII

' Transported in this ecstasy, be-
friend
Me, like the Stagirite, to end

My thoughts in that Euripus, none
can comprehend!' 171

LVIII

This mystic chain, oh, lengthen'd
still ! imparts
Links, fett'ring 'bove all time-
born arts ;

Such sweet divisions from tun'd
strings may ravish hearts.

LIX

Best tenure holds by th' ear : in

Saul, disguis'd,
When Satan oft tarantuliz'd.
The psalming harp was 'bove the

swaying sceptre priz'd.

LX

This Hymn, Zeal's burning fever,

does refine
My gross hydropic soul ; Divine
Anthems unbowel bliss, and angels

down incline. 180

LXI

Angels shot forth the happiest

Christmas news ;
Ev'n Christ to warble hymns

did use ;
When Heav'n's high'st Dove does

soar. He wings of verse doth

choose.

LXII

No verse, no text. Since verse
charms all, sing on ;
Let sermons wait till Psalms be
done ;

Soul-raisers, ye prevent the Resur-
rection.

LXIII

But, ah ! in war (Wrath's midwife)

which does tire,
Yet never fills the jaws of ire
(Keen as the evening wolf), can

she yet use her lyre?

'catgut' than 'catlings,' which suggests
see the subjoined poem on the subject.

Edward Benlowes

[Canto III

LXIV

Yes. She 's unmov'd in earthquakes,

tun'd in jars 19°

(Fear argues guilt) ; she stands

in wars,
And storms of thund'ring brass,

bright as coruscant stars.

LXV

Virtue 's a balsam to itself. Invoke
She Mercy did to oil steel's yoke:
Thus, in an iron age, this golden
Virgin spoke.

LXVI

' Dread God ! black clouds sur-
charged with storms, begin.
When purple robes hide scarlet
sin,

Ingrain'd from that life-blood, which
moated their souls in.

LXVII

' Our sea-girt world (once Fort'nate

Isle, oh, change
Deplorable !) t' itself seems strange;
Unthrifty Death has spread where

thriving Peace did range. 201

LXVIII

'War hath our lukewarm claret

broach'd with spears :
Lord, save Thy ark from floods

of fears.
Or Thy sad spouse may sink as deep

in blood, as tears !

LXIX

' She chaws bread steep'd in woes,

gulp'd down with cries ;
She drinks the rivers of her eyes ;
Plung'd in distress for sin, to Thee

she fainting flies.

LXX

'Tune th' Irish harp from sharps

to flats ! Compose

Whatever vicious harshness grows

Upon the Scottish thistle, or the

English rose ! 210

LXXI

' No ramping lion its own kind
does fear,

224 Presters] Benlowes wanted a disyllabic form of ' Presbyter,' but one may be sure
tliat he was not sorry to suggest ' Prester ]ohn.'
228 Smect] Of course = ' Smectymnuus.'

(358)

No tusked boar, no rav'ning bear :
Man, man's ApoUyon, doth Christ's
mystic Body tear.

LXXII

' Ye sons of thunder, if you'll needs
fight on.
Lead your fierce troops 'gainst
Turkish moon,

Out of the line of Faith's com-
munication.

LXXIII

' The large-commanding Thracian

force defy :
Like gun-stocks, though your

corps may fly
To earth, your souls, like bullets,

will ascend on high.

LXXIV

' If God be then i' th' camp, much

more will He 220

In's Militant Church (His Temple)

' be.

To chasten schism, and pervicacious

heresy.

LXXV

' Lord ! rent 's Thy coat. Love's type !

This sads the good !
Though Presters, rudely fierce,

fain would
Be heard ; Thou hat'st uncivil pray'r,

and civil blood.

LXXVI

'Ah, could dissembling pulpiteers

cry 't good
To wade through seas of native

blood,
Break greatest ties, play fast and

loose, beneath Smect's hood !

LXXVII

' By such were Catechisms, Com-
munions, Creeds
Disus'd ! As March spawns frogs ;
so, weeds 230

Sprung hence. Worst Atheist from
corrupted Churchman breeds.

Canto III] Theophild s Love-Sacrifice

LXXVIII

' Use the Lord's Pray'r, be th'

Publican ; recant
The Pharisee ; or else, avant
\\'ith your six-hundred-sixty-six-word

Covenant.

LXXIX

' Lord, they, through faithless
dreams, the Feast disown
Of Thy Son's Incarnation !

(Then whether will such Proteus-
tants at last be blown ?)

LXXX

'That Feast of Feasts, Archangel's

joy, Heav'n here
Espous'd to earth, Saints' bliss,

most dear
Prerogative o' th' Church, the grand

day of the year. 240

LXXXI

' INIan, first made good, himself un-
made, and then
The Word, made flesh, must
dwell with men,

That, man, thus worse than nought,
may better'd be again.

LXXXII

' Dare to own truth. Drones seiz'd

the bees' full bow'r ;
All's paint that butterflies deflow'r ;
As ants improve, so, grasshoppers

impair their hour.

LXXXIII

' When pirate-wasps sail to the
honey'd grot.
They'll find a trap-glass, death
i' th' pot :

Levites, slight not your breast-
work for vain outworks got.

LXXXIV

'We ken Kirk interest; Draco's laws
recall ; 250

Repair the old Church ; Saints the
wall,

True Pastors conduits, Grace the
font. Love cements all.

LXXXV

' Pass freely would we of oblivion
An Act, and pardon all bygone.
Would you smite hand on thigh, and
say. What have we done !

LXXXVI

' Truth's pensioners ! your flocks
bleat ; food they need ;
Christ's flesh, their meat ; blood,
drink indeed :

View Glory's crown ; in season, out
of season, feed.

LXXXVII

'Ye friends to th' Bridegroom,

stewards to the Bride,
With oracles of truth us guide; 260
Truth blesseth Church and State ;

faithful, till crown'd, abide.

LXXXVIII

'So, when the Judge with His reward

appears.
You'll reap in joy what 's sown in

tears :
Moist seed-times crown the fields

with golden-bearded ears.

LXXXIX

' Judge- Advocate to th' wrong'd !
sure. Thou to guilt.
Which would unmake Thy crea-
tures, wilt
Be just, when inquisition's made for
blood that 's spilt,
xc
' At our ear's port land Peace and
Truth ! Oh, then.
Welcome, as Sol to th' Russ in 's
den !
As shore to shipwreck'd, as to towns

dismantled^ men

270

xci

234 The number of the Beast.

250 ken] Sardonically as well as alliteratively, no doubt,

( 359 )

' Oh, might a second angel-choir

ne'er cease
To worms, worn out with War's

distress,
To sing, in all men's hearing, their

blest song of Peace !

237 Proteustants] See Introduction.

Edward Be^ilowes

[Canto III

XCII

' Peace ! Home of pilgrims, first song

at Christ's birth ;
Peace, His last legacy on earth ;
Peace, gen'ral preface to all good ;

Peace, saints' true mirth.

XCIII

' Love, thou support to martyrs ! as

jet straw,
So us to our Belov'd dost draw ;
Thou art gold's true elixir, thou

summ'st up the law.

xciv
' Who can Divine Love speak in
words of sense ? 280

Since, man, as ransom'd, angels
thence
Transcends ! Such is Christ's pas-
sion's high pre-eminence ! '
xcv
Here did she seal her lips, unsluice
her eyes
To flowing rhet'ric, and descries
The world 's a cask, its wine false
mirth, its lees fool's prize,
xcvi
And now, by limpid spring of life-joy,
where
Crystal is limbeck'd all the year.
To God she would her Heav'n-
ascending raptures rear.

XCVII

Taught hence, misguided Zeal,
whom heats dispose
To animosities, may close; 290

And bloody Fury's converts be, by
pond'ring those.

XCVIII

Harmonious Beauty, feast our ear !

They're kings
At least, who hear when Love

thus sings :
Love, to high Grace's key screws up

low Nature's strings.

XCIX

Love, thou canst ocean-flowing

storms appease ;
And such o'ergrown Behemoths

please.
As tax the scaly nation, and excise

the seas.

c
If, Theophil, thy Love-Song can't
assuage
The fate incumbent on this age.
No time to write, but weep ; for we
are ripe for rage ! 300

Ite sacrosanctae Tabulata per Alta
Caringe ;
Non opus est Fluviis, Lintea pan-
do Mari.
Ite Rates Ventis, quo vos rapit Aura,
secundis :
Brittica Cymba pias findat Amoris
Aquas.

ANIMARUM SPONSUS lESUS.

(3O0)

Canto IV] TheophUd s Love-Sacrificc

Canto IV. The Inamoratlon

THE ARGUMENT

O, Deus, aut nullo caleat mihi Pectus ab Igne !

Aut solo caleat Pectus ab Igne Tui !
Languet ut Ilia Deo, mihi Mens simul aemula languet !

CoelitiiS ut rapitur, me Violenta rapit !

She onset makes, first with love-darts aloof;

Then, with Zeal's fireworks, storms Heav'n's roof ;
Whose Faith's shield, and Salvation's helmet are hell-proof.

THEOPHILA'S SOLILOQUY ^

STANZAS I, II

When Heav'n's Love paramount,
Himself reveals,

And to the suppliant soul, her pardon
seals.

At fear'd-Hope's doubtful gate, which
trembling fell,

(Who heav'nward sails, coasts by the
Cape of Hell,)

That her He deigns to take, she joys
in woes,

To have in labour pass'd the partu-
rition throes.

Ill, IV

All travail-pangs, all new-birth heart-
deep groans.

All after-births of penitential moans,

Are swallow'd up in living streams of
bliss ;

When as the Heav'n-born heir, the
new man is, lo

By th'quick'ning Spirit of theHigh'st
re-born :

Time past hath pass'd her night,
present presents her morn.

V, VI

See joy in light, see light in joy; oh,

see.
Poor worthless maid, fruit brought

thee from Life's tree.
By th' Spouse and Spirit, saints' sole

supporters ! Rise

Then, Hell's apostate, and be heav'n

ly wise :
Thou art (let's interpledge our souls)

my One,
My All, though not by unity, by

union !

VII, VIII

Ineffably mysterious knot begun ;
Saints mount, as dew allur'd by

beck'ning sun : 20

Love's faithful friends, what parallels

your guard, '
Where Truth is sentinel, and Grace

the ward ?
The way is flow'r-strown, where the

guide is Love :
His Spirit with you below, your

spirit with Him above.

IX, X

Reciprocal excess of joy ! Then, soar

My soul to Him, who man became;
nay more,

Took sin itself, to cleanse thy sullied
clay.

But took it, only to take it away.

O Self Donation ! peerless Gift, un-
known !

Now since that He is thine, be never
thou thine own ! 30

XI, XII

O prodigy of great and good ! Faith,

sound
This Love's abyss, that does so

strangely bound

' The arrangement in orig. is curious. The stanzas are printed as here, and as they
clearly must be, in six-line groups. But only the odd numbers (i, 3, &c.) are put at the
heads, and the even (2, 4, &c.) accompany the fourth line of each stanza at the side.

( 361 )

Edward Benlowes

[Canto IV

Almightiness Itself! From whose

veins, see,
Unsluic'd,Love's purple ocean, when

His free
Red-streaming life did vanquish

Death and Hell !
That thou might'st live, He died !

That thou might rise, He fell !

XIII, XIV

God so lov'd man, that naturalists

may deem
God to set man before Himself did

seem !
When man, with seeing blind, 'gainst

God arose,
And slew his only Friend, God

sav'd his foes ! 40

Sol mourn'd in blacks ! Heav'n's

Viceroy, Nature, swounded !
Excess Love's reason was, Immensity

Love bounded !

XV, XVI

Ye twins of light, as sunflow'rs be

inclin'd
To th' Sun of Righteousness; let

Taste, refin'd,
Like nothing as Love's Heav'nly

Manna ; and
Let all but Christ feel rough, as

Esau's hand ;
Let nought like 's garment smell;

let ears rejoice.
But in expressless dictates of Love's

whisp'ring voice !

xvii, XVIII

He 's thy bright sun ; 'twixt whom,
and thy soul's bliss,

Thy earthy body interposed is ; 50

Whereby such dread eclipses caused
are,

As fam'd astronomers can ne'er
declare :

Yet oft He shines; then, vanish ser-
vile fears ;

Then, heav'nward filial hopes dry up
thy trickling tears.

XIX, XX

Spiritual light spirituals clears : in
Heav'n

(362)

Thou'lt view that full, what now by
glimpse, like Steph'n,

Thou canst but spy ; there, shalt
thou face to face,

His light, His joy. His love, His
pow'r. His grace,

And His all-filling glory clearly see

In optic emanations from Eter-
nity ! 60

XXI, XXII

I' th' ring of boundless lustre, from

whose ray
This petty world gleaneth its peep of

day :
Thou shalt be crown'd with wreaths

of endless light :
Here, oft's an interview in heat, and

might,
By inter-lucidations from above,
Twining embraces with 's ensphering

arm of love !

XXIII, XXIV

Most blessed souls, to whom He

does appear,
Folded within your arms, chaste

Hemisphere !
Oh, condescend ! How 's lips shed

love ! life ! merit !
He makes His angels court of guard!

By 's Spirit 70

He crowns you with His grace ! So,

with His blood.
When He redeem'd you, and con-

sign'd His Flesh for food !

XXV, XXVI

Meat came from th' eater, from the

strong did dew
Sweetness ; when as, incomparably

true,
Omnipotency's Self did largely shed
His mystic oil of joy upon thy head :
Then, trample sin in Babylon's gold-
en cup ;
Treasures away she trifles, trifles
treasures up.

XXVII, XXVIII

Oil of this lamp, obsequious soul,

lights thee
To thine approaching Heav'n ! In

sanctity 80

Canto IV] TheophUa s Love-Sacrlfice

Be actuated then ; being up assum'd
By this bright sun, with this rich oil

perfum'd,
Th' art prepossess'd with heav'nly

comforts, which,
AVith their soul-cheering sweets, both

ravish and enrich.

XXIX, XXX

Poor, panting heart, Love's seat,
yearn for Joy's pith !

To have (thy highest bliss !) com-
munion with

The Father and the Son, one Spirit
with Christ !

And one in Them, as They are One !
Thou fly'st

Through grace to glory ! Vision shall
sublime

Thy faith. Fruition hope. Eternity
thy time ! 90

THEOPHILA'S LOVE-SONG

XXXI, XXXII

Self ! oh, how mean an harmony it

breeds !
Jesus ! All names this Name of

names exceeds !
This Name's God's mercy at full

sea, 'tis Love's
High tow'r, Joy's loadstone; this, my

spirit moves.
Hark : ' Rise, my love, my fair one,

come away ;
Ling'ring breeds loss ; I am thy

Leader, Light, and Way.'
XXXIII, xxxiv
What speed Speed's self can make,

soul, fly withal ;
Greatness and goodness most mag-

netical !
Shoot, like a flash of fire, to th' ruby

wine,
His precious blood, transcendently

Divine ! ico

(How poor those costly pearls were,

drunk by some)
My Lord, drink Blood to me 1 Let

It to th' world's health come !

XXXV, xxxvi

All hope 's unanchor'd but in That.
Thou art,

'Bove Indies' womb, rich to my love-
sick heart !

Flesh-fair endowments are but skin-
deep brags,

Varnish'd corruption ; wealth is but
Care's bags ;

The bag imposthumed chokes. Gold,
Beauty, Fame

Are sublunary mists to Saints' sera-
phic flame.

XXXVII, XXXVIII

Jesus ! This fans my fire, which has

at best
But grains of incense, pounds of

interest. no

Go, int'rest; take the principal, Thine

own :
Divine Love loves Thy loveliness

alone !
What flames to Thine proportionable

be!
Lord, hadst not first lov'd man, man

could not have lov'd Thee !

XXXIX, XL

Why lov'st us, but because Thou

wouldst? Oh, why
For lepers would the Undefiled die?
That pen was dipt i' th' standish of

thy Blood,
Which wrote th' indenture of our

termless good !
O Love, 'bove wish! Never such Love

enroU'd !
Who think their utmost flames

enough for Thee, are cold. 120

XLI, XLII

(363)

Whose Highness did not to be low
disdain.

Yet, when at lowest, highest did
remain !

Who bow'dst Heav'n's altitude, re-
fresh with flow'rs.

With Jesse's sov'reign flow'r, my
fainting povv'rs,

107 imposthumed] Orig. ' impostom'd.'

Kdwa7^d Be7tlowes

[Canto IV

Which sink (as shaft-struck hart em-
bossed) twixt grief,

And joy : grief for my sin, joy for Thy
free relief.

XLIII,XLIV

Wrack'd is with bitter-sweet extremes

my mind,
Shell'd, sheath'd, cag'd, coffin'd in

her treacherous friend ;
Her always tempting mass of flesh

she bears,
Her hopes, did they not sprout from

Thee, were fears : 130

Hope, Thou perfume of lovers, for

Thy sake
Love's generous, throws at all : life's

but a petty stake ;

XLV, XLVI

Scarce worth the prize. Love makes

two spirits but one ;
Me, counterpart to Thy indenture,

own ;
I, active then as light, tread air and

flame,
W'ithout or wing, or chariot ; and

disclaim
All the faint sweets of earth. Thy

Spirit views
How in Love's torrid zone Thy swel-

t'ring martyr stews.

XLVII, XLVIII

Row me, ye dove-wing'd oars, whom

Hope does buoy,
To wish'd-for hav'n, flowing with

tides of joy ! 140

Yet wish I not, my Joy, Thy joys

above,
Merely for joy; nor pleasures of Thy

Love,
Only for love of pleasure. No, let

free
Spiritual languors teem ! fruitful, yet

virgins be !

XLIX, L

Give, give me children, or I die !

Love, rest
Thy head upon the pillows of my

breast !
When me Thou shalt impregn'd with

virtues make

(364)

A fruitful Eden, all the fruitage take !
Thy passion, Jonathan, below did

move ;
Rapt sj)iiits, in high excess, flame

with intensest love ! 150

LI, LII

My life is hid with Thee in God !

Descry
Thyself, O Thou, my plighted

Spouse, that I
May ever glorious be ! That my joy'd

soul
With Thee may make up marriage !

and my whole
Self Thee for Bridegroom have ! My

hope still sends
Up ' Come,' that I may enter with

Thy feasted friends !

LIII, LIV

Oh, that long-long'd for Come ! oh,

Come ! mine eyes,
Love's sentinels, watch, like officious

spies !
Strike sparks of joy t' inflame Love's

tinder ! make
The exile view her home, the

dreamer wake ! 160

Tears raise the fire of Love ! Ease

sighs of air,
Fire's passion, wat'ry tears, and earthy

self-despair !

LV. LVI

My sighs, condens'd to drops, com-
pute hours spent !

Cancel the lease of my clay-tenement.

Which pays dear rent of groans ! oh,
grant a writ

Of ease ! I languish out, not live !
Permit

A pass to Sion's Mount ! But, I re-
sign

My green-sick will, though sick of
Love, to that of Thine !

LVII, LVIII

Waitings, which ripen hopes, are not

delays ;
Presence how great, how truc's Love,

absence says :

170

While lungs my breath shall organ,
I'll press still

Canto IV] TheophUd s Love-Sac?^ifice

Th' exinanition of myo'ergrown will.
'Behold, I quickly come.' O'erjoy'd

I'm here !
Oh, Come ! Till then, each day 's an

age, each hour a year.

LIX, LX

Jesu! (That Name's Joy's essence!)
hasten on !

Throngamorous sighs for dissolution!

Fastidious earth, avaunt ; with love-
plumes soar,

My soul, to meet thy Spouse. Canst
wish for more ?

Only come ! give a Ring ! Re-echo
then,

'Oh, Come.
Come !

Even so, Lord Jesu,
Amen. Amen.' i8o

LXI

Who 's this inamor'd vot'ress ? Like

the morn
From mountain unto mountain

born ?
Who first, with night-drops devv'd,

seem'd turtle-dove forlorn ?

LXII

But now, ere warped body, near

decay,
Stands, bow-like, bent, to shoot

away
Her soul, ere prone looks kiss her

grave, ere her last day,

LXIII

She (Love-fiU'd) wants no mate, has

rather one
Body too much. V th' Spirit's

throne
Christ's peace is fullest quire ! Such

loneness, least alone !

LXIV

When soft-flying Sleep, Death's sister,

wings does spread 190

Over that curtain'd grave, her bed,

Then, with prophetic dreams the

Highest crowns her head.

LXV

Behold, a comely Person, clad in

white,
The all-enlight'ning sun less

bright
Than that illustrious Face of His,

which blest her sight.

LXVI

To her, in Majesty, His way He

broke.
And, softly thus to her He spoke,
'Come, come away.' 'My Jesus'

says she. So, she woke. .

LXVII

Her pray'rs, more passionate than

witty, rise,
As Sol's postilion, bright ; her

eyes, 200

Wrestling with God for grace, bedew

Love's Paradise.

LXVIII

Betimes, when keen-breath'd winds,

with frosty cream,
Periwig bald trees, glaze tattling

stream :
For May-games past, white-sheet

peccavi is Winter's theme.

LXIX

Those daybreaks give good morrows,

which she takes
With thanks, so, doubly good

them makes.
Who in God's promise rests, in God's

remembrance wakes.

LXX

Saints nothing more, saints nothing

less regard,
Than Love's Self, than self-love ;

unscar'd.
Though rack'd into an anagram, their

souls being spar'd. 210

LXXI

Through virtuous self-mistrust they
acted move

190 Death's sister] The substitution of ' sister ' for the usual ' brother ' though obvious
is not trivial, and still less unpoetical. Grammar prevented it in the classical languages :
our happy freedom therefrom allows it. And the attributes of Sleep are certainly
more feminine than masculine.

194 sun] 1 should like to read 'sun's.'

(365)

Edward Benlowes

[Canto IV

Like needle, touch'd by th' stone
of Love.
Blest magnet, which attracts, and
souls directs Above !

LXXII

Were she but mortal, she were satis-
fied,
So God liv'd in her, till she died ;
His Word, her deed ; His Will, her
warrant ; both, her guide.

LXXIII

Thus, this Devota breathes out
yearning cries.
* Let not dust blind my sensual
eyes,

AVhen as my spirit's energy trans-
cends the skies !

LXXIV

' Virtues raise souls. All 's filial to
Above; 220

Low'st step is mercenary love ;

Fraternal are the sides that Saint's
ascent improve.

LXXV

* Manna to my enamour'd soul, art

Thou!
The Spirit of Heav'n, distill'd,

does flow
From Thy aspect; by that, from

brutes, we angels grow.

LXXVI

' Had I, oh, had I many lives, as

years ;
As many loves, as love hath fears ;
All, all were Thine, had I as many

hearts, as hairs !

LXXVII

' From Thee my joy-extensions
spreading flow ;
Dilating, as leaf-gold ! be n't
slow, 230

O, Thou, my All, and more ! Love-
lorn, Thee still I woo !

LXXVIII

'The widow press'd, till Thee to grant

she bound ;
The virgin sought Thee, till she

found ;
The publican did knock, till opening

knocking crown'd.

(366)

LXXIX

'Though nought but dross I in my-
self can spy,
Yet melted with Thy beaming Eye,

My refuse turns to gold, by mystic
alchemy ;

LXXX

' Then, whet thy blunt scythe, Time,

and wing thy feet :
Life, not in length, but use, is sweet :
Come, Death (the body brought abed

o[f] th[e] soul), come, fleet ! 240

LXXXI

' Be pulse, my passing-bell ; be skin,

my hearse :
Night's sable curtains that disperse
The rays of day, be shroud : dews,

weep my funeral verse !

LXXXII

'Pity me, love-sick virgins!' Then,

she swoon'd ;
O'ercome with zeal, she sunk to

th' ground :
Darts of intolerable sweets her soul

did wound.

LXXXIII

She lay with flaming Love impierc'd

to th' heart:
Wak'd, as she bled, she kist the

dart ;
Then sigh'd. 'Take all I am, or

have ! All, All Thou art ! '

LXXXIV

Then, sunk again. Reviv'd, Loves
bow she bent, 250

And married string to shaft, and
sent

Ejaculations, which the skies, like
lightning, rent.

LXXXV

Piercing them through (feather'd

with sighs) to show
She little paid, yet much did owe:
The feathers sung, and fir'd, as they

did upward go.

LXXXVI

No ice-fring'd cloud may quench
Love's soaring flame :
Love is more strong than death,
or shame.

Canto IV] "Theopliild s Love-Sacf^ifice

Grown up all soul, the flesh sinks in
a triple qualm.

LXXXVII

'I charge ye, Sion Virgins, let her still
Enjoy her disencloister'd fill 260
In these high ecstasies of Union and
Will.

LXXXVIII

'Do not with claps of hands, or noise

of feet,
Awake her from what is more sweet.
Till the bright rising day-star light her

to Heav'n's street.

LXXXIX

' Yield her, what her unfetter'd
rapture gives.
Since she 's more where she loves,
than lives :
Transanimations, scaling Heav'n,
break carnal gyves,
xc
' In Love's triumphant chariot plac'd
she is ;
Concentric are her joys with his;
Encharioted in fire, her spirit Heav'n-
ripe for bliss.' 270

xci
They're only found, who thus are lost
in trance ;
Transported to the high'st advance,
With him, who was in spirit rapt to
expressless glance.

XCII

Return'd, she cried : ' Oh, slay me

thus again !
Ne'er lives she who thus ne'er is

slain !
How sweet the wounds of Love ! No

pleasure to Love's pain !

XCIII

' In furnac'd heat, Pyrausta-like, I

fry!
To live is faith ! 'tis gain to die !
One life 's enough for two ! Thou

liv'st in me, not I !

xciv
' How, midst regalias of Love's ban-
quet, I 2S0
Dissolve in Sweet's extremity !
O languors ! Thus to live is in pure
flames to die !

xcv
' Three kings three gifts to th' King
of kings did bring ;
Myrrh, incense, gold, to Man, God,
King :
For myrrh, tears ; incense, pray'rs ;
gold, take Love's offering !
xcvi
' Oh, take Love's hecatomb ! ' Then,
through her eyes
Did Loveenamouringpassions rise :
High'st Glory crowns Theophila's
love-sacrifice.

xcvii
Not she. Mortality alone did die ;
Death 's but translation to the
sky : 290

All virtues fir'd in her pure breast
their spicery.

XCVIII

As, when Arabia's wonder spices
brings,
Which fann'dto flames by her own
wings,
She, from the glowing holocaust in
triumph springs :
xcix
So, Virtue's pattern (priestess, altar,
fire.
Incense, and victim) up did spire ;
' Victoria, Victoria,' sung all Heav'n's
quire.

c
She echoing (echo, which does all
surpass !
God's sight is Glory's looking-
glass !) 299
1 Magnificats, Hosannas, Halleluiahs!

277 Pyrausta] TrifaiaTrjs ' a moth that is singed in a flame,' and thus a sort of
salamander.

287 Love] So in orig. ' Love-enamouring ' * making Love Himself love ' seems
very like Benlowes.

300 Halleluiahs] Five syllables.

(367)

Edward Beiilowes

[Canto IV

Pars CursLis emensa mei, Pars restat
aranda :
Ex aequo Metam Vesper & Ortus
habent.

Ergo per immensos properent cava
Lintea Fluctus :
Jactatam capiant Littora sancta
Ratem !

AMANS ANIMA SATIATUR AMANTIS.

Canto V. The Representation

THE ARGUMENT

Mundus Opes, Animam Coelum, Terramque resumpsit
Terra : Deus, Vitam cum tulit, Ipse dedit.

Solus Amor facit esse Deum ; Quern, Mente capaci,
Si Quis conciperet, posset et esse Deus.

The Author's vision, her ascent, Heav'n's place

Descried, where reigns all glorious Grace,
Where 's all-sufficient Good, the sum of Bliss she has.

STANZA I

I'm Vile, a thing impure, Corruption's
son,
Earth-crawling worm, by sin un-
done,

Whose suppliant dust doth own its
shame, and t' Heav'n doth run.

IT

Grace, intervene 'twixt sin and shame,
and tie
A hopeful bliss to misery !
Lord, pardon dust and ashes : both,
yea worse, am I !
Ill
Though dust, Thy work: though clay,
Thy Hand did turn
This vessel ; and, though ashes,
th' Urn
Thou art, them to restore when sky
and earth shall burn.

IV

Whilst that my Heav'n-allied soul
does stay lo

Wholly on Thee, not Europe's sway
Can elevate my wish, like one grace-
darted ray.

v
Meet, meet my prison'd Soul's
address! oh, might
Sheview,throughmould'ring earth,
Thy Sight !

(368)

Grace perfects Nature's want : say
here, ' Let there be light ! '

VI

Then, though in flesh my spirit

prison'd be.
She may by Faith ascend to Thee,
And up be rais'd, till she shall mount

to liberty.

VII

Clear-sighted Faith, point out the way;

I will
Neglect curl'd Phrase's frizzled

skill : 20

Humble Devotion, lift thou up my

flagging quill;

VIII

Which faints at first approach ; my

faith 's too light
To move this mountain, reach

this height :
Can squeaking reeds sound forth the

organ's full delight?

IX

I'm mute, for only light can light

declare ;
A diamond must a diamond square ;
Yet, where I dare not speak, there yet

adore I dare.

X

Ear has not heard, nor eye has seen,
nor can

Canto V] TheophHas Love- Sacrifice

Man's heart conceive (vast heart of
man)
The riches treasur'd up in Glory's
ocean ! zo

XI

Tomes full of mystic characters

enfense
Those seas of bliss ! To write to

sense
Heav'n's chronicle, would ask a

Heav'n'd intelligence.

XII

How, then, from flood of tears may

an ark'd dove try
Its vent'rous pinions, to descry
That land, unknown to Nature? Vast

Eternity !

XIII

Fear gulfs unfathomable ; nor desire,
Ere of God's court thou art, t' as-
pire
To be of 's council ; pry not, but with
awe admire.

XIV

Dwarf-words do limp, do derogate,
do scan 40

Nor height, nor depth. Since Time
began,

What constitutes a gnat was ne'er
found out by man.

XV

Dares mortal slime, with ruder tongue,

express
What ev'n Celestials do confess
Isinexpressible? Thou clod of earth,

first guess

XVI

In like degrees from equinoctial

track.
Why men are tawny, white, and

black ?
Why Bactria's camel two? Arab's one

bunch on 's back ?

XVII

Canst lead Leviathan with a silken

string?
Canst coverwith a hornet's wing 50
Behemoth ? Canst thou seas into a

nutshell bring?

XVIII

Canstmotionfix? countsands? recall

past day ?
Show height, breadth, length o'th'

spreading ray ?
Discardinate the spheres? and rapid

whirlwinds stay?

XIX

Tell, tell how pond'rous Earth's huge

propless ball
Hangs poised in the fluent hall
Of fleeting air? how clouds sustained

are from fall ?

XX

How burnt the Bush, when verdure

cloth'd its fire ?
How from the rock, rod-struck in

ire,
Did cataracts gush out? How did the

sea retire ? 60

XXI

Canst thou take post-horse with the

coursing sun.
And with him through the zodiac

run?
How many stages be there ere the

race be done?

XXII

Then, tell how once he shot his beams

down-right
From the same zenith, while for

night.
Mortals stood gazing at a doubled

noonday's light ?

XXIII

Tell,howthat planet did in after-days
Turn Cancer, shooting Parthian

rays.
Ten whole degrees revers'd, which

did the world amaze.

XXIV

Poor thingling man ! Propitious

Heav'n, assign 70

Some angel for this high design !

Heav'n's history requires at least a

Seraphin.

XXV

Oh, might some glorious Spirit then
retire,
And warble to a sacred lyre

(369)

Bb

Edward Benlowes

[Canto V

The Song of Moses and the Lamb in
Heav'n's full quire !

XXVI

'Twas at Night's noon, when sleep th'
oppress'd had drown'd ;
But sleepless were oppressors
found ;

'Twas when Sky's spangled head in
sable veil was bound :

XXVII

For thievish Night had stole, and

clos'd up quite,
In her dark lantern, starry light :
No planet seen to sail in that dead

ebb of Night: 8i

XXVIII

When, lo, all-spreading rays the room

surround !
Like such reflections, as rebound,
Shootingtheir beams to th' sun, from

rocks of diamond.

XXIX

This, to a wonder, summoned my

sight,
Which dazzled was at so pure light!
A Form angelic there appear'd

divinely bright !

XXX

I wish'd myself more eyes to view this

gleam ;
I was awake, I did not dream ;
Too exquisite delight makes true

things feigned seem. 90

XXXI

Model of Heav'n it was ; I floated long

'Twixt joy and wonder; passion

strong.

Wanting due vent, made sight my

speech, and eyes my tongue !

XXXH

Oft, my rapt soul, ascending to the eye,

Peep'd through upon Angelity,
Whose blaze did burnish'd plate of
sparkling Sol outvie !

XXXIII

If gracious silence shin'd forth any-
where

With sweet aspect, 'twas in this
sphere ;
The soul of sweetness, and the spirit
of joys mix'd here
xxxiv
From out Love's wing he must a
pencil frame, 100

Who, on Time's cloth, would paint
this flame :
None can portray this glorious draft
but who 's the same.

XXXV

Veilthen,Timanthes-like,thisguess'd
at face,
(The curtain of that inward grace),
Whose forehead with diaphanous
gold impaled was,

XXXVI

For, starry knobs, like diamonds, did

attire
That front with glory, and conspire
To lavish out their beams, to radiate

that fire.

XXXVII

Whose amber-curling tresses were

unbound.
And, like a glittering veil, spread

round, no

And so about the snowy shoulders

sweetly wound.

XXXVIII

Whose robe shot forth a tissue-
waving shine.
Which seem'd loose-flowing, far
more fine

Than any interwoven silk with silver
twine.

XXXIX

With gracious smile, approaching

nearer, sat
This glorious thing : oh, humble

state !
Yet, on the Vision inexpressive rays

did wait.

XL

'Twas glorified Theophila sat there.
I, mute, as if I tongueless were,

103 Timanthes] Orig. 'Timantes.' The story of the picture of the sacrifice of
Iphigcnia is well known.

( 370 )

Canto V] Theoplitlds LoveSacrifice

Till her voice-music drew my soul
into mine ear : 120

XLI

Twas 'bove lute's sweetest touch,

or richest air !
' I bring thee things (says she)

are rare :
All subcelestial streams drops to

this ocean are.

XLII

'Hear, first, my progress. Loos'd

from Nature's chain,
And quit from clay, I did attain.
Swift as a glancing meteor to

th' aerial plain :

XLIII

'Where, passing through, I did

perfume the air
With sacred spice, and incens'd

pray'r ;
While grateful clouds their liquid

pearl, as gift, prepare.

XLIV

'I spare t' unlock those treasuries of

snow ; 1 30

Or tell what paints the rainy bow ;

Or what cause thunders, lightnings,
rains ; or whence winds flow.

XLV

* Those regions pass'd, where beard-
ed comets light
The world to fatal woes; a bright

Large orb of harmless fire enflam'd
my heav'nward flight.

XLVI

'To azure-arched sky ascends my soul
(Thence view I North and South-
ern Pole),

Where globes in serpentine yet
order'd motions roll.

XLVII

'Thence by the changing Moon's

alternate Face,
Up, through unweari'd Phosphor's

place, 140

I mount to Sol's diurnal and his

annual race :

XLVIII

' By whose propitious influencethings
are

(371) Bb

Quicken'd below, this monarch
star,
Making his progress through the
signs, unclouds the air ;

XLIX

' And, eight-score times outbulks the

earth ; whose race
In four and twenty hours' space
'Bove fifty millions of Germanic

leagues does pace.

L

' This giant with as many tongues as

rays,
Speaks out, so oft as he displays
His beams, which gild the world ;

that man his Lord should praise.

LI

' Through spheres I pass'd to stars,
that nail Heav'n's court, 151
(My stay was with sky-wonders
short,)

Which, by first Mover's force, are
whirl'd about their fort.

LII

' Through the blue-spangled frame,

my psalming tongue
Made th' orbs suspend their usual

song.
To hear celestial hymns the glist'ring

quires did throng.

LIII

' Chime out, ye crystal spheres, and

tune your poles ;
Skies, sound your bass ; ere ye to

coals
Dissolve, and tumble on the bonfire

world in shoals.

LIV

'The Pritnum Mobile does seem
immense, 16c

And doth transfused influence

Through all inferior orbs, as swift as
thought, dispense.

LV

'Suppose, a millstone should from

thence be hurl'd
Unto the centre of this world,
'T would make up sixscore years, ere

it could down be whirl'd.

Edward Benlowes

[Canto V

LVI

Now, enter'd I Heav'n's suburbs,
pav'd with gems ;
No orient jewels cast such beams ;
(Oh, might this verse be wreath'd
but with such diadems !)

LVII

' Sol's radiant fulgence in meridian

skies 169

Seem'd shade unto those clarities ;

Where Beauty's self might beautify

her fairest eyes.

LVIII

' 'Tis 'bove high'st verge, where

reason dares be bold ;
That Heav'n of God is of such

mould,
That eyes, till glorified, cannot the

same behold.

LIX

' 'Tis purely spirit'al,and so must be,

Above compare in all degree,
With aught that draws its line from
th' six days' pedigree.

LX

' 'Tis immaterial, 'bove the highest

sphere,

Doth brighter than the rest appear ;

Than orbs of fire, moon, sun, or

crystalline more clear. 180

LXI

"Tis space immense, from whence

apostates driv'n,
Their rooms might so to men be

giv'n
With those confirmed sons, th'

indigenae of Heav'n.

LXII

'Absurdly some philosophers did
dream,
That Heav'n's an uncreated beam
Which forth eternally from God
Himself did stream.

LXIII

' 'Tis but a creature, though its

essence be
To change unsubject, standing

free
On never-shaken pillars of Infinity.

( 37a )

LXIV

' Ocean of Joys ! Who can thee fully
state? it)o

For clearer knowledge man must
wait ;

First shoot Death's Gulf, thy soul may
then arrive thereat :

LXV

' For no one enters there, till he
hath trod
Death's path, then, from that period
Elected souls ascend to Heav'n, to
bliss, to God !'

LXVI

(Zeal through me fires its way to
speak, that I
Would thither, like wing'd light-
ning, fly.

Were my fiesh-curtain drawn that
clouds my spirit's eye !

LXVII

What heights would souls affect,

could they undress
Themselves of rags, that them

depress ! 200

How beautiful 's the form of naked

Holiness !

LXVIII

New light, life, love, joy, bliss there

boundless flow !
There shall my soul thy glory know,
When she her robe of clay shall to

earth's wardrobe throw !

LXIX

Fond that I am to speak. Pass on
to bUss,
That with an individual kiss
Greets thee for ever ! Pardon this
parenthesis.)

LXX

' Faith 's the Soul's eye ; as nothing

were between.
They that believe, see things

unseen :
Close then thy carnal, thy spiritual

eyes unscreen. 210

LXXI

* For, my transplanted spirit shall
emblaze

Canto V] TkeophHas Love-Sacrifice

Words, may make wonder stand at
gaze :
Unboundless bliss doth ev'n the
sep'rate spirit amaze.

LXXII

' Oh, fleet of intellectuals, glory-
fraught,
(Inestimable arras, wrought
With heart-o'ercoming colours,) how
ye pass all thought ! '

LXXIII

Thou All-comprising, uncompris'd

Who art
Ever, yet never made, impart
Thou (Love's abyss, without or ebb

or shore) a heart

LXXIV

Of Wisdom to attempt, proceed, and

end 220

What never was, is, can be penn'd !

May spots in maps (dumb teachers)

empires comprehend ?

LXXV

' The sky-enchased diamonds lesser
show
Than July's hairy worms that glow,

Sampled with those rebounds un-
bounded glories throw.

LXXVI

'That Vessel of Election, rapt to
th' soil
Of highest bliss, did here recoil :
I'th' same attempt 'tis honour to
confess a foil.

LXXVIl

' Sense knows not 'bove court-
triumphs, thrones, or kings,
Gems, music, beauties, banquet-
ings, 230

Without such tropes it can't unfold
spiritual things.

LXXVIII

'Oh, how that most unutterable

blaze
Of Heav'n's all-luminating rays
Does souls (disrob'd of flesh) both

brighten, and amaze !

LXXIX

' That boundless solstice, with trans-
parent beams,
Through Heav'n's triumphant
arches streams,

And, gliding through each spirit with
intrinsic gleams,

LXXX

' Pierceth to th' little world, and doth
dispel
The gloomy clouds of sin, that
swell

The soul, decoying it to ever-burn-
ing Hell ! 240

LXXXI

* By glory, how are spirits made

divine !
How super-radiantly they shine
From th' ever-flowing spring of the

refulgent Trine !

LXXXII

' Beyond report of high'st discourse

they dart
Their radiations, 'bove all art !
This cath'lic bliss o'erflows the most

capacious heart !

LXXXIII

'Conceive a court, where all joys

domineer.
Where seas of sweets o'erflow, and

where
Glory's exhaustless mines, sport's

endless springs, appear :

LXXXIV

'Where infinite excess of sweets
ne'er cloys ! 250

Where, still fruition's feast em-
ploys

Desire ! where who enjoy the least
can't count their joys !

LXXXV

'One may t' a glimpse, none to a

half can rise.
Had he more tongues, than heavn

has eyes !
Such, nothing see, as would in words

this sight comprise !

213 Unboundless] So in my copy, but corrected to ' unbounded,' which is of course
obvious.

( 373 )

Edwa7^d Ben low es

[Canto V

LXXXVI

' Can measures such Unmeasurables

hold?
Can time Infinity unfold ?
Superlative Delights maybe admired,

not told.

LXXXVII

'When Glory's Heav'n is all one

sunny blaze,
That flowing radiance doth amaze,
While on that inconceivable result

we gaze ! 261

LXXXVIII

' What king would not court martyr-
dom, to hold
In capite a city of gold.
Where, look how many gates, so
many pearls are told !

LXXXIX

'The structure's square; a firm

foundation, [stone,

Twelvefold, for each a precious

The Lamb's Apostles' names en-
graven thereupon.

xc
' There sparkles forth the verdant
emerald,
The blue-ey'd sapphire therein
wall'd,
The topaz too, with that stone which
from gold is call'd : 270

xci
' There, jasper, chalcedon, chryso-
prase shine.
There sardonyx, and sardius join,
There beryl, hyacinth, and amethyst
combine.

XCII

'No sympathizing turkise there, to

tell
By paleness th' owner is not well.
For, griefs exil'd to earth, and

anguish groans in hell !

XCIII

' The streets with gold perspicuous
are array'd.
With blazing carbuncles inlaid ;

271] Read ' chrysoprase, chalcedon'?

( 374 )

Yet, all seem night, to glories from
the Lamb display'd.

xciv
' For, thousand suns make an eclipse
to those ! 280

The diamond there for pavement
grows.
As on its glitt'ring stock, and all its
sparkles throws,
xcv
'And there, on every angel-trodden
way
Loose pearls, instead of pebbles,
play.
Like dusky atoms in the sun's em-
bright'ning ray.

xcvi
' Had I a quill sent from a Seraph's
wing.
And skill to tune 't ! I could not
sing
The moiety ofthat wealth, which that
all-glorious King
xcvii
'Of Heav'n enstates those in, who
follow good.
And prize 't above their vital blood!
Heav'n may be gain'd on earth, but
never understood ! 291

XCVIII

' As, when the sun shakes off the veil

of night.
And scatters on the dawn his light.
He soon takes pris'ner to himself th'

engaged sight :

XCIX

' So, when I view those indeficient
beams,
Oh, they in overfulgent gleams.
Like diamonds, thaw'd to air, em-
bubble forth in streams !
c
' Ev'n spirits, who have disrob'd their
rags of clay,
Laid up in wardrobe till that day,
O'ercome, they dazzled are by each

miperious ray

I

300

286] Note this.

Canto V] TheophUd s JLove-Sacrifice

I

Sextarepercussi, Pars antepenultima,
Ponti,
Imparibus restat perficienda Mo-
dis ;

Quam (si prsestiterit Mentem Deus
Optimus) addam
Flammiferos Phoebus cum jugat
ortus Equos.

EX OBSCURO SPECTABILE CCELUM.

Canto VI. The Association

THE ARGUMENT

Panduntur Coeli, juvat hinc invisere Divum

Atria, mortali non adeunda Pede :
Hie, Animae pennis advecta Theophila, cernit

Agmina Ccelicolum ducere sancta Chores.

Heav'n's order, beauty, glory is descried :

Here, read the state o' th' Glorified,
Which Theophil i' th' heraldry of Heav'n had eyed.

STANZA I

'Those happy mansions, glorious

Saint, discover.
Where the bright Host of Spirits

hover !
Bring down all Heav'n before the

eyes o' th' Heav'nly Lover.'

II
Frail man, with zeal and wonder here
behold
Clay cast into a heav'nly mould :
Faith did, now Vision does Beatitude
unfold.

Ill
The tenants in this splendid frame
are they
Whose grosser and unpolish'dclay,
Calcin'd in graves, now robes of
glory do array.

IV

Here martyrs sit enthron'd, who late
did bleed lo

Sap from their fertile wounds, to
feed

With oil the Church's lamps, and
with red dew her seed.

These ovant souls, Knights of Saint

Vincent are,
For high achievements gain'd,

each scar,
To make a golden constellation,

seems a star.

VI

Not by inflicting, but receiving blows,
By suffring, they o'ercame their

foes :
How long, Lord, ere Thou dost

avenge their blood on those ?

VII

These own their bliss, sprung from

the word and will
O'th' Lamb, by whom they con-

quer'd still 20

Themselves, and that revolted band

that Hell does fill.

VIII

Therefore, each prostrate casts, with

th' elders, down
At the Lamb's feet their palm and

crown,
Beholding round all eminences, but

their own.

8 unpolish'd] Orig. 'unpolish,' an obvious oversight.
13 Knights of St. Vincent] i. e. ' conquerors.'

( 375 )

Edward Be7ilowes

[Canto VI

IX

Th' Apostles here, with him, in

whose sweet tongue
The lute of high-tun'd Love was

strung,
When through so many regions he

the Gospel sung.

X

The loving, lov'd Evangelist here lives

OnLove's pure influence, and gives

No bounds to 's flaming love, but how

to heighten 't strives. 30

XI

Love was his only theme. She, here

is crown'd,
Who near Death's tomb. Life risen

found ;
Whose eye-bowl was tear-brimm'd,

whose towel hair unbound.

XII

Parch'd Afric's glory, born in 's

mother's eyes
(A happier offspring of her cries,
Than of her womb), here to ecstatic

Love does rise.

XIII

The bounds are boundless of divine

Amour ;
Love hopes, and yet hath all

things, for.
In Heav'n's eternal heraldry, true

Love is Or.

XIV

Fruition Love enfires, thence Zeal 's

renew'd ; 40

Love hath the Spirit's plenitude.

Burning with flames in splendour of

Beatitude !

XV

Love caus'd the Son of God from 's

throne dismount.
And make Himself of no account,
Become a Man of Sorrows, who of

Joy 's the fount !

XVI

This Love, by quire of Heav'n scarce
understood !

Could so much ill cause so much
good,
For man's redemption that God's
Son should shed His blood ?

XVII

Thou, Love, when as my guilty soul

did dwell
In nest of ruin, didst unshell 50
My spirit (fledg'd with Grace) from

that disorder'd cell.

XVIII

And, having crush'd the outward film

of earth,
Gav'st her, new form'd with Glory,

birth
That she might sty to th' Seat of

Beatific Mirth !

XIX

And praise Thee, with those virgin-
souls, who in
The cloisters of their flesh have
been

Wash'd in their Saviour's bath of
blood from spots of sin.

XX

Flow'rs on our heads, as on their

stems, do grow,
Which into fadeless colours flow.
Nor cold to blast, nor heat to scorch,

nor age they know. 60

XXI

Scenting 'bove thousand precious
ointments, shed
On consecrated Aaron's head ;

Above pearl'd dew on Hermon's ever-
fragrant bed.

XXII

How far, immaculate flames, do you

excel
All that in thought's high turret

dwell !
What then can optics see? What

then can volumes tell ?

XXIII

If Beauty's self we could incarnate
see

34 The promotion of St. Augustine to special company with St. John and St. Mary
""''"'""" is iiotew — ''■■•
ienlowe!

(3;6;

Magdalene is noteworthy.

54 styj Benlowes probably took this rare but good word ( = ' rise ') from Spenser,

Canto VI] TheophUd s Love-Sacrifice

Teeming with youth and joy, yet
she
Would not so beauteous as the Virgin-
Mother be.

XXIV

Who, Hke a fuU-orb'd moon, our stars
outshin'd 70

In glorious fulgurance of mind !

For whose surpassing splendour I
this Ode design'd.

XXV

' Hail, blessed Virgin-Spouse^ who

didst bequeath
Breath unto Him, who made thee

breathe !
And gav'st a life to Him, who gave

thee life from death !

XXVI

'Who bor'st Him in thy womb, whose

hands did stack
The studded orbs with stars, and

tack
The glowing constellations to the

Zodiac !

XXVII

' And, what improves the mystery

begun, 79

New mysteries from thee were spun.

He did, at once, become thy Father,
Spouse, and Son !

XXVIII

' Conceiving Him, as by the womb,

so th' ear !
By th' Angels' tongue Heav'n cast

seed there !
Thou heard'st, believ'dst, and thence

didst breed, and thence didst

bear !

XXIX

' Thou only may'st (so it be humbly)

boast
To have brought forth the Eternal

Host
By mystic obumbration of the Holy

Ghost !

XXX

' By thee did God and man embrace
each other !
Thus, Heav'n to Earth became a
brother !

(377)

Thus, thou, a Virgin, to thy Maker
wast a Mother ! 90

XXXI

' Thy fleece was wet, when all the

ground lay dry !
Dry, when all moist about did lie !
As Aaron's rootless rod, so didst

thou fructify !

XXXII

' Thou art, from whence Faith's
burgeon sprang, the ground !
Before, in, after birth was found

Pureness untouch'd, with Virgin-
Mother's Honour crowned !

XXXIII

' Thou, shrine of Glory, ark of Bliss,

thou high
Fair Temple of Divinity,
In thee, the masterpiece of Nature

I descry ! '

XXXIV

'My ravish'd Soul,' said she, 'extols
His Name, 100

Who rules the Heav'n's expansed
frame.

Whose mercy rais'd me up to mag-
nify the same.'

XXXV

Who can anatomize the glorious list
Of heirs to God, coheirs with

Christ,
Who royalize it there by Grace's high

acquist ?

XXXVI

Whose several glories admirable are !

And yet as infinite, as fair !
Where all 's enjoyed at full ; where
everything is rare !

XXXVII

The joy of each one is the joy of all !
Beatitude 's reciprocal ! no

They drink Christ's cup of flowing
wine, who pledg'd His gall !

XXXVIII

Silence most rhet'ric hath,and glories

best
Do portray forth that royal feast,
At which each blessed saint is an

eternal guest !

Edward Be?ilowes

[Canto VI

XXXIX

Nor can a thought of earthly friend's

annoys
Extenuate one grain of joys,
While Mercy saves the wise, while

Justice fools destroys !

XL

Strangely their intellects enlighten'd

be !

Nature's compendium did not see

One half; yea, ere he tasted the

Forbidden Tree ! 120

XLI

If, that sea-parting Prince, from cleft

rocks' space
Viewing God's back-parts, thought

it grace,
What honour is it then to see Him

face to face !

XLII

Who doth inspirit th' indeficient ray.
Not dimm'd with a minute allay ;
Where, though no sun e'er rose, yet
'tis eternal day !

XLIII

Where all are fiU'd, yet all from food

abstain !
Where all are subjects, yet all reign !
All rich, yet have no bags that stifled

wealth contain !

XLIV

Where each saint does a glorious

kingdom own ;

I ',0

AVhere each king hath a starry
crown ;
Each crown a kingdom, free from the
rude people's frown.

XLV

Where each hath all, yet, more than

all, they owe ;
All subjects, yet no kings they

know,
Save King of kings, and Lord of lords,

who quell'd their Foe.

XLVI

Where highest joy is their perpetual

fare;
Their exercise Hosannas are ;
Spirits the choristers, the subject

Praise and Prayer.

( 378 )

XLVII

The laureate King his Psalming voice

doth raise.
And sings to 's solemn harp high

lays, 140

Being himself the organ to his

Maker's praise.

XLVIII

Enflam'd with holy zeal, and high

desire.
Encircled with the enthean quire,
Warbles this epinician canzon to his

lyre.

XLIX

' Thou, Crown of Bliss, whose foot-
stool 's Earth, whose throne
Outshines ten thousand suns in
one.

Who art the radical life of all true joy
alone !

L

' Royal Protector ! when in Thee,

Light's sun,
Mortals would deem the last hour

run.
We find no wane of day, but a

solstitial noon ! 150

LI

' When we Time's volumes of past

thousands scan.
Thy origin with time to span.
We find no track in infant age when

it began !

LII

'Ancient of Days ! to whom all times

are now ;
Before whom, Seraphims do bow.
Though highest creatures, yet to their

Creator, low !

LIII

'Who art by light-surrounded powers

obey'd
(Heav'n's host Thy minist'ring

spirits made),
Cloth'd with Ubiquity, to whom all

light is shade !

LIV

* Whose thunder-clasping Hand does
grasp the shoal 160

Of total Nature, and unroll

Canto VI] TheophUa s Love-Sacrtfice

The spangled canopy of Heav'n from
pole to pole !

LV

' Who, on the clouds and winds, Thy

chariot, rid'st ;
And, bridling wildest storms, them

guid'st ;
Who, moveless, all dost move; who,

changing all, abid'st !

LVI

'The ocean Thou begirt'st with misty

shrouds ;
That monster wrap'st in swathing

clouds.
And, withThy mighty Word controll'st

tempestuous floods !

LVI I

'Earth-circling oceans Thy displeas-
ure flee ;
Mountains dismounted are by
Thee; 170

Those airy giants smoke if Thou
incensed be !

LVIII

' Innumerable troops of Joys do

stand
BeforeThyboundlessPresence,and
Uncessantly attend Thy ever-blissful

Hand!

LIX

' Thou, Lord, good without quality,

dost send
Bliss to all Thine ; great, without

end ;
Whose magnitude no quantity can

comprehend !

LX

'What's worthless man? what his

earth-crawling race ?
That Thou shouldst such a shadow

grace,
And in unspeakable triumphant glory

place ! 180

LXI

* Who may thy Mercy's height, depth,

breadth extend ?
In height it does to Heav'nascend,
Confirms the Angels, and in depth

doth low descend,

LXII

' Lessening the pains o' th' damned

ev'n in Hell ;
In breadth, from East to West does

swell
And over all the world, and all Thy

works excel !

LXIII

' Immense Existence ! Heav'n's
amaz'd at Thy
Incomprehensibility !

Intelligences dread Thine all-com-
manding Eye !

LXIV

'Ye winged heroes, whom all bliss
embow'rs, 190

To Him in anthems strain your
pow'rs.

Whose sea of goodness has no shore,
whose age, no hours ! '

LXV

Then, o'er the trembling cords his
swift hand strays.
And clos'd all with full diapaze ;
As, in a sounding quire the well-
struck concert plays.

LXVI

Victorious jubilees, when echo'd clear
From the Church Militant, are

dear
To Heav'n's triumphing quire ; such

no gross ear can hear.

LXVII

Music's first martyr, Strada's night-
ingale, 199
Might ever wish (poor bird) to fall

On that excelling harp, and joy i' th'
funeral !

LXVIII

Had it but heard those airs, where

Music meets
With raptures of voice-warbled

sweets.
Flowing with ravishing excess in

Sion's streets.

LXIX

All, what symphonious breaths in-
spire, all, what

(379)

194 diapaze] The ^ is a little interesting.

Edward Be7iIowes

[Canto VI

Quick fingers touch, compar'd,
sound flat :
Could 1 but coin a word beyond all
sweets ! 'Twere that.

LXX

What orders in New-Salem's Hier-
archy,
In what degrees they' enstated be.

Are wings that mount my thoughts
to high discovery. 210

LXXI

Blest sight to see Heav'n's order'd

Host to move
In legions glist'ring all above,
Whose armour is true Zeal, whose

banner is pure Love !

LXXII

Bright-harnessed Intelligences! Who

Enucleate can your Essence so,
As men may both your mighty pow'r
and nature know !

LXXIII

Invisible, impassive, happy, fair.
High, incorporeal, active, rare.
Pure, scientific and illustrious spirits
you are.

LXXIV

Guess at their strength, by One ; was

not almost 220

Two hundred thousand of an host

Byan Angel slain, when Assur's chief
'gainst Heav'n did boast?

LXXV

In brightness they the morning star

outvie ;
In nimbleness the Winds outfly;
And far surpass the sunbeams in

subtility.

LXXVI

Archangels, those superior Spirits, are
God's legates, when He will declare
His mind to 's chosen; Gabriel did
thus prepare

LXXVII

God's embassy, when His Belov'd
did tie
Our flesh to His IJivinity ; 230

Grace was the kiss, the Union was
the ring from high ;

LXXVIII

Angels the posy sung : this, made
our clay
O'er empyrean courtiers sway,
Whenas the Spouse His mystic
nuptials did display.

LXXIX

No sooner shall that great Archangel

sound
His wakeful trump of doom to th'

ground.
And echo shall, as banded ball, make

quick rebound ;

LXXX

But, pamper'd graves, with all their

jaws, shall yawn ;
And seas, floods' nurse, strange

shoals shall spawn
Of men, to wait o' th' dreadful Judge

at 's judgement's dawn. 240

LXXXI

To incorruption then corruption's

night
Shall turned be ; for that strange

sight
Inebriates souls with deepest woes,

or high'st delight !

LXXXII

Then shall my ear, my nose, my hand,

tongue, eye.
Always hear, smell, feel, taste, espy,
Hosannas, incense, off'rings, feasts,

felicity !

LXXXIII

To act God's will, o'er sublunary
things,
The Dominations sway, as kings ;
He curbs aerian potentates, by th'
Pow'rs He wings ;

LXXXIV

The Principates, of princes take the
care, 250

T' enlarge their realms, or to
impair;

Virtues in acting of His will have
their full share ;

2og they'] So in orig. : the apostrophe evidently indicating a slur.
237 banded] =' bandied.'

(580)

Canto VI] T'heophild s Love-Sacrifice

LXXXV

Thrones HiiNi contemplate, nor from's

presence move ;
To Cherubs He reveals above
Hid things ; He Seraphins inflames

with ardent love.

LXXXVI

Precelling Seraphs show God's ardour

still ;
Wise Cherubs His abyss of skill
Ingoverning of all; beatious Thrones

instil

LXXXVII

To us His steadiness in 's blessed
throne,
Ever unalterably One ; 260

Pow'rs, virtues, principates to His
commands are prone ;

LXXXVIII

Dominions own His regal sway ;
and so
Archangels, Angels swiftly show
Agility that from the Deity does flow.

LXXXIX

Their number's numberless, not half
so few
As orient pearls of early dew ;
Like aromatic lamps they in Heav'n's
Temple show :
xc
And yet of them though vast the
number be.
The thing that most does glorify
Their Maker's this, they differ
specifically. 270

xci
Of the first machine they the parcels
are ;
Yet, if we them with God compare,
Then with their wings they screen
themselves, though else most
fair.

XCII

Lawless Desire does never pierce
their breast ;
Th' Almighty's face is still their
feast ;

Theirbliss in service lies, in messages
their rest :

XCIII

They speak with thought, achieve
without a fee ;
Silence they hear. Ideas see ;
Still magnifying Him, who cannot
greater be!

xciv
Thus, they, with one fleet glance in-
tuitive, 280
Into each other's knowledge dive ;
And, by consent, thoughts, else in-
scrutable, unrive.
xcv
Each one in Psalms Eternity employs ;
Where use nor tires, nor fullness
cloys ;
Enjoying God, their end, without an
end of joys !

xcvi
Each ravishing voice, each instru-
ment, each face
Compos'd such music, that I was
In doubt, each so in tune, which did
precede in grace :

XCVII

The spritely instruments did sweetly
smile ;
The faces play'd their parts; mean-
while 290

The voices, with both graces, did
them both beguile.

XCVIII

The Ninefold Quire such heav'nly
accents there
In sweets Extension still do rear,
As overpow'rthewindings of a mortal
ear.

xcix
Who Music hate, in barb'rous discord
roll;
In Heav'n there is not such a
soul ;
For, there's all-harmony. Saints sing,
the damnfed howl.

258 beatious] This, though an ugly word, no doubt intentionally connects with
'beatific' and 'beatitude.'

xciii-xciv] Cf. Dante, De Viilg. Eloq. I. ii.

(3S1)

Edward Ben low es

[Canto VI

Celestial sweets did this discourse

excite ;
Firm joy, fast ove, fix'd life, fair

sight !
But may a creature, its Creator's

glory write? 300

Nunc alti Plumbum scrutatur Viscera
Ponti,
Viscera Navarchae non repetenda
Manu !
Hincprocul optatam divino Lumine
Terram
Cernimus, optatum perficiamus
Iter!

TE DEUM LAUDAMUS.

Canto VII. The Contemplation

THE ARGUMENT

Pango nee humanis Opus enarrabile Verbis,

Quae melius possem Mira silendo loqui !
Da, Deus, Ilia canam, quae Vox non personal ulla,

Metiar ut minimis Maxima Mira modisi

She launcheth into shoreless Seas of Light,

Inexplicable, infinite!
Whose beams both strike her blind, and renovate her sight !

STANZA I

Were all men Maros, were those

Maros all
Evangelists, met in Earth's Hall
For grand-inquest of that which we

Eternal call :

II
Draw Time from 's cradle (Innocence)
could they.
And piled heaps of ages lay
Amassed in one scale ; those would
they find to weigh,

III
Balanc'd with Thee, no more (when
all is done)
Than, if they vainly had begun
To poise minutest atoms with the
mighty sun.

IV

Could they Earth's ball with numbers
quilted see ; 10

Yet, those throng'd figures sum
not Thee,

They were but ciphers to immense
Eternity !

(382)

Should every sand for thousand ages

run.
When emptied shores of sands

were done.
That glass no more Thee measures,

than if now begun !

VI

Had tongues Heav'n's mint, to coin

each Angel-grace
In dialect; they'd fail o'th' space,
Where all to come is one with all

that ever was !

VII

Faith, stretch thy line, yet that 's too

short, to sound
Sea without bottom, without

bound ; 20

As circular, as infinite, O shoreless

round !

VIII

Immense Eternity! What mystic art

Of Thee may copy any part.
Since Thou an indeterminable
Circle art !

Canto VII] Tlieophild s Love-Sacrifice

IX

Whose very centre so diffus'd is

found,
That not Heav'n's circuit can it

bound,
Then what, what may the whole

circumference surround ?

X

Heav'n's heroes, can ye find for th'

Endless end ?
Can pow'r's Immensity extend ?
Ubiquity enclose ? The Boundless

comprehend ? 30

XI

Jehovah's zone to this uncentred
Ball,

Ecliptic, and meridional.
Who was before, is with, and shall
be after all !

XII

But now behold its height, above all

height !
Plac'd beyond place! Above light's

light !
Rapt were the three Apostles by a

glimpse o' th' sight !

XIII

Oh, thou all-splendent, all transcend-
ing Throne !
Compact of high'st Dominion !

That 'bove the super-eminence of
lustre shone !

XIV

From each of thine ineffably bright

sides 40

Diffusion of such splendour glides.

As rolls 'bove thousand seas of joys
in flaming tides

XV

With such refulgence, that, if Che-
rubs might,
With face unveil'd gaze on that
sight.

Straight their spiritual natures would
be nothing'd quite.

XVI

Nature, put on thy most coruscant
vest;

Thy gaieties show, brought to
this test,
As a crude jelly dropt from dusky
clouds at best.

XVII

Couldstthou impov'rish every Indian

mine,
And, from each golden cell, un-

shrine 50

Those beams, that with their blaze

outface day's em'lous shine :

XVIII

Couldst find out secret engines to

unlock
The treasuring casket of each

rock.
And reap the glowing harvest of that

sparkling shock :

XIX

Couldst thread the stars (fix'd and
erratic) here,
That stud the luminated sphere.

That all those orbs of light one con-
stellation were :

XX

Couldst join mines, gems, sky-tapers,

all in one ;
Whose near-immense reflection
Might both outrival, and outvie the

glorious sun : 60

XXI

Could all thy stones be gems, seas

liquid gold,
Air crystal, dust to pearl enroU'd,
Each star a sun, that sun more bright

a thousandfold :

XXII

Yet would those gems seem flints,

those seas a plash,
Those stars a spark, that sun a

flash ;
Pearl'd islands, diamond rocks, gold

mines, all sullied trash :

XXIII

Yea, were all eyes of earth, sky,
Heav'n combin'd.
And to one optic point confin'd,

59 near] Orig. *neer.'

(383)

Edward Benlowes

[Canto VII

This super-radiant object would ev'n
strike that bhnd !

XXIV

Blind, as the sable veil of gloomy
night 7°

(The Gospel's self but hints this
Sight) :

All seem obscurer shades to this non-
pareil Light !

XXV

Amazing ! Most inexplicably rare !
Oh, if, but those who worthy are,
None may this light declare — none
may this light declare !

XXVI

Best eloquence is languid, high'st

thoughts vail.
To think, to speak, wit, language

fail;
'Tis an abyss, through which no

Spirit's eye can sail !

XXVII

Here Glory dwells, with lustres so
surrounded,
That brightest rays are quite con-
founded, So

When they approach this radiant
eminence unbounded !

XXVIII

Forth from this fulgurance such

splendours fly,
As shall draw up frail dust on

high;
Which, else, would in its lumpish urn

still bedrid lie.

XXIX

Before the Almighty's throne my

soul I throw,
Whence all, that 's good and great,

does flow.
Lord, I that grace implore, which

may this glory show !

XXX

Great God ! Thou all-beginning, un-
begun !
Whose hand the web of Nature
spun !

At once the plenitude of all, and yet
but One ! 90

(384)

XXXI

Parent of beings. Entity's sole stud !
Spirit's eternal spring and flood !
Sprung of Thyself, or rather no way
sprung ! Chief Good !

XXXII

Abstract of joys, whose Wisdom an
abyss !
Whose Pow'r Omnipotency is !
Whose soul-enlivening sight's the
universal bliss !

XXXIII

Thou dost descend on wings of air

display'd,
'Bove majesty itself array'd,
Curtain'd with clouds, the Host of

Heav'n attendants made ! 99

XXXIV

Essence of glory, Summity of praise !
Abash'd at Thy all-piercing rays,
Heav'n's quire does chaunt unces-
sant Alleluiahs !

XXXV

Diamonds than glass, than diamonds

stars more bright ;
Than stars the sun, than sun

Heav'n's light ;
But infinitely purer than Heav'n's

self 's Thy Sight !

XXXVI

Great is the earth, more large the
air's extent :
Planets exceed ; the firmament
Of stars outvies ; unlimited 's the
Heav'nly Tent :

XXXVII

But, as my tenter'd mind its spirits
still
Strains forth, from less to more
(Lord, fill no

My outspent raptures by Thy all-re-
pairing skill !)

XXXVIII

When I above air, stars, Heav'n, on

would press
Rack'd thoughts to spheres beyond

excess ;
Myriads of spheres seem motes to Thy

Immense Oneness !

Canto VII] TheophUd s Love-Sacrifice

XXXIX

Eternity is but Thine hour-glass !
Immensity but fills Thy space !
"W^hole Nature's six days' work took
up but six words' place !

XL

One word did th' all-surrounding sky-
roof frame,
With all its starry sparkling flame !

Not all created wisdom can spell out
Thy Name ! 120

XLI

Supreme Commander of the rolling

stars !
Thy law sets to their progress bars,
Does epicycle their obliquely gliding

cars !

XLII

No lines, poles, tropics, zones can
Thee enthrall,
First Mover of the spheric ball,

Above, beneath, without, within, be-
yond them all !

XLIII

What could, but thy all-potent Hand,

sustain
Those magazines of hail, snow, rain,
Lest they should fall at once, and

deluge all again ?

XLIV

By them Thou plenty dost to earth
distil; i?,o

And man's dependent heart dost
fill:

Winds are van-couriers, and posti-
lions to Thy Will !

XLV

'Tis that the ominous cause of earth-
quakes binds
In subterranean grots ; that finds

Strange ruptures to enfranchise th'
ever-struggling winds !

XLVI

Thy sandy cord does proudest surges
bound ;
And seas, unfathom'd bottoms
sound ;

Thy semi-circling bow i' th' clouds
thy covenant crown'd !

XLVII

Earth's hinges hang upon thy fiat; set

Midst air-surrounding waters, yet
Stand fix'd on that, like which, what
is so firm, so great ? 141

XLVIII

Yet earth's fast columns at Thy frown

do quake ;
And oceans dreadful horrors

make ;
Flints melt, the rocks do roll, the

airy mountains shake !

XLIX

Yea, Heav'n's self trembled, and the
centre shook,
WithThyamazingPresence strook,
When Power of pow'rs on Sina's
Mount His station took !

L

Each Ens (as link'd to Providence,

Thy chain)
Is govern'd by Thy fingers' rein !
Thou seeing us, we grace; we, Thee,

do glory gain ! 150

LI

Who hast no eyes to see, nor ears to

hear ;
Yet see'st, and hear'st, all eye, all

ear !
Who nowhere art contain'd, yet art

Thou everywhere !

LII

The optic glass we of Thy prescience

may
Call th' Ark, where all ideas lay.
By which each entity Thou dost at

first portray !

LIII

Future events are pre-existent here,

As if they lately acted were ;
Than any new-dissect anatomy more
clear !

LIV

Each where, at once. Thou totally
art still 160

132 couriers] Orig. ' curriers.'

i6o Each where] So in orig., but the word, which is Spenserian, should be revived
as one, i. e. ' eachwhere,' for ' everywhere ' is not synonymous.

( 385 ) CO

Edward Benlowes

[Canto VII

The same unchang'd ; yet, at Thy
will,
Thou changest all ; who, though
Thou art unmov'd, dost fill

LV

Things that are most remote ; in

whose forecast
Contingencies do crowd so fast,
As if past things were now, and

things to come were past !

LVI

Though acts on earth cross to Thy

will are done,
Besides Thy will yet acteth none ;
Preceding and succeeding will, in

Thee are one !

LVII

Of whose vast Manor all the Earth's
domains !
Though Earth, nor air, nor Heav'n
contains, 1 70

Yet each obscurer grot Thy Omni-
presence gains !

LVIII

Though nought accrues to Thy

unbounded state
From spirits, which Thou didst

create,
Yet they Thy goodness and Thy love

shall still dilate !

LIX

Thou, who mad'st all, mad'st neither

sin, nor death ;
Man's folly first gave them their

breath ;
That did abase whole Nature with

itself beneath.

LX

But sin to cure. Thou in a crib gav'st

man
Emanuel ! Divine-humane !
Who diff'ring natures join'd ; whose

reign no ages scan ! 180

LXI

And Thou, O Mediator ! Thou,

whose praise.
Like morning dews, to first of

days
Was sung by heav'nly choristers in

serai)h lays !

(386)

LXII

God, by the Holy Ghost, begat Thee,

Lord!
Flesh took by the Eternal Word !
Whose self-eternal Emanation none

record !

LXIII

As Thy eternal Emanation 's past ;

So to Eternity shalt last !
I ft the beginning zuas the Word,
shows still Thou wast ;

LXIV

There God in Essence, one in

Persons Three ! 190

Here Natures two in One agree !

Thou, sitting in the midst of Trinal-
Unity

LXV

At Heav'n's high council-table, dart'st

such rays,
As strike ev'n cherubs with amaze !
Of which the school, disputing all,

it nothing says.

LXVI

Search we the ages past so long ago.
None, none this Mystery could
show,
Till in that maiden-birth, 'twas acted
here below !

LXVII

A Dove hatch'd in that nest Thyself

did build !
A Lamb that Thine own flock does

shield ! 200

A winter Flow'r that fram'd, from

whence it sprung, the field !

LXVIII

The Jewish shepherds all affrighted
are,
When heralds Thee proclaim'd
i' th' air !

Yea, Magi came t' adore, led by a new-
born star !

LXIX

Yet, though thus wond'rously begot,

thus born.
Sponsor for us, fall'n race, forlorn,
T' ingratiate us with God, becam'st

to man a scorn !

Canto VII] TheophUd s Love-Sacrifice

LXX

The Grace Self wast, th' Honour t'

evangelize !
The sacred Function, as a prize.
Thou took'st, yet that not on, till

call'd in Aaron's guise ! 210

LXXI

Which God t' apostolize did bring

to pass.
By th' Holy Ghost's descent, at

face
Of Jordan's then blest streams, of

which John witness was !

LXXII

Thence, led by th' Holy Ghost to

th' wilderness.
There tempted by the Fiend's

address.
Him overcam'st by Scriptum est ;

hence our release !
Then forth Thou went'st. —

LXXIII

Thy sermons, oracles ; acts, wonders

were !
Those Faith begot, these others

Fear !
By both, thus wrought in us, to Thee

ourselves we rear ! 220

LXXIV

Thou gav'st the lame swift legs, the

bhnd clear eyes !
Thou heal'dst all human maladies !
Thou mad'st the dumb to speak !

Thou mad'st the dead to rise !

LXXV

And. art to dead men Life, to sick

men Health !
Sight to the blind, to th' needy

Wealth !
A Pleasure without pain ! a Treasure

without stealth !

LXXVI

Lord, in, not of this world. Thy
Kingdom is ;

Thy chos'n Apostles preach'd Thy
bliss.
That none of all Thy creatures might
salvation miss.

LXXVII

Abraham, long dead before, yet saw

Thy day, 230

In Isaac born, and vows did pay !

Type first, then antitype, and quick-
'nest every way !

LXXVIII

Thy Gospel Wisdom's Academy

show'd ;
Thy Mercy, Justice calm'd ; Life,

view'd
Is Temperance ; Thy Death the flag

of Fortitude !

LXXIX

Thou, altar, sanctuary, sacrifice.

Priest, bread of life dost all suffice !
Ne'er-cloying feast, where appetite
by food doth rise !

LXXX

And, Son of Man, dost sin of man

forgive ! 239

To be Thy victims hearts do strive,

Who liv'dst that life might die, and
di'dst that death might live !

LXXXI

Yet di'dst Thou not, but that (Spirit

quicken'd) free
Thou might'st saints paradised see,
Rejoic'd assurance give to them

rejoic'd in Thee !

LXXXI I

And that, from thence, to Satan's

gloomy shades,
Made prison for the damned

Hades,
Thou might'st Thy conquest show,

Thy glory that ne'er fades !

LXXXIII

Thence loos'd Death's chains from
body, up to rear it.

217] This extra hemistich is printed in orig. level with the number lxxiii of the next
stanza as a kind of aside, a parenthetic ejaculation.

232 quick'nest] This, which is without apostrophe in orig., is rather hard to adjust
even to Benlowes' singular stenography. 1 should like to read 'thou' for 'and.'

246 Hades] Rhyme noted in Introd.

(387) CC2

Edward Benlowes

[Canto VII

That, when rais'd state Thou dost
inherit,
Thou might'st become to us an ever-
quick'ning Spirit ! 250

LXXXIV

The Father to reveal gives to His

Son
Thee, Holy Ghost (thus Three

in One)
Of all peculiar Sanctifier, yet not

alone !

LXXXV

The Father's love, and Son's ;
Adoption's seal.
The Spring of sanctity, the Weal
O' th' Church : Thyself in light of
fiery tongues reveal !

LXXXVI

O Light unscann'd ! Of wisdom
every glance
Beams only from Thy countenance ;
Whose store, when emptied most
itself doth most advance !

LXXXVII

Whose fruits are Gentleness, Peace,
Love, and Joy, 260

All crown'd with bliss, freed from
annoy ;

Which neither Time, World, Death,
Hell, Devil can destroy !

LXXXVIII

Thou art a feast, fram'd of that fruit-
ful fare,
Which hungers waste not, but
repair !

A rich perfume, no winds can winnow
into air !

LXXXIX

A light unseen, yet in each place
dost shine !
A sound no art can e'er define !
A pure embrace, that Time's assault
can ne'er untwine !
xc
Floods of unebbing joys from Thee
do roll !
Which, to each sin-disdaining soul
Thou dost exhibit in an unexhausted
bowl! 271

(388)

XCI

This Wine of Ecstasy, by th' Spirit

giv'n,
Doth raise the ravish'd souls to

Heav'n !
Affording them those comforts are

of Earth's bereav'n !

XCII

Thy union is as strict, as large thy

merit !
No Heav'n but Thee, which

Saints inherit
Through grace, divinest sap, deriv'd

by th' Holy Spirit !

XCIII

When souls enflamed by that highest

light,
Fix on Thy glorifying sight,
All glories else, compar'd to that, are

dusky night ! 280

XCIV

When high'st infusions pass our
highest sense,
Amazement is high eloquence,
'Bove all hyperboles which fall to
exigence.

xcv
Blest Trinity, Th' art all ; above
all, Good !
Beatitude's Beatitude !
Which swallows us, yet swim we in
this Living Flood !
xcvi
Th' art King of kings, of lords Lord!
None like Thee !
Who, for Thy style hast Majesty !
And for Thy royal robes hast
Immortality.

xcvii

Mercy for throne ! for sceptre Justice

hast ! 290

Immensity 's for kingdom plac'd !

And for Thy crown such glory as

doth ever last !

XCVIII

For peace, what passeth understand-
ing's eye !
Pow'r, irresistibility !
For holiness, all what's most sacred,
pure, and high !

Canto VII] TheophUd s Love-Sacrifice

XCIX

For truth, Thy Word ! Wisdom for

counsellor !
Omnipotence does guard Thy

tow'r !
Thou minist'ring angels hast to act

Thy sovereign pow'r !

Omniscience Thine intelligencer is !

For treasure Thou hast endless

bliss ! r.oo

For date eternity ! Oh, swallow me,
Abyss !

Ite, pii Cantus, Cantus quibus arduus
^ther
Est Portus ; Tortus, quern videt
alma Fides.
Visuram Littus Navem, sacra Serta
coronent,
Serta per innumeros non peritura
Dies!

GLORIA IN EXCELSIS DEO.

Canto VIII. The Admiration

THE ARGUMENT

Cceli trina Monas, Trias una, faveto precanti !

Personas una Tres Deitate colo !
Sunt tria, sunt et idem, Fons, Flumen, Gurges aquarum :

Sic tria sunt unum, Sol, Jubar, atque Calor.

Th' Elixir centuplies itself. But, oh,

Myriads of myriads must she so,
T' express God's Essence which no intellect can show !

STANZA I

Projection to my soul! Thy sight's
a wreath
Ofglory; thou dost virtue breathe;
Thy words, like sacred incense, fuel
and flame bequeath.
II
Thou Maid of Honour in Heav'n's
Court ! to break
Thy gold-twist lines shows judge-
ment weak ;
Yet deign to hear my suit; of God's
hid Nature speak !
Ill
Can counters sum up infinite ? Fond
man,
Couldst grasp whole oceans in thy
span.
And Phoebus couldst outface in his
meridian ;

IV

Tear rocks of adamant, and scale the
wall lo

(389)

O' th' glorious empyrcean hall ;
And worms to super-eminence of
Seraphs call !

V

Yet this, ev'n then, thou couldst nor
learn, nor teach :
The World, unravell'd, cannot
stretch

To sound th' Abyss. Itself alone it-
self can reach.

VI

Of all intelligences not all Light
Muster'd into one optic sight,
Can speak what each where is, yet no
where seen to th' height !

VII

Who out of nothing all things did

compact ;
Whose will 's His work, whose word

His act : 20

Of whom, who says the most, must

from His worth detract ?

Edward Be7tlowes

[Canto VIII

VIII

How from the Essence the Creator

flows !
Or how the Word, what creature

knows !
How th' Spirit, all in 't, all from 't, does

Heav'n's assembly pose !

IX

Here they, who leave the Church's
ship, are tost
Till irrecoverably lost !

Whose rudder is God's Word, steers-
man, th' Holy Ghost.

X

Archessence ! Thou, self-full ! self-
infinite !
Residing in approachless light !
In the Incomprehensibilities of
Height ! 30

XI

Thy peerless uncreated Nature is

The super-excellence of Bliss !
Where Holiness and Pow'r ; where
Truth and Goodness kiss !

XII

Who only in Thyself subsists, with-
out
Or form, or matter ! yet, no doubt,

Inform'st the matter of the universe
throughout!

XIII

No need compels Thee, no disasters

sad
Disturb thy state, no mirth makes

glad;
Oblivion takes not from Thee, nor

can mem'ry add!

XIV

With prudent rev'rence, thus. What-

e'er 's in God, 40

HisEssence is; there's His abode;

Whose will His rule, whose Heav'n
His court, whose hell His rod.

XV

He exists an active Ens, upholding
both
Itself, and everything that doth

Exist ; without distinction or of parts,
or growth !

XVI

Not made by nothing (nothing no-
thing makes) ;
Nor birth from anything He takes ;

For, what gives birth, precedes :
springs usher in their lakes.

XVII

Were He material, then He local were;

All matter being in place ; so, there

Th' Incircumscriptible would circum-

scrib'd appear. 51

XVIII

He's so diffusive, that He's all in all !

All in the universal ball !
All out of it ! The only Was, the Is,
the Shall.

XIX

To help thy reason, think of air ;

there see
Ubiquity unseen, and free
From touch ; inviolable, though it

pierced be.

XX

Mere air corrupts not, though con-

vey'd unto
All lungs ; for, thither it does go
To cool them ; quick'neth all, as the

world's soul doth show : 60

XXI

Moisture and heat, its qualities, are

cause
Of all production : yet, because
This element 's a creature, God

Creator, pause.

XXII

Self-life the attribute of's Being is!
His Will, of governing ! and His
Command of execution ! and His
love of bliss !

XXIII

All's tiedin this love-knot : Jehovah's

love.
Time's birth the Trinity does prove:
Creator made, Word spake, and

Spirit of God did move : 69

27 th'] So in orig. : if correctly, Benlowes must have made 'steersman' trisyllabic.
63 Creator,] No comma in orig., but required. 'Pause' corresponds to 'think' in 55.

( 3yo )

Canto VIII] TheophUd s Lov 6- Sacrifice

XXIV

'Let us in our own image man create.'

Which Solomon does expHcate ;
Remember the Creators in thy youth-
ful state.

XXV

The Father spake, the Son i' th'

stream did move
At His baptizing ; from above
The Holy Ghost descended in the

form o' th' Dove.

XXVI

Of Him, to Him, and through Him

all things be :
Of, through, and to declare the

Three ;
And in the Him, the Unityof God we

see.

XXVII

Thus Holy, Holy, Holy 's nam'd, to

show
A Ternion we in Union know : 80
The notions issuing from the Trine,

int' One do flow.

XXVIII

Whilst that I think on Three, I am
confin'd
To One ! while I have One in mind,
I am let forth to Three ! Yet Three
in One combin'd !

XXIX

Oh, inconceivable Identity !

In One how may a Plural be !
Coequal both in attributes, and
majesty !

XXX

TheFATHERistrueGoDi'th'Ternion:

The Word unborn, yet after Son:

The Spirit God coessential ; Three,

cause Three from One ! 90

XXXI

The Father and Word are One !

One, shows their power :
Are, distinct Persons. One does

show'r
On Tritheists vengeance : Are^ does

Arians devour.

XXXII

One, yet not one ! The Father and

the Son
In Persons two, from Father one
Byth' Spirit; Son is one byresigna-

tion !

XXXIII

The Word is what He was; yet, once

was not
What now He is ! for. He hath got
A Nature more than once He had,

to cleanse our spot !

XXXIV

For, ne'er had man from earth to
Heav'n attain'd, ico

Had God from Heav'n to earth
not deign'd

His Son ! now unto God man's way
by Man is gain'd !

XXXV

Equal, and Son, the form of servant
takes !
The world, unmade by sin, new
makes !

Equal, Son, servant ! All are mys-
teries, not mistakes !

XXXVI

Thus, by free grace is man's defection
heal'd :
Behold the mystery reveal'd.
Word, equal ; shadowing. Son ;
Unction is servant seal'd !

XXXVII

Because God's Equal, serpent's

tempts are quell'd :
Yet He, as Son, to death must

yield no

For us ; by resurrection to regain the

field.

XXXVIII

The Spirit is true God; from ever He

Did reign with Both! The Trinity

Coequal, Coeternal, Coessential be !

XXXIX

The Father 's full, though th' Son
hath all engross'd !
Nor yet is aught of this all lost,

90 cause] So in orig., and possible, Benlowes often having comma between noun
and verb. But it may, as often also, be 'cause = ' because.'
93 Tritheists] Orig. ' TritheZ/s.'

( 391 )

Edward Benlowes

[Canto VIII

Though th' Father give Himself
to th' Son by th' Holy Ghost !

XL

For, though He freely thus give all

His store ;
Yet hath He Infinite, as before !
Conceive for glimpse some endless

spring, or mine of ore ! 120

XLI

What soul will have this Triad for

his book,
With faith must on the back-parts

look.
For, with His glorious Face, blind

are ev'n Seraphs strook !

XLII

By speculation from Sol's substance,
we
The Father ; from its splendour
see
The Son; from's heat the Holy
Ghost. Here, One is Three.
XLin
The intellect, the memory, the will
Resemblance make o' th' Trine ;
these fill
One soul, yet are distinct in outward
workings still !

XLIV

Thus, to restore from fall, we may
descry i 30

The Trinity in Unity !
Inscrutable Abyss rebates our weaker

eye !

XLV

Be ever-ever-ever blest, O Trine !

Ever Unitedness divine !
AVho dost as well in ants, as in Arch-
angels shine !

XLV I

The Principats, Thrones, Domina-
tions, all
Archangels, Pow'rs celestial

Are ministers attending on thy
sovereign call !

XLVII

The government 'bove star-embroi-
der'd hall.

Thus truly is monarchical, 140
Where all are kings, and yet one King
does rule them all !

XLVIII

Less than the thousand part I have

express'd ;
Man's weakness cannot bear the

rest.
For Thy expressless Nature, Lord, be

ever blest !

XLIX

Soul of all sweets ! my love, life, joy

and bliss !
To enjoy Thee 's Heav'n ! Hell

Thee to miss !
What 's Earth's ? Ev'n Heav'n hath

its beatitude from this !

L

Remove the needle from > the pole-
star, and
'Tis still with trembling motion
fann'd.

Till it returns. No fixture but in
God does stand. 150

LI

To saints all other objects prizeless be ;

In (jOD, the All of All, we see :
Feast to the taste, all beauty to the
sight is He !

LII

Music to th' ear ; and those whom

He unites.
Partake with Him in

delights !
Springtides of pleasures overwhelm

their ravish'd sprites !

LIII

But, contraries, when opposite, best

show.
(As foils set diamonds off, we know) ,
See Hell, where caitives pine, yet still

their tortures grow !

LIV

high'st

As metals fiery waves in furnace
swell, 160

That founders run, to cast each
bell;

139] Allusions to the Star-chamber (see note, p. 356) are not uncommon at this time :
the special play of thouglit here is pretty obvious.

(39^ )

Canto VIII] llieophUd s Love-Sacrtfice

This, not endur'd ; more rage ten
thousand times is Hell !

LV

Where souls still rave, adust with
horrid pain !
They tug, they tear, but all in vain,
For, them from raging smart, Hope
never shall unchain !

LVI

Oh, that for trash these Esaus sold

their bliss !
For sin, that worse than nothing is !
This desperates their rage! How they

blaspheme at this !

LVI I

This viper clings, corrodes, 'gainst

which no ward !
God's beatific sight debarr'd, 170
Renders their case 'bove all the pains

of sense more hard !

LVIII

Oh, never-sated worm ! unpitiedwoes!

Unintermitted ! what Sin owes.
Hell pays ! The damn'd are anvils to
relentless blows !

LIX

Fiends forfeit not their energy.
There Cain
Fries, but for one lamb by him slain !
Oh, what flames then shall butchers
of Christ's flock sustain ?

LX

Earth's fatal mischief, prosp'rous thief,

that thunder
Which tore the nations all asunder.
Whom just Fate slew i' th' world's

revenge, that conqu'ring wonder,

LXI

That ghost of Philip's hot-brain'd son

may tell i8r

Heart-breaking stories of his Hell !

Too late he finds one soul did his
whole world excel !

LXII

There, curs'd oppressors dreadful
rackings feel !
Whose hearts were rocks, and
bowels steel !

Oh, scorching fire ! (cries Dives) for
one drop I kneel !

LXIII

Oblig'd is man, God's steward, to

supply
Brethren, in Christ coheirs, who

lie
Gaspinginstifr'ningfrosts,nocov'ring

but the sky :

LXIV

Whose wither'd skins, sear as the
sapless wood, 190

Cleave to their bones, for want of
food,

Seem Nature's monsters thrown
ashore by Mis'ry's flood.

LXV

Though all their physic's but a diet

spare ;
Have no more earth, than what

they are.
Nor more o'th' world, than graves, yet

in Heav'n's love they share.

LXVI

Inestimable Love, from none be-

reav'n !
Heav'nsunk to earth, earth mounts

to Heav'n !
Just Judge ! to Dives Hell, to Laz'rus

Heav'n is giv'n !

LXVII

Love,

Love has
Nor bit, nor reins ! Rich, 'bove

earth's mass ! 200

Fix'd in ideas of Love's soul-enliv'n-

ing grace !

LXVIII

O Love ! O Height, above all height,

to Thine !
Thy favour did to foes incline !
Unmeasurable Measure ! endless End

of line !

LXIX

Love darts all thoughts to its Belov'd ;
doth place
All bliss in waiting on His grace ;
It languisheth with Hope to view
Him face to face !

disengage us of ourselves !

194 Have] Apparently short for ' though they have.'

( 393 )

Edward Benlowes

[Canto VIII

LXX

And ushers in that Beatific Love,
Which so divinely flames above,
And doth to vision, union, and frui-
tion move ! 210

LXXI

Ice is a thing distinct from th' ocean

wide;
But, melted by the sun, does glide
Into 't, becomes one with 't, and so

shall e'er abide.

LXX 1 1

Desire 's a tree, whose fruit is love,

the show'rs
That ripen it are tears, the flow'rs
Are languors, leaves afflictions,

blossoms pray'r-spent hours.

LXXIII

O mental Pray'r, thy joys are high !

Resort
By thee 's to God ! Thou art the

port
Of inward peace from storms ! The

path to Sion's Court !

LXXIV

By pray'r God 's serv'd betimes ;

remember who 220

The blessing got by wrestling so ;

Who early pray, they healthy, holy,

happy grow.

LXXV

Then pray, before Light's rosy blush

displays
I' th' Orient Sol's encheering rays.
When he from 's opal East to West

obliquely strays :

LXXVI

Before the cock, Light's herald, day-
break sings
To's feath'ry dames; ere roost-lark
springs,

Morn's usher ; when the dawn its
mongrel hour forth brings.

LXXVII

Pray'r, thou art life's best act, soul's

silent speech,

The gate of Grace ; saints God

beseech 230

238 confection] Used, it would seem, in

(394 )

By prayer, but join'd with alms and
fasts they Him besiege !

LXXVIII

Fasting, the soul's delicious banquet,

can
Add strength to pray'r, feast th'

inner man.
And throw up to Eternity the body's

span !

LXXIX

Fasts, sackcloth, ashes, grovelling on

the ground
Saints studied have with pain ;

and found
With joy, that what degrades the

sense, in Heav'n is crown'd !

LXXX

Prize Faith, the shield of martyrs,

Joy's confection,
Soul's light, the Prophet's sure

direction,
Hope's guide, Salvation's path, the

pledge of all perfection ! 240

LXXXI

In Faith's mysterious Eden make

abode ;
With Jacob's staff, and Aaron's rod
Frequent its grove, where none are

but the lov'd of God !

LXXXII

The radiations of Faith's lamp excite
Such a Colosse of sparkling light.
That saints through worldly waves
may steer life's course aright.

LXXXIII

Being in, not of this world, they

comforts rear
Above the pitch of servile fear :
Terrestrial blossoms first must die,

ere fruit they bear.

I,XXXIV

Noclogging fetters of impris'ningclay,
No wry-mouth squint-ey'd scoff

can stay 251

Their swift progression, soaring in

their heav'nly way !

LXXXV

Thoughts on the endless weight of
glory shall
the sense of 'completion,' familiar in conficere.

Canto VIII] 'TheophHas Love-Sacrtfice

Render ev'n crowns, as dung, and
all
Afflictions light, as chaff chas'd on
Earth's empty ball.

LXXXVI

The torch that shines in night, as
eye of noon.
Is but as darkness to the sun :
Run after shades, they fly; fiy after
shades, they run.

LXXXVII

All worldly gays are reeds, without

support,
Fitly with rainbow gleams they

sort, 260

Want solidness ; when gain'd, they

are as false, as short.

LXXXVIII

While fools, like silly larks, with

feathers play.
And stoop to th' glass, are twitch'd

away.
Amidst their pleasing madness, to

Hell's dismal bay !

LXXXIX

Oh, could embodied souls sin's bane
view well,
Rather in flames they'd choose to
dwell !
Not so much ill, as sin, have all the
pains of Hell !
xc
A smiling conscience (wrong'd) does
sweetly rest.
Though starv'd abroad, within
doth feast ;
Has Heav'n itself for cates, has God
Himself for Guest ! 270

xci
May call Him Father ; His Vice-
gerent be !
An atom of Divinity !
Redeem'd by 's Son, by the Spirit
inspird, blest by All Three !

XCII

His judge becomes His advocate !
hath care
To plead for Him ! The Angels
are

(395)

His guardians ! from his God him
heights nor depths may scare.

XCIII

Oh, blest, who in His courts their
days do spend !
And on that Sovereign Good de-
pend !

His Word their rule ; His Spirit their
light ; Himself their end !

XCIV

While pride of Hfe, and lust o' th' eye
do quite 280

Dazzle the world, saints out of
sight
Retire, to view their bliss : on which
some cantos write :
xcv
For, souls, sincerely good, in humble
ceU
Encloister'd, near Devotion's bell,
By Contemplation's groves and
springs near Heav'n do dwell,
xcvi
Bright-gifted soaring minds (though
fortune-trod)
Are careless of dull Earth's dark
clod;
Enrich'd with higher donatives ;
their prize is God !
xcvii
' Farewell.' As vanish'd lightning
then she flies.
Oh, how in me did burnings rise !
The only discord was ' Farewell.'
Hearts outreach eyes. 291

xcviii
The air respires those quintessential
sweets
From whence she breath'd, and
whoso meets
With such, the tuneful orbs he in
that zenith greets,
xcix
Dwell on this joy, my thoughts,
react her part ;
Such raptures on thy shuddering
heart
Make thee all ecstasy by spirit-seizing
art!

Edward Benlowes

[Canto VIII

Chewing upon those Heav'n-en-

chanting strains,
My soul Earth's giddy mirth

disdains ;
Fleet Joy runs races in my blood

through thousand veins ! 300

Contingit gratam victrix Industria
Metam ;
Et mea nunc Portu fessa potire
Ratis.
Est Opus exactum, Cujus non
poenitet Acti :
Me juvat at Caepti Summa videre
mei.

OMNIA IN UNO, ET IN OMNIBUS

UNUS.

MiRA mihi inter Authorem & Opus
occurrit Symphonia : Ille Caelebs, Hoc
Virgineum ; Ille Philomusicus ; Hoc,
ipsum Melos ; Ille Dilectus, Hoc ipsa
Dilectio : Quis enim ad Vim Amoris
explicandum vel copiosius dixit, vel
impensius Opere perfecit, qukm Autor
hic in sua Theophila? quae tanta
Florum Varietate conspersa est, ut quid
prius legam, aut laudem, vix mihi post

repetitam Lectionem constare possit.
Quid etiam Jucundius Animi Oculis,
quam sitientem tam coelesti Nectare
Animam adimplere ? Sine me Deliciis
igitur istis inebriari ; &: me Epulis,
hisce, Mel & Amorem spirantibus,
jugiter accumbere. Modus amandi
Deum non habet modum ; nullus
plane in hoc Genera Excessus datur.
Scripserunt De Arte Amandi Varii, sed
imperfect^ admodum, &: impure ; ac
si, non tam Amandi quh.m Peccandi
Artem edocere professi essent : Quia
hujusmodi illecebrse, dum sensim sine
sensu Venenum hauriunt, Morbo sine
Medela afficiunt. H ic autem sunt D ictu
honesta, Lectu jucunda, Scitu utiiia, Ob-
servatu digna, &: Factu praestantissima.
Eximium ergo hoc felicis Ingenii Speci-
men, propter Multiplices Aculeos m Le-
gentium Animos suaviter penetrantes,
&;penitioremceternsVeritatisCognitio-
nem instillatam, Auresque harmonic^
demulcentem, in Lucem emitti, non
possum non laetari.

M.G. S.T.D.

Jam satis expertus Briticum Mare,

contraho Vela ;

Naviget Ausonio Musa Latina Sale.

Fallor, an externo venit Aura secundior

Orbe ?

Portus in Latios versa Triremis eat.

Ad pis Poesios Cultum Invitatio

Vos, Eruditionis Candidati, quibus
Crux Domini Glorias, Religio Cordi,
Integritas Honori, Doctrina Orna-
mento, Poesis sacra Oblectamento, qui
Cupiditates Rationi, Rationem Reli-
gioni, ut Christiani, subjugastis, cum
Musis convivamini devotioribus, ut
perpetua Posterorum vigeatis Memoria.
IS^on ad Mundi deliria, vos, Animae
pie anhelantes, sed, fulguris more, ad
Sublimia nascimini. Credite Vosmet-
ipsos Dei Filios, respondete (ieneri,
vivite Coelo, Patrem Similitudiue
referte ; Quid enim evidentius coelestis
Originis Indicium, qukm humano Cor-
pore Mentem Angelicam circumfcrrc ?
Vosmetipsos ergo erigite, Dictatores,
Magna loquimini. Magna vivite ;
Caeteros, ad inferioradepressos, Ouad-
rupedes non esse natos, pceiriteat.
O, quiini divina Res est Mens variis

(396)

ornataDisciplinis! AcquisitioSapientite
Carbunculos, & pretiosissimas Orientis
Gazas antecellit : Nihil, Vobis o
Animae, Dei insignitas Imagine, de-
sponsatas Fide, dotata; Spiritu, redem-
ptae Sanguine, deputatee cum Angelis,
capaces Beatitudinis, iequfe sit Curje,
qudm ut omnes altiores Animi vestri
Vires in summum Illius Honorem, qui
primum Ilium Vobis inspiravit /Estum
exeratis. Tanti enim est Ouisque quanti
Mens, quae, prteter Deum, nihil
excelsius in Terris Seipsa complecti
potest. Ad Se igitur revocetur, Secum
versetur, in Se abeat, Sibi tola intendat,
deque sua Sublimitate, & Autore
semper adorando, cogitct. Hoc autem
pra^stare non possit, nisi Vitia Corporis
ableget, nisi Avaritia; & Ambitioni
renuntict, nisi sui Juris sit, nisi Se
denique a Sensibus separata, penitiiis

Canto VIII] Theophilu s Love-Sacrtfice

perfruatur; tunc enim ad Deum,
Objectum suum, libera assurgat ; Hsec
autem ipsius in Seipsam Conversio ac
Defixio, tantae est Voluptatis, ut ex-
cogitari nulla in hac Vita possit, quas
vel adaliquam ejus particulam accedat.
Ut igitur ad summum hoc Bonum,
summis Ingeniis Propositum, per-
veniatis, Votis & Vocibus cohortamur:
I mo Deus in Vobis & velle, &

Vos, sacra Progenies CCELI, celsique

capaces,
Pectoris, HEROES, salvete ; Poemata

Mundo
Sanctatriumphatodiffundite; Versibus

Orbis
Ultimus applaudat: Spargant Prseconia

Musce ;
Frivola Vesani Crepitacula spernite

Secli,
Excelsos Excelsa decent : Mens una

Beatos

perficere operetur; Ipse Autor, Ipse
Remunerator, Ipse Causa efifectiva &
finalis ; Cuisoli,Nobilissimi,incumbite,
& Unum Hoc agite, ut vos, Deo &
Davidicce Pietati consecratos, Sedes in
Gloria Templo Eetem^e excipiant.
Sed, quia Heroes al'.oquimur, heroico
nostram banc Parsenesin Carmine
substringemus.

Reddit : prse Sanctis sordescant Cuncta

Triumphis.
Davidicas Decori Vos aspirate Camoeme.
Felix Vena sacros potius prorumpat

in Hymnos,
Oukm micet eois Caput aspectabile

Gemmis.
Sic, celebretur Opus, donee Formica

Profundum
Ebibat, &; vastum Testudo perambulet

Orbem.

I. G. Sculp.

Canto IX
The Recapitulation

AND Portrait of a Heav'nly
Breathing Soul.

Whoso delights to burn in holy fire
Of Virgin fair Theophila,
Joy, Salamander, in that flame ;
Thou so, Pyrausta born, may'st like
the Phoenix burn,
That to Eternity thou rise,
Not losing life, but sowing well
the same :
A holier Ovid's smoothed
verse
With eyes of heart, with heart all
eyes, behold :
Such sacred flames by adaman-
tine hand
Ought to be plac'd in lasting
urns; lo

But, 'cause these writings needed
aid of pens,

3 Pyrausta] See note sup. p. 367.

5 ^viternitati] It is very like Benlowes to show his knowledge of the uncontracted
form.

Hecatombe IX

Recapitulatio

Anim^ pie anhelantis De-
scriptio.

Beato Theophila Virginis Incendio
Quisquis flagrare gestis.
In quo felicior Salamandra tri-
umphes,
Et instar Pyraustse nascaris, instar
Phoenicis moriaris ;
Ut ^viternitati resurgas,
Non tam vitam deferens, quam
conferens :
Sanctioris Ovidii Carmina
Cordis Oculis, & Oculorum Corde
perlustres :
Debuissent Incendia dia Ada-

mantino Stylo
In Tabula Immortalitatis
incidi ; 10

Sed, quoniam pennae ductibus
scribenda fuere,

(397 )

Edward Benlowes

[Canto IX

Pennas porrigat Scribenti Pietas
pennatior Ave,
Et centum Oculos Legend ocu-
latior Argo.

PORTICUS

Amor erga Magistrum, & Sodalem

Languidius se movet, & quodamodo

vegetat ;

Erga Parentem & Conjugem

Expansius se exerit,&:quasi sentit ;

Erga Patriam, & Patriae Patrem

Elatius se erigit, & Rationem

induit:

At erga Deum
Totus Ecstasin patitur, Sese tran-
scendit,
Nee Modi, nee Limitis capax ;
Sed, separatarum instar Animarum,

Cupit, Eestuat, ebullit, anhelat !
Finitus Infinitatem ambit, ac
suspirat ! 1 2

ARGUMENTUM

Musa sacrata struens Aras, ut Numen
honoret,
Calcat, & odit haras, Musa peligna, tuas :
Est Haec, ut Clytie, studiosa Pedissequa
Solis ;
Sol Deus est, Solis Lumen Amantis
amat.

DiSTICHON I

Musa, silere potes, vaga dum Citha-
ristria Sylvae
Crispillat tremulo gutture mille
Sonos?

II
Ars acuit Concepta, Poesis acuminat
Artem ;
Spicula jactet Epos; jacta coronet
Eros :

Virtue, than birds more swift, unto

the scribe lend wing,
And let the reader's care more eyes

than Argus bring.

The Portico

Love to the master, and the mate
Stirs itself feebly in Life's lowest
sphere ;
That to our parent, and the bed
More large extends, and breathes
a life of sense ;
That to our country, and its sire
Self raises loftier in Reason's air :
But, that to God,
Ravish'd with ecstasy, itself tran-
scends.
Nor bounds, nor limits would
it own ;
But, narrow'd that (like lovers, kept
apart) lo

Warms, heats, yea boils, boils up
and over !
Longs for th' Eternal, sighs for Him,
beyond that lover !

THE ARGUMENT

Blest Muse the Altar builds, where Love 's
ador'd ;
And throweth down, loose wit, thy
nest abhorr'd :
She, Clytie-like, to th' Sun of Glory
turns ;
God is her Sun, with light of Zeal
she burns.

Distich i
Muse, canst be silent, when each

charmed grove
Harbours a thousand warbling notes

of Love ?

II
Art whets the mind, and hymns set

edge on art :
Dart up an epod ; Zeal, crown thou

the dart.

Arg. 2] It is rather odd that Benlowes in his Englishing softens haras, 'styes,' to
'nest' ; and omits the direct reference {Pr/igna) to Ovid altogether.

4] Here one has to choose between ' Epos ' for ' Epode ' in the Latin, and ' Epod '
for ' Epic ' in the English.

( 398 )

Canto IX] TheopIiHd s Love-Sacrifice

III

Spes Arcus, sit Amor tibi Dextra,
Fidesque Sagitta ;
A Spe missa Fides, Numen Amore
petit.

IV

Est sacrum quodconor Opus : Deus,
annua Cceptis !
Seminat Ista Fides, Spes alit,auget
Amor.

V

AIundusAger, Semen Verbum, Deus
Ipse Colonus,
Latro Satan, Lolium Gens mala ;
Sancta, Seges. lo

VI

Da mihi Ccelipetse Fastigia, Numen,
Alaudas ;
Mens, ut Avis, penna remige sulcet
Iter!

VII

Nosse Deum, bene posse Bonum,
sunt Vota Piorum :
Da mihi nosse Bonum, da mihi
posse, Deus !

VIII

Notio non Coeli, sed habet Dilectio
Palmam :
Tu mihi nosse dabas Coelica, velle
dabis.

IX

Quod volo, quod possum, quod sum,
Tibi debeo, Christe :
Quod sum, quod possum, quod
volo, Christe, cape.

X

Nil video sine Te, sapio nil, nil queo ;
Solus
Sol meus es, meus es Sal, mea sola
Salus. 20

XI

Lux, Via, Vita pio, Deus ; hac Face,
Tramite, Corde,
Qui videt, it, vivit, non cadit, errat,
obit.

XII

Da cumulem tua centenis Altaria
Donis !
Victima sint Versus, Ara Cor, Ignis
Amor.

( 399 )

III
Hope be thy bow, thy hand Love,

Faith the shaft ;
Let Hope shoot Faith to God with

Love's strong draft.

IV

Sacred 's my theme ; may my first-
fruits Him please !

Faith plants, Hope nourishes. Love
ripens these.

V

This world's the field, God sows, His

Word the seed,
Satan the thief, the good, corn, th'

ill, the weed. lo

VI

Lord, mount me to the pitch of

larks on high \
That I, as birds' wing'd oars, may

cut the skv !

VII

Saints would know God, so, as they

good may do :
Let me both know this good, and

act it too !

VIII

Heav'n's love, not knowledge doth

the palm acquire :
Who heav'nly knowledge gave, will

give desire.

IX

That aught I will, can, am, is, Christ,

from thee :
Christ, what I am, can, will, accept

from me !

X

No light, taste, strength without

Thee ; Thou alone
Art health unto my soul, my salt,

my sun. 20

XI

Thou, Light, Way, Life ; who sees,

walks, Hveth by
That flame, path, strength, does not

fall, fail, nor die.

XII

Upon Thy altars let my verses

prove
The victim, heart the altar, the fire

love !

Edward Bejilowes

[Canto IX

XIII

Thura Preces, Lachrymae Myrrhae,
Pietasque sit Aurum :
Mentis Opus, Clysmus Cordis,
Amoris Opes.

XIV

Hoc Hecatombtei Tibi Carminis
offero Libum :
Ut tu millenos, Nate Davide,
Boves.

XV

Vult pia Musa Deum ! Quoties volat
altius, Alas
Flagitat assidue, Sancta Co-
LUMBA, Tuas ! 30

XVI

Ferre per yEthereasvolitante Vigore
Phalanges,
Fulgida Chrysolithum Lux ubi
stellat Iter.

XVII

Carmine ducat Amor, quos terret
Concio ; Mentes
Elevet in Coelum, quo nequit ire
Fides !

XVIII

Grata repercussi referantModulamina
Nervi ;
Unica nee nostras sit Synalaepha
Lyrse.

XIX

Umbra mihi Deus. 1, patulae,

Maro, tegmine fagi ;
Tu, Siloame,veni ; CastalisUnda,
vale.

XX

Vana profanorum calcando crepundia
Vatuni,
Spirituale plus parturit Author
Opus. 40

XXI

Vita quid est? Fumus. Quid Forma?
Favilla. Quid Aurum ?
Idolum. Quid Honos ? Bulla.
Quid Orbis? Onus :

XXII

Vita repente fugit, cito Forma polita
raced it,
Aurum fallit, Honor deficit, Orbis
hebet.

( 400)

XIII

Pray'r frankincense, tears myrrh, be

gold, soul's health :
The mind's best work, heart's laver,

and love's wealth.

XIV

I this verse-hecatomb to Thee do

bring ;
As Solomon his numerous offering.

XV

The pious Muse courts Heav'n ;

when highest things
She soars for, still she craves, Blest

Dove, Thy wings ! 30

XVI

With active plumes fly up to th'

angel-quire.
Where chrysolites to gild thy way

conspire.

XVII

Love may them lead by verse, whom

sermons fright ;
Bring them, where Faith comes not,

into Heav'n's light.

XVIII

Oh, may our numbers in sweet

music flow ;
Nor the least harshness of ehsions

know 1

XIX

Shade me, O Lord ! I seek not
Virgil's tree ;

Hence, springs profane ; glide, Si-
loam, by me !

XX

Trampling vain labours, with loose

wits defil'd.
The hallow'd brain brings forth a

spritely child. 40

XXI

What 's life ? a vapour ; beauty ?

ashes ; gain ?
An idol; honour? bubble; the

world ? vain :

XXII

Life flits away, and beauty wanes at

full.
Gold cheats, and honour fades, the

world is dull.

Canto IX] T/ieophUds Love-Sacrifice

XXIII

Vita Voluptatis brevis est, Vit^eque
Voluptas ;
Non capit ilia Deo quid sit
Amante capi.

XXIV

Ilia maritali quse T^eda parata
Leandro,
Ilia Sepulturse Tseda parata
fuit.

XXV

Mille Vise Morti, proh, mille! sed
unica Vitse :
Crimina qui non hie eluet, ille
luet. 50

XXVI

Bellica faedifragos pessundabit Ira
Tyrannos :
Non Vobis, Sceleri vincitis; Ultor
adest.

XXVII

Peccantum Limen, Peccati linquite
Semen ;
Contagem ducit Proximi tate Pecus.

XXVIII

Hinc, Josephe, fugis, fugis hinc sine
Veste, Johannes ;
Proh Dolor ! Ipse manes, Petre,
manendo negas !

XXIX

Conscia Mens Noctesque, Diesque,
Domique, Forisque
Pungitur : In Sese Verbera Tortor
agit !

XXX

Jussa decem, bis sex Credenda,
Sacratio Caenae,
Heu, nimis in Templis, Lege
loquente, silent ! 60

XXXI

Grex perit hinc ! Veniet, qua non
speratur in hora.
Judex : Terribilis Sontibus Ultor
adest !

XXXII

Nee Preee, nee Pretio, nee Fraude,
nee Arte, nee Ira
Vincitur ! In Ptenas Flamma
perennis erit !

XXIII

Life's pleasure's short, and pleasure's

life is vain ;
It knows not highest bliss, God's

love, to gain.

XXIV

That torch which flam'd so bright in

Hero's room,
Did light her lov'd Leander to his

tomb.

XXV

To death a thousand ways, to life

but one :
For sin who groans not, he for sin

shall groan. 50

XXVI

Arm'd wrath perfidious tyrants throws

from high ;
They conquer Right, Sin them ; th'

Avenger 's nigh.

XXVII

Sinner's first steps, sin's seed, and

fruit avoid ;
Many by near infection are destroy'd.

XXVIII

Kill vice i' th' egg : John, Joseph,

robeless fly ;
Peter, thou stay'st, and stay'st but to

deny !

XXIX

By night and day, at home, and

when abroad,
Guilt stings the soul, and thereon

lays its load !

XXX

Of Decalogue, Creed, Supper of the

Lord,
Though laws speak loud, our Church

hath scarce a word ! 60

XXXI

Hence flocks are pin'd. The Judge

in time will come
Unthought of: near to guilt's the

Avenger's doom !

XXXII

Nor pray'r, nor price, nor fraud, nor

rage, nor art
Can help ; ah, fear then flames'

eternal smart !

(401 )

Dd

Edward Benlowes

[Canto IX

XXXIII

Imbre rigante Genas, quoties Tibi
Christe, querebar,
Nocte vigil, nuUo Teste, Medela,
veni !

XXXIV

Aspicis, & Pateris ? Scelus omne
repelle, Colonus
Nee gerat Arma sua qua serit Arva
Manu !

XXXV

Vis, Amor, est exorsa Deo ; data
Gratia gratis ;
Hanc Vim Theiophil^ Nomine
Musa vocat. 70

XXXVI

Ureris ignifluis confossa Theophila
Telis !
Sacra beatificans si cremet Ossa
Calor,

XXXVII

Quo magis ardescis, magis, hoc, sis
Folb's ad Ignes ;
Omnibus exundet, qui calet intus,
Amor.

XXXVIII

Ure Tepescentes, Viresque Calen-
tibus adde ;
Igne crema, recrea Lumine, Mente
bea.

XXXIX

Et Mare tentanti Pharos esto,
Benigna, Poetas,
Dum pandit Vento Lintea plena
sacro !

XL

Velapius Genius, Tu Sidus, Acumina
Remi,
Vates Nauta, Salum Vena, Poema
Ratis. 80

XLI

Consecro Frrena tuge moderanda
Poetica Dextrre ;
Sunt Donantis Honor, sed Ca-
pientis Amor.

XLII

Stringesoluta,recudeproterva,revelle
prophana,

XXXIII

Wet-cheek'd, how oft I've moan'd

to Thee, my Dear,
All night awake, alone, O cure,

appear !

XXXIV

See'st Thou, and suff'rest? Stop
sin's course, and birth ;

Let not that hand bear arms, that
sows the earth.

XXXV

Love's pow'r 's infus'd from God, a

free-giv'n grace ;
Theophila from Love takes name

and race. 70

XXXVI

Thou burn'st, pierc'd Theophil,

with fiery dart ;
If blessed heat enflames thy vigorous

heart.

XXXVII

The more thou burn'st, the more be

bellows still ;
As thy flames grow, let those flames

others fill !

XXXVIII

Heat the luke-warm, to those, more

hot, give fire ;
Bless God ; refresh with grace,

enflame desire.

XXXIX

The poet's Pharos be that sets forth

sail.
While he steers sheet-fiU'd with a

holy gale.

XL

Pure wit's the sails, quick judgement

oars, thou th' star,
Pilot the scribe, sea vein, the ship

hymns are. So

XLI

I give wit's tackling to thy guiding

hands :
Honour in giving, love in taking

stands.

XLII

Bind up what 's loose, what 's rash
new-mould, refell

70 Theiophilae] Benlowes takes the liberty of this form, to get the long syllable, after
the analogy of OtioXoyos, &c. In next line Theophila is more daring.

( 402 )

Canto IX] TheophUd s Love-Sacrtfice

Supple manca, poliscabra,superba
preme.

XLIII

Irrita sulphurei rides Crepitacula
Mundi;
Regnaque pro Nidis, quae fabri-
cantur, habes.

XLIV

Despicis Orbis Opes, opulentior
Orbe, minorque
Orbis, majori pulchrior Orbe,
micas.

XLV

Congestas effundis Opes, releventur
ut ^gri :
Sic ab Amante tuo semper amere
Deo. 90

XLVI

Scisque Deum, notumque doces,
doctumque vereris ;
Praxis habet Cultum ; Quae canis,
ilia facis.

XLVII

Osa Malis, pretiosa Piis, Lyra viva
Poetis,
Casta Fide, Genio Candida, chara
Deo.

XLVIII

Sylva Smaragdicomas quae ventilat,
invidet Auro
Crinis, & ad Cirros Gratia trina
rubet.

XLIX

Gaudia tot spargunt splendentia
Sidera Vultus,
Quot fovet Attis Apes, quot gerit
^thra Faces.

L

Invidet igniparis Adamantinus Ardor
Ocellis,
Vibrat abinde sacras Pupula casta
Faces. 100

LI

Emula puniceis Tinctura Corallina
Labris ;
Livet ad Ambrosias pensilis Uva
Genas.

LII

What 's ill, lame help, smooth rough,
depress what swell.

XLIII

Thou slight'st earth's rattling squibs,

with sulphur fill'd :
Kingdoms such nests are as the birds

do build.

XLIV

Above all worldly wealth thy riches

rise ;
Thy microcosm the macrocosm

outvies.

XLV

Thou lay'st out hoarded gold the

poor to aid ;
So, with God's love, thy love to

God 's repaid. (;o

XLVI

Thy sacred skill imparted reverence

breeds ;
Thy worship's practice, and thy

words are deeds.

XLVII

Fiends hate, saints prize, whence
lyric strings sound clear,

Of spotless faith, pure mind, to th'
Highest dear.

XLVIII

The emerald grove envies thy golden

hair.
Whose curls make Graces blush

themselves more fair,

XLIX

As many joys thy starry beauties

shed.
As bees in Attis, gems in skies are

spread.

L

The diamond sparkleth rage at thine

eyebeams,
Whose chaste orbs brandish thence

their sacred gleams. 100

LI

The coral die is blank'd at lips so

red.
And livid grapes at rosy cheeks

hang head :

LII

Mirarer Labrique Rosas, & Lilia I I'd gaze o' th' lilied cheek, and the
Mate, ' lips' rose,

( 403 ) D d 2

Edward Beitlowes

[Canto IX

Mala sed exuperat Lilia, Labra
Rosas.

LIII

Suavia mellifluo dimanant Verba
Palato,
Verbula Nectareis limpidiora Ca-
dis.

LIV

Quas non Delicias, radiantibus ebria
Guttis,
Psaltria dia, creas ! Ore Mel, Aure
Melos,

LV

Spiras Tota Crocos, Violas, Opobal-
sama, Myrrhas,
Bdellia, Thura, Cedros, Cinnama,
Narda, Rosas. no

LVI

Ruris Aroma Rosas. Quot Cantica
sacra profundis.
Tot paris Ore Favos, tot jacis Ore
Faces.

LVI I

Dum jaciuntnr ab Ore Favi, superge-
que Favillse,
Pascor, ut incendar ; Flamma dat
ipsa Dapes !

LVIII

Languet Olor dum spectat Ebur
Cervicis : Ad Agnum
Haec Via susceptum Lactea mon-
strat Iter.

LIX

Ningit in Alpinis mansura Pruina
Papillis ;
Anser es His Cornix, Nix nigra,
sordet Olor.

LX

Vellera cana Nivis, Manibus collata,
lutescunt ;
Figis ubi Gressum pressa resultat
Humus. X20

LXI

Lilia Lacte lavet, Violas depurpuret
Uva,
^re Crocos tingat, Murice, Flora,
Rosas ;

LXII

Nee potis est meritam Tibi texere
Flora Corollam ;

( 404 )

But oh, thy cheek, thy lip surpasseth
those !

LIII

Grace pours sweet-flowing words from

charming lips.
Sparkling 'bove nectar which i'th'

crystal skips.

LIV

Rare Psaltress, with Heav'n-drops

inebriate,
What sweets to mouth, and ear dost

thou create?

LV

Sweet violets, saffron, balm, myrrh

from thee flows,
Bdell, incense, cedar, cinnamon,

nard, the rose — no

LVI

The rose, swain's spice : such heav'n-
dew'd verse dost frame,

As sweet as honeycomb, as bright
as flame.

LVII

While combs, and flames divine from

thee are cast,
Fm fed, as fir'd; ev'n flames do nurse

my taste !

LVIII

The swan pines at thy neck ; this

Milky Way
Doth steps, begun to th' Holy Lamb,

display.

LIX

There falls on thine Alp-breasts a

lasting snow.
To which snow's black, swans foul,

the goose a crow.

LX

The hoary frost turns dirt, vied with

thy hand,
And, where thy foot does tread, it

prides the land. 120

LXI

On lilies milk, on violets purple

throw,
On saffron gold, scarlet o' th' rose

bestow ;

LXII

Wreaths, worthy thee, fair Flora ne'er
can weave ;

Canto IX] TheophUd s Love-Sacrtfice

Te, nee hyperbolicus, dum cano,
Cantor ero.

LXIII

Floribus omnigenis, Gemmisque
nitentibus ardens,
Tu Paradisiac! Praeda videris
Agri.

LXIV

Quaslibet in Vita Virtus sic gequa
relucet ;
Ut dubitetur an hsec, ilia, vel ista
praeit.

LXV

Desuper extat Amor ; Tibi Mens
contermina Coelo,
Regnat Honor, radiat Forma,
triumphal Amor. 130

LXVI

Illud es Elixir, Chymica quod pro-
tinus Arte,
Mutet in auratas me, rude Pondus,
Opes.

LXVII

Igne Cinis fit agente Vitrum ; niicat
Igne Metallum ;
Corpus & hoc fieri Spiritus Igne
potest.

LXVIII

Magneti salit e Ferro celer Ignis
Amoris ;
Imo Silex faculas, quis putet ?
intus alit.

LXIX

Durius at Saxo nil est, nil mollius
Igne :
Dura sed ignitus Saxa resolvit
Amor.

LXX

Hsec meditans, quis non Facibus
solvatur Amoris ?
Tu Charis es, Studiis Tu Cynosura
meis. 140

LXX I

Gemmula Mentis, Ocella Sinlas, pia
Flammula Cordis :
Incepi Duce Te, Te Duce coepta
sequar.

LXX 1 1

Sponsa creata Deo, Virtutum fulgida
Coetu,

(405)

Nor can our highest strains thee
higher heave.

LXIII

With all-bred flow'rs, and glitt'ring

buds thou beam'st ;
As if t' have cropt all Paradise thou

seem'st.

LXIV

Each virtue 's in thy life so pois'd, so

fine ;
What's first? This? That? or

'T'other? since all shine.

LXV

Love to thy soul deriv'd is from

above,
Where Honour reigns, sparks beauty,

triumphs Love. 130

LXVI

In chemic art thou my elixir

be ;
Convert to gold the worthless dross

in me,

LXVII

Fire makes of ashes glass, makes
metals shine ;

This fire my body may to spirit cal-
cine.

LXVIII

Enamour'd iron does to the magnet

fly;
Yea, sparks in hardest flints concealed

he.

LXIX

Nothing more hard than stone, more

soft than fire ;
Yet stones are melted by inflam'd

desire.

LXX

Is't so? Who'd not dissolve in flames

of Love ?
Be thou the grace, thou my thought's

loadstar prove. 140

LXXI

Mind's gem, eye's apple, heart's in-
tenser flame ;

Thou show'dst the way, I'll prosecute
the same

LXXII

For God created, bright in Virtue's
train,

Edward Benlowes

[Canto IX

Jus colis, Affectus supprimis, Acta
regis.

LXXIII

Est Tibi Vita Deus, Pietas Lex,
Gloria Christus,
Expetis Hunc, Tibi Qui semper
Amore praeit.

LXXIV

Quid Te, Christe, Crucem perferre
coegit ? Amoris

Weigh'st right, quell'st passions, and
o'er deeds dost reign.

LXXIII

God is thy hfe, Law virtue, Glory

Christ ;
Him, who leads thee by love, thou

lov'st Him high'st.

LXXIV

Christ, to endure the cross, what
did Thee move ?

Ardor ! Amaroris Pignus Amoris The pledge of bitterness was pledge

erat !

LXXV

Factus Amans, fit & Esca Deus !
Te nutrit Iesus :
O Bonitas! Quales Hocin Amante
Dapes ! 150

LXXVI

of Love !

LXXV

Is God both meat and lover? Christ

thy food ?
What banquet is this Lover ! As

sweet, as good ! 150

LXXVI

Est mihi Christus (ais) Laus, Splen- \ Christ 's spice (thou say'st) light,

dor, Aroma, Triumphus,
Musica, Vina, Dapes, Fama,
Corona, Deus.

LXXVII

Omnia Tu Jesus ! prse Te, nihil
Omnia ! Coelum
Exploraturae, quam mihi sordet
Humus !

LXXVIII

Orbis es Exilium, Mors Janua, Patria
Coelum ;
Dux sit Amor, Baculus Spes,
Comes alma Fides.

LXXIX

Diffluat in Gemmas Oriens, in Car-
mina Coelum ;
Nee Meritis Oriens, nee Polus
sequa ferat.

LXXX

Fac timeam, fac amem ; Quae Te
timet, acrius ardet ;
Nempe tui Culttis Fons Timor,
Amnis Amor. 160

LXXXI

Vox tua Norma mihi ; Tibi Palmes
adhsereo Viti ;
Totus es Ipse mihi, sim tua iota
Deus!

triumph, praise to me ;
Music, wine, feast, fame, crown, God;
all to thee.

LXXVII

Lord, Thou art all in all ! Thou

lost, all 's nought ;
How base seems muddy earth, where

Heav'n is sought !

LXXVIII

Earth 's exile. Death the gate, my

home 's above ;
My staff's Hope, Faith companion,

leader Love.

LXXIX

Turn Indie into jewels, Heav'n to

verse.
Nor Indie can Thy worth, nor Heav'n

rehearse.

LXXX

Let me Thee fear, and love ; fear

Love's heat blows ;
Fear is Devotion's fount, whence

love o'erflows. 160

LXXXI

Thy word's my rule, I cleave to Thee,

my Vine;
Lord, Thou are all tome, I'm wholly

Thine.

157 Indie] As we have kept the plural why not the singular?
(406)

CANTO IX] Theophild s Love-Sacrifice

LXXXII

Comprecor, exaudi;patior, succurre;
molester^
Auxiliare J premor, protege; flagro,
fave !

LXXXIII

Te voco, laudo, rogo, colo, diligo,
quaero, Redemptor,
Affectu, Prece, Re, Spe, Pietate,
Fide!

LXXXIV

Si Te contueor, liquefio, perusta
Favillis ;
Ni Te contueor, sum glaciata
Gelu!

LXXXV

O, Facibus superadde Faces, ut Tota
liquescam !
Sim vel Mortis Odor, sim vel
Amantis Amor. 170

LXXXVI

Grata Procella, jugum mihi gratum,
gratus & Ignis,
Me quibus immergit, deprimit,
urit Amor !

LXXXVII

Non mea sum, sed Amore Dei
languesco ! Sorores,
Me stipate Rosis, languet Amore
Sinus!

LXXXVIII

Nil Animantis habet, quae Pectore
vivit Amantis :
Hoc in Amore mihi sit mora nulla
mori !

LXXXIX

Unio sit Nobis, Animamque liqua-
mur in unam !
Unaque Vita Duos stringat Amor-
que Duos !

xc
Tu super Omne places ! Tua sum,
Tu noster, & Ambos
Mutuus Ardor agit, possidet unus
Amor. 180

xci
Uror, lo; Redamatur Amor! Voto-
que fruiscor !
Dum quod Amans redamor, dum
quod Amante fruor.

(407)

LXXXII

Oh, hear my pray'r, my suffrings

bear, my task
Take off, redress my wrongs, grant

what I ask !

LXXXIII

With pray'r, desire, faith, zeal, hope,

deed I call.
Laud, seek, love, pray, worship Thee

all in all.

LXXXIV

If I behold Thee, I'm all flaming

spice ;
If not behold Thee, I'm congeal'd

to ice !

LXXXV

Add flames to flames, that I may

melt away !
Be I belov'd of Thee, or else Death's

prey ! 170

LXXXVI

Sweet seas, light yoke, a friendly

flame I find.
Which me with love doth drown, and

burn, and bind.

LXXXVII

I'm not mine own, but faint for God

above !
Rose-deck me. Virgins, for I'm sick

of Love !

LXXXVIII

Nought of a liver, hath a lover's

heart !
Or live belov'd, or life-bereft

depart !

LXXXIX

Let us be one ! In one, two melted

flow !
Let one life, as one love, inform us

two !

xc
My only joy, I'm Thine ; Thou mine;

and both
The like flame burns ; th' one loves,

as t'other doth. 180

XCI

Fire ! Fire ! Love is beloved ! My

Maker 's mine !
Loving, I'm lov'd ! while with my

Spouse I twine !

Edward Benlowes

[Canto IX

XCII

O, quid Amare ! Quid est Redamari !
Gaudia nacta
Tanta, stupendo tacet ! Tanta,
tacendo stupet !

XCIII

Vivo Deo, morior Mundo, moriendo
resurgo ;
Inde, catenate Dite, triumphat
Amor.

xciv
Sic amet omnis Amans, sic immo-
riatur Amanti :
Ut Lyra Luscinise Vitaque Mors-
que fuit.

xcv
Si mea Lumen habent, si Nomen
Carmina ; Lumen
Ex Oculo Sponsi, Nomen ab Ore
venit. 190

xcvi
Argus eat, qui Talpa venit, radiatus
Amore ;
Vates Sperati fidus Amoris ero.

XCVII

Cingant Theiophilge potius mea
Tempora Lauri,
Quam gemmans Capiti sit Dia-
dema meo.

XCVIII

Nam, quid erunt, animas Damno,
Diademata Mundi ?
Celsa ruunt, fugiunt blandula,
prava necant.
xcix
Ut prsesens novit, sic postera noverit
^tas,
Sive premamus Humum, Sive
premamur Humo.

c

Finis Fine caret, nee Terminus uUus
Amantem
Terminat ; Hic Modus est non
habuisse Modum. 200

XCII

0 Love, belov'd ! Her, who such

joys partakes.
Silence makes wonder, wonder silence
makes !

XCIII

To Heav'n I live, to Earth I die ;

dying rise !
So, Hell being chain'd, Love takes

the victor's prize.

XCIV

Lovers so love, as for the lov'd to
die!

As Strada's lute was life and des-
tiny.

xcv

If these my lays have either light, or
name.

Name from thy word, light from thy
grace doth flame 19 j

xcvi

Who came a mole, goes Argus hence
by Love ;

1 shall Faith's priest to hopeful Charis

prove.

xcvii
Theophila's bays to me more honour

brings
Than gems that blaze on the proud

heads of kings,
xcviii
For what boot worldly crowns with

soul's loss bought.
Heights fall, spruce courtship fades,

vice brings to nought.

XCIX

We may hereafter, as we now have

found
The voice of Fame above, so, under
ground.

c
The last shall last; Term can't Vaca-
tion lend
To th' Lover; here 'tis end to have no

End

188 Strada's lute] Benlowes merely alludes to what Ford and Crashaw had elaborately
handled. And the piecing together of the allusion by the Latin and English is note-
worthy.

(408)

Canto IX] TheophUds LoveSucriJice

Imus in Albion is, Freta per Latialia,
Littus ;
Siste BritannaleSjHac Vice, Musa,
Pedes.
Anglica num praestent Latiis, Briti-
cisve Latina
Scire velim : Placeant quae magis,
Ilia dabo.

To see, not know, is not to

see :
Then, let our English reader be
Warn'd, not on Latian Alps to

roam ;

The next vale's path will lead him
home.

PR^LIBATIO
AD THEOPHILiE AMORIS HOSTIAM

QU^ UNICA CANTIO A DOMINO ALEX. ROSS.^0 IN
CARMEN LATINUM CONVERSA EST\

Cantio I

ARGUMENTUM

Evigiles, surgas, divini Rector Amoris ;
Delicium priiis explores, quam Gaudia tentes :
Ad Coelos Cursum tandem pia Vota gubernent.

TRISTICHON I

MuTUA si Mentes agerent Commer-

cia Secum,
Angelicum in Morem, terrena Mole

solutce.
Intuitu quales possent effundere

Cantus !

II
Spiritus ut subito si sublimetur,

abibit
In Fumum, nimium chymicus nisi

temperet ^Flstum ;
Haud aliter perit omne nimis subtile

Noema.

Ill
Aurum, Sole satum, Terrae inter

Viscera clausum,
Non pretio cessit, quamvis non

splenduit eeque,
Qualiter excoctum flagranti fulgurat

Igne.

' The ' English reader,' after the broad hint given to him notio ' read Alexander Ross
over' in the last stanza above, may be emboldened to ask why this Latin duplication
is even given here ? But the original of Thcophila is too rare for the reproduction to be
mutilated.

( 409 )

IV

Mens age, nunc Famse Sphseram
conscende per Orbes ; 10

Errat enim quisquis non Cursum
dirigit illuc :

Virtutis Comites, Aures adhibete
Docenti.

V

Ergo, nb Veneris lascivae Praelia,

Cornu
Vocali accensa, aut Oculis flamman-

tibus Igne,
(Formfe Armis) cedant inopinis

Pectora Plagis.

VI

Quarum pestiferis Oculis, jaculan-

tibus Ignem,
Virginitatis Honos purus maculatur,

& ipsa
Mens capitur Laqueis fictarum in-

cauta Comarum.

Edward Benlowes

[Canto I

VII

Aspice Captivum Veneris, qui trans-

igit ^vum
In fervente gelu, colit Umbram ;

atque Ingeniosum 20

Se credens, scribit, delet, laceratque,

furitque.

VIII

Ejus Opes Fragmenta quidem sunt

Comica, quorum
Prsesidio superat Tenariffse Verticis

auram.
' Sol Tibi scintilla est, Tu Lumine

Sidera vincis.

IX

' Victrix Flamraa tuis Oculis micat

acribus, Orbes
Obnubas geminos lucentes, nam-

que rigentem
Accendent Monachum, vel fiam

Morte Bidental.

X

' Ob Gemmas Indi penetrant Saxa,

^thiopesque
Oceanum ob Conchas, pretiosis

Pellibus instat
Tartara Gens ; Omnes ejus

munera Templo.

XI

' Flagrantes dimitte

fulgure nostras
Perstringis Oculorum

ferre valentes
Tales Angelico radiantes

Vultus.'

XII

Estne Helene, Trojana Lues, atque
Angelus idem ?

Passio non domita est insan^e Men-
tis Idolum :

Multse se fucant, Paucse Virtutibus
ornant.

XIII

Verius hoc nihil est; Cutis alba,
rubore Rosarum

Permista, eximium Lumen ne Men-
tis obumbret,

dant
30

Genas, quae
Acies, non
Lumine

Nevb Animag Visum penetrantem
obnubulet unquam.

XIV

Ure Odas, Veneris Stratagemata
chartea ; Ludos 40

Effuge, sunt FlammjE ; fabrices ne
Vinc'la, Dolosque

Neve loquare Oculis ; Oris Commer-
cia vita.

XV

Spumea nonne audis Cerebella, &

inania, ut intiis
Et rugeant, nee non Joviali in

Crimine Potu
Luxurient, saltentque furentes, atque

cachinnent ?

XVI

Prgedatas Cellas siccate, & mox

Rationem
Luxuriae Vinclis submittite; per

Freta Vini, &
Mellis arundinei Scopulos date vela

furentes.

XVII

Ad Senii Mare mortiferum transmit-
tite Curas :

Quadrupedem effraenem defessi agi-
tate Furoris 50

Bacchantes, Rabiem in Vini mon-
strate Theatro.

XVIII

' Turgescant Vino Carchesia, donee

in altum
Provehimur Bacchi, Terr^eque Urbes-

que recedant :
Omnia sorbemus, sit ibi Naupactia

Classis.

XIX

'Aplustrum simul & Carchesia

pandite, Fluctus
Horrisonos Fremitu superemus ;

Plura Salutis
Naufragia hie, qukm cum cecinerunt

Monstra marina.

XX

* Amphora quseque ; parit (signato,
Prome,) Pyropum ;

23 Tenariffae] Orig. has the a.

50 efTiaenem ; 55 Aplustrum] Note Ross's preference for unusual forms as against
effraenws, and in the other aplustre. Also in 1. 68 aci, 'garfish,' for 'breams.'

(410)

Canto I]

Prcelihationis Tra72sIatio

Et tinctae Baccho Buccae, mihi

saepfe videntur
TedifercC, quoties Gemmis micat un-

dique Nasus. 60

XXI

Cantibus alternis Homines sese esse

negantes,
Exleges fiunt. Titubant, seseque

volutant,
Atque Pedes sinuant, potant Cir-

csea Venena.

XXII

O, tumulatae Animae, vivae putresci-

tis ! usque
Ad Faeces Vester liquefit Sal : Quis-

que coercet
Naturam, & Mortem accelerat,

Spernitque Salutem.

XXIII

Insontes Pecudes vestros odere

Liquores
Cum Nugas Vomitu & Punctis

distinguitis : Aci,
In Vino & Somno ; Proceres nisi

Fumus & Umbra.

XXIV

Mallem condiri Muria, qu^m Nectare
dulci 70

Putrere. Invitatmiseros nunc Alea,
Mensae

Illaqueant, nunquam felix datur
Exitus illis.

XXV

Sed sine Mente uno jactu Patrimo-

nia perdunt :
Obscurant Noctem cum decipit Alea

Diris.
Vincitur en Victor ; num Victus vin-

cere posset ?

XXVI

Denis & septem Cubitis si Nilus

inundat
Fertilis Egypti Campos, miseranda

sequetur
Esuries, Tabes sequitur sic sasva

Nepotes.

XXVII

Dicite vos pictse, vos, dicite, Papi-
liones,

(411)

Gaudia quae Veris pensatis falsa, quid
estis 80

Lucratae, ex infrugiferis Nugisque
caducis ?

XXVIII

Stulti qui propter Nugas divenditis

Aurum,
Dicite, num caleat quae Flamma est

picta? Voluptas
Num stimulans juvat? 6, angustum

Coelum, inferiusque !

XXIX

Ite, & Deliciis (fruitur queis Bestia

sola)
Gaudia mutetis vera ; at Gens impia

turget
Deliciis ; Christus flevit ; Gens

optima luget.

XXX

Nil nisi terrenum cupiunt Animalia

Bruta ;
Coelestes Animae coelestia Gaudia

quaerunt ;
Ast Homines mediae Naturae Dona

requirunt. 90

XXXI

Gens humana foret si moles Corpo-
ris expers,

Angelicae Naturae esset ; si Mente
careret,

Brutiginae : Caro Brutorum est,
Mens Angelicorum.

XXXII

Principio Deus Hos univit, subji-

ciendo
Sensum Judicio Rationis, ti^m

moderando
Affectum Arbitrio Mentis, verum in-

ficiendo

XXXIII

Libertatem Animas, Crimen concus-

sit, ut Ipsae
Jam nequeunt habitare simul, nisi

Lucta sequatur ;
Nee sine Tristitia divelli posse vide-

mus.

XXXIV

Jam valeat Mundus fallax, spinosa
Voluptas 100

Edward Benlowes

[Canto I

Cui Cordi est, quod perdit amat,

quod Nobile spernit.
I, Cole nunc Vitium, ride Virtutis

Amantes.

XXXV

Mellito Cyatho, at Felle Aspidis

baud meliore,
Inficis incautas Animas ad Tartara,

semper
Mortales Magico & fallaci decipis

Ore.

XXXVI

Dum Tempus fallis, Tempus te fal-

lit, & aufert
Praedam, dum Tempus perdis,

Coelestia perdis,
Sed, cum Fure bono, pauci furantur

Olympum.

XXXVII

Projiciunt Stulti pretiosum Temporis
Aurum :

Qui Vitse Gemmam generosam pro-
digit, ille no

Ad Barathrum graditur, Stimulisque
agitatur Averni.

XXXVIII

Cui Terram amplecti vastam furiosa

Cupido est,
Vique Uoloque simul ; Muscis hie

Retia tendit,
Ut foribus laxos suspendit Aranea

Casses.

XXXIX

Cum Mors praescindet Nimrodi

Vulturis ungues,
Nomina cernemus subito mutata

Domorum :
Bethesda his fiet tandem Bethania

tristis.

XL

Arbitrio subdi pejus, quam Lege

perire ;
Pharmaca quae curare valent, si

Balsama perdunt ?
Namque Bono quod degenerat, nil

pejus habetur. 120

XT. I

Sique Tyrannorum arbitrio non
traderet ullos

(4-0

Omnipotens Sanctos, crudeli Morte

premendos.
Nullum Martyrium foret, aut Salva-

tor lesus.

XLII

Stulti durescunt, sed Sancti, ut

Cera, liquescunt :
Corporis ad gemitum morientis,

jamque jacentis
Nudo Dente, Genis macris, Oculis-

que cavatis.

XLIII

Vitae Author Vitam praebet, largire

Misellis ;
Dissectis Venis praeclusa est Janua

Lethi :
Sit Deus Exemplar ; te cura ; pasce

Famentes.

XLIV

Ut Coelum obtineas, heu, quantula
Portio Vitae 130

Hie peregrinantis superest ! namque
excipit Ortum

Occasus subito, Finisque ab Ori-
gine pendet.

XLV

Cum Vitiis cui Bella foris. Pax per-

manet intus :
Cessat Judicium, quiim sese judicat

ullus :
Extra vestiri Zelo est augere Dolores.

XLVI

Magnates, Vos magna manent Tor-

menta, Tyranni
Si sitis. Infernus Medicinam baud

exhibet ullam :
Securus n^ sis, securus si cupis esse.

XLVII

Robora franguntur quae Coeli Mur-

mura temiiunt ;
Ardentem in Cineres Prunam consi-

dere cernes ; 140

Nee non m fumos clarum vanescere

Lychnum.

XLVIII

Exue rugosam Sagam, jam Tempus,

& aufer
Peccati Achanis velamina nigra,

Magarum

Canto I]

Prcelibationis "Translatio

Divinae inspirat vel Dorica Carmina
Musse.

LVI

Proque Tubisresonabit Amor Testu-
dine, solvens
Jezabelis pinxit Faciem, Centroque ! Obsidione Urbes, quassatas Marte,

Leprosis pannis superabunt Ulcera
foeda.

XLIX

Insontem hoc Naboth Ferro super-
avit, idemque

removit
Tot Regna, atque novum dimovit
Cardine Mundum.

L

Felices hujus qui spargent Saxa

Cerebro,
Quiqueea loturi maledicto Sanguine,

sternetque
Osse Vias : Cujus Gemitus sunt

Gaudia nostra. 150

LI

Non debet Salica regnare Haec Lege,

Procellas
Excitat, Halcyonumque Dies dis-

pellit, in Aula
Mentis nil habitat Bonitatis, si regit

Ilia.

LII

Luxuries ejus quot Morbos edidit?

Astra
Inficit, Esuriemque auget, Vivisque

molesta est
Dum crapulantur humum Tumulis

civilia Bella.

LIII

Mens mea, Maestitiae Labyrinthis

septa, quot Annis
In sacco, Lachrymis baccato, trans-

ige Vitam !
Clam nigris in Speluncis ambito

Tim ores !

LIV

Cumque Heraclito pacatum transige
Tempus, 160

A Turbis procul, & procul a Dis-
cordibus Armis,

Quae Mundum insanum turbato in
Pegmate versant.

LV

lUic Relligio dulcis vel Pectine

pulsat,
Vel Digitis Cytharam, vel Cantu

personat Antra,

(413)

vocansque
In Ccelum, Imperii Sedem, mortalia
Corda.

LVI I

Nostra hinc Laetitia, hinc Hymni

Solatia nostra,
Praecipue Angelici. Summo sit

Gloria Patri, 170

Pax Terris, Hominum succedat

prompta Voluntas !

LVIII

Pennas quas Veneris Volucres dant,

Dedecus addunt ;
Ergo, Vulcano Versus committite ;

toilet
Ille pedes Melis ; liber, sed claudicat

Ille.

LIX

Tollitur en Nihil, ast Aliquid cadit !

6, ubi Merces
Antiquae Virtutis Honos ! Sapientia

quondam
Virtutem evexit ; coluisti, Piute,

Minervam.

LX

Cos fuit Oxonii Lambeth ! tamen

Ille Volatu
Exuperat longe Pinnacula Divitia-

rum,
Qui Virtutem ambit, puro Virtutis

Amore. 180

LXI

Virtutis Radiis accenditur Illius

Ardor,
Et Pestes omnes Modulis fugat ille

canoris,
Fulminaque extinguit per Coeli Ex-

pansa trisulca.

LXII

An matutinae Volucres cantando

citabunt
Solem ex nocturnis Tenebris, tecto-

que Cubili ?

Edward Be7tlowes

[Canto I

Atque Animse vivge in Tenebris &
Morte jacebunt?

LXIII

Evigilate ergo de Somno, & Nocte

sopora ;
Increpat ecce Moras nostras Auriga

Diei,
Sol dum cseruleos moderatur in

yEthere Currus.

LXIV

Jamque experrecti, Textrices mille
Laborum 190

Conspicite aerias, quae fingunt Arte
stupenda

Mseandros, texuntque suis per inania
Telis.

LXV

Surgite, Sol Aurum per summa

Cacumina spargit,
Condit Aromatibus Lucem, dum

spargit Odores,
Cuncta sagittiferis Radiis Dulcedine

replet.

LXVI

Erigit in Coelum Mentes Lux aurea

Phoebi :
Pulpita qui fugiunt, Hymnis capiun-

tur. In Aurum
Vertit Amor Plumbum, Chymico

prgestantior omni.

LXVI I

Utque Opifex Naturse Apis est, Tra-
gemata fingens

Mellea, dum sugens chymicb trans-
format in Aurum 200

Flores ; ditatur sic plumbea Carmine
Prosa.

LXVIII

NuUus Rex Vatem, sed Regem Car-
mine Vates

Evehit, Ille Animas languentes
excitat, Ille

Ad Mare Pacificum Curas trans-
mittit edaces.

LXIX

Ut Gemmae radiant, atque aemula

Lumina Stellis,
Per Loca transmittunt tenebrosa :

ita docta Poesis

(4'4)

Et Lucem, ac Animam, Vitamque
dat Artibus ipsam.

LXX

O dives, ridens, radiansque Poetica

Gemmis,
Nobilitas Splendore tuo Diademata

Regum !
Tu Gentilitium Clypeum depingis

Honoris. 210

LXX I

Te, (quae circundas Artes velut Aere)

Teque
Rerum inventarum Portam, Scenam

Ingeniorum,
Tam dives, quam pauper amat,

Regesque procando.

LXXII

Vates & Reges Tumulo conduntur

eodem ;
Ruminat Ars quodcunqueaccenditur

Igne Poetae,
Sensibus ut nostris divinum exhalet

Odorem.

LXXIII

Prudentes reddit Speculatio, non

meliores :
Littera solum Ars est, sed Praxis

Spiritus ; Usus
Arte valet, sic Ars usu ; qui seperat,

aufert.

LXXIV

Languida Facta quidem Dictis
stimulantur acutis, 220

Verba ut Femellis, Maribus sic Facta
probantur :

Sit Vita Exemplar, fac. Leges prae-
veniantur.

LXXV

Maxima Cognitio nostra est servire

Tonanti,
Tunc nos morigeros Mandatis aesti-

mat. Actus
Excipiunt quando quaedam Inter-

ludia nostros.

LXXVI

Illorum Mentes sola ad Sublimia

tendunt.
Quorum nonquovisagitanturPectora

Vento,

Canto I]

Prcelibationis Translatio

Utque Aula instabiles, sedin ^Equore
nant Sapientis.

LXXVII

Non alia his Cynosura nitet quam

Gratia, quamque
Portat Apostolicus collustrans Sig-

nifer Oibem : 230

Hac Evangelic! Cursum rexere

Magistri.

LXXVIII

Hicque Theanthropos Sermo, turn

mystica Vitra
Oris fatidici, nee non Oracula tanta,
Fomentumque Precum, turn Murus

Aheneus hie est ;

LXXIX

Coeli Seulptura hie, Pietatis Clavis,

& ipsa
Gaza, Instrumentum, Spesque An-

chora, Charta fidelis,
Atque Voluptatis Gurges, sie Navis

Amoris.

LXXX

Nunquam sie refluit Sanetorum

Fluctus, ut ipsos
Urgeat in Syrtes Errorum cuncta

vorantes,
Peccati Clades fugiunt, ut naufraga

saxa. 240

LXXXI

Ut Casus Mortis, Noctis Septentrio,

Non tam
Obscuri, aut Tenebrae triduans,

quas super omnem
Egyptum induxit, qui Lucem &

Sydera fecit.

LXXX 1 1

Tempestati hujus collata Tonitrua

languent ;
Si Stimulos spectes Aspis fert Bal-

sama, Mors est
Vel Pietas, hujus cum Carmina

faeda videbis.

LXXXIII

Hujus ciim laqueos mea Musa eva-

seris, illuc
Tende Alis, ubi Lux Mentes quae

luminat, ardet ;
Et Nebulas abigit, tenebrasque Nitore

resolvit.

(415 )

LXXXIV

Sit tibi Relligio curae, quam discute,
meque 250

Errantem cohibe, Deus alme, &
percute Carnis

Ignavae (si quando salit vel rudet)
asellum,

LXXXV

Mens minor es minimo Coeli indul-

gentis Amore :
Peccatum baud linquunt Terror,

Pudor, atque Reatus ;
Quatuor hi Comites Coetum glome-

rantur in unum.

LXXXVI

Peccato defectus ego, nunc perditus

erro ;
Namque orare mihi vesana Superbia

visa est.
Luctantem, Deus alme, leva sub

Pondere Terrae.

LXXXVII

Nemo merere potest, meruit tamen

Unus, & horum
Qui jactant Sese, Zelum frigescere

cernis, 260

His stannum, Argentum est, aes

Aurum ssep^ videtur.

LXXXVIII

Cor renova, Linguam mihi dirige,

porrige Dextram,
Inspiresque Fidem, Spemvelo detege

tectam :
Erige collapsum, crescat Vis semper

Amoris.

LXXXIX

Lingua, Decus nostrum, Menti ser-

vire memento.
Spiritus ille tuus Bezaliel illustravit.
Mors Fide me salvat, Cascis das

Lumina sputo.

xc
Spiritus ex sensu fiat, nam Gratia

sola
Naturam vertit, chymichus Lapis

ecce repertus,
Et Verbum omnipotens sola est

Projectio pura. 270

Edwaf^d Benlowes

[Canto I

xci
Verbum, Cos veri, nee Regula certior

ulla :
Rejicimus Mappam tenebrosam

Traditionum.
Non urit me Charta, tamen Mens

ignibus ardet.

XCII

Dum lego, Mens intus magno Splen-

dore coruscat,
Et novus ecce Vigor penetrat Prse-

cordia, namque
Omnia describit Placitorum Arcana

tuorum.

XCIII

Hujus Carminibus tecum versantur

Enochi ;
Avertit Mortem, transfer! nos ante

Senectam :
Dat Vaticanus Scoriam, purum hie

nitet Aurum.

xciv
Sic ciim pigra gelu Gens Tartara,

splendida Gemmis 280

Teeta subit Sophige, subito Fervore

refeeta,
Quae nive semianimis fuerat, se

vivere sentit.

xcv
Infundis mihiTu Meditaminasancta,

meoque
Effundis pia Verba Ore, & laudando

per Orbem
Diffundis mea Facta, tuoquseMunere

vivunt.

XCVI

Musa, mihi Chordas tendens, cane

Facta Bonorum
Hymnis,sedpravos taceas ; Artesque

Tributum

Dent tibi, tu Cordi Linguam, Pen-

namque ligabis.
xcvii
Degener at Soboles Evse, poUutaque

Culpis,
An Te Mensura tenui comprendere

posset, 290

Omnipotens quum sis, nee mensu-

rabilis unquam ?

XCVI 1 1

Arbustum Cedros, Aquilam non

regulus effert
Laudibus, aut eernit Phoebeas noctua

Flammas,
Gutta quid Oeeano ? Radiis Jubar

infinitis?

xcix
Languentem sed Spes & Amor per

inane volatum
Ferre valent, in Te noetem Fiducia

lustrat ;
Grandis Amor, suppleto Fidem, Spei

seribimus Alis.

c

Spiritus, almeDEUS, Mens, Corpus, tS:

omnia Facta,

Et Verba, & Mentis Meditamina,

posteadiscent

Et Laudes celebrare tuas, &

Crimina flere. 3°°

O, quantum JESU me diligis !

Ergo Beatum
Me tua jam reddat Dilectio,

suscipiatque
Erectum rursus Dilectio
Maxime Jesu!
Hasc ara est, atque haec mea
victima dulcis amoris.
Cor, Oculus, Lingua, atque Manus,
Poplesque reflexus
A te sunt Cuncta hsc, ad te sint Cuncta
vicissim ^

Post Homerum Iliada,post VossEeum
Grammaticen, post Rossa^um, celeber-
rimum ilium Virgilii Evangelizantis
Autorem, Carmen Hcroicum con-
scribcre audax plan^ videatur Facinus.
Tenuitatisquippe meae, & imparls long^

in Poesi venae conscius, ciim non possum
quod vcUem, volo tamen quod possum
effundere.

Est aliquid prodire tenus si non datur
ultra.

* This is again, in the original, arranged and framed altar-wise.
(416)

Canto III] TheophUcB Amoris Hostia

THEOPHILiE AMORIS HOSTIA
Cantio III. Latino Carmine donata. Restauratio

ARGUMENTUM

Authoris Raptus, laudatiir Gratia ; fusse

Sunt Lachrymse charo Britonum pro Sanguine fuso

Obscure, petitur Pax ictis prisca Michaiis.

TRISTICHON I

SoLLiciTES mea Musa Lyram, digi-

toque pererra
Argute Chelyos Chordas, & Cantica

psallas
Quae rapiant Terras, & scandant

Astra Triumphis.
II
Ecstatico raptus Motu Bartseius

Heros,
Lecto subsiliens, alacres ducensque

Choraeas,
Dixit ; In hunc Morem saltabunt

Gallica Regna.
Ill
Seu Meteora Soli viscoso Semine

facta,
Quae, motu succensa suo, super

ardua tendunt
Nubila, Stellarum nee non de More

coruscis

IV

Effulgent Flammis ; Duntaxat at ilia
relucent lo

Ut Sese absumant, & nos per
Compita ducant ;

Nee pro se Venti,sed Nobis, Flamina
spirant :

V

Enthea sic superas mea Mens

ascendit ad Arces,
Sese dispendens, Stolidos ut reddat

Acutos :
Qui T^edam prsefert Aliis, Se Lumine

privat.

VI

Qualiter Inferno sudat vesana
Libido :

Sic Ccelo aspirat diviniZelus Amoris;
Scrutari Hoc Mentis contendit tota
Facultas.

VII

Cardinibus subnixa Fides conver-

titur altis ;
Purior baud ullis praeclusa Scientia

Metis ; 20

Flamma, Cor accendens, non Ignis

Signa relinquit.

VIII

Horti florentis blandtim Po[i]m£eria,

sancta
Visorum Tellus, Sapientum grata

Cohorti,
Auratis Asini Phaleris Ludibria

prostas.

IX

Huic Mare fit rabidum ]\Iundus,

Discordia major
Est ubi Ventorum, quam Pyxis

nautica norit ;
Incumbit Sanctus Velis, tenet An-

chora Coelum.

X

Appulit hie Pietas, ubi non confracta

Dolore
Conscia Mens fremitat, Rabie aut

consumpta maligna ;
Lumina lascivae Veneris nee Fulgure

tacta.

30

XI

Non Nugfe Hie Pueri ; Juvenis non

fervidus ^stus ;
Ambitus ^tatis maturce nullus ;

Avari
GrandiEvi baud Vitium ; non Otia

pigra coluntur

(417)

22 PonncEria] Sic in orig.
E e

Edward Be7ilowes

[Canto III

xii
Non Gula, lascivi aut Pruritus turpis

Amoris,
Turgidus baud Fastus, non invi-

diosa Kubigo,
Ira nee ardescens, aut Obduratio

Cordis.

XIII

Non Amor invadit proprius, vel

Pectora Curas
Scindentes, Schisma aut Doctrinee

mobile flatu,
Non c^eci pungunt Stimuli, nee Poena

Latebris.

XIV

Hinc macula apparet Tellus obscura,
ubi certant 40

Pro vanis Homines, puerilis more
tumulttls ;

Formicae, veluti peterent, munimina,
scloppis.

XV

Est ubi Luxuries satiata, Libidoque

spumat,
Sanguis ubi Irato, petiturque ubi

Pignus Avaro,
Turget ubi Ambitio, Livor fremit,

Otia torpent.

XVI

Imperio Martis remanent quam

Regna revulsa,
Dispersis Aulis ! sub nostro Lumine

quae sunt
Pulvis ut exiguus Ventorum Flatibus

actus.

XVII

Hie Stat formosipolydaedalaMachina

Mundi,
Sustentata Manu Veri, summique

Jehov^. 50

Apparent instar Nanorum exindt;

Gigantes.

XVIII

Qukm vilis Mundus ! pia Musa,

innitere Pennis
I^rmis, (terreno fueras detenta

Tumultu,
Jactata& Turba)demum transccnde

Monarchas.

(418)

XIX

Raptus in hune morem divino eon-

citus Igne,
^theris in Camera stellata percute

Chordas :
Aspirare tui nequeunt hue, Roma,

Regentes.

XX

Sese dilatans Animus fit latior usqu^
Sicut Helix ; Hominis status at

Nativus, ut Orbis,
Quem subitb a Zenith deturbant

Fata superno. 60

XXI

Perspiciens Ratione Fides oculatior

Aulam
Sideream, Mentes rapiunt sua Visa

Serenas ;
Veri aceensa Pharos per Amorem

Gaudia pandit.

XXII

Hsec Lux quaj Radiis eonuestit

singula Claris,
Theiophilam, inelusit Praegnanti

Mente deeoram ;
Exeipit occiduum Naturae, Gratia,

Solem.

XXIII

Fundat Aroma Calyx, Rosa quam

dulcissima, A'^irtus
Illustris matura siet tua Tempore

justo,
Explieet ae Radius divinus Floris

Honorem.

XXIV

Anni Proeursu duodeni sic sua
Forma 70

Enituit, Formam Dominee stupuere
potentes ;

Spectantes Anim^e Lucem per
Corporis Umbram.

XXV

ArdetCrystallo veluti Lucernapolito,
Cujus transparens decorutur Fabrica

Flammis ;
Haee ita divino splendescit Virgo

Nitore.

XXVI

Mens Gemmam supcrat, superat sua
Concha pruinam,

Canto III] TheophilcB Afuoris Hostia

Flumina vel Lactis manantia ab

Ubere pleno :
Venae Saphiros prcecellunt, Labra

Rubinos.

XXVII

Circiim Labra volant Charites sua

mille venustce,
Suavia Puniceis labuntur Aromata

Portis, So

Inde fluunt cunctos medicantia

Balsama Morbos.

XXVIII

Emittunt tales Altaria Sancta

Vapores ;
Tales Blanditias halant Fragrantia

Gummi ;
Sic Rosa coccinea spirat prseflorida

Veste.

XXIX

Attonitos reddunt Spectantiim

Lumina Vultus,
Afficiunt quamvis Praecordia fervida

castis,
Attaraen Ardoris sunt ipsa immunia,

Flammis.

XXX

Lampadas hasce volet quisquis de-

pingere, quisquis
Exprimeret clara radiantes Luce

Fenestras,
Pingeret Aspectum fugientem, pon-

deret Austrum. 90

XXXI

Suave videremus Pectus, micat Eden

Amoris,
Illis Monticulis nascuntur Mala

decoris,
Qu£e Mala de vetita sanarent Arbore

nata.

XXXII

MoUities, Candorque Mantis tran-

scendit Oloris
Plumas ; est talis cujus moderatior

Ardor,
Qualis cum coeunt Radius Phcebeus

& Aurum.

XXXIII

Jucundae Nemoris Syrenes, Musica
turba,

(4'9 )

Gutturibus quarum dimanat dul-

cior Aer,
Illam quid petitis cunabula vestra

perosae ?

XXXIV

Ecce Latus claudunt Argentea Lilia
castum, 100

Calthae fulgentes Auri flammantis
amictu,

Ignes evibrat ciim Lauro Primula
Veris.

XXXV

MargaronexcelluntDentes; Tegmen,

Caput, Auri,
Vox prseit Argento, de Te Natura

Vigorem
Sumit, Panniculis est prae Te squal-

lida Flora.

XXXVI

O, Formosa, Pudica tamen, seu

Chava, priusquam
Candida purpureo suffuderat Ora

Rubore
A Te Virtutes, Artes, Charitesque

profectae.

XXXVII

Ad vivum depicta manet non

Pulchrior Icon
Quam pia Mens pulchro quce

splendet Corpore clausa : ito
Hujus Coelesticedit Pandora Decori.

XXXVIII

Aulae Sideribus pictae sic Cynthia

Praeses
Apparet, Phoebi Splendoribus aucta

refractis,
Fulgida Stellarum dum stipant

Castra Phalanges.

XXXIX

(Astra Pruina refert) subito Telluris

at Umbra
Objecta Lucem retrahit, cui Conus

opacus
Falcatam supra Lunam, sub Lumine

Soiis.

XL

Qui Ccelum, Nubes, Terras, Mare,

Saxaque lustrat.
Qui penetrat Gemmas, Fructus,

Stellas, Adamantas ;

£62

Edward Beitlo

wes

[Canto III

Mundi Oculus, clarse Promus Con-
dusque Diei. 120

XLI

Cujus gliscentes imitatur Flamma

Pyropos,
Purpureas Aurora Fores dum

pandit Eoo,
Noctis lucentem Dominam, Famu-

lasque repellens.

XLII

Theiophilani radians Lumen Te

appello Diei,
Palpebra quippe Fides tua fit, seu

Pupula Fervor,
Vultus Angelico speciosos More

venustans.

XLIII

^theris ilia potens, casta & Regina,

reclusi,
Plurima vestalis quam cingit Virgo

propinqua,
Disparet, dia hac si Constellatio

splendet.

XLIV

Nobilitas vera est Virtus, Cognatio
Sancti, 130

Tutela Angelicus Chorus est,
Ccelumque Brabium ;

Cujus demissus, dum surgit Gratia,
Vultus.

XLV

Eugenia Ingenium, Paidia ministrat

Acumen ;
Thesauros Veri charos Eusebia

praebet.
(Cudendi Voces Vati concessa

Potestas.)

XLVI

Aula Cor est formosa sibi, divinius

Ejus
Pectus, Sacrati Penetralia Candida

Amoris ;

Hie Sibi Delicio est, Sanctos reficitque
Poetas.

XLVII

Illustres Domini, quos Laurea Serta

coronant,
Artes qui eruitis, qui cultas reddi-

tis Artes, 140

(420)

Estis & infirmi qui Sustentacula
Mundi ;

XLVIII

Qui struitis Famge Monumenta

perinclyta Templo,
Mellea de Vobis Modulamina talia

manent,
Qualia divino mulcerent Pectora

Succo.

XLIX

Dum succedit Hyems Autumno, Ver

premit ^stas,
Dum recitat Modulis Tempus

Poeana vetustis,
Vestris Vos Famse Plumis repara-

bitis Alas.

L

Illud quod prsebent sublimia Tsenera

Vinum,
Insane Vires poterit reparare

fugatas ;
SicCithar£e,atque Tuba, sic Organa,

Tympana, Sistra. 150

LI

Conciliat quamvis reboantia Mur-

mura Basso
Ars, torquens Nervos graviores

usque, sonoro
Fulmine dum complent Aulam

Diapasona totam ;

LII

Ista parum valeant ; Dominae Testu-

dine tensa
Hujus, Chordarum Pulsum tenta-

verit Omneni,
Dum Mens Harmonise pertracta est

Pollice docto.

LIII

Gratia inest Verbis; O, terque

quaterque beati,
Queis Coelum Terris, seterno

Codice scripti !
Qui, Sensu amoti, cupiunt Com-

niercia Mentis !

LIV

Inter Eos qui divino de Semine
creti, 160

Non obscurati Sensu nee Corporis
Umbra,

I

Canto III] TheophUcB Ajjtovis Hostia

Seraphice exardent vivacis Origine
Flammre.

LV

Gaudia dat Gustus, non exequanda
Loquelis !

Ritu Cimmerioque Scholis pal-
panda superna,

In quorum Solis Frontem sunt
Nubila densa.

LVI

Callis inaccessus nimio fit Lumine

Cceli ;
Splendidior Radius teneros per-

stringit Ocellos :
Ephata fare, Lutum Visu me reddet

acuto.

LVII

Hoc Raptu emotus divino, fac mihi

talis
Contingat Finis, Stagaritse qualis,

in illo 170

Euripo, quern non ulluscomprendere

posset !

LVIII

Mysticaprffibeat haec (ositprotensa!)

Catena
Nexus, qui stringat vel quavis

fortius Arte !
Talia lenitos rapiant Modulamina

Sensus.

LIX

Musica pervadit Mentes, cum per-

citus Oestro
Insano Saulus, Genio fremuitque

maligno,
Gemmea prae Plectris sordebant

Sceptra Tyranni.

LX

Hujus inardescens Hymni me
Flam ma repurgat

Fcecibus a Terrse : Cantus Pene-
tralia Coeli

Divini reserant, deducunt Agmina
pura : 180

LXI

Agmina pura Dei celebrant Natalia

Iteta ;
Hymnos vel Christus modulatur ;

Sancta Columba

Coeli, summa petens, Numerorum
deligit Alas.

LXI I

Ni Versus, non sit Textus, quia

qujelibet Hymni
Incantant ; actis famuletur Concio

Psalmis,
Ant^ Diem summum, per Vos

demortua surgunt !

LXIII

Ast ubi grassatur Furiis Bellona

tremendis,
Stragibus, heu, lassato, sed baud

satiata recedens,
Prsedatrice Lupa truculentior, Or-

gana pulset ?

LXIV

Est equidfem non Mota Solo, pacata
Tumultu : iqo

Degeneres trepidant; manet ilia
invicta Catervis,

Displosi metuit nee rauca Tonitrua
Scloppi.

LXV

Insunt Virtuti sua Balsama ; sollici-

tavit
Intensb Numen Gladii moUire

Rigorem :
^tatis Ferro sic Aurea Virgo profatur.

LXVI

Ingruit, O, Numen Venerandum !

dira Procella,
Coccina purpurere cum velant

Crimina Vestes,
Effuso tinctae pretioso Sanguine

Vita!

LXVII

Orbis Aquis cinctus, fortunatissimus

dim,
O, deplorandum ! quantum muta-

tus ab illo ! 200

Pax ubi floruerat pia. Mors ibi pro-

diga regnat !

LXVIII

Rubrum deprompsit Vinum Mavor-
tius Ardor !

Conserves Arcam, Deus, in Tor-
rente Timorum,

(421)

170 Stagrtritse] Sicxn orig.

Edward Be^tlowes

[Canto III

Aut tua subsidat Lachrymis, turn
Sanguine, Sponsa !

LXIX

Est Panem Lachrymata suum,

Gemitusque resorbet :
Lumina pro Potu sua sunt in

Flumina versa !
Ipsa, immersa Malis, ad Te Se lan-

guida confert.

LXX

Ad Modules Compone graves, Pater

Orbis, acutos
Hybernae Chelios ! quaevis Dis-

cordia Concors
Esto, Scoti fuerit super, aut Insigni-

bus Angli ! 210

LXXI

Non inter Socios saevo Formido

Leoni ;
Vel praedabundis inter se con-

venit Ursis ;
Mutua Pernicies, lacerat, Vir, Corpus

lesu !

LXX 1 1

Si modo fert Animus, pugnetis Ful-

niina Martis,
Turcico &: invisam Labaro dedu-

cite Lunam,
Sacra relinquentes Fidei Confinia

rectae.

LXXIII

Agminibus Thracum densis conten-

dite ; quamvis
Sclopporum seu Truncus iners,

Caro vestra deorsum
Tendat, summa petent Animae de

more Globorum.

LXXIV

Numinis in mediis si sit Prsesentia
Castris, 220

In Templo residet multo magis
lUe sacrato,

Haeresin ut pellat, perversaque Schi-
smata purget.

LXXV

Haec Tunicam rupere Tuam, Dolor

undt; Bonorum !
Zelotae quamvis rauca Te Voce

fatigant.
Veto indignaris civili Sanguine mixto.
( 422 )

LXXVI

Fallaces potuere Bonum suadere

fuisse
Praecones, per Diluvium vadare

Cruoris ?
Praestigiis uti, Summosque resolvere

Nexus ?

LXXVII

Inde Catechismi neglecti, & sacra

Synaxis !
Herbae hinc sylvestres, seu Ran^e

Vere Palustres ! 230

Athea SchismaticiCorruptio pessima

Cleri.

LXXVIII

Praetextus fugiant speciosos, sunto

fideles ;
Cultu divino repetantque Precamen

lesu ;
Foederis aut valeant Hysteria dira

trisexti.

LXXIX

Sic seduxerunt illos Insomnia vana,
Vilescant illis adeo ut Natalia Christi !
(Nemo tenet NodismutantemProtea
Vultum.)

LXXX

Festum Festorum, supremae dulce

Cohorti ;
Inclinat Coelum hie Terris, hinc

Gaudia Sanctis ;
Judice Relligione Dies primarius

Anni. 240

LXXXI

Factus Homo bonus est primum,

tum degener ; Ipse
Sermo Caro Factus, nostra baud

Commercia vitans,
Pejor ut is nihilo, meliori Sorte

fruatur.

LXXXII

Audetis Verum profiteri ? Pabula

pascunt
Fuci aliena ; merum Pigmentum

Papiliones;
Tettix deperdit, redemit sibi Tem-

pora Myrmex.

LXXXIII

Mellea dum repetunt Vespas Spelaea
rapaces,

Canto III] TlieophUce Amoris Hostta

Illis Insidiis structis merguntur in

011a,
Corporis baud tanti sint ac Muni-

mina Mentis.

LXXXIV

' Kirk-Int'rest kenimus ' ; Leges re-
vocate Draconis. 2j;o

Instaurate vetus Templum ; Sunt
Moenia Sancti,

Seu Tubus est Pastor, Fons Gratia,
Gluten Amorque.

LXXXV

Vobis prgeteritos ignoscat Musa

Furores,
Singula propitio condant Oblivia

Velo,
De Rebus moveat si Vos Metancea

peractis.

LXXXVI

Veri Cultores,balantespascite Christi
Agnos ; quippe Merum Sanguis,

Caro dapsilis Esca :
Illos pascentes semper, spectate

Coronam.

LXXXVII

Dispensatores Sponso, Sponsaeque

fideles,
Nos sacra divini ducant Oracula

Veri, 260

Relligione Status floret, data Gloria

Fidis.

LXXXVIII

Cum Judex veniet, Merces erit ampla

Labori,
Pro Lachrymis Vobis manabunt

Gaudia Rivis,
Aurat^ surgunt Spicae sementibus

udis.

LXXXIX

Laesis, Omnipotens Vindex ! certo

Eequa rependes
Illis, qui sese foedo maculare Reatu,
Sanguinis innocui cum sit Detectio

fusi !

XC

Aurea Pax aures, Verumque appellat

amicum !
Lumina non Phcebi latebris tarn

grata Borusso,

Urbibus eversis Homines, vel Littora

Fractis. 270

xci
O, si coelestis vel tandem Turma

secunda,
Nobis, Bellorum diris Cruciatibus

haustis.
Grata salutiferge resonaret Cantica

Pacis !

xcii
Pax Domus est fessis. Pax ad Natalia

Christi
Cantio prima fuit, Terris suprema

Voluntas,
Pax Bonitatis amans. Pax Sanctis

vera Voluptas.

XCIII

Martyribus fulcimen Amor, ceu stra-

men Achates
Attrahit; ad nostrum sic nos perducis

Amantem,
Elixir Auri varum, Compendia Legis!

xciv
Ullane Divinum narret Facundia

Amorem? 280

Quippe redemptus Homo Naturas

nobiliores
Angelicas superat ; Tanti sit Passio

Christi !

xcv
Hie demtim tacuit ; Lachrimarum

Flumina manant
Ex oculis, illi Mundus Cadus esse

videtur,
Gaudia falsa Merum, Stultorum portio

Faeces.

xcvi
Et nunc Laetitise vivje de Fonte

micanti,
Pura ubi perpetuo Chrystalla fluentia

Cursu,
Mens erit sethereas conscendere

Raptibus Oras.

XCVII

Hinc Documenta sibi Zelus male-

sanus habebit,
Ardores Cujus tradunt in Pr^elia

saevi, 290

250 kenimus] Cf. Introd. on Butler's wrath at Benlowes' macaronics.
(423 )

Edward Benlowes

[Canto III

Hinc fera depositis mitescant Secula
Bellis.

XCVIII

Auribus exhibeas Epulum, selecta

Venustas !
Dum sic cantat Amor, Reges dulce-

dine capti :
Gratia Naturae Nervos intendit

Amore.

xcix
Horrisonas Amor ipse potes sedare

Procellas,
Cantibus & placare tuis immania

Cete,
Qu£e Dominatricidiverrunt Marmora

Cauda.

Si tua, Virgo, nequit compescere

Erotica Musa
Incumbens ^vo Fatum miserabile

nostro.
Pro Scriptis Lachrymse ; Nam Gens

est danda Furori ! 300

Provecti, tandem Latiales linqui-
mus Oras,
Te petimus Patrium, Terra Bri-
tanna, Solum.
Hie ubi Nemo citis designet Lit-
tus Ocellis :
Egressce faveant Fluctus, & Aura
Rati.

Upon the Vanity of the World

Long have I sought the wish of all
To find ; and what it is men call
True Happiness ; but cannot see
The world hath it, which it can be.
Or with it hold a sympathy.

He that enjoys what here below
Frail elements have to bestow.
Shall find most sweet bare hopes at first ;
Fruition by fruition's burst,

Sea-water so allays the thirst. 10

Whoever would be happy then,
Must be so to himself ; for, when
Judges are taken from without,
To judge what we are, fenc'd about.
They do not judge, but guess, and
doubt.

His soul must hug no private sin ;
For, that 's a thorn conceal'd i'th' skin ;
But Innocence, where she is nurst
Plants valiant Peace ; so, Cato durst
Ev'n then be best, when Rome was
worst. 20

God-built he must be in his mind ;
That is, Divine ; whose faith no wind
Can shake ; when firmly he relies
Upon the Almighty, he outflies
Low chance, and fate of destinies.

As fountains rest not till they lead,
Meand'ring high, as their first head:
So, man rests not till he hath trod
Death's height : then, by that period.
He rests too, rais'd in soul to God. 30
Owen Feltham.

POTESTAS Culminis est Tempestas
Mentis, Splendorem habet Titulo,
cruciatum Animo ; desuntque Inopize
multa, Avaritis omnia. Ne petas
igitur, devota Anima, esse qualis in
Anglia Du.x Buckingamice, & in Aula
Cassaria Princeps ab Eggenberg, &
in Hispania Comes D'Olivares, & in
Imperio Ottomanico Mustapha Bassa
fuere; nee tibi magis arrideant cerus-
satae Laudes, & caiamistrata Encomia,

qukm sincerae & sacrosanctje Amoris
Anhelationes. Seculi delectatiunculas
devita, & Ccelorum Jubilo rccreaberis:
delicatula nimis es, si velis gaudere cum
Mundo,&postearegnarecumCHRlSTO :
Amarescat Mundus. ut duicescatDEUS.
Ouamdiu est in te'/Egypti Farina,
Manna coeleste non gustabis ; Gustat
DEUMcuiLibidoSeculi Nauseam parit:
Exinanitio nostra plcnitudinis Cecil
capaces reddit. Si vis frui Sole, verte

Owen Feltham] Not the worst verses of the author of the Resolves.
(424 )

The Vanity of the World

dorsum Umbras : nee amaris ^ Mundo,
nisi k CHRISTOrepulsa, nee k Christo,
nisi k Mundo spreta. Dejicit se de Cul-
mine Majestatis qui a Deo ad Con-
solatiuneulas Creaturulte eonfugit. O
quam eontempta recula' est homo nisi
supra humana se erexerit ! Beatum
nil facit Hominem, nisi qui fecit Ho-
minem ; minimum enim Dei omnis
Orbis Magnitudine est magnificentius.
Paueis, nee tibi ignominiosum sit pati

Storms on the mind from Honour's

hill descend;
Titles external beams add not to bliss :
The poor wants much, the covetous

all. My soul,
No painted praise, nor flow'r'd enco-
miums prize
Equal to pious breathings of pure love:
Eschew the petty pleasures of the time,
And Heav'n's refreshments make thy

jubilee :
Imagine not to swim in worldly pomp,
And afterwards to reign with Christ

in bliss ;
Earth must be gall, that God may

honey prove : lo

He the best relish hath of Heav'n, who

most
Disdains the base licentiousness o' th'

atrfi •
■^o^ 1

We must be emptied of ourselves, before
We can have entrance into th' heav'nly

court ;
If we desire fruition of the sun.
Then must our backs upon the shade

be turn'd ;

quod passus est Christus, nee glo-
riosum faeere quod fecit Judas.
Morere Mundo, ut vivas Deo. Oui-
eunque cum Deo habet Amicitiam,
Felicitatis tenet Fastigium. Haec
unica Laus, hie Apex Sapientite est,
ea viventem appetere, qua2 morienti
forent appetenda : Mortis ergo Medi-
tationi, & ^ternitatis Contemplationi
Lucernulae tuse Oleum impendas.
Vale.

Disclaim'd by Christ are those the

world doth love,
And those whom Christ does love, the

world contemns :
He of his greatness doth himself divest,
Who goes from God, and creature-
comforts seeks.. 20
Oh, what a mean despised thing is

man.
Unless he raise himself above the earth,
Since nought but his Creator makes

him high !
Let's think 't no shame t' endure what

Christ endur'd,
Nor glory to do that which Judas did;
Dead to the world, let 's be alive to

God,
Who gain His favour are supremely

blest :
This is the height of wisdom, to desire
Those things in life, which thou wouldst

dying crave :
Then on the thoughts of death thy

lamp's oil spend, 30

And muse upon that state which ne'er

shall end -.

Mundo immundo

NON possum, non Arte loqui ; Furor

addit Acumen :
Crimina taxantur, Nomina salva

latent.
Munde, quid hoc sibi vult ? tanto

longinquiiis erras,
Quanto pliis graderis ; Te Cacoethes

habet.
In quos Schismaticas torsisti sajvius

Hastas,

Quam quos Virtutis coelitus Umbo
tegit.
Protege me, Coelum ! Quis adest ?
Oppressor avarus,
Cui prior est Nummus Numine,
Libra Libro.
Numme, potens Deus es ! Sic undique
supplicat Auro,
Omnipotens veluti Numen inesset
Ei ; 10

* rcciila] For this diminutive ('thinglet, ' 'trifle') B. might quote Plautus and
Apuleius : aeaturitla and consolaiinnada must be ecclesiastical if he did not coin them.

'^ This blank verse translation (with couplet- tip) of the preceding Latin prose para-
graph is curious : and it might, at the time, have been much worse.

(425 )

Edward Be7tIowes

AurumNequitiae Pater est, &FiliusOrci;
Os promit Nectar ; Mens Aconita
vomit.
Hie vorat, utque rapax ruit in nova
frusta Molossus ;
Vasta Sitim pariunt /Equora, Terra
Famem ;
Tota nee explerent Pelteas ^quora
Fauces,
Terraque sat tantae non erit una
Fami.
Perfida quisquis amat, se perdit, & odit
amando :
Plus habet Ille Dei, qui minus Orbis
habet.
Dum captat, capitur; Daemon lic^t
Omnia spondet,

Dat Mundus, magnum praeter inane,
nihil. 20

Plena Fames, mellita Lues, Persuasio
fallax,
Gloria Flos, Pulvis Gaza, Tiara cinis.
Tendiculas, Pigmenta, Dolos, Crepita-
cula, Fumos ;
Has rauco Merces Gutture laudet
Anus.
Insatiata Fames rapto superincubet
Auro,
Porcus & aggestas grunniat inter
Opes.
Littera R hebrasa, pelasga, latina no-

tabunt
Quod, malus, eR-RO-RESh nil nisi,
Mundus habet ^

THE VANITY OF THE WORLD

Canto X. The Abnep-ation

g^

THE ARGUMENT

What 's potent Opuiency ? What 's remiss
Voluptuousness ? World, what 's all this,
To that the Soul's created for. Eternal Bliss?

STANZA I

Various are poets' flames ; some,
eclogues write,
Others describe a horrid fight,
Some lyric strains, and some the
epic do delight :
II
But, here my sharpen'd Muse shall
entertain
The scourges of satiric vein,
To lash the world, in which such
store of vices reign.
Ill
No grandee patron court I, nor
entice
Love-glances from enchanting
eyes.
Nor blandishments from lisping
wanton's vocal spice.

IV

No such trite themes our fired genius
fit, 10

Of which so many pens have writ :
Prudential soulsaffectsound Reason,
not slight wit.
v
Blest talents which the Gospel's
Pearl do buy :
Frail hopes that on the world rely,
Where none are sav'd by faith, but
by' infidelity.

VI

The way to gain more ground, is to
retreat ;
Our flight will be our foe's defeat ;
Minds conqu'ring great delights,
triumph in joys more great :

VII

Pull me not. World; nor can, nor

will I stay ;
Juggler, I know what thou canst

say : 20

Thy magic spells charm easy sense

but to betray.

^ Observe the mostBenlowesian eccentricity of the subscribed It to get the Hebrew resli.
15 by'] Cf. note on ' they' ' supra, p. 380.

(426)

Canto X] The Vanity of the lVo7^ld

VIII

Wits toil to please thee, sables yield

their skins ;
The silkworm to thy wardrobe

spins ;
Rocks send their gems, seas pearls,

to purvey for thy sins.

IX

Thou bright'nest cupboards with

throng'd massy plate ;
Heap'st ermin'd mantles of estate;
Shew'st rich caparison'd champing

coursers at thy gate.

X

Thou cull'st of Nature's spoil from

air, earth, seas,
The wing'd, hoof'd, finny droves,

to please
Gluttons, who make themselves

spittles of each disease. 30

XI

And shall, like Dives, a sad reck'ning

pay;
Feasts hasten'd on his fun'ral

day;
Death brought the voider, and the

Devil took away.

XII

Tell me no more, th' art sweet, as
spicy air ;
Or, as the blooming Virgin, fair ;

And canst with jovial mirth resusci-
tate from care.

XIII

Boast not of ruby lips, and diamond

eyes,
Rose cheeks, and lily fronts, made

prize.
With dimpled chins, the trap-pits

where a fondling lies.

XIV

Death's serjeant soon thy courted
Helens must 40

Attach, whose eyes, now orbs of
lust.

The worms shall feed on, till they
crumble into dust.

XV

Boast, World, who unto revels dost

decoy
Thy fav'rites, that they're bath'd

in joy ;
Disdaining saints, who precious time

in pray'r employ :

XVI

Who, where they come, with purer

rays of light,
Dazzle thy bat-ey'd legions quite,
Rage, Impudence, and Ignorance,

the imps of Night.

XVII

Fool, thy attractives, in no limits

pent,
Indulge to surfeits, not content, 50
And but illude the mind, not give it

ornament.

XVIII

Gild o'er thy bitter pills with guileful

arts ;
Sweet potions brew for frolic

hearts :
When most thou smil'st, thou actest

most perfidious parts.

XIX

With thee dwells fawning Craft, and

glozing Hate,
Th' allurements of imperious state,
Which barks, like calms, invite unto

a shipwreck'd fate.

XX

Guile, rule the world, that doth in
madness roll :
Great things the better oft con-
trol.

Where Pride is coach'd, Fraud
shopp'd, and taverns drown the
soul. 60

XXI

Folly in ruffling storms with Frenzy

meets.
Ebbing, and flowing o'er the

streets
O' th' care-fill'd pompous city, which

exiles true sweets.

(427)

30 spittles] Of course = 'spitals.'

Edward Beiilowes

[Canto X

XXII

Oh, fretting broils in populous

bustle pent,
Where still more noise than sense

they vent,
And, now as much to gold, as late

to battles bent !

XXIII

World, reason if thou canst. Thy

sports leave stings ;
Thy scenes, like thee, prove empty

things ;
Thou glorious seem'st in paint, from

whence all falsehood springs.

XXIV

So, rainbow colours on doves' necks

have shone 70

In hue so diverse, yet so one.
That fools have thought them all,

the wiser knew them none.

XXV

I'll countercharm thy spells, that

souls, ere thee.
May trust wild Irish seas; who flee
Distress'd to thy relief, thou say'st ;

' What 's that to me ? '

XXVI

Fawn, and betray, and Treason's

self outdare,
T' o'erthrow by raising is thy care,
But I'll unguU thy minions, undis-

guise thy ware.

XXVII

Thy gold 's dross, glitt'ring troubles

are thy bliss,
By pomp thou cheat'st, thy all 's

amiss : 80

Thou art Sin's stage, the Devil

prompts, Flesh actor is.

XXVIII

Spectator Seiise applauds each

witching gin,
But, unto Reasoris eye within,
Thou seem'st Hell's broker, and the

servile pimp of Sin.

XXIX

Thus peaches do rough stones in
velvet tire \

102 blood — lust1 The sugprestion to transpose these is obvious: and is supported by
a minute ^ and ' over the words in my copy.

(428)

Thus rotten sticks mock starryfire ;
Thus quagmires with green emeralds
crown their cheating mire.

XXX

So, Mermaids lovely seem in

beauty's guise.
With voice, and smiles, draw ears,

and eyes,
But whom they win, they sink ;

those never more shall rise. 90

XXXI

Thy shop 's but an exchange of

apish fashion.
Thy wealth, sports, honours are

vexation.
Thy favours glist'ring cares, sweet

surfeits, woo'd damnation.

XXXII

Base proverbs are thy counsels to

enthral.
' Each for himself, and God for

Air :
' Young saints ' (I dread to speak it)

' to old devils fall.'

XXXIII

Rain on thy darling's head a Danaen
shower.
Let him be drench'd in wealth,
and power ;
What then ? Th' hast storm'd, and
seiz'd on all in one short hour,
xxxiv
Oh, thou Pride's restless sea! swoln
fancies blow 100

Thee up, dost blue with envy
grow.
Brinish with blood, like the Red
Sea, with lust dost flow,
xxxv
Remorseless Rage ! thou in thy
fifth act's breath.
When blood does freeze to ice of
death.
And life's jail'd up for Nature's
debt, where art ? Beneath,
xxxv I
World, ev'n thy name a whirling
storm implies,

Canto X] The Vuiiity of the World

Where men in generations rise,
Like bubbles, dropsied bladders of
the rainy skies.

XXXVII

Some straight sink down, whom
waters' sheet does hide ;
Some, floating up and down,
abide; no

The longest are so circumvolv'd, as
rest 's denied.

XXXVIII

So, have we rid out storms, when

Eol's rave
Plough'd up the ocean, whose

each wave
Might waken Death with noise, and

make its paunch a grave.

XXXIX

The sick ship groan'd, fierce winds
her tacklings rent ;
The proud sea scorn'd to be shore-
pent ;

We seem'd to knock at Hell, and
bounce the firmament.

XL

Clouds then ungilt the skies, when

lightning's light
Flash'd thousand glimmering

days t' our sight,
But thunder's cannons. soon turn'd

those flash'd days to night. 120

XLI

Thus art thou, World, life's storm,

at death distress ;
Starving 's the bottom of excess :
Thyself a piteous creature, how

can'st me redress ?

XLII

No : hadst less cruel been, th' hadst

been less kind ;
Oil 's in thy gall to heal my mind :
Thus Hell may help to Heav'n,

Satan a soul befriend :

XLIII

A good cause with good means

some use, yet fare
But ill, when others, of thy care.
Whose cause is bad, and means ill

us'd, successful are.

( 429 )

XLIV

No wonder Sin's career, uncheck'd,

runs on, 130

Since here life's joy it hath alone,

Which, though thou bragg'st is giv'n,
no sooner 's giv'n, than gone.

XLV

Pomp, Pleasure, Pelf, idolatriz'd by

fools.
Dispute we now in Wisdom's

schools :
Ambition's quenchless fire i' th'

spring of judgement cools.

XLVI

Pride bladders tymp'nous hearts, till

prick'd by fear,
Soon they subside by venting

there :
Unsafe ascents to pow'r do watching

dangers rear.

XLVII

Fearful, and fear'd is Pomp ; Ambi-
tion steep
Does Envy get, and Hatred
keep ; 140

High state wants station ; honour-
thirsting minds can't sleep.

XLVIII

Summon Aspiro, with his looms of

state
To weave Pride's web, in spite of

fate ;
Who, once got up, throws down

the steps did elevate.

XLIX

He hates superiors, 'cause superiors,

and
Inferiors, lest they 's equals stand;
And on his fellows squints, that are

in joint command.

L

Th' ambitious treach'rous are, and

hoodwink'd quite ;
Their giddy heads have dazzled

sight.
For Jealousy clothes Truth in

double mists of spite. 150

LI

His eye must see, and wink ; his
tongue must brave,

Edward Beniowes

[Canto X

And flatter too ; his ear must
have
Audience, yet careless be : thus acts
he king and slave.

LII

So, brightest angel blackest devil

hides ;
High'st rise to lowest downfall

slides ;
A mathematic point thus East and

West divides.

LIII

Bright Wisdom sends dark Policy to
school,
Proves the contriver but a fool,

Who builds his maxims on a preci-
pice, or pool.

LIV

Great ones, keep realms from want;

they'll you from hate : i6o

Life 's not so dear as wealth ; for,

that
Holds single bodies, this the body

of the State.

LV

Who bad desires conceive, they

soon wax great
With mischief, then bring forth

deceit,
So, brood they desolation, till it

grows complete.

LVI

Let such as sail 'gainst Virtue's wind,

use skill
To tack about ; for, what 's first

ill,
Grows worse by use, and worst

by prosecution still.

LVII

Ev'n that to which Pride's tow'ring

project flies,
When grasp'd, soon by fruition

dies : 170

Great fears, great hopes, great plots,

great men make tragedies !

LVIII

Achitophel and Absalom prov'd
this,

169 tow'ringl Orig. ' touring.*

174 Machavels] The 1 is often missed at

( 430 )

Whose brains of their designs did
miss ;
Teaching deep Machavels ; ' Fraud
worst to th' Plotter is.'

LIX

Fallacious they, and fallible have

been.
Who made Religion cloak their sin :
Man's greatest good, or greatest ill is

from within.

LX

Those policies that hunt for shadows

so,
As let at last the substance go.
Which ever lasts, make wretched end

in endless woe. 180

LXI

Hadst for thy household stuff the

spoil of realms,
Couldst thou engross Cathaiah's

gems.
And more then triplicate Rome's

triple diadems ;

LXI I

Couldst with thy feet toss empires

into air,
And sit i' th universal chair
Of State ; were pageants made for

thee, the whole world's Mayor ;

LXIII

Yet those but pageants were ; thou,
slave to sense ;
To him, not 's own, all things dis-
pense

But storms ; thou happier wast i' th'
preterperfect tense.

LXIV

Steward, give up th' account, the
audit's near 190

To reckon how, and when, and
where ;

Where much is lent, there 's much
requir'd : Doomsday 's severe.

LXV

Thus, proud Ambition is by Con-
science peal'd ;
Vapours sent up, awhile con-
ceal'd,

this time in various forms ' Matchavil,' &c.

caxnto X] The Vanity of the World

In thund'ring storms pour down at
length, when all 's reveal'd.

LXVI

Though Pride's high head doth
brush the stars, yet shall
Its carcass, like a sulphur ball,

Plunge into Flames' abyss. Pride
concav'd Satan's hall.

LXVII

The mighti'st are but worms ; pale

cowards they
Abash'd shall stand at that Great

Day, 2 00

When Conscience, King of Terrors,

shall their crimes display.

LXVIII

Giants of earth, avisos may you

tell.
That though with envied state you

swell.
Yet, soon within Corruption'scharnel-

house you'll dwell.

LXIX

Sceptres are frail, as reeds : who had

no bound,
Are clasp'd within six foot of

ground ;
Whose epitaphs next age will be

oblivion found.

LXX

Such yesterday, as would have been

their slave.
To-day may tread upon their

grave.
That flats the nose : best lectures

dust-seal'd pulpits have. 210

LXXI

Who toss'd the ball of Earth, in dark

vaults rest :
All what that gen'ral once possest
Was but a shirt in 's tomb, who van-

quish'd all the East.

LXX 1 1

Invading Cyrus in a tub of gore,
Might quaff his fill, who evermore

Had thirsted blood : him timeless
Fate midst triumphs tore.

LXXIII

Weigh things ; Life 's frail. Pomp

vain ; remember Paul,
(The way to rise will be to fall,)
In 's high commission, low, in 's low

conversion, tall.

LXXIV

Soul, wou'dst aspire to th' High'st ?
clip Tumor's wing ; 220

To th' test of Heav'n thy axioms
bring :

Best politic David was. Who con-
quers Sin 's the King.

LXXV

Let raised thoughts, Elijah-like,

aspire
To be encharioted in fire :
Faith, Love, Joy, Peace, the wheels

to saints' sublime desire.

LXXVI

Avaro cite, as void of grace, as stor'd
With gold, the God his soul

ador'd ;
Wealth twins with fear: why start'^ ?

Unlock thy unsunn'd hoard :

LXXVII

I'll treble 't by the philosophic stone;
This makes thee stare. Why, thus

'tis done, 230

To passives actives join in due

proportion.

LXXVII I

Behold vast sums unown'd ! Thou
hutch-cram m'd chink,
Art made as nothing with a wink,

Thou, bred from Hell, with Hell-
deeds souls to Hell dost sink

LXXIX

Gold is the fautress of all civil jars,
Treason's reward, the nerve of
wars,
Nurse of profaneness, suckling rage
that kingdoms mars.

202 avisos] In the abstract sense of the original Spanish, which we have more gener-
ally Englished into ' advice-iort?'.'

22oTuniorJ So in orig. The context supports 'Timur' or Tamerlane. But 'tumour'
( = ' swelling pride') or 'rumour' would make sense.

(43O

Edward Benlowes

[Canto X

LXXX

Thou potent Devil, how dost thou

bewitch
The dreggy soul, spot'st it with

itch !
This slave to thee, his slave, was

never poor, till rich. 240

LXXXI

Now chest th' all worshipp'd ore

with rev'rend awe ;
Sol's gold, and Luna's silver draw
(Should Hell have these, 'twould

plunder'd be) to sate thy maw.

LXXXII

While gripes of famine mutiny

within,
And tan, like hides, the shrivell'd

skin
O' th' poor, whose pining want can

not thy pity win :

LXXXI 1 1

Having their gravestones underneath

their feet.
Breathe out their woes to all they

meet.
While thou to them are flintier than

their bed, the street.

LXXXIV

Blinded with tears, with crying

hoarse, forlorn 250

They seem to be of all, but scorn:

Death than delay (Want's bloodless
wound) is easier borne.

LXXXV

Thy dropsy breeds consumption in

thine heir ;
Who thus t' himself: ' I'll ease

your care,
Measure not grounds, but your own

earth : Die now to spare.

LXXXV I

'What's rak'd by wrong, and kept

by fear, when mine.
Shall spread, as I'm — then

brood the shine,
Penurious wretch, till thou by empty

fullness pine.

257 I'm — shine" This is one of several
room for conjecture. We may suppose that
' shine ' has the slang sense of ' shiner ' = '

( 432 )

LXXXVII

' Thy care 's to lessen cost ; how
slow thy pays !
How quick receipts ! Lov'st fast-
ing-days, 263

But 'tis to save ; thus starv'st in
store, thee plenty slays.

LXXXVIII

' When shall I rifle every trunk and

shelf
Of this old mucky wretched elf.
Who turns, as chemists do, all that

he scrapes, to pelf?'

LXXXIX

Oh, sordid frenzy ! Anxious maze
of care !
Oh, gripple covetize to spare.
And dream of gold ! The miser's
heav'n, the Indian's snare,
xc
Oppression is the bloodshot in their
eyes ;
Bribes blanch Gehazi till he dies :
Fool, read, this night Death may thy
dunghill soul surprise. 270

xci
Think not for whom thou dost thy
soul deceive.
And injur'd Nature so bereave ;
But still thy knotty brain with wedge-
like anguish cleave.

XCII

Struck blind with gold, brood on

thy rapines, till
Thou hatch up stinging cares to

th' fill :
The heaviest curse on this side

Hell's to thrive in ill.

XCIII

Go, venture for 't with sharks ; haste,
miser old
To th' hook, because the bait is gold:
Pawn thy soul for't, as Judas did,
when 's Lord he sold.
xciv
Possessors are, as Saul, possess'd,
who cross 280

places where B.'s oddities leave almost any
' I'm ' is the familiar half-completed oath and
money.'

Canto X] The Vajitty of the World

Heav'ns law ; gain, got by guile,
proves loss ;
Getting begets more itch ; Lust's
specious ore is dross,
xcv
Who sow to sin shall reap to judge-
ment ; train
To Hell is idolized gain.
Canst death, or vengeance bribe ?
If not, dread ceaseless pain,
xcvi
Why so fast posted by thy struggling
cares,
And self-slaying fraud, with all
their snares ?
Stay, view thyself; Destruction her
crack'd glass prepares.

XCVII

His pursy conscience opens now.

' I've run
On rocks ' (he howls) ' too late to

shun, 290

Lost use, and principal ! Gold, I'm

by thee undone ! '

XCVIII

If, to exhort be not too late, attend
The wholesome counsel of a friend,

Renounce thy idol, and prevent thy
wretched end.
xcix
Sound for Faith's bottom with Hope's
anch'ring cord ;
Repent, restore, large alms afford,
The dismal fraught of sinking sins
cast overboard.
c
He who returns to 's avarice left, his
sore
Grows desp'rate, deadlier than
before,
His hopes of Heav'n much less, his
fears of Hell much more. 300

Oceani Monstrum natat infraenabile.
Lingua ;
Naves ssepe pias haec Echeneis
habet ;
Cui paro Naumachiam, Freta con-
turbata pererrans,
Sit Reipoque meo, Lis, Remoras-
que tuae.

Spes rebus affixa fugacibus,

UNO

Frangitur Afflatu.

THE VANITY OF THE WORLD

Canto XL The Disincantation

THE ARGUMENT

Cn'spulus hie, nulli Nugarum Laude secundus,
Cui Mens Lucis inops, Stulta Ruina Domus ;

Qui Cereri, Bromioque litat, Luxuque liquescit;
Huic ne putrescat, pro Sale \'ita dalur.

Volupto, crown'd with bliss of fools, is bent
To wine, feasts, gauds, loose merriment ;
Runs on in Lust's career, till Grace stops with ' Repent.'

Stanza i
O headless, heady age! O giddy toys I
As humble cots yield quiet joys ;
So prouder palaces are drums of
restless noise.

II

'Twas in the blooming verdure of the
year,
When through the twins Sol's
course did steer,

( 433 )

Ff

Edward Benlowes

[Canto XI

That a spruce gallant did, on sum-
mons, straight appear.
Ill
Glitt'ring in brav'ry, like the Knight
o' th' Sun ;
Whose nags in Hyde-park races run
This ev'n. 'Tis sure Volupto, old
Avaro's son.

IV

Hot shows the day, byth' dust upon
his head, to

And all his clothes so loosely
spread.

He 's so untruss'd, as if it were not

long to bed

V

His hands keep time to th' tune of 's

feet, his pace
Is danced measures, and 'tis

grace
Enough, o'er 's shoulder to afford

a quarter-face.

VI

Act, 'bove French monkeys, anti-
masks he might
Before the apes (spectators' right)
Such dops, shrugs, puppet-plays show
best by candle-light.

VII

How mimic hum'rous garbs in

various kind
Do chequer whimsies in the

mind ! 20

As diff ring flow'rs on Peru's Wonder

gard'ners find.

VIII

Hast thou black patches too ? for

shame, forbear ;
Smooth chins should not have

spots, but hair :
But thou art modish, and canst

vapour, drink, and swear.

IX

How blazing tapers waste Life's

blink away
In socket of their mould'ring clay !
How powder'd curls do sin-polluted

dust bewray !

X

As Prudence fram'd Art to be

Nature's ape ;
So Pride forms Nature to Art's

shape :
Corrupted wine is worst that's

press'd from richest grape. 30

XI

Wilt Reason's sense dissolve in

senseless wine ?
And sing, while Youth's frail gem

does shine,
' Come, Laughter, stretch our spleen ;

come sack in crystal shrine !

XII

'First, wine shall set, next shall

a wanton dame
Our blood on fire, then quench

our flame.'
But, brute. Repentance shall, or

Hell thy wildfire tame.

XIII

Now, with the gallon ere thou try'st

a fall,
Think o' th' handwriting on the

wall :
If Bacchus th' inturn gets, down

Conscience goes and All.

XIV

Shouldst thou but once the swinish
drunkard view, 40

Presented in a mirror true.

Quite sous'd in tavern juice; in him,
thyself thou'dst rue.

XV

A nobler birth, with an ignoble

breast.
Rich corpse without a mind's

a beast :
He's raz'd from Honour's stem, wlio.

Riot, is thy guest ;

XVI

Thy guests swoln dropsies, and dull

surfeits are:
The gluttons' teeth their graves

prepare;
They're sick in health, and living

dead, whose maw 's their care.

(434)

18 dops] Low bows or courtesies.

Canto XI] The Va7tity of the World

XVII

Go, corm'rants, go, with your luxu-
rious flock,
Rap'd from three elements ; we
mock 50

Your musky jelly, pheasant, candid
apricock.

XVIII

To Arabs, that they send their Phoe-
nix write ;
In's spice nest be cook'd it might:

Far fetch'd, dear bought, best suits
the Apician appetite.

XIX

Go, with thy stags embalm'd, en-

tomb'd in paste ;
On tenants' sweat feeds rampant

waste :
We prize 'bove wild intemp'rance a

Carthusian fast.

XX

Excess enhanceth rates : thou, on

this score,
Grind'st 'twixt thy teeth the

starving poor.
Who beg dry crumbs, which they

with tears would moisten o'er. 60

XXI

Laz'rus, thy skin's Death's sheet,
'twixt that and bone
There 's no parenthesis ! be-
moan,

Dives, Christ's members now, or
thou shalt ever groan.

XXII

Prance, pamper'd stallions, to the

grave y' are driv'n :
Nought satisfies the soul but

Heav'n,
Th' art empty, World, from morn,

through noon to doting ev'n.

XXIII

In twice-dyed Tyrian purple thou
dost nest.

Restless, with heaving fumes op-
prest.
Which cause tumultuous dreams,
foes to indulgent rest.

XXIV

From hence the Spark (what pity
'tis !) is ill, 70

Grown crop- sick. Post for phy-
sic's skill ;

Phlebotomize he must, and take the
vomit pill.

XXV

Doctor, the cause of this distemper

state us.
' His cachexy results from flatus
Hypocondrunkicus ex crapula crea-

tus.'

XXVI

School him, whose Heav'n is sense,

whose reason dim ;
AVho wastes his time, as Time

wastes him :
Give o'er his soul. Divine ; Tailor,

make 's body trim.

XXVII

Now, sheath'd in rustling silks, new

suits display ;
Thy Clothes outworth thee : wise

men say, 80

Hedge-creeping glow-worms never

mount to starry ray.

XXVIII

Yet, who 's born under Jupiter shall

move
I' th' sphere of Honour, Riches,

Love ;
Say wizards. Under Jove w' are all

born, none above.

XXIX

Still to be pounc'd, perfum'd, still

quaintly drest,
Still to be guarded to a feast
By fawning looks, and squinting

hearts, like an arrest.

51 candid] sic in orig.

53 spice] The metre wants * spicj'.'

75 Hypocondrunkicus] See Introd. Some timid person has altered this tremendous
coinage where it appears in the Summary of Wisdom \i'. inf.), to hypocondyiacus in the
B. M. copy.

(435) Ff2

Edward Be7iIowes

[Canto XI

XXX

Still to have toting waits unseal

thine eyes,
In bed, at board, when sit, when

rise :
Such, Card'nal-like, their Paris prize

'bove Paradise. 90

XXXI

Know, worldlings, that Prosperity 's

a gin.
If wantoniz'd, breeds storms

within :
To torture turns the metamorphosis

of sin. ■

XXXII

Pomp its own burthen is, whose

slippery state
Oft headlong, by too rash debate,
Tumbles for value of a straw, pulls

on its fate.

XXXIII

His heart-blood seethes ; that blood

sends up in heat
Fierce spirits ; those, i' th' eye,

their seat,
Fires kindle ; fiery eyes, like comets,

ruin threat.

XXXIV

Fierce Balaam, hold thy hand, and
smite no ass 100

But him i' th' saddle ; he, alas !

Wounds through her sides himself :
wrath through the soul doth pass.

XXXV

Duels for blood, like Moloch's idol,

gape.
Thou, turn'd a swine out of an ape,
First put'st on peacock's pride, at

last the tiger's shape.

XXXVI

They 're gross, not great, who serve

wild laws of blood ;
Such, only great, who dare be

good :
Grace buoys up Honour, which,

without it, sticks in mud.

XXXVII

Make thorough search : as hard to
find thy cure,

As circle's puzzling quadrature, 1 10
Or, next way by North Sea to sail to
China sure.

XXXVIII

Lo, idle sloth in lap of Sodom plac'd.
' Here lies he ' — did occasions
waste.
Invaluable now, irreparable past.

XXXIX

Go, wanton with the wind : misus'd

hours have
A life, no other than the grave :
Most, for life's circumstance, the

cause of living waive.

XL

The privy council of the glorious

Trine
Did in creating man combine ;
Angels look'd on. and wonder'd at

the soul divine ! 120

XLI

Which storehouse of three living

Natures is,
Doth the vast world epitomize,
Of whom, ev'n all we see 's but a

periphrasis !

XLII

Now, to what end can we conceive
man's frame,
Save to the glory of God's name,
And His eternal bliss, included in the
same.

XLIII

Fools, living die ; saints, dying live :

seeds thrive
When earth'd ; who die to sin

survive;
So, to come richer up, pearl-fishers

deeper dive.

XLIV

Now 's courtesan appears, who blows
Love's fire, 130

Her prattling eyes speak vain
desire ;

To catch this art-fair fly the follow-
ing trouts aspire.

XLV

The gamesome fly that round the
candle plays,

88 toting] 'Observing,' 'watching carefully.' Cf. Langland, P. P. (B text), xvi. 22.
(436)

Canto XI] The V uitity of the World

Is scorch'd to death i' th' courted
blaze :
Thus is the amourist destroy'd by
lustful gaze.

XLVI

This dame of pleasure, does, to seem

more bright,
Lattice her day with bars of night;
Spots this fair sorceress cloud, more

to enforce delight.

XLVII

ThisHelen, who does Beauty counter-
feit,
And on her face black Patches set

(Like tickets on the door) shows that
she may be let. 141

XLVIII

She 'd coach affection on her cheek :

but why
Wou'd Cupid's horses climb so

high
Over her alpine nose, t' o'erthrow

it in her eye?

XLIX

Truth's apes, beware ; such wheels

your earth do wear ;
Horses with rugged hoofs will tear;
Who living's coach'd with pride, shall

dying fall with fear.

L

(But, noble ladies, virgins chaste, as

fair;
Sweet modest sex, that virtuous are,
Ye first, my honour; my respect, ye

second, share. 150

LI

Angelic forms, far be it to perplex,

Or cast aspersion on your sex :
Loose art in those, your native beam-
ing lustre decks.

LII

So, have I seen the limner's hand

design
A ruder piece, near one Divine,
With this coarse face, to make that

other beauty shine.)

LIII

Her eyes spread nets, her lips baits,

and her arms
Enthrallingchains: Sense hugsthe

charms
Of Idleness and Pride, while Reason 's

free from harms.

LIV

Tempestuous whirlwinds revel in the
air 160

Of her feign'd sighs : her smile 's
a snare.

Which she as slyly sets, as subtly does
prepare.

LV

Scarce is the toy at noon to th' girdle

drest ;
Nine pedlars need each morn be

prest
To launch her forth : a ship as soon

is rigg'd to th' West.

LVI

At length she's built up with ac-
coutred grace ;
The spark 's inflam'd with her set
face,

Her glancing eye, her lisping lip, her
mincing pace.

LVII

On those, his optic faculties do play.
Like frisking motes in sunny day.
Like gaudy nothings in the Trigon
glass that ray. 171

Lvni
On her, profusely now he spends his
ore;
Scarce the Triumvir lavish'd more
When he did costly treat his stately
Memphian whore.

LIX

Thou, inconsid'rate flash, spend'st

precious days
In dances, banquets, courtisms,

plays.
To gain the shade of joy, which,

soon as gain'd, decays.

141 and 195] See note below for the illustration of this.

171 Trigon] I confess myself puzzled as to which of the various senses of this word
— 'game of ball,' 'harp,' 'triangle,' &c. applies here.

176 courtisms J ' Ceremonies of courtship ' as above, p. 337.

( 437 )

Edward Benlowes

[Canto XI

LX

^Vhich, barely tasted makes thee

long the more ;
Enjoy'd, 'tis loath'd, was lov'd

before :
Thus, nor Mirth's flood, nor ebb can

please, nor sea, nor shore. iSo

LXI

His pulse beats Cupid's march, and's

itching vein
Must vent loose lines, whence

souls are slain ;
Which, by augmenting lust, will but

augment his pain.

LXI I

Ah, might too forward Sin be check'd

by Fear !
But, what may cure that eye, that

ear.
Which, being blind and deaf, brags

best to see and hear !

LXI 1 1

Thy Juno 's but a cloud : she is not

she
Thy fond esteem makes her to be ;
Her basilisk's double eyesight kills

with viewing thee.

LXIV

She murthers poisons, thence com-
plexion's found 190
To murther hearts. Oh, joys
unsound

From light-bred daughters, though
they weigh ten thousandpound !

LXV

Tell me not, simp'ring Lais, that

thy ray
Can blood, turn'd ice, unfreeze,

like May;
Whose spotted face to Virtue does

soul-spots betray.

LXVI

Ceruse, not lilies there ; thy blush-
ing rose
Its tincture to vermilion owes :
Curs'd be those civil wars Love's
royalty oppose.

LXVI I

Say not, a noble love to thee he

bears ;
While 's hand writes odes, his eye

drops tears ; 200

That tim'rously he 's bold, burns,

freezes, dares, and fears.

LXVIII

Nor tell me, Nymphadoro, that
Love's throes
For her, rob thy repast, repose :
Thou pul'st not to repent, but to
bebrine thy woes :

LXIX

Woes, worse than waitings at the

five men's trade ;
Worse than, when sick, through

sloughs to wade
In stormy night, hard jolted on a

dull tir'd jade.

LXX

Shake off these remoras would thee

undo :
The virtuous loveliest are. Grace

woo ;
What jeweller for glass will orient

pearl forgo? 210

LXXI

The soul, that beauteousness of
Grace exquires.
And to decline By-path's desires.
Must inward bend the rays of his
selected fires.

LXXII

Unmuffie, ye dim clouds, and dis-
inherit
From black usurping mists his
spirit ;

From rocks, that split vain hopes, to
heav'nly comforts rear it.

LXXII I

B' entrench'd ere midnight larums ;
undergo
The penance of repentant snow.
Which, melting down, will quench,
and cleanse, as it doth flow.

190] = (again I suppose) 'she makes herself look killing with cosmetics compounded
of poisons, which are drugs made more murderous ' or ' destroyed as poisons.'
205] What was this trade ?

(438)

Canto XI] The Vanity of the World

LXXIV

Repentance health is, giv'n in bitter
pill ; 220

Best rectifier of the will ;

The joy of angels, love of God, the
hate of ill.

LXXV

Action 's the life of counsel ; bathe

thy soul,
I' th' Lamb's red Laver ; in dust

roll,
Before Despair; Hell's serjeant

comes, drink Sorrow's bowl.

LXXVI

Ere th' icy mantle of a wrinkled skin

Candies the bristles of thy chin.
Repent; ere chap-fall'n door shall
let Death's terrors in.

LXXVII

Never too late does true Repentance

sue; 229

Yet, late repentance seldom 's true :

Who would not, when they might,
may, when they would, it rue.

LXXVIII

For minutes of impertinent delight,

Lose not, oh, lose not Infinite !
Scorn to be vassal to base Sin, and
hellish Spite.

LXXIX

Why dost outsin the Devil ? He
ne'er soil'd
With lust, or glutt'ny was ; ne'er
foil'd

With drink, ne'er in the net of sloth-
fulness entoil'd.

LXXX

I may persuade, yet not prevail !

Sin-charms
Bewitch him, till Wrath cries to

arms :
Sin's first face smiles, her second

frowns, her third alarms. 240

LXXXI

Sinners are fondly blind when they

transgress ;
All woes are, than such blindness,

less :
That wretch most wretched is, who

slights his wretchedness.

(439)

LXXXII

Presumption slays her thousands !

too late then
For to advise of danger, when
Vengeance, that dogs their steps,

shall worry them in 's den.

LXXXIII

Gallants, should Trophies Caesarize

your power, ^
Should beauty Helenize your

flower.
Should Mammon Danaize ye with

his golden shower ;

LXXXIV

Yet, when Revenge shall inward
thunders send, 250

And Sodom-storms on souls
descend.

Salvation scorn'd, what rests but every
tort'ring fiend !

LXXXV

That God refus'd, who you from
depth of nought
To being, nay,well-beingbrought !

Ingrate, for talents lent, return your-
selves sin-fraught.

LXXXVI

Bad great ones are great bad ones :

foul defect
It is, when pow'r doth Shame

protect ;
Such, will do what they will, but,

what they ought, neglect.

LXXXVI I

Virtue by practice to her pitch does
soar;
But they, who such a course give

oer,

260

Shall sadly wish for Time, when Time
shall be no more.

LXXXVIII

Ye, brittle sheds of clay, resolve ye

must
Into originary dust.
When swift-heel'd Death o'ertakes

you. Where 's then all your

trust ?

LXXXIX

Men in their generations live by
turns ;

Edward Ben/owes

[Canto XI

Their light soon to its socket
burns ;
Then to converse with spirits they
go, and none returns.

xc

Tomb-pendant scutcheons, pompous

rags of state,

Those gorgeous bubbles but relate

The thing that was, ne'er liv'd : 'tis

Goodness gildeth Fate. 270

xci
Grace outlasts marble vaults ; that
crowns expense ;
Brass is shortliv'd to innocence :
Time's greedy self shall one day
find its preter-tense.

XCII

When heav'ns that had their deluge-
dropsy, shall
Their burning fever have; whenall
Is one combustion ; when Sol seems
a black burnt ball :

XCIII

When Nature 's laid asleep in her

own urn ;
When, what was drown'd at first,

shall burn ;
Then, sinners into quenchless flames,

Sin's mulct, shall turn !

xciv
Ne'er shall a cooling julep such
appease, 2S0

Whom brimstone torrents without
ease
Enrage, i'th' dungeon of dark flames,
and burning seas !

xcv

In centre of the terrible abyss,

Remotest from supernal bliss.
That horrid, hideous, gloomy, end-
less dungeon is !

xcvi
Fools, who hath charm'd you ? Sue
betimes divorce

From your vain world ; where
power did force
A rape, there let not choice make
marriage, which is worse.

xcvii
Man is a world, and more ; for this
huge mass
Shrunk, as a scroll, away shall
pass ; 290

Whilst his pure substance is as ever-
lasting glass.

XCVIII

The world is like the basilisk's fell

eyes ;
Whose first sight kills ; first seen,

it dies :
Man, by a brave disdain, its pois'n-

ing venom flies.

xcix
Gay World, who thee adores, thou
great wilt make ;
Pearl may he quaff, and pleasures
take
Of sense, but must descend into the
sulph'ry lake !

c
Is Hell the upshot thou to thine
canst lend ?
Crawl, grovelling trifles, to your
end ;
Vanish beneath my scorn. Go,
World, recant, amend. 300

Provehimur Portu, Terramque relin-
quimus illam
Quce natum Gremio prima rigente
tulit.
O felix Oculus Portum visurus
Amantis,
Sit licet in Lacrymas naufragus
ipse suas !

DEDIGNOR INDIGNA ^

* Here, in orig., is the illustration referred to above — a very fine plate engraved by
Hollar, representing in half-length a lady with a fan in her hands, her face and neck
spotted with sign-patches as in the Latin verses inf. and the English sup. st. xlvii.
In these Latin verses Vcnenlla and Lanissa, if not classical, are also not ugly.

( 440)

Canto XI] The Vanity of the World

In lenocitantes hujus Tempestatis Venerillas, Juvenum
Scrobes, Animarum Voragines

In nova fert Animus mutatas dicere
Formas
Spectra, salax quarumMente Libido
furit.
Ludicra depicti jam prodit Imago
Theatri,
En hic Scena vafris insidiosa Dolis.
Ergo mihi nunquam nisi Personata
videnda es ?
Si vis Personam sumere, sume tuam.
Cui loquor ? Ipse tui deludor Imagine ;
Vera
Quid facies, cum vel fallere picta
potes ?
Picta Genas, discincta Sinus, nudata
Papilias ;
Albor Cerussa fit, Alinioque Rubor, i o
Vendere si non vis Carnem, conclude
Macellum ;
Nee Lupa mentita decipe Carne
Procos.
Nunc emere baud fas est, quia Quad-
ragesima, Carnes ;
Venales Mammas ergo, Lanissa,tege.
Afifigis Maculas dum Signa loquacia
Malis,
Mercandum Pretio Corpus adesse
. notas.
Quae primam extenuat Culpam, rea
SiEpe secundce est ;
S^piiis h prima Labe secunda venit.
Plurima composites conservat capsa
Colores ;
Sic Faciem tibi, cum ca^tera vendis,
emis. 20

Suavia viscosis renuo libare Labellis,
Ne teneat Fucus fixa Labeila tuus.
Quam levis Incessus ! quam Lumina
paeta vagantur !
Verbula qukm molli Gutture fracta
fiuunt !
Quid me blanda tuis fallacibus obruis
Hirquis ?

Serpentem Gremio, Virus in Ore
geris.
Non amat, hamat Amor tuus, 6 Trive-
nefica, nostro
Non opus est Cultu, Te nimis ipsa
colis.
Sidera contendas Oculi sint. Pur-
pura Malas,
Electrum Crines, Dens Ebur, Ora
f^avi. 30

Consulto Speculo geris Omnia; fallet
Imago:
^ Te nam (an jurares) sera Ruina
manet.
Sed quorsum in miseras labuntur
Carmina Nugas ?
Prassens, est absens, pars minor ilia
sui.
Quid velit base Pictura loquens ? quern
postulat Usum ?
Ut suspendatur nonnfe Tabella nitet ?
Quid tunc h tanto restabit Amantibus
Igne ?
Fumus iners, tristis Faex, inamoenus
Odor.
Ne jactes igitur Formam, fucata ;
Megeeram 39

Formosam fieri sicquoque posse reor.
Dicite, Uoctores, huic qua; Complexio?
Quinta.
Quis placet huic Sensus, dicite ?
Sextus erit.
Sub quo signo orta? Opposite sub
Virginis Astro.
Edita subcauda,Gredo,Draconiserat.
Quaenam illi fuerit Mens ? Subdola.
Lingua? dolosa.
Quce Metamorphosis ? Prodigiosa
sibi.
Naso, suam Metamorphosin qui scri-
bere possit,
Quotidie Formas cijm novet ista
Venus?

^ Insceleratlssimam Seculi Licentiam, cujus in melius
commutandi exilis admodum supersit Spes

TOTUS adeo in Maligno (mali ligno)
positus est Mundus, ut vehementer
hujusmodi Satyris egeat. Ubiqu^ nunc

locorum damnosa Malorum Vitia,
noxiarum instar herbarum, citissime
pullulescunt. Perjuria, Superbia, Te-

^ Versus cancrinus quoad Literas {author's note^.

• Above this in orig. is a map of the two hemispheres inscribed Typus Orbis Terrarum,

(440

Edward Benlowes

[Canto XI

mulentia, &c. Terram sub Mole Pec-
catorum non ruere admirabile, cum
Coeli, qui ingentia ilia Corpora Solis,
Lunae, Stellarum, prteter suain Vasti-
tatem non solum ferunt, sed circum-
ferunt, absque Ruinae Periculo ; unicum
tamen Peccatum ferre nequiverunt, sed
statim per solidas illas Machinas, pec-
catum, cumsuoAuthoreLucifero,delap-
sum, etiam Terram penetrans, ad Fun-
dum Abyssi infernalis descendit.

Actor Homo,Coelum Spectator, grande

Theatrum [Dies.

Mundus, Vitafrequens Fabula, Scena

Und^ ego, sublimi positus, Deliria

Mundi 20

Defleo, dum Vitij Pondera tristfe

gemit.

Esse quid hoc dicam, perversa quod

Omnia cerno !

Densis qu^m Tenebris mergitur
Orbis iners !
Talia tartareo crevere Piacula Seclo,
Vix Terris Scelerum mox Modus
ullus erit.
Luxus ovans, impurus Amor, maculosa
Libido,
Persica Moilities, Spes levis, Ira
gravis.
Carnificina Boni, sed Iniqui sedula
Nutrix,
Orbis es, Illecebras nil nisi turpis
habes.
Fraus juvat, hinc justa est, fallique &
fallere gaudes ; 30

Mors Jocus, I nfemus Fabula, Sanna
Polus.
Heu, Pietas ubi prisca! Profana 6
Tempora ! Mundi
Faex, Vesper, prope Nox ; 6, mora !
Christe, Veni!

^ TErapitaerioventosaSuperbiaCurru;
Siste rotas, Currus ferventes siste ;

Loquamur.
Nunc opus est leviore Lyra. Tu,

Cyprie Bubo,
Ore procax, Novitatis amans, Veneris-

que Satelles,
Callidus incautas Philtris mollire

Puellas,
Splendida rimaris petulanti Lumine

Spectra,
Et Mala quasque Bonis preefers, Deliria

Veris, 40

Frivola vaniloquo Mendacia gutture

j a etas,
Mentis inops, Ratione carens, Virtutis

inanis,
Volveris effuso suadenteLibidine Luxu,
LautacoronatisambisConviviaMensis,
Sunt tibi Deliciae, Risus, Jocularia

Cordi,
Futilibus fatuus Garritibus Aera pulsas,
Quique ciet Nugas, Donaria summa

reportat,
Illicitumque putas nihil ; Omne, quod

officit, optas ;

Expetis ut fulvum Mundus vertatur in

Aurum ;
Aurita de Gente Midae reor esse Ne-

potem : 50

Stulte, tuas Vestes, Avis ut Junonia

plumas,
Aspicis ; in Cute curanda malfe con-

teris ^vum.
O, Genus insipidum ! sani tibi mica

Cerebri .''
Auscultet tumido Gens implacabilis

Ore.
Luxuries prasdulce Malum, blanditur,

& angit :
Innumeras parit ipsa Cruces, nutritque,

Voluptas :
Vita vices morientis habet, morerisque

superstes.
Sed, quid ago 1 Surdis cantatur

Fabula. Fati
Vespera mox veniet ! quidinexorabilis

hasres ?
Cuncta tenere putes ; tu percipis omnia ;

Solum 60

Hoc nescis, Pantwn quod es insanissi-

mus Andrwn.

In strenuos hujus Seculi Compotores,
& Gulones Perditissimos ^

QUALis hic Boatus? quae Vociferatio?
Auscultemus. Aut bibite, aut hunc

Cantharum, quantus quantus est, in
Capita impingam vestra. Sic enim

61 Wc need not suppose that Benlowes put in the Greek for anything? but metre's sake.

1 Above these passages respectively the orig. has two little vignettes in text, one

( 442 )

Canto XI] The Vanity of the World

assuefacti (k suefacti) sunt ; Qui tamen
Ipsi nondum hesternam edormiverunt
Crapulam. Heu, qukm petitis perituri
peritura ! Labantes ad Prascipilium
impellitis, & ad Infernum proruentibus,
calcar subditis ! Interim tamen vos ac-
cusat Conscientia, Testis est Memoria,
Ratio Judex, Voluptas Career, Timor
Tortor, Oblectamentum Tormentum !
Und^, hi vorando, bibendo, ludendo,
dormiendo, moriendo, juste oblivi-
scantur sui, qui vivendo (nisi jurando)
semper obliti sunt Dei.

TuRGIDUS iste quis est ? ambas per-
potus ad Aures,
Qui tradit rabidas Frasna soluta
Gulas;
Qui plures avido Calices ingurgitat
haustu ; 20

Cui Venus inVinis, Ignis in Ignefurit;
Cui Venter Deus est, (S; lauta Culina
Sacellum ;
Orgia cui madidi grata profana Dei ;
Cui sunt Liba Dapes, & Compotatio
Festum ;
Et Pietas plena Lance litare Gute ;
Plurima qui spondet, perfusus Tem-
pera Baccho ;
Omnia quae Sociis, eras, sine fronte
negat ;
Cujus Lingua vomit spumantia Vota
Salutis,
Obrutus est nimio dum sine Mente
Mero.
' Vivamus liquidi, potemus, edamus,
ovemus ; 30

Nulla SepultorumnasciturUvaCavis:
Mordaces Curas solvamus Vociferando,

Sic permittamus tetiijs ire Dies :
Falle Diem, strueSerta,Scyphumrape,
tingere Nardo ;
Si tibi Cura mei, sit tibi Cura Meri :
Prome Falerna, remitte Pavenda, pro-
pellito Nubes :
LeviathJE Os utinkm nunc mihi
grande foret !

Gemmatis si Musta bibam flammantia
Poclis,
Inde frequens Naso Gemma repent^
micet.' 39

Plurima sic olidis epotat Vina Tabernis,
Ut referat brutas sordida Vita Sues :
Immersus Vitii Barathro, Scelerisque
Profundo,
Ebrius Errorum Nectare, Porcus
ovat.
Immemor ipse sui,nimium memor ipse
Suorum,
Carneus iste Cadus, Viva Culina
cluat.
Nocturno reboat dum caeca Platasa
Tumultu,
Quodvis ex animo suav& peregit
Opus.
Una Salus tibi sit nullam potare Salu-
tem :
Te Puer in triviis erudiisse potest.
Qui mihi Discipulus, Bibo sis, cupis
atque doceri ; 5°

Hucades, Abdomen spernere disce
tuum.
Pondus iners, Carnis Cumulus, Vini-
que Culullus,
Progenies Grylli, Dux Epicurus
har£e ;
Coenum, non Coelum sapis, Ingluviem-
que saginas,
Non Mentem ; solum pro sale Vita
datur.
Ditia sorbebit subito Patrimonia
Guttur ;
Quod tua peccarunt Guttura, Vitra
luunt.
Qu£E Mare, Terra, Polus, Pisce, Alite,
Vite ministrant,
Desidis alta Gulte Cuncta Bara-
thra vorant.
Effera Tempestas Cellae, Barathrum-
que Macelli ! 60

ExanimestumuletmortuaTurbatuos!
Hoc verbo conclude, nee os tibi sub-
lino : Nequam es :
Exitio, nisi te corrigis, Ipse tibi.

Eheu, qukm Magnificus iste jam
aegrotat misere ! ecce, Linteola Manu
contrahit, distorto Ore & distento
Labia dispandit, anhelis Pulmonibus
difficile spirat, longum Vale Mundo
dicit, tenebrescentes Oculos circum-

volvit, & suburbia Mortis intrat. Lec-
tores, clarum hie Speculum Fragilitatis
cernite. Gregor. Magnus Lib. 4. Cap.
38. Dialogorum, de Chrysorio Ro-
mano tradit Historiam, de quo, an
Divitiis, seu Vitiis magis abundaverit,

representing a Caroline dandy in full dress standing ostentatiously, and the other the
same person sitting drinking — and drunken.

(443)

Edward Beiilowes

[Canto XI

incertum fuit. Cum, quasi expirans,
anxiaretur, apparuere illi teterrimi,
Dsmones. ipsum certatim prensantes,
trahereque ad Inferna annixi ; lile,
Horrore tremuit, seque suoer Lectum
hue atque illuc vertere miseris ccepit
Modis. Nee dubitaret Quisquam
Spiritus sibi apparuisse, qui probfe
illius Gestus, & Lamenta consideraret.
Postremo, ipse, ciim jam Amicorum

Auxilio desperasset, ad Hostes con-
versus, Inducias, oro, Inducias, inquit,
Inducias, vel tantiim usque ad mane !
cui, Dtemones ; Stulte, hac nocte
eripietur tibi Anima. Dum hoc pos-
cendo ingeminat, Animam exhalavit !
Va2 vobis miseris, qui in ipsis Volup-
tatum Blandimentis, s^evis Pauperum
Oppressionibus, & iniquis Pr^eliandi
Ardoribus subito auferimini ! 95

Instare, heu, summum. Mens, tibi

crede Diem,
Actus Fabelte jam tibi quintus adest,
Namque stat ad Mortis Limina Vita

tremens ;
Quid modo, dum MurisimminetHostis,

agas ? 99

Te rapiet subito Mors inopina Gradu !
An non supremi Judicis Ora times ?
]\Iente soporata Cuncta quieta fluunt,
Exagitat Sccvis evigilante Minis !
Stat vinctum rigido sons Adamante

jecur,
Undique constrictum Crimine, Lege,

Nece !
Stare tamen nuUo mens queat jegra

Loco !
Afflictum Pectus quis tolerare potest !
Me Tremor, Impietas, Flagra, Ge-
henna rotant !
Totus in Aspectu sum rea Massa Dei !
Heu, quam terribilis Sontibus Ultor

adest ! no

Qui Flagellorum millia mille parat !
Quis dabit hisce Modum, queis Modus

omnis abest !
Supplicium /Eternum ! Dirus ut ille

Sonus !
Nullis Inferni Flammadomatur aquis !
yEstus at infuse Gurgite crescit Aqus !
Nunc, Mundi quid Honos, Gaza, Jocus-

que, valent !
Vos, speciem fumi, quicquid habetis,

habet ;
Perfidiosa sequi Ludicra Mundus

amat ;
Tristia sub placido melle Venena

latent ;
Quo magis arrident, sunt metuenda

magis ; 120

Turgida ventoso Pectora Folle replent.
Inter Acidalias, ceu Sybarita, Rosas
Crevi, Prfedaferisdiscrutianda Rogis !
Prasdonum Paphia mitior Ira face ;
Cultorem perdis ; qui tibi vivit, obit ;
Arbore seu Chavje, prima \^enenanecis,
Arbore sic Christi Vita secunda fluit.
Hac, hac sit nostra Meta terenda

rota !
Jam nunc Justorum Fata subire veh'm !
Pro Te, Christe, pati, est vincere,

Vita mori : 130

Te peto dum superest Halitus ; Oro,

fave.
Hanc, Deus, ex magno mittis Amore

Crucem :
Sum miser, ah, misero fer miseratus

Opem !
Nunc opus est Precibus, nunc Ope,

Christe, tua !
Unus Opem, Vulnus qui dedit, Ille

ferat !
Pcenitet admissi Criminis ; oro Deus,
Sanguinis inspergat, Gutta vel una

tui !
Sperem, vix ullam Spes ubi cemat

Opem !
Singula baptizem Corporis Acta mei !
Sint Lachrymas Mentis Gaudia sola

me£e ! 140

OucC suaves aliquid, Nectaris instar,

habent ;
Tristia qui spargit, Gaudia abinde

metet ;
LiutiticG Segetem flebilis Unda parit :
Langueo, sola sones Lachryma ! Lingua

sile.

H^c, lector, siccis Qui tueare

GENIS !

( 444 )

Canto XI] The Sweetness of Retire77ient

Mundi Contemptus

Delici^, Luxus, laqueata Palatia,
Gemm£e,
Incautos, veluti blanda Venena, ne-
cant ;
In Trabea Livor, Gemma Timor, Ira
sub Auro ;
Bullatum his Pectus plurima Pestis
agit.
Est Honor umbra Rei. Quid Honoris
Spes ? minus umbra ;
Umbram finge umbrae, spes id
Honoris erit ;
Dum placet, illudit ; dum splendet,
fallit ; amosnam
Sic referens bullam, frangitur ilia
micans :
Aurea pacatamturbant Laquearia Men-
tern,
Et Vigiles Noctes Purpura saepe
trahit ; lo

Oblongas videt ire vigil sua Taedia
Noctes,
Praeque ipsis longas Noctibus ire
Dies :
Saepe Equitem excussit, fracta Cervice
Sedentis,
Ad Titulos properans Ambitionis
Equus :
I His, sceptrigeri quos lactat Gloria
Mundi
Auratis Tectis, fit peregrina Salus.
Divitias Avidus per aperta Pericula
Ponti,
Retia quae Mentis, concumulare
studet.
Haec, mihi ne noceant cauto, cretata
facessat 19

Ambitio, & fulvi sordida Cura Luti.
Felix quistreperi Ludibria rideatOrbis,
Aspernans yEvi luxuriantis Opes.

THE SWEETNESS OF RETIREMENT

OR THE HAPPINESS OF A PRIVATE LIFE

Canto XII. The Segregation

ARGUMENT

Tu, mihi Thema, Quies Animae, sanctus-
que Recessus ;
Rores dum saturant me, Deus alme,
tui.
Vera Quies, Paucos nosti, notissima
Faucis ;
Dum fugio Plures, te peto, vera Quies
Carmina Secessum ? Poti us Devotio quaerit :
Sic quadrant Modulis Pectora sancta
suis.
Turbat Apollineas clamosa Molestia
Musas ;
Christ icolseModulossedmagisillagravat.
Sit procul Urbs, prope Vota mihi ;
mihi reddar, & intiis
Plena Fide perstet Mens mea, plena
Deo ! 10

Hoc Nemus estTemplum, patuli Laquearia
Rami ;
Fit sacrae Truncus quisque Columna
Domus:
Pervia Sylva patens est Porta, Cacumina
Pinnse ;
Baptismi Pignus Rivulus omnis habet :

( 445 )

Dat Mensam Collis sacram mihi Cespite
tectus ;
Pectoris Ara Fides, Zelus Amorque
focus.
Si quis Baptistes in Eremo praedicet, Ecce
Pulpita, in arborea Sede locata, patent.
Hie licet elata dare Verba precantia Voce ;
Et sine Teste, Deo nee nisi Teste,
loqui. 20

Ipsa monent tremulas quatientia Flamina
frondes,
Per nos fundendas Corde tremente
Preces.
Antevolansque cavo Suspiria nostra
Susurro,
Dum gemit Aura levis, Tu geme, Cultor,
ait.
Voce Deum celebro ; Concordes sponte
Choristse,
Sunt Praecentores, dum modulantur,
Aves.
Amen subijcio ; dat Amen, quasi Clericus,
Echo.
Sylva placet, Luxus Desidiose, Vale.

Edward Beniowes

[Canto XII

THE ARGUMENT

True Bliss ! Thou know'st but few, to few art known ;

While w^e shun many, thee alone
We court, and all enjoy in thee, when all are gone.

STANZA I

Waste not another word on fools ;
forsake
What grates the ear, pure notions
take ;
Know, that the smoothest hones the
sharpest razors make.
II
111 suits it with* a russet life, to
write
Court-tissue : swains, by thres-
hold's sight.
Observe, as well as lords by clocks
of gold, Time's flight.
Ill
Whose crystal shrines, like oysters,
gape each hour,
Discov'ringTime by figures' pow'r:
That is the nobler watch, foreshows
the threat'ning show'r.

IV

While cumb'rous gain does various
cares obtrude, lo

The richer mind courts solitude.

And does guile (subtle to beguile
itself) exclude.

V

More than high greatness humble

goodness draws ;
Elm rafters, mantled o'er with

straws,
Outbless Escurial tow'rs that seem

Heav'n's cupolas.

VI

Each city-shop's a trap ; each toy, a

yoke;
What wise man willingly would

choke
Himself in thicker clouds of griping

care, than smoke ?

VII

Who would not fly that broil, whence
Bliss is flown ;

Where, in Time's dregs, Religion 's
grown 20

From best, to all (flow tears of
blood !), from all, to none.

VIII

Lord, guide Thy Church, which

interests impair ;
Who, without knowledge, factious

are,
They little mind the flock, so they

the fleece may share.

IX

Why climb'd they else the pulpit, as

Lot's brother.
With fire in one hand, knife i' th'

other?
'Twas vip'rous Nero slew his own

indulgent mother.

X

As Peace Heav'n's blessing; so is

War His rod,
Man-hunting beast, a scourge from

God,
Which doth unhinge the world ;

fierce grapes in Wrath's press

trod. 30

XI

Let me, in Griefs prerogative, be

bold
To question such, as dare to

hold
That they the Shepherd lov'd, when

they forsook the fold.

XII

Such scramblers at the shearing

feasts, I shun ;
Forgetting, and forgotten, run
To fraudless swains. I have a Friend

compliant won ;

XIII

By his example may mylifebepenn'd,
May he read, like himself, his
friend :

21 This is a puzzling line. One would expect 'From best to all . . . to best to none,'
or ' From best to worst . . . from all to none.' Cf. Summaty version inf.

(446)

Canto XI 1] The Sweetness of Retirement

Souls in conjunction should, like
stars, kind influence send.

XIV

Us Sympathy, the mind's true priest,
does join ; 4°

'Tis Grace makes social love
divine ;

Tun'd octaves unisons are, duos in
one combine.

XV

When two enweav'd are in one high

desire,
They feel, like angels, mutual fire ;
Flames intellective live, material

flames expire.

XVI

Vain World, thy friends are thieves

of Time ; twice they
Are robb'd ; for, Time's self steals

away.
Leaving a dull December for a

sportive May.

XVII

Fools' chat is built on sand; but
blest who hives
Discourse, that on Heav'n's sweet-
ness lives, 50

Such, as to raise the fire to high-born
Virtue strives.

XVIII

For birds of Paradise the proper

fare
Is purest vapour of the air;
Souls nourish'd from the influ'nce

of God's Spirit are.

XIX

Dew fattens earth, the earth yields

plants, and then
The plants feed beasts, the beasts

feed men ;
Man on His Word should feed, who

gave him origin.

XX

From public roads, to private joy 's

our flight ;
To view God's love, we leave

man's sight ;
Rich in the purchase of a Friend,

who gilds delight. 60

(447 )

XXI

Thus go we, like the heroes of old

Greece,
In quest of more than golden

fleece.
Retreating to sweet shades, our shat-

ter'd thoughts we piece.

XXII

So, when the Sun, commander of

the day.
Muffles with clouds his glorious

ray,
He clearer afterwards doth his bright

face display.

XXIII

Kings, too much seen, grow mean.

Renown does dawn
From cots, unsightly hang'd, and

drawn
With spider-woven arras, and their

cobw^eb-lawn.

XXIV

Victorious Charles the Fifth, who
had acquir'd 70

Fame, wealth, and what could be
desir'd

By greatest emperors, left all, to live
retir'd.

XXV

That sea-dividing Prince, whose

sceptred rod
Wrought freedom to the Church

of God,
Made in the Mount of Horeb forty

days' abode.

XXVI

In wilderness the Baptist shin'd more
clear,
In Life's night starry souls appear:
They who themselves eclipse, are to
Heav'n's court more dear.

XXVII

But, now what need we cite examples
more, 79

This by our Saviour heretofore

Was practis'd, who, whole nights
retir'd, did God implore.

XXVIII

Examples are best precepts. Sweet
Secess,

Edward Be7ilowes

[Canto XII

The nurse to inbred Happiness,
How dost thou intellects with fuller
knowledge bless !

XXIX

Waft us, all-guiding Pow'r, from wild
resort,
By Cape of Hope, to Virtue's
Port,

Where Conscience, that strong cham-
pion, safely guards the fort.

XXX

Here, Liberty, ev'n from suspicion

free,
Does terminate our fears ; by

Thee
We conquer lusts : each sense wears

Reason's livery. 90

XXXI

With Thee, like cloister'd snails, is

better state.
Than to be lions in a grate :
The world hers, coop'd like Bajazet,

does captivate.

XXXII

But, here (the type of ever-smiling
joys.
Without disturbing fears, or noise),
We bright-ey'd Faith, with quick-eyed
Art, in Truth's scale poise.

XXXIII

Religious Mary's leisure we above
Encumber'd Martha's cares ap-
prove ;

Uncloister'd, we this course beyond
Court's splendour love.

XXXIV

Seated in safe repose (when circling

Earth 100

Suffers by rage of war, and dearth),

Secure from plagues and angry seas,
we manage mirth.

XXXV

The low-built fortune harbours Peace,
when as
Ambitious high-roof d Babels pass
Through storms ; content with
thankfulness each blessing has.
xxxvi
So fragrant vi'lets, blushing straw-
berries,

(448)

Close-shrouded lurk from lofty
eyes,
The emblem of sweet bliss, which
low and hidden lies,
xxxvii
No masked fraud, no tempest of
black woes.
No flaunting pride, no rage of
foes, lie

Bends hitherward, but soon is laid,
or overblows.

xxxviii
We rule our conquer'd selves ; what
need we more ?
To gadding Sense we shut the
door;
Rich in our mind alone. Who wants
himself, is poor.

XXXIX

Slander is stingless, Envy toothless

here;
The russet is well lin'd we wear ;
Let cits make chains the ensigns of

their pomp appear.

XL

Faith link'd with Truth, and Love

with Quiet too.
O'er pleasant lawns securely go ;
The Golden Age, like Jordan's

stream, does here reflow. 120

XLI

For fields of combat, fields of corn

are here,
For trooping ranks, tree-ranks

appear ;
War steels the heart, but here we

melt heart, eye, and ear.

XLII

Oh, might a sacred Muse Earth's

frenzy calm !
On that we'd pour such suppling

balm,
As might vain trophies turn to an

unfading palm.

XLIII

Then should each He, who wears
the face of man.
Discern their emptiness, and span
The vulgar's trivial idols, and their
follies scan.

Canto XII] The Sweetness of Retirement

XLIV

Though in rough shells our bodies
kernell'd are, 130

Our roof is neat, and sweet our
fare,

Banish'd are noisome vapours to the
pent-up air.

XLV

No subtle poison in our cup we fear.
Goblets of gold such horrors bear;
No palace-Furies haunt, O rich
Content ! thy cheer.

XLVI

How great are those who use, like

gold, their clay ;
And who like clay, gold, great are

they ;
To grandeur, slighted titles are the

ready way.

XLVII

Courts' amplest shine nor adds, nor

takes from minds
That pierce the world, true merit

binds 140

Bright souls unto it, whilst a fog th'

ignoble blinds.

XLVIII

Humble, not slav'd ; without dis-
comfort sad ;
Tim'rous, without despair; and
glad.

Without wild freaks, we are. The
world 's or fool, or mad.

XLIX

From Taurus when Sol's influence
descends.
And Earth with verdant robe be-
friends.

And richer showers, than fell on
Danae's lap, dispends ;

L

When early Phosphor lights from

eastern bed
The grey-eyed morn, with blushes

red ;
When opal colours prank the orient

tulip's head : 150

non-ag'd

LI

Then walk we forth, where twinkling

spangles shew,
Entinselling like stars the dew.
Where buds, like pearls, and where

we leaves, like em'ralds, view :

LII

Birds by grovets in feather'd gar-
ments sing
New ditties to the
spring ;

Oh, how those traceless minstrels
cheer up everything !

LIII

To hear quaint nightingales, the

lutes o' th' wood,
And turtle-doves, by their mates

woo'd,
And smelling violet sweets, how do

these cheer the blood !

LIV

While teeming Earth fiower'd satin
wears, embost 160

With trees, with bushes shagg'd,
with most

Clear riv'lets edg'd, by rocking winds
each gently tost ;

LV

The branching standards of the

chirping grove.
With rustling boughs, and streams

that move
In murm'ring rage, seem Nature's

consort, tun'd by Love.

LVI

We to their hoarse laments lend

list'ning ears ;
And sympathize with them in tears,
Sadly rememb'ring British Sion's

acted fears !

LVII

Then, our sad hearts are prick'd,

whence spring forth cries ;
From those, drain'd through the

bruis'd soul, rise 170

Faith-fumes, by Heav'n's fire drawn,

which drop through melting

eyes !

154 grovets] Rare. 162 rocking windsl Had Benlowes read Milton?

165 Rage] Skin orig. but in my copy altered to ' base ' = 'bass" which is probably right.

( 449 )

Gg

Edward Be7tIowes

[Canto XII

LVIII

'Cause hungry swords devour'd man's
flesh, Hke food,
And thirsty spears were drunk
with blood :

Lord, how Thy Spouse turns mum-
mied earth ! her gore a flood !

LIX

Edge-hill with bones look'd white,

with blood look'd red,
Maz'd at the number of the dead :
A theme for tears in unborn eyes to

be still shed !

LX

How many bound with iron, who

did 'scape
The steel ! and Death commits

a rape
On them in jails, who her defied in

warlike shape ! 180

LXI

Cross-biasness to grace our ruin

spinn'd !
Harrow'd with woes, be Heav'n

our friend !
Sodom 'gainst Nature, we 'gainst

light of Truth have sinn'd !

LXII

This draws eye-tribute from Com-
punction's den ;
Grace, guard Thy prostrate sup-
pliant then,

Who am the chief of sinners, and
the worst of men !

LXIII

My guilt before Thy Mercy-seat I

lay,
For His sake save me, who gave

way
To die for sinners ! Ah, Sin kills

Him every day !

LXIV

Sin ne'er departs, till humbled in
deep fears, 190

Embalm'd in pray'rs, and drown'd
in tears.

The fragrant Araby breathes no per-
fume like theirs.

LXV

More fruitful those, unwitnessed,

appear ;
Gems are too cheap for every

tear :
Deep Sorrow from itself doth its high

comfort rear.

LXVI

Salt tears, the pious convert's
sweetest sport,
To hopeful joys the ent'ring port,
Ye waft blest mariners to Sion's
glorious court.

LXVII

But whither stray'st thou, Grief?

Pearl'd dew arrays
As yet the virgin-meads, whose

gays 200

Unbarb'd, perk up to prank the

curled stream that plays.

LXVIII

By rushy-fringed banks with purling

rill,
Meand'ring underneath the hill :
Thus, stream-like, glides our life to

Death's broad ocean still.

LXIX

The pleasant grove triumphs with
blooming May,
While Melancholy scuds away ;
The painted quire on motley banks
sweet notes display.

LXX

Earth's flow'r-wov'n damask doth us

gently woo.
On her embroider'd mantle to
Repose, where various gems, like

constellations, shew. 210

LXXI

Ourselves here steal we from our-
selves, by qualms
Of pleasure, rais'd from new-
coin'd Psalms,

When skies are blue, earth green,
and meadows flow with balms.

LXXII

We there, on grassy tufted tapes-
tries,

(46C )

199 whither] Orig. ' whether.'

Canto XII] The Sweetjiess of Retireme?it

In guiltless shades, by fuU-hair'd
trees,
Leaning unpillow'd heads, view
Nature's ants, and bees.

LXXIII

Justly admiring more those agile ants.

Than castle-bearing elephants ;
Where industry, epitomiz'd, no
vigour wants.

« LXXIV

More than at tusks of boars we
wonder at 220

This moth's strange teeth ! Legs
of this gnat

Pass large-limb'd gryphons; then, on
bees we musing sat ;

LXXV

How colonies. Realm's hope, they

breed ; proclaim
Their king ; how nectar-courts

they frame ;
How they in waxen cells record

their prince's fame :

LXXVI

How kings amidst their bands in

armour shine ;
And great souls in small breasts

confine ;
How under strictest laws they keep

up discipline ;

LXXVII

How all agree, while their king lives,

in one ;
But dead, the public Faith 's o'er-

thrown, 230

Their State becomes a spoil, which

was so plenteous grown.

LXXVIII

Abstruser depths ! here Aristotle's

eye
(That Ipse of philosophy,
Nature's professor) purblind was, to

search so high.

LXXIX

Thinking, which some deem idle-
ness, to me
It seems life's Heav'n on earth to

By observation God is seen in all we
see.

LXXX

Our books are Heav'n above us, air

and sea
Around, earth under ; Faith 's our

stay.
And Grace our guide, the Word our

light, and Christ our way. 240

LXXXI

Friend, view that rock, and think
from rock's green Wound
How thirst-expelling streams did
bound :

View streams, and think how Jordan
did become dry ground.

LXXXII

View Seas, and think how waves,

like walls of glass.
Stood fix'd, while Hebrew troops

did pass ;
But clos'd the Pharian host in one

confused mass.

LXXXIII

These flow'rs, we see to-day, like

Beauty, brave.
At ev'n will be shut up, and have
Next week their death, then buried

soon in stalks, their grave.

LXXXIV

Beauty's a flow'r, Fame puff, high
State a gaze, 25,0

Pleasure a dance, and Gold a
blaze,

Greatness a load : these soon are
lost in Time's short maze !

LXXXV

As solemn statesmen slight mere

childish toil,
Framing card-structures : angels

smile,
And pity so, when life straight flits,

man's tearing broil.

LXXXVI

Search Empire's dawn, unwind
Time's ball again.
Unreel through ages its snarl'd
skein ;

be;

222 sat] An unlucky word, in more than tense,
( 4.HI ) G g 2

Edward Benlowes

[Canto XII

Run back, like Sol on Ahaz' dial ;
see ' All 's vain.'

LXXXVII

This did I from Theophila descry
(Not her fair-feather'd speech

could fly 260

To ground, but my ear's pitfall

caught it instantly ;

LXXXVIII

Though her informing voice be

parted hence,
Tidesof impressive notions thence
Flow, soft as showers on balm, and

sweet as frankincense).

LXXXIX

The conqueror who wades in blood
for pow'r,
Cannot ensure th' ensuing hour ;
Death soon may his ovation's
sweetest nectar sour,
xc
All 's vain. Th' Assyrian lion, Per-
sian bear,
Greek leopard, Roman eagle,
where ?
Where is fam'd Troy, that did so
proudly domineer ? 270

xci
Troy 's gone, yet Simois stays. Oh,
Fortune's play !
That which was fix'd is fled away.
And only what was ever-flitting still
does stay !

XCII

Vast pyramids uprear'd f inter the

dead.
Themselves, like men, are sepul-

chied ;
Ambitious obelisks, ostents of pride,

dust wed.

XCIII

Heav'n sees the crumbling fabric of
Earth's ball,
That dust is man's original;
To Him all nature is as vvither'd
leaves that fall :
xciv
Terrestrials transient are. Kings
fight for clods ; 2S0

(45O

Heav'n's Heir is mightier Prince,
by odds,
Ev'n all is his, and he is Christ's,
and Christ is God's.
xcv
Thoughts, dwell on this. Let 's be
our own death's-head.
The glorious Martyr lives, though
dead,
Sweet rose, in His own fadeless
leaves enveloped:
xcvi
Heav'n was His watch, whose starry
circles wind
All ages up ; the hand that sign'd
Those figures, guides them ; World,
thy clocks are false and blind,
xcvii
Time in Eternity's immense book is
But as a short parenthesis ; 2c,o
Man's life, a point ; God's day is
never-setting bliss.

XCVIII

Could man sum up all times, so, as
if there
A moment not remaining were ;
Yet all those close-throng'd figures
seem but ciphers here,
xcix
Could calculators multiply Time's
glass
To myriads more of years ; alas,
Those sands, to this duration, as a
minute pass.
c
Such mental buds we from each
object take.
And, for Christ's Spouse, of
them we make
Spiritual wreaths, nor do we her
own words forsake. 300

ci
' Arise, O North, and thou, O South-
wind, blow ;
Let scent of flow'rs, and spices flow,
That the Beloved may into His
Garden go.'

CII

Whose beauty flow'rs, whose height
made lofty trees,

Canto XII] The Sweetness of Retireme?U

Whose permanence made Time,
and these
Pay tribute by returns to Him, as
springs to seas,
cm
This steals our soul from her thick
loom, t' aspire
To canzons, tin'd with enthean
fire;
Taking high wing to soar up to the
angel-quire.

CIV

By suchlike speculations would we

sty 310

To th' Sun of Righteousness !

though I

A star am less than least of all the

galaxy.

cv
The burden to each hymn is this.
' Thy ways.
Lord, are inscrutable ! All days,
All tongues, are few, are weak, to
sound Thy endless Praise ! '
cvi
Oh, that a Voice more audible, and
high'r
Than that shrill trump, when all "s
on fire,
Might all men's hearts and tongues
with Thy renown inspire !

CVII

Nature, bless God, His benefits be

sung,
While that an ear can hear a

tongue ; 32c

Commerce with Him is th' only

trade, all else but dung.

CVIII

'But dung' — the wild inhabitant
repeats
From her inhospitable seats :
But, now 'tis noon ; prepare we for
our costless meats,
cix
' Lord of all grassy and all glassy
plains !

308 tin'd] 'lighted.'

Whose mighty hand doth wield
Fate's reins,
Who dost embase the hills, emboss
the woody veins.
ex
' By Thee, the pirate, who by Nile
being bred
Has land for table, pool for bed,
Camels, Arabia's wand'ring ships, by
Thee are fed ; 330

CXI

' Thou with Thy inexpressibly im-
mense
Finger of active Providence,
The World's great Harbinger, dost
all to each dispense.'
cxii
Strict temperance so cooks our mess,
that we
With no brain-clouds eclipsed be :
The driest clearness makes the
brightest ingeny.

CXIII

The mount's our table, grass our
carpet, well
Our cellar, trees our banquet,
cell
Our palace, birds our music, and our
plate a shell.

cxiv
Nature pays all the score. Next
fountain has 340

Bath, drink, and glass ; but our
soul's glass
Presents Religion's face. Our meal 's
as short as grace,
cxv
See, where the udder'd cattle find us
food;
As those sheep cloth ; these
hedgerows wood.
See, now a present brought us from
the neighbourhood :
cxv I
Ev'n th' herb that cramp and tooth-
ache drives away,

310 sty] as before ' rise.'

327] Embase =' lower ' : ' emboss ' = ' raise ' obviously enough. But why 'woody
veins ' ? Was he thinking of coal-mines ?

(453)

Edward Be7ilowes

[Canto XII

And bribes ear-minstrels not to
play;
And from arch'd roofs to spongy
bellows dews does stay ;

CXVII

That makes quick spirits and agile

fancy rove,
And genuine warmth i' th' brain

does move, 350

'Bove furs or fires ; whose pipe 's

both ventiduct, and stove ;

CXVIII

That mounts invention with its active
smoke ;
Draught of Promethean fir'd-air
took,
Renerves slack joints, and ransacks
each phlegmatic nook,
cxix
That lust cloys which expectance
swells J but, here

Are dainties, that whet taste and
ear ;
Where all are cheer'd with joy, and
overjoy'd with cheer,
cxx
But, having travers'd more of ground
to day.
Let us, for our refreshment, stay,
And with next rising sun, complete
next closing lay. 360

Irati ssevas Maris evitare Procellas
Quae potuit, felix est nimis ilia
Ratis ;
Littoris optati Prospectu Navita
gaudet ;
Gratulor emensam nee minds ipse
Viam.

ANIMI PABULUM CONTEMPLATIO.

THE PLEASURE OF RETIREMENT
Canto XIII. The Relnvitation

THE ARGUMENT

Felix qui Suus est, Animi propriique
Monarcha ;
Laus est Imperii ponere Jura Sibi.
Felices Animae, pulso Plutone Tyranno,
Quels datur Elysiis imperitare Plagis!
Maximus internum quisquis superaverit
Hostem,
Major Alexandro, Csesare major erit.
Fabritium ^acidae, Senecam praepono
Neroni,
Hie hiat Immenso, postulat Ille pariim.
Ecquid habent Reges, nisi Membris Teg-
men & Escam ?
Quae vel Nobiscum vile Mapale tenet. 10

Ipse mihi Regnum, summa dominabor in
Aula
Mentis, & hoc quod sum vel minor esse
velim.
Rex est qucm Ratio regit, & quem ducit
Honestum ;
De Regno videas regia Sceptra queri.
Aspice quid Cineres sit Caesaris inter, &
Iri,
Est unus Color his omnibus, unus Odor.
Ergo.
Affectus superans, & qui superatur ab illis,
Non nisi Victor ovat, non nisi Victus
obit.

347 bribes &c.] It would probably be impossible to find a more characteristic conceit
than this for the supposed virtue of stilling tinnitus auriiifn. The whole passage has,
I think, in the general ignorance of our poet, escaped collectors of the Praise of Tobacco
for the most part. If Lamb did not know it, it is a pitj'.

(454)

Canto XIII] The Pkasuve of Retirement

THE ARGUMENT

Who Chance, Change, Hopes, and Fears can under bring

Who can obey, yet rule each thing,
And slight Misfortune with a brave disdain, he's king.

STANZA I

When lavish Phoebus pours out
melted gold ;
And Zephyr's breath does spice
unfold ;
And we the blue-eyed sky in tissue-
vest behold.
II
Then, view the mower, who with big-
swoln veins,
Wieldeth the crooked scythe, and
strains
To barb the flow'ry tresses of the
verdant plains.

Ill
Then view we valleys, by whose
fringed seams
A brook of liquid silver streams,
Whose water crystal seems, sand
gold, and pebbles gems;

IV

Where bright-scal'd gliding fish on
trembling line lo

We strike, when they our hook
entwine :

Thence do we make a visit to a
grave divine.

V

With harmless shepherds we some-
times do stay,
Whose plainness does outvie the
gay,

While nibbling ewes do bleat, and
frisking lambs do stray.

VI

With them, we strive to recollect,

and find
Dispers'd flocks of our rambling

mind ;
Internal vigils are to that due work

design'd.

VII

No puffing hopes, no shrinking fears

them fright ;
No begging wants on them do

light ; 20

They wed Content, while Sloth feels

want, and Brav'ry spite.

VIII

While swains the burth'ning fleeces

shear away,
Oat-pipes to past'ral sonnets play,
And all the merry hamlet bells

chime holy day.

IX

In neighb'ring meads, with ermine
mantles proud,
Our eyes and ears discern a crowd
Of wide-horn'd oxen, trampling grass
with lowings loud.

X

Next close feeds many a strutting-

udder'd cow ;
Hard by, tir'd cattle draw the

plough.
Whose galled necks with toil and

languishment do bow. 30

XI

Near which, in restless stalks, wav'd
grain promotes
The skipping grasshopper's hoarse
notes ;

While round the aery choristers dis-
tend their throats.

XII

Dry seas, with golden surges, ebb
and flow;
The ripening ears smile as we go,
With boasts to crack the barn, so
numberless they show.

XIII

When Sol to Virgo progress takes,
and fields

6 barb] This verb in the sense of 'barb^/-,' 'to chp,' has Elizabethan precedent.
( 4.= 5 )

Edward Be7tlowes

[Canto XIII

With his prolonged lustre gilds ;

When Sirius chinks the ground, the

swain his hope then builds.

XIV

Soon as the sultry month has mellow'd

corn, 40

Gnats shake their spears, and

wind their horn ;

The hinds do sweat through both

their skins^ and shopsters scorn.

XV

Their orchards with ripe fruit im-

pregned be.
Fruit that from taste of death is

free,
And such as gives delight with choice

variety.

XVI

Yet who in 's thriving mind improves
his state,
And Virtue steward makes, his
fate

Transcends ; he 's rich at an inesti-
mable rate.

XVII

He shuns prolixer law-suits ; nor

does wait
At thoughtful grandee's prouder

gate; 50

Nor 'larming trumpets him, nor

drowning storms amate.

XVIII

From costly bills of greedy Emp'rics

free.
From plea of Ambidexter's fee,
From Vicar Any-Thing, the worst of

all the three.

XIX

He in himself, himself to rule, re-
tires ;
And can, or blow, or quench his
fires :

All blessings up are bound in
bounding up desires.

XX

His little world commands the
great : he there
Rich Mem'ry has for treasurer ;

The tongue is secretary to his heart,
and ear. 60

XXI

While May-Days London gallants

take a pride,
Coach'd through Hyde Park, to

eye, be eyed,
Which day's vain cost might for the

poor a year provide ;

XXII

He may to groves of myrrh in

triumph pace,
Where roots of Nature, flow'rs of

Grace,
And fruits of Glory bud. A glimpse

of Heav'n the place.

XXIII

This the Spring-Garden to spiritual
eyes,
Which fragrant scent of gums out-
vies ;

Three kings had thence their triple
mystic sacrifice.

XXIV

Oh, happier walks, where Christ,
and none beside, 70

Is journey's End, and Way, and
Guide !

Where from the humble plains are
greatest heights descry'd.

XXV

Heav'nward his gaze. Here does a

bower display
His bride-room, and Scripturia
Herself is bride; each morn presents

his marriage-day.

XXVI

What ecstasy 's in this delicious

grove !
Th'unwitness'd witness of his love !
What pow'r so strongly can as

flam'd affections move !

XXVII

The larks, wing'd travellers, that

trail the sky,
Unsoil'd with lusts, aloft do fly, 80
Warbling Scripturia, Scripturia

on high.

42 shopsters"! a good word. Indeed most things in these two cantos are 'good,'
either in the Polonian sense, or abetter.

(456)

Canto XIII] The Pkasure of Retirement

XXXV

The Sun does glean his splendour

from her eyes ;
Thence burn we' in sweets, as

Phanix lies
Glowing on Sol's ray-darted pile of

spiceries.

XXXVI

From precious limbeck sacred loves
distil
Such sublimations, as do fill
Minds with amazed raptures of
their chemic skill.
xxxvn
That such soul-elevations still might
stay,
We'd bear and do, both vow and

XXVIII

(T' have been affected by a virgin

heir,
Rich, young, and chaste, wise,

good, and fair,
Was once his first delight, but

Heav'n restrain'd that care !

XXIX

Thou, Providence, didst both their

wills restrain ;
Thou mad'st their losses turn to

gain;
For thou gav'st Heav'n to her, on

him dost blessings rain !)

XXX

But stop, pleas'd thoughts ; A high'r

love 's here design'd ;
Fit in each breast to be enshrin'd ;
Bright angels do admit no sex, nor

does the mind. 90

XXXI

To all her lovers thousand joys

accrue ;
And comforts, thicker than May's

dew,
Show'r down on their rapt souls, as

infinite as new !

XXXII

Her oracles directing rules declare.
Unerring oracles. Truth's square ;
Her soul-informing light does Earth
for Heav'n prepare.

XXXIII

All beatizing sweets, as in their
hive.
At her fair presence do arrive,
Which are to drooping spirits best
restorative.

xxxiv
To whose sight eagles, parallel'd,
are blind ; 100

Had Argus thousand eyes, he'd
find
Darkness, compar'd with her illumi-
nating mind.

xxviii-xxix] These two apparently autobiographic stanzas are interesting, as adding
a possible new detail to Benlowes' scantily known history.
103] Not quite a ' minor ' line, this !
112 high] Written in above the line in my copy.

(457)

pay, 1 i o

And serve the Lord of Lords by her

directive way !

xxxviii
Soon as our ear drinks in His [high]

command.
Be 't acted by our heart, and

hand ;
Under His banner we shall Satan's

darts withstand.

XXXIX

May He accept the music of our

voice,
While on His goodness we

rejoice,
And while each melting Psalm

makes on His Grace its choice.

XL

On feast-days from that bow'r to
church we haste,
Where Heav'n dissolves into re-
past,

When we regalios of the mystic
Banquet taste. 120

XLI

Oh, delicacies, infinitely pure !

To souls best nutriment and cure !
Where Knowledge, Faith, and Love
beatitude ensure.

Edward Benlowes

[Canto XIII

XLII

Poor Solomon's provision, poor to

this,
Manna, Heav'n-dewing banquet,

is :
Who reigns in Heav'n becomes on

earth our food and bhss.

XLIII

Oh, Sacramental cates, divinely

drest !
God the Feast-maker, Christ the

Feast,
The Holy Ghost Inviter, and the

Soul the guest !

XLIV

All joys await the blessed convives,
knit 130

All excellences are in it.

This overcomes our spirits, over-
pow'rs our wit !

XLV

For us, poor worms, that Glory's

Sovereign died !
Oh, let our fleshly barks still ride
At anchor in calm streams of His

empierced Side !

XLVI

ThisisHeav'n'sAntepast! By Union
He 's One to All, and All to One
In Love's intrinsic Mystery to souls
alone !

XLVII

Ecstatic raptures loose our hearts on
high
With Joy's ineffability 1 140

Exub'rant sweets o'erwhelm, as tor-
rents, tongue and eye.

XLVIII

Such life-infusing comforts, from

above,
Our souls with inward motions

move,
That totally for God we quit all

creature-love !

XLIX

Should He condemn us, yet would
Love compel

Him down with us, and we would
dwell
Rather than without Him in Heav'n,
with Him in Hell.

L

Soul of my soul ! when I a joy

receive
Disjoin'd from Thee, let my

tongue cleave
To 's palate ! Me of all, not of this

Feast bereave ! 150

LI

Not in the winter solstice of my

years,
When shivering snow surrounds

deaf ears.
And dreary languishment Death's

gashly vizard wears ;

LII

When they shall tremble that the

house defend ;
The columns which support it

bend ;
The grinders fail, the watch through

casements objects blend ;

LI 1 1

Then shine, dear Lord ! when
quivering Winter's dress
Is icicled with hoary tress ;

When all streams frozen are, but
tears, through Love's excess ;

LIV

When periwigg'd with snow's each
bald-pate wood, 160

Bound in ice-chains each strug-
gling flood ;

When North Seas bridled are, pris'n-
ing their scaly brood.

LV

Then let those freezing hours be
thaw'd by pray'r !
As wells in winter warmer are
By circumsession of refrigerating
air.

LVI

That, nipp'd with cold, or parch'dwith
heat, resign

136 Antepast] Nothing to do with time, but opposed to 'y^past' — a foretaste. The
word is Taylorian.
160J See Introd.

(458)

Canto XIII] The Pkasure of Retirement

We may our will in each to Thine,
Be 't less or more, be 't low or high,
be 't storm or shine.

LVII

After Night's soot smears Heav'n,

Day gilds its face ;
Wet April past, sweet May takes

place; 170

And calm air smiles, when ruffling

winds have run their race.

LVII I

Who hope for mines, scorn dross ;

such only get
Who lose a game to win the set :
Worldlings, he 's rich who 's good ;

above 's his cabinet.

LIX

To well-tun'd tempers things that

disagree
Have oft some likeness ; thus, we

see
Wind kindles fire ; discord makes

concord harmony.

LX

Affliction tunes the breast to rise, or

fall,
Making the whole man musical ;
We may affliction Christians' second

baptism call. 180

LXI

Who Christ for Spouse, His cross

for jointure has ;
His hand supports, where 's rod

doth pass :
The Lord of Angels, He the King

of Suff'rings was.

LXII

Love's life took Death, that Death
Love's life might gain !
The Sovereign died that slaves
might reign !

The world can't books that should
be writ of Him contain.

LXIII

Those have the greatest cross, who
cross ne'er bore ;
They're rich in w^ant, who God
adore ;

199 goal] So in orig., of course

(459 )

Who does supply all emptiness with
His full store.

LXIV

Saint Paul, the Gentiles' doctor, rich
'bove kings, 190

And high 'bove Oratory's wings,
Rapt up to Heav'n, had nothing, yet
possess'd all things.

LXV

The rav'n of birds proves caterer,

and feasts
Elijah ; so the lion of beasts
Was Samson's purveyor ; quails to

murm'ring Jews were guests.

LXVI

Midst thorns environ'd. Love sweet

roses finds ;
Steep ways lie plain t' inamor'd

minds ;
Love gilds all chains (surpris'd not

thrall'd), with comfort binds.

LXVII

Then, threaten, World, a goal shall

bolt me in ;
He 's free as air, who serves not

Sin ; 200

Who 's gather'd in himself, his Self is

his own inn.

LXVIII

Then let fierce Goths their strongest

chains prepare ;
Grim Scythians me their slave

declare ;
My soul being free, those tyrants in

the face I'll stare.

LXIX

Man may confine the body, but the

mind
(Like Nature's miracles, the wind
And dreams) does, though secur'd,

a free enjoyment find.

LXX

Rays drawn in to a point more
vig'rous beam ;
Joys more to saints, engoal'd, did
stream ;
Linnets their cage to be a grove, bars
boughs esteem. 210

= ' gaol.' So in 209 ' engoaled.'

Edward Beiilowes

[Canto XIII

LXXI

Burnish'd to glory from Afifliction's

flame,
From prison to a sceptre came
The lov'd and fear'd Eliza — titles

vail t' her name.

LXXI I

She pass'd the furnace to be more

refin'd ;
From flames drew purity of mind,
Not heat of passion ; hence, being

tried, she brighter shin'd.

LXXIII

Here wound, here lance me, Lord,

thy Austin cries.
Dissect me here for Paradise !
The Cross the altar be, so Love be

sacrifice !

LXXIV

Imprint Thy Love so deep into my
heart, 220

That neither hunger, thirst, nor
smart,

Gain, loss, nor thraldom, life nor
death us ever part !

LXXV

Should foes rip up my breast with

piercing blade.
My soul would but have passage

made.
Through which to Heav'n she might

in purple riv'lets wade.

LXXVI

Forbid the banns 'twixt soul and

body join'd.
The corpse but falls to be refin'd.
And re-espous'd unto the glorified

high mind.

LXXVII

Who makes th' Almighty his delight,
he goes

To martyrdom, as to repose ; 230
The Red Sea leads to Palestine,
where all joy flows.

LXXVIII

Steel'd 'gainst Affliction's anvil, let 's
become
Proud of the World's severest
doom ;

No majesty on earth is like to mar-
tyrdom.

LXXIX

' Enter into thy Master's joy ' 's so

great.
This thought is with such flames

replete,
That from th' High Court of Mercy

souls all deaths defeat !

LXXX

Who saith, ' Fear not,' Him must we

fear alone ;
Blest, whom no fear makes Faith

be gone ;
How many must they fear, who fear

not only One ! 240

LXXXI

We are but once to our grave's port

brought in,
To which from birth w' have

sailing been,
It matters not what way, so we 'scape

rocks of sin.

LXXXII

But, hark, 'tis late ; the whistlers

knock from plough ;
The droiling swineherd's drum

beats now ;
Maids have their curtsies made to

th' spongy-teated cow.

LXXXII I

Larks roosted are, the folded flocks
are pent

213I Here is in text of orig. an engraving of Queen Elizabeth praying in her oratory
with the following letterpress at the sides of the cut : ' Having reformed Religion :
established Peace : reduced Coin to the just value : delivered Scotland from the French :
revenged domestical Rebellion : saved France from headlong Ruine by Civil Warre :
supported Belgia : overthrown the Spanish invincible Navie : expelled the Spaniards
out of Ireland : received the Irish into Mercie : enriched England by her most prudent
Government 45 Years : Elizabeth a vertuous and triumphant Queen : in the 70th year
of her Age, in most happy and peaceable manner departed this Life : leaving here her
mortal parts until by the last Trump she shall rise immortal.'

245 oroiiing] =' drudging.' not very uncommon both as noun and verb in seventeenth
century. Note the conceit in next line.

(460)

Canto XIII] The Pkasure of Retireme7tt

In hurdled grates, the tir'd ox sent
In loose trace home, now Hesper
lights his torch in 's tent.

LXXXIV

See glimmering light, the Pharos of
our cot ; 250

By innocence protected, not

By guards, we thither tend, where
Ev'nsong 's not forgot.

LXXXV

O, Pray'r ! thou anchor through the

worldly sea !
Thou sov'reign rhet'ric, 'bove the

plea
Of flesh ! that feed'st the fainting

soul, thou art Heav'n's key.

LXXXV I

Blest season, when Day's eye is

clos'd, to win
Our heart to clear th' account, —

when Sin
Has pass'd the audit, ravishments of

soul begin.

LXXXVII

Who never wake to meditate, or

weep,
Shall sure be sentenc'd for their

sleep ; 260

Night to forepass^d day should still

strict sentry keep.

LXXXVIII

Oh, let them perish midst their

flaring clay.
Who value treasures with a day
Devoutly spent ! Faith 's the true

gem, the world a gay.

LXXXIX

So wasteful, us'rer, as thyself, there 's
none,
Who losest three true gems for
one
That 's counterfeit ; thy rest, fame,
soul for ever gone !
xc
When dark'ning mists our hemi-
sphere invade.
Of all the air when one blot 's
made,
Mortals immantled in their silent
gloomy shade, 270

(461)

xci

Then for an hour (elixir of delight !)
We, Heav'n beleag'ring, pray and

write,
When every eye is lock'd, but those

that watch the night.

XCII

Saints fight on bended knees ; their

weapons are
Defensive patience, tears, and

pray'r ;
Their valour most, when without

witness. Hell does scare.

XCIII

May whiter wishes, wing'd with Zeal,
appear
Lovely unto Thy purest ear,
Where nothing is accepted but
what 's chaste, and clear !
xciv
Life's hectic fits find cordials in
Pray'r's hive, 2 So

Transcendently restorative.
Which might our iron age to its first
gold retrieve,
xcv
See, list'ning Time runs back to
fetch the Age
Of Gold, when Pray'r does
Heav'n engage ;
Devotion is Religion's lifeblood ;
'tis God's page,
xcvi
Who brings rich bliss by bills of
sure exchange ;
The blessings that the poor
arrange
For alms receiv'd that day, beatifies
our grange.

xcvii
Dance, Nabals, with large sails on
smiling tides,
Till the black storm against you
rides, 200

Whose pitchy rains interminable
Vengeance guides !

XCVIII

But, Lord, let Charity our table
spread ;
Let Unity adorn our bed ;

Edward Benlowes

[Canto XIII

And may soft Love be pillow under-
neath our head !
xcix
Enrich'd, let 's darn up Want ; what
Fortune can
Or give, or take away from man,
We prize not much : Heav'n pays
the good Samaritan.
c
Thus, Life, still blessing, and still
blest, we spend ;
Thus entertain we Death, as
friend.
To disapparel us for Glory's endless
end. 300

CI

Who, thus forgot, in graces grows,

as years.
Loves cherish'dpray'r, unvvitness'd

tears,
Rescu'd from monstrous men, no

other monster fears.

CII

They who their dwelling in Abdera
had.
Did think Democritus was mad ;
He knew 'twas so of them. The
application 's sad.
cm
Knew but the World what comforts,
tiding on.
Flow to such recollection,
It would run mad with envy, be
with rage undone.

CIV

Oh, Sequestration ! Rich, to world-
lings' shame ; 310
A life 's our object, not a name :
Herostratus did sail, like witch, i' th'
air of fame.

cv
Get long-brealh'd chronicles, ye
need such alms,
Sue from diurnal briefs for palms,
Injurious grandeur for its frantic
pride wants balms,
cvi
In aery flatt'ries Rumour, not Fame
lies ;
Inconstancy, Time's mistress, cries
(462)

It up, which soon by arguing Time,
Truth's parent, dies,
cvii
Fame's plant takes root from virtue,
grows thereby ;
Pure souls, though fortune-trod,
stand high, ■^^z

When mundane shallow-search in
breath itself shall die.

CVIII

Oh, frail applause of flesh ! swoln
bubbles pass.
Turf-fire more smoke than splen-
dour has ;
What bulwark firm on sand? what
shell for pearl may pass ?
cix
But saints with an attentive hope
from high.
On Heav'n's parole do live and
die;
Passing from Life's short night to
Day's Eternity.
ex
Who blessedly so breathe, and leave
their breath.
Of dying life make living death ;
Each day, spent like the last, does
act a Heav'n beneath. 330

CXI

Death 's one long sleep, and human
life no more
Than one short watch an hour
before :
World ! after thy mad tempest 'tis
the landing shore,
cxii
Mid point betwixt the lives of Loss,
and Gain ;
The path to boundless Jo)', or
Pain ;
Saint's birthday, Nature's dread :
Grace doth this bandog chain.

CXIII

When Moses from high Pisgah's top

descried
Fair Canaan, type o' th' Heav'nly

Bride,
He breath'd out his joy-ravish'd soul,

so sweetly died.

Canto XIII] The Phusure of Retireme?tt

CXIV

To Immortality the grave's a womb ;
We pass into a glorious room 341
Thorough the gloomy entry of a
narrow tomb.

cxv
Lord, asTnoumad'st (most pow'rful
One in Three)
The world of nothing ; so, let me
j\Iake nothing of the world, but
make my all in Thee !

cxvi
Pardon the by-steps that my soul
has trod,
Most great, good, glorious, gracious
God!
Seal Thou the bill of my divorce to
Earth's dull clod !

CXVI I

Thy boundless source of Grace the

scarlet spot
Scour'd white as wool, that first

did blot 350

Th' original in man, that was so

fairly wrote.

CXVIII

Check not my hope, but spur my
fear to Thee,

Virtue to court, and vice to flee !
Love, lend thou me thy spur ; fear,
thou my bridle be.
cxix
From hence, to run in heav'nly paths,
ril strive ;
My slender pen to th' world I
give ;
My only study shall be how to live,
to Hve.

cxx
None blest, but those, who, when
last trump shall send
It summons, find the Judge their
friend.
The end doth crown the work ;
great God crown thou my
End. 360

O, ter felicem, fortunatumque quieto
Cui natat in Portu nescia Cymba
Metus !
ODEUS! optatosistantmeaCarbasa
Coelo !
Omnis ab gethereis Spes sit habenda
Plagis.

EST SUMMUS, JESU, TUA GRATIA
QU^STUS.

Vivitur exiguo — Facile assentior sa-
pientissimo Aguri, Deum obsecranti ut
nee Divitias sibi, nee Egestatem, sed
tantum ad desjendam Vitam donaret
Neeessaria. Vita privata, qukm de-
lectas ! Corporis spectem Valetudinem ?

Nusquam salubrior Aer. Frugalitatem?
Nusquam minoris vivitur. Qucestum ?
Nusquam Lucrum innocentius. Vitas
Integritatem? Nusquam alibi minus
Corruptelae.

Navis es in Portu, tumidae secura
Proeellce ;
Mens Desideriis hie vacat alta suis.
Liberiore Polum contemplor Corde,
quieseit
Hie Mens tuta, sibi libera, plena Deo.
Quae sibi multa petit, petit anxia multa,
Voluntas ;
Et cui plura dedit Sors, Mala plura
dedit.
Alta cadunt, inflata crepant, cumulata
fatiscunt ;

(Prose) 2 Aguri] The Agur of Prov. xxx.
critic would be apt to suggest auguri.

(463)

Crimine vixque suo plena Crumena
caret.
Celsior immundi Mens despicit Orgia
Mundi,
Indignabundo proterit ilia Pede. 10
Munde, vale ; quid me fallacibus allicis
Hamis ?
Sophrosynen sacra Sobrietate colo :
Regia sit ramosa Domus, Rivusque
Falernum ;
Arcta, sed ampla, Deum si capit, ilia
Domus.

I only note this because a certain class of

Edward Beitlowes

[Canto XIII

Florea gemmatS. subrident Pascua
Veste,
Faetaque nativasexplicat Arbor Opes.
Caltha, Rosae, Tulips, Violas, Thyma,
Lilia florent,
Dum gravido Zephyrus rore maritat
Humum.
Frugibus exultant Valles,Grege Pascua,
Rupes
Fontibus, intonso Crine triumphat
Agar ; 20

Terra Famem, levat Unda Sitim, fugat
Umbra Calorem ;
Dat Togam Ovis, Lignum Sylva,
Focumque Silex.
Quod satis est Vitae, satis est ; Prseste-
tur Egenis
Quod reliquum : Vitse sat Toga,
Panis, Aqua.
Non Mensis qujecunque Dapes cele-
brantur in istis
Prasgustantis egent ; Vite Venena
latent.
Hie Parasitus abest, fugit hinc Gna-
thonica Pestis ;
Cura nee hie Animos irrequieta
coquit.
Choliea, Spasmus, Hydrops, Vertigo,
Podagra reeedunt ;

Grata Sapore beat Mensa, Sopore
Thorus. 30

Pange Deo Laudes, positis Mens
libera Curis ;
Castera si desint, Numine dives eris.
Sis modico contenta, gravis Nulli ;
Ipsa Misellis
Quasimpendis Opes, has an habebis?
habes.
Quod Christum deeuit, deeeat Te.
Noverit uti
Quisquis praesenti Sorte beatus erit.
Sic Abrahae gaudebo Sinu ; dum,
Dives, in Oreo
Sternum diro deliciose peris.
Vita beata, tuas qui possim pangere
laudes ?
Mille cui Vitas, si mihi mille, darem !

Da, velut spero, bene, Christe, spi-

rem !
Da, velut credo, bene, Christe, vivam !
Unus hae qui Spe fruitur, fruetur

Mortuus Astris.

Amico.
Si lenis tremula Quies in Umbra
Sit Cordi, hue propera, ferasque Tecum
Totum quicquid habes Libentiarum.

THEOPHILiE AMORIS HOSTIA
Cantio VII

A DOMINO JEREMIA. COLLIERO IN VERSUS LATIALES TRADUCTA

Contemplatio

ARGUMENTUM

Proripit in vastum Lucis se Virgo Profundum,
Qiiam nullae excquent Voces, nee Limite claudant ;
Obtundunt Radii Visum, renovantque Vigorem.

Tristicon I
Si Marc Quisque foret, fierent si

quique Marones
Praecones sacri, Conventus &

Orbis apertus.
Quo scrutarentur Virtus ..^sterna

quid esset.

II
Si vel ab innocuis possent deducere

Cunis
PrimEevum Tempus, congestaque

Secula mille
Inferrent Trutinse ; tamen hsec sub

Pondere juste

Title of Translation^ The caution is perhaps once more advisable that this is a Jeremy
Collier senior, and not the Nonjuror.

(464)

Canto VII] TheophUcB Amoris Hostia

III
Ponentes, norint tandem non

mominis esse
Majoris, frustrk quam si cum Sole

potenti
Exiles tentent atomos librareBilance.

IV

Si Terrre Molem numeris spectare
refertam lo

Possent, non istis tua constet
Summa Figuris,

^terno cyphrse comparent qualitbr
Mso !

V

Si Sabulum flueret, per Saecula mille

marinum,
Quando deficeret vacuatis Littus

Arenis,
^que Te primb mensum est Clep-

sammion illud.

VI

Coelitus impertita foret Facundia^

Linguis
Aligeros referens, Spatium tamen

baud oequarent,
Est ubi prorsus idem cum fluxis

Omne futurum.

VII

Tende Fides bolidem, brevis at

nimis ilia nequibit
Experiis Fundi Maris explorare

Profundum, 20

Limite constricti nullo, nee Littore

cincti.

VIII

Sterna baud unquam commensura-

bilis ^F^tas,
Nulla Tui partem poterit de-

scribere Penna ;
Circulus es siquidem cui non est

Terminus ullus.

IX

Vel cujus Centrum tarn sediffuderit,

ipsum
Ambitus ingentis nequeat circun-

dare Coeli,
Exterius poterit quid circumcingere

Corpus?

X

Vos, quibus ^thereus Vigor est,

num Fine carentem
Finem exquiratis ? num Immensum

extendere fas est ?'
Claudere Ubiquemanens ? compren-

dere & Infinitum ? 30

XI

Hujus Zona Deus sine puncto,

maximus, Orbis
Ante Mare, et Terras, et quod

tegit omnia Ccelum,
Qui fuit, est, & erit cum cuncta

creata peribunt.

XII

Quin contemplemur supra Sublimia

qu£eque,
Ultra quemque Locum, super

omnes Luminis Orbes !
Pectus Apostolicum rapuit Radiatio

trinum.

XIII

Circumquaque micans Solium Prse-

signe ! supremo
Imperio constans, & Majestate

verenda !
Caetera transcendens, quern nullus

Fulgor adsequet !

XIV

Cingit utrumque Latus vel inenarra-
bile Lumen ! 40

Quod circumfusum tanto Splen-
dore coruscat,

^quora Lastitis superet flammantia
mille.

XV

Quod sic Effulgens si conspectare

liceret,
Detecta Facie Cherubinis, Lumine

tanto
Perculsi, in Nihilum remearent illico

primum.

XVI

Indue Te Tunica, dives Natura,

corusca,
Ornamenta tamen, tanto collata

decori,
Sunt tua, concretus seu lapsus

Nubibus Humor.

7 mominis] Lucretian. Cf. Collier's fancy for spondaic endings, at least at first.
( 465 ) H h

Edward Benlowes

[Canto VII

XVII

Indorum posses Opibus spoliare

Fodinas,
Illos, auratis, Radiosque recludere,

Cellis, 50

Qui collucentes cum Phcebi Lampade

certant :

XVIII

Arcana posses reserare peritius

Arte
Intima cujusvis ditis penetralia

Rupis,
Illinc Thesauros nee non auferre

nitentes :

XIX

Errantes, fixasque simul connectere

Stellas
Posses, quse rutilis exornant

^^thera BuUis,
Luminis ut coeant cuncti Orbes

Sydus in unum :

XX

Jungeresi posses Gemmas, Aurique

Fodinas,
^thereasque Faces, radiata Reflectio

quarum
Fulgida rivalis superaret Lumina

Solis : 60

XXI

Si Lapides Gemmae, riguum Mare

funderet Aurum,
Margara si Pulvis fieret, Chrystallus

& Aer,
Sol quodvis Sydus, plures Sibi niille

Nitores ;

XXII

Gemmae illae Silices essent, Mare

parva lacuna,
Stellas istae Scintilla forent, Fla-

gratio Phoebus :
Aurum, Gemma micans, Adamantes,

sordida Scruta :

XXIII

SiTerrae, complexa forent, & Lumina

Cueli,
Optica & unius peterent Confinia

Centri,
Hoc prius 'Objectum vel caecum

redderet illud.

(466)

XXIV

Caecum, seu piceae Velamen Noctis
opacum, 70

(Innuitur Sacro duntaxat Visio
Textu)

Hujus respectu Lucis sunt quslibet
Umbrae.

XXV

O, planb infandam, summoque Stu-

pore refertam !
Si Nemo nisi quidignus describere

possit,
Hanc san^ Lucem possit describere

Nemo.

XXVI

Selecti Eloquii cujusvis languet

Acumen,
Defecit Ingenium, Verborum hie

curta supellex ;
Hanc Lumen Mentis nullius tranet

Abyssum.

XXVII

Hie residet tantis circundata Gloria

Flammis,
Quales confundant Aciem vel

maxime acutam, 80

Hue tendat propiore nimis quae

improvida Gressu.

XXVIII

Splendor dimanat talis Fulgoribus

istis,
Qualis pulveream sublimet in

ardua Molem,
Urna quae composta secus remaneret

inerti.

XXIX

Numinis ante Thronum Summi

provolvo meipsum,
Profluit unde Bonum quodvis ut ab

ubere Fonte :
Hoc Decus ut pandam faveat tua

Gratia Coeptis.

XXX

Magne Deus, sine Principio, tamen

omnis Origo,
Cujus Naturae tclam Manus inclyta

nevit ;
Una qui Virtute tua Loca singula

comples. 90

Canto VII] TheophUce Amoris Hostia

XXXI

Alme Parens rerum ; qui fulcis

quodque creatum,
Vitam Spiritibus qui prsebes, con-

tinuasque,
Ortus es ipse Tibi, Bonitatis Origo

supremae.

XXXII

Lsetitiae Summa es, cujus Sapientia

Abyssus,
Ad quodvis sese tendit tua vasta

Potestas,
Ac cunctos Facies reddet jucunda

beatos.

XXXIII

Aeris expansis puncto dilaberis

Alis,
Induis Augustse Te Majestatis

aniictu,
Te Nubes velant, Te stipant Agmina

Cceli.

XXXIV

Omnis Honoris Apex, Summge es
Fastigia Laudis, loo

Ad Radios late sparsos suffusa
Pudore

Hymnos decantat, coelestis Turma,
perennes.

XXXV

Gemmae quam superant vitrum !

quam Sidera Gemmas!
Sidera quam Phcebus! quam Phoe-

bum Gloria Coeli !
Purior ast ipsis longe est tua Visio

Coelis

XXXVI

Magna quidem Tellus, se profert

latius Aer,
Pianette excedunt, Stellarum Regia

major,
Supremi fines nee habent Tentoria

Coeli.

XXXVII

Mens mea dum Zelo conatur plura

referre
Fervidaprotenso,Pectus,DEUsalme,

repleto no

Igne novo, nullum languorem Car-

niina noscant.

( <^1 )

XXXVIII

Cum super Aerios tractus, & Sidera

Musae
Urgeo Progressus, uni Tibi mille

videntur
Sphserae, non secus ac atomi sub

Sole minuti.

XXXIX

Est ^tas seterna tibi seu clepsydra

tantum,
Immensumnisi sit Spatium complere

valet nil,
Cujus sex Verbis rerum Natura creata

est.

XL

Omnia complectens totius Fabrica

Coeli,
Cum Stellis rutilis, Verbo surgebat

ab uno,
Quomodb mortalis narret Sapientia

Nomen ? 120

XLI

^theris, Arbitrio, Crystalla micantia

volvis,
Illis consignat Virtus tua coelica

Metas,
Obliquos horum moderatur Dextera

Currus.

XLII

Nulte Te Zonae, Tropicive, Polive

retardent.
Cum sis Sphaeralis Motor Primarius

Orbis,
Intra, extra, supra, quin ultrk singula

perstans.

XLIII

Ingentes Pluviae atque Nivis susteii-

tat acervos
Omnipotens tua sola Manus, qua

nempe remota
Diluvium humanum perdat genus

omne secundum.

XLIV

Hisce ministratur stillatis Copia
Terris, 130

Et confisa Tibi mortalia Corda
replentur,

Flamina Ventorum peragunt tua
Jussa per Orbem ;

H h 2

Edward Benlowes

[Canto VII

XLV

H^ec Tu, quando voles, csecis in-

clusa cavernis
Constringis, validoque sinis pro-

rumpere motu,
Unde Tremore gravi Tellus concussa

dehiscit.

XLVI

Undarum furias Vinclis compescis

Arenae,
Oceani arcanum vasti scrutare Pro-

fundum,
Te memorem pacti monstrat Thau-

mantias Iris.

XLVII

Cardinibus Verbi Tellus innixa

potentis,
Aer quam cingit, nee non circum-

fluus Humor, 140

Ponderibus librata suis immobilis

astat.

XLVIII

Ejus sed Frontem Te corrugante

ColumncC
Firmatc-e trepidant, Fremitu Mare

Littora plangit,
Solvuntur Silicum Rupes, Montes-

que vacillant.

XLIX

Insuper intremuere Poli, Centrum-

que recussum
Terrae, quie Vultus perculsa Stupore

verendi,
Accedit Montem Sina dum summa

Potestas.

L

Imbutum Vita quodvis tua Cura

focillat,
Divinis Cursum cujusvis flectis

Habenis,
Gratia de Vultu, de Vultu Gloria

manat. 1 50

LI

Non Tibi sunt Aures, non sunt Tibi

Lumina, verimi
Percipis Auditu quodvis, & cernis

acute ;
Te Locus haud capiat, tamen Ipse

per Omnia prassens.
( 468 )

LII

Optica coelestis dicamus Specla

Pronoias,
Arcam, qua positas Idseas videris

omnes.
Ad quas conceptas formaveris Icona

quamvis.

LIII

Quippe prseexistunt sic hie Eventa

futura,
Sicut abhinc multo non tempore

gesta fuissent ;
Cernimus haud dissecta recens tarn

Corpora clare.

LIV

Totus ubique semel remanes, Tu
semper es idem, 160

Attamen Arbitrio commutas omnia
solo,

Tu complere remota soles Immo-
bilis Ipse.

LV

Sic interponunt se contingentia

Turmis
Sollerti Curae, quae mire cuncta

gubernat,
Ac modb prxteritum, sit prceteritum-

que futurum,

LVI

Arbitrio quamvis male sintconformia

quffidam.
Nil tamen omnino citra hoc procedat

in Actum ;
Praevia, successura simul manet una

Voluntas.

LVII

Te penes ingentis sunt Climata

dissita Mundi,
Quamvis nee Tellus, nee Temet

continet ^Ether, 170

Obscurum lustrat Praesentia quod-

libet antrum.

LVIII

Quamvis ab istis quas tu formaveris

olim
Mentibus, accedat nil ad Pr^econia

clara,
Attamen reternuni celebrabunt

munera Amoris.

Canto VII] TheophUce Amoris Hostia

LIX

Prseter Peccatum & Mortem tu

cuncta creasti,
Hsec sua Stultitiae humanas primor-

dia debent,
Illud Naturam conspersit Sordibus

omnem.

LX

Sed quo curares Peccati Vulnera,

Nobis
Donas Immanuel, sibi qui non

sumere nostram
Naturam renuit, qui non Praesepe

recusat. 180

LXI

O, dulcis noster Mediator ! Munera

cujus
Laudis seu rores, ^terno, matutini
Sunt celebrata Choro ccelesti Canti-

bus altis.

LXII

Concurrente, Deus, genuit Te

Flamine Sancto,
Tu Verbo teterno contentus sumere

Carnem ;
Qualiter emanas homini fas dicere

non est.

LXIII

Sicut ab .4^terno fuit Emanatio mira;
H^ec sic jEternum mire durabit in

aevum :
Principio Verbum, monstrat Te

cuncta prseisse.

LXIV

Unum est esse Tibi, parit^r Tu
trinus & unus ; 190

Et duplex Natura Tibi conspirat in
una,

Ipse trin-unius resides Deitatis
Honore ;

LXV

Deque tuo Radii Solio tot mille

refulgent,
Quales AligerOm nonpossintLumina

ferre ;
De quibus evolvunt Nil docta Noe-
i mata Cleri.

LXVI

-^tatum, pateat, Monumentalegendo
priorum,

(469)

Hasc sacra quod nuUus potuit

Mysteria nobis
Pandere, Virgineo prius ac sunt

edita Partu :

LXVII

Nido a Se structo fuit hie exclusa

Columba,
Ille Gregem partus fuit hie qui

protegat Agnus, 200

Se producentem, Flos, qui forma-

verat Agrum :

LXVIII

Agmine Coelicoliim Te Concele-

brante corusco ;
Pectora Pastorum subito trepidare

pavore ;
Te, monstrante Magi venerantur

Sydere Cursum.

LXIX

Cum sis divina mirandus Origine

tali,
Viliamortalis paten's ConvitiaGentis,
Irato ut possis nos conciliare

Parenti.

LXX

Laetus Honoris erat proprii tua

Gratia Prgeco,
Es tu dignatus sacratum Munus

obire,
Ast Aaronis eras solito de more

vocatus, 210

LXXI

Ac ut divino constarent singula

Verbo,
In te de superis descendit Spiritus

auris,
Lenes propter aquas Jordanes, teste

Johanne.

LXX 1 1

Hinc in Desertumperductus Flamine

sacro,
Daemonis appulsu tentatus, Codice

verum
Hunc superas Scripto, fluit unde

Redemptio nostra.
Protinus egressus.

LXXIII

Actus Sermones, Oracula mira
fuerunt,

Edward Ben low es

[Canto VII

Haec genuere Fidem, nee non

genuere Timorem,
Erectas Animas ad Te tollamus

utrisque. 220

LXXIV

Firmatum claudis gressum tribuisti,

Lumina Csecis,
Morbo languentes diro quocunque

levabas,
Defunctis Vitam, Mutis dederas-

que Loquelam.

LXXV

Defunctis Tu Vita, Salus mortalibus

gegris,
Tu caecis Lumen, Tu rerum copia

egenis,
Thesaurus furtum spernens, sincera

Voluptas.

LXXVI

Non ex hoc Mundo Regnum Tibi,
Rector Olympi,

Nuncia ApostoUco procedunt Pec-
tore laeta,

Ut tua sit totum Miseratio nota per
Orbem.

LXXVII

Mortuus ante Diem conspexit fidus

Abraham, 230

Vota tibi pariter nato solvebat Isaco,

Antitypum atque Typus, versare per

omnia vivus.

LXXVI 1 1

Est Evangelicus, Sapiens Academia,

Codex,
Justitiam vicit Clementia blanda

severam,
Sobrius ut Vitam ducebas, Fortis

obibas.

LXXIX

Es Tu, sacra Domus, Tu purum

Altare, Sacerdos,
Tu Vitse Panis, citra fastidia Festum,
Ex Escis ubi acuta novis exurgit

Orexis.

LXXX

MortaH natus mortaha Crimina

deles,
Victima grata foret Tibi quodvis

Pectus honestum, 240

( 470 )

Ob Genus humanum qui velles
fundere Vitam.

LXXXI

Non dedignatus, Crucis es tolerare

probrosae
Tormina, quo nobis concessus sit

Paradisus ;
Quo pia Sanctorum Solentur Gaudia

Mentes.

Lxxxn
Ferrea Tartarei diffringens Claustra

Tyranni,
Dira tenebrosi Phlegetontis Monstra

coerces :
Sic tua cunctaTibisubigebatDextera

victrix.

LXXXIII

Tu Virtute tua solvebas Vincula

Mortis,
Atque reviviscens superam contendis

in Arcem,
Inspirat Vitam Lsthatis Spiritus

Oris. 2co

LXXXIV

Te, Pater, electis ut signet Dona

Salutis
Spiritus Alme, dedit Nato (sic

- Trinus in Uno)
Sanctificas Omnes proprie, non solus
at Omnes.

LXXXV

Patris Amor, nee non Nati, coeleste

Sigillum,
Prgesidium Sanctis, felix Pietatis

Origo,
Alta salutiferje pandas Hysteria

Linguae.

LXXXVI

O Jubar immensum Radiis insigne

coruscis,
Omnis ab aspectu Sophi^e Radiatio

clara,
Non collata potest minui tua Copia

cunctis.

LXXXVII

Gaudia sunt Comites, Clementia,
Pacis Amorque; 260

Quorum pacatum perturbant nulla
Tenorem

Canto VII] TheophUcB Amoris Hostia

Tristia ; Quem Mundus, nee Mors,
nee destruat Orcus.

LXXXVIII

t'estum ex selectis quod constet

talibus Escis,
Qualiter baud acris possit consumere

Orexis,
Dives Odor quem non dispergat

Ventus in Auram :

LXXXIX

Lux Oculos fugiens, tamen Ipse per

Omnia splendes,
Tu Sonus es qualem non Musicus

explicet ullus,
Arctus es Amplexus, quem Tempora

nulla resolvant.
xc
Exinde irrefluo volvuntur Gaudia

Cursu,
Qualia inexhaustis soleas pnebere

Culullis, 270

Cordibus, a foeda Peccati Labe

rem Otis.

xci
Ecstaticum hoc Vinum quod tradit

Spiritus Almus,
Sidereum motas extoUit ad ^-Ethera

Mentes ;
Terrenis orbas Coeli Solatia mulcent.

XCII

O quam sacrati connectit Gluten

Amoris !
Ros fluit Ambrosise divino qualis

ab Ore !
Sunt tua qu0e solum faciunt Com-

mercia Caelum.

XCIII

Illustres Animse, succensae hoc

Lumine summo,
Quando tuos Vultus radiantes Luce

tuentur,
Quodque Decus reputant obscurae

Noctis adinstar. 280

xciv
Sublimis nostros superans Infusio

Sensus,

Tu stupor Eloquii Nomen mereare

profundi,
w^quet hyperbolicus quem nullus

Sermo superbus.

xcv
Sacrosancta Trias, complecteris

Omnia solum,
Exuperans quodcunque Bonum,

super Omnia Felix,
Nos haustura, tamen vivo hoc in

Fonte natamus :

XCVI

Imperio Rex magne tuo par nulla

Potestas,
Augusto cujus MajestasprovenitOre,
Pulchra es perpetui praecinctus

Veste Decoris.

XCVII

Justitia est Sceptrum, Solium mise-
ratio Mitis, 290

Regna perimmensos extendunt coe-
lica Tractus,

Gloria permansura, Tibi, per Secla
Corona.

XCVIII

Pax Intellectus tua quodvis praestat

Acumen,
Obsisti poterit tua vasta Potentia

frustra,
Numen es Ipse sacrum, Sacro

purgatius omni.

xcix
Ore fluit Verum, Sapientia Pectore

manat,
Ante tuam excubias agit Omni-

potentia Turrim,
Aligeri peragunt tua Jussa verenda

Ministri.

c
Perspicit Obtutu vel cuncta Scientia

primo,
Thesauro frueris per Te sine Fine

beato, 3CO

Tempus es Sternum ; Quae me

demergat Abyssus !

(47i)

Edward Be7iIowes

[Canto VII

Peroratlo Eucharistica

SUMMAS Tibi agit Grates, maxime
CoelorumPR/ESES,ceternumqueadoran-
dum Numen, Servus tuus humillimus,
quern post tot varias mundanarum
SoUicitudinum Procellas, vastosque
Curarum Fluctus, cum olim HoUan-
diam, Brabantiam, Artesiam, Germa-
niam, Austriam, Hungariam, Styriam,
Carinthiam, partem Italiae, nee non
Gallias incolumem in Patriam reduxisti.
Quam gratum enim mihi placidum,
post tot periculosas inter peregrinandum

Agitationes, Quietis Pacisque Interval-
lum, ut devots Legum tuarum Obser-
vationi totus exind^ vacem ! Tu,
benigne Deus, dulcissimum hoc mihi
Otium concedis, quo Tibi Soli prompto
Hbentique Animo inservire statui : sicut
per Te vivo, sic Tibi viverem, & quic-
quid a Gratii acceperim, in Honorem
refunderem ! Haec ergo Laudi &
Glorice solius sapientis &: immortalis
Dei submiss^ consecrentur ^

CONDITOR Omnipotens Ccelique
Solique ! supremum
Cujus ad Arbitrium cuncta creata
fluunt ;
Clement&r Finem lassis imponito
Rebus,
Nee plus terrenis Mens operosa
vacet :
Omnia solerter sub utroque jacentia
Phoebo [scio.

Perpendens, tandem non nisi vana
Ouk sese bifido Scaldis discriminat
Alveo
Vidi, Teque tua, Rhene palustris,
Aqua:
Non iter excelsae remoratas Nubibus
Alpes,
Queenecin aeriisNixsedetaltaJugis;
Vidimus oppositos vario sub Chmate
M ores ; 1 1

Vidimus innumeras quas vehit Ister
Aquas :
Diverso didici diversaldiomataTractu,
Qusque Observatu sunt bene digna,
scio :
GalHca Mobilitas, Fraus Itala, Fastus
Iberi,
Teutonica Ebrietas notafuerenimis.
Quamhbet in Partem Regina Pecunia
Mundum
Flectit, acerba Meum Bella Tuumque
gerunt.
Me conservanti per mille Pericula,
Grates
Qui possimmeritas solvere, Christe,
Tibi! 20

Cerno, detestans Vitium, lassusque
Tumultu,
Quod, non Vita, prior Vita, sed
Error erat.
Velle Meum, sitvelle Tuum, Regnator
Olympi !
Cui soli Grates Mens agit, egit, aget.
Si plures mihi Vita futura superstet
in Annos,
Huic sit juncta pia Sedulitate Fides !
Nam nil contulerim bene docto sanus
Amico,
Spiritus ut sano Corpore sanus agat.
Nosse, & amare Deum ; Promissis
credere Christi, 29

Consulere Afflictis, edocuisse Rudes,
Accumulare Bonis Inopes, succurrere
Lapsis,
Obnixfe Votis Ista petenda meis.
Vertam Bodleias, congesta Volumina,
Gazas,
Quae Vaticano proxima, Roma, tuo :
Nocturna versanda tamen, versanda
diurna,
Pras cunctis aliis Biblia Sacra Manu:
Undfe, ut Apis sese sustentat Nectare
Cellie ;
Sic vivam lectis Floribus hisce piis.
Talia fac, vives, Lector ; (2uicunque
beatus
Esse cupis, tali Vita sit actamodo. 40
Me Vitam, atque Necem tibi pro-
posuisse memento :
Elige siv6 velis vivere, sivc mori.

FINIS.

^ The reference to Benlowes' travels is interesting, though there seems to be
something lost after Gallix. Where was the country retreat so agreeably described in
the last cantos ? He must probably have got rid of Brent Hall by this time : but it may
be this. From the allusion to the Bodleian in the following lines he must already have
been thinking of establishing himself at Oxford.

(472 )

THE

SUMMARY

OF

W I S E D O M E.

BY

EDfFz^RD BENLOWES, Esq.

Love not the World ^ neither the things that are in the World ^ if any Man
love the World^ the love of the Father is not in him : For all that is
in the World ^ the Lust of the Eyes^ the Lust of the Fleshy and the Pride
of Lifey is not of the Father, but is of the World ^ and the World
passeth aivay^ and the Lust thereof But He that doeth the IVill of
God abideth for ever. I Joh. i. 15-, \6^ 17.

L 0 ND 0 N,

Printed for Humphry "J^losely., and are to be sold
at the 'Princes Arms in St. Vaiils Church-
yard, i<5y7.

Eclwa?^ci Beizlowes

THE SUMMARY OF WISDOM^

Love not the ivorld, neither the things that are in the world ; if any man love the world, the
love of the Father is not in him, Ct'c. i Joh. ii. 15, 16, 17.

Worldlings we court not, envy not,
nor fear ;
May friends to virtue lend their
ear :
While sinners split on shelves, saints
to Heav'n's harbour steer.
II
Earthlings ! what 's heap of wealth ?
what 's Honour's height ?
What 's Pleasure's May ? can toys
so slight
Bless Heav'n-descended souls with
life's eternal light?
Ill
Riches from most men, swift as
eagles, fly ;
Honours on popular breath rely ;
Pleasure 's a flash ; — and All com-
bin'd, but Vanity.

IV

Why dot'st thou. World, on these ?

we will not stay : 10

Juggler, we know thy tempting

way;
Which is, by charms to mock our

sense, and then betray.

V

Art toils to serve thee ; sables yield

their skins ;
The silkworm for thy wardrobe

spins ;
The rock with gems, the sea with

pearls, emboss thy sins.

VI

To bribe thy palate. Lust drains
earth, air, seas ;

Whence finny, wing'd, hoof'd
droves must please
The glutton, made thereby a spittle
of each disease.

VII

False World, asp's poison equals not

thy gall,
Embittering souls to Hell. Thus

all 20

Thy darlings thou delud'st with thy

enchanting call.

VIII

I wonder not unbridled fools run

on ;
Since all their Heav'n 's on earth

alone ;
Which, though thou seem'st to give,

as soon as giv'n, 'tis gone.

IX

Kiss, and betray, then Nero's rage

outdare ;
He, whom thou hugg'st, should

most beware :
I shall unmask thy guiles, and thy

fond gulls unsnare.

X

Thy smile is but a trap, thy frown a

bubble,
Thy praise a squib, thy beauty

stubble ;
Who know thee best, have found a

theatre of trouble : 30

XI

Where men and devils meet ; and
sense, compact
With fraud, gild every vicious
fact:

' As has been noted in Introduction, and as carofull (or even careless) readers of
Theophila will notice at once, this piece is a sort of cento of Thcophila itself. But the
mosaic is a curious one, the constituent pieces are sometimes slightly altered, and,
vinless I mistake, there are new links and patches. At any rate, as extremely rare
and as a sort of authentic abridgement, it seemed worth giving.

( 474)

The Summary of Wisdom

Where we must evil hear, or suffer
it, or act.

XII

Thy friends are thieves of Time ;

The chat they vent
(Light airs please toyish ears) is

spent
On trash, which minds seduce with

cheating blandishment.

XIII

Thy gifted scythemen have Religion

mown.
Which, in their meeting-barns,

is grown
From best to all (like Corinth's

schism) from all, to none.

XIV

Thy shop vents braided ware of
apish fashion ; 40

Thy gauds (Wealth, Sport, Pride)
breed vexation ;

Like hautboys, on Earth's stage, oft
ushering in — damnation.

XV

Ah, while, like larks, fools with vain

feathers play,
Pleas'd with Sin's glass, are

snatch'd away.
In midst of their excess, to Hell's

tormenting bay !

XVI

World, thou soul-wracking ocean !
Flatteries blow

Thee up, thou blue with spite
dost grow,
Brinish with lust, like the Red-Sea
with blood, dost flow.

XVII

And, like the Basilisk's prodigious

eyes.
Thy first sight kills, but thyself

dies 50

First seen : quick-sighted Faith thy

darts prevents, and spies.

XVI 1 1

Hadst been less cruel, thou hadst

been less kind ;
Thy gall, prov'd medicine, heals

my mind :
Thus Hell may help to Heav'n, the

Fiend a soul befriend.

XIX

The age-bow'd earth groans under

sinners' weight !
Justice, oppress'd, to Heav'n takes

flight.
Vengeance her place supplies, which

with keen edge will smite.

XX

False World ! is Hell the legacy to

thy friend ?
Crawl with thy trifles to the

Fiend :
We scorn thy pack, — this year may

burning close thy end. 60

For all that is in the world, the lust of the eyes, is not of the Father, but is of the
world, C/c.

Misgotten elf, thou Heav'n-designed
souls dost sink !

XXIII

Whose gain is godliness, — the scrip-
ture he
Perverts : days him with interest see,
Who incest still commits with his

XXI

Midas, to th' bar ; thou void of

grace, yet stor'd
With gold, thy minted god, ador'd :
Thou, and thine idol, perish in thy

wretched hoard.

XXII

Thy heart is lock'd up in thy shrined
chink :
Oh, heavy gold, bred near Hell's
brink !

coins progeny.

XXIV

Thou hast too much, yet still thou
whin'st for more ; 70

39 like Corinth's schism] This may serve, once for all, as an instance of the altera-
tions noteworthy here and justifying the reprint. These words do not appear in the
line as given and annotated above at Canto xii. st. vii. 1. 21 of Theophila.

(475)

Edward -Benlowes

Thou, wishing, want'st ; art, want-
ing, poor :
Thou wouldst ev'n plunder Hell for
cash to cram thy store.

XXV

While gripes of famine mutiny with-
in,
And tan, like hides, the shrivell'd
skin

Of those thou hast decoy'd into thy
tangling gin.

XXVI

Whose skin, sear as the bark of sap-
less wood.
Clings to their bones, for want of
food ;

Friendless, as are sea-monsters
thrown ashore by th' flood.

XXVII

Though fasts be all their physic,

their corpse all
Their earth, who for thy pity

call, 80

Yet art thou harder to them than

their bed, the stall.

XXVIII

' Penurious churl, when shall I '

(says thine heir)
' Ransack thy chests ? so ease thy

care :
Purchase, instead of ground, a

grave ! — Die, wretch, to spare !

XXIX

' Hath treach'rous coin swell'd by
thy curse ? — Live still
Lay-Elder : soon thy crimes ful-
fil: '

The heaviest curse on this side
Hell 's to thrive in ill.

XXX

How cursed Love of Money doth

bewitch
The leprous Mind with pleasing

itch!
This slave to his own servant, ne'er

was poor, till rich ! 90

XXXI

Graves may be sooner cloy'd, than
craving eyes :

(476)

Bribes blanch Gehazi till he dies.
' Thou fool, Death shall this night
thy dunghill soul surprise.'

XXXII

Nor would this city-wolf lead men to

snares,
Nor vex his mind with carking

cares,
View'd he himself i' th' mirror which

Despair prepares.

XXXIII

So wasteful, usurer, as thyself,

there 's none ;
Who part'st with three true gems,

for one
Brittle as glass ; — thy fame, rest,

soul for ever gone !

XXXIV

Who nettles sow, shall prickles reap ;

the train 100

To Hell is idolized gain :
Unless thou fiends canst bribe, thou

go'st to endless pain !

XXXV

His hidebound conscience opens

now. — ' Lve run
On rocks ' (he howls) ' too late to

shun !
Grace left, Wrath seiz'd me ! Gold,

my god, hath me undone !

XXXVI

' Often to Hell in dreams I head-
long fall !
From devils then I seem to crawl,

While furies round about with
whips my soul appal !

XXXVII

' Atheism our root, for boughs were
Faction's store.
Hypocrisy our leaves gilt o'er, no
Wrath, Treachery, and Extortion,
were the fruit we bore.

XXXVIII

' Like profane Esau have we sold

our bliss.
For shine of pelf, that nothing is !
This desperates our rage, we still

blaspheme at this ! '

The Summary of Wisdom

XXXIX

Thus cursed gripers restless tortures

feel,
Whose hearts seem'd rocks, whose

bowels steel.
' I burn ' (cries Dives) 'for one drop,

denied, I kneel !

XL

' Fire each where broils me, fire as

black as night !
Goblins mine eyes, ears shrieks

affright ! '
Sin's debt still paying, ne'er dis-

charg'd, is infinite ! 120

For all that is in the world, the lust of the fleshy is not of the Father, but is of the

world, ifc.

XLI

Strow flowers for spendthrift ; Ante-
masks he might
Act before Apes, Spectators
right :

Whose dops, shrugs, puppet-plays,
show best by candlelight.

XLII

Hot shows the season by his dusty
head;
With fancied ribbons round be-
spread ;

Modish, and maddish, all untruss'd,
as going to bed.

XLIII

' Ho ! First brisk wine, next let a

sparkling dame
Fire our high blood, then quench

our flame !
Blest is the son, whose father 's gone

i' th' Devil's Name.

XLIV

' Each pottle breeds a ruby, drawer,
score 'um : 130

Cheeks dyed in claret, seem o' th'
quorum,

When our Nose-Carbuncles, like
linkboySj blaze before 'um.'

XLV

Complete thy funeral-pile ; shouldst

thou mark well
How down the drunkard's throat

to Hell
Death smoothly glides ; to swim so

sadly would thee quell !

XLVI

Spawns of Excess, dropsies and

surfeits are ;
From tenants' sweat 's thy bill of

fare :
Each glutton digs with 's teeth his

grave, whose maw's his care.

XLVI I

He's sick, and staggers. Doctor,
his case state us,
' His Cachexy results from flatus
Hypochondruncicus, ex crapulacrea-

tUS.' 141

XLVIII

Scarce well, he swills what should

the needy store ;
And grinds between his teeth

the poor,
Who beg dry crumbs, which they

with tears would moisten o'er.

XLIX

He a sharp reck'ning shall, with

Dives, pay ;
Whose feasts did hasten his

audit-day ;
Death brought the voider, and the

Devil took away !

L

Enter his courtesan, who fans his fire;

Her prattling eyes teach loose

desire :

Fondlings to catch this art-fair fly,

like trouts aspire. 150

LI

With paint, false hair, and naked
breasts she jets

121 Strow flowers, &c.] Another change ; see xi. vi. 16. But it is not necessary to
note all.

141 Hypochondruncicus! Here, as noticed above, some timid person has crossed out
the right word in the B. M. copy of the Summary and substituted hypocliondxi&cus.

(477 )

Edward Be^tlowes

And patches (Lust's new lime-
twigs) sets ;
Like tickets on the door, herself (for
gold) she lets.

LII

Her basilisk-like glances taint the air

Of virgin-modesty, and snare
His tangling thoughts in trammels
of her ambush-hair.

LIII

With her profusely he misspends

his days
In balls, and dances, treatments,

plays ;
And in his bosom this close-biting

serpent lays.

LIV

Death, after sickness, seize this
Helen must ; 160

Whose radiant eyes, now orbs of
lust.

Shall sink, as falling stars, which,
jellied, turn to dust.

LV

How wildly shows corrupted Nature's

face,
Till deck'd by Reason, Learning,

Grace !
Without which politure the noblest

stem is base !

LVI

Fools rifle out Time's lottery : who
misspend

For all that is m the world, the pride of life,
and the world passeth away, and the lusts

LXI

Usher Aspiro in wi th 's looms of state.
To weave Fraud's web, and his

own fate ;
Who, mounted up, throws down the

steps him rais'd of late.

LXII

His posture is ambiguous, his pace

Is stately high, who thinks it Grace^
If he casts forth a word, and deigns
but half a face :

LXIII

Nor minds he what he speaks ; for
by false light,

( 4:8 )

The soul's rich joys, ahve de-
scend.
And antedate with stings their never-
ending end !

LVII

Thy acts outsin the Devil; who's
ne'er soil'd
With gluttony or lust, ne'er
foil'd 170

By drink; nor in the net of sloth-
fulness entoil'd.

LVIII

Therefore in time beware ; let not

sin-charms
Bewitch thee, till Wrath cries to

arms.
Sin's first face smiles, her second

frowns, her third alarms.

LIX

How blind mad sinners are when

they transgress !
All woes are, than such blindness,

less !
That wretch most wretched is who

slights his wretchedness !

LX

When Death shall quench thy flames,

and fiends thee seize.
In brimstone-torrents, without

ease,
Thou'lt broil midst blackest fires, and

roar midst burning seas ! 180

is not of the Father, but is of the world ;
thereof, C/c.

Like to his faith, he thrives ; whose
sight.
Clouded with jealousy, can never
judge aright.

LXIV

By dubious answers he is wont to

guess 190

At men's dislikes; and fears no less

Feign'd quips, than just reproofs :
fear haunts him in each dress.

LXV

Ambition prompts to precipices steep,
Which Envy gets, and Hate doth
keep ;

1

The Summary of Wisdofn

His daily thoughts of climbing break
his nightly sleep.

LXVI

Could he with 's foot spurn empires

into air,
And sit i' th' universal chair
Of state ; were pageants made for

him, as the World's Mayor ;

LXVII

Those fond disguisements could not

long him fence,
But crosses still would vex his

sense, 200

And leave him blest but in the

preterperfect tense.

LXVIII

Ev'n that at which Pride's tow'ring

project flies,
If gain'd obliquely, sinks, and

dies :
Earth's potentates ! great aims, plots,

fears makes tragedies.

LXIX

Achitophel and Absalon prove this,
(Who of their plots, not plagues

did miss)
To Macchiavels : ' That ill worst to

the plotter is.'

LXX

Pompey and Caesar so ambitious

grow,
A battle must be fought to show
Which of those cocks o' th' game

o'er Rome at last should crow.

LXXI

The world, as great — Cham, Turk,
Mogul upcries, 211

Tuscan's Great Duke (all, no
great prize).

Great Alexander: — the Nine Worthy
ironies.

LXXII

Ev'n sceptres reel like reeds : who

had no bound.
Is bounded in six foot of ground ;
' Here lies the Great '■ — thou li'st,

here but his dust is found.

LXXIII

Who lately svvell'd to be his lord-
ship's slave,
May trample now upon his grave,

That levels all. Best lectures dust-
seal'd pulpits have.

LXXIV

Where's now the Assyrian lion?
Persian bear? 220

Greek leopard? Rome's spread-
eagle where ?

Where now fani'd Troy, that did in
old time domineer?

LXXV

Troy 's gone, yet Simois stays. See

Fate's strange play !
That which was fix'd, is fled away ;
And what was ever sliding, that doth

only stay !

LXXVI

Therefore, why gap'st thou thus for

shadows ? who
Neglected lets the substance go.
Led by false hope, he makes sad

end in endless woe !

LXXVII

The Mighty mighty torments shall

endure.
If impious : Hell admits no cure:
Ambition 's never safe, though often

too secure. 231

LXXVIII

If Pride on wing could reach the

stars ; yet shall.
Like Lucifer, its carcass fall :
Pride mounted Babel's tower, and

arched Satan's hall.

LXXIX

In centre of the terrible abyss.

Remotest from supernal bliss.
That hapless, hopeless, easeless,
endless dungeon is !

LXXX

Where nought is heard, but yelling!

' Oh, that I
Might once more live ! or once

more die ! '
Cursing his woes, he wooes God's

curse eternally

240

( 479 )

Edward Benlowes

Put he that doeth the will of God, ahideth
Lord, teach us so to number our days, that

LXXXI

Lust brings forth Sin ; Sin shame ;

Shame cries, ' Repent ; '
Repentance weeps ; tears Prayer

do vent ;
Prayer brings down Grace ; Grace

Faith ; Faith Love ; Love Zeal

upsent.

LXXXII

Who fears God, is, without despon-
dence, sad ;
Timorous, without despair ; and
glad.

Without wild freaks : whereas the
World 's knave, fool, or mad.

LXXXIII

Part should the world what are in

man combin'd ;
The body melts to be refin'd ;
Grace cheers the suffering, Glory

crowns the conquering mind.

LXXXIV

Nor chance, change, fraud, nor
force, the just man fright, 250
In greatest pressures he stands
right ;

Ever the same (while Sloth feels
want. Ambition spite).

LXXXV

From costly bills of greedy empirics

free ;
From plea of Ambidexter's fee ;
From hypocritic schism of kirkish

tyranny.

LXXXVI

He with observance honours Virtue's

friends ;
And to their faithful counsel

bends ;
But not on empty forms of worldly

gauds depends.

LXXXVII

In praising God, above the stars he
climbs ;
And pitying courts, with all their

(480)

for ever.

we may apply our hearts unto wisdom.

And fawns, and frowns, dares to be
good in worst of times.

LXXXVI 1 1

Joy, little world, spite of the greater,

blest ;
Scanted abroad, within dost feast,
Hast Christ Himself for cates.

The Holy Ghost for guest.

LXXXIX

Thou walk'st in groves of myrrh,

with Christ thy guide
(The best of friends that e'er was

tried).
By thee in vale of tears spiritual

joy 's descried.

xc
Knew but the World what glorious
joys still move
In Faith's bright orb, 'twould
soar above
All sense, and centre in the point of
heav'nly love ! 270

xci

Oh, Love's high'st height ! Thou i

art the wise man's bliss ! |

T' enjoy thee 's Heav'n, Hell thee

too miss !

The Earth, yea, Heav'n hath its

beatitude from this !

XCII

No Christian kings win by each

other's loss ;
What one gets by retail, in gross
All lose ; while still the Crescent

gains upon the Cross.

XCIII

As children fight for toys ; so kings

for clods :
Heav'n's heir's more great, and

rich by odds :
For All is his, and he is Christ's,

and Christ is God's.

XCIV

No bank on earth such sums of
wealth can lend, 280

The Summary of Wisdom

As saints, who on Heav'n's grace
depend ;
God's Word their law, His Spirit
their guide, the Lamb their
friend.

xcv
But, what 's vain man ? what his
earth-crawling race ?
That God should such a shadow
grace.
And him eternally in Glory's region
place ?

xcvi
No surfeits' maw-worm's there, no
itch of Lust,
No tympany of Pride, no rust
Of Envy, no Wrath's spleen, nor
Obduration's crust.

XCVII

But, there, though Bliss exceeds, it
never cloys ;
for, sweet Fruition's feast em-
ploys 290

Still new desire ; where none can
count his least of joys !

XCVIII

The soul there (throwing off her

rags of clay.
Laid in Earth's wardrobe, till last

day)
Ever triumphs in every beatific ray.

XCIX

There, each saint doth an endless

kingdom own !
There each king hath a starry

crown !
Each sceptre there o'erpowers the

world, and Devil's frown !

c

None blest, but he who finds the
Judge his friend.
When the last trump shall sum-
mons send ! 299

The End doth crown, the Work, may
Jesus crown The End.

(481)

I 1

Edward Be7ilowes

A POETIC DESCANT
UPON A PRIVATE MUSIC-MEETING^

Muse ! Rise, and plume thy feet,
and let 's converse
This morn together : let 's re-
hearse
Last evening's sweets ; and run one
heat in full-speed verse.
II
Prank not thyself in metaphors ;
but pound
Thy ranging tropes, that they
may sound
Nothing but what our Paradise did
then surround.
Ill
Thron'd first Parthenian heav'n-bred
beauties were
Near crystal casements' Eastern
sphere ;
AVho like to Venus sparkled, yet
more chaste than fair.

IV

'Mongst which, one radiant star so
largely shone, lo

She seem'd a constellation ;
Her front 'bove lily-white, cheek
'bove rose-red, full blown,
v
Yet be not planet-struck, like some
that gaze
Too eagerly on Beauty's blaze ;
There 's none like thine, dear Muse!
theirs are but meteor-rays.

VI

Suitors to idols offer idle suits.
Which hold their presence more

recruits
Their broken hopes, than viols,

pedals, organs, lutes.

VII

But, whist ! The masculine sweet

planets met.
Their instruments in tune have

set, 20

And now begin to ransack Music's

cabinet.

VIII

Sol ! Thou pure fountain of this

streaming Noise !
Patron of Sweetness ! Soul of

Joys !
How were we ravish'd with thy viol's

warbling voice !

IX

Thy nectar-dropping joints so
played their part.
They forced the fibres of our
heart

To dance : thy bow's swift light-
ning made the tears [to ?] start.

X

Thou didst ev'n saw the grumbling

catlines still.
And tortured'st the base, until
His roaring diapasons did the whole

room fill. 30

XI

Luna the pedal richly did adorn ;
If 'twixt the cedar and the
thorn
There 's ought harmonious, 'twas
from this sweet fir-tree born.

XII

As Philomel, Night's minstrel, jugs

her tides
Of rolling melody ; she rides
On surges down to th' deep ; and,

when she lifts, up glides. i

' This is taken from the B. M. copy f669 f. 15. 2"^, a single sheet not noted in Hazlitt's
Hand-book. It is extremely characteristic, and perhaps as good an average example of
Benlowcs as could be given. If never at his very best in it, he is nowhere near his worst.

(482)

A Poetic Descant

XIII

Jove cataracts of liquid gold did

pour,
More precious than his Danae's

show'r ;
From pedal-drops to organ-deluge

swell'd the stour.

XIV

Mars twang'd a violin (his fierce
drums for fight 40

Turn'd to brisk Almans) with
what sprite

His treble shrill'd forth marches,
which he strain'd to the height !

XV

His active bow, arm'd with a war-
like tone,
Rallied his troops of strings, as
one.

Which volleys gave i' th' chase of
swift division.

XVI

So the Pelean youth was vanquish'd
still
By his renown'd musician's skill.
Which could disarm, and arm the
conqueror at will.

XVII

Last Mercury with ravishing strains

fell on,
Whose violin seem'd the chymic-

stone, 50

For every melting touch was pure

projection.

XVIII

Chair'd midst the spheres of
Music's Heav'n, I hear,
I gaze ; charm'd all to eye and
ear ;

Both which, with objects too intense,
even martyr'd were.

XIX

Th' excess of fairs, distill'd through
sweets, did woo

My wav'ring soul, maz'd what to
do.
Or to quit eyes for ears, or ears
for eyes forgo.

XX

Giddy i' th' change which sex to

crown with praise ;
Time swore he never was with

lays
More sweetly spent ; nor Beauty

ever beam'd such rays. 60

XXI

'Twixt these extremes mine eyes

and ears did stray.
And sure it was no time to pray ;
The Deities themselves then being

all at play.

XXII

The fuU-throng'd room its ruin

quite defies :
Nor fairs, nor airs are pond'rous ;

skies
Do scorn to shrink, though pil'd with

stars and harmonies.

XXIII

Form, Beauty, Sweetness, all did
here conspire,
Combin'd in one Celestial Quire,
To charm the enthusiastic soul
with enthean fire :

XXIV

These buoy up care-sunk thoughts ;

their power endues 70

A castril brain with eagle-muse :
When Saints would highest soar

they Music['s] pinions use.

XXV

Music ! thy med'cines can our
griefs allay,
And re-inspire our lumpish clay :
Muse ! Thou transcend'st ; Thou
without instruments canst play.

BLANDULIS LONGUM VALE CANTI-
LENIS.

39 stour] 'Assault,' 'din,' A favourite word of Spenser's.
41 Almans] German marches. ' Sprite' = ' sprightliness.'

71 castrilj 'Kestrel,' &c., an ill-bred hawk.

(483)

I 1 2

POEM

By the moft defervedly Admired

M^^ Katherine Philips,

The N^Iatchlefsr

J 7 2//.

O R I N D A.

To which is added

POMPEY]

& ^TRAGEDIES.

HORACEJ

With feveral other Ttanflations out of

Printed by 7*. N. for Henry Herringman at the Sign of

the Blsw Anchor in the Lower Wall{^ of the

NfK> Exchange. 1^78.

INTRODUCTION
TO KATHERINE PHILIPS

The Poems of ' the matchless Orinda * ' are better suited to stand
the test on which Joe Gargery apologized for his indulgence at the
public house than that on which William Taylor of Norwich judged
poetry and was laughed at by Carlyle for judging it. They ' do
not over-stimilate ' : on the division of ' Quotidian and Stimulant '
they approach nearer to the former than to the latter. But this is no
reason for excluding them from such a collection as this, where some at
least of the constituents are rather too much than too little heady. And
even if it deserved consideration there are many things on the other
side to overrule it. Mrs. Philips as a poetess has been much more talked of
than read, a state of things which it is one of the primary duties of editors
to combat or cure ; the references to her, from Dryden downwards, are
more than sufficient vouchers for her reintroduction ; and her intrinsic
interest, though mild, is by no means insignificant. It is an obvious fancy,
but neither too obvious nor too fanciful, to compare the attraction of her
verse to that of the large portrait-bust which serves as frontispiece to the

^ She was born on New Year's Day, 1631, the daughter of John Fowler, a merchant
of Bucklersbury in the City of London ; and educated at one of the famous Hackney
boarding-schools, which, however, she must have left full twenty years before the
unhallowed eyes of Samuel Pepys gloated over ' the young ladies of the schools,
whereof there is great store, very pretty' on Sunday, April 21st, 1667. John Fowler
dying, his widow married a Welshman, Hector Philips of Forth Eynon, whose son, by
his first wife, Katherine herself married in 1647. The. Dictiottary of Natio>ial Biography
assigns to her a son (named after his grandfather Hector, and living but forty days) in
the year of her marriage. But she expressly says in his epitaph

Twice forty jnonths of zvedlock did 1 stay,
Then had my vows crowned by a lovely boy.

She had, however, another child, a daughter christened after herself, who was born in
1656, and lived to be married. ' Orinda' began her appearance as a poetess with verses
on Vaughan's poems in 1651 : and soon attained a considerable (coterie and other)
reputation. In 1662 she went to Dublin and had her version of Corneille's Ponipey
performed there. She died of small-pox in Fleet Street, London, on June 22, 1664,
iiaving been vexed a little earlier by an unauthorized issue of her Poems. (This
irritation though excusable, was a little unreasonable, for the delinquent book is
a prettier volume than the authorized version, and the variants are neither many nor
important.) A further unfinished version of Horace was completed by Denhain, but
neither of these falls within our scope. The Poems were collected and published in 1667,
and more than once reprinted, without any substantive changes as far as I have noticed.
The principal modern treatment of her is in Mr. i^osscs Sevcnteentli-century Studies, and
there is a selection, with Introduction by Miss Guiney, in The Orinda Booklets. J. R.
Tutin, 1904.

(486)

I

hitroductioit

folio edition of her poems, and which is delicately apologized for as 'a poor
paper shadow of a statue made after a portrait not very like her.' In this
portrait the features are too much accentuated and the expression hardened
and vulgarized a little by adherence to fashion, and supposed proportion,
and the like : but there is still an aura of possible charm about it \ The
Poems of Orinda are studiously adjusted to Romantic-Platonic ideas of
friendship, studiously artificial, studiously 'proper.' But there is more
than a suggestion that not merely must ' Rosania ' and ' Lucasia ' and the
rest have possessed and lost a friend worth having, but that ' my Antenor '
(less romantically Mr. Philips,) was by more than convention a fortunate
man in his marriage, and an unlucky one in his widower-hood.

Part of the interest and value of Orinda's poems for us lie in the way in
which they exhibit the settling down of poetry to its more prosaic kinds
and expressions about the period of the Restoration : and it is very curious
that another poetess, born just after Orinda's death, shows us in like manner
the rise from this. Katherine Philips and Lady Winchelsea cover in their
lives ten years short of a century, for the elder was still young and the
younger not yet old when she died. But between them they give us the
curve almost complete. Orinda in such a poem as ' The Soul ' shows us
the insolent and passionate Elizabethan poetry still trying to soar, but with
flagging wings and in a too rare atmosphere ; Ardelia's ' Nocturnal Reverie '
shows us the recovery of the way to the empyrean by a diligent and loving
attention to the things of terrestrial nature.

The greatest danger for a modern reader of Katherine Philips is of
course the associations of the Precieuse School, with Rosania and Lucasia
and their little harmless plays at being each a Sappho non doctior sedpudica
(to vary the epigrammatist). But one fashion is very much like another ;
seldom much more absurd, almost always as well worth understanding.
In England, as in France, there was undoubtedly a good deal of roughness
and coarseness to be worn off and cleansed away, and Mrs. Philips
and her friends, though Addison was to give their successors a little of
his milder satire, were practically doing Addison's work before he himself
was born. And the whole thing is a sort of ' side-show ' to the Heroic
entertainment which is one of the main things that our time has to
provide. It does not appear that 'Antenor' objected, or that he had any
reason to object; indeed he seems to have played his part with all the mix-
ture of gravity and zeal that could have been required in the Hotel de
Rambouillet itself, and no doubt regarded his gifted spouse as more ingenious
if less in quality than even 'Julie.'

To come to details, her couplet verses are rarely very good, and she

^ This is, perhaps not quite fancifully, brought out in a mezzotint by Beckett, inserted
by some one in the B. M. copy of the 1678 ed., a really attractive face, and with character
in it. Beckett's work is mostly dated about twenty years after Orinda's death. Another
later portrait in the same copy is prettified, but mawkish.

(487)

Kathertne Philips

seldom anticipates, as Chamberlayne and others do after Fairfax, the
clench and grip of her contemporary Dryden. But she has retained
something of the mysterious charm of earlier Caroline poetry in the
shorter and intertwisted measures. For instance, quite early in

Come, my Lucasia, since we see

the quintet, though it has no extraordinary poetical ideas or images
to carry, carries its actual burden with something of the strange throb
and pulse of pace which we find in the greatest things of Marvell. The
next poem is far less effectual, but why ? because the couplet added to the
quatrain in its six-line arrangement is infinitely less effective than the single
line. She is again at home in the simpler octosyllabic quatrain

Come, my Ardelia, to this bower

and hardly less (though she cannot approach the best things of the time)
in that unique form of the ' common measure ' which that time invented,
and which makes one wonder how it can possibly be the same in mere
mathematical respects with the jogtrot of Delony or Sternhold.

I did not love until this time

Crowned my felicity.
When I could say without a crime

I am not thine but thee.

How did Donne or Jonson {for it was apparently one or the other) discover
this ineffable cadence ? How did they manage to teach it to (all but) all
and sundry, for half a century ? How did it get utterly lost ? and how
has it been only occasionally and uncertainly recovered ? But these are
questions, themselves 'begottenof Despair upon Impossibility' yet delightfully
suggested by such matter as that which we here collect for study.

Of less strange piquancy, but too good to be left inaccessible, are the
' Lines to Regina Collier on her cruelty to Philaster.' ' Regina,' it may be
observed, appears to have been a real name and not of the Orinda kind.
Those to Rosania herself

As men that are with visions graced

apply the spell once more. *A Prayer' is fine; but somehow Orinda is
always more at home with her Sapphic-Platonics as in 'To Mrs. M. A.
[Mary Aubrey] at Parting ' :

I have examined and do find

Of all that favour me,
There 's none I grieve to leave behind

But only, only thee.

Once more the commonest of commonplaces in sentiment, the most
ordinary — almost to the Wordsworthian paradox-level — of words : yet of
cadence ineffable, and such that Keats found it, and knew it. ' The
Enquiry,' 'To My Lucasia' and others, are hardly inferior. She was less happy
(488)

hitroduction

at the ode ; but she could often manage song-measures featly enough ; as,
for instance, in

How prodigious is my fate
which does not ill deserve a place in the too little known anthology of
Second-Caroline songs. * The Parting of Lucasia, Rosania and Orinda at
a fountain' (which the sensible Platonics mitigated with Bacchus) is not
contemptible : and the epitaph on her own infant son is not the worst of the
school of Jonson.

Nor will the reader who really cares for poetry fail to find other things
in the Matchless Orinda which will please him ; nor would she have been
very sorry not to please the reader who does not so care.

(489)

THE PREFACE

When the false Edition of these
Poems stole into the light, a friend of that
incomparable Lady's that made them,
knowing how averse she was to be in
Print, and therefore being sure that it
was absolutely against her consent, as
he believed it utterly without her know-
ledge, (she being then in Wales, above
1 50 miles from this town) went presently
both to the Gentleman, who licens'd it
upon the stationer's averment that he
had her leave, and to the stationer
himself for whom it was printed, and
took the best course he could with
both to get it suppress'd, as it presently
was (though afterward many of the
books were privately sold) and gave
her an account, by the next post, of
what he had done. A while after he
received this answer, which you have
here (taken from her own hand) under
that disguised name she had given
him, it being her custom to use such
with most of her particular friends.

Worthy Poliarchus,
It is very well that you chid me
so much for endeavouring to express
a part of the sense I have of your
obligations ; for while you go on in
conferring them beyond all possibility
of acknowledgement, it is convenient
for me to be forbidden to attempt it.
Your last generous concern for me,
in vindicating me from the unworthy
usage I have received at London from
the press, doth as much transcend
all your former favours \ as the injury
done me by that Publisher and Printer
exceeds all the troubles that I re-
member I ever had. All I can say
to you for it, is, that though you assist'*
an unhappy, it is yet a very innocent
person, and that it is impossible for
malice itself to have printed those
Rimes ^ (you tell me are gotten abroad
so impudently) with so much abuse
to the things, as the very publication

Orig. usually the ' or ' form.

of them at all, though they had been
never so correct, had been to me ;
to me (Sir) who never writ any line
in my life with an intention to have
it printed, and who am of my Lord
Falkland's mind, that said,

He danger fear'd than censure less,
Nor could he dread a breach like to a
Press.

And who (I think you know) am
sufficiently distrustful of all, that my
own want of company and better
employment, or others' commands
have seduc'd me to write, to endea-
vour rather that they should never
be seen at all, than that they should
be expos'd to the world with such
effronters^ as now they most unhappily
are. But is there no retreat from the
malice of this World ? I thought a
rock and a mountain might have
hidden me, and that it had been free
for all to spend their solitude in what
Reveries ^ they please, and that our rivers
(though they are babbling) would not
have betray'd the follies of impertinent
thoughts upon their banks ; but 'tis
only 1 who am that unfortunate person
that cannot so much as think in private,
that must have my imaginations rifled
and exposed to play the mountebanks,
and dance upon the ropes to enter-
tain all the rabble ; to undergo all the
raillery of the Wits, and all the severity
of the Wise ; and to be the sport of
some that can, and some that cannot
read a verse. This is a most cruel
accident, and hath made so propor-
tionate an impression upon me, that
really it hath cost me a sharp fit of
sickness since I heard it ; and I be-
lieve would be more fatal but that
I know what a Champion 1 have in
you, and that I am sure your credit
in the World will gain me a belief
from all that are knowing and civil,
that I am so innocent of that wretched

" I substitute ' assist ' for ' assert.'

' I think it fair to keep this spelling, more especially because I think it the wrong one,
* effrontery ? ^ Orig. Resveires.

( 490 )

Preface

artifice of a secret consent (of which
I am, I fear, suspected) that whoever
would have brought me those copies
corrected and amended, and a thou-
sand pounds to have bought my per-
mission for their being printed, should
not have obtained it. But though
there are many things, I believe, in
this wicked impression of those fancies,
which the ignorance of what occasion'd
them, and the falseness of the copies
may represent very ridiculous and
extravagant, yet I could give some
account of them to the severest Cato,
and I am sure they must be more
abus'd than I think is possible (for
I have not seen the Book, nor can
imagine what 's in 't) before they can
be render'd otherwise than Sir Edward
Bering says in his Epilogue to Pompey,

No bolder thought can tax

Those Rimes of blemish to the blush-
ing Sex,

As chaste the lines, as harmless is the
sense,

As the first smiles of infant innocence.

So that J hope there will be no need
of justifying them to Virtue and Hon-
our; and 1 am so little concern'd for
the reputation of writing sense, that,
provided the World would believe me
innocent of any manner of knowledge,
much less connivance at this publica-
tion, I shall willingly compound
never to trouble them with the true
copies, as you advise me to do :
which ifyou still should judge absolutely
necessary to the reparation of this mis-
fortune, and to general satisfaction ;
and that, as you tell me, all the rest
of my friends will press me to it, I
should yield to it with the same re-
luctancy as I would cut off a limb to
save my life. However I hope you
will satisfy all your acquaintance of
my aversion to it, and did they know
me as well as you do, that apology
were very needless, for I am so far
from expecting applause for any thing
I scribble, that I can hardly expect
pardon ; and sometimes I think that
employment so far above my reach,
and unfit for my sex, that I am going
to resolve against it for ever ; and
could 1 have recovered those fugitive
papers that have escap'd my hands,
1 had long since made a sacrifice of

(491 )

them all. The truth is, I have an
incorrigible inclination to that folly of
riming, and intending the effects of
that humour, only for my own amuse-
ment in a retir'd life ; I did not so
much resist it as a wiser woman
would have done ; but some of my
dearest friends having found my
Ballads, (for they deserve no better
name) they made me so much believe
they did not dishke them, that I was
betray'd to permit some copies for
their divertisement ; but this, with so
little concern for them, that I have
lost most of the originals, and that I
suppose to be the cause of my present
misfortune ; for some infernal spirits or
other have catch'd those rags of paper,
and what the careless blotted writing
kept them from understanding, they
have supplied by conjecture, till they
put them into the shape wherein you
saw them, or else I know not which
way it is possible for them to be
collected, or so abominably transcrib'd
as I hear they are. I believe also
there are some among them that are
not mine, but every way I have so
much injury, and the worthy persons
that had the ill luck of my converse,
and so their names expos'd in this
impression without their leave, that
few things in the power of Fortune
could have given me so great a tor-
ment as this most afiflictive accident.
I know you Sir, so much my friend,
that I need not ask your pardon for
making this tedious complaint ; but
methinks it is a great injustice to
revenge myself upon you by this
harangue for the wrongs I have re-
ceived from others ; therefore I will
only tell you that the sole advantage
I have by this cruel news, is that it
has given me an experiment. That
no adversity can shake the constancy
of your friendship, and that in the
worst humour that ever I was in, I
am still,

Worthy Poliarchus,
Your most faithful, most obliged
Friend, and most humble Servant
Orinda.

Cardigan, y^w. 29, l66f.

She writ divers letters to many of
her other friends, full of the like resent-
ments ; but this is enough to show

Kath

erine

Philipi^

how little she desired the fame of
being in print ; and how much she
was troubled to be so exposed. It
may serve likewise to give a taste
of her prose to those that have seen
none of it, and of her way of writing
familiar letters, which she did with
strange readiness and facility, in a
very fair hand, and perfect ortho-
graphy ; and if they were collected
with those excellent discourses she
writ on several subjects, they would
make a volume much larger than
this, and no less worth the reading.

About three months after this Letter
she came to London, where her Friends
did much solicit her to redeem her-
self by a correct impression ; yet she
continued still averse, though perhaps
in time she might have been over-
rul'd by their persuasions if she had
lived.

But the small-pox, that malicious
disease (as knowing how little she
would have been concern'd for her
handsomeness, when at the best) was
not satisfied to be as injurious a printer
of her face, as the other had been of
her Poems, but treated her with a
more fatal cruelty than the stationer
had them : for though he, to her
most sensible affliction, surreptitiously
possess'd himself of a false copy, and
sent those children of her fancy into
the World, so martyred, that they were
more unlike themselves than she could
have been made, had she escaped ;
that murtherous tyrant, with greater
barbarity, seiz'd unexpectedly upon
her, the true original, and to the
much juster affliction of all the world,
violently tore her out of it, and hurried
her untimely to her grave, upon the
22nd of June, 1664, she being then but
3 1 years of age.

But he could not bury her in
oblivion, for this monument which
she erected for herself, will, for ever,
make her to be honoured as the
honour of her sex, the emulation of
ours, and the admiration of both.
That unfortunate surprise had robb'd
it of much of that perfection it might
else have had, having broke off the
Translation of Horace before it was
finish'd, much less review'd, and

hindered the rest from being more
exactly corrected, and put into the
order they were written in, as she
possibly herself would have done, had
she consented to a second Edition.
'Tis probable she would also have
left out some of those pieces that were
written with less care and upon
occasions less fit to be made public,
and she might also have added more :
but all industry has been us'd to
make this Collection as full and as
perfect as might be, by the addition
of many that were not in the former
impression, and by divers Translations,
whereof the first has the Original in
the opposite page ; that they who have
a mind to compare them, may, by that
pattern, find how just she has been in
all the rest to both the Languages,
exactly rendering the full sense of the
one, without tying herself strictly to
the words, and clearly evincing the
capaciousness of the other, by com-
prising it fully in the same number of
lines, though in the Plays half the
verses of the French are of thirteen
syllables, and the rest of twelve, where-
as the English have no more but
ten \ In short, though some of her
pieces may perhaps be lost, and
others in hands that have not pro-
duc'd them ; yet none that upon good
grounds could be known to be hers,
are left out ; for many of the less con-
siderable ones were publish'd in the
other ; but those, or others that shall
be judged so, may be excused by
the politeness of the rest which have
more of her true spirit, and of her
diligence. Some of them would be
no disgrace to the name of any Man
that amongst us is most esteemed for
his excellency in this kind, and there
are none that may not pass with fa-
vour, when it is remembered that they
fell hastily from the pen but of a
Woman. We might well have call'd
her the English Sappho, she of all the
female poets of former Ages, being for
her verses and her virtues both, the
most highly to be valued ; but she has
call'd herself Orinda, a name that
deserves to be added to the number of
the muses, and to live with honour
as long as they. Were our language

^ It has seemed sufficient to meet this by giving ofie stanza of the orig. in a note.
(49^ )

Preface

as generally known to the world as the
Greek and Latin were anciently, or as
the French is now, her verses could
not be confin'd within the narrow
limits of our islands, but would spread
themselves as far as the continent has
inhabitants, or as the seas have any
shore. And for her virtues, they as
much surpass'd those of Sappho as
the Theological do the Moral, (where-
in yet Orinda was not her inferior) or
as the fading immortality of an earthly
laurel, which the justice of men can-
not deny to her excellent poetry, is
transcended by that incorruptible and
eternal Crown of Glory, wherewith
the Mercy of God hath undoubtedly
rewarded her more eminent piety.
Her merit should have had a statue
of porphyry wrought by some great
artist, equal in skill to Michael Angelo,
that might have transferr'd to posterity
the lasting image of so rare a person :
but here is only a poor paper-shadow
of a statue made after a picture not
very like her, to accompany that she
has drawn of herself in these Poems,
and which represents the beauties of
her mind with a far truer resemblance,
than that does the lineaments of her face.

They had sooner performed this right ^
to her memory, if that raging Pes-
tilence which, not long after her,
swept away so many thousands here
and in other places of this Kingdom ;
that devouring Fire, which since de-
stroy'd this famous City ; and the harsh
sounds of War, which with the thunder-
ings of cannon, deafn'd all ears to the
gentle and tender strains of Friend-
ship, had not made the publication of
them hitherto unseasonable. But they
have outliv'd all these dismal things
to see the blessing of Peace, a con-
juncture more suitable to their Nature,
all compos'd of kindness ; so that I
hope Time itself shall have as little
power against them, as these other
storms have had, and then * Ovid's
conclusion of his ATetaniorphosts may,
with little alteration, more truth, and
less vanity than by him to himself, be
applied to these once transformed, or
rather deformed Poems, which are
here in some measure restor'd to their
native shape and beauty, and there-
fore certainly cannot fail of a welcome
reception now, since they wanted it
not before, when they appeared in that
strange disguise.

The Earl of Orrery to Mrs. Philips

Madam,
When I but knew you by report,
I fear'd the praises of th' admiring

Court
Were but their compliments, but now

I must
Confess, what I thought civil is scarce

just:
For they imperfect trophies to you

raise,
You deserve wonder, and they pay but

praise ;
A praise, which is as short of your

great due,
As all which yet have writ come short

of you.

You, to whom wonder 's paid by double

right.
Both for your verses, smoothness and

their height. lo

In me it does not the least trouble

breed,
That your fair sex does ours, in verse,

exceed,
Since every Poet this great truth does

prove.
Nothing so much inspires a Muse as

Love ;
Thence has your sex the best poetic

fires,
For what's inspir'd must yield to what

inspires.

' I am in two minds as to substituting ' rite' for this.

* Nee Jovis ira, nee ignis, nee poteris {sic in orig. side-note) ferrum, nee edax abolere
vetustas, &c.

( 493)

Katherine Philips

And as our sex resigns to yours the

due,
So all of your bright sex must yield to

You.
Experience shows, that never fountain

fed
A stream which could ascend above

its head ; 20

For those whose wit fam'd Helicon

does give.
To rise above its height durst never

strive,
Their double hill too, though 'tis often

clear,
Yet often on it clouds and storms

appear.
Let none admire then that the ancient

wit
Shar'd in those elements infused

[in ?] it ;
Nor that your Muse than theirs ascends

much higher.
She sharing in no element but fire.
Past ages could not think those things

you do,
For their Hill was their basis and

height too : 30

So that 'tis truth, not compliment, to

tell,
Your lowest height their highest did

excel ;
Your nobler thoughts warm'd by a

heav'nly fire.
To their bright centre constantly

aspire ;
And by the place to which they take

their flight.
Leave us no doubt from whence they

have their light.
Your merit has attain'd this high

degree,
'Tis above praise as much as flattery,
And when in that we have drain'd all

our store.
All grant from this nought can be

distant more. 40

Though you have sung of friend-
ship's power so well.
That you in that, as you in wit excel ;
Yet my own interest obliges me
To praise your practice more than

theory ;

For by that kindness you your friend

did show
The honour I obtain'd of knowing

You.
In pictures none hereafter will

delight,
You draw more to the life in black

and white ;
The pencil to your pen must yield the

place,
This draws the soul, where that draws,

but the face. 50

Of blest retirement such great

Truths you write,
That 'tis my wish as much as your

delight;
Our gratitude to praise it does think

Since all you writ are but effects of it.
You English Corneil[le]'s Pompey

with such flame.
That you both raise our wonder and

his fame ;
If he could read it, he like us would

call
The copy greater than th' original ;
You cannot mend what is already

done,
Unless you'll finish what you have

begun : 60

Who your Translation sees, cannot but

say.
That 'tis Orinda's work, and but his

play.
The French to learn our language

now will seek,
To hear their greatest Wit more nobly J

speak ; '

Rome too would grant, were our tongue

to her known,
Caesar speaks better in 't than in his

own.
And all those wreaths once circl'd

Pompey's brow,
Exalt his fame, less than your verses

now.
From these clear truths all must

acknowledge this.
If there be Helicon, in Wales it is. 70
Oh happy Country which to our Prince

gives
His Title, and in which Orinda lives !

( 494)

Commendatojy Poejns

The Earl of Roscommon to Orinda :
an imitation of Horace

Integer vitae, &c.

Cartn. lib. i. od. 22.

Virtue (dear Friend) needs no

defence,
No arms, but its own innocence ;
Quivers and bows, and poison'd darts,
Are only us'd by guilty hearts.

II

An honest mind, safely, alone
May travel through the burning Zone,
Or through the deepest Scythian snows,
Or where the fam'd Hydaspes flows.

Ill

While (rul'd by a resistless fire)
Our great Orinda I admire. 10

The hungry wolves that see me stray
Unarm'd and single, run away.

IV

Set me in the remotest place
That ever Neptune did embrace,
When there her image fills my breast,
Helicon is not half so blest.

Leave me upon some Lybian plain,
So she my fancy entertain,
And when the thirsty monsters meet,
They'll all pay homage at my feet. 20

VI

The magic of Orinda's name,
Not only can their fierceness tame,
But, if that mighty word I once rehearse,
They seem submissively to roar in
verse.

Upon Mrs. Philips her Poems

We allow'd you beauty, and we did
submit
To all the tyrannies of it.
Ah cruel Sex! will you dispose us too
in Wit?
Orinda does in that too reign,
Does man behind her in proud triumph

draw.
And cancel great Apollo's Salic Law.

We our old Title plead in vain :
Man may be head, but Woman 's now
the brain.
Verse was love's fire-arms heretofore :
In beauty's camp it was not known,
Too many arms beside that conqueror
bore. 1 1

'Twas the great cannon we brought
down,
T' assault a stubborn town.
Orinda first did a bold sally make,
Our strongest quarter take,
And so successful prov'd that she
Turn'd upon Love himself his own
artillery.

(495 )

II

Women, as if the Body were the whole,
Did that, and not the Soul,
Transmit to their posterity ; 20

If in it sometimes they conceiv'd,
Th' abortive issue never liv'd.
'Twere shame andpity,Orinda, if in thee
A spirit so rich, so noble, and so high,

Should unmanur'd or barren lie.
But thou industriously hast sow'd and
till'd
The fair and fruitful field :
And 'tis a strange increase that it doth
yield.
As when the happy Gods above
Meet all together at a feast, 30
A secret joy unspeakably does move
In their great Mother Cybele's con-
tented breast :
With no less pleasure thou, methinks,

shouldst see
This thy no less immortal progeny.
And in their birth thou no one touch
dost find,
Of th' ancient curse to woman-kind ;

Katherine Philips

Thou bring'st not forth with pain,
It neither travel is, nor labour of thy
brain.
So easily they from thee come,
And there is so much room, 4°
In the unexhausted and unfathom'd

womb ;
That, like the Holland Countess, thou

might'st bear
A child for ev'ry day of all the fertile
year.

Ill

Thou dost my wonder, wouldst my

envy raise.
If to be prais'd I lov'd more than to
praise.
Where'er I see an excellence,
I must admire to see thy well-knit

sense,
Thynumbersgentle,andthyfancieshigh,
Those as thy forehead smooth, these
sparkling as thine eye.
'Tis solid, and 'tis manly all, 50
Or rather, 'tis angelical:
For, as in Angels, we
Do in thy verses see
Both improv'd sexes eminently meet ;
They are than Man more strong, and
more than Woman sweet.

IV

They talk of nine, I know not who,
Female Chimaeras, that o'er Poets

reign ;
I ne'er could find that fancy true.
But have invok'd them oft I'm sure in

vain.
They talk of Sappho, but, alas the

shame ! 60

111 manners soil the lustre of her fame.
Orinda's inward virtue is so bright.
That, like a lantern's fair enclosed light,

It through the paper shines where she

doth write.
Honour and Friendship, and the gen'-
rous scorn
Of things for which we were not born,
(Things that can only, by a fond

disease,
Like that of girls, our vicious stomachs

please)
Are the instructive subjects of her pen.
And as the Roman victory 70

Taught our rude land arts, and
civility,
At once she overcomes, enslaves, and
betters men.

V

But Rome with all her arts could ne'er
inspire
A female breast with such a fire.
The warlike Amazonian train.
Which, in Elysium, now do peaceful

reign,
And Wit's mild empire before Arms

prefer.
Hope 'twill be settled in their sex by

her.
Merlin the seer (and sure he would not
lie
In such a sacred Company) 80

Does Prophecies of learn'd Orinda

show,
Which he had darkly spoke so long
ago.
Even Boadicia's' angry Ghost
Forgets her own misfortune and dis-
grace.
And to her injur'd Daughters now does

boast.
That Rome's o'ercome at last by a
Woman of her race.

Abraham Cowley.

To the excellent Orinda

Let the male Poets their male Phoebus

choose,
Thee I invoke, Orinda, for my

Muse ;
He could but force a branch. Daphne

her tree
Most freely offers to her sex and thee.
And says to verse, so unconstrain'd as

yours,

Her laurel freely comes, your fame

secures :
And men no longer shall with ravish'd

bays
Crown their forc'd Poems by as forc'd

a praise.
Thou glory of our sex, envy of men,
Who are both pleas'd and vex'd with

thy bright pen : 10

> Boadicia in orig. and better kept for metre.

(496)

Commendatory Poems

Its lustre doth entice their eyes to

gaze,
Ikit men's sore eyes cannot endure its

rays;
It dazzles and surprises so with light,
To find a noon where they expected

night :
A woman translate Pompey ! which the

fam'd
Corneille with such art and labour

fram'd !
To whose close version the Wits club

their sense,
And a new lay-poetic Smec^ springs

thence !
Yes, that bold work a woman dares

translate,
Not to provoke, nor yet to fear men's

hate. 20

Nature doth find that she hath err'd

too long,
And now resolves to recompense that

wrong :
Phoebus to Cynthia must his beams

resign,
The rule of Day, and Wit's now Femi-
nine.
That sex, which heretofore was not

allow'd
To understand more than a beast, or

crowd ;
Of which problems were made, whether

or no
Women had souls ; but to be damn'd,

if so ;
Whose highest contemplation could

not pass,
In men's esteem, no higher that the

class ; 30

And all the painful labours of their

brain,
Was only how to dress and entertain :
Or. if they ventur'd to speak sense,

the wise
Made that, and speaking ox like pro-
digies.
From these the more than masculine

pen hath rear'd
Our sex ; first to be prais'd, next to be

fear'd.
And by the same pen forc'd, men now

confess.
To keep their greatness, was to make

us less.
Men know of how refin'd and rich

a mould

Our sex is fram'd, what sun is in our

cold : 40

They know in lead no diamonds are

set.
And jewels only fill the cabinet.
Our spirits purer far than theirs, they

see ;
By which even men from men dis-

tinguish'd be:
By which the soul is judg'd, and does

appear
Fit or unfit for action, as they are.
When in an organ various sounds

do stroke.
Or grate the ear, as birds sing, or toads

croak ;
The breath, that voices every pipe, 's

the same.
But the bad metal doth the sound

defame. 50

So, if our souls by sweeter organs

speak,
And theirs with harsh, false notes the

air do break ;
The soul's the same, alike in both doth

dwell,
'Tis from her instruments that we

excel.
Ask me not then, why jealous men

debar
Our sex from books in peace, from

arms in war ;
It is because our parts will soon

demand
Tribunals for our persons, and com-
mand.
Shall it be our reproach, that we are

weak,
And cannot fight, nor as the school-
men speak ? 60
Even men themselves are neither

strong nor wise,
If limbs and parts they do not exer-
cise,
Train'd up to arms, we Amazons

have been.
And Spartan virgins strong" as Spartan

men :
Breed Women but as Men, and they

are these ;
Whilst Sybarit Men are Women by

their ease.
Why should not brave Semiramis

break a lance,
And why should not soft Ninyas curl

and dance?

(497)

^ Smcdymnuus,
Kk

Katherine Philips

Ovid in vain bodies with change did vex,
Changing her form of life, Iphis
chang'd sex. 70

Nature to females freely doth impart
That, which the males usurp, a stout,

bold heart.
Thus hunters female beasts fear to assail :
And female hawks more metalled than

the male :
Men ought not then courage and wit

ingross.
Whilst the fox lives, the lion, or the

horse.
Much less ought men both to them-
selves confine,
Whilst Women, such as you, Orinda,
shine.
That noble friendship brought thee
to our Coast,
We thank Lucasia, and thy courage
boast. 80

Death in each wave could not Orinda

fright.
Fearless she acts that friendship she

did write :
Which manlyVirtue to their sex confin'd,
Thou rescuest to confirm our softer

mind ;
For there 's required (to do that virtue

right)
Courage, as much in friendship as in

fight.
The dangers we despise, doth this truth

prove.
Though boldly we not fight, we boldly
love.
Engage us unto books, Sappho comes
forth.
Though notof Hesiod's age,of Hesiod's
worth. 90

If souls no sexes have, as 'tis confest,
'Tis not the He or She makes Poems

best :
Nor can men call these versesfeminine.
Be the sense vigorous and masculine.
'Tis true, Apollo sits as judge of Wit,
But the nine Female learned troop

are it :
Those laws for which Numa did wise

appear,
Wiser Egeria whisper'd in his ear.
The Gracchi's Mother taught them

eloquence;
From her breasts courage flow'd, from
her brain sense; 100

And the grave beards, who heard her
speak in Rome,

(498)

Blush 'd not to be instructed, but o'er-

come.
Your speech, as hers, commands re-
spect from all.
Your verj' looks, as hers, rhetorical:
Something of grandeur in your verse

men see,
That they rise up to it as Majesty.
The wise and noble Orrery's regard.
Was much observ'd, when he your

Poem heard :

All said, a fitter match was never seen,

Had Pompey's Widow been Arsamnes'

Queen. no

Pompey, who greater than himself 's

become,

Now in your Poem, than before in

Rome ;
And much more lasting in the poet's pen.
Great Princes live, than the proud

towers of men.
He thanks false Egypt for its treachery,
Since that his ruin is so sung by thee;
And so again would perish, if withal,
Orinda would but celebrate his fall.
Thus pleasingly the bee delights to die,
Foreseeing, he in amber tomb shall lie.
If that all Egypt, for to purge its crime,
Were built into one pyramid o'er him,
Pompey would lie less stately in that
hearse, 1 2 3

Than he doth now, Orinda, in thy verse :
This makes Cornel ia for her Pompey vow,
Her hand shall plant his laurel on thy

brow :
So equal in their merits were both found ,
That the same Wreath Poets and

Princes Crown'd :
And what on that great captain's brow

was dead,

She joys to see re-flourish'd on thy

head. 130

In the French rock Cornelia first did

shine.

But shin'd not like herself till she

was thine :
Poems, like gems, translated from the

place
Where they first grew, receive another

grace.
Dress'd by thy hand, and polish'd by

thy pen,
She glitters now a star, but jewel then :
No flaw remains, no cloud, all now is

light.
Transparent as the day, bright parts
iTiore bright.

Commendatory Poe?ns

Cornelia, now made English, so doth

thrive,
As trees transplanted do much lustier

live. 140

Thus ore digg'd forth and by such

hands as thine
Refin'd and stamp'd, is richer than the

mine.
Liquors from vessel into vessel pour'd,
Must lose some spirits, which are

scarce restor'd :
But the French wines, in their own

vessel rare,
Pour'd into ours, by thy hand, spirits

are ;
So high in taste, and so delicious,
Before his own Cornelia thine would

choose.
He finds himself enlightened here,

where shade
Of dark expression his own words had

made : 150

There what he would have said, he

sees so writ.
As generously, to just decorum fit.
When in more words than his you

please to flow,
Like a spread flood, enriching all

below,
To the advantage of his well-meant

sense,
He gains by you another excellence.
To render wordforword.atthe oldrate.
Is only but to construe, not translate :
In your own fancy free, to his sense true.
We read Cornelia, and Orindatoo : 160
And yet ye both are so the very same,
As when two tapers join'd make one

bright flame.
And sure the copier's honour is not

small.
When artists doubt which is original.
But if your fetter'd Muse thus praised

be,

What great things do you write when

it is free ?
When it is free to choose both sense

and words.
Or any subject the vast World affords ?
A gliding sea of crystal doth best

show
How smooth, clear, full, and rich your

verse doth flow : 170

Your words are chosen, cull'd, not by

chance writ.
To make the sense, as anagrams do hit.
Your rich becoming words on the sense

wait,
As Maids of Honour on a Queen of

State.
'Tis not white satin ^ makes a verse

more white.
Or soft ; Iron is both, write you on it.
Your Poems come forth cast, no file

you need.
At one brave heat both shap'd and

polished.
But why all these encomiums of you,
Who eitl>er doubts, or will not take as

due? 180

Renown how little you regard, or need,
Who like the bee, on your own sweets

do feed ?
There are, who like weak fowl with

shouts fall down,
Doz'd with an army's acclamation :
Not able to endure applause, they

fall,
Giddy with praise, their praises' funeral.
But you, Orinda, are so unconcern'd.
As if when you, another we commend ^.
Thus, as the Sun, you, in your course,

shine on,
Unmov'd with all our admiration. 190
Flying above the praise you shun,

we see
Wit is still higher by humility.

Philo-Philippa.

To the memory of the excellent Orinda

Forgive, bright Saint, a vot'ry, who

No missive Orders has to show.
Nor does a call to inspiration owe :

Yet rudely dares intrude among

' It was not unusual to print on Avhite satin.

- In this rhyme * Philo-Philippa ' has out-Barretted Mrs. Browning 150 years before
hand. Even a careful student of all ages of English poetry might be puzzled to find
a worse.

( 499 ) K k 2

This sacred, and inspired throng;
Where looking round me, ev'ry one
I see.
Is a sworn Priest of Phoebus, or of
thee,

Pepys mentions instances.

Katherine Philips

Forgive this forward zeal for things

divine,

If I strange fire do offer at thy shrine :

Since the pure incense, and the gum

We send up to the Povv'rs above, 1 1

(If with devotion giv'n, and love)

Smells sweet, and does alike accepted

prove,
As if from golden censers it did come ;

Though we the pious tribute pay
In some rude vessel made of common
clay.

II
What by Pindarics can be done,

Since the great Pindar's greater ' Son
(By ev'ry Grace adorn'd, and ev'ry

Muse inspir'd)
From th' ungrateful W^orld, to kinder
Heaven 's retir'd : 20

He, and Orinda from us gone.
What Name, like theirs, shall we now
call upon ?
Whether her Virtue, or her Wit
We choose for our eternal theme,
What hand can draw the perfect
scheme ?
None but herself could such high
subjects fit :
We yield, with shame we yield
To Death and Her the field :
For were not Nature partial to us men,
The World's great order had inverted
been ; 30

Had she such souls plac'd in all women-
kind,
Giv'n 'em like wit, not with like good-
ness join'd,

Our vassal sex to hers had homage

paid ;
Women had rul'd the World, and

weaker Man obey'd.

Ill

To thee O Fame, we now commit
Her, and these last remains of gen'rous
wit ;
I charge thee, deeply to enroll
This glorious Name in thy immortal
scroll ;
Write ev'ry letter in large text.
And then to make the lustre hold, 40
Let it be done with purest gold.
To dazzle this age, and outshine the
next :
Since not a name more bright than

Hers,
In this, or thy large book appears.
And thou impartial, powerful Grave,
These Reliques (like her deathless
Poems) save
Ev'n from devouring Time secure.
May they still rest from other mixture

pure :
Unless some dying Monarch shall to

try
Whether Orinda, though herself could
die, 50

Can still give others immortality ;
Think, if but laid in her miraculous

Tomb,
As from the Prophet's touch, new life
from hers may come.

James Tyrrell.

To the memory of the incomparable Orinda

A Pindaric Ode

A LONG Adieu to all that 's bright.
Noble, or brave, in Womankind,
To all the wonders of their wit.
And trophies of their mind ;
The glowing heat of th' holy fire is gone.
To th' altar, whence 'twas kindled,
flown ;
There's nought on Earth, but ashes
left behind ;
E'er since th' amazing sound was
spread

Orinda 's Dead,

' Mr. A. Cowley.
( roo )

10

Every soft and fragrant word,
All that language could afford.

Every high and lofty thing
That's wont to set the soul on wing.
No longer with this worthless
World would stay :
Thus when the death of the great

PAN was told,
Along the shore the dismal tidings
roll'd,
The lesser Gods their fanes for-
sook;
Confounded with the mighty stroke,

i^Ori^. note al side.)

Comme7idato?y Poems

They could not over-live that fatal
day,
But sigh'd, and groan'd their gasping
Oracles away, 20

II
How rigid are the laws of Fate,
And how severe that black de-
cree?
No sublunar)' things is free,
But all must enter th' adamantine
gate :
Sooner, or later shall we come
To Nature's dark retiring-room ;

And yet 'tis pity, is it not ?
The learned as the fool should die.
One full as low as t'other lie :
Together blended in the general lot ; 50
Distinguish'd only from the common

crowd,
By an hing'd cofifn, or an Holland

shroud,
Though Fame and Honour speak them
ne'er so loud ;
Alas Orinda, even thou !
Whose happy verse made others live,
And certain immortality could give ;
Blasted are all thy blooming glories

now:
The Laurel withers o'er thy brow :
Methinks it should disturb thee to
conceive
That when poor I this artless breath
resign, 40

My dust should have as much of Poetry
as thine.

Ill
Too soon welanguish with desire
Of what we never could enough
admire ;
On th' billows of this world some-
times we rise
So dangerously high.
We are to Heaven too nigh ;
When (all in rage
Grown hoary with one minute's age,)

The very self-same fickle wave,

Which the entrancing prospect gave,

Swoll'n to a mountain, sinks into a

grave. 5 1

Too happy mortals if the Pow'rs above

As merciful would be,
And easy to preserve the thing we love,
As in the giving they are free !
But they too oft delude our weary'd
Eyes,
They fix a flaming sword 'twixt us and
Paradise ;

( 50' )

A weeping evening crowns a smiling

day,
Yet why should heads of gold have

feet of clay ?
Why should the man that wav'd th'
almighty wand, 60

That led the murmuring crowd,
By pillar and by cloud,
Shivering atop of aery Pisgah stand,
Only to see, but never, never tread the
Promis'd Land ?

IV
Throw your swords and gauntlets by,
You daring sons of war.
You cannot purchase e'er you die
One honourable scar.
Since that fair hand that gilded all

your bays.
That in heroic numbers wrote your
praise, 70

While you securely slept in honour's

bed.
Itself, alas ! is withered, cold, and
dead;
Cold and dead are all those

charms.
Which burnish'd your victorious

arms :
Inglorious arms hereafter must
Blush first inblood,andtheninrust:
No oil, but that of Her smooth words
will serve
Weapon, and warrior to preserve.
Expect no more from this dull age,
But folly, or poetic rage, 80

Short-liv'd nothings of the stage,
Vented to-day, and cried to-morrow

down.
With Her the soul of poesy is gone :
Gone, while our expectations flew
As high a pitch as She has done,
Exhal'dto Heaven like early dew.
Betimes the little shining drops are

flown.
Ere th' drowsy World perceived that
Manna was come down.

V

You of the sex that would be fair,
Exceeding lovely, hither come 90
Would you be pure as Angels are,
Come dress you by Orinda's tomb,
And leave your flatt'ring glass at
home ;
Within this marble mirror see
How one day such as She
You must, and yet alas ! can never be.

Kath

ert7te

Philips

Think on the heights of that vast
soul,
And then admire, and then con-
dole.
Think on the wonders of Her pen,
'Twas that made Pompey truly
Great, loo

Neither th' expense of blood nor
sweat

Nor yet Cornelia's kindness made him
live agen.
With envy think, when to the

grave you go,
How very little must be said of
you.
Since all that can be said of virtuous
Woman was her due.

Thomas Flatman, M.A.

On the Death of Mrs. Katherine PhiHps

Cruel Disease! Ah, could it not suffice
Thy old and constant spite to exercise
Against the gentlest and the fairest

sex,
Which still thy depredations most do

vex?
Where still thy malice most of all
(Thy malice or thy lust) does on the

fairest fall ;
And in them most assault the fairest

place.
The throne of Empress Beauty, even

the face ?
There was enough of that here to

assuage
(One would have thought) either thy

lust or rage

lO

Was 't not enough, when thou, profane

Disease,
Didst on this glorious temple seize ?
Was 't not enough, like a wild zealot

there.
All the rich outward ornaments to tear;
Deface the innocent pride of beauteous

images ?
Was 't not enough thus rudely to

defile,
But thou must quite destroy the goodly

pile ?
And thy unbounded sacrilege commit
On th' inward Holiest Holy of her

Wit?
Cruel Disease ! there thou mistook'st

thy power ; 20

No mine of Death can that devour ;
On her embalmed name it will abide

An everlasting Pyramid,
As high as Heaven the top, as Earth

the basis wide.
II
All ages past, record ; all countries

now

(503 )

In various kinds such equal beauties

show.

That even Judge Paris would not

know

On whom the Golden Apple to bestow.

Though Goddesses to his sentence did

submit,
Women and lovers would appeal from
it; 30

Nor durst he say, of all the female
race
This is the sovereign face.
And some (though these be of a kind

that 's rare,
That's much, oh much less frequent

than the fair)
So equally renown'd for virtue are.
That it the Mother of the Gods might

pose,
When the best Woman for her guide
she chose :
But if Apollo should design
A Woman-Laureat to make,
Without dispute he would Orinda take.
Though Sappho and the famous
Nine 41

Stood by, and did repine.
To be a princess or a Queen
Is great, but 'tis a greatness always

seen ;
The World did never but two women

know
Who, one by fraud, the other by wit

did rise
To the two tops of Spiritual dignities ;
One female Pope of old, one female
Poet now.

Ill
Of female Poets who had names of
old.
Nothing is shown, but only told, 50
And all we hear of them, perhaps may be
Male flattery only, and male Poetry ;

Commendatory Poems

Few minutes did their beauties' light-
ning wast,
The thunder of their voice did longer

last,
But that too soon was past.
The certain proofs of our Orinda's

Wit
In her own lasting characters are writ,
And they will long my praise of them

survive,
Though long perhaps too that may

live.
The trade of glory manag'd by the pen
Though great it be, and everywhere

is found, 6 1

Does bring in but small profit to us

men ;
'Tis by the number of the sharers

drown'd,
Orinda in the female coasts of fame
Engrosses all the goods of a poetic

name,
She does no partner with her see ;
Does all the business there alone

which we
Are forc'd to carry on by a whole

company.

IV

But Wit 's like a luxuriant vine,
Unless to Virtue's prop it join, 70
Firm and erect towards Heaven
bound,

with beauteous leaves and
pleasant fruit be crown'd)
It lies deform'd, and rotting on the
ground.
Now shame and blushes on us all
Who our own sex superior call ;
Orinda does our boasting sex out-do.
Not in wit only, but in virtue too :
She does above our best examples

rise.
In hate of vice and scorn of vanities.
Never did spirit of the manly make, 80

Though it

And dipp'd all o'er in learning's sacred

lake,
A temper more invulnerable take ;
No violent passion could an entrance

find
Into the tender goodness of her mind :
Through walls of stone those furious

bullets may
Force their impetuous way ;
When her soft breast they hit, damped

and dead they lay.

V

The fame of Friendship, which so

long had told
Of three or four illustrious Names of

old,
Till hoarse and weary of the tale she

grew, 90

Rejoices now to have got a new,
A new, and more surprising story
Of fair Lucasia and Orinda's glory.
As when a prudent man does once per-
ceive
That in some foreign country he must

live.
The language and the manners he

does strive
To understand and practise here,
That he may come no stranger there ;
So well Orinda did herself prepare.
In this much different clime for her

remove, 100

To the glad world of Poetry and Love ;
There all the bless'd do but one body

grow.
And are made one too with their

glorious Head,
W' horn there triumphantly they wed,
After the secret contract pass'd below ;
Their Love into Identity does go,
'Tis the first unity's Monarchic Throne,
The Centre ^ that knits all, where the

great Three 's but One.

Abraham Cowley.

' In orig. This destroys the value of ' center' found elsewhere. And so constantly.

(503)

Katherine Philips

The Table

Poem Page

1 Upon the double Murther of

King Charles I, in Answer to
a Libellous Copy of Rymes ^
made by Vavasor Powell . 507

2 On the numerous Access of

the English to wait upon the
King in Flanders . . . 507

3 Arion on a Dolphin, To his

Majesty at his passage into
England .... 508

4 On the Fair Weather just at the

Coronation, it having rained
immediately before and after . 509

5 To the Queen's Majesty on her

Arrival at Portsmouth, May
14, 1662 .... 509

6 TotheOueen-Mother'sMajesty,

Jan. l7 166J . . . .510

7 Upon the Princess Royal her

Return into England . • 5^1

8 On the Death of the Illustrious

Duke of Gloucester . . 512

9 To her Royal Highness the

Duchess of York, on her com-
manding me to send her some
things that I had written -513

10 On the Death of the Queen of

Bohemia .... 514

11 On the 3rd of September, 165 1 515

12 To the Noble Palaemon,onhis

incomparable Discourse of
Friendship . . . • S^S

13 To the Right Honourable Alice

Countess of Carbery, at her
coming into Wales . .516

14 To Sir Edward Dering (the

Noble Silvander) on his
Dream and Navy, personat-
ing Orinda's preferring Ros-
ania before Solomon's Traffic
to Ophir . . . .517

15 To Mr. Henry Lawes . .518

16 A Sea-Voyage from Tenby to

Bristol, begun Sept. 5. 1652,
sent from Bristol to Lucasia,
Sept. 8, 1652 . . . -519

17 Friendship's Mystery, To my

dearest Lucasia . . . 520

18 Content, Tomydearest Lucasia 521

19 A Dialogue of Absence 'twixt

Poem Page

Lucasia and Orinda. Set by
Mr. Hen. Lawes . . . 522

20 To my dear Sister Mrs. C. P. on

her Marriage .... 522

21 To Mr. Henry Vaughan, Silu-

rist, on his Poems . . 523

22 A retir'd Friendship. To

Ardelia 524

23 To Mrs. Mary Carne, when

Philaster courted her . . 524

24 To Mr. J. B. the noble Cra-

tander, upon a Composition of
his which he was not willing
to own publicly . . -525

25 To the Excellent Mrs. Anne

Owen, upon her receiving the
Name of Lucasia, and Adop-
tion into our Society, Decem-
ber 28, 165 1 . . . . 526

26 To the truly Noble Mrs. Anne

Owen, on my first Approaches 526

27 Lucasia 527

28 Wiston Vault . . . .528

29 Friendship in Emblem, or the

Seal. To my dearest Lucasia 529

30 In Memory of F. P. who died

at Acton on the 24 of May, 1 660,

at Twelve and an Half of Age 530

31 In Memory of that excellent

person Mrs. Mary Lloyd of
Bodidrist in Denbigh-shire,
who died Nov. 13, 1656, after
she came thither from Pem-
broke-shire .... 531

32 To the truly competent Judge

of Honour, Lucasia, upon a
scandalous Libel made by J. J. 533
'^'^ To Antenor, on a Paper of
mine which J. J. threatens to
publish to prejudice him . 535

34 Rosania shadowed whilst Mrs.

Mary Awbrey . . . 535

35 To the Queen of Inconstancy,

Regina Collier, in Antwerp . 537

36 To my Excellent Lucasia, on

our P>iendship . . . 537
2,7 Rosania's private Marriage . 538

38 Injuria Amicitiae . . . 538

39 To Regina Collier, on her

cruelty to Philaster . . 539

' I keep this in order to show how little authority, even of its own, the earlier
' rimes' lias.

( 504 )

The Table

Poem Page

40 To Philaster, on his Melan-

choly for Regina . . . 540

41 Philoclea's parting .

42 To Rosania, now Mrs. Mon

tague, being with her

43 To my Lucasia

44 On Controversies in Religion

45 To the Honoured Lady E. C.

46 Parting with Lucasia, A Song

47 Against Pleasure. Set by Dr

Coleman

48 A Prayer

49 To Mrs. M. A. upon Absence

50 To Mrs. Mary Awbrey .

51 In Memory of Mr. Cartwright

52 Mr. Francis Finch, the Excel

lent Palaemon

53 To Mrs. M. A. at parting

54 To my dearest Antenor, on his

Partmg .

55 Engraven on Mr.John Collier's

Tomb-stone at Bedlington

56 On the little Regina Collier, on

the same Tomb-stone

57 Friendship

58 The Enquiry .

59 To my Lucasia, in defence of

declared Friendship

60 A Reverie ^

61 A Country-life

62 To Mrs. Wogan, my Honoured

Friend, on the Death of her
Husband ....

63 In memory of the most justly

Honoured, JNIrs. Owen of
Orielton

64 A Friend . • . . .

65 L' Accord du Bien. .

66 Invitation to the Country

67 In Memory of Mrs. E. H.

68 On Rosania's Apostasy, and

Lucasia's P^riendship

69 To my Lady Eliz. Boyle, sing-
ing, Now affairs, <S:c.

Submission ....

2 Cor. v. 19. God was in Christ
reconciling the World to Him-
self

72 The World .

73 The Soul .

74 Happiness

75 Death

76 To the Queen's Majesty, on

her late Sickness and Re-

70
71

540

540

541
542

543
546

546

547
548
548
549

549
550

551

552

552
552
553

554
556
55S

559

559
561

563
564

565
566

567
567

569
569

571
573
574

covery

(505)

• 574
' Orig. '

Poem Page

Tl Ode upon [Mr. Abraham

Cowley's] Retirement . . 575

78 The Irish Greyhound . . 577

79 Song to the tune of Soinmes

tious pas trop heicreux . . 577

80 A Dialogue betwixt Lucasia

and Rosania, imitating that
of gentle Thyrsis . . 577
8r Song to the tune of Adieu,

Phillis 578

82 An Epitaph on my honoured

Mother[-in-law,]Mrs.Philips
of Portheynon in Cardigan-
shire, who died Jan. i, l66§ 578

83 Lucasia, Rosania, and Orinda

parting at a Fountain July,
1663 579

84 A Farewell to Rosania . . 579

85 To my Lady Anne Boyle, say-

ing I looked angrily upon her 579

86 On the Welsh Language . 580

87 To the Countess of Thanet,

upon her Marriage . .581

88 Epitaph on her Son H. P. at

St. Syth's Church, where her
body also lies interred . .582

89 On the Death of my Lord Rich,

only son to the Earl of
Warwick, who died of the
small-pox, 1664 . . . 582

90 The Virgin .... 583

91 Upon the Graving of her

Name upon a Tree in Barn-
Elms Walks . . .583

92 To my dearest friend Mrs. A.

Owen, upon her greatest loss 584

93 Orinda to Lucasia parting,

October, 1661, at London . 585

94 On the first of January, 1657. 587

95 To my Lady M. Cavendish,

choosingthenameofPolicrite 587

96 Against Love . . . 587

97 A Dialogue of Friendship mul-

tiplied 58S

98 Rosania to Lucasia on her

Letters . . . .588

99 To my Antenor, March 16,

166^ 589

100 A Triton to Lucasia going to

Sea 589

loi Orinda upon little Hector

Philips 590

102 To the Lady E. Boyle . . 591

103 Tomy Lord Duke of Ormond,

upon the late Plot . . 591
resvery.'

Kath

ert7ie

Philips

Poem

104 To the

Page
Countess of Roscom-
mon, with a Copy of Pompey 592

105 On the Death of the truly

honourable Sir Walter Floyd
\sic\ S Kt 592

106 Orinda to Lucasia . . 593

107 To Celimena .... 594

108 An Answer to another per-

suading a Lady to Marriage 594

109 Lucasia and Orinda parting

with Pastora and Phillis at
Ipswich .... 594
no Epitaph on my truly hon-
oured Publius Scipio . . 595

111 To Mr. Sam. Cooper, having

taken Lucasia's Picture given
December 14, 1660 . . 596

112 Parting with a Friend . . 596

113 To my dearest Friend, upon

her shunning Grandeur . 597

Poem Page

114 To Pastora being with her

Friend

115 To my Lord and Lady Dun-

gannon on their Marriage,

May II, 1662
To his Grace Gilbert, Lord

Archbishop of Canterbury,

July 10, 1664
La Solitude de St. Amant,

in French and English^
Tendres desers \sic\ out of

French Prose
Amanti ch' in pianti, &c.
A Pastoral of Mons. de

Scudery's in the first volume

of 'Almahide,' Englished .
Translation of Thomas a

Kempis into verse, out of

Mons. Corneille . . . 609

116

117

118

119
120

121

598

599

600

601

604
604

604

' This, which in text is ' Lloyd,' possibly indicates the double pronunciation.
"^ See note in text.

IMPRIMATUR

Aug. 20, 1667.

Roger L'Estrange.

(506)

POEMS

Upon the double Murther of
King- Charles I, in Answer
to a Libellous Copy of
Rimes by Vavasor PowelP

I THINK not on the State, nor am

concern'd
Which way soever the great hehn is

turn'd :
But as that son whose Father 's

danger nigh
Did force his native dumbness,

and untie
The fetter'd organs ; so this is a cause
That will excuse the breach of

Nature's laws,
Silence were now a sin, nay passion

now
Wise men themselves for merit

would allow.
^Vhat noble eye could see (and

careless pass)
The dying Lion kick'd by every ass ?
Has Charles so broke God's Laws,

he must not have 1 1

A quiet Crown, nor yet a quiet grave?
Tombs have been sanctuaries ;

Thieves lie there
Secure from all their penalty and

fear.
Great Charles his double misery was

this,
Unfaithful friends, ignoble enemies.
Had any heathen been this Prince's

foe,
He would have wept to see him

injur'd so,
His title was his crime, they'd reason

good
To quarrel at the right they had

withstood. 20

He broke God's Laws, and therefore

he must die ;

^ A bitter Welsh Nonconformist, and a
Restoration, after which he had rather less

( 507 )

And what shall then become of thee

and I ?
Slander must follow Treason ; but

yet stay.
Take not our reason with our King

away.
Though you have seiz'd upon all

our defence,
Yet do not sequester our common

sense.
Christ will be King, but I ne'er

understood
His subjects built His Kingdom up

with blood,
Except their own; or that He would

dispense
With His commands, though for His

own defence. 30

Oh ! to what height of horror are

they come
Who dare pull down a crown, tear

up a tomb ?

On the numerous Access of
the English to wait upon
the King in Flanders

Hasten, Great Prince, unto thy

British Isles,
Or all thy subjects will become

exiles.
To thee they flock, thy Presence is

their home.
As Pompey's camp, where e'er it

mov'd, was Rome.
They that asserted thy Just Cause

go hence
To testify their joy and reverence ;
And those that did not, now, by

wonder taught.
Go to confess and expiate their

fault.

great harrier of the Church before the
than due reward (i6i7-'2o).

Kath

lerine

Philip^

So that if thou dost stay, thy gasping

land
Itself will empty on the Belgic

sand : lo

Where the affrighted Dutchman does

profess
He thinks it an invasion, not address.
As we unmonarch'd were for want

of thee,
So till thou come we shall unpeopled

be.
None but the close fanatic will

remain,
Who by our loyalty his ends will

gain ;
And he th' exhausted land will

quickly find
As desolate a place as he design'd.
For England (though grown old with

woes) will see
Her long deny'd and sovereign

remedv. 20

So when old Jacob could but credit

give
That his prodigious Joseph still did

live,
(Joseph that was preserved to restore
I'heir lives that would have taken

his before)
It is enough (said he), to Egypt I
^Vill go, and see him once before

I die.

Arion 011 a Dolphin, To his
Majesty at his passage
into E norland

Whom does this stately navy bring?
O ! 'tis Great Britain's glorious

King.
Convey him then, ye Winds and

Seas,
Swift as Desire and calm as Peace.
In your respect let him survey
What all his other subjects pay ;
And prophesy to them again
'rhes[)lendi(l smoothness ofhisreign.
Charles and his mighty hopes you

bear :
A greater now than Caesar 's here ; 10

( 5'^« )

Whose veins a richer purple boast
Than ever hero's yet engrost ;
Sprung from a Father so august,
He triumphs in his very dust.
In him two miracles we view,
His virtue and his safety too :
For when compell'd by traitors'

crimes
To breathe and bow in foreign

climes,
Expos'd to all the rigid fate
That does on wither'd greatness wait.
Plots against life and conscience

laid, 21

By foes pursu'd, by friends betray'd ;
Then Heaven, his secret potent

friend,
Did him from drugs and stabs

defend ;
And, what 's more yet, kept him

upright
'Midst flattering hope and bloody

fight.
Cromwell his own Rightnevergain'd,
Defender of the Faith remain'd,
For which his predecessors fought
And writ, but none so dearly bought.
Never was Prince so much besieged,
At home provok'd, abroad obliged ;
Nor ever man resisted thus, 33

No not great Athanasius.
No help of friends could, or foes'

spite.
To fierce invasion him invite.
Revenge to him no pleasure is.
He spar'd their blood who gap'd

for his ;
Blush'd any hands the English

Crown
Should fasten on him but their own.
As Peace and Freedom with him

went, 41

With him they came from banish-
ment.
That he might his dominions win,
He with himself did first begin ;
And, that best victory obtained,
His kingdom quickly he regain'd.
Th' illustrioussuffringsofthis Prince
Did all reduce, and all convince.

A

rtofi on a

Dolphi.

in

He only liv'd with such success,
That the whole world would fight

with less. 50

Assistant Kinsjs could but subdue
Those Foes which he can pardon

too.
He thinks no Slaughter-trophies

good,
Nor laurels dipt in subjects' blood ;
But with a sweet resistless art
Disarms the hand, and wins the

heart ;
And like a God doth rescue those
Who did themselves and him

oppose.
Go, wondrous Prince, adorn that

Throne
Which birth and merit make your

own;

60

And in your mercy brighter shine
Than in the glories of your line ;
Find love at home, and abroad fear,
And veneration everywhere.
Th' united world will you allow
Their Chief, to whom the English

bow ;
And Monarchs shall to yours resort,
As Sheba's Queen to Judah's Court ;
Returning thence constrained more
To wonder, envy, and adore. 70

Discovered Rome will hate your

crown,
But she shall tremble at your frown.
For England shall (rul'd and restor'd

by You)
The suppliant world protect, or else

subdue.

On the Fair Weather just at
the Coronation, it havino;
rained immediately before
and after

So clear a season, and so snatch'd

from storms,
Shows Heav'n delights to see what

man performs.
Well knew the Sun, if such a day

were dim,

(509 )

It would have been an injury to
him :

For then a cloud had from his eye
conceal'd

The noblest sight that ever he
beheld.

He therefore check'd th' invading
rains we fear'd.

And in a bright Parenthesis ap-
pear'd.

So that we knew not which look'd
most content.

The King, the people, or the firma-
ment. 10

But the solemnity once fully past.

The storm return'd with an impetu-
ous haste

And Heav'n and Earth each other
to out-do,

Vied both in cannons and in fire-
works too.

So Israel past through the divided
flood,

While in obedient heaps the Ocean
stood :

But the same sea (the Hebrews once
on shore)

Return'd in torrents where it was
before.

To the Queen's Majesty on
her Arrival at Portsmouth,
May 14, 1662

Now that the Seas and Winds so

kind are grown,
For our advantage to resign their

own ;
Nowyouhave quitted the triumphant

fleet.
And suffered English ground to kiss

your feet.
Whilst your glad subjects with

impatience throng
To see a blessing they have begg'd

so long ;
W^hiist Nature (who in compliment

to you
Kept back till now her wealth and

beauty too)

Kath

erine

Phi lip ii

Hath, to attend the lustre your eyes

bring,
Sent forth her lov'd Ambassador the

Spring; lo

Whilst in your praise Fame's echo

doth conspire
With the soft touches of the sacred

Lyre;
Let an obscurer Muse upon her

knees
Present you with such offerings as

these.
And you as a Divinity adore.
That so your mercy may appear the

more ;
Who, though of those you should

the best receive,
Can such imperfect ones as these

forgive.
Hail, Royal Beauty, Virgin bright

and great.
Who do our hopes secure, our joys

complete. 20

We cannot reckon what to you we

owe.
Who make him happy who makes

us be so.
But Heav'n for us the desp'rate debt

hath paid,
Who such a Monarch hath your

Trophy made.
A Prince whose Virtue did alone

subdue
Armies of men, and of offences too.
So good, that from him all our

blessings flow,
Yet is a greater than he can bestow.
So great, that he dispenses life and

death.
And Europe's fate depends upon his

breath. 30

(For Fortune in amends now courts

him more
Than ever she affronted him before :
As lovers that of jealousy repent
Grow troublesome in kind acknow-
ledgement.)

Who greater courage show'd in

wooing you,
Than other Princes in their battles

do.
Never was Spainsogenerously defied ;
Where they design'd a prey, he

courts a bride.
Hence they may guess what will his

anger prove,
When heappear'dso brave in making

love ; 40

And be more wise than to provoke

his arms.
Who can submit to nothing but your

charms.
And till they give him leisure to

subdue.
His enemies must owe their peace

to you.
Whilst he and you mixing illustrious

rays.
As much above our wishes as our

praise.
Such heroes shall produce, as even

they
Without regret or blushes shall obey.

To the Queen-Mother's
Majesty, Jan. i, i66y

You justly may forsake a land which

you
Have found so guilty and so fatal too.
Fortune, injurious to your innocence,
Shot all her poison'd arrows here,

or hence.
'Tvvas here bold rebels once your

life pursu'd
(To whom 'twas Treason only to be

rude,)
Till you were forc'd by their

unwearied spite
(O glorious Criminal !) to take your

flight.
Whence after you all that was

humane ^ fled ;

^ The old confusion (or rather not yet division) of 'human 'and 'humane' is not
always to be got over by distributing the spelling. Something of both senses is
wanted here.

(510)

To the Queen-Mother s Majesty

For here, oh ! here the Royal

Martyr bled, lo

Whose cause and heart must be

divine and high,
That having you could be content

to die,
Here they purloin'd what we to you

did owe,
And paid you in variety of woe.
Yet all those billows in your breast

did meet
A heart so firm, so loyal, and so

sweet.
That over them you greater conquest

made
Than your immortal Father ever

had.
For we may read in story of some

few
That fought like him, none that
endur'd like you : 20

Till Sorrow blush'd to act what

Traitors meant.
And Providence itself did first

repent.
But as our active, so our passive,

ill
Hath made your share to be the

sufferer's still.
As from our mischiefs all your

troubles grew,
'Tis your sad right to suffer for them

too.
Else our great Charles had not been

hence so long,
Nor the illustrious Glou'ster died so

young :
Nor had we lost a Princess all

confest
To be the greatest, wisest, and the
best ; 30

Who leaving colder parts, but less

unkind,
(For it was here she set, and there

she shin'd,)
Did to a most ungrateful climate

come
To make a visit, and to find a tomb.
So that we should as much your
smile despair,

(5-)

As of your stay in this unpurged air;
But that your mercy doth exceed

our crimes
As much as your example former

times,
And will forgive our off'rings, though

the flame
Does tremble still betwixt regret

and shame. 40

For we have justly suffered more

than you
By the sad guilt of all your sufferings

too.
As you the great Idea have been seen
Of either fortune, and in both a

Queen,
Live still triumphant by the noblest

wars,
And justify your reconciled stars.
See your offenders for your mercy

bow,
And your tried virtue all mankind

allow ;
While you to such a race have given

birth,
As are contended for by Heaven

and Earth. ^o

Upon the Princess Royal
her Return into Eno-land

o

Welcome, sure pledge of reconciled

Powers ;
If Kingdoms have Good Angels, you

are ours :
For th' 111 ones, check'd by your

bright influence,
Could never strike till you were

hurried hence.
But then, as streams withstood more

rapid grow.
War and confusion soon did over-
flow :
Such and so many sorrows did

succeed.
As it would be a new one now to

read.
But whilst your lustre was to us

denied.

Katherine Philips

You scatter'd blessings everywhere

beside. i°

Nature and Fortune have so curious

been,
To give you worth, and scene to

show it in.
But we do most admire that gen'rous

care
Which did your glorious Brother's

sufferings share ;
So that he thought them in your

presence none,
And yet your suff'rings did increase

his own. i

O wond'rous prodigy ! O race divine !
Who owe more to your actions than

your line. |

Your lives exalt your father's death-
less name,
The blush of England, and the

boast of Fame. 20

Pardon, Great Madam, this unfit

address,
Which does profane the glory 'twould

confess.
Our crimes have banish'd us from

you, and we
Were more remov'd by them than

by the Sea.
Nor is it known whether we wrong'd

you more
When we rebell'd, or now we do

adore.
But what Guilt found, Devotion

cannot miss ;
And you who pardon'd that, will

pardon this.
Your blest Return tells us our storms

are ceas'd,
Our faults forgiven, and our stars

appeas'd, ?,o

Your mercy, which no malice could

destroy,
Shall first bestow, and then in-
struct, our joy.
For bounteous Heav'n hath, in

your Highness sent
Our great example, bliss and orna-
ment.

(5.0

On the Death of the Illus-
trious Duke of Glouces-
ter

Great Glou'ster's dead! and yet in

this we must
Confess that angry Heaven is wise

and just.
We have so long and yet so ill en-

dur'd
The woes which our offences had

procur'd,
That this new stroke would all our

strength destroy,
Had we not known an interval of

Joy.

And yet perhaps this stroke had

been excus'd,
If we this interval had not abus'd.
But our ingratitude and discontent,
Deserv'd to know our mercies were
but lent : 10

And those complaints Heaven in

this rigid fate
Does first chastise, and then legiti-
mate.
By this it our divisions does reprove.
And makes us join in grief, if not in

love :
For (Glorious Youth !) all parties do

agree.
As in admiring, so lamenting Thee ;
The Sovereign's, subject's, foreigner's

delight ;
Thou wert the Universal Favourite.
Not Rome's Belov'd, and brave

Marcel) us, fell
So much a darling or a miracle. 20
Though built of richest blood and

finest earth,
Thou hadst a heart more noble than

thy birth ;
Which by th' afflictive Changes thou

didst know,
Thou hadst but too much cause and

time to show.
P^or when Fate did thy infancy

expose
To the most barbarous and stupid
Foes ;

0;/ the Death of the Duke of Gloucester

Yet thou didst then so much express

the Prince,
As did even them amaze, if not con-
vince.
Nay, that loose tyrant whom no bound

confin'd,
Whom neither laws, nor oaths, nor

shame could bind, 30

Although his soul was than his look

more grim.
Yet thy brave innocence half soft'n'd

him ;
And he that worth wherein thy soul

was drest.
By his ill-favour'd clemency confest;
Lessening the ill which he could not

repent.
He call'd that travel which was

banishment.
Escap'd from him, thy trials were

increas'd ;
The scene was chang'd, but not the

danger ceas'd :
Thou from rough guardians to sedu-
cers gone.
Those made thy temper, these thy

judgement known ; 40

Whilst thou the noblest champion

wert for truth,
Whether we view thy courage or thy

youth.
If to foil Nature and Ambition claims
Greater reward than to encounter

flames,
All that shall know the story must

allow
A martyr's crown prepared for thy

brow;
But yet thou wert suspended from

thy throne,
Till thy Great Brother had regain'd

his own :
Who though the bravest suff'rer,

yet even He
Could not at once have mist his

crown and thee. 50

But as commission'd angels make no

stay,
But having done their errand go

their way : |

(513) Ll

So thy part done, not thy restored

state.
The future splendour which did for

thee wait.
Nor that thy Prince and country

must mourn for
Sucha support, andsuchacounsellor.
Could longer keep thee from that

bliss, whence thou
Look'st down with pity on Earth's

Monarchs now ?
Where thy capacious soul may

quench her thirst.
And younger brothers may inherit

first. 60

While on our King Heav'n does

this care express.
To make his comforts safe he makes

them less.
For this successful heathens use[d?]

to say,
It is too much, (great Gods) send

some allay.

To Her Royal Highness the
Duchess of York, on her
commanding me to send
her some things that I had
wfitten

To you whose dignity strikes us with
awe,

And whose far greater judgement
gives us law,

(Your mind b'ing more transcendent
than your state,

For while but knees to this, hearts
bow to that)

These humble papers never durst
come near,

Had not your pow'rful word bid
them appear ;

In which such majesty, such sweet-
ness dwells,

As in one act obliges, and compels.

None can dispute commands vouch-
saf'd by you :

What shall my fears then and con-
fusion do? 10

Kath

67^1716

Phi lip i^

They must resign, and by their just
pretence

Some value set on my obedience.

For in religious duties, 'tis confest,

The most implicit are accepted best.

If on that score your Highness will
excuse

This blushing tribute of an artless
Muse,

She may (encourag'd by your least
regard.

Which first can worth create, and
then reward)

At modest distance with improved
strains

That Mercy celebrate which now
she gains. 20

But should you that severer justice
use,

Which these too prompt approaches
may produce.

As the swift hind which hath es-
caped long,

Believes a vulgar shot would be a
wrong ;

But wounded by a Prince falls with-
out shame,

And what in life she loses, gains in
fame :

So if a ray from you chance to be
sent.

Which to consume, and not to warm,
is meant ;

My trembling Muse at least more
nobly dies.

And falls by that a truer sacri-
fice. 30

On the Death of the Queen
of Bohemia

Although the most do with offi-
cious heat

Only adore the living and the
great ;

Yet this Queen's merits Fame so far
hath spread.

That she rules still, though dispcssest
and dead.

( .=iM )

For losing one, two other Crowns

remain'd ;
Over all hearts and her own griefs

she reign'd.
Two Thrones so splendid, as to

none are less
But to that third which she does

now possess.
Her heart and birth Fortune so well

did know.
That seeking her own fame in such

a foe, 10

She drest the spacious theatre for

the fight :
And the admiring World call'd to

the sight :
An army then of mighty sorrows

brought,
Who all against this single virtue

fought ;
And sometimes stratagems, and

sometimes blows
To her heroic soul they did oppose:
But at her feet their vain attempts

did fall.
And she discovered and subdu'd

them all.
Till Fortune weary of her malice

grew,
Became her captive and her trophy

too : 20

And by too late a tribute begg'd t'

have been
Admitted subject to so brave a

Queen.
But as some hero who a field hath

won,
Viewing the things he had so greatly

done,
When by his spirit's flight he finds

that he
With hisownlifemustbuy his victory,
He makes the slaughter'd heap that

next him lies
His funeral pile, and then in triumph

dies :
So fell this Royal Dame, with con-
quering spent.
And left in every breast her monu-
ment ; 30

On the Death of the Qtceen of Bohemia

Wherein so high an Epitaph is writ,

As I must never dare to copy it.

But that bright Angel which did on
her wait,

In fifty years' contention with her
fate,

And in that office did with wonder see

How great her troubles, how much
greater she —

How she maintain'd her best prero-
gative,

In keeping still the power to forgive :

How high she did in her devotion go,

And how her condescension stoop'd
as low ; 40

With how much glory she had ever
been

A Daughter, Sister, Mother, Wife,
and Queen — -

Will sure employ some deathless
Muse to tell

Our children this instructive miracle.

Who may her sad illustrious life re-
cite,

And after all her wrongs may do her
right.

On the 3rd of September,
1651

As when the glorious magazine of

light
Approaches to his canopy of night,
He with new splendour clothes his

dying rays,
And double brightness to his beams

conveys ;
And (as to brave and check his

ending fate)
Puts on his highest looks in's lowest

state,
Drest in such terror as to make us all
Be Anti- Persians, and adore his fall;
Then quits the World depriving it

of day.
While every herb and plant does

droop away : 10

So when ourgasping English Royalty
Perceiv'd her period was now drawing

nigh,

(515) Ll

She summons her whole strength to

give one blow.
To raise herself, or pull down others

too.
Big with revenge and hope she now

spake more
Of terror than in many months be-
fore ;
And musters her attendants, or to

save
Her from, or else attend her to, the

grave :
Yet but enjoy'd the miserable fate
Of setting Majesty, to die in state.
Unhappy Kings, who cannot keep a

throne, 21

Nor be so fortunate to fall alone !
Their weight sinks others : Pompey

could not fly.
But half the World must bear him

company;
And captiv'd Samson could not life

conclude.
Unless attended with a multitude.
Who'd trust to greatness now, whose

food is air.
Whose ruin sudden, and whose end

despair ?
Who would presume upon his

Glorious Birth,
Or quarrel for a spacious share of

Earth, 30

That sees such Diadems become so

cheap.
And Heroes tumble in a common

heap?
Oh give me Virtue then, which sums

up all.
And firmly stands when Crowns and

Sceptres fall.

To the Noble Palaemon,
on his incomparable Dis-
course of Friendship

We had been still undone^ wrapt in

disguise.
Secure, not happy ; cunning, and

not wise ;

Kath

ertne

Philip

s

War had been our design, interest

our trade ;
We had not dwelt in safety, but in

shade,
Hadst thou not hung our light more

welcome far
Than wand'ring sea-men think the

Northern Star ;
To show, lest we our happiness

should miss,
'Tis plac'd in Friendship, men's and

angels' Bliss.
Friendship, which had a scorn or

mask been made,
And still had been derided or be-

tray'd; lo

At which the great physician still had

laugh'd,
The soldier stormed \ and the gallant

scoffd ;
Or worn not as a passion, but a plot.
At first pretended, and at last forgot ;
Hadst thou not been her great deli-
verer,
At first discover'd, and then rescu'd

her,
And raising what rude malice had

flung down,
Unveil'd her face, and then restor'd

her crown ;
By so august an action to con-
vince,
'Tis greater to support than be a

Prince. 20

Oh for a voice which loud as thunder

were.
That all mankind thy conqu'ring

truths might hear !
Sure the litigious as amaz'd would

stand,
As Fairy Knights touch'd with

Cambina's Wand,
Drawn by thy softer, and yet stronger

charms,
Nations and armies would lay down

their arms :
And what more Honour can on thee

be hurl'd,

Than to protect a virtue, save a

World ?
But while great friendship thou hast

copied out,
Thou'st drawn thyself so well, that

we may doubt 30

Which most appears, thy candour or

thy art.
Whether we owe more to thy brain

or heart.
But this we know without thy own

consent,
Thou'st rais'd thyself a glorious

monument :
Temples and statues Time will eat

away.
And tombs (like their Inhabitants)

decay ;
But there Palaemon lives, and so

he must.
When marbles crumble to forgot-
ten dust.

To the Right Honourable
AHce Countess of Carbery,
at her coming into Wales

As when the first day dawn'd, Man's

greedy eye
Was apt to dwell on the bright pro-
digy,
Till he might careless of his organ

grow,
And let his wonder prove his danger

too :
So when our country (which was

deem'd to be
Close-mourner in its own obscurity,
And in neglected Chaos so long lay)
Was rescu'd by your beams into a

day.
Like men into a sudden lustre

brought.
We justly fear'd to gaze more than

we ought. 10

* The print in full of 'stormed' doubtless indicates its dis^'llabic value.
(5.6)

To Alice^ Coimtess of Cai^hery

II

From hence it is you lose most of

your right,
Since none can pay 't, nor durst do 't

if they might.
Perfection's misery 'tis that Art and

Wit,
While they would honour, do but

injure it.
But as the Deity slights our expense.
And loves Devotion more than

Eloquence :
So 'tis our confidence you are divine,
Makes us at distance thus approach

your Shrine.
And thus secur'd, to you who need

no art,
I that speak least my wit may speak

my heart. 20

in
Then much above all zealous injury.
Receive this tribute of our shades

from me,
While your great splendours, like

eternal spring,
To these sad groves such a refresh-
ment bring.
That the despised country may be

grown,
And justly too, the envy of the town.
That so when all mankind at length

have lost
The Virtuous Grandeur which they

once did boast.
Of you like pilgrims they may here

obtain
Worth to recruit the dying world

again. 30

To Sir Edward Dering (the
Noble Silvander) on his
Dream and Navy, person-
ating Orinda's preferring
Rosania before Solomon's
Traffic to Ophir

Then am I happier than is the King;
My merchatidise does no such danger
bring :

(517)

The fleet I traffic with fears no such

harms,
Sails in my sight, and anchors iti my
arms.
Each new and unperceived grace
Discovered in that mind a?idface,
Each motion, smile and look from

thee.
Brings pearls and Ophir- Gold to me.

Thus far Sir Edw. Dering.

Sir, To be noble, when 'twas voted

dowuj
To dare be good, though a whole

age should frown ;
To live within, and from that even

state
See all the under-world stoop to its

fate ;
To give the Law of Honour, and

dispense
All that is handsome, great and

worthy thence ;
Are things at once your practice and

your end,
And which I dare admire, but not

commend.
But since t' oblige the world is your

delight.
You must descend within our reach

and sight : 10

For so Divinity must take dis-
guise.
Lest mortals perish with the bright

surprise,
And thus your Muse (which can

enough reward
All actions she vouchsafes but to

regard,
And Honours gives, than Kings more

permanent.
Above the reach of Acts of Parlia-
ment)
May suffer an acknowledgement

from me,
For having thence receiv'd Eternity.
My thoughts with such advantage

you express,
I hardly know them in this charming

dress. ao

Katherine Philips

And had I more unkindness from

my friend
Than my demerits e'er could appre-
hend,
Were the fleet courted with this gale

of wind,
I might be sure a rich return to find.
So when the Shepherd of his Nymph

complain'd,
Apollo in his shape his mistress

gain'd :
She might have scorn'd the swain,

and found excuse ;
But could not his great OratorTefuse.
But for Rosania's Interest I should

fear
It would be hard t' obtain your

pardon here. 3°

But your first goodness will, I know,

allow
That what was bounty then, is mercy

now.
Forgiveness is the noblest charity.
And nothing can worthy your favour

be.
For you (God-like) are so much your

own fate,
That what you will accept you must

create.

To Mr. Henry Lawes

Nature, which is the vast creation's

soul.
That steady curious agent in the

whole,
The art of Heaven, the order of this

frame.
Is only Number in another name.
For as some King conqu'ring what

was his own,
Hath choice of several Titles to his

Crown ;
So harmony on this score now, that

then.
Yet still is all that takes and governs

Men.
Beauty is but composure, and we find
Content is but the concord of the

mind, lo

(518)

Friendship the unison of well-tun'd

hearts.
Honour the Chorus of the noblest

parts.
And all the world on which we can

reflect
Music to th' ear, or to the intellect.
If then each man 0. Little World

must be.
How many Worlds are copied out in

thee.
Who art so richly formed, so com-
plete,
T' epitomize all that is good and

great;
Whose stars this brave advantage did

impart,
Thy nature's as harmonious as thy
art? 20

Thou dost above the Poets, praises

live,
Who fetch from thee th' eternity they

give.
And as true Reason triumphs over

sense,
Yet is subjected to intelligence :
So Poets on the lower World look

down,
But Lawes on them ; his Height is

all his own,
For, like Divinity itself, his lyre
Rewards the wit it did at first inspire
And thus by double right Poets allow
His and their laurel should adorn
his brow. 30

Live then, Great Soul of Nature, to

assuage
The savage dullness of this sullen

Age.
Charm us to Sense ; for though ex-
perience fail,
And Reason too, thy numbers may

prevail
Then, like those ancients, strike, and

so command
All Nature to obey thy gen'rous

hand.
None will resist but such who needs

will be
Morestupid thanastonc,afish,a tree.

To M7\ Henry Lawes

Be it thy care our age to new-create:

What built a World may sure repair

a state. 40

A Sea- Voyage from Tenby
to Bristol, begun Sept. 5,
1652, sent from Bristol to
Lucasia, Sept. 8, 1652

HoiSE ^ up the sail, cry'd they who

understand
No word that carries kindness for

the land :
Such sons of clamour, that I wonder

not ■
They love the sea, whom sure some

storm begot.
Had he who doubted Motion these

men seen,
Or heard their tongues, he had con-
vinced been.
For had our Barque mov'd half as

fast as they,
We had not need cast Anchor by the

way.
One of the rest pretending to more

wit,
Some small Italian spoke, but mur-

ther'd it ; 10

For I (thanks to Saburra's Letters)

knew
How to distinguish 'twixt the false

and true.
But t' oppose these as mad a thing

would be
As 'tis to contradict a Presbyt'ry.
'Tis Spanish though, (quoth I) e'en

what you please :
For him that spoke it 't might be

Bread and Cheese.
So softly moves the barque which

none controls.
As are the meetings of agreeing souls:
And the moon-beams did on the

water play,
As if at midnight 'twould create a

day.

20

The amorous wave that shar'd in

such dispense
Exprest at once delight and rever-
ence.
Such trepidation we in lovers spy
Under th' oppression of a mistress'

eye.
But then the wind so high did rise

and roar,
Some vow'd they'd never trust the

traitor more.
Behold the fate that all our glories

sweep,
Writ in the dangerous wonders of

the deep :
And yet behold man's easy folly more.
How soon we curse what erst we did

adore. 30

Sure he that first himself did thus

convey,
Had some strong passion that he

would obey.
The barque wrought hard, but found

it was in vain
To make its party good against the

main,
Toss'd and retreated, till at last we

see
She must be fast if e'er she should

be free.
We gravely anchor cast, and pa-
tiently
Lie prisoners to the weather's cruelty.
We had nor wind nor tide, nor aught

but grief,
Till a kind spring-tide was our first

relief. 40

Then we float merrily, forgetting quite
The sad confinement of the stormy

night.
Ere we had lost these thoughts, we

ran aground,
And then how vain to be secure we

found.
Now they were all surpris'd. Well, if

we must,
Yet none shall say that dust is gone

to dust.

1 ' Hoist ' as obligatory, is quite modern.

( 519 )

Kath

ert7te

Philipi^

But we are off now, and the civil

tide
Assisted us the tempests to out-ride.
But what most pleased my mind

upon the way,
Was the ships' posture that in har-
bour lay : 50
Which to a rocky grove so close were

fix'd,
That the trees' branches with the

tackling mix'd.
One would have thought it was, as

then it stood,
A growing navy, or a floating wood.
But I have done at last, and do

confess
My voyage taught me so much

tediousness.
In short, the Heav'ns must needs

propitious be,
Because Lucasia was concern'd in

me.

Friendship's Mystery, To my
dearest Lucasia

I
Come, my Lucasia, since we see
That miracles men's faith do
move,
By wonder and by prodigy

To the dull angry world let's

prove
There 's a religion in our Love,
II
For though we were design'd t' agree.

That Fate no liberty destroys,
But our Election is as free

As Angels', who with greedy

choice
Are yet determin'd to their
joys. 10

III
Our hearts are doubled by the loss.
Here mixture is addition grown ;
We both diffuse, and both ingross :
And we whose minds are so much

one.
Never, yet ever are alone.

( 520 )

IV

We court our own captivity

Than thrones more great and
innocent :
'Twere banishment to be set free,
Since we wear fetters whose intent
Not bondage is but ornament. 20
v
Divided joys are tedious found.

And griefs united easier grow :
We are ourselves but by rebound.
And all our titles shuffled so.
Both Princes, and both subjects
too.

VI

Our hearts are mutual victims laid,
While they (such power in Friend-
ship lies)
Are Altars, Priests, and Off'rings
made :
And each heart which thus kindly

dies.
Grows deathless by the sacrifice.30

Content, To my dearest
Lucasia

I

Content, the false World's best

disguise.
The search and faction of the wise,
Is so abstruse and hid in night.
That, like that Fairy Red-cross
Knight,
Who treacherous Falsehood for clear

Truth had got.
Men think they have it when they
have it not.

II
For Courts Content would gladly

own,
But she ne'er dwelt about a

throne :

And to be flatter'd, rich, and great,

Are things which do men's senses

cheat. 10

But grave Experience long since this

did see,
Ambition and Content would ne'er
agree.

Conte72t^ To my dearest Lucasia

III

Some vainer would Content ex-
pect

From what their bright outsides
reflect :

But sure Content is more divine

Than to be digg'd from rock or
mine :
And they that know her beauties will

confess,
She needs no lustre from a glittering
dress.

IV

In Mirth some place her, but she

scorns
Th' assistance of such crackling

thorns, 20 '

Nor owes herself to such thin i

sport, !

That is so sharp and yet so

short :
And painters tell us they the same

strokes place,
To make a laughing and a weeping

face.

Others there are that place Con-
tent
In liberty from Government :
But whomsoe'er Passions deprave.
Though free from shackles, he's
a slave.
Content and Bondage differ only

then.
When we are chain'd by vices, not
by men. 30

VI

Some think the camp Content

does know,
And that she sits o' th' victor's

brow :
But in his laurel there is seen
Often a cypress-brow ^ between.
Nor will Content herself in that

place give,
Where Noise and Tumult and

Destruction live.

VII

But yet the most discreet believe,
The Schools this jewel do receive,
And thus far's true without dispute.
Knowledge is still the sweetest
fruit. 40

But whilst men seek for Truth they

lose their peace ;
And who heaps knowledge, sorrow
doth increase.

VIII

But now some sullen Hermit

smiles.
And thinks he all the world be-
guiles,
And that his cell and dish contain
What all mankind wish for in vain.
But yet his pleasure 's follow'd with

a groan.
For man was never bcjn to be alone.

IX

Content herself best comprehends
Betwixt two souls, and they two
friends, 5°

Whose either joys in both are fix'd,
And multiplied by being mix'd :
Whose minds and interests are so

the same ;
Their griefs, when once imparted,
lose that name.

X

These far remov'd from all bold

noise,

And (what is worse) all hollow joys,

Who never had a mean design.

Whose flame is serious and divine,

And calm, and even^ must contented

be, 59

For they've both Union and Society.

XI

Then, my Lucasia, we who have
Whatever Love can give or crave ;
Who can with pitying scorn survey
The trifles which the most betray ;
With innocence and perfect friend-
ship fir'd,
By Virtue join'd, and by our choice
retir'd.

^ bough?

(521)

Kath

eri7te

Philips

xri

Whose mirrors are the crystal

brooks,
Or else each other's hearts and

looks ;
Who cannot wish for other things
Than privacy and friendship

brings : 70

Whose thoughts and persons chang'd

and mixt are one,
Enjoy Content, or else the World

hath -none.

A Dialogrue of Absence
'twixt Lucasia and Orinda.
Set by Mr. Hen. Lawes

Luc. Say, my Orinda, why so sad ?
Orin. Absence from thee doth tear

my heart ;
Which, since with thine it union had.
Each parting splits. Luc. And
can we part ?
Orin. Our bodies must. Liic. But
never we :
Our souls, without the help of
Sense,
By ways more noble and more free
Can meet, and hold intelligence.
Orin. And yet those Souls, when
first they met,
Lookt out at windows through
the eyes. 10

Luc. But soon did such acquaint-
ance get.
Nor Fate nor Time can them
surprise.
Orin. Absence will rob us of that
bliss
To which this friendship title
brings ;
Love's fruits and joys aremadeby this
Useless as crowns to captiv'd
Kings.
Luc. Friendship 's a Science, and we
know
There Contemplation's mostcm-
ploy'd.
Orin. Religion 's so, but practic too.
And both by niceties destroy'd. 20
( 522 )

Luc. But who ne'er parts can never
meet.
And so that happiness were lost.
Orin. Thus Pain and Death are
sadly sweet.
Since Health and Heav'n such
price must cost.

Chorus.

But we shall come where no rude

hand shall sever.
And there we'll meet and part no

more for ever.

To my dear Sister Mrs. C. P.
on her Marriagre

We will not like those men our

offerings pay
Who crown the cup, then think

they crown the day.
We make no garlands, nor an altar

build.
Which help not Joy, but Ostentation

yield.
Where mirth is justly grounded,

these wild toys
Are but a troublesome, and empty

noise.

II
But these shall be my great Solem-
nities,
Orinda's wishes for Cassandra's

bliss.
May her Content be as unmix'd

and pure
As my Affection, and like that

endure ; 10

And that strong happiness may she

still find
Not owing to her fortune, but her

mind.

Ill
May her Content and Duty be the

same,
And may she know no grief but in

the name.

To 7ny dear Sister^ Mrs. C. P.

May his and her pleasure and love

be so
Involv'd and growing, that we may

not know
Who most affection or most peace

engrost ;
Whose love is strongest, or whose

bliss is most.

IV

May nothing accidental e'er appear,
But what shall with new bonds

their souls endear ; 20

And may they count the hours as

they pass,
By their own joys, and not by sun

or glass :
While every day like this may

sacred prove
To Friendship, Gratitude, and

strictest Love.

To Mr. Henry Vaughan,
Silurist, on his Poems

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 igno-
rant;

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 : 10

Where thou the best of unions dost
dispense,

Truth cloth'd in Wit, and Love in
Innocence.

So that the muddiest lovers may
learn here.

No Fountains can be sweet that are
not clear.

(533)

There Juvenal reviv'd by thee

declares
How flat Man's joys are, and how

mean his cares ;
And generously upbraids the World

that they
Should such a value for their ruin

pay.
But when thy sacred Muse diverts

her quill,
The landskip to design of Leon's

Hill; 20

As nothing else was worthy her or

thee,
So we admire almost t' idolatry.
What savage breast would not be

rap'd to find
Such jewels in such cabinets en-

shrin'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 thy

fame.
That nothing can disturb it but my

name ; 30

Nay, I have hopes that standing

so near thine
'Twill lose its dross, and by degrees

refine.
Live till the disabused World con-
sent,
All truths of use, or 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.

Katherine Philips

A retir'd Friendship. To
Ardelia

Come, my Ardelia, to this Bower,
Where kindly mingling souls
awhile,

Let 's innocently spend an hour,
And at all serious follies smile.

II

Here is no quarrelling for crowns,
Nor fear of changes in our fate ;

No trembling at the Great One's
frowns,
Nor any slavery of state.

Ill

Here's no disguise nor treachery.
Nor any deep conceal'd design ;
From blood and plots this place is
free, 1 1

And calm as are those looks of
thine,

IV

Here let us sit and bless our stars,
Who did such happy quiet give.

As that remov'd from noise of w^rs,
In one another's hearts we live,

Why should we entertain a fear ?

Love cares not how the World is

turn'd :

If crowds of dangers should appear,

Yet Friendship can be uncon-

cern'd. 20

VI

We wear about us such a charm.
No horror can be our offence ;

For mischiefs self can do no harm
To Friendship or to Innocence.

VII

Let 's mark how soon Apollo's beams
Command the flocks to quit their
meat.
And not entreat the neighbouring
streams
To quench their thirst, but cool
their heat.

(5m)

VIII

In such a scorching age as this,
Who would not ever seek a shade,

Deserve their happiness to miss, 31
As having their own peace
betray'd.

IX

But we (of one another's mind
Assur'd) the boisterous World
disdain ;

With quiet souls and unconfin'd
Enjoy what Princes wish in vain.

To Mrs. Mary Carne, when
Philaster courted her

As some great Conqueror who

knows no bounds.
But hunting Honour in a thousand

wounds.
Pursues his rage, and thinks that

triumph cheap
That's butattended with the common

heap,
Till his more happy fortune doth

afford
Some Royal captive that deserv'd

his sword,
And only now is of his laurel proud,
Thinking his dang'rous valour well

bestow'd ;
But then retreats, and spending

hate no more,
Thinks Mercy now what Courage

was before : 10

As cowardice in fight, so equally
He doth abhor a bloody victory:
So, madam, though your Beauty

were allow'd
To be severe unto the yielding

crowd.
That were subdu'd ere you an Object

knew
Worthy your conquest and your

mercy too ;
Yet now 'tis gain'd, your victory 's

complete.
Only your clemency should be as

great.

To Mrs. Mary Came

None will dispute the power of

your eyes,
That understands Philaster is their

prize. 20

Hope not your glory can have new

access,
For all your future trophies will

grow less :
And with that homage be you

satisfi'd
From him that conquers all the

world beside.
Nor let your rigour now the triumph

blot.
And lose the honour which your

beauty got.
Be just and kind unto your peace

and fame,
In being so to him, for they're the

same :
And live and die at once, if you

would be
Nobly transmitted to posterity. 30
Take heed lest in the story they

peruse
A murther which no language can

excuse :
But wisely spare the trouble of one

frown ;
Give him his happiness, and know

your own.
Thus shall you be as Honour's self

esteem'd.
Who have one sex oblig'd, your own

redeem'd.
Thus the religion due unto your

shrine
Shall be as universal, as divine :
And that Devotion shall this bless-
ing gain,
Which Law and Reason do attempt

in vain, 40

The world shall join, maintaining

but one strife,
Who shall most thank you for

Philaster's hfe.

To Mr. J. B. the noble
Cratander, upon a Com-
position of his which he
was not willinof to own
pubHcly

As when some injur'd Prince assumes

disguise.
And strives to make his carriage

sympathize.
Yet hath a great becoming mien and

air,
Which speaks hirri Royal spite of

all his care :
So th' issues of thy soul can ne'er

be hid.
And the Sun's force may be as soon

forbid
As thine obscur'd ; there is ho

shade so great
Through which it will not dart forth

light and heat.
Thus we discover thee by thy own

day,
Against thy will snatching the cloud

away. 10

Now the piece shines, and though

we will not say,
Parents can souls, as taper ^ lights,

convey ;
Yet we must grant thy soul trans-
mitted here
In beams almost as lasting and as

clear.
And that's our highest praise, for

but thy mind.
Thy works could never a resem-
blance find.
That mind whosesearchcan Nature's

secret hand
At one great stroke discover and

command,
Which cleareth times and things,

before whose eyes
Nor men nor notions dare put on

disguise.

20

(525)

Tapers ?

Kath

ertiie

Philip ii

And were all authors now as much

forgot
As prosperous Ignorance herself

would plot,
Had we the rich supplies of thy own

breast,
The knowing World would never

miss the rest.
Men did before from Ignorance

take their fame.
But Learning's self is honour'd by

thy name.
Thou studiest not belief to intro-
duce
Of novelties, more fit for show than

use;
But think'st it nobler charity t'

uphold
The credit and the beauty of the old :
And with one hand canst easily

support 31

Learning and Law, a Temple and

a Court.
And this secures me : for as we

below
Valleys from hills, houses from

churches know,
But to their fight who stand extremely

high,
These forms will have one flat

equality :
So from a lower soul I well might

fear
A critic censure when survey'd too

near ;
But not from him who plac'd above

the best.
Lives in a height which levels all
the rest. 40

To the Excellent Mrs. Anne
Owen, upon her receiving
the Name of Lucasia, and
Adoption into our Society,
December 28, 1651

We are complete, and Fate hath

now
No greater blessing to bestow :
(526)

Nay, the dull World must now

confess.
We have all worth, all happiness.
Annals of State are trifles to our

fame,
Now 'tis made sacred by Lucasia's
name.

But as though through a burning-
glass

The Sun more vigorous doth pass,

Yet still with general freedom
shines ;

For that contracts, but not con-
fines : 10
So though by this her beams are

fixed here.
Yet she diff'uses Glory everywhere.

Her mind is so entirely bright,
The splendour would but wound

our sight,
And must to some disguise submit.
Or we could never worship it.
And we by this relation are allow'd
Lustre enough to be Lucasia's cloud.

Nations will own us now to be
A Temple of Divinity ; 20

And pilgrims shall ten ages hence
Approach our tombs with
reverence.
May then that time which did such

bliss convey.
Be kept by us perpetual Holy-day.

To the truly Noble Mrs.
Anne Owen, on my first
Approaches

Madam,
As in a triumph conquerors admit
Their meanest captives to attend on

it,
Who, though unworthy, have the

power confest.
And justifi'd the yielding of the rest :
So when the busy World (in hope t'

excuse
Their own surprise) your Conquests

do peruse,

To the truly Noble Mf^s. Aitiie Owe7i

And find my name, they will be apt

to say,
Your charms were blinded, or else

thrown away.
There is no honour got in gaining me.
Who am a prize not worth your

victory. lo

But this will clear you, that 'tis

general.
The worst applaud what is admir'd

by all.
But I have plots in 't : for the way

to be
Secure of fame to all posterity,
Is to obtain the honour I pursue.
To tell the World I was subdu'd by

you.
And since in you all wonders

common are.
Your votaries may in your virtues

share,
While you by noble magic worth

impart :
She that can conquer, can reclaim a

heart. 20

Of this creation I shall not despair.
Since for your own sake it concerns

your care.
For 'tis more honour that the world

should know
You made a noble Soul, than found

it so.

Lucasia

Not to oblige Lucasia by my voice.
To boast my fate, or justify my

choice,
Is this design'd ; but pity does

engage
My pen to rescue the declining Age.
For since 'tis grown in fashion to be

bad,
And to be vain or angry, proud or mad,
(While in their vices only men agree)
Is thought the only modern gallantry;
How would some brave examples

check the crimes.
And both reproach, and yet reform,

the times ? 10

(5^7)

Nor can Morality itself reclaim
Th' apostate World like my Lucasia's

name :
Lucasia, whose rich soul had it been

known
In that time th' Ancients call'd the

Golden one,
When Innocence and Greatness were

the same.
And men no battles knew but in a

game.
Choosing what Nature, not what Art,

prefers ;
Poets were Judges, Kings Philo-
sophers 3
Even then from her the wise would

copies draw.
And she to th' infant world had

giv'n a law. 20

That souls were made of Number

could not be
An observation, but a prophecy.
It meant Lucasia, whose harmonious

state
The Spheres and Muses only imitate.
But as then Music is best under-
stood.
When every chord 's examin'd and

found good :
So what in others Judgement is and

Will,
In her is the same even Reason still.
And as some colour various seems,

but yet
'Tis but our diff'rence in considering

it : 30

So she now light, and then does

light dispense,
But is one shining orb of excellence :
And that so piercing when she

judgement takes.
She doth not search, but intuition

makes :
And her discoveries more easy are
Than Caesar's Conquest in his Pontic

War.
As bright and vigorous her beams

are pure,
And in their own rich candour so

secure,

Katherine Philips

That had she liv'd where legends

were devised,
Rome had been just, and she been

canonized. 4°

Nay Innocence herself less clear

must be,
If Innocence be anything but she.
For virtue's so congenial to her

mind,
That liquid things, or friends, are

less combin'd.
So that in her that sage his wish had

seen.
And virtue's self had personated

been.
Now as distilled simples do agreCj
And in th' alembic lose variety :
So virtue, though in pieces scatter'd

'twas.
Is by her mind hiade one rich useful

mass. 50

Nor doth Discretion put Religion

down.
Nor hasty Zeal usurp the judgement's

crown.
Wisdom and Friendship have one

single throne.
And make another friendship of

their own.
Each sev'ral piece darts such fierce

pleasing rays,
Poetic Lovers would but wrong in

praise.
All hath proportion, all hath come-
liness,
And her Humility alone excess.
Her modesty doth wrong a worth

so great,
Which Calumny herself would

noblier treat : 60

While true to Friendship and to

Nature's trust,
To her own merits only she 's un-
just.
But as Divinity we best declare
By sounds as broken as our notions

are ;
So to acknowledge such Vast

eminence,
Imperfect wonder is our eloquence.
(5^8)

No pen Lucasia's glories can re-
late.

But they admire best who dare
imitate.

Wiston Vault

And why this vault and tomb?

Alike we must
Put off distinction, and put on our

dust.
Nor can the stateliest fabric help to

save
From the corruptions of a common

grave ;
Nor for the Resurrection more

prepare,
Than if the dust were scatter'd into

air.
What then? Th' ambition's just,

say some, that we
May thus perpetuate our memory.
Ah false vain task of Art ! ah poor

weak Man !
Whose monument does more than 's

merit can : 10

Who by his friends' best care and

love 's abus'd.
And in his very Epitaph accus'd :
For did they not suspect his Name

would fall,
There would not need an Epitaph

at all.
But after death too I would be

alive,
And shall, if my Lucasia do, sur-
vive.
I quit these pomps of death, and am

content,
Having her heart to be my monu-
ment :
Though ne'er stone to me, 'twill

stone for me prove,
By the peculiar miracles of Love. 20
There I'll inscription have which no

tomb gives,
Not, Here Orinda lies, but. Here

she lives.

Frie7idship ifi Eml?iem^ or the Seal

Friendship in Emblem, or

the Seal. To my dearest

Lucasia

I
The Hearts thus intermixed speak
A love that no bold shock can

break ;
For join'd and growing both in one,
None can be disturb'd alone.

II
That means a mutual Knowledge

too;
For what is 't either heart can do,
Which by its panting sentinel
It does not to the other tell ?

in
That Friendship hearts so much

refines,
It nothing but itself designs : lo
The hearts are free from lower

ends,
For each point to the other tends.

IV

They flame, 'tis true, and several

ways,
But still those Flames do so much

raise,
That while to either they incline,
They yet are noble and divine.

V

From smoke or hurt those flames are
free,

From grossness or mortality :

The heart (like Moses' Bush pre-
sumed)

Warm'd and enlightened, not
consumed. 20

VI

The Compasses that stand above.
Express this great immortal Love ;
For friends, like them, can prove

this true.
They are, and yet they are not, two.

VII

And in their posture is exprest
Friendship's exalted interest :
Each follows where the other leans.
And what each does, this other
means.

( 529 ) i^i

VIII

And as when one foot does stand fast,
And t' other circles seeks to cast, 30
The steady part does regulate
And make the wand'rer's motion

straight

IX

So friends are only two in this,
T' reclaim each other when they miss :
For whosoe'er will grossly fall.
Can never be a friend at all.

X

And as that useful instrument
For even lines was ever meant ;
So Friendship from good Angels

springs.
To teach the world heroic things. 40

XI

As these are found out in design
To rule and measure every line ;
So Friendship governs actions best,
Prescribing unto all the rest.

XII

And as in Nature nothing 's set
So just as lines in number met ;
So Compasses for these b'ing made.
Do friendship's harmony persuade.

XIII

And like to them, so friends may own
Extension, not division : 50

Their points, like bodies, separate ;
But head, like souls, knows no such
fate.

XIV

And as each part so well is knit,
That their embraces ever fit :
So friends are such by destiny.
And no third can the place supply.

XV

There needs no Motto to the Seal:
But that we may the mind reveal
To the dull eye, it was thought fit
That Friendship only should be
writ. Co

XVI

But as there are degrees of bliss,
So there's no Friendship meant by

this,
But such as will transmit to Fame
Lucasia and Orinda's Name.

m

Katherine Philips

In Memory of F. P. who
died at Acton on the 24 of
May, 1660, at Twelve and
an Half of Age

If I could ever write a lasting verse,
It should be laid, dear Saint, upon

thy hearse.
But Sorrow is no Muse, and does

confess,
That it least can, what it would most

express.
Yet that I may some bounds to

Grief allow,
I'll try if I can weep in numbers

now.
Ah, beauteous blossom, too untimely

dead !
Whither, ah, whither is thy sweet-
ness fled ?
Where are the charms that always

did arise
From the prevailing language of thy

eyes ? 10

Where is thy beauteous and lovely

mien,
And all the wonders that in thee

were seen ?
Alas ! in vain, in vain on thee I rave ;
There is no pity in the stupid grave.
But so the bankrupt sitting on the

brim
Of those fierce billows which had

ruin'd him.
Begs for his lost estate, and does

complain
To the inexorable floods in vain.
As well we may enquire when roses

die.
To what retirement their sweetodours

fly; 20

Whither their virtues and their

blushes haste,
When the short triumph of their life

is past ;
Or call their perishing beauties back

with tears.
As add one moment to thy finish'd

years.

(530)

No, thou art gone, and thy presaging

mind
So thriftily thy early hours de-

sign'd.
That hasty Death was baffled in his

pride.
Since nothing of thee but thy body

di'd.
Thy soul was up betimes, and so

concern'd
To grasp all excellence that could

be learn'd, 30

That finding nothing fill her thirsting

here.
To the spring-head she went to

quench it there ;
And so prepar'd, that being freed

from sin
She quickly might become a

Cherubin.
Thou wert all Soul, and through

thy eyes it shin'd :
Asham'd and angry to be so con-

fin'd,
It long'd to be uncag'd, and thither

flown
Where it might know as clearly as

'twas known.
In these vast hopes we might thy

change have found.
But that Heav'n blinds whom it

decrees to wound. 40

For parts so soon at so sublime a

pitch,
A judgement so mature, fancy so

rich.
Never appear unto unthankful Men,
But as a vision to be hid again.
So glorious scenes in masques,

spectators view
With the short pleasure of an hour

or two ;
But that once past, the ornaments

are gone.
The lights extinguish'd, and the

curtains drawn.
Yet all these gifts were thy less

noble part.
Not was thy head so worthy as thy

heart ; 50

In Memory of F. P.

Where the Divine Impression shin'd

so clear,
As snatch 'd thee hence, and yet

endear'd thee here :
For what in thee did most command

our love,
Was both the cause and sign of thy

remove.
Such fools are we, so fatally we

choose,
That what we most would keep, we

soonest lose.
The humble greatness of thy pious

thought.
Sweetness unforc'd, and bashfulness

untaught,
The native candour of thine open

breast,
And all the beams wherein thy

worth was drest, 60

Thy wit so bright, so piercing and

immense,
Adorn'd with wise and lovely inno-
cence,
Might have foretold thou wert not

so complete,
But that our joy might be as short

as great.
So the poor swain beholds his

ripen'd corn
Ey some rough wind without a sickle

torn.
Never, ah ! never let sad parents

guess
At one remove of future happinfess:
But reckon children 'mong those

passing joys,
Which one hour gives, and the

next hour destroys. 70

Alas ! we were secure of our con-
tent ;
But find too late that it was only

lent,
To be a mirror wherein we may see
How frail we are, how spotless we

should be.
But if to thy blest soul my grief

appears,
Forgive and pity these injurious

tears :

( 531 ) M m 2

Impute them to Affection's sad

excess,
Which will not yield to Nature's

tenderness.
Since 'twas through dearest ties and

highest trust
Continued from thy cradle to thy

dust ; 80

And so rewarded and confirm'd by

thine,
That (woe is me !) I thought thee

too much mine.
But I'll resign, and follow thee as

fast
As my unhappy minutes will make

haste.
Till when the fresh remembrances

of thee
Shall be my Emblems of Mortality.
For such a loss as this (bright Soul !)

is not
Ever to be repaired, or forgot.

In, Memory of that excellent
Person Mrs. Mary Lloyd
of Bodidrist in Denbigh-
shire, who died Nov. 13,
1656, after she came thither
from Pembroke-shire.

I CANNOT hold, for though to write

were rude,
Yet to be silent were ingratitude,
And folly too ; for if posterity
Should never hear of such an one as

thee.
And only know this age's brutish

fame,
They would think Virtue nothing

but a name.
And though far abler pens must her

define,
Yet her adoption hath engaged

mine :
And I must own where merit shines

so clear,
'Tis hard to write, but harder to

forbear. 10

Katheri7te Philips

Sprung from an ancient and an

honour'd stem,
Who lent her lustre, and she paid

it them ;
Who still in great and noble things

appear'dj
Whom all their country lov'd, and

yet they fear'd.
Match'd to another good and great

as they,
Who did their country both oblige

and sway.
Behold herself, who had without

dispute,
More than both families could

contribute.
What early beauty Grief and Age

had broke,
Her lovely rehques and her offspring
spoke. 20

She was by Nature and her parents'

care,
A woman long before most others are.
But yet that antedated season she
Improv'd to Virtue, not to Liberty.
For she was still in eitherstate of life,
Meek as a virgin, prudent as a wife.
And she well knew, although so

young and fair,
Justly to mix Obedience, Love, and

Care ;
Whil'st to her children she did still

appear
So wisely kind, so tenderly severe,
That they from her rule and example
brought 31

A native Honour, which she stampt

and taught.
Nor can a single pen enough com-
mend
So kind a sister and so clear a friend.
A wisdom from above did her

secure.
Which as 'twas peaceable, was ever

pure.
And if well-order'd Commonwealths

must be
Patterns for every private family.

Her house, rul'd by her hand and

by her eye,

Might be a pattern for a Monarchy.

Solomon's wisest woman less could

do ; 41

She built her house, but this

preserv'd hers too.
She was so pious that when she did die,
She scarce chang'd place, I'm sure

not company.
Her Zeal was primitive and practice

too ;
She did believe, and pray, and read,

and do.
A firm and equal soul she had

engrost.
Just ev'n to those that disoblig'd

her most.
She grew to love those wrongs she

did receive

For giving her the power to forgive.

Her alms I may admire, but not

relate, 5 i

But her own works shall praise her

in the gate.
Her life was chequer'd with afflictive

years,
And even her comfort season'd in

her tears.
Scarce for a husband's loss her

eyes were dried ',
And that loss by her children half

supplied,
When Heav'n was pleas'd not these

dear props t' afford.
But tore most off by sickness or by

sword.
She, who in them could still their

father boast,

Was a fresh widow every son she lost.

Litigious hands did her of right

deprive, 6 1

That after all 'twas penance to

survive.
She still these griefs had nobly

undergone,
Which few support at all, but better
none.

» Orig. 'dri'd' and 'suppli'd' which is not quite ncghgible.
( 532 )

/;/ Mei?tory of Mrs. Ma?y Lloyd

Such a submissive greatness who can

find?
A tender heart with so resolv'd

a mind !
But she, though sensible, was still

the same,
Of a resigned soul, untainted fame ;
Nor were her virtues coarsely set,

for she
Out-did example in civility. 70

To bestow blessings, to oblige,

relieve.
Was all for which she could endure

to live.
She had a joy higher in doing good,
Than they to whom the benefit

accru'd.
Though none of Honour had a

quicker sense,
Never had woman more of compla-
cence ^ ;
Yet lost it not in empty forms, but

still
Her Nature noble was, her soul

gentile -.
And as in youth she did attract (for

she
The verdure had without the vanity),
So she in age was mild and grave

to all, 81

Was not morose, but was majestical.
Thus from all other women she

had skill
To draw their good, but nothing of

their ill.
And since she knew the mad

tumultuous World
Saw crowns revers'd, temples to

ruin hurl'd ;
She in retirement chose to shine and

burn,
As a bright lamp shut in some Roman

urn.
At last, when spent with sickness,

grief and age.
Her Guardian Angel did her death

presage 90

* Note the French accent.

* This seems worth keeping, both as a document of form and because of the horrible
degradation of *gen/^e/' in meaning.

( 533 )

(So that by strong impulse she

cheerfully
Dispensed blessings, and went home

to die ;
That so she might, when to that

place remov'd.
Marry his ashes whom she ever

lov'd) :
She died, gain'd a reward, and paid

a debt
The Sun himself did never brighter

set.
Happy were they that knew her and

her end.
More happy they that did from her

descend :
A double blessing they may hope to

have.
One she convey'd to them, and one

she gave. 100

All that are hers are therefore sure

to be
Blest by inheritance and legacy.
A Royal Birth had less advantage

been.
'Tis more to die a Saint than

live a Queen.

To the truly competent
Judge of Honour, Lucasia,
upon a scandalous Libel
made by J. J.

Honour, which differs man from
man much more

Than Reason difier'd him from
beasts before.

Suffers this common fate of all things
good.

By the blind World to be misunder-
stood.

For as some heathens did their Gods
confine,

While in a bird or beast they made
their shrine ;

Katherine Philips

Depos'd their Deities to earth, and

then
Offer'd them rites that were too low

for Men :
So those who most to Honour

sacrifice,
Prescribe to her a mean and weak

disguise ; lo

Imprison her to others' false applause.
And from Opinion do receive their

laws.
While that inconstant Idol they

implore,
Which in one breath can murther

and adore.
From hence it is that those who

Honour court,
(And place her in a popular report)
l)o prostitute themselves to sordid

Fate,
And from their being oft degenerate.
And thus their Tenents^ too are

low and bad.
As if 'twere honourable to be mad :
Or that their Honour had concerned

been 21

But to conceal, not to forbear, a sin.
But Honour is more great and more

sublime.
Above the battery of Fate or Time.
We see in Beauty certain airs are

found,
Which not one grace can make,

but all compound.
Honour 's to th' mind as Beauty to

the sense.
The fair result of mixed excellence.
As many diamonds together lie.
And dart one lustre to amaze the

eye : 30

So Honour is that bright aetherial

ray
Which many stars doth in one light

display.
But as that Beauty were as truly

sweet,
Were there no tongue to praise, no

eye to see 't ;

And 'tis the privilege of a native

Spark,
To shed a constant splendour in the

dark :
So Honour is its own reward and

end.
And satisfied within, cannot descend
To beg the suffrage of a vulgar

tongue.
Which by commending Virtue doth

it wrong. ^o

It is the charter of a noble action,
That the performance giveth satis-
faction.
Other things are below 't ; for from

a clown
Would any Conqueror receive his

crown ?
'Tis restless cowardice to be a drudge
To an uncertain and unworthy

judge.
So the Cameleon, who lives on air.
Is of all creatures most inclin'd to

fear.
But peaceable reflections on the

mind,
Will in a silent shade Contentment

find. 50

Honour keeps court at home, and

doth not fear
To be Gondemn'd abroad, if quitted

there.
While I have this retreat, 'tis not

the noise
Of slander, though believ'd, can

wrong my joys.
There is advantage in 't : for gold

uncoin'd
Had been unuseful, not with glory

shin'd :
This stamp'd my innocency in the

ore.
Which was as much, but not so

bright, before.
Till an Alembic wakes and outward

draws,
The strength of sweets lies sleeping

in their cause : 60

•Tenant' or 'tenet'? The latter better.

(534)

'To the truly compete7^t yiidge of Ho7iour

So this gave me an opportunity
To feed upon my own Integrity.
And though their judgement I must

still disclaim,
Who can nor give nor take away

a fame :
Yet I'll appeal unto the knowing

few,
Who dare be just, and rip my heart

to you.

To Antenor^ on a Paper of
mine which J. J. threatens
to pubHsh to prejudice
him

Must then my crimes become thy

scandal too ?
Why, sure the Devil hath not much

to do.
The weakness of the other charge

is clear,
When such a trifle must bring lip

the rear.
But this is mad design, for who

before
Lost his repute upon another's score ?
My love and life I must confess are

thine.
But not my errors, they are only

mine.
And if my faults must be for thine

allow'd,
It will be hard to dissipate the cloud :
For Eve's rebellion did not Adam

blast, II

Until himself forbidden fruit did

taste.
'Tis possible this magazine of Hell
(Whose name would turn a verse

into a spellj
Whose mischief is congenial to his

life)
May yet enjoy an honourable wife.
Nor let his ill be reckoned as her

blame,
Nor yet my follies blast Antenor's

name.

( 535 )

But if those lines a punishment

could call
Lasting and great as this dark

lanthorn's gall ; 20

Alone I'd court the torments with

content.
To testify that thou art innocent.
So if my ink through malice prov'd

a stain.
My blood should justly wash it off

again.
But since that mint of slander could

invent
To make so dull a rhyme his instru-
ment.
Let verse revenge the quarrel. But

he 's worse
Than wishes, and below a Poet's

curse ;
And more than this Wit knows not

how to give.
Let him be still himself, and let him

live. 30

Rosania shadowed whilst
Mrs. Mary Awbrey

If any could my dear Rosania hate,
They only should her Character

relate.
Truth shines so bright there, that an

enemy
Would be a better orator than I.
Love stifles language, and I must

confess,
I had said more, if I had loved

less.
Yet the most critical who that face

see,
Will ne'er suspect a partiality.
Others by time and by degrees

persuade,
But her first look doth every heart

invade. 10

She hath a face so eminently bright,
Would makeaLoverof an Anchorite:
A face where conquest mixt with

modesty,
Are both completed in Divinity.

Katheri7te Philips

Not her least glance but sets a heart

on fire,
And checks it if it should too much

aspire.
Such is the magic of her looks, the

same
Beam doth both kindle and refine

our flame.
If she doth smile, no painter e'er

would take
Another rule when he would Mercy

make. 20

And Heav'n to her such splendour

hath allow'd,
That no one posture can her beauty

cloud :
For if she frown, none but would

fancy then
Justice descended here to punish

men.
Her common looks I know not how

to call
Any one Grace, they are compos'd

of all.
And if we mortals could the doctrine

reach.
Her eyes have language, and her

looks do teach.
And as in palaces the outmost,

worst
Rooms entertain our wonder at the

first \ 30

But once within the Presence-

Chamber door,
We do despise whate'er we saw

before :
So when you with her mind acquaint-
ance get,
You'll hardly think upon the

cabinet.
Her soul, that ray shot from the

Deity,
Doth still preserve its native purity ;
Which earth can neither threaten

nor allure,
Nor by false joys defile it, or ob-
scure.
The innocence which in her heart

doth dwell,
Angels themselves can only parallel.

(536)

More gently soft than is an evening

shower : 41

And in that sweetness there is

coucht a power,
Which scorning Pride, doth think it

very hard
That modesty should need so mean

a guard.
Her Honour is protected by her eyes,
As the old Flaming Sword kept

Paradise.
Such constancy of Temper, Truth

and Law,
Guides all her actions, that the

World may draw
From her one soul the noblest

precedent
Of the most safe, wise, virtuous

government. 50

And as the highest element is clear
From all the tempests which disturb

the air :
So she above the World and its rude

noise.
Above our storms a quiet calm

enjoys.
Transcendent things her noble

thoughts sublime.
Above the faults and trifles of the

time.
Unlike those gallants which take far

less care
To have their souls, than make their

bodies fair ;
Who (sick with too much leisure)

time do pass
With these two books. Pride, and a

looking-glass : 60

Plot to surprise men's hearts, their

pow'r to try.
And call that Love, which is mere

Vanity.
But she, although the greatest

INIurthcrer,
(For cv'ry glance commits a

Massacre)
Yet glories not that slaves her power

confess.
But wishes that her monarchy were

less.

Rosania shadowed

And if she love, it is not thrown

away,

As many do, only to spend the day;

But hers is serious, and enough alone

To make all Love become Religion.

And to her friendship she so faith-
ful is, 71

That 'tis her only blot and pre-
judice :

For Envy's self could never error
see

Within that soul, 'bating her love to
me.

Now as I must confess the name of
friend

To her that all the World doth
comprehend.

Is a most wild ambition ; so for me

To draw her picture is flat lunacy.

Oh ! I must think the rest ; for
who can write,

Or into words confine what's
infinite? So

To the Queen of Inconstancy,
Regina Collier, in Antwerp

I

Unworthy, since thou hast decreed
Thy Love and honour both shall

bleed.
My Friendship could not choose to

die
In better time or company.

II

What thou hast got by this exchange
Thou wilt perceive, when the re-
venge
Shall by those treacheries be made,
For which our Faith thou hast
betray'd.

Ill
When thy idolaters shall be
True to themselves, and false to
thee, 10

Thou'lt see thatin heart-merchandise.
Value, not number, makes the
price.

( 537 )

IV

Live to that day, my Innocence

Shall be my Friendship's just

defence :
For this is all the World can find.
While thou wert noble, I was kind.

v
The desp'rate game that thou dost

play
At private ruins cannot stay ;
The horrid treachery of that face
Will sure undo its native place. 20

VI

Then let the Frenchmen never fear
The victory while thou art there :
Forif sins will call judgements down.
Thou hast enough to stock the Town.

To my Excellent Lucasia,
on our Friendship

I DID not live until this time

Crown'd my felicity,
When I could say without a crime,

I am not thine, but Thee.

This carcase breath'd, and walkt,
and slept.

So that the World believ'd
There was a soul the motions kept ;

But they were all deceiv'd.
For as a watch by art is wound

To motion, such was mine : 10
But never had Orinda found

A soul till she found thine ;
Which now inspires, cures and
supplies.

And guides my darkened breast :
For thou art all that I can prize.

My Joy, my Life, my Rest.
No bridegroom's nor crown-
conqueror's mirth

To mine compar'd can be :
They have but pieces of this Earth,

I've all the World in thee. 20

Then let our flames still light and
shine.

And no false fear control,
As innocent as our design,

Immortal as our soul.

Katherine Philips

s

Rosania's private Marriage

It was a wise and kind design of

Fate,
That none should this day's glory

celebrate :
For 'twere in vain to keep a time

which is
Above the reach of all solemnities.
The greatest actions pass without a

noise,
And tumults but profane diviner

joys.
Silence wit^ things transcendent

nearest suits,
The greatest Emperors are serv'd by

mutes.
And as in ancient time the Deities
To their own priests reveal'd no

mysteries lo

Until they were from all the World

retir'd,
And in some cave made fit to be

inspir'd.
So when Rosania (who hath them

out-vied.
And with more justice might be

deified ;
Who if she had their rites and

altars, we
Should hardly think it were

idolatry)
Had found a breast that did deserve

to be
Receptacle of her Divinity;
It was not fit the gazing World

should know
When she convey'd Tierself to him,

or how. 20

An eagle safely may behold the

Sun,
When weak eyes are with too much

light undone.
Now as in oracles were understood.
Not the priest's only, but the

common good :
So her great soul would not imparted

be.
But in design of general Charity.

(538)

She now is more diffusive than

before ;
And what men then admir'd, they

now adore.
For this exchange makes not her

power less,
But only fitter for the World's

address. 30

May then that Mind (which, if we

will admit
The Universe one Soul, must sure

be it)
Inform this All (which, till she

shin'd out, lay
As drowsy men do in a cloudy day),
And Honour, Virtue, Reason so

dispense.
That all may owe them to her

influence :
And while this age is thus employ'd,

may she
Scatter new blessings for posterity.
I dare not any other wish prefer, 39
For only her bestowing adds to her.
And to a soul so in herself complete
As would be wrong'd by any

epithet.
Whose splendour 's fix'd unto her

chosen sphere,
And fill'd with love and satisfaction

there,
What can increase the triumph, but

to see
The World her Convert and her

History ?

Injuria Amicitiae

Lovely Apostate ! what was my

offence ?
Or am I punish'd for obedience ?
Must thy strange rigour find as

strange a time ?
The act and season are an equal

crime.
Of what thy most ingenious scorns

could do,
Must I be subject and spectator

too?

hijiiria Ajtticitiae

Or were the sufferings and sins too few
To be sustain'd by me, perform'd

by you ?
Unless (with Nero) your uncurb'd

desire
Be to survey the Rome you set on

fire. lo

While wounded for and by your

power, I
At once your Martyr and your

Prospect die.
This is my doom, and such a

riddling fate
As all impossibles doth complicate.
For Obligation here is Injury,
Constancy Crime, Friendship a

Heresy.
And you appear so much on ruin

bent,
Your own destruction gives you

now Content :
For our twin-spirits did so long

agree,
You must undo yourself to ruin me.
And, like some frantic Goddess,

you're inclin'd, 21

To raze the temple where you are

enshrin'd.
And, what 's the miracle of cruelty.
Kill that which gave you immortality.
While glorious friendship, whence

your honour springs.
Lies gasping in the Crowd of common

things ;
And I'm so odious, that for being

kind
Doubled and studied murthers are

design'd.
Thy sin 's all paradox, for shouldst

thou be
Thyself again, th' wouldst be severe

to me. 30

For thy repentance coming now so

late.
Would only change, and not relieve

my fate.
So dangerous is the consequence

of ill.
Thy least of crimes is to be cruel

still.

( 539 )

For of thy smiles I should yet more

complain,
If I should live to be betray'd again.
Live then (fair Tyrant) in security,
From both my kindness and revenge

be free ;
While I, who to the swains had

sung thy fame.
And taught each echo to repeat thy

name, 40

Will now my private sorrow enter-
tain,
To rocks and rivers, not to thee,

complain.
And though before our union

cherish'd me,
'Tis now my pleasure that we

disagree.
For from my passion your last rigour

grew.
And you kill'd me because I

worshipp'd you.
But my worst vows shall be your

happiness.
And not to be disturb'd by my

distress.
And though it would my sacred

flames pollute,
To make my heart ?. scorned pros-
titute ; 50
Yet I'll adore the author of my death,
And kiss the hand that robs me of

my breath.

To Regina Collier, on her
cruelty to Philaster

Triumphant Queen of scorn ! how

ill doth sit
In all that sweetness, such injurious

Wit !
Unjust and Cruel ? what can be

your prize.
To make one heart a double

Sacrifice ?
Where such ingenious rigour you do

show,
To break his heart, you break his

image too ;

Kath

eri7ie

Philips

And by a tyranny that's strange and

new,
You murther him because he

worships you.
No pride can raise you, or can make

him start,
Since Love and Honour do enrich

his heart. lo

Be wise and good^ lest when fate

will be just,
She should o'erthrow those glories in

the dust,
Rifle your beauties, and you thus

forlorn
IMake a cheap victim to another's

scorn ;
And in those fetters which you do

upbraid.
Yourself a wretched captive may

be made.
Redeem the poison'd Age, let it be

seen
There's no such freedom as to serve

a Queen.
But you I see are lately Round-head

grown,

And whom you vanquish you insult
upon. 20

To Philaster, on his Melan-
choly for Regina

Give over now thy tears, thou
vain
And double Murtherer;
For every minute of thy pain

^^'ounds both thyself and her.
Then leave this dullness ; for 'tis

our belief.
Thy Queen must cure, or not
deserve, thy grief.

Philoclea's parting

Kinder than a condemned man's

reprieve,
Was your dear company that bad

nie live.

( 54^- )

When by Rosania's silence I had

been
The wretched'st martyr any age hath

seen.
But as when traitors faint upon the

rack,
Tormenters strive to call their spirits

back ;
Not out of kindness to preserve

their breath.
But to increase the torments of their

Death :
So was I raised to this glorious

state.
To make my fall the more

unfortunate. lo

But this I know, none ever died

before
Upon a sadder or a nobler score.

To Rosania, now Mrs.
Montague, being with her

I
As men that are with visions grac'd.
Must have all other thoughts dis-

plac'd.
And buy those short descents ofLight
With loss of sense : or spirit's flight :

II
So since thou wert my happiness,
I could not hope the rate was less ;
And thus the Vision which I gain
Is short t' enjoy, and hard t' attain.

Ill
Ah then ! what a poor trifle's all
That thing which here we Pleasure

call, 1 ->

Since what our very souls hath cost
Is hardly got and quickly lost !

IV

Yet is there justice in the fate ;
For should we dwell in blest estate.
Our joys thereby would so inflame.
We should forget from whence we
came.

V

If this so sad a doom can quit
Me for the follies I commit ;

To Rosa?iia

Let no estrangement on thy part
Add a new ruin to my heart. 20

VI

When on myself I do reflect,
I can no smile from thee expect :
But if thy kindness hath no plea,
Some freedom grant for charity.

VII

Else the just World must needs deny
Our Friendship an eternity :
This love will ne'er that title hold :
For mine 's too hot, and thine too
cold.

VIII

Divided rivers lose their name ;
And so our too unequal flame 30
Parted, will Passion be in me,
And an indifference in thee.

IX

Thy absence I could easier find,
Provided thou wert well and kind.
Than such a presence as is this,
Made up of snatches of my bliss.

X

So when the Earth long gasps for

rain.
If she at last some few drops gain,
She is more parched than at first ;
That small recruit increas'd the

thirst. 40

To my Liicasia

Let dull philosophers enquire no

more
In Nature's womb, or causes strive

t' explore.
By what strange harmony and course

of things
Each body to the whole a tribute

brings;
What secret unions secret neigh-

bourings make,
And of each other how they do par-
take.
These are but low experiments :

but he
That Nature's harmony entire would

see,

( 541 )

Must search agreeing souls, sit down

and view
How sweet the mixture is, how full,

how true ; 10

By what soft touches spirits greet

and kiss,
And in each other can complete their

bliss.
A wonder so sublime, it will admit
No rude spectator to contemplate it.
The object will refine, and he that can
Friendship revere, must be a noble

man.
How much above the common rate

of things
Must they then be, from whom this

union springs

t

But what's all this to me, who live

to be
Disprover of my own mortality ? 20
And he that knew my unimproved

soul.
Would say I meant all friendship to

control.
But bodies move in time, and so

must minds ;
And though th' attempt no easy

progress finds.
Yet quit me not, lest I should des-

p'rate grow.
And to such friendship add some

patience now.
O may good Heav'n but so much

virtue lend,
To make me fit to be Lucasia's

Friend !
But I'll forsake myself, and seek a

new
Self in her breast that 's far more

rich and true. .^o

Thus the poor Bee unmark'd doth

hum and fly.
And dron'd with age would unre-
garded die.
Unless some lucky drop of precious

gum,
Do bless the insect with an Amber-
tomb.
Then glorious in its funeral the Bee
Gets Eminence, and gets Eternity.

Katheriiie Philips

On Controversies in Religion

Religion, which true poHcy be-
friends,
Design'd by God to serve Man's

noblest ends,
Is by that old Deceiver's subtle play
Made the chief party in its own

decay,
And meets that eagle's destiny,

whose breast
Felt the same shaft which his own

feathers drest.
For that great Enemy of souls per-

ceiv'd.
The notion of a Deity was weav'd
So closely in Man's soul ; to ruin

that,
He must at once the World depopu-
late. 10
But as those tyrants who their wills

pursue,
If they expound old laws, need make

no new :
So he advantage takes of Nature's

light.
And raises that to a bare useless

height ;
Or while we seek for Truth, he in the

quest
Mixes a Passion, or an Interest,
To make us lose it ; that I know

not how,
'Tis not our practice, but our quarrel

now.
As in the Moon's eclipse some Pagans

thought
Their barbarous clamours her deliver-
ance wrought : 20
So we suppose that truth oppressed

lies.
And needs a rescue by our enmities.
But 'tis injustice, and the mind's

disease.
To think of gaining Truth by losing

Peace.
Knowledge and Love, if true, do

still unite ;
God's Love and Knowledge are both

infinite.

(54^ )

And though indeed Truth does
delight to lie

At some remoteness from a com-
mon eye ;

Yet 'tis not in a thunder or a noise,

But in soft whispers and the stiller
Voice. 30

Why should we then Knowledge so
rudely treat,

Making our weapon what was meant
our meat ?

'Tis Ignorance that makes us quarrel
so ;

The soul that 's dark will be contracted
too.

Chimaeras make a noise, swelling
and vain.

And soon resolve to their own smoke
again.

But a true light the spirit doth
dilate.

And robs it of its proud and sullen
state ;

Makes Love admir'd because 'tis
understood,

And makes us wise because it makes
us good. 40

'Tis to a right prospect of things
that we

Owe our Uprightness and our
Charity.

For who resists a beam when shin-
ing bright.

Is not a sinner of a common height.

That state 's a forfeiture, and helps
are spent,

Not more a Sin, than 'tis a punish-
ment.

The soul which sees things in their
native frame.

Without Opinion's mask or Custom's
name.

Cannot be clogg'd to Sense, or
count that high

Which hath its estimation from a
lie. .so

(Mean, sordid things, which by mis-
take we prize.

And absent covet, but enjoy'd
despise.)

On Controversies iii Religio7i

But scorning these hath robb'd them

of their art,
Either to swell or to subdue the

Heart ;
And learn'd that generous frame to

be above
The World in hopes, below it all in

love :
Touch'd with divine and inward

life doth run.
Not resting till it hath its centre won ;
Moves steadily until it safe doth lie
r th' root of all its immortality ; 60
And resting here hath yet activity
To grow more like unto the Deity ;
Good, Universal, Wise, and Just

as he,
(The same in kind, though diff'ring

in degree)
Till at the last 'tis swallowed up and

grown
With God and with the whole Crea-
tion one ;
Itself, so small a part, i' th' Whole

is lost.
And generals have particulars en-

grost.
That dark contracted personality,
Like mists before the Sun, will from

it fly. 70

And then the soul, one shining

sphere, at length
With true Love's wisdom fill'd and

purged strength,
Beholds her highest good with open

face.
And like him all the World she can

embrace.

To the Honoured Lady E.C.

Madam,

I do not write to you that men may
know

How much I'm honour'd that I may
do so :

Nor hope (though I your rich ex-
ample give)

To write with more success than
I can live,

( 543 )

To cure the age ; nor think I can be

just,
Who only dare to write, because

I must.
I'm full of you, and something must

express,
To vent my wonder and your pow'r

confess.
Had I ne'er heard of your illustrious

nam5,
Nor known the Scotch or English

ancient fame ; 10

Yet if your glorious frame did but

appear,
I could have soon read all your

grandeur there.
I could have seea in each majestic ray,
What greatness ancestors could e'er

convey ;
And in the lustre of your eyes alone,
How near you were allied to the

Throne :
Which yet doth lessen you, who

cannot need
Those blight advantages which you

exceed.
For you are such, that your descent

from Kings
Receives more honour from you

than it brings : 20

As much above their glories as our

toil.
A Court to you were but a hand-
some soil.
And if we name the stock on which

you grew,
'Tis rather to do right to it than

you :
For those that would your greatest

splendour see.
Must read your soul more than your

pedigree.
For as the sacred Temple had with-
out
Beauty to feed those eyes that gaz'd

about.
And yet had riches, state, and wonder

more.
For those that stood within the shin-
ing door ; 30

Kath

ertne

Philips

But in the Holy Place the admitted

few,
Lustre receiv'd and inspiration too :
So though your glories in your face

be seen,
And so much bright instruction in

your mien ;
You are not known but where you

will impart
The treasures of your more illustrious

heart.
Religion all her odours sheds on

you,
Who by obeying vindicate her too :
For that rich beam of Heaven was

almost
In nice disputes and false pretences

lost ; 40

, So doubly injur'd, she could scarce

subsist
Betwixt the hypocrite and casuist ;
Till you by great example did con-
vince
Us of her nature and her residence.
And chose to show her face, and

ease her grief,
Less by your arguments than by

your life ;
Which if it should be copied out,

would be
A solid body of divinity.
Your principle and practice light

would give
What we should do, and what we

should believe : 50

For the extensive knowledge you

profess,
You do acquire with more ease than

confess,
And as by you knowledge has thus

obtain'd
To be refin'd, and then to be

explain'd :
So in return she useful is to you,
In practice and in contemplation

too.
For by the various succours she

hath lent,
You act with judgement, and think

with content.

( 544 )

Yet those vast parts with such a

temper meet.
That you can lay them at Religion's

feet. 60

Nor is it half so bold as it is true,
That Virtue is herself oblig'd to

you :
For being drest in your subduing

charms.
She conquers more than did the

Roman arms.
We see in you how much that

Malice lied
That stuck on goodness any sullen

pride ;
And that the harshness some pro-
fessors wear
Falls to their own, and not Religion's

share.
But your bright sweetness if it but

appear,
Reclaims the bad, and softens the

austere. 70

Men talk'd of Honour too, but could

not tell
What was the secret of that active

spell.
That beauteous mantle they to divers

lent.
Yet wonder'd what the mighty no-
thing meant.
Some did confine her to a worthy

fame,
And some to Royal parents gave her

name.
You having claim unto her either

way.
By what a King could give, a world

could pay,
Have a more Uving honour in your

breast,
Which justifies, and yet obscures the

rest ; 80

A principle from fame and pomp

untied.
So truly high that it despises Pride ;
Buying good actions at the dearest

rate,
Looks down on ill with as much scorn

as hate;

To the Ho?toured Lady E. C.

Acts things so generous and bravely

hard,
And in obliging finds so much

reward ;
So self-denying great, so firmly

just.
Apt to confer, strict to preserve a

trust ;
That all whose honour would be

justified,
Must by your standards have it

stamp'd and tried. 90

But your perfection heightens others'

crimes,
And you reproach while you inform

the times.
Which sad advantage you will scarce

believe ;
Or if you must, you do conceal and

grieve.
You scorn so poor a foil as others'

ill.
And are protector to th' unhappy

still ;
Yet are so tender when you see a

spot,
You blush for those who for them-
selves could not.
You are so much above your sex,

that we
Believe your Life your greatest

courtesy: 100

For women boast, they have you

while you live.
A pattern and a representative,
And future mothers who in child-
birth groan,
Shall wish for daughters, knowing

you are one.
The world hath Kings whose crowns

are cemented.
Or by the blood they boast, or that

they shed :
Yet these great idols of the stooping

crew
Have neither pleasure sound, nor

honour true.
They either fight, or play ; and

power court,
In trivial anger, or in cruel sport, no

You, who a nobler privilege enjoy,
(For you can save whom they can

but destroy)
An Empire have where different

mixtures kiss ;
You're grave, not sour^ and kind,

but not remiss.
Such sweetened Majesty, such

humble State,
Do love and reverence at once

create.
Pardon (dear Madam) these untaught

essays,
I can admire more fitly than I

praise.
Things so sublime are dimly under-
stood.
And you are born so great, and are

so good, 120

So much above the honour of your

name,
And by neglect do so secure your

fame ;
Whose beauty's such as captivates

the wise.
Yet only you of all the World

despise ;
That have so vast a knowledge so

subdued.
Religion so adorn'd, and so pursued ;
A wit so strong, that who would it

define.
Will need one ten times more acute

than mine ',
Yet rul'd so that its vigour manag'd

thus
Becomes at once graceful and

generous ; ijo

Whose honour has so delicate a

sense,
Who always pardon, never give

offence ;
Who needing nothing, yet to all are

kind.
Who have so large a heart, so rich

a mind ;
Whose Friendship still's of the oblig-
ing side.
And yet so free from Tyranny and

Pride ;

( 545 )

N n

Kath

ertne

Philips

Who do in love like Jonathan de-
scend,
And strip yourself to clothe your

happy friend ;
Whose kindness and whose modesty

is such,
T' expect so little and deserve so

much; 140

Who have such candid worth, such

dear concern,
Where we so much may love, and so

much learn ;
Whose every wonder though it fills

and shines,
It never to an ill excess declines ;
But all are found so sweetly oppo-
site,
As are in Titian's pieces shade and

light :
That he that would your great

description try.
Though he write well, would be as

lost as I,
Who of injurious Zeal convicted

stand.
To draw you with so bold and bad

a hand ; 150

But that, like other glories, I

presume
You will enlighten, where you

might consume.

Parting with LiicasIa,A Song

Well, we will do that rigid thing
Which makes spectators think we
part;
Though Absence hath for none a
sting
But those who keep each other's
heart.

II
And when our sense is dispossest,
Our labouring souls will heave and
pant.
And gasp for one another's breast,
Since their conveyances they want.

(546)

III

Nay, we have felt the tedious smart

Of absent Friendship, and do know

That when we die we can but part ;

And who knows what we shall do

now ? 12

IV

Yet I must go : we will submit,
And so our own disposers be ;

For while we nobly suffer it,
We triumph o'er Necessity.

V

By this we shall be truly great,
If having other things o'ercome,

To make our victory complete 19
We can be conquerors at home.

VI

Nay then to meet we may conclude,
And all obstructions overthrow,

Since we our passion have subdu'd.
Which is the strongest thing I
know.

Against Pleasure. Set by
Dr. Coleman

There's no such thing as Pleasure
here,

'Tis all a perfect cheat,
Which does but shine and disappear,

Whose charm is but deceit :
The empty bribe of yielding souls.
Which first betrays, and then con-
trols.

II
'Tis true, it looks at distance fair;

But if we do approach,
The fruit of Sodom will impair,

And perish at a touch : 10

In being than in fancy less.
And we expect more than possess.

Ill
For by our pleasures we are cloy'd,

And so Desire is done ;
Or else, like rivers, they make wide

The channel where they run :
And either way true bliss destroys.
Making Us narrow, or our Joys.

Against Pleasure

IV

We covet pleasure easily,

But it not so possess ; 20

For many things must make it be,

But one may make it less.
Nay, were our state as we could

choose it,
'Twould be consum'd by fear to
lose it.

V

What art thou then, thou winged air,
More weak and swift than Fame ?

Whose next successor is Despair,
And its attendant Shame.

Th' experienc'd Prince then reason
had,

Who said of pleasure, It is mad. 30

A Prayer

Eternal Reason, Glorious Majesty,
Compar'd to whom what can be said

to be?
Whose attributes are Thee, who art

alone
Cause of all various things, and yet

but One ;
Whose Essence can no more be

search'd by man,
Than Heav'n,Thy Throne,begraspM

with a span.
Yet if this great Creation was de-

sign'd
To several ends fitted for every

kind ;
Sure Man (the World's epitome)

must be
Form'd to the best, that is to study

Thee. 10

And as our dignity, 'tis duty too.
Which is summ'd up in this, to

know and do.
These comely rows of creatures spell

Thy Name,
Whereby we grope to find from

whence they came.
By Thy own chain of causes brought

to think
There must be one, then find that

highest link.

( 547 ) N

Thus all created Excellence we see
Is a resembla nee faint and dark of

Thee.
Such shadows are produc'd by the

moon-beams
Of trees or houses in the running

streams. 20

Yet by impressions born with us we

find
How good, great, just Thou art, how

unconfin'd.
Here we are swallowed up and gladly

dwell.
Safely adoring what we cannot tell.
All we know is. Thou art supremely

good,
And dost delight to be so under-
stood.
A spicy mountain on the universe.
On which Thy richest odours do

disperse.
But as the sea to fill a vessel heaves,
More greedily than any cask re-
ceives, 30
Besieging round to find some gap

in it,
Which will a new infusion admit :
So dost Thou covet that Thou mayst

dispense
Upon the empty World Thy influence ;
Lov'st to disburse Thyself in kindness :

Thus
The King of Kings waits to be

gracious.
On this account, O God, enlarge my

heart
To entertain what Thou wouldst fain

impart.
Nor let that soul, by several titles

Thine,
And most capacious form'd for

things Divine, 40

(So nobly meant, that when it most

doth miss,
'Tis in mistaken pantings after

bliss)
Degrade itself in sordid things' de-
light,
Or by profaner mixtures lose its

right.

n 2

Kath

erine

Philipi^

Oh! that with fixt unbroken thoughts

it may
Admire the h'ght which does obscure

the day.
And since 'tis Angels' work it hath

to do,
May its composure be like Angels

too.
When shall these clogs of Sense and

Fancy break,
That I may hear the God within

me speak ? 50

When with a silent and retired art
Shall I with all this empty hurry

part?
To the Still Voice above, my soul

advance ;
My light and joy plac'd in his

countenance?
By whose dispense my soul to such

frame brought,
May tame each treach'rous, fix each

scatt'ring thought ;
With such distinctions all things

here behold.
And so to separate each dross from

gold.
That nothing my free Soul may

satisfy, 59

But t' imitate, enjoy, and study thee.

To Mrs. M. A. upon Absence

I
'Tis now since I began to die

Four months, yet still I gasping
hve ;
Wrapp'd up in sorrow do I lie,

Hoping, yet doubting a reprieve.
Adam from Paradise expell'd
Just such a wretched being held.

II
'Tis not thy love I fear to lose,

That will in spite of absence hold ;
But 'tis the benefit and use

Is lost, as in imprison'd gold : ro
Which though the sum be ne'er so

great,
Enriches nothing but conceit.

(548)

III
What angry star then governs me

That I must feel a double smart,
Prisoner to fate as well as thee ;
Kept from thy face, link'd to thy
heart ?
Because my love all love excels,
Must my grief have no parallels ?

IV

Sapless and dead as Winter here
I now remain, and all I see 20

Copies of my wild state appear,
But I am their epitome.

Love me no more, for I am grown

Too dead and dull for thee to
own.

To Mrs. Mary Awbrey

Soul of my soul, my Joy, my Crown,

my Friend,
A name which all the rest doth

comprehend ;
How happy are we now, whose souls

are grown.
By an incomparable mixture, one :
Whose well-acquainted minds are

now as near
As Love, or Vows, or Friendship can

endear ?
I have no thought but what's to thee

reveal'd,
Nor thou desire that is from me

conceal'd.
Thy heart locks up my secrets richly

set,
And my breast is thy private cabinet.
Thou shed'st no tear but what my

moisture lent, 1 1

And if I sigh, it is thy breath is

spent.
United thus, what horror can appear
Worthy our sorrow, anger, or our

fear?
Let the dull World alone to talk and

fight,
And with their vast ambitions Nature

fright ;

To Mrs. Mary Awbrey

Let them despise so innocent a

flame,
While Envy, Pride, and Faction

play their game :
But we by Love sublim'd so high

shall rise,
To pity Kings, and Conquerors

despise, 20

Since we that sacred union have

engrost,
Which they and all the factious

World have lost.

In Memory of Mr. Cartwright

Stay, Prince of Fancy, stay, we are

not fit
To welcome or admire thy raptures

yet :
Such horrid Ignorance benights the

times,
That Wit and Honour are become

our crimes.
But when those happy Pow'rs which

guard thy dust
To us, and to thy Mem'ry shall be

just.
And by a flame from thy blest Genius

lent.
Rescue us from our dull imprison-
ment,
Unsequester our Fancies, and create
A worth that may upon thy glories

wait : 10

We then shall understand thee, and

descry
The splendour of restored Poetry.
Till when let no bold hand profane

thy shrine ;
'Tis high Wit-Treason to debase thy

coin.

Mr, Francis Finch, the
Excellent Palaemon

This is confest presumption, for

had I
All that rich stock of ingenuity

Which I could wish for this, yet

would it be
Palaemon's blot, a pious injury.
But as no votaries are scorn'd when

they
The meanest victim in Religion

pay;
Not that the Pow'r they worship needs

a gum.
But that they speak their thanks for

all with some :
So though the most contemptible

of all
That do themselves Palaemon's ser-
vants call, iQ
I know that Zeal is more than

sacrifice,
(For God did not the widow's mite

despise)
And that Palaemon hath Divinity,
And Mercy is his highest property :
He that doth such transcendent

merit own.
Must have imperfect off'rings or none.
He 's one rich lustre which doth rays

dispense.
As Knowledge will when set in

Innocence.
For Learning did select his noble

breast.
Where (in her native majesty) to

rest ; 20

Free from the tyranny and pride of

Schools,
Who have confin'd her to pedantic

rules ;
And that gentiler ^ error which does

take
Offence at Learning for her habit's

sake,
Palaemon hath redeem'd her, who

may be
Esteem'd himself an University;
And yet so muchagentleman, that he
Needs not (though he enjoys) a

pedigree.
Sure he was built and sent to let us

know

^ Spelling of 'gentiler' retained for reasons elsewhere given.
( 549 )

Kath

eri7^e

Philip:^

What man completed could both be

and do. 30

Freedom from vice is in him Nature's

part,
Without the help of discipline or

art.
He 's his own happiness and his own

law,
Whereby he keeps Passion and Fate

in awe.
Nor was this wrought in him by

Time and growth.
His Genius had anticipated both.
Had all men been Palaemons, Pride

had ne'er
Taught one man Tyranny, the other

Fear;
Ambition had been full as monstrous

then
As this ill World doth render

W'Orthy men. 40

Had men his spirit, they would

soon forbear
Grovelling for dirt, and quarrelling

for air.
Were his harmonious soul diffus'd

in all,
We should believe that men did

never fall.
It is Palaemon's soul that hath

engrost
Th' ingenuous candour that the

World hath lost ;
Whose own mind seats him quiet,

safe and high,
Above the reach of Time or

Destiny.
'Twas he that rescu'd gasping

Friendship when
The bell toll'd for her funeral with

men : 50

'Twas he that made Friends more

than Lovers burn,
And then made Love to sacred

Friendship turn :
'Twas he tum'd Honour inward, set

her free
From titles and from popularity.
Now fix'd to Virtue, she begs praise

of none,

( 550 )

But 's witness'd and rewarded both

at home.
And in his breast this Honour 's so

enshrin'd.
As the old Law was in the Ark

confin'd :
To which posterity shall all consent.
And less dispute than Acts of

Parliament. 60

He 's our original, by whom we see
How much we fail, and what we

ought to be.
But why do I to copy him pretend ?
My rhymes but libel whom they

would commend.
'Tis true ; but none can reach what's

set so high ;
And though I miss, Fve noble

company :
For the most happy language must

confess.
It doth obscure Palaemon, not

express.

To Mrs. M. A. at parting

I

I HAVE examin'd and do find,

Of all that favour me,
There's none I grieve to leave behind

But only, only thee.
To part with thee I needs must die,
Could parting sep'rate thee and I.

II
But neither Chance nor Compliment

Did element our Love ;
'Twas sacred Sympathy was lent

Us from the quire above. 10

That Friendship Fortune did create,
Still fears a wound from Time or
Fate.

Ill
Our chang'd and mingled souls are
grown
To such acquaintance now.
That if each would resume their
own,
Alas ! we know not how.
We have each other so engrost,
That each is in the union lost.

'To Mrs, M. A. at parting

IV

And thus we can no Absence know,
Nor shall we be confin'd ; 20

Our active souls will daily go
To learn each other's mind.

Nay, should we never meet to Sense,

Our souls would hold Intelligence.

V

Inspired with a flame divine^

I scorn to court a stay ;
For from that noble soul of thine

I ne'er can be away.
But I shall weep when thou dost

grieve ;
Nor can I die whilst thou dost
live. 30

VI

By my own temper I shall guess

At thy felicity,
And only like my happiness

Because it pleaseth thee.
Our hearts at any time will tell,
If thou, or I, be sick, or well.

VII

All Honour sure I must pretend,
All that is good or Great ;

She that would be Rosania's Friend,
Must be at least complete. 40

If I have any bravery,

'Tis cause I have so much of thee.

VIII

Thy leiger ' soul in me shall lie,
And all thy thoughts reveal ;

Then back again with mine shall fly.
And thence to me shall steal.

Thus still to one another tend ;

Such is the sacred Name of Friend.

IX

Thus our twin-souls in one shall
grow.

And teach the World new love, 50
Redeem the age and sex, and show

A flame Fate dares not move :
And courting Death to be our friend.
Our lives together too shall end.

X

A dew shall dwell upon our Tomb

Of such a quality.
That fighting armies, thither come.

Shall reconciled be.
We'll ask no Epitaph, but say

Orinda and RosANiA. 60

To my dearest Antenor, on
his Parting

Though it be just to grieve when

I must part
With him that is the Guardian of

my Heart ;
Yet by a happy change the loss

of mine
Is with advantage paid in having

thine.
And I (by that dear guest instructed)

find
Absence can do no hurt to souls

combin'd.
As we were born to love, brought

to agree
By the impressions of Divine decree:
So when united nearer we became,
It did not weaken, but increase, our

flame. 10

Unlike to those who distant joys

admire.
But slight them when possest of

their desire.
Each of our souls did its own

temper fit,
And in the other's mould so fashion'd

That now our inclinations both ate

grown.
Like to our interests and persons,

one 3
And souls whom such an union

fortifies.
Passion can ne'er destroy, nor Fate

surprise.

* The spelling 'leiger' may be worth keeping, though 'leaguer' Ccf. leaguer-lass) is
best known in this meaning. Some, however, dispute the identity of these two : and
identify 'leiger' in the sense of 'resident,' 'stationary,' with 'ledger.' These words,
in the passages in which they occur, admit of a good deal of argument, and were
probably not seldom confused originally.

(551)

Katherine Philips

Now as in watches, though we do

not know
When the hand moves, we find it

still doth go : 20

So I, by secret sympathy inclin'd,
Will absent meet, and understand

thy mind ;
And thou at thy return shalt find

thy heart
Still safe, with all the love thou

didst impart.
For though that treasure I have

ne'er deserv'd,
It shall with strong religion be

preserv'd.
And besides this thou shalt in me

survey
Thyself reflected while thou art

away.
For what some forward arts do

undertake,
The images of absent friends to

make, 3°

And represent their actions in a

glass,
Friendship itself can only bring to

pass,
That magic which both Fate and

Time beguiles,
And in a moment runs a thousand

miles.
So in my breast thy picture drawn

shall be,
My Guide, Life, Object, Friend,

and Destiny :
And none shall know, though they

employ their wit,
Which is the right Antenor, thou,

or it.

Engraven on Mr. John
Collier's Tomb-stone at
Becllington

Here what remains of him doth lie.
Who was the World's epitome.
Religion's darling, merchants' glory,
Men's true delight, and Virtue's
story ;

(55O

Who, though a prisoner to the

grave,
A glorious freedom once shall have :
Till when no monument is fit.
But what 's beyond our love and wit.

On the little Regina Collier,
on the same Tomb-stone

Virtue's blossom, Beauty's bud,
The pride of all that 's fair and good,
By Death's fierce hand was snatched

hence
In her state of Innocence :
Who by it this advantage gains,
Her wages got without her pains.

Friendship

Let the dull brutish World that

know not Love,
Continue heretics, and disapprove
That noble flame ; but the refined

know,
'Tis all the Heaven we have here

below.
Nature subsists by Love, and they

do tie
Things to their causes but by

sympathy.
Love chains the different Elements

in one
Great harmony, link'd to the

Heav'nly Throne.
And as on earth, so the blest quire

above
Of Saints and Angels aremaintain'd

by Love ; 10

That is their business and felicity,
And will be so to all Eternity.
That is the ocean, our affections

here
Are but streams borrow'd from the

fountain there.
And 'tis the noblest argument to

prove
A beauteous mind, that it knows

how to Love.

Friendship

Those kind impressions which Fate

can't control,
Are Heaven's mintage on a worthy

soul.
For Love is all the Arts' epitome,
And is the sum of all Divinity. 20
He 's worse than beast that cannot

love, and yet
It is not bought for money, pains or

wit ;
For no chance or design can spirits

move,
But the eternal destiny of Love :
And when two souls are chang'd

and mixed so,
It is what they and none but they

can do.
This, this is Friendship, that

abstracted flame
Which grovelling mortals know not

how to name.
All Love is sacred, and the marriage-
tie
Hath much of honour and divinity.
But Lust, Design, or some unworthy

ends 31

May mingle there, which are despis'd

by Friends.
Passion hath violent extremes, and

thus
All oppositions are contiguous.
So when the end is serv'd their Love

will bate,
If Friendship make it not more

fortunate :
Friendship, that Love's elixir, that

pure fire
Which burns the clearer 'cause it

burns the higher.
For Love, like earthly fires (which

will decay
If the material fuel be away) 40
Is with offensive smoke accompanied.
And by resistance only is supplied :
But Friendship, like the fiery element,
With its own heat and nourishment

content.
Where neither hurt, nor smoke, nor

noise is made,
Scorns the assistance of a foreign aid.

(553)

Friendship (like Heraldry) is hereby

known.
Richest when plainest, bravest when

alone ;
Calm as a virgin, and more innocent
Than sleeping doves are, and as

much content 50

As Saints in visions ; quiet as the

night,
But clear and open as the summer's

light ;
United more than spirits' faculties,
Higher in thoughts than are the

eagle's eyes ;
What shall I say ? when we true

friends are grown,
W' are like — Alas, w' are like our-
selves alone.

The Enquiry

I
If we no old historian's name

Authentic will admit,
But think all said of Friendship's
fame
But Poetry or Wit :
Yet what's rever'd by minds so pure,
Must be a bright Idea sure.

II
But as our immortality

By inward sense we find,
Judging that if it could not be,

It would not be design'd : 10

So here how could such copies fall,
If there were no original ?

in
But if truth be in ancient song,

Or story we believe,
If the inspir'd and graver throng

Have scorned to deceive ;
There have been hearts whose

friendship gave
Them thoughts at once both soft
and brave.

IV

Among that consecrated few.

Some more seraphic shade 20

Lend me a favourable clew
Now mists my eyes invade.

Kath

ertiie

Philips

Why, having fill'd the World with

fame,
Left you so little of your flame ?

V

Why is 't so difficult to see
I'wo bodies and one mind ?

And why are those w^ho else agree
So differently kind ?

Hath Nature such fantastic art,

That she can vary every heart ; 30

VI

Why are the bands of Friendship
tied

With so remiss a knot,
That by the most it is defied,

And by the rest forgot ?
Why do we step with so light sense
From friendship to Indifference ?

VII

If Friendship sympathy impart.
Why this ill-shuffled game.

That heart can never meet with
heart.
Or flame encounter flame ? 40

What does this cruelty create ?

Is 't the intrigue of Love or Fate ?

VIII

Had Friendship ne'er been known
to men,

(The Ghost at last confest)
The World had been a stranger then

To all that Heaven possest.
But could it all be here acquir'd,
Not Heaven itself would be desir'd.

To my Lucasia, in defence
of declared Friendship

I

O MY Lucasia, let us speak our

Love,
And think not that impertinent can

be,
Which to us both doth such

assurance prove.
And whence we find how justly

we agree.

II
Before we knew the treasures of our

Love,
Our noble aims our joys did

entertain ;
And shall enjoyment nothing then

improve ?
'Twere best for us then to begin
again.

Ill
Now we have gain'd, we must not
stop, and sleep
Out all the rest of our mysterious
reign : 10

It is as hard and glorious to keep
A victory, as it is to obtain.

IV

Nay, to what end did we once barter
minds.
Only to know and to neglect the
claim ?
Or (like some wantons) our pride
pleasure finds,
To throw away the thing at which
we aim.

V

If this be all our Friendship does

design.

We covet not enjoyment then,

but Power :

To our opinion we our bliss confine.

And love to have, but not to

smell, the flower. 20

VI

Ah ! then let misers bury thus their
gold,
Who though they starve, no
farthing will produce :
But we lov'd to enjoy and to behold,
x\nd sure we cannot spend our
stock by use.

VII

Think not 'tis needless to repeat
desires ;
The fervent turtles always court
and bill.
And yet their spotless passion never
tires,
But does increase by repetition
still.

( 554)

To my Lucasia

VIII

Although we know we love, yet while
our soul
Is thus iniprison'd by the flesh we
wear, 3°

There's no way left that bondage to
control.
But to convey transactions through
the ear.

IX

Nay though we read our passions in
the eye,
It will oblige and please to tell
them too :
Such joys as these by motion
multiply,
Were 't but to find that our souls
told us true.

X

Believe not then, that being now
secure
Of cither's heart, we have no more
to do :
The spheres themselves by motion
do endure,
And they move on by circulation
too. 40

XI

And as a river, when it once hath
paid
The tribute which it to the ocean
owes,
Stops not, but turns, and having
curl'd and play'd
On its own waves, the shore it
overflows.

XII

So the soul's motion does not end
in bliss.
But on herself she scatters and
dilates.
And on the object doubles till by
this
She finds new joys which that
reflux creates.

XIII

But then because it cannot all
contain,
It seeks a vent by telling the glad
news, 50

( 555 )

First to the heart which did its joys
obtain,
Then to the heart which did
those joys produce.

XIV

When my soul then doth such
excursions make.
Unless thy soul delight to meet it
too,
What satisfaction can it give or
take.
Thou being absent at the inter-
view?

XV

'Tis not distrust ; for were that plea
allow'd.
Letters and visits all would useless
grow :
Love's whole expression then would
be its cloud,
And it would be refin'd to nothing
so. 60

XVI

If I distrust, 'tis my own worth for
thee,
'Tis my own fitness for a love like
thine ;
And therefore still new evidence
would see,
T' assure my wonder that thou
canst be mine.

XVII

But as the morning Sun to drooping
flowers,
As weary travellers a shade do
find.
As to the parched violet evening
showers ;
Such is from thee to me a look
that's kind.

XVIII

But when that look is drest in words,
'tis like
The mystic pow'r of music's
unison ; 70

Which when the finger doth one
viol strike,
The other's string heaves to
reflection.

Kath

ertite

Philips

XIX

Be kind to me, and just then to our
love,
To which we owe our free and
dear converse ;
And let not tract of Time wear or
remove
It from the privilege of that
commerce.

XX

Tyrants do banish what they can't
requite :
But let us never know such mean
desires ;
But to be grateful to that love
delight
Which all our joys and noble
thoughts inspires. So

A Reverie ^

A CHOSEN privacy, a cheap content.
And all the peace a friendship ever

lent,
A rock which civil Nature made a

seat,
A willow that repulses all the heat.
The beauteous quiet of a summer's

day,
A brook which sobb'd aloud and

ran away.
Invited my repose, and then conspir'd
To entertain my Fancy thus retir'd.
As Lucian's ferry-man aloft did

view
The angry World, and then laugh'd

at it too : lo

So all its sullen follies seem to me
But as a too-well acted tragedy.
One dangerous Ambition doth

befool.
Another envies to see that man

rule :
One makes his love the parent of his

rage.
For private friendship publicly t'

engage :

And some for Conscience, some for

Honour die;
And some are meanly kill'd they

know not why. .
More different than men's faces are

their ends.
Whom yet one common ruin can
maice friends. 20

Death, dust and darkness they have

only won.
And hastily unto their periods run.
Death is a Leveller ; Beauty, and

Kings,
And Conquerors, and all those

glorious things.
Are tumbled to their graves in one

rude heap.
Like common dust as quiet and as

cheap.
At greater changes who would

wonder then.
Since Kingdoms have their Fates as

well as men ?
They must fall sick and die ;

nothing can be
In this World certain, but uncer-
tainty. 30
Since Pow'r and Greatness are such

slippery things,
Who'd pity cottages, or envy Kings?
Now least of all, when, weary of

deceit.
The World no longer flatters with

the great.
Though such confusions here below

we find,
As Providence were wanton with

mankind :
Yet in this chaos some things do

send forth,
(Like jewels in the dark) a native

worth.
He that derives his high Nobility,
Not from the mention of a pedigree;
Who thinks it not his praise that
others know 41

His ancestors were gallant long
ago;

(556)

^ Spelt in orig. as usual ' resvery.'

A Reverie

Who scorns to boast the glories of

his blood,
And thinks he can't be great that is

not good ;
Who knows the World, and what

we Pleasure call,
Yet cannot sell one conscience for

them all ;
Who hates to hoard that gold with

an excuse.
For which he can find out a nobler

use;
Who dares not keep that life that he

can spend,
To serve his God, his Country, and

his Friend ; 50

Who flattery and falsehood doth so

hate,
He would not buy ten lives at such

a rate ;
Whose soul, than diamonds more

rich and clear.
Naked and open as his face doth

wear ;
Who dares be good alone in such a

time.
When Virtue's held and punish'd as

a crime

Who thinks dark crooked plots a

mean defence.
And is both safe and wise in Inno-
cence ;
Who dares both fight and die, but

dares not fear ;
Whose only doubt is, if his cause be

clear ; 60

Whose Courage and his Justice

equal worn.
Can dangers grapple, overcome and

scorn,
Yet not insult upon a conquer'd foe,
But can forgive him and oblige him

too ;
Whose Friendship is congenial with

his soul.
Who where he gives a heart, bestows

it whole ;
Whose other ties and titles here do

end,
Orburiedorcompletedinthe Friend;

(557)

Who ne'er resumes the soul he once

did give,
While his Friend's honesty and hon-
our live ; 70
And if his Friend's content could

cost the price,
Would count himself a happy sacri-
fice ;
Whose happy days no pride infects,

nor can
His other titles make him slight the

man ;
No dark ambitious thoughts do

cloud his brow.
Nor restless cares when to be great,

and how ;
Who scorns to envy wealth where'er

it be,
But pities such a golden slavery ;
With no mean fawnings can the

people court.
Nor wholly slight a popular report ;
Whose house no orphan groans do

shake or blast, 81

Nor any riot help to serve his

taste :
Who from the top of his pros-
perities
Can take a fall, and yet without

surprise ;
Who with the same august and even

state
Can entertain the best and worst of

fate ;
Whose suffering 's sweet, if Honour

once adorn it ;
Who slights Revenge, yet does not

fear, but scorn it ;
Whose happiness in ev'ry fortune

lives.
For that no fortune either takes or

gives ; 90

Who no unhandsome ways can bribe

his Fate,
Nay, out of prison marches through

the gate ;
Who losing all his titles and his

pelf,
Nay, all the World; can never lose

himself;

Kath

erine

Philips

This Person shines indeed, and he

that can
Be Virtuous is the great Immortal

Man.

A Country-life

How sacred and how innocent

A country-hfe appears,
How free from tumult, discontent.

From flattery or fears !
This was the first and happiest life,

When man enjoy'd himself;
Till Pride exchanged peace for
strife,

And happiness for pelf.
'Twas here the Poets were inspir'd.

Here taught the multitude ; lo
The brave they here with Honour
fir'd.

And civiliz'd the rude,
That Golden Age did entertain

No passion but of Love ;
The thoughts of ruling and of gain

Did ne'er their fancies move.
None then did envy neighbour's
wealth,

Nor plot to wrong his bed :
Happy in friendship and in health,

On roots, not beasts, they fed. 20
They knew no Law nor Physic then,

Nature was all their Wit.
And if there yet remain to men

Content, sure this is it.
What blessings doth this World
afford

To tempt or bribe desire ?
Her courtship is all fire and sword,

Who would not then retire?
Then welcome, dearest Solitude,

My great felicity ; 30

Though some are pleas'd to call
thee rude.

Thou art not so, but we.~
Them that do covet only rest,

A cottage will suffice :
It is not brave to be possest

Of Earth, but to despise.
Opinion is the rate of things,

From hence our peace doth flow ;

(i58)

I have a better Fate than Kings,

Because I think it so. 40

When all the stormy World doth roar

How unconcern'd am I !
I cannot fear to tumble lower

Who never could be high.
Secure in these unenvied walls

I think not on the State,
And pity no man's case that falls

From his Ambition's height.
Silence and Innocence are safe ;

A heart that 's nobly true 50

At all these little arts can laugh

That do the World subdue.
While others revel it in State,

Here I'll contented sit,
And think I have as good a Fate

As wealth and pomp admit.
Let some in courtship take delight,

And to th' Exchange resort ;
Then revel out a winter's night,

Not making love, but sport. 60
These never know a noble flame,

'Tis lust, scorn, or Design :
While Vanity plays all their game,

Let Peace and Honour mine.
When the inviting Spring appears,

To Hyde-Park let them go,
And hasting thence be full of fears

To lose Spring-Garden show.
Let others (nobler) seek to gain

In knowledge happy fate, 70

And others busy them in vain

To study ways of State.
But I, resolvM from within,

Confirmed from without,
In privacy intend to spin

My future minutes out.
And from this hermitage of mine

I banish all wild toys.
And nothing that is not Divine

Shall dare to tempt my joys. 80
There are below but two things good,

Friendship and Honesty,
And only those of all I would

Ask for felicity.
In this retir'd and humble seat

Free from both war and strife,
I am not forc'd to make retreat,

But choose to spend my life.

To Mrs, Wogan

To Mrs. Wogan, my Hon-
oured Friend, on the Death
of her Husband

Dry up your tears, there 's enough

shed by you,
And we must pay our share of sorrows

too.
It is no private loss when such men

fall.
The World 's concern'd, and grief is

general.
But though of our misfortune we

complain,
To him it is injurious and vain.
For since we know his rich integ-
rity,
His real sweetness, and full har-
mony ;
How free his heart and house were

to his friends,
Whom he oblig'd without design or

ends ; lo

How universal was his courtesy,
How clear a soul, how even, and how

high;
How much he scorn'd disguise or

meaner arts,
But with a native honour conquer'd

hearts ;
We must conclude he was a treasure

lent.
Soon weary of this sordid tenement.
The Age and World deserv'd him not,

and he
Was kindly snatch'd from future

misery.
We can scarce say he's dead, but

gone to rest,
And left a monument in ev'ry breast.
For you to grieve then in this sad

excess, 2 r

Is not to speak of love, but make it

less.
A noble soul no friendship will

admit.
But what 's Eternal and Divine as it.
The soul is hid in mortal flesh we

know,
And all its weaknesses must undergo,

(559)

Till by degrees it does shine forth at

length,
And gathers Beauty, Purity, and

Strength :
But never yet doth this immortal

ray
Put on full splendour till it put off

clay : _ _ 30

So infant Love is, in the worthiest

breast.
By Sense and Passion fetter'd and

opprest ;
But by degrees it grows still more

refin'd,
And scorning clogs, only concerns

the mind.
Now as the soul you lov'd is here

set free
From its material gross capacity ;
Your love should follow him now he

is gone.
And quitting Passion, put Perfection

on.
Such Love as this will its own good

deny.
If its dear object have felicity. 40
And since we cannot his great loss

reprieve,
Let 's not lose you in whom he still

doth live.
For while you are by grief secluded

thus.
It doth appear your funeral to us.

In memory of the most
justly Honoured, Mrs,
Owen of Oriel ton

As when the ancient World by

Reason liv'd,
The Asian Monarchs' deaths were

never griev'd ;
Their glorious lives made all their

Subjects call
Their rites a triumph, not a funeral :
So still the Good are Princes, and

their fate
Invites us not to weep but imitate.

Kath

ertne

Phi lip i^

Nature intends a progress of each

stage
Whereby weak man creeps to succeed-
ing Age,
Ripens him for that change for which

he 's made,
Where th' active soul is in her

centre staid. lo

And since none stript of infancy

complain,
'Cause 'tis both their necessity and

gain :
SoAgeand Death by slow approaches

come,
And by that just inevitable doom
By which the soul (her cloggy dross

once gone)
Puts on perfection, and resumes her

own.
Since then we moufn a happy soul,

O why
Disturb we her with ferring piety ?
Who 's so enamour'd on the beau-
teous ground,
When with rich autumn's livery hung

round, 20

As to deny a sickle to his

grain.
And not undress the teeming Earth

again ?
Fruits grow for use, mankind is born

to die ;
And both fates have the same neces-
sity.
Then grieve no more, sad relatives,

but learn ;
Sigh not, but profit by your just

concern.
Read over her life's volume : wise

and good.
Not 'cause she must be so, but

'cause she wou'd.
To chosen Virtue still a constant

friend.
She saw the times which chang'd,

but did not metld. ^o

And as some are so civil to the

Sun,
They'd fix his beams, and make the

Earth to run :

(560)

So she unmov'd beheld the angry

Fate
Which tore a Church, and overthrew

a State :
Still durst be good, and own the

noble truth.
To crown her Age which had adorn'd

her Youth.
Great without pride, a soul which

still could be
Humble and high, full of calm

majesty.
She kept true state within, and could

not buy
Her satisfaction with her Charity. 40
Fortune or birth ne'er rais'd her

mind, which stood.
Not on her being rich, but doing

good.
Oblig'd the World, but yet would

scorn to be
Paid with requitals, thanks or

vanity.
How oft did she what all the World

adore.
Make the poor happy with her use-
ful store ?
So general was her bounty, that she

gave
Equality to all before the grave.
By several means she different per-
sons tied.
Who by her goodness only were

allied. 50

Her Virtue was her temper, not her

fit;
Fear'd nothing but the crimes which

some commit ;
Scorn'd those dark arts which pass

for wisdom now.
Nor to a mean ignoble thing could

bow.
And her vast prudence had no other

end,
But to forgive a foe, endear a

fdend :
To use, but slight, the World ; and

fixt above.
Shine down in beams of Piety and

Love.

Mrs, Owen of Orielton

Why should we then by poor un-
just complaint

Prove envious sinners 'cause she is
a Saint ? 60

Close then the monument ; let not a
tear

That may profane her ashes now
appear :

For her best obsequies are that we be

Prudent and Good, Noble and Sweet,
as she.

A Friend

I

Love, Nature's plot, this great crea-
tion's soul,
The being and the harmony of
things.
Doth still preserve and propagate the
whole,
From whence man's happiness and
safety springs :
The earliest, whitest, blessed'st

times did draw
From her alone their universal Law.

II
Friendship's an abstractof this nobler
flame,
'Tis Love refin'd and purg'd from
all its dross,
The next to Angels' love, if not the
same,
As strong as Passion is, though
not so gross : 10

It antedates a glad eternity,
And is an Heaven in epitome.

Ill
Nobler than kindred or than mar-
riage-band,
Because more free ; wedlock-feli-
city
Itself doth only by this union stand,
And turns to friendship or to
misery.
Force or Design matches to pass

may bring,
But Friendship doth from Love and
Honour spring.

( 561 ) O

IV

If souls no sexes have, for men
t' exclude
Woman from Friendship's vast
capacity, 20

Is a design injurious or rude,

Onlymaintain'd by partial tyranny.
Love is allow'd to us and Innocence,
And noblest friendships do proceed
from thence,
v
The chiefest thing in friends is
Sympathy :
There is a secret that doth friend-
ship guide.
Which makes two souls before they
know agree.
Who by a thousand mixtures are
allied,
And chang'd and lost, so that it is not

known
Within which breast doth now reside
their own. 30

VI

Essential Honour must be in a

friend.
Not such as every breath fans to

and fro ;
But born within, is its own judge

and end.
And dares not sin though sure

that none should know.
Where Friendship 's spoke, Honesty 's

understood ]
For none can be a friend that is not

good.

VII

Friendship doth carry more than

common trust,
And Treachery is here the greatest

sin.
Secrets deposed then none ever

must
Presume to open, but who put

them in. 40

They that in one chest lay up all

their stock.
Had need be sure that none can pick

the lock.

Kath

ert7te

Philips

VIII

A breast too open Friendship does

not love,
For that the other's trust will not

conceal ;
Nor one too much reserv'd can it

approve,
Its own condition this will not

reveal.
We empty passions for a double

end,
To be refresh'd and guarded by a

friend.

IX

Wisdom and Knowledge Friendship

does require,
The first for counsel, this for

company ; 50

And though not mainly, yet we may

desire
BothComplaisanceand Ingenuity.
Though everything may love, yet

'tis a rule,
He cannot be a friend that is a

fool.

X

Discretion uses parts, and best knows

how ;
And Patience will all qualities

commend :
That serves a need best, but this

doth allow
The weaknesses and passions of

a friend.
We are not yet come to the quire

above :
Who cannot pardon here, can never

love. 60

XI

Thick waters show no images of
things :
Friends are each other's mirrors,
and should be
Clearer than crystal or the mountain
springs,
And free from clouds, design or
flattery.

(56O

For vulgar souls no part of Friend-
ship share :

Poets and friends are born to what
they are.

XII

Friends should observe and chide

each other's faults,
To be severe then is most just

and kind ;
Nothing can 'scape their search who

knew the thoughts :
This they should give and take

with equal mind. 70

For Friendship, when this freedom

is denied,
Is like a painter when his hands are

tied.

XIII

A friend should find out each

necessity,
And then unask'd relieve 't at any

rate :
It is not Friendship, but Formality,
To be desir'd : for Kindness

keeps no state.
Of friends he doth the benefactor

prove,
That gives his friend the means t'

express his love.

XIV

Absence doth not from Friendship's

right excuse :
Them who preserve each other's

heart and fame, 80

Parting can ne'er divide, it may

diffuse ;
As a far stretch'd-out river 's still

the same.
Though presence help'd them at

the first to greet,
Their souls know now without those

aids to meet.

XV

Constant and solid, whom no storms

can shake,
Nor death unfix, a right friend

ought to be ;
And if condemned to survive, doth

make

A Friend

No second choice, but Grief and

Memory.
But Friendship's best fate is, when

it can spend
A life, a fortune, all to serve

a Friend. uo

L'Accord du Blen

Order, by which all things are

made,
And this great World's foundation

laid.
Is nothing else but Harmony,
Where different parts are brought t'

agree.

11

As empires are still best maintain'd
Those ways which first their great-
ness gain'd :
So in this universal frame
What made and keeps it, is the same.

Ill
Thus all things unto peace do tend,
Even discords have it for their end.
The cause why elements do fight, 1 1
Is but their instinct to unite.

IV

iMusic could never please the sense

But by united excellence :

The sweetest note which numbers

know,
If struck alone, would tedious grow.

V

Man, the whole World's epitome.
Is by creation Harmony.
'Twas Sin first quarrell'd in his breast,
Then made him angry with the rest.

VI

But goodness keeps that unity, 21
And loves its own society
So well, that seldom we have known
One real worth to dwell alone.

VII

And hence it is we Friendship call
Not by one virtue's name, but all.
Nor is it when bad things agree

Thought union, but conspiracy,
(563)

o

VIII

Nature and Grace, such enemies,
That when one fell t' other did rise,
Are now by Mercy even set, 31

As stars in constellations met.

IX

If Nature were herself a sin,
Her Author (God) had guilty bin ;
But Man by sin contracting stain.
Shall, purg'd from that, be clear
again.

X

To prove that Nature 's excellent,
Even Sin itself 's an argument :
Therefore we Nature's stain deplore,
Because itself was pure before. 40

XI

And Grace destroys not, but refines,
Unveils our Reason, then it shines ;
Restores what was depress'd by sin.
The fainting beam of God within.

XII

The mainspring (Judgement) recti-
fied,
j Will all the lesser motions guide,
i To spend our Labour, Love and Care,
I Not as things seem, but as they are.

XIII

'Tis Fancy lost. Wit thrown away,
In trifles to employ that ray, 50

Which then doth in full lustre shine
When both ingenious and divine.

XIV

To eyes by humour vitiated
All things seem falsely coloured :
So 'tis our prejudicial thought
That makes clear objects seem in
fault.

XV

They scarce believe united good,
By whom 'twas never understood :
They think one Grace enough for

one,
And 'tis because their selves have

none. 60

XVI

We hunt extremes, and run so fast,
We can no steady judgement cast :
o 2

Kath

ertne

Philips

He best surveys the circuit round,
Who stands i' th' middle of the
ground.

XVII

That happy mean would let us see
Knowledge and Meekness may

agree ;
And find, when each thing hath its

name,
Passion and Zeal are not the same.

XVIII

Who studies God doth upwards fly,
And heighth still lessens to our eye ;
And he that knows God, soon will
see 71

Vast cause for his humility.

XIX

For by that search it will be known
There's nothingbutourWillourown :
And who doth so that stock employ,
But finds more cause for shame than
joy?

XX

We know so little and so dark.
And so extinguish our own spark,
That he who furthest here can go,
Knows nothing as he ought to know.

XXI

It will with the most learned suit, 81
More to inquire than dispute :
But vapours swell within a cloud ;
'Tis Ignorance that makes us proud.

XXII

So when their own vain heart behes,
Like inflammations quickly rise :
But that soul which is truly great,
Is lowest in its own conceit.

XXIII

Yet while we hug our own mistake.
We censures, but not judgements,
make ; 9°

And thence it is we cannot see
Obedience stand with liberty.

XXIV

Providence still keeps even state ;
liut he can best command his fate,
Whose art by adding his own voice,
Makes his necessity his choice.

(564)

XXV

Rightly to rule one's self must be
The hardest, largest monarchy :
Whose passions are his masters

grown,
Will be a captive in a throne. 100

XXVI

He most the inward freedom gains,
W^ho just submissions entertains :
For while in that his reason sways.
It is himself that he obeys.

xxvii
But only in Eternity
We can these beauteous unions see :
For Heaven itself and Glory is
But one harmonious constant bliss.

Invitation to the Country

Be kind, my dear Rosania, though

'tis true
Thy friendship will become thy

penance too ;
Though there be nothing can reward

the pain.
Nothing to satisfy or entertain ;
Though all be empty, wild, and

like to me,
Who make new troubles in my

company :
Yet is the action more obliging great ;
'Tis Hardship only makes Desert

complete.
But yet to prove mixtures all things

compound,
There may in this be some advantage
found ; 10

For a retirement from the noise of

towns,
Is that for which some kings have

left their crowns :
And conquerors, whose laurel

press'd the brow.
Have chang'd it for the quiet myrtle-
bough.
For titles, honours, and the World's

address.
Are things too cheap to make up
happiness ;

htvitation to the Cou7itry

I

The easy tribute of a giddy race,
And paid less to the person than

the place.
So false reflected and so short

content
Is that which Fortune and Opinion

lent, 20

That who most tried it have of

Fate complain'd,
With titles burthen'd and to great-
ness chain'd.
For they alone enjoy'd what they

possest,
Who relish'd most and understood it

best.
And yet that understanding made

them know
The empty swift dispatch of all

below.
So that what most can outward

things endear,
Is the best means to make them

disappear :
And even that Tyrant (Sense) doth

these destroy.
As more officious to our grief than

joy. 30

Thus all the glittering World is but

a cheat.
Obtruding on our sense things

gross for great.
But he that can inquire and undis-

guise,
Will soon perceive the sting that

hidden lies ;
And find no joys merit esteem but

those
Whose scene lies only at our own

dispose.
Man unconcern'd without himself

may be
His own both prospect and security.
Kings may be slaves by their own

passions hurl'd,
But who commands himself com-
mands the World. 40
A country-life assists this study

best,
Where no distractions do the soul

arrest :

( 565 )

There Heav'n and Earth lie open

to our view,
There we search Nature and its

Author too ;
Possess'd with freedom and a real state
Look down on Vice, and Vanity,

and Fate.
There (my Rosania) will we,

mingling souls,
Pity the folly which the World

controls ;
And all those grandeurs which the

World do prize 49

We either can enjoy, or will despise.

In Memory of Mrs. E. H.

As some choice plant cherish'd by

sun and air.
And ready to requite the gard'ner's

care.
Blossoms and flourishes, but then,

we find.
Is made the triumph of some ruder

wind :
So thy untimely grave did both

entomb
Thy sweetness now, and wonders

yet to come.
Hung full of hopes thou sell'st a

lovely prize.
Just as thou didst attract all hearts

and eyes.
Thus we might apprehend, for had

thy years
Been lengthen'd to have paid those

vast arrears 10

The World expected, we should then

conclude.
The Age of Miracles had been

renew'd.
For thou already hast with ease

found out
What others study with such pains

and doubt ;
That frame of soul which is content

alone,
And needs no entertainment but its

own.

Kath

eri7te

Philips

Thy even mind, which made thee

good and great,
Was to thee both a shelter and retreat.
Of all the tumults which this World

do fill,
Thou wert an unconcern'd spectator

still : 20

And, were thy duty punctually

supplied.
Indifferent to all the World beside.
Thou wert made up within resolv'd

and fix'd,
And wouldst not with a base allay be

mix'd ;
Above the World, couldst equally

despise
Both its temptations and its injuries;
Couldst sum up all, and find not

worth desire
Those glittering trifles which the

most admire ;
But with a nobler aim, and higher

born.
Look down on greatness with con-
tempt and scorn. 30
Thou hadst no arts that others this

might see.
Nor lov'dst a trumpet to thy piety :
But silent and retir'd, calm and

serene,
Stol'st to thy blessed Haven hardly

seen.
It were vain to describe thee then,

but now
Thy vast accession harder is to

know ;
How full of light, and satisfied thou

art.
So early from this treach'rous World

to part ;
How pleas'd thou art reflections now

to make,
And find thou didst not things below

mistake ; 40

In how abstracted converse thou

dost live,
How much thy knowledge is intui-
tive ;

How great and bright a glory is en-

joy'd
With Angels, and in mysteries,

employ'd.
'Tis si n then to lament thy fate, but we
Should help thee to a new eternity ;
And by successive imitation strive,
Till time shall die, to keep thee still

alive ;
And (by thy great example furnish'd)

be
More apt to live than write thy

Elogy \ 50

On Rosania's Apostasy, and
Lucasia's Friendship

Great Soul of Friendship, whither
art thou fled?

Where dost thou now choose to re-
pose thy head ?

Or art thou nothing but voice, air
and name,

Found out to put souls in pursuit of
fame ?

Thy flames being thought immortal,
we may doubt

Whether they e'er did burn that see
them out.

Go, wearied Soul, find out thy

wonted rest.
In the safe harbour of Orinda's

Breast ;
There all unknown adventures thou

hast found
In thy late transmigrationsexpound ;
That so Rosania's darkness may be

known 1 1

To be her want of lustre, not thy own.

Then to the great Lucasia have
recourse,

There gather up new excellence and
force,

Till by a free unbiass'd clear com-
merce.

Endearments which no tongue can
e'er rehearse.

* This form once more.

(566)

On Rosa?tids Apostasy

Lucasia and Orinda shall thee give
Eternity, and make even Friendship
live.

Hail, great Lucasia, thou shalt

doubly shine,
What was Rosania's own is now

twice thine ; 20

Thou saw'st Rosania's chariot and

her flight.
And so the double portion is thy

right :
Though 'twas Rosania's spirit be

content.
Since 'twas at first from thy Orinda

sent.

To my Lady Elizabeth Boyle,
singing Now affairs^, &c.

Subduing Fair ! what will you win

To use a needless dart ?
Why then so many to take in

One undefended heart ?

I came expos'd to all your charms,
'Gainst which the first half-hour

I had no will to take up arms,
And in the next no power.

How can you choose but win the
day.

Who can resist your siege, 10

Who in one action know the way

To vanquish and oblige ?

Your voice which can in melting
strains

Teach Beauty to be blind.
Confines me yet in stronger chains,

By being soft and kind.

Whilst you my trivial fancy sing.

You it to wit refine.
As leather once stamp'd by a King

Became a current coin. 20

By this my verse is sure to gain

Eternity with men,
Which by your voice it will obtain,

Though never by my pen.

Fd rather in your favour live

Than in a lasting name.
And much a greater rate would give

For Happiness than Fame.

Submission

'Tis so, and humbly I will resign,
Nor dare dispute with Providence

Divine.
In vain, alas ! we struggle with our

chains,
But more entangled by the fruitless

pains.
For as i' th' great Creation of this All,
Nothing by chance could in such

order fall ;
And what would single be deform'd

confest.
Grows beauteous in its union with

the rest :
So Providence like Wisdom we allow,
(For what created once does govern

now) 10

And the same Fate that seems to

one reverse.
Is necessary to the Universe.
All these particular and various

things,
Link'd to their causes by such secret

springs.
Are held so fast, and govern'd by

such art.
That nothing can out of its order

start.
The World's God's watch where

nothing is so small.
But makes a part of what composes

all:
Could the least pin be lost or else

displac'd.
The World would be disorder'd and

defac'd. 2c

It beats no pulse in vain, but keeps

its time,
And undiscern'd to its own height

doth climb ;

( 567 )

See Appendix, first Song from Pontpey.

Kath

erine

Philips

Strung first and daily wound up by

His hand
Who can its motions guide and

understand.
No secret cunning then nor multi-
tude
Can Providence divert, cross or

delude.
And her just full decrees are hidden

things,
Which harder are to find than births

of springs.
Yet all in various consorts^ fitly

sound,
And by their discords Harmony

compound. 30

Hence is that Order, Life and

Energy,
Whereby Forms are preserv'd though

Matters die ;
And, shifting dress, keep their own

living state :
So that what kills this, does that

propagate.
This made the ancient Sage in

rapture cry,
That sure the World had full eternity.
For though itself to Time and Fate

subrnit.
He 's above both who made and

governs it ;
And to each creature hath such por-
tion lent,
As Love and Wisdom sees con-
venient. 40
For He 's no Tyrant^ nor delights to

grieve
The beings which from him alone

can live.
He's most concern'd, and hath the

greatest share
In Man, and therefore takes the

greatest care
To make him happy, who alone can

be
So by submission and conformity.
For why should changes here below

surprise,

When the whole World its revolution

tries ?
Where were our springs, our harvests'

pleasant use,
Unless Vicissitude did them produce ?
Nay, what can be so wearisome a

pain, 51

As when no alterations entertain ?
To lose, to suffer, to be sick and die,
Arrest us by the same necessity.
Nor could they trouble us, but that

our mind
Hath its own glory unto dross con-

fin'd,
For outward things remove not from

their place.
Till our souls run to beg their mean

embrace ;
Then doting on the choice make it

our own,
By placing trifles in th' Opinion's

throne. 60

So when they are divorc'd by some

new cross.
Our souls seem widow'd by the fatal

loss :
But could we keep our grandeur and

our state.
Nothing below would seem un-
fortunate ;
But Grace and Reason, which best

succours bring.
Would with advantage manage every-
thing ;
And by right judgement would pre-
vent our moan.
For losing that which never was our

own.
For right opinion's like a marble grot,
In summer cool, and in the winter

hot ; 70

A principle which in each fortune

lives.
Bestowing catholic preservatives.
'Tis this resolves, there are no losses

where
Virtue and Reason are continued

there.

1 _ <

(568)

= ' concerts,' as commonly.

Submission

The meanest soul might such a for-
tune share,

But no mean soul could so that for-
tune bear.

Thus I compose my thoughts grown
insolent,

As th' Irish harper doth his instru-
ment ;

Which if once struck doth murmur
and complain,

But the next touch will silence all
again. 80

2 Cor. V. 19. God was in
Christ reconcilinof the
World to Himself

When God, contracted to Humanity,
Could sigh and suffer, could be sick

and die ;
When all the heap of miracles com-

bin'd
To form the greatest, which was,

save Mankind :
Then God took stand in Christ,

studying a way
How to repair the ruin'd World's

decay.
His Love, Pow'r, Wisdom, must

some means procure
His Mercy to advance, Justice

secure :
And since Man in such misery was

hurl'd,
It cost him more to save, than make

the World. 10

Oh ! what a desp'rate load of sins

had we,
When God must plot for our felicity !
When God must beg us that He may

forgive,
And die Himself before Mankind

could live !
And what still are we, when our

King in vain
Begs His lost rebels to be friends

again !
What floods of Love proceed from

Heaven's smile,

(569)

At once to pardon and to reconcile !
What God Himself hath made He

cannot hate,
For 'tis one act to love and to

create : 20

And He's too perfect full of Majesty,
To need additions from our misery.
He hath a father's, not a tyrant's, joy ;
Shows more His pow'r to save, than

to destroy.
Did there ten thousand Worlds to

ruin fall,
One God could save, one Christ

redeem them all.
Be silent then, ye narrow souls, take

heed
Lest you restrain the Mercy you will

need.
But O my soul, fromthese be different,
Imitate thou a nobler precedent : 30
As God with open arms the World

does woo,
Learn thou like God to be enlarged

too;
As He begs thy consent to pardon

thee.
Learn to submit unto thy enemy ;
As He stands ready thee to entertain,
Be thou as forward to return again ;
As He was crucified for and by thee,
Crucify thou what caus'd His Agony :
And like to Him be mortified to sin.
Die to the World as He died for it

then, 40

The World

We falsely think it due unto our
friends,

That we should grieve for their un-
timely ends.

He that surveys the world with
serious eyes.

And strips her from her gross and
weak disguise.

Shall find 'tis injury to mourn their
fate;

He only dies untimely who dies
late.

Katherine Philips

For if 'twere told to children in the
womb,

To what a stage of mischiefs they
must come ;

Could they foresee with how much
toil and sweat

Men count that gilded nothing, be-
ing great ; lo

What pains they take not to be
what they seem,

Rating their bliss by others' false
esteem.

And sacrificing their content, to be

Guilty of grave and serious vanity ;

How each condition hath its proper
thorns.

And what one man admits, another
scorns ;

How frequently their happiness they
miss.

So far even from agreeing what it is.

That the same person we can hardly
find,

Who is an hour together in one
mind : 20

Sure they would beg a period of
their breath,

And what we call their birth would
count their death.

Mankind is mad ; for none can live
alone,

Because their joys stand by com-
parison :

And yet they quarrel at society,

And strive to kill they know not
whom, nor why.

We all live by mistake, delight in
dreams,

Lost to ourselves, and dwelling in
extremes ;

Rejecting whatwe have, though ne'er
so good.

And prizing what we never under-
stood. 30

Compar'd t' our boisterous incon-
stancy

Tempests are calm, and Discords
harmony.

Hence we reverse the A\'orld, and
yet do find

(570)

The God that made can hardly

please our mind.
We live by chance and slip into

events ;
Have all of beasts except their

innocence.
The soul, which no man's pow'r can

reach, a thing
That makes each woman man, each

man a King,
Doth so much lose, and from its

height so fall,
That some contend to have no soul

at all. 40

'Tis either not observ'd, or at the

best
By Passion fought withal, by Sin

deprest.
Freedom of Will (God's image) is

forgot ;
And if we know it, we improve it

not.
Our thoughts, though nothing can

be more our own,
Are still unguided, very seldom

knov/n.
Time 'scapes our hands as water in

a sieve.
We come to die ere we begin to

live.
Truth, the most suitable and noble

prize.
Food of our spirits, yet neglected

lies. 50

Error and shadows are our choice,

and we
Owe our perdition to our own

decree.
If we search Truth, we make it more

obscure.
And when it shines, cannot the

light endure,
For most men now, who plod, and

eat, and drink.
Have nothing less their bus'ness

than to think.
And those few tliat inquire, how

small a share
Of Truth they find, how dark their

notions are !

The IV or Id

That serious evenness that calms

the breast,
And in a tempest can bestow

a rest, 60

We either not attempt, or else

dechne,
By ev'ry trifle snatch'd from our

design.
(Others he must in his deceits

involve,
Who is not true unto his own

resolve.)
We govern not ourselves, but loose

the reins,
Counting our bondage to a thousand

chains ;
And with as many slaveries, content
As there are tyrants ready to tor-
ment.
We live upon a rack extended still
To one extreme or both, but always

ill. 70

For since our fortune is not under-
stood,
We suffer less from bad than from

the good.
The sting is better dress'd and longer

lasts.
As surfeits are more dangerous than

fasts.
And to complete the misery to us,
We see extremes are still contiguous.
And as we run so fast from what we

hate,
Like squibs on ropes, to know no

middle state ;
So, outward storms strengthen'd by

us, we find
Our Fortune as disordered as our

mind. 80

But that 's excus'd by this, it doth

its part ;
A treach'rous World befits a treach-

'rous heart.
All ill 's our own, the outward storms

we loath

Receive from us their birth, their

sting, or both.
And that our Vanity be past a

doubt,
'Tis one new vanity to find it out.
Happy are they to whom God gives

a grave.
And from themselves as from His

wrath doth save.
'Tis good not to be born ; but if

we must.
The next good is, soon to return

to dust, 90

When th' uncag'd soul fled to

Eternity
Shall rest, and live, and sing, and

love, and see.
Here we but crawl and grovel, play

and cry ;
Are first our own, then others'

enemy :
But there shall be defac'd both

stain and score.
For Time, and Death, and Sin shall

be no more.

The Soul

I

How vain a thing is Man, whose
noblest part.
That soul which through the
World doth roam \
Traverses Heav'n, finds out the
depth of Art,
Yet is so ignorant at home ?
II
In every brook or mirror we can
find
Reflections of our face to be ;
But a true optic to present our mind
We hardly get, and darkly see.
Ill
Yet in the search after ourselves
we run.
Actions and causes we survey ; ro

' Orig. ' rome,' doubtless on the principle of which Spenser is the most distin-
guished exponent. It may be worth observing that this quatrain of 10, 8, 10, 8
is not very common, and for good reasons. The immense improvement in The Palace
of Art by the change to 10, 8, 10, 6 is an excellent subject for metrical study.

(571)

Kath

ertfte

Phi lip i^

And when the weary chase is almost
done,
Then from our quest we slip away.

IV

'Tis strange and sad, that since we
do believe
We have a soul must never die,
There are so few that can a reason
give
How it obtains that life, or why.

V

I wonder not to find those that

know most.

Profess so much their ignorance ;

Since in their own souls greatest

wits are lost,

And of themselves have scarce

a glance. 20

VI

But somewhat sure doth here ob-
scurely lie.
That above dross would fain
advance,
And pants and catches at Eternity,
As 'twere its own inheritance.

VII

A soul self-mov'd which can dilate,
contract,
Pierces and judges things unseen :
But this gross heap of Matter cannot
act.
Unless impulsed from within.

VIII

Distance and Quantity, to bodies due,

The state of souls cannot admit ;

And all the contraries which Nature

knew 31

Meet there, nor hurt themselves,

nor it.

IX

God never body made so bright and
clean,
Which Good and Evil could dis-
cern :
What these words Honesty and
Honour mean,
The soul alone knows how to learn.

X

And though 'tis true she is imprison'd

here,

Yet hath she notions of her own,

W^hich Sense doth only jog, awake,

and clear.

But cannot at the first make

known.

40

XI

The soul her own felicity hath
laid.
And independent on ^ the sense.
Sees the weak terrors which the
World invade
With pity or with negligence.

XII

So unconcern'd she lives, so much
above
The rubbish of a sordid jail.
That nothing doth her energy im-
prove
So much as when those structures
fail.

XIII

She's then a substance subtile, strong
and pure.
So immaterial and refin'd 50

As speaks her from the body's fate
secure,
And wholly of a diff rent kind.

XIV

Religion for reward in vain would
look,
Virtue were doom'd to misery,
All actions were like bubbles in
a brook,
Were 't not for Immortality.

XV

But as that Conqueror who millions
spent
Thought it too mean to give
a mite ;
So the World's Judge can never be
content
To bestow less than Infinite. 60

' It may be doubted whether we have done well to substitute ' independent of as
is often done; while keeping ' dependent on,''

(570

The Soul

XVI

Treason against Eternal Majesty
Must have eternal Justice too ;

And since unbounded Love did
satisfy,
He will unbounded Mercy show.

XVII

It is our narrow thoughts shorten
these things,
By their companion flesh inclin'd ;
Which feeling its own weakness glad-
ly brings
The same opinion to the mind.

XVIII

We stifle our own Sun, and live in

shade ;

But where its beams do once

appear, 70

They make that person of himself

afraid,

And to his own acts most severe.

XIX

For ways, to sin close, and our
breast disguise
From outward search, we soon
may find :
But who can his own soul bribe or
surprise.
Or sin without a sting behind ?

XX

He that commands himself is more
a Prince
Than he who nations keeps in
awe ;
Who yield to all that does their soul
convince.
Shall never need another Law. 80

Happiness

Nature courts Happiness^ although

it be
Unknown as the Athenian Deity.
It dwells not in man's sense, yet he

supplies
That want by growing fond of its

disguise.
The false appearances of joy deceive,

(573)

And seeking her unto her like we

cleave.
For sinking Man hath scarce sense

left to know
Whether the plank he grasps will

hold or no.
While all the business of the World

is this.
To seek that good which by mistake

they miss, 10

And all the several Passions men

express
Are but for Pleasure in a diff'rent

dress.
They hope for Happiness in being

great,
Or rich, or lov'd, then hug their own

conceit.
But the good man can find this

treasure out,
For which in vain others do dig

and doubt ;
And hath such secret full Content

within,
Though all abroad be storms, yet

he can sing.
His peace is made, all's quiet in

that place,
Where Nature 's cur'd and exercis'd

by Grace. 20

This inward calm prevents his

enemies.
For he can neither envy nor despise :
But in the beauty of his ordered

mind
Doth still a new, rich satisfaction

find.
Innocent epicure ! whose single

breast
Can furnish him with a continual

feast.
A Prince at home, and sceptres can

refuse ;
Valuing only what he cannot lose.
He studies to do good ; (a man may

be
Harmless for want of opportunity :)
But he 's industrious kindness to

dispense, 31

And therein only covets eminence.

Kath

eri7te

Philips

Others do court applause and fame,

but he
Thinks all that giddy noise but

Vanity.
He takes no pains to be observ'd or

seen,
While all his acts are echoed from

within.
He 's still himself, when company are

gone.
Too well employ'd ever to be alone.
For studying God in all his volumes,

he
Begins the business of Eternity ; 40
And unconcern'd without, retains a

power
To suck (like bees) a sweet from

ev'ry flower.
And as the Manna of the Israelites
Had several tastes to please all

appetites :
So his Contentment is that catholic

food,
That makes all states seem fit as

well as good.
He dares not wish, nor his own fate

propound ;
Butj if God sends, reads Love in

every wound :
And would not lose for all the joys

of sense
The glorious pleasures of obedience.
His better part can neither change

nor lose, 51

And all God's will can bear, can do,

can choose.

Death

How weak a star doth rule mankind.

Which owes its ruin to the same
Causes which Nature had design'd
To cherish and preserve the
frame !

II
As commonwealths may be secure.
And no remote invasion dread ;

(574)

Yet may a sadder fall endure

From traitors in their bosom bred :
III

So while we feel no violence, 9

And on our active health do trust,

A secret hand doth snatch us hence,
And tumbles us into the dust.

IV

Yet carelessly we run our race.
As if we could Death's summons
wave;
And think not on the narrow space
Between a table and a grave,
v
But since we cannot Death reprieve.
Our souls and fame we ought to
mind.
For they our bodies will survive ;
That goes beyond, this stays
behind. 20

VI

If I be sure my soul is safe,

And that my actions will provide

My tomb a nobler epitaph.

Than that I only liv'd and died.

VII

So that in various accidents

I Conscience may, and Honour,
keep;

I with that ease and innocence
Shall die, as infants go to sleep.

To the Queen's Majesty, on
her late Sickness and
Recovery

The public gladness that 's to us

restor'd,
For your escape from what we so

deplor'd,
Will want as well resemblance as

belief.
Unless our joy be measur'd by our

grief.
When in your fever we with terror

saw
At once our hopes and happiness

withdraw ;

Tl'o the Queen s Majesty

And every crisis did with jealous

fear
Inquire the news we scarce durst

stay to hear.
Some dying Princes have their ser-
vants slain,
That after death they might not

want a train. lo

Such cruelty were here a needless

sin ;
For had our fatal fears prophetic

been \
Sorrow alone that service would

have done,
And you by Nations had been waited

on.
Your danger was in ev'ry visage seen,
And only yours was quiet and serene.
But all our zealous grief had been in

vain.
Had not great Charles's call'd you

back again :
Who did your sufPrings with such

pain discern.
He lost three Kingdoms once with

less concern. ao

Lab'ring your safety he neglected

his,
Nor fear'd he death in any shape

but this.
His Genius did the bold distemper

tame,
And his rich tears quench'd the

rebellious flame.
As^ once the Thracian Hero lov'd

and griev'd,
Till he his lost felicity retriev'd ;
And with the moving accents of

his woe.
His spouse recover'd from the shades

below.
So the King's grief your threaten'd

loss withstood,
Who mourn'd with the same fortune

that he woo'd, 3*^

And to his happy passion we have

been

Now twice oblig'd for so ador'd a

Queen.
But how severe a choice had you to

make.
When you must Heav'n delay, or

Him forsake?
Yet since those joys you made such

haste to find
Had scarce been full if he were left

behind.
How well did Fate decide your in-
ward strife
By making him a present of your life ?
Which rescu'd blessing he must

long enjoy,
Since our offences could it not

destroy. 40

For none but Death durst rival him

in you ;
And Death himself was baffled in it

too.

Upon Mr. Abraham Cowley's
Retirement

ODE

I

No, no, unfaithful World, thou hast

Too long my easy heart betray'd,

And me too long thy foot-ball made :

But I am wiser grown at last,
And will improve by all that I have

past.
I know 'twas just I should be prac-

tis'd on ;
For I was told before,
And told in sober and instructive

lore.
How little all that trusted thee have

won :
And yet I would make haste to be

undone. 10

Now by my suffring I am better

taught.
And shall no more commit that

stupid fault.

^ So in orig., showing that ' bin ' for this rhyme is more or less of an accident.
^ Orig. ' at.'

( 575 )

Katherine Phiiips

Go, get some other fool,
Whom thou mayst next cajole :
On me thy frowns thou dost in vain
bestow ;
For I know how
To be as coy and as reserved ' as
thou.

II

In my remote and humble seat

Now I'm again possest 19

Of that late fugitive, my breast,
From all thy tumults and from all

thy heat
I'll find a quiet and a cool retreat ;
And on the fetters I have worn
Look with experienc'd and revenge-
ful scorn,
In this my sov'reign privacy.
'Tis true I cannot govern thee.
But yet myself I may subdue ;
And that's the nobler empire of the
two.
If ev'ry Passion had got leave
Its satisfaction to receive, :^o

Yet I would it a higher pleasure call,
To conquer one, than to indulge
them all.

Ill
For thy inconstant sea, no more
I'll leave that safe and solid shore :
No, though to prosper in the cheat,
Thou shouldst my Destiny defeat.
And make me be belov'd, or rich,
or great :
Nor from myself shouldst me
reclaim
With all the noise and all the pomp
of Fame.
Judiciously I'll these despise ; 40
Too small the bargain, and too great
the price,
For them to cozen twice.
At length this secret I have
learn'd ;
Who will be happy, must be uncon-
cern'd,

Must all their comfort in their bosom

wear.
And seek their treasure and their

power there.

IV

No other wealth will I aspire.
But that of Nature to admire ;
Nor envy on a laurel will bestow.
Whilst I have any in my garden grow.
And when I would be great, 51
'Tis but ascending to a seat
Which Nature in a lofty rock hath

built ;
A throne as free from trouble as
from guilt.
Where when my soul her wings

does raise
Above what worldlings fear or
praise.
With innocence and quiet pride

I'll sit.
And see the humble waves pay tri-
bute to my feet^
O life divine, when free from joys

diseas'd,
Not always merry, but 'tis always
pleas'd ! 60

V

A heart, which is too great a thing
To be a present for a Persian King,
Which God Himself would have to

be His court.
Where Angels would officiously re-
sort.
From its own height should much

decline,
If this converse it should resign
(Ill-natur'd World !) for thine.
Thy unwise rigour hath thy empire
lost ;
It hath not only set me free,
But it hath made me .see, 70
They only can of thy possession

boast,
Who do enjoy thee least, and under-
stand thee most.

* Orig. ' reserv'e ' (with sup:f?estion of Frencli ■).

^ The rhyme here is worth comparison with that of * been ' ^so spelt) with ' sin,'

(576)

Up07t Mr. Abraham Cowley s Retirement

For lo, the man whom all mankind

admir'd,
(By ev'ry Grace adorn'd, and ev'ry
Muse inspir'd)
Is now triumphantly retir'd.
The mighty Cowley this hath done,
And over thee a Parthian conquest
won :
Which future ages shall adore,
And which in this subdues thee
more
Than either Greek or Roman ever
could before. 80

The Irish Greyhound

Behold this creature's form and state,
Which Nature therefore did create,
That to the World might be exprest
What mien there can be in a beast ;
And that we in this shape may find
A lion of another kind.
For this heroic beast does seem
In majesty to rival him ;
And yet vouchsafes, to man, to show
Both service and submission too. 10
From whence we this distinction have,
That beast is fierce, but this is brave.
This dog hath so himself subdu'd,
That hunger cannot make him rude :
And his behaviour does confess
True courage dwells with gentleness.
With sternest wolves he dares engage,
And acts on them successful rage.
Yet too much courtesy may chance
To put him out of countenance. 20
When in his opposer's blood,
Fortune hath made his virtue good ;
This creature from an act so brave
Grows not more sullen, but more

grave.
Man's guard he would be, not his

sport.
Believing he hath ventur'd for 't ;

But yet no blood or shed or spent
Can ever make him insolent.

Few men of him to do great things

have learn'd.
And when th' are done, to be so
unconcern'd. 30

Song

To the Tune of Sommes nous pas
trap heureiix

I

How prodigious is my fate.
Since I can't determine clearly.
Whether you'll do more severely
Giving me your love or hate !
For if you with kindness bless me,

Since from you I soon must part ;
Fortune will so dispossess me,

That your Love will break my heart.
II
But since Death all sorrow cures,
Might I choose my way of dying, lo
I could wish the arrow flying
From Fortune's quiver, not from

yours.
For in the sad unusual story

How my wretched heart was torn,
It will more concern your glory,

I by absence fell than scorn.

A Dialosfue betwixt Lucasia
and Rosania, imitating
that of gentle Thyrsis ^

Ros. My Lucasia, leave the moun-
tain-tops.
And like a nearer air.
Luc. How shall I then forsake my
lovely flocks
Bequeathed to my care ?

' A coincidence with the lines in The Princess, Canto vii, ' Come down, O maid.'
The internal rhyme, after the first quatrain, is curious. It might be better to print the

lines separately —

' Shepherdess,
Thy flocks will not be less,' &c,

(577) PP

Kath

erine

Philips.

Ros. Shepherdess, thy flocks will
not be less,
Although thou shouldst come
hither.
Luc, But I fear, the world will be
severe,
Should I leave them to go thither.
Ros. O ! my friend, if you on that
depend.
You'll never know content. lo
Luc. Rather I near thee would live
and die,
Would fortune but consent.
Ros. But did you ask leave to love
me too,
That others should deprive me ?
Luc. Not all mankind, a stratagem
can find
Which from that heart should drive
me.
Ros. Better 't had been, I thee had
never seen.
Than that content to lose.
Luc. Such are thy charms, I'd dwell
within thine arms
Could I my station choose. 20
Ros. When life is done, the World
to us is gone.
And all our cares do end.
Luc. Nay, I know there's nothing
sweet below,
Unless it be a friend.
Ros. Then whilst we live, this joy
let 's take and give.
Since death us soon will sever.
Luc. But I trust, when crumbled into
dust.
We shall meet and love for ever.

Song

To the Tune of Adieu, Phillis

'Tis true our life is but a long disease,
Made up of real pain and seeming

ease.
You stars, who these entangled for-
tunes give,

(578)

O tell me why

It is so hard to die,

Yet such a task to live ?

If with some pleasure we our griefs

betray.
It costs us dearer than it can repay.
For Time or Fortune all things so
devours ;

Our hopes are crost, 10

Or else the object lost.
Ere we can call it ours.

An Epitaph on my honoured
Mother- in- Law, Mrs.
Phil[l]ips of Portheynon in
Cardiganshire, who died
Jan. I, anno i66|-.

Reader, stay, it is but just ;
Thou dost not tread on common

dust.
For underneath this stone does lie
One whose name can never die :
Who from an honour'd lineage

sprung,
Was to another matched young ;
Whose happiness she ever sought ;
One blessing was, and many brought.
And to her spouse her faith did

prove
By fifteen pledges of their love. 10
But when by Death of him depriv'd,
An honourable widow liv'd
Full four and twenty years, wherein
Though she had rnuch afflicted been,
Saw many of her children fall.
And public ruin threaten all.
Yet from above assisted, she
Both did and suffer'd worthily.
She to the Crown and Church ad-

her'd.
And in their sorrows them rever'd, 20
With piety which knew no strife,
But was as sober as her life.
A furnish'd table, open door.
That for her friends, this for the

poor.

An Epitaph

She kept ; yet did her fortune find,
Too narrow for her nobler mind ;
Which seeking objects to reHeve,
Did food to many orphans give,
Who in her Hfe no want did know.
But all the poor are orphans now. .^o
Yet hold, her fame is much too safe,
To need a written epitaph.
Her fame was so confess'd, that she
Can never here forgotten be,
Till Cardigan itself become
To its own ruin'd heaps a tomb.

Lucasia, Rosania, and Orinda
parting at a Fountain, J uly.

i66^s

Here, here are our enjoyments done.
And since the love and grief we

wear
Forbids us either word or tear.
And Art wants here expression,
See Nature furnish us with one.

n
The kind and mournfulnymph which
here
Inhabits in her humble cells.
No longer her own sorrow tells.
Nor for it now concern'd appears.
But for our parting sheds these
tears. lo

ni
Unless she may afflicted be,

Lest we should doubt her inno-
cence ;
Since she hath lost her best pre-
tence
Unto a matchless purity ;
Our love being clearer far than she.

IV

Cold as the streams that from her
flow.
Or (if her privater recess
A greater coldness can express)
Then cold as those dark beds of

snow
Our hearts are at this parting blow, ao

( 579 ) P

But Time, that has both wings and
feet.
Our suffering minutes being spent.
Will visit us with new content.
And sure, if kindness be so sweet
'Tis harder to forget than meet.

VI

Then though the sad adieu we say.
Yet as the wine we hither bring.
Revives, and then exalts the spring :
So let our hopes to meet allay
The fears and sorrows of this day. 30

A Farewell to Rosania

My dear Rosania, sometimes be so

kind.
To think upon the friend thou leav'st

behind,
And wish thee here, to make thy joys

complete.
Or else me there, to share thy blest

retreat.
But to the heart which for thy loss

doth mourn,
The kindest thought is that of quick

return.

To my Lady Anne Boyle,
saying I looked angrily
upon her

Ador'd Valeria, and can you con-
clude,

Orinda lost in such ingratitude ;

And so mis-spell the language of my
face.

When in my heart you have so great
a place ?

Ah ! be assur'd I could no look direct

To you, not full of passion and
respect.

Or if my looks have play'd that
treach'rous part.

And so much misinterpreted my heart,

I shall forgive them that one false-
hood, less

Than all their folly, and their ugli-

ness

10

Katharine Philips

And had much rather choose they
should appear

Always unhandsome, than once un-
sincere.

But I must thank your error, which
procures

Me such obliging jealousy as yours.

For at that quarrel I can ne'er repine,

Which shows your kindness, though
it questions mine.

To your concern I pardon your dis-
trust,

And prize your love, ev'n when it is
unjust.

On the Welsh Language

If Honour to an ancient name be

due,
Or Riches challenge it for one that's

new,
The British language claims in either

sense,
Both for its age, and for its opulence.
But all great things must be from

us remov'd,
To be with higher reverence belov'd.
So landscapes which in prospects

distant lie,
With greater wonder draw the pleased

eye.
Is not great Troy to one dark ruin

hurl'd ?
Once the fam'd scene of all the

fighting world. lo

\Vhere's Athens now, to whom Rome

Learning owes.
And the safe laurels that adorn'd her

brows ?
A strange reverse of Fate she did

endure.
Never once greater, than she's now

obscure.
Ev'n Rome herself can but some

footsteps show
Of Scipio's times, or those of Cicero.
..\nd as the Roman and the Grecian

State,

The British fell, the spoil of Time

and Fate.
But though the Language hath the

beauty lost.
Yet she has still some great Remains

to boast. 2 0

For 'twas in that, the sacred Bards of

old,
In deathless numbers did their

thoughts unfold.
In groves, by rivers, and on fertile

plains.
They civiliz'd and taught the list'n-

ing swains ;
Whilst with high raptures, and as

great success.
Virtue they clothed in Music's charm-
ing dress.
This Merlin spoke, who in his gloomy

cave,
Ev'n Destiny herself seem'd to en-
slave.
For to his sight the future time was

known.
Much better than to others is their

own : 30

And with such state, predictions from

him fell.
As if he did decree, and not fore-
tell.
This spoke King Arthur, who, if

Fame be true,
Could have compell'd mankind to

speak it too.
In this once Boadicca^ valour taught,
And spoke more nobly than her

soldiers fought :
Tell me what hero could be more

than she.
Who fell at once for Fame and

Liberty ?
Nor could a greater sacrifice belong.
Or to her children's, or her country's

wrong. 40

This spoke Caractacus, who was so

brave,
That to the Roman Fortune check

he gave :

' Sic in orig., and the form, which has some authority, is wanted for the verse.
( 580 )

On the Welsh La?iguage

And when their yoke he could decline

no more,
He it so decently and nobly wore,
That Rome herself with blushes did

believe
A Britain * would the Law of Honour

give ;
And hastily his chains away she

threw,
Lest her own captive else should her

subdue.

To the Countess of Thanet,
upon her JNTarriage

Since you who credit to all wonders

bring,
That lovers can believe, or poets

sing ;
Whose only shape and fashion does

express.
Your virtue is your nature, not your

dress ;
In whom the most admir'd extremes

appear.
Humble and fair, prudent and yet

sincere '^ :
Whose matchless worth transmits

such splendid rays.
As those that envy it are forc'd to

praise.
Since you have found such an illus-
trious sphere.
And are resolv'd to fix your glories

there ; lo

A heart whose bravery to his sex

secures
As much renown as you have done

to yours ;
And whose perfections in obtaining

you.
Are both discover'd and rewarded

too ;
'Twere almost equal boldness to

invent

How to increase your merit, or

content.
Yet sure the Muses somewhat have

to say,
But they will send it you a better

way :
The Court, which so much to your

lustre owes.
Must also pay you its officious

vows. 20

But whilst this shows respect, and

those their art.
Let me too speak the language of my

heart ;
Whose ruder ofPrings dare approach

your shrine.
For you, who merit theirs, can pardon

mine.
Fortune and Virtue with such heat

contend
(As once for Rome) now to make

you their friend :
As you so well can this prefer to

that,
As you can neither fear, nor mend

your fate :
Yet since the votes of joy from all

are due,
A love like mine must find some

wishes too. 30

May you in this bright constella-
tion set,
Still show how much the Good out-
shine the Great :
May you be courted with all joys of

sense,
Yet place the highest in your inno-
cence ;
Whose praise may you enjoy, but

not regard.
Finding within both motive and

reward.
May Fortune still to your commands

be just,
Yet still beneath your kindness or

your trust.

1 This is not impossible, though ' a Briton ' is more likely.

* This line in orig. illustrates the futility of retaining typographical peculiarities in-
discriminately. Besides 'Humble,' 'Fair' and 'Prudent' there have capitals, 'sincere'
not. Let him, who can, distinguish.

(581)

Kath

eri7ie

Philips

May you no trouble either feel or

fear,
But from your pity for what others

wear ; 4°

And may the happy owner of your

breast,
Still find his passion with his joys

increas'd ;
Whilst every moment your concern

makes known,
And gives him too, fresh reason for

his own :
And from their Parents may your

Offspring have
Ail that is wise and lovely, soft and

brave :
Or if all wishes we in one would

give,
For him, and for the world, Long

may you live.

Epitaph ^ on her Son H. P. at
St. Syth's Church, where
her body also Hes interred

What on Earth deserves our trust ;
Youth and Beauty both are dust.
Long we gathering are with pain,
What one moment calls again.
Seven years childless marriage past,
A Son, a Son is born at last :
So exactly limb'd and fair.
Full of good spirits, mien, and air,
As a long life promised,
Yet, in less than six weeks dead. lo
Too promising, too great a mind
In so small room to be confin'd :
Therefore, as fit in Heav'n to dwell.
He quickly broke the prison shell.
So the subtle alchymist,
Can't with Hermes' Seal resist
The powerful spirit's subtler fiight,
J)Ut 'twill bid him long good night :
And so the Sun, if it arise
Half so glorious as his eyes, 20

Like this Lifant, takes a shroud.
Buried in a morning cloud.

On the Death of my Lord
Rich, only son to the Earl
of Warwick, who died of
the small-pox, 1664

Have not so many lives of late
Suffic'd to quench the greedy thirst

of Fate?
Though to increase the mournful

purple flood.
As well as noble, she drank Royal

blood ;
That not content, against us to

engage
Our own wild fury, and usurpers'

rage ;
By sickness now, when all that storm

is past.
She strives to hew our heroes down

as fast ;
And by the prey she chooses, shows

her aim
Is to extinguish all the English

Fame. to

Else had this generous Youth we now

have lost,
Been still his friends' delight, and

country's boast.
And higher rais'd the illustrious

name he bore,
Than all our chronicles had done

before.
Had Death consider'd ere he struck

this blow.
How many noble hopes 'twould over-
throw ;
The Genius of his House (who did

complain
That all her worthies now died o'er

again) ;
His flourishing, and yet untainted

years ;
His father's anguish, and his mother's

tears ; 20

Sure he had been persuaded to

relent.
Nor had for so much early sweetness,

sent

* Sec Introduction.

(582)

0;/ the Death of my Lord Rich

That fierce disease, which knows not

how to spare
The young, the great, the knowing,

or the fair.
But we as well might flatter every

wind,
And court the tempests to be less

unkind.
As hope from churlish Death to

snatch his prey.
Who is as furious and as deaf as they;
And who hath cruelly surpris'd in him,
His parents' joy^ and all the World's

esteem. 30

Say, treacherous Hopes that

whisper in our ear.
Still to expect some steady comfort

here.
And though we oft discover all your

arts,
Would still betray our disappointed

hearts ;
What new delusion can you now

prepare.
Since this pale object shows how

false you are ?
'Twill fully answer all you have to

plead,
If we reply, great Warwick's heir is

dead :
Blush, human Hopes and Joys, and

then be all 39

In solemn mourning 1 at this funeral.

P^or since such expectations brittle

prove,
^Vhat can we safely either hope or

love ?

The Virgin

The things that make a Virgin please,
She that seeks, will find them these ;
A Beauty, not to Art in debt,
Rather agreeable than great ;

An eye, wherein at once do meet.
The beams of kindness, and of

wit;
An undissembled Innocence,
Apt not to give, nor take offence :
A conversation at once free
From Passion, and from Sub-
tlety ; 10
A face that's modest, yet serene,
A sober, and yet lively mien ;
The virtue which does her adorn,
By Honour guarded, not by Scorn ;
With such wise lowliness endu'd.
As never can be mean, or rude ;
That prudent negligence enrich,
And Time 's her silence and her

speech ^ ;
Whose equal mind does always

move,
Neither a foe, nor slave to love ; 20
And whose Religion 's strong and

plain.
Not superstitious, nor profane.

Upon the Graving of her
Name upon a Tree in Barn-
Elms Walks

Alas, how barbarous are we.

Thus to reward the courteous-^

Tree,
Who its broad shade affording us.
Deserves not to be wounded thus !
See how the yielding bark complies
With our ungrateful injuries !
And seeing this, say how much

then
Trees are more generous then

men.
Who by a nobleness so pure,
Can first oblige, and then endure. 10

* Grig. ' morning.'

"- This very ' metaphysical ' couplet seems to mean, ' If you add riches to her
wise retiringness, Time will have nothing bad and everything good to say of her.'
But I could add other interpretations, and am not sure of any.

(583)

Kath

erine

Philip ii

To my dearest Friend Mrs.
A. Owen, upon her greatest
loss

As when two sister-rivulets who crept
From that dark bed of snow wherein

they slept,
By private distant currents under

ground,
Have by maeanders ^ cither's bosom

found,
They sob aloud, and break down

what withstood,
Swoln by their own embraces to

a flood :
So when my sympathy for thy dear

grief
Had brought me near, in hope to

give relief,
I found my sorrow heighten'd when

so join'd.
And thine increas'd by being so

combin'd, lo

Since to the bleeding hopes of many

years,
I could contribute nothing but my

tears ;
Fears which to thy sad fate were

justly due.
And to his loss, by all who that

loss knew ;
For thy Charistus was so much above
'I'he eloquence of all our grief and

love.
That it would be injurious to his

hearse.
To think to crowd his worth into

a verse :
Could I by miracle such praise

indite,
Who with more ease and justice

weep than write, 20

He was all that which History can

boast.
Or bolder Poetry had e'er engross'd.

So pious, just, noble, discreet, and

kind.
Their best ideas know not how to

find.
His strong Religion not on trifles

spent.
Was useful, firm, early, and eminent,
Never betray'd to indigested heat,
Nor yet entic'd from what was

safely great.
And this so soon, as if he had

foresight,
He must begin betimes whose noon

is night. 30

His virtue was his choice, and not

his chance.
Not mov'd by Age, nor born of

Ignorance.
He well knew whom, and what he

did believe.
And for his faith did not dispute,

but live.
And liv'd just like his infant inno-
cence.
But that was crown'd with free

obedience.
How did he scorn design, and

equally
How much abhorr'dthis age's vanity !
He neither lik'd its tumults, nor its

joys,
Slighted alike Earth's pleasures, and

her noise. 40

But unconcern'd in both, in his own

mind
Alone could power and satisfaction

find.
A treasury of merit there lay hid,
Which though he ne'er confess'd,

his actions did.
His modesty unto his virtue lent
At once a shadow and an ornament.
But what could hide those filial rites

he paid ?
How much he lov'd, how prudently

obey'd ?

' The orig. has the diphthong ; but as it also has capital initial and italic spelling, it
is open to any one to contend that Orinda, or her printer, was uncertain whether the
word had yet become a common noun. I wish it had kept the diphthong as such.

(584)

To Mrs. A. Owejty up07i her greatest loss

How as a brother did he justly

share
His kind concern betwixt respect

and care ? 50

And to a wife how fully did he

prove
How wisely he could judge, how

fondly love ?
As husbands serious, but as lovers

kind,
He valu'd all of her, but lov'd her

mind ;
And with a passion made this riddle

true,
'Twas ever perfect, and yet still it

grew.
Such handsome thoughts his breast

did ever fill.
He durst do anything, but what

was ill ;
Unlike those gallants who so use

their time.
As opportunity to act their crime, 60
And lost in wine or vanity when

young,
They die too soon, because they

liv'd too long :
But he has hallowed so his early

death,
'Tis almost shame to draw a longer

breath.
I can no more, they that can must

have learn'd
To be more eloquent, and less

concern'd.
But all that noble justice to his

name.
His own good Angel will commit

to Fame.
Could grief recall this happiness

again.
Of thy dear sorrow I would ne'er

complain, 70

But such an opportunity would take
To grieve an useless life out for thy

sake.
But since it cannot, I must pray

thee live.
That so much of Charistus may

survive,

(585)

And that thou do not act so harsh

to Love,
As that his glory should thy sorrow

move :
Endure thy loss till Heav'n shall it

repay.
Upon thy last and glorious wedding-
day,
When thou shalt know him more,

and quickly find
The love increas'd by being so

refin'd, 80

And there possess him without

parting fears.
As I my friendship free from

future tears.

Orinda to Lucasia parting,
October, 1 661, at London

Adieu, dear Object of my Love's

excess.
And with thee all my hopes of

happiness.
With the same fervent and unchanged

heart
Which did its whole self once to

thee impart,
(And which, though fortune has so

sorely bruis'd.
Would suffer more, to be from this

excus'd)
I to resign thy dear converse

submit.
Since I can neither keep, nor merit it.
Thou hast too long to me confined

been,
Who ruin am without, passion

within. 10

My mind is sunk below thy tender-
ness,
And my condition does deserve it

less ;
I'm so entangl'd and so lost a thing
By all the shocks my daily sorrow[s]

bring.
That wouldst thou for thy old Orinda

call,
Thou hardly couldst unravel her at all.

Katherine Philips

And should I thy clear fortunes

interline
AVith the incessant miseries of mine ?
No, no, I never lov'd at such a

rate,
To tie thee to the rigours of my

fate. 20

As from my obligations thou art

free.
Sure thou shalt be so from my

injury.
Though every other worthiness

I miss,
Yet I'll at least be generous in this.
I'd rather perish without sigh or

groan,
Than thou shouldst be condemn'd

to give me one ;
Nay, in my soul I rather could

allow
Friendship should be a sufferer,

than thou :
Go then, since my sad heart has set

thee free,
Let all the loads and chains remain

on me. 30

Though I be left the prey of sea

and wind,
Thou, being happyj wilt in that be

kind ;
Nor shall I my undoing much

deplore,
Since thou art safe, whom I must

value more.
Oh ! mayst thou ever be so, and as

free
From all ills else, as from my

company ;
And may the torments thou hast

had from it,
Be all that Heaven will to thy life

permit.
And that they may thy virtue service

do,
Mayst thou be able to forgive them

too :

40

But though I must this sharp

submission learn,
I cannot yet unwish thy dear

concern.

( 5S6 )

Not one new comfort I expect to see,
I quit my Joy, Hope, Life, and all

but thee ;
Nor seek I thence aught that may

discompose
That mind where so serene a good-
ness grows.
I ask no inconvenient kindness

now,
To move thy passion, or to cloud

thy brow ;
And thou wilt satisfy my boldest plea
By some few soft remembrances of

me, ?o

Which may present thee with this

candid thought,
I meant not all the troubles that

I brought.
Own not what Passion rules, and

Fate does crush.
But wish thou couldst have done 't

without a blush ;
And that I had been, ere it was tod

late,
Either more worthy, or more

fortunate.
Ah, who can love the thing they

cannot prize ?
But thou mayst pity though thou

dost despise.
Yet I should think that pity bought

too dear,
If it should cost those precious

eyes a tear. 60

Oh, may no minute's trouble thee

possess,
But to endear the next hour's

happiness ;
And mayst thou when thou art from

me remov'd,
Be better pleas'd, but never worse

belov'd :
Oh, pardon me for pouring out my

woes
In rhyme now, that I dare not do 't

in prose.
For I must lose whatever is call'd

dear.
And thy assistance all that loss to

bear,

Oriiida to Liccasia parting

And have more cause than e'er

I had before,
'i'o fear that I shall never see thee

more. 70

On the first of January, 1657

Th' Eternal Centre of my life and

me,
A\'ho when I was not, gave me room

to be,
Hath since (my time preserving in

his hands)
By moments number'd out the

precious sands.
Till it is swell'd to six and twenty

years,
Chequer'd by Providence with smiles

and tears.
I have observ'd how vain all glories

are,
'I'he change of Empire, and the

chance of War :
Seen Faction with its native venom

burst.
And Treason struck, by what itself

had nurs'd : 10

Seen useless crimes, whose owners

but made way
For future candidates to wear the

bay.

To my Lady M. Cavendish,
choosing the name of
Policrite

That Nature in your frame has

taken care.
As well your birth as beauty do

declare.
Since we at once discover in your

face.
The lustre of your eyes and of your

race :
And that your shape and fashion

does attest.
So bright a form has yet a brighter

Guest,

(587)

To future times authentic fame shall

bring.
Historians shall relate, and Poets

sing.
But since your boundless mind

upon my head.
Some rays of splendour is content

to shed ; 10

And lest I suffer by the great

surprise.
Since you submit to meet me in

disguise,
Can lay aside what dazzles vulgar

sight, _ _

And to Orinda can be Policrite.
You must endure my vows, and

find the way
To entertain such rites as I can pay :
For so the Pow'r Divine new praise

acquires,
By scorning nothing that it once

inspires :
I have no merits that your smile

can win.
Nor offering to appease you when

I sin ; 20

Nor can my useless homage hope to

raise,
^\Tien what I cannot serve, I strive

to praise :
But I can love, and love at such a

pitch,
As I dare boast it will ev'n you

enrich ;
For kindness is a mine, when great

and true.
Of nobler ore than ever Indians

knew ;
'Tis all that mortals can on Heav'n

bestow.
And all that Heav'n can val^ie here

below.

Against Love

Hence, Cupid ! with your cheating

toys,
Your real Griefs, and painted Joys,
Your Pleasure which itself destroys.

Kath

lertne

Phi lip i^

Lovers like men in fevers burn

and rave,
And only what will injure them
do crave.
Men's weakness makes Love so

severe,
They give him power by their

fear,
And make the shackles which they
wear.
Who to another does his heart

submit,
Makes his own Idol, and then
worships it. lo

Him whose heart is all his own.
Peace and liberty does crown,
He apprehends no killing frown.
He feels no raptures which are

joys diseas'd.
And is not much transported, but
still pleas'd.

A Dialogue of Friendship
multiplied

Musidorus
Will you unto one single sense
Confine a starry Influence ;
Or when you do the rays combine.
To themselves only make them
shine ?
Love that 's engross'd by one

alone,
Is envy, not affection.
Orinda
No, Musidorus, this would be
But Friendship's prodigality ;
Union in rays does not confine,
But doubles lustre when they shine,
And souls united live above ii

Envy, as much as scatter'd Love.
PViendship (like rivers) as it

multiplies
In many streams, grows weaker
still and dies.

Afusidorus
Rivers indeed may lose their force,
When they divide or break their
course ;

(588)

For they may want some hidden

Spring,
Which to their streams recruits may

bring :
But Friendship's made of purest

fire.
Which burns and keeps its stock
entire. 20

Love, like the Sun, may shed his

beams on all.
And grow more great by being
general.

Orinda
The purity of Friendship's flame,
Proves that from sympathy it came.
And that the hearts so close do knit.
They no third partner can admit ;
Love like the Sun does all inspire,
But burns most by contracted fire.
Then though I honour every

worthy guest.
Yet my Lucasia only rules my
breast. 30

Rosania to Lucasia on her
Letters

Ah ! strike outright, or else forbear ;
Be more kind, or more severe ;
For in this chequer'd mixture I
Cannot live, and would not die :
And must I neither ? Tell me why.

When thy pen thy kindness tells.
My heart transported leaps and

swells.
But when my greedy eye does stray.
Thy threaten'd absence to survey,
That heart is struck, and faints

away. 10

To give me title to rich land.
And the fruition to withstand,
Or solemnly to send the key
Of treasures I must never see.
Would it contempt, or bounty be ?

This is such refin'd distress.
That thy sad lovers sigh for less,

Rosania to Lucasia o?i her Letters

Though thou their hopes hast over-
thrown,

They lose but what they ne'er have
known, 19

But I am plunder'd from my own.

How canst thou thy Rosania prize,
And be so cruel and so wise ?
For if such rigid policy
Must thy resolves dispute with me,
^\^here then is Friendship's victory ?

Kindness is of so brave a make,
'Twill rather death than bondage

take ;
So that if thine no power can have,
(live it and me one common grave,
But quickly either kill or save. 30

To my Antenor, March 16,
166^

My dear Antenor, now give o'er.
For my sake talk of graves no more ;
Death is not in your power to gain.
And is both wish'd and fear'd in

vain.
Let's be as angry as we will,
(irief sooner may distract than kill,
And the unhappy often prove
Death is as coy a thing as Love.
Those whose own sword their death

did give.
Afraid were or asham'd to live ; 10
And by an act so desperate,
Did poorly run away from Fate ;
'Tis braver much t' outride the

storm.
Endure its rage, and shun his harm^ ;
Affliction nobly undergone,
More greatness shows than having

none.
But yet the wheel in turning round,
At last may lift us from the ground.
And w'hen our Fortune's most severe,
The less we have, the less we fear. 20

And why should we that grief permit,
Which can nor mend nor shorten it ?
Let 's wait for a succeeding good.
Woes have their ebb as well as flood :
And since the Parliament have rescu'd

Believe that Providence will do so
too.

A Triton to Lucasia going
to Sea, shortly after the
Queen's arrival

My Master Neptune took such pains

of late
To quiet the comrnotions of his

state '^,
That he might give, through his

fierce winds and seas,
Safe passage to the Royal Portuguese,
Thathee'er sinceat home has kept.
And in his crystal palace slept,
Till a swift wind told him to-day,
A stranger was to pass this way,
Whom he hath sent me out to view-,
And I must tell him. Madam, it is
you. 10

n
He knows you by an honourable

fame :
Who hath not heard Lucasia's worthy

name ?
But should he see you too, I doubt

he will
Grow amorous, and here detain you
still :
I know his humour very well,
So best can the event foretell.
But wishing you better success.
And that my Master's guilt be less,
I will say nothing of your form.
Till you are past the danger of a
storm. 20

' The concurrence of 'its' and 'his' is rather curious, especially in view of the
rather recent establishment of the former. Of course both may not refer to ' storm ' ;
but Orinda would hardlv have made Fate masculine, and Death is some way behind.

''■ Quite a Drydenian line : cf. MacFleckiioe, 1. 10.

( 5H9 )

Katheri7ie Philips

III

Fear nothing else^ for eyes so sweet as

these,
No power that is sea-born can dis-
please ;
You are much more than Nymph or

Goddess bright ;

I saw 'm ^ all at supper t'other night :

They with far less attraction draw,

TheygiveusLove, yougiveusLaw.

Your charms the winds and seas

will move,
But 'tis no wonder, not to Love.
Your only danger is, lest they
Stiff with amazement should becalm
your way. 30

IV

But should they all want breath to

make a gale.
What's sent in prayers for you will

fill your sail ;
What brought you hither will your

way secure,
Courage and Kindness can no slip

endure ;
The winds will do as much for you.

V

Yetsince our birth the English Ocean

boasts.
We hope sometimes to see you on

these coasts.

And we will order for you as you pass,

Winds soft as lovers' vows, waves

smooth as glass.

Each Deity shall you befriend, 40

And all the Sea-Nymphs shall

attend ;
But if because a ship 's too strait ",
Or else unworthy such a freight,
A coach more useful would appear.
That and six Danish steeds you know
are here.

Orinda upon little Hector
Philips

I
" Twice forty months of wedlock I did

stay,
Then had my vows crown'd with a

lovely boy.
And yet in forty days he dropt away ;

0 swift vicissitude of human joy !

II

1 did but see him, and he dis-

appear'd,
I did but pluck the rosebud and

it fell ;
A sorrow unforeseen and scarcely

fear'd.
For ill can mortals their afflictions

spell.

Ill
And now (sweet Babe !) what can my

trembling heart
Suggest to right my doleful fate or

thee ? 1 o

Tears are my Muse, and sorrow all

my art.
So piercing groans must be thy

Elogy \

IV

Thus whilst no eye is witness of my

moan,
I grieve thy loss (Ah, Boy too dear

to live !)>
And let the unconcerned World

alone.
Who neither will nor can refreshment

give.

V

An off'ring to ^ for thy sad tomb I

have.
Too just a tribute to thy early herse,

* Sic in orig., and just worth noting for prosody's sake.
° Orig. 'straight'; but this confusion is incessant.

' Again see Introduction.

* Sic The reader may choose between 'eulogy' and 'elegy' — the latter being of
course the more obvious.

* Sicrn orig. It is of course wrong ; but to substitute ' too ' would make an awkward
clash with the next line. I am inclined to read ' offering ' in full and to suppose that she
wrote ' to thy' first, and substituted 'for' without cancelling ' to' — when the thirst of
the age for apostrophes would do the rest.

( 590)

Ormda upon little Hector Philips

Receive these gasping numbers to

thy grave,
The last of thy unhappy mother's

verse. 20

To the Lady E. Boyle

Ah, lovely Celimena ! why
Are you so full of charms,

That neither sex can from them fly,
Nor take against them arms ?

Others in time may gain a part,

But you at once snatch all the heart.

Dear Tyrant, why will you subdue

Orinda's trivial heart.
Which can no triumph add to you.

Not meriting your dart ? 10

And sure you will not grant it one,
If not for my sake, for your own.

For it has been by tenderness
Already so much bruis'd.

That at your altars I may guess
It will be but refus'd.

For never Deity did prize

A torn and maimed sacrifice.

But oh ! what madness can or dare
Dispute this noble chain, 20

Which 'tis a greater thing to wear.
Than empires to obtain ?

To be your slave I more design.

Than to have all the World be
mine.

Those glorious fetters will create

A merit fit for them.
Repair the breaches made by Fate,

And whom they own redeem.
What thus ennobles and thus cures.
Can be no influence but yours. 30

Pardon th' ambition of my aim,
Who love you at that rate,

That story cannot boast a flame
So lasting and so great.

I can be only kind and true,

But what else can be worthy you ?

(591 )

To my Lord Duke of
Ormond, upon the late
Plot

Though you, great Sir, be Heav'n's

immediate care.
Who show'd you danger, and then

broke the snare :
And our first gratitude to that be

due.
Yet there is much that must be paid

to you :
For 'tis your prudence Ireland's

peace secures,
Gives her her safety, and (what's

dearer) yours,
Whilst your prevailing Genius does

dispense.
At once its conduct and its influence.
Less honour from a battle won, is

got,
Than to repel so dangerous a plot ;
Fortune with Courage may play booty

there, 1 1

But single Virtue is triumphant here :
In vain the bold ungrateful rebels

aim
To overturn when you support the

same :
j You who three potent Kingdoms late

have seen
Tremble with fury, and yet steadfast

been;
WTio an afflicted Majesty could

wait.
When it was seemingly forsook by

Fate;
Whose settled loyalty no storms dis-
mayed,
Nor the more flattering mischiefs
could dissuade : 20

And having 'scap'd so dangerous a

coast.
Could you now fall, expiring Treason's

boast ?
Or was it hop'd by this contemned

crew,
That you could Fortune and not
them subdue ?

Kath

erine

Phi lip i^

But whilst these wretches at this im-
pious rate,

Will buy the knowledge of your
mighty fate ;

You shall preserve your King's en-
trusted crown,

Assisted by his fortune and your
own.

And w^hilst his sword Kingdoms
abroad bestows,

You, with the next renown, shall this
dispose. 30

To the Countess of Roscom-
mon, with a Copy of
Pompey

Great Pompey's Fame from Egypt

made escape.
And flies to you for succour in this

shape :
A shape, which, I assur'd him, would

appear.
Nor fit for you to see, nor him to

wear.
Yet he says. Madam, he's resolv'd to

come.
And run a hazard of a second doom :
But still he hopes to bribe you, by

that trust
You may be kind, but cannot be un-
just ;
Each of whose favours will delight

him more
Than all the laurels that his temples

wore : 10

Yet if his name and his misfortunes

fail.
He thinks my intercession will pre-
vail ;
And whilst my numbers would relate

his end.
Not like a Judge you'll listen, but a

Friend \
For how can either of us fear your

frown.
Since he and I are both so much

your own. i

( 59O

But when you wonder at my bold

design.
Remember who did that high task

enjoin ;
Th' illustrious Orrery, whose least

command
You would more wonder if I could

withstand : 20

Of him I cannot which is hardest

tell.
Or not to praise him, or to praise

him well ;
Who on that height from whence

true glory came.
Does there possess and thence dis-
tribute fame ;
Where all their lyres the willing

Muses bring.
To learn of him whatever they shall

sing;
Since all must yield, whilst there are

books or men,
The universal empire to his pen ;
Oh ! had that powerful Genius but

inspir'd
The feeble hand, whose service he

requir'd, 30

It had your Justice then, not Mercy

pray'd,
Had pleas'd you more, and better

him obey'd.

On the Death of the truly-
honourable Sir Walter
Lloyd, Knight

At obsequies where so much grief

is due.
The Muses are in solemn mourning

too.
And by their dead astonishment

confess.
They can lament this loss, though

not express :
Nay, if those ancient Bards had seen

this herse.
Who once in British shades spoke

living verse,

On the Death of Sir Walter Lloyd

Their high concern for him had made

them be
Apter to weep, than write his Elogy^
When on our land that flood of

woes was sent,
\\' hich swallow'd all things sacred as

it went, lo

The injur'd Arts and Virtues made

his breast
The ark wherein they did securely

rest :
For as that old one was toss'd up

and down,
And yet the angry billows could not

drown ;
So Heav'n did him in this worse

deluge save,
i\.nd made him triumph o'er th' un-
quiet wave :
Who while he did with that wild

storm contest,
Such real magnanimity exprest,
That he dar'd to be loyal, in a time
When 'twas a danger made, and

thought a crime : 20

Duty, and not Ambition, was his

aim.
Who studied Conscience ever more

than Fame ;
And thought it so desirable a thing,
To be preferr'd to suffer for his King,
That he all Fortune's spite had

pardon'd her.
Had she not made his Prince a

sufferer;
For whose lov'd cause he did both

act and grieve.
And for it only did endure to live.
To teach the World what Man can

be and do,
Arm'd by Allegiance and Religion

too. 30

His head and heart mutual assist-
j ance gave,

' That being still so wise, and this
; so brave,

J That 'twas acknowledg'd all he said
I and did,

From Judgement, and from Honour

did proceed :
Such was the useful mixture of his

mind,
'Twas at once meek and knowing,

stout and kind ;
For he was civil, bountiful, and

learn'd,
And for his friends so generously

concern'd.
That both his heart and house, his

hand and tongue,
To them, more than himself, seem'd

to belong ; 40

As if to his wrong'd party he would be
Both an example and apology :
For when both swords and pens

ceas'd the dispute,
His life alone Rebellion did confute.
But when his vows propitious

Heaven had heard,
And our unequall'd King at length

appear'd.
As aged Simeon did his spirits yield.
When he had seen his dearest hopes

fulfiU'd ;
He gladly saw the morning of that day,
Wliich Charles his growing splendour

did display ; 50

Then to eternal joys made greater

haste.
Because his present ones flow'd in

so fast ;
From which he fled, out of a pious fear.
Lest he by them should be rewarded

here;
While his sad country by his death

have lost
Their noblest pattern, and their

greatest boast.

Orinda to Lucasia

I

Observe the weary birds ere night

be done,
How they would fain call up the

tardy Sun,

' This hybrid has been already noted.

( 593 ) Q q

Kath

erine

Philips,

With feathers hung with dew,
And trembhng voices too,
They court their glorious planet to

appear,
That they may find recruits of
spirits there.
The drooping flowers hang their

heads,
And languish down into their
beds :
While brooks more bold and fierce
than they.
Wanting those beams, from
whence lo

All things drink influence.
Openly murmur and demand the
day.

II
Thou, my Lucasia, art far more to

me,
Than he to all the under-world
can be ;
From thee I've heat and light.
Thy absence makes my night.
But ah ! my friend, it now grows

very long.
The sadness weighty, and the dark-
ness strong :
My tears (its due ') dwell on my

cheeks,
And still my heart thy dawning
seeks, 20

And to thee mournfully it cries,
That if too long I wait,
Ev'n thou mayst come too late,
And not restore my life, but close
my eyes.

To Celimena

Forbear, fond heart (say I), torment

no more
That Celimena whom thou dost

adore \
For since so many of her chains are

proud.

How canst thou be distinguished in

the crowd ?
But say, bold Trifler, what dost thou

pretend ?
Wouldst thou depose thy Saint into

thy Friend ?
Equality of friendship is requir'd.
Which here were criminal to be

desir'd.

An Answer to another per-
suading a Lady to Marriage

I
Forbear, bold Youth, all 's Heaven
here.
And what you do aver.
To others courtship may appear,
'Tis sacrilege to her.
II
She is a public Deity,

And were't not very odd
She should depose herself to be
A petty household god ?
Ill
First make the Sun in private shine,
And bid the World adieu, 10

That so he may his beams confine
In compliment to you.

IV

But if of that you do despair,
Think how you did amiss.

To strive to fix her beams which are
More bright and large than this.

Lucasia and Orinda parting
with Pastora and Phillis
at Ipswich

I
In your converse we best can read,

How constant we should be ;
But, 'tis in losing that, we need

All your philosophy.

* Sic in orig., and quite probable witli 'absence.* But 'dew' with 'darkness' is
possible, and a play on the two words perhaps most likely of all.

( 594 )

I

Lucasia and Orinda

II

How perish'd is the joy that 's past,

The present how unsteady !
What comfort can be great, and last,

When this is gone already ?
Ill
Yet that it subtly may torment,

The memory does remain ; lo

For what was, when enjoy'd, Content^

Is, in its absence. Pain,

IV

If you'll restore it, we'll not grieve
That Fate does now us sever ;

'Tis better by your gift to live.
Than by our own endeavour.

Epitaph on my truly
honoured Publius Scipio

To the officious marble we commit
A name, above the art of time or wit ;
'Tis righteous, valiant Scipio, whose

life we
Found the best sermon, and best

history :
A\'hose courage was no aguish,

brutish heat\
But such as spoke him good, as well

as great ;
Which first engag'd his arms to prop

the state
Of the almost undone Palatinate,
And help the Netherlands to stem

the tide
Of Rome's Ambition, and the

Austrian Pride ; lo

Which shall in every History be

fam'd.
Wherein Breda or Frankendale are

nam'd.
And when forc'd by his country's

angry stars
To be a party in her Civil Wars,
He so much conduct by his valour

taught.

So wisely govern'd, and so bravely

fought,
That th' English Annals shall this

record bear.
None better could direct or further

dare.
Form'd both for war and peace^ was

brave in fight.
And in debate judicious and upright :
Religion was his first and highest

care, 2 i

Which rul'd his heart in peace, his

hand in war :
Which at the least sin made him

tremble still.
And rather stand a breach, than act

an ill ;
For his great heart did such a

temper show,
Stout as a rock, yet soft as melting

snow.
In him so prudent, and yet so

sincere.
The serpent much, the dove did

more appear :
He was above the little arts of

State,
And scorn'd to sell his peace to

mend his Fate ; p,o

Anxious of nothing, but an inward

spot.
His hand was open, but his con-
science not ;
Just to his word, to all religions

kind.
In duty strict, in bounty unconfin'd ;
And yet so modest, 'twas to him

less pain
To do great things, than hear them

told again.
Perform, sad Stone, thy honourable

trust
Unto his memory, and thyself be

just,
For his immortal name shall thee

befriend,
And pay thee back more fame than

thou canst lend. 40

^ Grig. ' bru/'tish,' which could be forced into a sense, but very idly.
( 595 ) Q q 2

Katherine Philips

To Mr. Sam. Cooper, having
taken Lucasia's Picture
given December 14, 1660

I

If noble things can noble thoughts

infuse,
Your art might ev'n in me create

a Muse,
And what you did inspire, you

would excuse.
II
But if it such a miracle could do,
That Muse would not return you

half your due,
Since 'twould my thanks, but not the

praise pursue.
Ill
To praise your art is then itself

more hard.
Nor would it the endeavour much

regard,
Since it and Virtue are their own

reward.

IV

A pencil from an Angel newly
caught j 10

And colours in the Morning's bosom
sought,

Would make no picture, if by you
not wrought.

V

But done by you it does no more

admit
Of an encomium from the highest

wit,
Than that another hand should

equal it.

VI

Yet whilst you with creating power

vie.
Command the very spirit of the

eye,
And then reward it with eternity —

VII

Whilst your each touch does Life
and Air convey,

Fetch the soul out, like overcoming
day, 20

And I my friend repeated here
survey —

VIII

I by a passive way may do you

right,
Wearing in that, what none could

e'er indite.
Your panegyric, and my own

delight.

Partinof with a Friend

Whoever thinks that joys below

Can lasting be and great,
Let him behold this parting blow.

And cure his own deceit.
II
Alas ! how soon are Pleasures done

Where Fortune has a power !
How like to the decUning Sun,

Or to the wither'd flower !
Ill
A thousand unconcerned eyes

She'll suffer us to see,
But of those ^ we chiefly prize.

We must deprived be.

IV

But we may conquer if we will.
The wanton Tyrant teach.

That we have something left us still
Which grows not in her reach.

V

That unseen string which fastens
hearts.

Nor time, nor chance e'er tied,
Nor can it be in cither's arts

Their unions to divide. 20

VI

Where sympathy does Love convey,
It braves all other powers ;

Lucasia, and Rosania, say.
Has it not formt;d ours ?

VII

If forty weeks' converse has not
Been able yet to tie

10

' One feels inclined to insert 'joys' or 'which' or something similar.
(596)

Parti?tg with a Friend

Your souls in that mysterious knot,
How wretched then am I !

VIII

But if I read in either's mind,
As sure I hope to do, 30

That each to other is combin'd,
Absence will make it true.

IX

No accident will e'er surprise,
Or make your kindness start ;

Although you lose each other's eyes,
You'll faster keep the heart.

X

Letters as kind as turtle-doves,
And undisguis'd as thought,

Will entertain those fervent Loves
Which have each other bought. 40

XI

Till Fortune vexed with the sight
Of Faith so free from stain.

Shall then grow weary of her spite.
And let you meet again.

XII

Wherein may you that rapture find,
That sister Cherals ^ have.

When I am in my rocks confin'd,
Or seal'd up in my grave.

To my dearest Friend, upon
her shunning Grandeur

Shine out. Rich Soul ! to Greatness

be,
What it can never be to thee,
An ornament. Thou canst restore
The lustre which it had before
These ruins ; own it, and 'twill live ;
Thy favour 's more than Kings can

give.
Hast more above all titles then ^
The bearers are 'bove common men ;
And so heroic art within, 9

Thou must descend to be a Queen.
Yet honour may convenient prove.
By giving thy soul room to move :

?,o

Affording scene unto that mind,
Which is too great to be confin'd.
Wert thou with single virtue stor'd,
To be approv'd but not ador'd ;
Thou might'st retire ; but who e'er

meant
A palace for a tenement?
Heaven has so built thee, that we

find
Thee buried when thou art confin'd :
If thou in privacy wouldst live, 21
Yet lustre to thy virtues give ;
To stifle them for want of air,
Injurious is to Heaven's care.
If thou wilt be immured *, where
Shall thy obliging soul appear ?
Where shall thy generous prudence

be.
And where thy magnanimity ?
Nay, thy own darling thou dost hide
Thy self-denial is denied ;
For he that never greatness tries.
Can never safely it despise.
That Antoninus writ well, when
He held a sceptre and a pen :
Less credit Solomon does bring
As a philosopher than king ;
So much advantage flows from

hence.
To write by our experience.
Diogenes I must suspect
Of envy more than wise neglect, 40
\\Tien he his Prince so ill did treat.
And so much spurned at the great :
A censure is not clear from those
Whom Fate subjects, or does depose ;
Nor can we Greatness understand
From an oppress'd or fallen hand :
But 'tis some Prince must thatdefine,
Or one that freely did resign.
A great Almanzor teaches thus,
Or else a Dionysius. 50

For to know Grandeur we must live
In that, and not in perspective ;
Vouchsafe the trial then, that thou
Mayst safely wield, yet disallow

^ Chorals (?) connected with
assembly of the blest.'

' choir.' Orinda elsewhere uses ' Quire ' as = ' the

^ Then = ' than ' as so often.

' Grig. ' immur'd,' with the usual thirst for apostrophes.

(597)

Kath

ertne

Philips

The world's temptations, and be
still

Above whatever would thee fill.

Convince mankind, there 's some-
what more

(ireat than the titles they adore :

Stand near them, and 'twill soon be
known

'i'hou hast more splendour of thy

own

60

Yield to the wanting Age, and be

('hannel of true nobility :

For from thy womb such heroes

need must rise.
Who honours will deserve, and can

despise.

To Pastora belnor with her
Friend

While you the double joy obtain
Of what you give, and what you

gain :
Friendship, who owes you so much

fame.
Commands my tribute to your

name.

II
Friendship that was almost forlorn,
Sunk under every critic's scorn ;
But that your Genius her protects.
Had fled the World, at least the

sex.

Ill
You have restored them and us,
"Whence both are happy ; Caesar

thus 10

Ow'd Rome the glories of his reign,
And Rome ow'd him as much

again.

IV

You in your friend those joys have

found
Which all relations can propound;

What Nature does 'mong them

disperse,
You multiply in her converse.

V

You her enjoyment have pursu'd
In company, and solitude ;
And wheresoever she'll retire,
There 's the diversion you desire. 20

VI

Your joys by this are more immense,
And heat contracted grows intense ;
And friendship to be such to you,
Will make these pleasures, honours
too.

VII

Be to each other that Content,
As to your sex y' are ornament ;
And may your hearts by mixture

lost.
Be still each other's bliss and boast.

VIII

Impossible your parting be

As that you e'er should disagree ; 30

And then even Death your friend

will prove,
And both at once (though late)

remove.

IX

But that you may severely ^ live.
You must th' offending World for-
give,
And to employ your charity.
You have an object now in me.

X

My pen so much for you unfit.
Presents my heart, though not my

wit ;
Which heart admires what you

express,
More than what Monarchs do

possess.

40

XI

Fear not infection from my Fate,
Though I must be unfortunate.
For having paid my vows due, I
Shall soon withdraw, wither and
die.

(598)

' Securely (?).

To my Lord and Lady Dunga7ino7t

To my Lord and Lady
Dungannon, on their
Marriage, May ii, 1662

To you, who, in yourselves, do

comprehend
All you can wish, and all we can

commend ;
Whom worth does guide, and

destiny obey,
What offerings can the useless Muses

pay?
J'^ach must at once suspend her

charming lyre.
Till she hath learnt from you what to

inspire :
^\'eU may they wonder to observe

a knot,
\ So curiously by Love and P'ortune

! wrought,

^ '1

o which propitious Heaven did

decree.
All things on earth should tributary

be; 10

Jiy gentle, sure, but unperceiv'd

degrees,
As the Sun's motion, or the growth

of trees,
Does Providence our wills to hers

incline.
And makes all accidents serve her

design :
Her pencil (Sir) within your breast

did draw
The picture of a face you never saw.
^\'ith touches, which so sweet were

and so true.
By them alone th' original you knew ;
Andat that sight with satisfaction yield
\'our freedom which till then

maintain'd the field. 20

'Twas by the same mysterious

power too.
That she has laeen so long reserv'd

for you ;
\Miose noble passion, with submis-
sive art,

' Grig. ' President,' but the enor is
forced into sense.

( 599 )

Disarm'd her scruples and subdu'd

her heart.
And now that at the last your souls

are tied,
Whom floods nor difficulties could

divide,
Ev'n you that beauteous union may

admire.
Which was at once Heaven's care,

and your desire.
You are so happy in each other's

love,
And in assur'd protection from

above, 30

That we no wish can add unto your

bhss
But that it should continue as it is.
O ! may it so, and may the Wheel

of Fate,
In you no more change than she

feels, create ;
And may you still your happinesses

find.
Not on your fortune growing, but

your mind.
Whereby the shafts of chance as

vain will prove,
As all things else did that oppos'd

your Love.
Be kind and happy to that great

degree.
As may instruct latest posterity, 40
From so rever'd a precedent ^ to

frame
Rules to their duty, to their wishes

aim.
May the vast sea for your sake quit

his pride.
And grow so smooth, while on his

breast you ride.
As may not only bring you to your

port,
But show how all things do your

virtues court.
May every object give you new

delight.
May Time forget his scythe, and

Fate his spite ;

common, and 'president' could only be

Kath

ertne

Philips

And may you never other sorrow

know,
But what your pity feels for others'

woe : 50

May your compassion be like that

Divine,
Which relieves all on whom it does

but shine,
Whilst you produce, a race that may

inherit
All your great stock of Beauty,

Fame, and Merit.

To his Grace Gilbert, Lord
Archbishop of Canterbury,
July 10, 1664

That private shade, wherein my

Muse was bred.
She always hop'd might hide her

humble head ;
Believing the retirement she had

chose
Might yield her, if not pardon, yet

repose ;
Nor other repetitions did expect,
Than what our Echoes from the

rocks reflect.
But hurried from her cave with wild

affright.
And dragg'd maliciously into the

light,
(Which makes her like [the] Hebrew

Virgin mourn
When from her face her veil was

rudely torn) 10

To you (my Lord) she now for

succour calls,
And at your feet, with just confusion

falls.
But she will thank the wrong deserv'd

her hate.
If it procure her that auspicious

fate.
That the same wing may over her

be cast,

Where the best Church of all the

World is plac'd,
And under which when she is once

retir'd.
She really may be come to be inspir'd ;
And by the wonders which she

there shall view.
May raise herself to such a theme

as you, 20

Who were preserv'd to govern and

restore
That Church whose Confessor you

were before ;
And show by your unwearied present

care,
Your sufPrings are not ended, though

hers are :
For whilst your crosier her defence

secures,
You purchase her rest with the loss

of yours.
And Heav'n who first refin'd your

worth, and then.
Gave it so large and eminent a

scene.
Hath paid you what was many ways

your due.
And done itself a greater right

than ^ you. 30

For after such a rough and tedious

storm
Had torn the Church, and done her

so much harm ;
And (though at length rebuk'd, yet)

left behind
Such angry relics, in the wave and

wind ;
No Pilot could, whose skill and

faith were less.
Manage the shatter'd vessel with

success.
The Piety of the Apostles' times
And Courage to resist this Age's

crimes ;
Majestic sweetness, temper'd and

refin'd.
In a polite, and comprehensive

mind, ^o

' Orig., as before, ' then.'

( 600 )

To his Grace the Ajxhbishop of Canterhia^y

Were all requir'd her ruins to

repair,
And all united in her Primate are.
In your aspect so candid and

serene,
The conscience of such virtue may

be seen,
As makes the sullen schismatic

consent,
A Churchman may be great and

innocent.
This shall those men reproach, if

not reduce.
And take away their fault, or their

excuse.
Whilst in your life and government

appear
All that the pious wish, and factious

fear. 50

I Since the prevailing Cross her
\ ensigns spread,

And Pagan Gods from Christian

Bishops fled.
Time's curious eye till now hath

never spied
The Church's helm so happily

supplied,
Merit and Providence so fitly met.
The worthiest Prelate in the highest

seat.

If noble things can noble thoughts

infuse.
Your life (my Lord) may, ev'n in

me, produce
Such raptures, that of their rich

fury proud,
I may, perhaps, dare to proclaim

aloud ; 60

Assur'd, the World that ardour will

excuse ;
Applaud the subject, and forgive the

Muse.

TRANSLATIONS

La Solitude de St. Amant ^

Englished.

I

O ! Solitude, my sweetest choice.

Places devoted to the night,
Remote from tumult, and from noise,

How you my restless thoughts
delight !
O Heavens ! what content is mine.

To see those trees which have
appear'd
From the nativity of Time,

And which all ages have rever'd.

To look to-day as fresh and green,
As when their beauties first were
seen !

10

II

A cheerful wind does court them so,

And with such amorous breath en-
fold,
That we by nothing else can know,

But by their height that they are
old.
Hither the demi-gods did fly

To seek a sanctuary, when
Displeased Jove once pierc'd the sky.

To pour a deluge upon men,

* O ! Que j'aime la Solitude,

Que ces lieux sacrez a la nuict,

Elcignez du monde & de bruit,
Plaisent a mon inquietude !

Mon Dieu ! que mes yeux sont contens.

De voir ces Bois, qui se trouverent
A la nativite du Temps,

Et que tous les Siecles reverent,
Estre encore aussi beaux & vers.
Qu'aux premiers jours de I'Univers.

This (see Preface) will satisfy the reasonable demands of Orinda's first editor without
giving the whole.

(601)

Kath

erine

Philip

s

And on these boughs themselves

did save,
A\'hence they could hardly see a
wave. 20

III
Sad Philomel upon this thorn,

So curiously by Flora dress'd,
In melting notes, her case forlorn,
To entertain me, hath confess'd.
O ! how agreeable a sight

These hanging mountains do ap-
pear.
Which the unhappy would invite
To finish all their sorrows here,
U'hen their hard fate makes them
endure 29

Such woes, as only death can cure.

IV

A\'hat pretty desolations make

These torrents vagabond and
fierce,
\\'ho in vast leaps their springs for-
sake.

This solitary Vale to pierce.
Then sliding just as serpents do

Under the foot of every tree.
Themselves are changed to rivers too.

Wherein some stately Nayade \
As in her native bed, is grown
A Queen upon a crystal throne. 40

V

This fen beset with river plants,

O ! how it does my senses charm !
Nor elders, reeds, nor willows want,
Which the sharp steel did never
harm.
Here Nymphs which come to take
the air.
May with such distaffs furnish'dbe,
As flags and rushes can prepare.
Where we the nimble frogs may
see,
Who frighted to retreat do fly.
If an approaching man they spy. 50

VI

Here water-fowl repose enjoy,

Without the interrupting care,
Lest Fortune should their bliss
destroy
By the malicious fowler's snare.
Some ravish'd with so bright a day.
Their feathers finely prune and
deck ;
Others their amorous heats allay,
Which yet the waters could not
check :
All take their innocent content
In this their lovely element. 60 1

VII

Summer's, nor Winter's bold ap-j
proach.

This stream did never entertain ;
Nor ever felt a boat or coach.

Whilst either season did remain.
No thirsty traveller came near,

And rudely made his hand his
cup;
Nor any hunted hind hath here

Her hopeless life resigned up ;
Nor ever did the treacherous hook
Intrude to empty any brook. 70

VIII

What beauty is there in the sight

Of these old ruin'd castle-walls.
On which the utmost rage and spight

Of Time's worst insurrection falls ?
The witches keep their Sabbath here,

And wanton devils make retreat,
Who in malicious sport appear,

Oursenseboth toafiflict and cheat ;
And here within a thousand holes
Are nests of adders and of owls. 80

IX

The raven with his dismal cries,
That mortal augury of Fate,

Those ghastly goblins gratifies.
Which in these gloomy places
wait.

' The retention of the trisyllabic value of the French Naiade 2inA the accentuation of
the e are interesting, though the latter is of course unjustifiable. Saint-Amant has
the word in the middle of the line.

' Ou quelque Nayade superbe.'
Tut, after all. the classical teaching of Hackney may have been slightly defective, and
Orinda may have thought that ' Naiadfs ' authorized a singular ' Naiadt'c'

( 602 )

La Solitude cie St. Ama7tt

On a curs'd tree the Avind does move

A carcase which did once belong

To one that hang'd himself for love

Of a fair Nymph that did him

wrong,

Who though she saw his love and

truth,
^^'ith one look would not save the
youth. 90

X

But Heaven which judges equally.
And its own laws will still main-
tain,
Rewarded soon her cruelty

With a deserv'd and mighty pain •.
^ About this squalid heap of bones,
Her wand'ring and condemned
shade.
Laments in long and piercing groans

The destiny her rigour made.
And the more to augment her fright,
Her crime is ever in her sight. 100

XI

'I'here upon antique marbles trac'd,

Devices of past times' we see.
Here age hath almost quite defac'd

What lovers carv'd on every tree.
The cellar, here, the highest room

Receives when its old rafters fail,
Soil'd with the venom and the foam

Of the spider and the snail :
And th' ivy in the chimney we
rind shaded by a walnut tree. no

XII

Below there does a cave extend,

Wherein there is so dark a grot,
That should the Sun himself descend,

I think he could not see a jot.
Here sleep within a heavy lid

In quiet sadness locks up sense.
And every care he does forbid,

Whilst in the arms of negligence,
Lazily on his back he 's spread,
And sheaves of poppy are his bed. 1 20

XIII

^Vithin this cool and hollow cave,
Where Love itself might turn to
• ice.

Poor Echo ceases not to rave
On her Narcissus wild and nice :
(603)

Hither I softly steal a thought,

And by the softer music made
W'ith a sweet lute in charms well
taught.
Sometimes I flatter her sad shade,
Whilst of my chords I make such

choice,
They serve as body to her voice. 1 30

XIV

When from these ruins I retire,

This horrid rock I do invade,
W'hose lofty brow seems to inquire

Of what materials mists are made :
From thence descending leisurely

Under the brow of this steep hill.
It with great pleasure I descry

By waters undermin'd, until
They to Palaemon's seat did climb,
Compos'd of sponges and of slime. 1 40

XV

How highly is the fancy pleas'd

To be upon the ocean's shore,
W^hen she begins to be appeas'd.
And her fierce billows cease to
roar !
And when the hairy Tritons are
Riding upon the shaken wave.
With what strange sounds they strike
the air
Of their trumpets hoarse and
brave,
W'hose shrill report does every wind
Unto his due submission bind !

i.^o

XVI

Sometimes the sea dispels the sand,
Trembhng and murmuring in the
bay.
And rolls itself upon the shells
Which it both brings and takes
away.
Sometimes exposes on the strand,
Th' effects of Neptune's rage and
scorn,
Drown'd men, dead monsters cast
on land.
And ships that were in tempest
. torn, 1 f,8

With diamonds and ambergreece.
And many more such things as these.

Kath

ertne

Philips,

XVII

Sometimes so sweetly she does
smile,
A floating mirror she might be,
And you would fancy all that while
New Heavens in her face to see :
The Sun himself is drawn so well,
When there he would his picture
view,
That our eye can hardly tell

Which is the false Sun, which the
true;
And lest we give our sense the lie,
We think he's fallen from the sky. 170

XVIII

Bernieres ! for whose beloved sake

My thoughts are at a noble strife,
This my fantastic landskip take.

Which I have copied from the
life.
I only seek the deserts rough.

Where all alone I love to walk,
And with discourse refin'd enough,

My Genius and the Muses talk ;
But the converse most truly mine,
Is the dear memory of thine. 180

XIX

Thou mayst in this Poem find.

So full of Uberty and heat,
What illustrious rays have shin'd

To enlighten my conceit :
Sometimes pensive, sometimes gay,

Just as that fury does control.
And as the object I survey.

The notions grow up in my soul.
And are as unconcern'd and free 189
As the flame which transported me.

XX

O ! how I Solitude adore,

That element of noblest wit,
Where'I have learnt Apollo's lore,

Without the pains to study it :
For thy sake I in love am grown

With what thy fancy does pursue ;
But when I think upon my own,

I hate it for that reason too.
Because it needs must hinder me 199
From seeing, and from serving
thee.

(604)

Tendres desirs out of a
French Prose

Go, soft desires. Love's gentle pro-
geny,
And on the heart of charming
Sylvia seize,

Then quickly back again return tome,
Since that 's the only cure for my
disease ;

But if you miss her breast whom I
adore.

Then take your flight, and visit mine
no more.

A manti cH in pianti, &c.

Lovers who in complaints yourselves

consume,
And to be happy once perhaps pre-
sume ;
Your Love and hopes alike are

vain,
Nor will they ever cure your pain.
They that in Love would joy attain,
Their passion to their power must

frame ;
Let them enjoy what theycan gain,
And never higher aim.

Complaints and Sorrows, from me

now depart.
You think to soften an ungentle
heart, 10

When it not only wards such

blows.
But from your sufferance prouder
grows.
They that in Love would joy, &c.

A Pastoral of Mons. de
Scudery's in the first I
volume of ' Almahide '

Englished.

Slothful deceiver, come away.
With me again the fields survey ;
And sleep no more, unless it be
My fortune thou shouldst dream
of me.

A Pastoral of Mons. de Scuderys

The sky, fropi which the night is fled,
Is painted with a matchless red,
'Tis day; the morning greets my

eyes :
Thou art my Sun, wilt thou not rise ?

Now the black shadows of the night
From Heav'n and Earth are put to

flight : lo

Come and dispel each ling'ring

shade,
With that light which thy eyes have

made.

That planet, which so like thee seems.
In his long and piercing beams,
At once illuminates and gilds
All these valleys, and these fields.

The winds do rather sigh than blow,
And rivers murmur as they go.
And all things seem to thee to say.
Rise, fair one, 'tis a lovely day. 20

Come, and the liquid pearls descry.
Which glittering 'mong the flowers

lie ;
Day finds them wet, when it appears.
And 'tis too often with my tears.

Hearken, and thou wilt much ap-
prove
The warbling consort^ of this grove ;
Complete the pleasure of our ears,
Mixing thy harmony with theirs.

Feather'd musician step aside.
Thyself within these bushes hide, 30
While my Aminta's voice affords
Her charming notes to clothe my
words.

Hasten to sing them, then, my fair.
And put this proud one to despair.
Whose voice, the bass and trebles

part.
With so marvellous an art.

Come, Philomel, and now make use
Of all thy practice can produce,
All the harmonious secrets thou
Canst try will do no service now. 40

Thou must to her this glory give.
For nothing can thy fame relieve.
Then ere thou dost the conquest try,
Choose to be silent here or die.

Come, my Shepherdess, survey
(While a hundred pipes do play,)
From every fold, from every shed,
How the herds and flocks are fed.

Hear the pleasing, harmless voice.
Of thy lambs, now ^ they rejoice, 50
While with their bleating notes are

mix'd,
Their pretty bounds, and leaps be-
twixt.

See, see, how from the thatched

rooms
Of these our artless cabins, comes
A rustic troop of jolly swains.
From every side, unto the plains.

Their sheep-hooks' steel, so bright

and clear.
How it shines, both far and near ;
A bag-pipe here, and there a flute,
With merrier whistles do dispute. 60

Hear thy flocks, which for thee bleat
In language innocent, and sweet;
See here thy shepherd who attends

'em.
And from the ravenous wolf defends

'em.

Thy Melampus him endears.

And leaps, and sports, when he

appears.
He complains that thy sloth is such ;
And my poor heart does that as

much.

Among the rest here 's a ram, we
So white, so blithe, so merry see, 70
In all our flocks, there is not one,
Deserves such praise, as he alone.

On the grass he butts and leaps,
Flatters, and then away he skips ;
So gentle, and yet proud is he,
That surely he hath learn'd of thee.

* = 'concert,' as often.

^ ' Now ' is possible, but one rather suspects ' how,'

(605)

Katherine Philips

The fairest garlands we can find,
Unworthy are, his horns to bind ;
But flowers that death can never know,
Are fittest to adorn his brow. 8d
He is full of modest shame.
And as full of amorous flame ;
Astrologers in heaven see
A beast less beautiful than he.
I have for thee a sheep-hook brought,
On which thy shepherd hard hath

wrought,
Here he thy character hath trac'd ;
Is it not neatly interlac'd ?

To that a scrip is tied for thee,
Which woven is so curiously, 0°
That the art does the stuff" excel.
And gold itself looks not so well.

Here 's in a cage that he did make.
All the birds that he could take.
How glorious is their slavery.
If they be not despis'd by thee !

A garland too for thee hath staid ;
And 'tis of fairest flowers made :
Aurora had this offering kept,
And for its loss hath newly wept, i oo

A lovely fawn he brings along.
Nimble, as thyself, and young,
And greater presents he would bring,
But that a shepherd is no king.

Come away, my lovely bliss.
To such divertisement as this,
And bring none to these lovely places.
But only Venus, and the Graces.

Whatever company were nigh, 109
Would tedious be, when thou art by ;
Venus and Fortune would to me
Be troublesome, if I had thee.

She comes ! from far, the lovely maid
Is by her shining charms betray'd :
See how the flowers sprout up, to

meet
A noble ruin from her feet.

How sprightly, and how fair is she !
How much undone then must I be ?
My torment is, I know, severe.
But who can think on't when she 's

near;

120

( 606 )

My heart leaps up within my breast.
And sinks again with joy opprest ;
But in her sight to yield my breath,
Would be an acceptable death.

Come then, and, in this shade, be

sure,
That thy fair skin shall be secure ;
For else the Sun would wrong, I fear.
The colours which do flourish there.

His flaming steeds do climb so fast,
While they to our horizon haste, 130
That by this time his radiant coach,
Does to his highest house approach.

His fiercer rays in heat, and length,
Begin to rob us of our strength ;
Directly on the Earth they dart,
And all the shadows are grown short.

This valley hath a private seat,
Which is a cool and moist retreat,
Where th' angry Planet which we spy,
Can ne'er invade us with his eye. 140

Behold this fresh and florid grass,
Where never yet a foot did pass,
A carpet spreads for us to sit,
And to thy beauty offers it,

Th delicate apartment is
Roof d o'er with agbd stooping trees.
Whose verdant shadow does secure
This place a native furniture.

The courts of Naiades are such, 149
In shades like these, ador'd so much,
Where thousand fountains round

about
Perpetually gush water out.

How finely this thick moss doth look,
Which limits this transparent brook ;
Whose sportful wave does swell and

spread,
And is on flags and rushes shed !

Within this liquid crystal, see
The cause of all my misery,
And judge by that, (fair murtheress)
If I could love thy beauty less. 160

Thy either eye does rays dispense
Of modesty and innocence ;
And with thy seriousness, we find
The gladness of an infant join'd.

A Pastoral of Mons. de Scuderys

Thy frowns delight though they
torment,

From thy looks life and death are
sent ;

And thy whole air does on us throw

Arrows, which cureless wounds be-
stow.

The stature of a mountain pine 169
Is crooked when compar'd to thine:
Which does thy sex to envy move,
As much as it does ours to love.

From thy dividing lips do fly
Those pointed shafts that make us

die :
Nor have our gardens e'er a rose.
That to thy cheeks we dare oppose.

AVhen by a happy liberty,
We may thy lovely bosom see,
The whitest curds, nor falling snow,
\ Can any such complexion show, i So

Thyme and Marjoram, whose scent,
Of all perfume 's most innocent.
Less fragrancy than thy breath have,
Which all our senses does enslave.

Even when thou scornest, thou canst

please,
And make us love our own disease.
The blushes that our cherries wear,
Do hardly to thy lips come near.

When upon the smoother plains.
Thou to dance wilt take the pains,
No hind, when she employs her feet,
Is half so graceful, or so fleet. 192

Of thy garments fair and white.
The neatness gives us most delight,
i And I had rather them behold.
Than clothes embroidered with gold.

I nothing in the world can see
So rare as unadorned thee,
I Who art (as it must be confess'd)
Not by thy clothes, but beauty
dress'd. 200

Thy lovely hair thou up hast tied.
And in an unwrought veil dost hide ;
I In the meantime thy single face
All other beauties does disgrace.
( 607 )

Yes, yes, thy negligence alone.
Does more than all their care hath

done :
The Nymphs, in all their pompous

dress.
Do entertain my fancy less.

A nosegay all thy jewel is,

And all thy art consists in this ; 210

And what from this pure spring does

pass,
Is all thy paint, and all thy glass.

Adored beauty, here may we
Ourselves in lovely glasses see :
Come then, I pray thee, let us look,
I in thy eyes, thou in the brook.

Within this faithful mirror see
The object which hath conquer'd me,
Which though the stream does well
impart, 21^

'Tis better form'd here in my heart.

In th' entertainment of thy mind,
When 'tis to pensiveness inclin'd.
Count if thou canst these flowers,

and thou
The sum of my desires wilt know.

Observe these turtles, kind and true,
Hearken how frequently they woo :
They faithful lovers are, and who
That sees thee, would not be so too ?

Of them, my fair Aminta, learn 229
At length to grant me thy concern ;
Follow what thou in them dost see,
And thou wilt soon be kind to me.

Those mighty bulls are worth thy

sight,
Who on the plains so stoutly fight ;
Fiercely each other's brow they hit.
Where beauty does with anger meet.

Love is the quarrel they maintain.
As 'twas the reason of their pain.
So would thy faithful shepherd do.
If he should meet his rival too. 240

Thy shepherd, fair and cruel one,
In all these villages is known :
Such is his father's herd and flock,
The plain is cover'd with the stock.

Katherine Philips

He the convenient'st pastures knows,
And where the wholesome water

flows ;
Knows where the coolest shadows are,
And well hath learn'd a shepherd's

care.

Astrology he studies too, 249

As much as shepherds ought to do ;
Nay, Magic nothing hath so dim,
That can be long conceal'd from him.

When any do these secrets dread,
He for himself hath this to plead ;
That he by them such herbs can pick,
As cure his sheep when they are sick.

He can foresee the coming storm.
Nor hail, nor clouds, can do him
harm, 258

And from their injuries can keep,
Safely enough his lambs and sheep.

He knows the season of the year,
When shepherds think it fit to shear
Such inoffensive sheep as these,
And strip them of their silver fleece.

He knows the scorching time of day,
When he must lead his flock away
To valleys which are cool and near,
To chew the cud, and rest them
there.

He dares the fiercest wolves engage.
When 'tis their hunger makes them
rage ; 2 70

The frighted dogs, when they retire.
He with new courage can inspire.

He sings and dances passing well,
And does in wrestling too excel ;
Yes, fair maid, and few that know him.
But these advantages allow him.

At our feast, he gets the praise,
For his enchanting roundelays.
And on his head have oftenest been
The garlands and the prizes seen. 280

When the scrip and crook he quits,
And free from all disturbance sits,
He can make the bag-pipes swell.
And oaten reeds his passion tell.

( 6c8)

When his flame does him excite,
In amorous songs to do the right.
He makes the verses which he uses.
And borrows none of other Muses, j

He neglects his own affairs, i

To serve thee with greater cares, 290
And many shepherdesses would
Deprive thee of him if they could.

Of Alceste he could tell.

And Silvia's eye, thouknow'st it well :

But as his modesty is great.

He blushes if he them repeat.

■\Vhen in the crystal stream he looks,
If there be any truth in brooks,
He finds, thy scorn can never be
Excus'd by his deformity. 300

His passion is so high for thee.
As 'twill admit no new degree.
Why wilt not thou his love requite,
Since kindness gives so much delight?

Aminta heark'ned all this while, |
Then with a dext'rous, charming '

smile.
Against her will, she let him see.
That she would change his destiny.

I promise nothing, then said she,
With an obliging air, and free ; 310
But I think, if you will try,
The wolves are crueller than I.

When my sheep unhealthy are,
I have compassion, I have care ;
Nor pains, nor journeys then I

grudge, _

By which you may my nature judge.

When any of them goes astray,
All the hamlets near us may
Perceive me, all in grief and fear.
Run and search it everywhere. 320

And when I happen once to find
The object of my troubled mind.
As soon as ever it I spy,

0 ! how overjoy'd am I !

1 flatter her, and I caress.
And let her ruffle all my dress ;
The vagabond I kindly treat,

And mint and thyme I make her eat.

A Pastoral of Mons. de Scuderys

When my sparrow does me quit,
My throbbing heart makes after it ;
And nothing can relief afford, 331
For my fair inconstant bird '.

When my dog hath me displeas'd,
I am presently appeas'd ;
And a tear is in my eye,
If I have but made him cry.

I never could a hatred keep,
But to the wolf that kills my sheep :
Gentle and kind, and soft I am.
And just as harmless as a lamb. 340

Dispel thy fear, cease thy complaint,
O Shepherd timorous and faint !
For I'm a mistress very good.
If you'll but serve me as you shou'd.

Words of a favourable strain,
(Cried out that now transported

swain)
Which do in thy Leontius' fate,
So glad and swift a change create.

But look about, for now I mark
The fields already growing dark, 350
And with those shadows cover'd all,
Which from the neighbouring moun-
tains fall.
The wingbd quire on every tree
By carolling melodiously,
Do the declining Sun pursue.
With their last homage, and adieu.
From the next cottages I hear
Voices well known unto my ear :
They are of our domestics who
Do pipe, and hollow for us too. 360

The flocks and herds do home-
wards go,

I hear them hither bleat and low,

Thy eyes, which mine so much
admire,

Tell me 'tis time we should retire.

Go, then, destroying fair one, go,
Since I perceive it must be so.
Sleep sweetly all the night, but be,
At least, so kind to dream of me.

Translation ,of Thomas a
Kempis into Verse, out of
Mons. Corneille's lib. 3.
cap. ""

2. Enoflished

Speak, Gracious Lord, Thy servant
hears.
For I both am and will be so.
And in Thy pleasant paths will go

When the Sun shines, or disappears.

Give me Thy Spirit, that I may per-
ceive ^,
What by my soul Thou wouldst

have done :
Let me have no desire but one,
Thy will to practise and believe.

But yet Thy eloquence disarm.
And as a whisper to my heart, 10
Let it, like dew, plenty impart.

And like that let it freely charm.

The Jews fear'd thunderbolts would
fall,
And that Thy words would Death

procure.
Nor in the desert could endure
To hear their Maker speak at all.

They court Moses to declare Thy
will \
And begg'd to hear no more thy

voice.
They could not stand the dreadful
noise, 19

Lest it should both surprise and kill.

* This rhyme is an instance of a law which has not, I think, been generally
noticed as prevailing in late seventeenth-century poetry, that for rhyme's sake a
combination of letters may take a value which tt actually possesses only in another word.
In ' word ' itself ord does rhyme to ird.

^ ' Spirit ' is of course constantly monosyllabic, and even if not lends itself easily to
trisyllabic substitution. But the rest of the line makes it almost certain that Orinda,
by oversight, put in a foot too much.

' This apparently hopeless verse is perhaps best mended into a t/^rasyllable (^cf, the
first lines of stanzas 2 and 8) by reading ' courtfrf.'

(609)

R r

Kath

erine

Philips

Without those terrors^ I implore,
And other favours I entreat,
With confident^ though humble
hearts

I beg what Samuel did of yore.

Though Thou art all that I can dread.
Thy voice is music to tliy ears :
Speak, Lord, then, for Thy servant
hears,

And will obey what Thou hast said.

I ask no Moses that foi: Thee should
speak.
Nor Prophet to enlighten me ; 30
They all are taught and sent by
Thee,
And 'tis Thy voice I only seek.

Those beams proceed from Thee
alone,
Which through their words on us

do flow ;
Thou without them canst all be-
stow.
But they without Thee can givenone.

They may repeat the sound of words,
But not confer their hidden force,
And without Thee, their best dis-
course,

Nothing but scorn to men affords. 40

Let them Thy miracles impart.
And vigorously Thy will declare ;
Their voice, perhaps, may strike
the ear.

But it can never move the heart.

Th' obscure and naked Word they
sow.
But thou dost open our dim eye.
And the dead letter to supply.

The Living Spirit dost bestow.

Mysterious truths to us they
brought.
But Thou expound'st the riddle
too, 50

And Thou alone canst make us
do
All the great things that they have
taught.

They may indeed the way direct,
But Thou enablest us to walk ;
r th' ear alone sticks all they talk,

But thou dost even the heart dissect.

They wash the surface of the
mind.
But all her fruit Thy goodness

claims.
All that e'er enlightens,or enflames,
Must be to that alone assign'd. 60

APPENDIX

Songs from Pompey
SONG {Pompey, Act I)

Since affairs of the State are already
decreed ^
Make room for affairs of the
Court ;

Employment and Pleasure each
other succeed.
Because they each other support.
Were Princes confin'd
From slackening their mind.
When by Care it is ruffled and
curl'd,

' It is probably useless to try to mend this rhyme, though 'heat' in the earlier
metaphysicals would not be impossible.

^ It must be admitted that Orinda is not happy in these anapaests, and too much
justifies in particular the generally unjust scorn of Bysshe for ' the disagreeableness of
their measure.'

(6ro)

Songs from Pompey

A crown would appear
Too heavy to wear,
And no man would govern the
world. lo

If the Gods themselves who have
power enough,
In diversions are various, and oft ;
Since the business of Kings is
angry and rough,
Their intervals ought to be soft.
Were Princes confin'd, &c.

To our Monarch we owe, whatsoe'er
we enjoy :
And no grateful subjects were
those,
Who would not the safety, he gives
them, employ
To contribute to his repose.

Were Princes confin'd, &c. 20

SONG {Pompey, Act II)

I

See how victorious Caesar's pride

Does Neptune's bosom sweep !
And with Thessalian fortune ride

In triumph o'er the deep.
2
What rival of the Gods is this

Who dares do more than they ?
Whose feet the Fates themselves do
kiss,

And Sea and Land obey.

I

What can the fortunate withstand ?

For this resistless He, 10

Rivers of blood brings on the land.

And bulwarks on the sea.
2
Since Gods as well as Men submit,

And Caesar's favour woo,
Virtue herself may think it fit

That Egypt court him too.

But Pompey's head 's a rate too dear,
For by that impious price

The God less noble will appear

Than does the Sacrifice. 20

( 611 ) R r 2

If Justice be a thing divine.

The Gods should it maintain,

For us t' attempt what they decline,
Would be as rash as vain.

CHORUS

How desperate is our Prince's fate ?

What hazard does he run ?
He must be wicked to be great,

Or to be just, undone.

SONG {Pompey, Act III)

From lasting and unclouded day
From joys refin'd above allay.
And from a spring without decay —

I come, by Cynthia's borrow'd beams.
To visit my Cornelia's dreams.
And give them yet sublimer themes.

Behold the man thou lov'dst before,
Pure streams have wash'd away his

gore;
And Pompey now shall bleed no

more.

By Death my Glory I resume ; 10
For 'twould have been a harsher

doom
T' outlive the liberty of Rome.

By me her doubtful fortune tried,
Falling, bequeaths my Fame this

pride,
I for it liv'd, and with it died.

Nor shall my vengeance be with-
stood
Or unattended with a flood
Of Roman and Egyptian blood.

Caesar himself it shall pursue.
His days shall troubled be and few,
And he shall fall by treason too. 21

He by severity divine

Shall be an offering at my shrine ;

As I was his, he must be mine.

Thy stormy life regret no more,
For Fate shall waft thee soon

ashore,
And to thy Pompey thee restore.

Kath

ertne

Philips

Where past the fears of sad removes
We'll entertain our spotless loves,
In beauteous and immortal groves. 30

There none a guilty crown shall wear,
Nor Caesar be Dictator there,
Nor shall Cornelia shed a tear.

SONG {Fompey, Act IV)

Proud monuments of royal dust !

Do not your old foundations shake,
And labour to resign their trust ?
For sure your mighty guests

should wake,
Now their own Memphis lies at
stake.

Alas ! in vain our dangers call ;
They care not for our destiny,

Nor will they be concern'd at all
If Egypt now enslav'd, or free,
A kingdom or a province be. 10

What is become of all they did ?
And what of all they had design'd.

Now Death the busy scene hath hid ?
Where but in story shall we find
Those great disturbers of mankind ?

When men their quiet minutes spent
Where myrtles grew and fountains
purl'd.
As safe as they were innocent :
What angry God among them

hurl'd
Ambition to undo the World ? 20

What is the charm of being great ?
Which oft is gain'd and lost with sin.

Or if w' attain a royal seat,

With guiltless steps what do we win.
If Love and Honour fight within ?

Honour the brightness of the mind !
And Love her noblest ecstasy :

That does ourselves, this others bind.
When you, great pair^shall disagree
What casuistcanthe umpire be? 30

Though Love does all the heart
subdue.
With gentle, but resistless sway ;

Yet Honour must that govern too :
And when thus Honour wins the

day.
Love overcomes the bravest way.

SONG {Pompey, Act V)

I
Ascend a throne, great Queen ! to

you
By Nature, and by Fortune due ;

And let the World adore
One who Ambition could withstand.
Subdue Revenge, and Love com-
mand.
On Honour's single score.

2
Ye mighty Roman shades, permit
That Pompey should above you sit,
He must be deified. 9

For who like him, e'er fought or fell ?
What hero ever liv'd so well,
Or who so greatly died ?

I
What cannot glorious Caesar do ?
How nobly does he fight and woo !
On crowns how does he tread !

What mercy to the weak he shows.
How fierce is he to living foes,
How pious to the dead !

2
Cornelia yet would challenge tears,
But that the sorrow which she wears,
So charming is, and brave. 21

That it exalts her honour more.
Than if she all the sceptres bore.
Her generous husband gave.

CHORUS

Then after all the blood that 's shed,
Let 's right the living and the dead :

Temples to Pompey raise ;
Set Cleopatra on the throne ;
Let ^ Caesar keep the World h' has
won ;

And sing Cornelia's praise. 30

FINIS

(6ia)

» Orig. ' Let's.'

INTRODUCTION TO
PATRICK HANNAY

The interest of the poems of Patrick Hannay, though not wholly
dependent upon, is no doubt to some increased by, that extreme rarity on
which is based the calculation that there are not more than six known
copies of the original, while Utterson reprinted but fifteen, and the only
later edition (used in the present issue) is that of a private society — the
Hunterian Club of Glasgow. He is not a great poet, and he comes in
point of publication a very little before the strict * Caroline ' period, though
he lived, according to some accounts, well into it, and into it according to
all \ But he is quite of the type ; and he contributes in Sheretme and
Mariana one of those ' Heroic Poems ' of which the collection and com-
munication to the student is one of the main objects of this book. It has
the peculiarity, unusual in a piece of such length, of being written in the
first person, the story being told throughout by the heroine : nor is this the
only thing which makes it a useful document as to the strange difficulty
with which straightforward prose fiction got itself born. Hannay does
not manage his six-line stanza very well. The more lyrical sixteen-line
stave of the earlier Philomela is less well suited for a poem which also is of
considerable length ; but the poet is certainly less prosaic in it. In the
original a musical setting is given for the first of these staves, and the author
seems (from the note given below) to have thought it possible that some one
might like to sing the whole poem — seventy pages, and nearly seventeen
hundred lines ! The idea is a curious one. The ' Sonnets ' (the name
being applied quite ad libitum) and * Songs ' are not uninteresting ; but
here seems to be no need to take up precious space with much comment
upon them. I am glad to have read Hannay, and to give others the
opportunity of reading him.

^ The personal history and even identity of our poet are things deeply wrapped in
mystery. David Laing's rather elaborate genealogical introduction to the Hunterian
reprint establishes practically nothing but that he was of the family of Hannay, or
Ahannay, of Sorby in Galloway, now represented by the Hannays of Kingsmuir in
Fife, and the Rainsford- Hannays of Kirkdale in Kirkcudbright. The Hannays seem
to have christened themselves Patrick with the inveteracy of the Princes of Reuss
in regard to another name, and not to have tempered this with the numerical niceness
of that house. Laing does not seem to have accepted what the Dictionary of
National Biography states with positiveness — that the poet was Master in Chancery
in Ireland in the year 1627 — or the rumour that he was drowned at sea two years later.
That he was of the Sorby family, that he was Master of Arts, and that he was known
to persons of distinction at the court of James I during the last years of his reign, may
be said to be the only positively-known facts about him, except the dates of his works,
which are, for The Happy Husband and the Elegies on Queen Anne (same year, but
published separately) 1619, and for the Collected Poems 1622.

(615)

Patrick Hannay

To the most Illustrious Princess Francis ^ Duchess
of Lenox, Countess of Hertford and Richmond

Sweet Philomela's long concealed woe,
From dark oblivion now I bring to light ;
That (though it help her not) the world

may know,
The cause she sobbeth out her notes

by night :
Which to you (greatest Lady) I

present.
Fruit of some hours I with the Muses

spent.

It is well known'' honourhath been had
By patronizing of a work of worth,
Whilst skilful Art did cunningly o'er-

shade
The Patron's weakness, and his praise

point forth : lo

Here it's not so, my work mean, your

worth main,
Hereby I honour may, you none

attain.

For such are you, whom Nature,

Beauty, Grace,
So fair hath fram'd, adorn'd, so well

endu'd :
As if those three contended had toplace
In you perfection, which their store

hath shew'd :

With whom virtue hath join'd and

mak'st appear.
Deservedly you move first in this

sphere.

So as thou canst not by a learn'der quill
Be honour'd, or receive an equal praise
Unto thy merits, they each press should

fill, 21

Should go about with words thy worth

to raise :
In it I'll rest : thy name which doth

adorn
This frontispiece is my birds' April

morn.

If that your Grace do but my labours

grace,
Each lady's lodging shall a grove be

thought :
The nightingale shall sing in every

place ;
Nay, thereby shall a mi racle be wrought :
For if you but my Philomela cheer.
Her singing-spring-tide shall last all

the year. 30

Ever most humbly devoted to
your Grace's service,

Patrick Hannay.

To his friend the Author

Let those that study how to praise a

friend,
Or seek to flatter him beyond desert.
Shake hands with me, for I have no

such end,
That befits him that hath a fawning heart :
I only care to let the Author know
I love him, and his book, for virtue's

sake :
His work, his worth unto the world

doth show,
Which for a pattern doth his practice

take.

It needs no sycophant to set it

forth,
(The wine is good, you well the bush
may scorn :) 10

My praise defective should detract the

worth,
Which with such lustre doth each leaf
adoin.
All I will say is this, it's done so

well.
Some may come nigh ; some match ;
but none excel.

Edward Leventhorpe.

' It is well known that the distinction between Francis and Frances was so little
observed that the usual abbreviation of the latter, as of the former, was * Frank.'
" ' How ' dropped before ' honour ' (?j.

(6x6)

Commendatory Poems

To my loving Kinsman the Author

Thy Philomela's sad (yet well-sung)

note ;
Wrong'd Sheretine and Mariana's

love :
Home's Husband: Anna's Elegies so

wrote,

Thy Songs and Sonnets passion deep

did move ;
Do well approve that thy ingenious

wit,
For every measure, every subject's fit.

Robert Hannay.

Authorl

Qvis tibi Hannaee veteri pro stemmate certet?
Gente k Romulidum gens tua quando venit ;
Annsi micuere duo, vatesque sophusque,
His etiam Hannaeus tertius esse potest.

loHANNES Dunbar \

To his much respected friend Master
Patrick Hannay

Hannay, thy worth bewrays well whence thou'rt sprung.
And that that honour'd Name thou dost not wrong:
As if from Sorby's stock no branch could sprout,
But should with rip'ning-time bear golden fruit :
Thy ancestors were ever worthy found,
Else Galdus' grave had grac'd no Hannay's ground :
Thy father's father Donald well was known
To th' English by his sword, but thou art shown
To them by pen (times changing), Hannays are
Active in acts of worth, be't peace or war, lo

Go on in virtue, After-times will tell,
None but A Hannay could have done so well,

lo. Marshall.

King Gal-
dus (that
Worthy
who so
bravely
fought
with the
Romans)
lies buried
in the
lands of
Patrick
Hannay of
Kirkdale in
Galloway.

Of the Author

Reader, I'm brief, this Poem's penn'd so well,
Of Muses Nine his is the Philomel,

lOHN Harmar.

1 The identification of the Senecas and the Hannays is ingenious, especially consider-

ing the form ' Ahannay.'
(617)

But I wish lohannes Dunbar had written a better first hne.

Patrick Hannay
To his friend the Author

Laus tua, non tua res, cogit me scribere, vultus
Gratia sic dulcis : os facit, haud jubet ars.

M AEONIAN Chorus now incline to me,

A ssist my muse from your Parnassus high :

S ome influence infuse you in my brain,

T hat I this Author in a higher strain

E fiforc'd may be to praise : a simple wit

R are ones to praise, nor able is nor fit.

P ierian virtues with Homerian wit,

A ffixed are to thy ingenious brain :

T he penning of these Poems proveth it

R ais'd from oblivion in a lofty vein :

I n this our age (though many do affect

C unning in verse, and would be counted rare)

K now 1 none worthy of the like respect,

E ver green Laurel must fall to thy share.

H erein yet do I nothing flatter thee,

A Ithough in part thy parts I do display:

N or none will doubt thereof that doth thee see,

N eedless were feigning where such virtues sway :

A rt shows itself by thy sweet flowing pen,

Y

ielding the Wreath to thee from rarest men.

20

I. M. C.

To the Author ^

Here view the map of greatness, re-
gal states.

Kings thrown from thrones, crowns
thrown from royal mates :

Where treach'rous greed to reign,
ambitious ends

Main rights divide, intrude false foes
for friends :

Here try the course of wars, there see
that stem,

The awful Sceptre, glorious Diadem,

Which once Hungarian Kings majes-
tic sway'd,

(Bom to command, though never well
obey'd)

How rear'd, subvers'd, replac'd, defac'd
again,

Their Kingdom (uncontinu'd) did re-
main. 10

But what in Thee (than rare) I most
admire.

Is this fierce flame, fraught with
Castaiian fire ;

Thy pleasant strain, fram'd in this art ,

divine '

And quick invention, th' essence of

engine ;
Wherein Apollo harps, the Muses

prance
The fount-drawn forked sharps, with

gleamings glance
This tragic tune to grace; the Nymphs

adorn
Thee, with immortal fame, of lives for-
lorn :
So do thy Lyrics, set in tripping

measures,
Show skilful wit, sprung from Alcinoos

treasures, 20

Which swim on Demthen, sweet Per-

messen pleasures :
Thus may thy worth, thy curious

works Thee raise;
Few have deserv'd (or can attain)

more praise.

William Lithgow.

» For Hannay's repayment of this v. sub fin. In 1. ii, 'than rare' must be wrong.
' Thou rare,' as well as a dozen other things, occurs. In 1. 21, ' Permessen ' is of course
' Permcssian ' : ' Demthen ' is what anybody likes. 'Engine,' I. 14 = ingentum, as later
in Scots.

(618)

Commendatory Poems
In Imaginem

T' EXPRESS the Author face, brass, ink

and Art
Have done their best, but for his better

part,
The Grecian Philomel in English

tongue,
Marian, a Husband, Elegies well sung.
Have given a touch, as in a cloudy

night
ObscurM Phoebe shows her veiled light;
And at some turns where clouds do

ill cohere,
With full beams shines out from her

silver sphere ;
So are his shaded passages of wit,

(Where birds do speak, and women in

a fit :) lo

Who could so well have told fair

Marian's wrong.
Or taught the Athenian bird a London

song.
As he to whom the depth of love is

known.
And carving others can cut out his

own :
Which in some part is here so well

exprest.
None but himself can represent the

rest.

Robert Alane,

Philomela, or the Nightingale, which here follows, is to be sung (by those
that please) to the tune set down before in the frontispiece \

' See Introd. It has been thought best to reproduce the music exactly.

(6.9)

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PHILOMELA

THE NIGHTINGALE

THE ARGUMENT

Pandion, King of Athens, takes

a wife,
He dearly loves her, she him with

like strife :
They issue have, two daughters {who

excel)
Progne the fair ; and fairer Philo-
mel.
Fortune befrierids not long, death her

surpriseth :
Pandion grieves, new cause of grief

ariseth.
Barbarians him invade, the Thracian

King
Them foils ; and succours to the

sieged doth bring.
He^s entertained ; Cupid with loving

fires
Of Progne warms him ; she hath

like desires. lo

He woos, she 's won, her father 's glad

he sped :
With Princely pomp they solemnly

do wed.
Tereus with Progne unto Thrace

returns :
Thrace Joys therefore, therefore sad

Athens mourns.
Five years in Thrace they glad

together live,
Progne /t?/- Philomela ^gins to grieve :
Longs for her sight, her husband

doth entreat,
To work a way they may together

meet.
He yields, takes sail, to Athens back

returns,
Unlawful love of Philomel him

burns. ao

(6.1)

Her native beauty, and her rich

attire,
EnricKd by cunning Art he doth

admire.
With lust enra^d he sore Pandion

prest
That she might with him go, at last

did wrest
Unwilling gratit : he her commits

with tears
To Tereus' charge, his love suspecting

fears.
He takes his faith, moves her to

S7vift return ;
They weeping part, Pandion left doth

mourn.
They sail, see shore, they land, no

more delay
Tereus can brook, nor doth he her

assay 30

By words, knowing it bootless : to a

wood
He drew her, spoke his thought ;

afnaz'd she stood.
He fore" d, she faints; revived, revenge

of tvrong
She votd'dto take; he fearful lest her

tongue
Should blaze his crime, he cuts' t out

with his blade.
That woful wood a prison for her

made.
Then home returns, feigtieth her

funeral,
Progne her mourns, she unto work

doth fall ;
Of party-coloured wool by skilful

art,
A web she made that did her woes

impart. 40

Patrick Hannay

Progne a sharp revenge doth under-
take ;
Time favours her designs with

Bacchus' wake,
She takes her out, comes horne, her

flat f ring child
She kills and dresses ; fury made

her zvild :
To his sire for food she gives him, he

doth eat
His own flesh ; his fault Progne lets

him weet.
The sisters he pursues, with rage he

burned.
Both he and they on sudden birds are

turned.

Walking I chanc'd into a shade,
Which top-in-twining trees had made

Of many several kinds.
There grew the high aspiring elm,
With boughs bathing in gum-like
balm.
Distilling through their rinds.
The maple with a scarry skin

Did spread broad pallid leaves :
The quaking Aspen light and thin
To th' air light passage gives : lo
Resembling still
The trembling ill
Of tongues of womankind,
Which never rest,
But still are prest
To wave with every wind.

II
The Myrtle made of nought but

sweets,
Love-loathing Daphne's offspring
greets,
Whose top no steel e'er lopp'd ;
Nor under-boughs with biting
beasts 20

Returning from their fodder-feasts.

For banquet ne'er had cropp'd.
The lowly banks did bathe in dew,

Which from the tops distill'd :
There Eglantine and Ivy grew,
Sweet Mint and Marjoram wild :
( 622 )

With many more,

Pomona^ s store
Was plentifully plac'd,

That nought did want, 30

Nor seemM scant,
To please sight, scent, or taste.

Ill
The blooming borders fresh and

fair.
Were clad with clothes of colours

rare,
Which fairest Flora fram'd :
The Hyacinth, the self-lov'd lad,
Adonis, Amaranthus sad,

There pleasing places claim'd.
The Primrose, pride of pleasing

Prime,
With roses of each hue : 40

The Cowslip, Pink, and savoury

Thyme,
And Gilly-flower there grew.

The Marygold,

Which to behold
Her lover loaths the night,

Locking her leaves

She inward grieves,
When Sol is out of sight.

IV

Upon the boughs and tops of trees,
Blithe birds did sit as thick as bees
On blooming beans do bait : 51
And every bird some loving note
Did warble through the swelling throat

To woo the wanton mate.
There might be heard the throbbing
thrush.
The bull-finch blithe her by ;
The black-bird in another bush.
With thousands more her nigh.
The ditties all.

To great and small, 60

Sweet Philomel did set,
In all the grounds
Of Music sounds,
Those darlings did direct.

V

With pleasure which that place did

bring.
Which seem'd to me perpetual

spring,

Philomela

T was inforc'd to stay :
Leaning me lowly on the ground,
To hear the sweet celestial sound

These Sylvans did bewray. 70
Ravish'd with liking of their songs,

I thought I understood
The several language to each 'longs,
That lodges in the wood.
Most Philomel
Did me compel
To listen to her song,
In sugar'd strains,
While she complains
Of tyrant Tereus' wrong. 80

VI

Compos'd to sing her saddest dit,
She shrouded in a shade did sit.

Under a budding briar ;
Whose thickness so debarr'd the

light,
It seem'd an artificial night.

Leaves link'd in love so near.
It seem'd she was asham'd to show

Herself in public place.
By sight, lest seers so might know
Her undeserv'd disgrace. 90

Hid from the eye,
She thought none nigh
Was for to pen her plaints ;
She 'gins relate
Her adverse fate,
And thus her passion paints.

VII

'When Prince Pandion held that

state
Which was the mirthful Muses' seat.
With learning beautified ; 99

Governing there with peaceful rest,
Where no disturbing storms distrest

Those that did there reside :
In prime of youth he took a Dame,

By nature kind decor'd
With beauty virtue vow'd that frame
Should with her gifts be stor'd.
I know not which
Did seem most rich,
By lavishness in giving ;

Each gave so much, no

I think none such
Was left amongst the living.

(623)

VIII

With equal heat love so combin'd
Their hearts, as they were still
inclin'd
To nill and will the same :
Their minds so mingled were to-
gether,
They had nought proper unto either,

Both fires one common flame.
Thus surfeiting on love's delight.

Where with a matching measure
The one the other doth requite 121
In equal pitch of pleasure.
Their days they spent
In sweet content,
Deeming all others wretched,
Whose lesser joys,
Mixt with annoys.
To their full height not stretched.

IX

To add unto their happiness
And further to increase their
bliss, 130

The heavenly powers conspire.
Of which they (Joy-drown'd) did not

dream.
So perfect did their pleasures seem,

They could no more desire.
Yet was their comfort so increas't,

With offsprings' happy store.
As now they think they were not
blest
With benefits before.
Thus is it known
That none doth own 140

So much of earthly pleasure.
But that the heart,
A little part,
May hold a greater measure.

X

We were by Muses Nine nurst up,
We drunk with Heliconian cup.

Their number did increase,
The goodly gifts, the Graces Three
Gave to us, we did multiply

To number numberless. 150

No syllable could from us slide.

But in consenting sound
Our looks, and gestures, who espied

The graces in them found.

Patrick Hannay

Each had such feature,

And good stature,
As just proportion grac'd,

With colours rare

To make us fair,
By Nature's pencil plac'd. i6o

XI

Thus did both heaven and earth

conspire
To fill our father's dear desire.

With heaped happiness.
But when things here are at the

height,
Unlook'd for lot doth often light,

And drives them to distress,
As when the Moon hath fiU'd her
horn.
She straight begins to wane.
And when the flowing force is worn.
The tide then turns again : 170
For here no state
Is free from fate.
With Time all turns about :
Oft rise the small,
The great oft fall.
When they do nothing doubt.

XII

If pleasures here were permanent.
Free from disturbing discontent.

Not any ways annoy'd,
We should not relish our delights, 180
So dull should be our appetites.
With senseless surfeit cloy'd.
Therefore that we may better taste,

Each sweet hath many sours,
The brightest blink is quickly past.
And banished with showers :
Also to show
That we do owe
To changing Time, we're tost

When least we fear, 190

It is most near.
And our designs are crost.

XIII

So with my father did it fare.
Whom meagre death did unaware

Deprive of his belov'd,
My mother ; sickness so her seiz'd,
As pain itself did seem displeas'd,

And senses all remov'd :

(634)

She seiz'd with ceaseless sleep, gave
first
Pandion cause of cares ; 200

Which Athens' woe soon after nurst,
And bath'd in briny tears.
Thus ever still
Preceding ill
Is followed fast with more :
Ne'er comes alone
One cause of moan.
It's companied with store.

XIV

Before her death-bred grief was

'suag'd,
Barbarians were so enrag'd, 210

(Gaping for greedy gain,
Encourag'd by his carelessness.
Whom they deem'd drunken with
excess,
They doubt not to obtain.)
As they wall'd round rich Athens'
walls.
With warriors about.
So fainting fear our force appals,
It dares nowhere look out,
Fear forc'd some sound,
And did confound 220

In others resolution ;
All were dejected,
So unexpected,
Was Fortune's revolution.

XV

In midst of this our great distress,
Which did our former fears in-
crease.
Such troops we did behold,
As with their brav'ry brav'd the

skies.
And dazzled the beholders' eye

With beam-rebating gold, 230

In front with lofty plume in pride,

Mounted on stately steed.
The likeliest of all did ride.
Who seem'd the rest to lead,
Curveting oft.
Prancing aloft,
His courser proud disdains
To be control'd
By bit of gold,
Scorning commanding reins. 240

P/iilomela

XVI

But when he did approach more near
He banished that former fear

Conceived by his sight :
He forc'd our foes soon to retire,
Who to resist had small desire,

They faintly fell in flight.
We mus^d much what he should be,

Who with unasked aid,
So suddenly did set us free,

And all our foes dismay'd ; 250
All ran to see,
As he came nigh,
And fixt on him their sight,
And all those eyes
Which him espies.
Were taken with delight.

XVII

The streets as he did pass along,
With gold were garnished and hung.

All bravely beautified ;
The pavement pav'd with pleasing
flowers, 260

The spoils oi Fiord's fragrant bowers.

Where Tereus did ride :
Such was his name who us restor'd.

Of warlike Thracia King,
Whom in triumphant wise decor'd,
My father in did bring :
In manner meet
Each other greet.
And kindly entertain :

T'his Palace fair, 270

To solace there,
He brings him and his train.

XVIII

There banqueting with dainties best.
To please the too too curious taste,

Which sea or land doth yield.
With sweet discourses mixt among,
Where a delightful pleasing tongue

Did rove in Rhet'ric field.
When Tereus saw my sister fair,
Progne, he pric'd her such, 280

As he believ'd no beauties were

Beside, she had so much.

His heart desires,

His eye admires
Her pleasing form and feature :

He thinks all else

She far excels
In goodly gifts of Nature.

XIX

When that his fancy on her face
Doth feed, there grows no other
grace, 290

He thinks, in other parts :
It seems the curious cabinet,
Where Nature had that treasure set

That most bewitches hearts.
A rolling eye, whence thousand
flights
Of gold-dipt-darts do fly ;
Whereof the least with love-delights
Could wound a deity.
Th' alluring glances
Which by chances 300

From those two suns did dart.
Love borrow'd still.
When he had will
To fire a frosty heart.

XX

A forehead where inthronizit
Grave majesty in state did sit,

With humbleness attir'd ;
Where meekness made the meaner

hope.
And majesty cut short the scope

Of Pride, that high aspir'd. 310
Soft waving seas of sable hair —
That hue was judg'd by love
The best, and aptest to ensnare,
Mild Zephyrus did move.
In careless curls,
He oft it hurls.
He wantonness bewrays :
He oft it flung
Her back along.
And beauty best displays. 330

XXI

A cheek where purest white, with red
Of deepest dye, was overspread,

280 pric'd] A modern would probably have written 'prized': but the distinction is not
necessary.

305 inthronizit] The Scots participle, kept for rhyme's sake, is always worth noticing
in these seventeenth-century writers.

( 625 ) S S

Patrick Hannay

380

And meeting so were mixt,
As neither red nor white they seem.
But both in one made beauties

beam,
These colours two betwixt.
Her ruby lips, when they do kiss,

Cover prime pearly rows ;
When they that kind conjunction
miss,
Arabian sweet outflows : 330

One sure would think,
As she did drink,
That blood light Bacchus fills.
That it did pass.
As through a glass
Gray Claret wine distils.

XXII

What shame permits not to espy.
He with Imagination's eye

Doth see, and values most :
He views it o'er, and o'er again, 340
Seeks for a fault, but all in vain.

His labour there was lost ;
It 's seldom seen but some defect,

By prudent Nature 's plac'd.
To make the best be more re-
spect.
With glory more be grac'd ;
Yet nowhere here
There doth appear
Least foil, all was so fair.

As fir'd him so, 350

He did not know,
To hope, or to despair.

XXIII

Thus was he first enamourM,
And still his loving fancy fed.

While on her face he gaz'd.
His prying prest a beauty-blush,
In crimson coat, her face to flush.

In Cupid's fire it blaz'd.
Thus forc'd with fainting fever's fit,

His quaking heart did tremble, 360

336 'Gray' is very interesting as bearing on the miicli-vexed question of the
history of the term 'Claret.' 'Cla/'ret' has never been used in France of a full red
wine : but only of the wines betwixt red and white.

345 Respect = ' respeckit,' 'respected.'

361 I retain the italics in these passages, though there sometimes seems very little
reason for them, because they appear to be intended as 'asides' of the author's, separate
from Philomela's speech. In some cases, however, the printer has almost certainly
gone wrong with them,

(6.6)

Where love 'y deep grounded, there 's
no wit
Can his sure signs disse??ible.
He cools and burns,
Heart inward mourns.
He hopes, he oft doth fear ;
She may consent,
May not relent.
May yield, may chance not hear.

XXIV

My father (as physician good)
By signs his sickness understood,

(Having like passion prov'd) 371
He knew the salve could soonest

slack
His sickness and his pain beat
back.
Was Progne, his belov'd.
By matching him and her, he thinks

Such friendship to endear.
As bound by wedlock's holy links.
He needs no foe to fear.
Thus policy,
Lo7ig time we see,
Hath ever had two ends,
One is a train.
But still the main
To private profit tends.

XXV

He gives these lovers

gether,
Tereus speaks not alone
her,
But in his heart doth pray
That she had boldness to begin.
In such a muse his mind was in,

He knew not what to say : 390
Still rumbling is the little rill.

Deep rivers silent move ;
That deepest passion is most still.
Experience doth prove.
He much doth fear
She will not hear

leave to-
left with

Phi /o me la

If he good will should proffer ;

His often dread,

Not to come speed,
Drives him he dares not offer. 400

XXVI

She muses thus to see him mute,
She fears he follow not his suit,

(Which she deems her undoing.)
When he resolved had to speak,
What he should say, he had to seek,

(He was not wise in wooing.)
W^en plainly we our passion tell,

It viaketh much in moving,
A simple innocence so well

Beivrays a heart much loving : 410
For ever those
Who (apt to glose)
Too speedy are in speech,
Love do not shcnv.
But make maids know,
They kindly can beseech.

XXVII

His speeches had more pleasing

sound.
With rhetoric did more abound,

Unto my sister's sense.
Then theirs who by their skilful
art, 420

With sophistry can truth pervert,

To clear a foul offence.
She willingly doth hear him woo.

She 's pleas'd to hear him plead,
She could at first encounter, bow.
But doubts do make her dread
Lest quickly won,
He should have done,
His fancy should take flight :

Oft soon obtained 430

Are soon disdained :
Such love is counted light.

XXVIII

Thus on she draws him with delay,
She neither grants, nor gives a nay,

(For fear he flee the field ;)
Her yielding blush doth make him
bold,

To reinforce, and to unfold

All means to make her yield ;
He vows, protests, and deeply
swears.
His love to her shall never 440
Languish, with length of ling'ring
years.
Nor faith fail he doth give her.
' 1 grant ' she said.
No more he staid,
But at her word did take her ;
\^\\h. purple red,
All overspread,
Sweet virgin shame did make her.

XXIX

My father knowing th' had decreed
To wed, and were thereon agreed,

He left his pausing pain : 451
For he had mused in his mind,
To make her heart thereto inclin'd,

And beat his busy brain.
Now all do haste with like desire,

To solemnize those rites.
Which holy Hymen doth require,
Tore lawful love-delights.
They make such haste,
The time they chas't, 460

Which little list makes long,
The smallest stay
That doth delay
Enjoying 's judg'd a wrong.

XXX

The longed day is come should

crown
Their wish'd desires, sweet Doric
sound
Doth deaf the itching ear.
Shrill echo in the rocks did ring.
Repeating what the sisters sing

In Prince Apollo's quire ; 47°

Kind Nature's Quiristers increast.

Mounting in crystal skies,
The gods invite unto this feast.
Which angry Heaven denies.
They did envy
P'elicity

398-400 This compressed phrase seems to mean ' his dread not to succeed [we must
read 'spff/'] has such force with him that he does not offer.' There are others like it.
419 'Then,' as constantly, = 'than.' It will not be again noted.
461 ' List ' seems here to mean ' inclination.'

( 627 ) S S 2

Patrick Ha7i7tay

Should such on earth be seen :
To Tragic end
These joys should tend,

The grieved gods do mean. 480

XXXI

The Furies' brands aloft did bear
For Hymenean candles clear,
Which lent a dismal light :
The raven and the night-crow cry,
The ominous owl abroad doth fly

By day, and not by night.
Juno, that blesseth first the bed

Of happy wedded lovers.
Came not, in sa^ron colours clad,
Hymen affrighted, hovers, 490
Not daring there
Make his repair,
(With presage dire dismay'd.)
The Muses dread,
The Graces fled,
They were no less afraid.

XXXII

Yet did they dally in delights,
And revel at unhallowed rites,

Till Time, (which nought can stay)
Told Tereus his love delays, 500

His \vQ)VCiQ.-\^{X.-Thradan dismays.

Their comfort can decay.
They fear his safety, he farewell

Must bid, Progne doth plaine :
A pearly shower of liquid hail
Out o'er her cheeks did rain.
A tender heart,
Such bitter smart,
With sorrow doth suppress,

When bitter cup 510

Doth interrupt
New tasted happiness.

XXXIII

Yet boots it not, she must be gone^
TereushQx trains (though weeping) on.

And we alike lament :
Our sorrow so divided was.
Half with us staid, and half did
pass,

Whither that couple went.
They shipp'd, a lusty gale of wind

So prosp'rously did blow, 520

The sails sufihcc fiU'd from behind,

There needeth none to row :

(628)

They soon came nigh.
Where they would be,
And do perceive the land ;
They see the shore
All peopled o'er
With those he did command.

xxxiv
For Fame, the air-winged post,
(By going greater) fills the coast 530

Of Thrace, with coming-cries ;
Her trumpet sounds his safe return,
Theshores with blazingbeacons burn,

Where cries confus'dly rise,
Which untir'd Echo in the hills
(With her redoubling voice)
So multiplies, the air it fills ;
The gods seem to rejoice :
The multitude

Confus'dly stood 540

Upon the shelvy shore.
He happiest seems
Next Neptune's streams.
Can draw, though drown therefore.

XXXV

The smaller (yet the sager) sort,
Do mind a more majestic sport,
Rough rudeness they disdain ;
Most stately triumphs they devise,
After the victor's gorgeous guise,

Tereus to entertain. 550

Altars with incense sweetly smoke.

Priests lo Paean sing :
The tottering steeples reel and rock,
(So rolling bells do ring.)
This day so glad.
To those they add
Which sacred they observ'd,
From yearly mirth
For Itys' birth,
His first-born they ne'er swerv'd. 560

XXXV I

What time Titan our height had

sea I'd,
Summer had sweat, winter had

hail'd,
Autumn had filTd her lap,
Five times the Spring in fragrant

flowers
Was deck'd, warm sliding sunny

showers

Philomela

The soaking earth did sap.
A\'hen pleasing Progne's longing love

For Philojnela' s sight
Grew wakerife, and such thoughts
did move,
As lessens large delight, 570

IV/ien we depart
From what our heart
With liking once hath lov'd,
Absence i7t fires,
A fid more endears,
The more it is remov'd.

XXXVII

This absence kindling longing love,
Makes Progne all her practiques
prove,
Defers not her desire. 579

Woman {who would) delay disdaitis.
Who doth deny, and who detains

With hope, hath equal hire.
Fearing refusal, she puts on
A look that most allures,
And draws the eye, nor that alone,
Her of her suit assures.
Such weighty words
Her wit affords.
As for to move were meet,

With loving charms 590

Him in her arms
Kissing, doth thus entreat.

XXXVIII

" Dearer to me then sweet repose
To misers, seiz'd with ceaseless woes,

Who ne'er of comfort tasted ;
More pleasing to me then is light
Unto the silly sleepless wight,

Whom waking nights have wasted,
Who present put'st those fears to
flight.
Which absent make me die : 600
As Titan makes the ugly flight.
With forcing flatnes to fly ;
Methinks far more
I now adore,
Love more, if such desire
Could be increast,
Which when at least,
Was such could soar no higher.

574 ' Intires ' = ' makes whole.'
(6.9)

XXXIX

Great love in length doth often dull ;
Mine, (though so main) is not at
full, 6io

It daily doth increase :
No intermission makes it stay.
No surfeit takes its edge away,

It grows, but never less :
Which by effects may be perceiv'd,

For since I first was fir'd.
No other happiness I crav'd,
Than do as you desir'd :
My chiefest grace,
I there did place, 620

Held that my high'st content,
Gladdest did pass
The time that was
In loving service spent."

XL

" Dost think I doubt " (the Prince

replies ;)
Meanwhile looks babies in her eyes.

And dallies with delight ;
Kind kisses on her fairest face,
With soft impressions he doth place,
Her lips have no respite ; 630
Her pretty parly so doth please.

Her lips so sweetly taste :
He doubts, which rather he had leese,
Both are to be embrac'd.
He bids her say.
Yet still doth stay
With kissing her discourse.
Whilst from her lips
He nectar sips,
As from celestial source. 640

XLI

" Speak, love " (he said) ; then she

proceeds,
" If favour so affect my deeds,

As deem them of desert,
I'll boldly beg, but such a suit.
As kindness cannot so confute,

But I shall ease my heart.
Since fate from fairest Philomel

(With that she deeply sigh'd)
And destinies have doom'd me dwell.

To make the loss more light, 650

633 ' leese ' = * lose. '

Patrick Hannay

Suffer me, sweet,

(If you think meet)
I may myself go see,

Or else devise,

Some other wise,
That she may come to me.

XLII

The goodliest gift that thou canst

give,
I for this grant with liking leave.

It seems to me the best :
Promise Pandion swift return, 660
^Vhose aged eyes will overrun,

At this unlook'd request."
Thus having said with kind embrace.

Him in her arms she clings.
With soaking tears bedews his face,
Forc'd from her sunny springs :
She doth attend,
How he w-ill end.
To do, or to deny :

With speaking signs, 670

She him entwines,
"Who makes her this reply :

XLIII

" What, is this all ? sweet, sue for

more.
Thou seem'st a niggard of my store.

Out of my kingdom cull :
And eke unto thy late request
Seek more, so more I shall be
blest.
By being bountiful."
She only this : He more would add
If he knew fit propine : 680

It seems so slender he is sad,
None dearer can divine.
Thus they do prove,
^^'hich most should love,
That only was their strife,
^^'hich breeds no wars,
Nor jealous jars,
'Twixt happy man and wife.

XLIV

Then did he haste him to the sea.
That she might wit how willingly

He granted her desire. 691

I leave the piteous plaints to tell.
That passion pour'd at this fare-
well ;

(630)

Progne did nigh expire.
Nor was this forc'd affection, feign'd

To move a more belief
Of sincere love, the tears that rain'd
Sprung from an inward grief :
Let Ariost

His foul-mouth'd host 700

Of locufid's parting prate :
Whose wife did swound.
But of that wound
A groom the grief did bate.

XLV

This was not such, but as the

show,
Such was the substance of the woe.

Which thus their souls possest.
For she like lonely dove doth lan-
guish ;
He goes with grief where bitter
anguish
Bides in his boiling breast. 710
At last Pireus^ port he spies :
The sailors raise a song,
The country, wakened with their
cries,
Unto the shore do throng :
They feed their sight
With sweet delight
Of this unlook'd for guest ;
They thrust him so.
He scarce can go.
Rude people so him prest. 720

XLVI

Pa?idion's state the street refrains,
Yet at the gate him entertains.

And lovingly embrac'd.
The right hand friendship's firmest

pledge.
They mutually for love engage,

(Yet no good signs it grac'd :)
Without inquiry he doth tell

The cause why he doth come.
Is for his sister Philomel,

(Fresh beauty's budding bloom :)
The presage bad, 731

His speech then had.
My future ill divin'd :
It lowring brake.
That day of wrack,
Which dismal deadly shin'd.

Philomela

XLVII

The glad congratulation past,

He goes on with his Heart's behest,

Which had him thither brought.
He tells how pleasing Progne pines,
Her mirth with melancholy dwines,
In soHtary thought. 742

He tells how for her Philomel,

Progne did pensive long :
All her discourse on her doth dwell,
She wholly hath her tongue :
He doth request,
With speeches best,
And aptest to persuade :

As yet the end 750

To nought did tend.
But his love's life to glad^

XLVIII

Straight he doth after me inquire.
Who him to see had like desire,

I to his presence rush'd.
He at my sight amazed grew.
He staid astonish'd at my view,

(My face such fairness flush'd)
Our salutations had no touch

Of complimenting strains : 760
Light love is lavish ivhere it 's much.
From flattery it refrains :
He kist, embrac't.
About my waist
His winding arms he wrung :
I did him meet
With love as great.
And to his body clung.

XLIX

My goodly garment all of gold.
His griping made his eyes behold, 770

And note more narrowly :
For though my robe itself were rich.
Musing Minerva's stately stitch

It more did beautify.
She had made it the masterpiece

Of all her studious store.
Art, Art itself to pass did press,

Her cunning to decore.
Reviewing still,

Deeming all ill 780

(Though well) if skill could better.

795 Note ' Aim ' for ' film.'

So jealousy
The slyest spy,
To needless work did set her.

L

There was Apollo in a chair

Of burnish'd gold, his flame-like hair

Against that brightness beam'd.
An ivory harp with silver strings,
With trembling touch which lightly
rings,
Did sound or sounding seem'd. 790
With leafy laurel he was crown'd,

And canopied o'erhead.
Wherein chaste Z?«//^«^ lately wound,
Did quiver yet for dread.
The slender Aim,
Which hid each limb.
So offer'd to the eye ;

And was so wrought.
You would have thought
It to be maid and tree. 800

LI

Her leafy top (late hair) did shade
The welkin, part it twilight made,

And part a mirthful morn.
For lower was an azur'd sky.
Where eastern beams did beautify

Half, half the stars adorn.
Amongtheslender boughs some birds

Their list'ning ears incline,
Others hover about in herds,

To hear these dits divine ; 810
Some's swelling breast
The joy exprest,
To hear how they did earn :
Some's opening bill
Bewray'd the will
These wantons had to learn.

LII

A little lower from this state.
Where Prince Apollo proudly sate,

With brightness overblown :
The merry Muses rang'd in ranks, 820
Were seated on the sunny banks,

With favour sweets o'ergrown :
While one dothtuneherlute, or voice.

One notes, one time doth measure.
A silent sound, an unheard noise

813 ' earn ' = 'yearn.'

(631)

Patrick Hannay

Doth take the sight with pleasure.

Some garments grave

Others did have,
Some hght, some long, some short,

Some chaplets wore, 830

And some forbore,
Some mus'd, and some made sport.

LIII

Nearer the border one might see
Orphetts and Kurydice,

Returning from the dead :
He play'd, and with swift pace did

haste,
Longing till she our air should taste,

Whom he to light did lead :
But whether a desire of sight.

Or fear she did not follow, 840
Made him look back, his dear de-
light _
The opening earth did swallow :
He quickly snatch'd.
And would have catch'd,
But when it prov'd in vain,
Her look did shriek,
And in his cheek,
Pale grief was pictur'd plain.

Liv
A sea circled the lowest seam,
With welling waves, and of that
stream 850

The people pastime take :
Fearful on fish Arion sits,
He seeming seiz'd with quaking fits,

Did mournful music make.
The Dolphifis dance now up, now
down.
And as much pleasure have,
As he hath pain, for fear to drown,
He sings his life to save,
His hands scarce hold
(With fear and cold S60

Benumb'd) his instrument :
The swelling wave
The motion gave,
The saving sound that lent.

LV

'J'his gorgeous garment large and
wide,

874 sien] Is this = 'scion,' a word of m
seen ' ?

(63O

Before was with a button tied,

And careless hung about :
My forepart was of purest lawn,
Whereon the fairest flowers were
drawn.
That Nature e'er brought out : 870
Their roots a seeming earth did
hide,
Clad in a grassy green ; .
The stalk stood out, as if beside
The ground a growing sien :
Some thought a scent
Out from them went ;
(So wrought they on conceit,)
One maketh faith,
He tasted hath
Some leaf that fell of late. 880

LVI

Thus was I cloth'd. My breast was

bare.
Never till then was white so fair.

Which made the world profane,
And dare the mighty gods upbraid,
That they such pureness never
made.
Nor could to such attain.
Whereat the gods incensed grew.

And did together 'gree.
Even with a curse their skill to
show.
Blaming world's-blasphemy. 890
No year doth fail
But snow or hail,
Since candies o'er the earth,
Whose joy doth vanish,
For it doth banish
The beauty of its birth.

LVII

Yet he had not well view'd my

face,
Which beauty-bringing years did

grace
With rays of most respect :
The buds he left so fair had

flourish'd, 900

So kindly Nature had them nour-

ish'd.
As he did not expect.

any spellings? Or should it be 'agrowing

Philomela

The infant lustre lightly laid,

Was curiously o'errun,
And careful Nature perfect made
Her beauty-board begun :

Each lineament

She did acquaint
With a proportion due,

And every limb, 910

Fashion'd so trim.
Was hid in heavenly hue.

LVIII

The favour of my face was such,
That beauty else, though ne'er so
much,
(If that I came in place)
Was but a foil to make mine fairer,
That fairness made mine seem the
rarer,
That glory gave mine grace.
As former eye-contenting flowers

Lose lustre by the Rose, 920

As Phoebe's glore eclipsed lowers.
When Sol his sight out-throws :
Even so did mine
Others outshine,
Though fair in their degree ;
The looks they lost,
Which more them boast,
If parallel'd with me.

LIX

Some would say Venus, when at

rarest.
And fancied most for to be fairest,

(With Adoft hot in love) 931

Look'd like me, but that I more

chaste,
Look'd constant, she did care to
cast
Such looks as lust could move.
Others would say such Dian's look

(But more to wrath inclin'd)
When hapless (bathing in a brook)
Acteon did her find.
Of goddesses

They did express 940

The goodly gifts by mine,

905 Orig. ' perfit.' The odd phrase ' beauty-board ' in the next line must be derived
from the practice of painting portraits on panel, unless it means 'palette.'

921 The form 'glore,' with 'glory' just before, is interesting as showing the
tyranny of strict syllabic scansion. It recurs below.

(>33 )

Not mine by theirs.

Their doom declares

They deem'd me more divine.

LX

These, these the tyrant so admir'd.
As with their sight his heart was fir'd

With more then lawful love :
He now thinks Prog?ie's parts were

poor :
He wonders how they could allure.
Or his affection move. 950

He wishes now he were unwed.

So I would hear him woo.
He sighs, he with my sister sped,
Or had with her to do :
As parchM hay,
Whereto we lay
Quick fire, takes sudden flame.
So burn'd his heart
With every dart
That light-like from me came. 960

LXI

He 's so enrag'd, he would not spare
To tempt my fellows' faithful care,

(If that could do the deed)
My Nurse's faith, nay e'en myself
He would seduce with precious pelf.

If so he could come speed ;
He cares not for the Kingdom's broil

To take me thence perforce.
And to maintain his ravish'd spoil
By slaughter'd souls' divorce : 970
His reinless love
So much doth move,
What is it but he dares ?
Nor can his breast
Those flames invest
Which provocate his cares.

LXI I

Nor can he now delay endure.
He thinks with cunning to procure,

Doth Progne's suit renew ;
He makes it cloak his damn'd
desire, 980

When more then right he did require.

So Progne did pursue.

Patrick Hannay

He would affirm his tongue did
glose,
{^Lovers are eloquent)
E'en moving tears his cheeks
o'erflovvs,
(As if those Progne sent)
How human minds,
Oft error bhnds,
He 's thought to be sincerCj

His wickedness 990

We kindness guess,
Which doth him more endear.

LXIII

Behold, I for the same do sue,
About my father's neck I threw

My arms, and him embrace,
I maiden kisses intermixed,
He notes them, for his eye is fixed

Still on my firing face :
Each kiss he (covetous) did crave.

He wished he were my sire, icoo
I to him sought, each gesture gave
Good to his fond desire.
My sire at last,
By our request,
Against his will is won :
Having obtain'd,
I good had gain'd
Did deem, but was undone.

LXIV

Now Phoebus' steeds so swift had run,
His daily course was almost done,

The height they passM have ; ion
And now the steepy sky they beat
\\' ith angry hoofs, to cool their heat,

Hasting in western wave.
On table kingly cates w^ere plac'd

For to content the taste,
Wi\1\\Q Bacchus' golden goblets grac'd.
After this rich repast,
To quiet rest

Each him addrest, 1020

But Tereus tiring care
Lets silken sleep
On him to creep,
His woes so wakerife are.

LXV

The true Idea of each part

He saw, was seated in his heart :

What was hid from the sight.
He fains it such as he would have it.
And better then sight could con-
ceive it,
More delicate delight ; 1033

He thinks he sees face, feature,
gait,
And doth survey each limb.
So apprehensive quick conceit
Did represent to him. /
The night was worn,
A weeping morn
Usher'd the doleful day.
When hast'ning Fate,
Full of deceit,
Permits no longer stay. 1040

LXVI

Pandion then wdth gushing eyes.
Where gorged grief a-bathing lies,

Me to him thus betakes :
" This jewel, (dearest son) this pearl,
My last, most lov'd, my dearest

girl,
(His hand then shivering shakes)
I give thee, and thy faith conjure

By all the gods above.
To guard, her safety to assure

With a paternal love : 1050

Let knowen bed
Which you have had,
In firmness keep your faith,
And bear in mind
What Progne kind
With me committed hath.

LXVII

And darling, now my sweetest stay.
My age's hope, that from decay

Detains these turning hairs,
Whose presence doth me primely
nourish, loOo

Whose sight yet makes this face to
flourish.
And curbs my coming cares :

1021 Orig, 'tiring-care,' but these unnecessary hyphens were then frequent,
suspects ' tyrant.'

1022 ' Lets ' of course = ' prevents,' not ' allows.'
1056 ' me ' = ' thee.'

(634)

One

Philomela

Sweet Philomel, I thee beseech
Thou wouldst with speed return :
While thou art absent, I must teach
These moist'ned eyes to mourn.

Though loath to want,

Three months I grant,
(So long to stay you have)

One day behind 1070

That time assign'd.
Will bring me to my grave."

LXVIII

Thus speaks he with tear-dropping

eyes,
Drowned in his brain-breeding seas,

Which doth his sorrow tell.
I seem to go and oft turn back.
And slender slips excuses make

To take a fresh farewell.
Such was kind Ovid's ling'ring leave
Departing from his wafe, loSo

And so did Cleopatra grieve^
Pity produc'd like strife,
" Caesario go,
O do not, no.
Fly from Augustus^ snare ;
Nay, stay a while,
Fortune may smile.
Yet go, it 's best beware."

LXIX

So far'd it here, so we entreat,
Kiss'd, amongst kisses still we wet

Our cheeks with mixed tears : 1091
To firm our faith he takes our hands,
Joins them, and mute amazed stands,

Full fraught with future fears.
" At \a.si,Jove witness this (he says)

And punish those offend,
And, daughter, do not use delays.
To Progne me commend " :
Scarce speaks he more,
He faints so sore, 1100

As if his spirits were past,
Yet bids farewell.
Which seems to tell,
(With staying) 'twas the last.

LXX

The night which did this day pre-
cede,
Did wrap itself in mourning weed

Of saddest sable hue,
Such pitchy clouds were interpos'd,
Phoebe was hid, small stars were los'd.

Their splendour none did view.
At day Aurora! s eyes so wept iiix

As drunk each hill and dale.
As if for Memnon now she kept
The sad fresh funeral.
Her eyes did soak
The parched cloak
Which Tellies then had on.
The grass outsprung
From clay was clung,
At fall of Phaeton. 1 1 20

LXXI

Thus parted, we unto the sea,
Our canvas wings we do display

iVgainst the growing gale,
Which there resistance takes in

scorn.
Whereby the bulk is forward borne

By proudly swelling sail.
Though wat'ry hills were interpos'd,

Yet followed he with sight.
Till his dim dazzled eyes were
clos'd,
'Fore their time bringing night :
Returning then 1 1 3 1

He doth complain
His late received loss,
As mounting waves,
And falling graves,
With stubborn billows toss.

LXXII

Now Tereus can no more contain
His (yet hid) joy, it is so main,

Which vaunting voice doth vent.
" The day is ours, the prize is won,
My love whose light obscures the
Sun, 114 1

Whose beams breed more content,

1066 moist'ned] It is perhaps worth noticing, once for all, that seventeenth-century'
printers seem to have preferred the apostrophe for the first e in such forms as this
' threat'ned,' &c. Modern practice, not perhaps with much reason, seems 10 incHne
the other way.

(635)

Patrick Ha72nay

Goeswithme : hath her sorrowing sire

(Who did her so much tender)
Twin'd with her ? or drunk with
desire,
Do I dream he doth send her ?
Rouse, rouse you spirits,
Conceited sweets
Of a fantastic love

No power have 1150

So to bereave,
Nor can such pleasure move."

LXXIII

Thus says he ; nor doth turn aside
His eyes from me, which still do
bide
Beholding with delight :
As Adamant the Iron draws
By Nature's close compelling laws,

So did I draw his sight :
Look as the Eagle sharp doth pry

Upon his panting prey, 1160

Which in his cruel claws doth lie
Hopeless to scape away :
So he beheld,
So I compell'd
Was for to wait his will.
Whom yet in mind
I counted kind.
Not conscious of ill.

LXXIV

Our fleeing sails had made such haste,
That now the tedious travel 's past,
The toiling sea brings forth : 1171
AVe touch upon the tyrant's coast,
W^here hapless I, alas ! was lost,

And left of little worth.
To shore the tired troops do hie.

Refreshment there to find :
The anchor'd bulk lies at a bay,
With sail strook from the wind.
All do rejoice,

With cheerful voice, 1180

Their gesture shows they're glad,
They think them blest,
That with such haste
They happy voyage made.

LXXV

A winter-wasted aged wood

Near to the landing-place there stood.

Spoiled (with length of years)
Of beauty, no buds it had borne
For many springs, the wet had worn
The trunk with tempest-tears : 1 190
The barkless boughs spreading
abroad,
Unto the grassy ground
Yielded no shade, with leafy load
The branches were not crown'd.
Whereby the heat
So sore did beat
From Phoebus^ fiery face :
Flora for fear
Durst not draw near
To beautify that place. 1200

LXXVI

The winding ivy with soft moss
The bodies bound, and did emboss

The rent and ragged rind.
They wrap with warmness to restore
Decayed age, and to decore

Time's ruins, 'bout them wind :
It seem'd sad Desolation's seat

Far sever'd from resort.
Where nought did grow was good of
late
For profit or for sport. 1210

No harmony
From tree or sky
The birds made, all was sad :
The bad aspect,
Show'd the neglect
That nature thereof had.

LXXVII

Obscure bushes of fur and fern,
Confus'dly mixt, where robbers learn

For to entrap the prey, 1219

Were rudely ranged here and there,
Woven with brier and bramble bare,

Which close together lay ;
A place most fit for such a fact.

For such a damn'd despite,
Where Mischief meant his part to act,

1 145 ' Twin'd ' = ' twinned/ 'separated' or 'parted.'

1 147 Note 'spirit,' not only = ' sprite,' but = ' sprff/.'

1 1 77 'Bulk' and 'hulk' are often interchanged at this time.

121 7 'fur[ze]'?

(636)

Philomela

And hide it from the sight.

The most obdiit^d.

Would be obsair'd,
When they commit a crime :

Sin is so shamed, 1230

Zest it be blamed.
It seeks out place and time.

LXXVIII

Thither he hales me, I did quake,
My heart did faint, my Hmbs did
shake,
I doubted and grew pale :
I for my sister ask'd with tears,
Not daring to confess my fears ;

Yet that did not avail :
He did confess his foul intent,

Me to the ground he flung, 1240
His late-lov'd hair he rudely rent.
And careless from me wrung.
I call'd amain,
But all in vain,
On sister and on sire,
On gods above.
But could not move
Them mitigate his ire.

LXXIX

He forc'd me, O how I did tremble !
Grief seem'd to kill, but did dis-
semble, 1250
And would not prove so kind :
O had I then given up the ghost.
Before my virgin gem was lost,

As spotless as my mind ;
Then had my body without stain,

In sweet Elysian shade,
With the untainted virgin-train,
A merry mansion had.
Where now, alas !
It hath no place, 1260

Free from tormenting thought,
Of that forc'd ill,
Which 'gainst my will
On woful me was wrought.

LXXX

The harmless unsuspecting lamb.
Torn from the teats of fearful dam,
By hungry wolves' surprise ;

Pursu'd by mast'ring mastiff fast,
The robber leaves his prey for haste,
Which much amazed lies, 1270
Still doubting if it be redeem'd

From such a deep distress,
So fainting I confounded seem'd,
My fear was nothing less :
Fraught with despair,
I did not care
What mischief might betide ;
As in a trance.
Forsook of sense,
I for a time did bide. 1280

LXXXI

When to myself I did return.
My heart did heave, my cheeks did
burn.
My breast I boldly beat ;
Rap'd with revenge I did not spare,
As cause, (though guiltless) face and
hair.
So lovely look'd of late.
From eye no tear, from tongue no
words
My passion did permit.
The grief that such relief affords.,
Is soon freed from his fit : 1290
With sighs and sobs,
And thrilling throbs,
My body did rebound.

Mine eye him blam'd,
Then straight asham'd,
It stares upon the ground.

LXXXI I

But when as greater grief gave

place.
Swift trickling tears did other trace.

My glowing cheeks bedew'd :
Abortive words for birthright
long'd, 1300

Each pressing first, his fellow
throng'd.
And hastily pursu'd.
As respite gave me further leave,

I rat'd him in my rage,
Thinking I gain'd if he did grieve.
My sorrow to assuage.

1233 Orig. 'hails.'

1284 ' Rap'd,' though not certainly, probably = ' rapt,' ' distraught.'

1300 Orig. ' Obortive.'

(637)

Patrick Hannay

So raging spite

Doth take delight^
{Though thereby not relieved)

To vex the heart 1310

Procur'd its smart,
And glares to see it griev'd.

LXXXIII

" O perjur'd, cursed, cruel wretch,
To such a wickedness to stretch,

Respectless of the gods :
Thou bUnded canst them not espy,
Yet doubtless they do draw thee
nigh,
With new revenging rods.
Could not Pandion^s prayers move

Thee keep thy promise past, 1320
Nor Frogne's charge? must mar-
riage prove
Thee base, which should make
blest?
A maid to stain,
A bed profane
With an incestuous lust,
Me to deflore,
My sister's whore.
What can be more unjust !

LXXXIV

If there be gods, they'll be reveng'd;
If not, even I (as far estrang'd 1330
From shame, as thou from grace)
This heinous action shall proclaim.
Notorious shall be thy name,

Hateful in every place.
If here detain'd, with mirthless
moans
The mountains I'll acquaint :
My cries shall cause the trees and
stones
To pity my complaint :
To heaven I vow
I shall strive how 1340

To taint him me betray'd ;
The world shall know
I was not slow
To wreck a wronged maid."

LXXXV

These words the monster so com-
mov'd,

He hates her now he lately lov'd,

For sin hath this farewell ;
It relish'd, straight a loathing breeds,
A minute's pleasure pain succeeds

That lastingly doth dwell. 1 350
Though Conscience he cannot calm,

Which restless now is rent ;
Whose sore to salve he knows no
balm,
Yet seeks he to prevent,
Lest I to Fame
Should blaze his shame,
He minds with more mischief
Still to go on,
Regardless grown,
So name may find relief. 1360

LXXXVI

Thus arm'd with hate my hands he

bound
Behind my back, my hair he wound

About a stubborn tree,
He drew his sword, I hopbd death,
Detesting a distained breath,
My soul I sought to free :
Yet he proves not so pitiful.

But to be out of doubt
That I should blab, his pinchers pull
My tongue with torment out :
Thus joy-bereft, 1371

No comfort left.
He loos'd and left alone
To tigers wild.
Then he more mild.
With worthless speech to moan.

LXXXVII

Then to my sister he returns.

She asks for me, therewith he mourns.

Sighs, sorrow suits his face.
He feigns my funeral, which drew
The tears, which made his tale seem
true, 1 38 1

None doubting my disgrace.
Progne her precious garments gay,

That daintily did deck
Her joyful, now she lays away.
And d'ons the mournful black :
A sable veil
To ground did trail,

(638)

1380 Orig. ' fains.

Philomela

A tomb for me did make,

There incense burns, 1390

And for me mourns,
That needed no such wake.

LXXXVIII

His flaming chariot 'bout the world,
Posting through signs the Sun had
hurl'd
And yearly course dispatch'd
While there I stay'd. No hope of

flight.
My careful keeper day and night

So warily me watch'd ;
I dumb could not the cause delate

Of this my strict restraint ; 1400
JBut subtile wit on u>oe doth zvait,
Cunning V to caitifs lent :
I cast about
How to bring out
His lewdness to the light ;
Which while I mind,
Occasion kind
Doth offer to the sight.

LXXXIX

The blissless briers the coat had torn
The fleecy flock had lately worn.

And still retain'd that spoil : 141 1
Of party-coloured wool there was
Store sticking on the stalks, on grass

Some lay, some on the soil :
A web I wrought of colour white.

Letters with blood distain'd
I interweav'd, which his despite,
And my care's cause contain'd.
Thus brought to end,
By signs I send 1420

Unto my sister-Queen ;
Nor did he know
To her did go,
What these mixt marks did mean.

xc
This petty present she o'erviews.
And narrowly doth note the hues,

As she doth it unfold.
These careful characters express'd.
How doleful I was so distress'd,

She blush'd for to behold, 1430
O'er her proud cheek no tear
distiU'd,
No bitter word brake out,
With vengeance and with hate she
fill'd.
Like fury flies about :
She meditates
To move the Fates
To further her intent :
To take revenge
By means most strange,
Her mind is fully bent. 1440

xci
The hellish hags, hatchers of ill,
That can seduce a doubtful will.

Finding her thus inclin'd,
Rejoic'd, and with the Furies join'd
To mould a mischief yet uncoin'd,

So to content her mind.
The crime (admitting no excuse)

These imps do aggravate,
They malice in the mind infuse
That is at height of hate ; 1450
Thus do these elves
Busy themselves
To banish from the mind
Pity that pleads
For the misdeeds
Of a dear friend unkind,

XCII

Thousand ideas in her brain

They stamp of distinct sorts of pain,

To punish each doth press.
She 's loath the least of them should
perish, 1460

Pitiless passion doth them cherish.

Till grown to excess
They long for birth, the time in-
vites,
SwoU'n Bacchus feast drew near.
Which Thracian dames with solemn
rites
Should celebrate that year.
Both old and young.
In confus'd throng,

1419 One feels rather inclined to read 'This' : but Hannay is so fond of elliptic con-
structions that 'Thus,' with 'it' remembered after 'send,' is possible.
1462 Till] 'Until' or 'unto' probably written.

(639)

Patrick Ha?may

Do raving run about ;

Like beldams mad 1470

That day they gad,
No danger then they doubt.

XCIII

When Phoebus' fiery Car withdrew,
The Queen with a selected crew

Her princely palace left :
The sounding brass so beat the walls,
Glib Echo answering the calls,

The crystal covering cleft.
A hair-lace of a leafy vine,

About her temples twin'd, 1480
A hart's hide was her habit fine,
Which 'bout her she did bind,
A small short spear
Her shoulders bear :
Thus arm'd away she hies
To search the wood,
Rites of that god
She counterfeits with cries.

xciv

She with disordered fury roves

Through coverts, dens^ and shady

groves, 1490

With whoops and hollows loud.

"■So ho !" she sounds: ascarce-pac'd-

path
Her prying eye discovered hath,
Which seem'd as stain'd with
blood :
Her mind that mus'd on my mis-
chance.
Seeing the withered knops
Of parched grass, her sudden glance
Doth deem them bloody drops.
What first the brain
Doth entertain, 1500

There such impression takes,
That oft the sight
It changeth quite,
And false resemblance makes.

xcv
So was 't with her, which makes her

more
Long for revenge then theretofore.
She hastes, she thinks she hears
My woful plaint, she presseth on,

1478 ' Crystal covering,' strictlj' the crystalline sphere of Ptolemaic astronomj'
of course here used loosely for ' welkin ' or 'heaven ' generally.

(640)

My prison door, a moss-grown stone.

She breaks, and bushes tears ; 1510

She takes me out, she hides my face

With blooming heather sweet :
She doth with Bacchus' livery grace
Me, as the time was meet :
She leads me home,
Where when I come.
My panting breast bewray'd
That my poor heart
With bitter smart ■

And sorrow was assay 'd. 1520

xcvi
She having found a fitting place
To vent her woe, unveils my face.

Off Bacchus' tokens takes ;
She stares on me, I on the ground,
A guiltless shame did me confound,

My face aflame it makes :
With scalding tears she strives to
stench
The fervour of my face,
Yet could not her eye-conduits 1
quench «

My fires, fed by disgrace. 1530
If I had had
A tongue to plead,
I had apologiz'd.

And sworn, constrain'd
I had been stain'd.
She 'gainst my will displeas'd.

XCVI I

My eloquence did so prevail.
Which in sad silence told my tale,

It deep impression took :
She reads the story in my face 1540
Of her wrong, and of my disgrace.

Pointed with pity's look.
My tears that trickled down amain

She blames, " That 's not the way
^Says she in anger and disdain)
My fury to allay :
It 's fire and sword
Must means afford.
To take a sharp revenge \

Or if aught else 1550

Their force excels
In torment ne'er so strange."

but

Philomela

XCVIII

While thus she speaks, her pretty

child
Itys came, whom with looks unmild

She eyes : " How like his sire
He looks ! " (her heart could not

afford
Her woe-tied tongue another word,

Swelling with inward ire)
Yet comes he nigh, and 'bout her
neck
He winds his wanton arms, 1560
He toys, he kisses, wrath doth check
His childish snaring charms,
Against her will
Her eyes distil.
She (mov'd with pity) mourn'd,
But when on me
She set her eye,
Her tears to traitors turn'd.

xcix
" See I my sister thus defil'd ?
And toy I with the traitor's child ?

Doth he with prating sport, 1571
And sits she silent? calls he dame.
And cannot she her sister name.

Distressed in such sort ?
First let him die ; I gave him breath,

And what hath he deserv'd ?
His sire gave what is worse than death.
Should his seed be preserv'd ?
What, shall she grieve ?
And shall he live 1580

Still to upbraid our shame ?
I'll not dispense
With such offence
For a kind mother's name."

c
Thus reason'd she, thus wrath pre-

vail'd,
A parent's part in pity fail'd,
Sister she prov'd too dear,
Rudely the tender boy she hales,
Who flatteringly, kind mother calls.

Her fury made him fear : 1590
Remorse and pity from her fled,

Fell fury took the place ;
She in his bosom bath'd a blade,
As he would her embrace ;
Nor so content,
She cut, and rent
Him piece-meal, part she boils,
Some part she roasts,
And thereof boasts.
Blithe of her proper spoils. 1600

CI

She hereof makes a dainty feast
For him that it suspected least ;

Her husband she invites.
Feigning the custom did permit
But one man at the most, to sit

At Bacchus' blessed rites :
He set in state, that food before
Him plac'd, thereon he feeds,
Too dear a dish he doth devour,
Yet nothing thereof dreads : 1610
He says " Bring here
My darling dear,
Itys my loved lad : "

Progne could nought
More hide her thought,
Revenge made her so glad.

CII

" Thou seest him " (says she) ;

"Where? "(he said).

I that no more could hide his head

Which quietly I kept, 1619

As it was stain'd with bark'ned blood,

Did hurl at him ; as he were wood,

He from the table leapt ;
He wails, he weeps, he mad doth
run,
Full fraught with fury's fits,
" My infant's herse, his tomb, un-
done
I am, bereft of wits, "
(He said). O'erjoy'd
To see him 'noy'd
We were ; Revenge did smile,

With naked blade 1630

He doth invade
Us, authors of this guile.

i6o6 blessed] Orig. * blissed.'

1607 ' set ' is participial, as is 'plac'd.' Hannay likes these absolute combinations.
1620 bark'ned] 'clotted' : cf. Scott's Gtiy Mamtermg, where Dandie Dinmont uses it.
It is Northern English, and not merely Scots.

( 641 ) T t

Patrick Hannay

cm
He eagerly doth us pursue
So swift, as featherbd we flew,

Thereto enforc'd by fear,
Soft pens sprout out, our arms turn

wings.
New shape we take^ (who'll trust such
things ?)
Soft plumes our bodies bear :
We become birds, Progne to town

Doth take a sudden flight, 1640
I wand'ringto the woods did bowne
To wail my woes by night :
Some bloody stain
We still retain.
The mark of that misdeed,
Such crimson taint
Our feathers paint.
As they seem still to bleed.

CIV

Nor he who us pursu'd doth 'scape
For his foul fault, he loseth shape,

He to a Tewghet turns ; 1651

His blade is turn'd into a bill
To exercise his angry will :

His voice still sadly mourns,
'Cause once a King,acrown-like crest

He bravely yet doth bear ;
His issue hatch'd, away do haste.
Their father they do fear.
Pandion heard

These news and barr'd 1660
All comfort, fed on care,
Before his day
Grief made a way
To death, by dire despair.'

cv
So far sweet Philomela sung,
But here sad sorrow staid her tongue,
Her throbbing breast did bound.
Whereby I well might guess her grief,
And 'cause I could not yield reUef,

Her woe my heart did wound. 1670
Pity with passion so me pierc'd,

I press'd her how to please,
Her legend if it were rehears'd,
I deem'd would do her ease :
Not knowing well
How she could tell
Her tale so well agen,
Returning back
I was not slack.
Thus her complaint to pen. 1680

FINIS

1651 Tewghet, teuchit, &c. = ' peewit.' This seems to be pure Scots.

(64.)

SHERETINE AND MARIANA

To the truly Honourable and Noble Lady Lucy
Countess of Bedford ^

It is a continued custom (Right hon-
ourable) that what passeth the Press,
is Dedicated to some one of eminent
quahty : Worth of the personage to
whom, or a private respect of the party
by whom it is offered, being chief causes
thereof, the one for protection and
honour, the other for a thankful re-
membrance. Moved by both these,
I present this small Poem (now exposed
to public censure) to your Honour :
first knowing the fore-placing of your
Name (for true worth so deservedly
well known to the world) will not only

be a defence against malignant carpers,
but also an addition of grace. Secondly,
the obligation of gratitude (whereby I
am bound to your Ladyship's service)
which cannot be cancelled, shall be
hereby humbly acknowledged. If it
please (that being the end of these
endeavours) I have my desire. Deign
to accept thereof( Madam) with afavour-
able aspect, whereby I shall be encour-
aged, and more strictly tied to remain
Ever your Honour's, in
all humble duty,

Patrick Hannay.

A brief collection out of the Hungarian History for
the better understanding of this ensuing poem

AFTERtheloss ofthe battle of Mohacz,
Lewis (the second of that name, King
of Hungary and Bohemia) found dead
in a rift of the earth half a mile above
Mohacz ; the Turk invests John
Zappoly (chosen at Alberegalis) King
of Hungary. The Arch-Duke Ferdi-
nand pretendingto be heirof Ladislas, is
elected King of Bohemia, and growing
great thinks of the conquest of Hung-
ary ; alleging it did appertain to him
by right of Prince Albert, and Anne
his wife, sister to King Lewis : He
gathering together a strong army,
enters therewith into Hungary. King
John unprovided of forces, retires to
Transilvania : Ferdinand pursues and
overthrows him : he flees towards Po-
lonia, and Ferdinand is crowned King
of Hungary. Jerome Lasky (a man
of great power) receives John, and
practiseth with the Turk for his resti-
tution. Solyman undertakes his

defence, and brings him back. Many
hostilities past twixt John and Ferdi-
nand : Fortune now favouring the one,
now the other; at last (wearied, and
their forces weakened) they agreed :
The conditions were, that John should
enjoy all he then possessed during his
natural life ; and at his death it should
descend to Ferdinand : John's children
(if he left any) to be honourably main-
tained. Within short time after this
agreement John dieth, leaving a son
(named Stephen) of eleven days of age.
Isabella (wife to John, and daughter to
Sigismond King of Poland) together
with a Friar named George (who had
been a follower of John's fortunes) are
left tutors to this young Prince. John
dead, Ferdinand requires performance
ofthe agreement ; which (by the Friar's
means) is denied. The Queen with
her son and George retire to Buda,
which Ferdinand (by his Lieutenant

1 Lucy Harington, wife of the third earl, d. 1627, one of the most famous and
favourite patronesses of men of letters in the first half of the seventeenth century.

( 643 ) T t 2

Patrick Hannay

Raccandolph) straitly besieges. Ma-
humet Basha succours the Queen,
Solyman himself coming to Andrionop-
olis. Mustapha Basha is sent into Tran-
silvania against Malliat Ferdinand's
Lieutenant there. Raccandolph is quite
defeat at Buda by Mahumet, who takes
Pesth and divers other fortresses.

Malliat hearing of this overthrow
(and despairing of succours from Ferdi-
nand) retires to Fogare, a strong Castle,
which by a thousand assaults of the
Turks could not be taken. He comes
to a parly with Mustafa^, who sends
into Fogare four principal Captaines
of the Cavalry^ as hostages ; Malliat on
this assurance coming forth is betrayed
in a banquet, seized on as a prisoner,
and sent to Constantinople, where he
remained prisoner till his death. Soly-
man (having thus driven Ferdinand's
forces out of Hungary) comethto Buda,
from whence he sends Isabeland her son
with the Friar to govern Transilvania,
depriving her of Hungary against his
passed faith. The Friar (of an insolent
and haughty spirit) governeth all in
Transilvania as he listeth, little regard-
ing the Queen : She (disdaining to be
curbed by one risen from so mean a
quality) complaineth to Soliman. The
Friar (fearing the Turk's force)
sendeth privately to Ferdinand, entic-
ing him to a new attempt, promising
him the aid of the Transilvanians, with
divers fortresses. Ferdinand (glad of
this offer) sends to his brother Charles
the Fifth, then warring in Germany :
He (jealous of Frederick Duke of
Saxon, and Philip Landgrave of Hess,
whom yet he detained prisoners) sends
him only John Baptista Castalde to be
his Lieutenant, who comes to Vienna
for his instructions. With him came
divers Gentlemen, amongst whom was
John Sheretine, who there becomes
enamoured of Mariana, daughter to
Lazare Ardech, and is requited with
like affection: friends willingly con-
sent, and they are contracted. Cast-
aide (with instructions) leaves Vienna,
whom Sheretine (after a sad farewell
of Mariana) doth accompany. While
they are in journey to Hungary, Maxi-
milian son to Ferdinand returns from

' The variation is orig.

Spain, having wedded Mary, daughter
to Charles the Fifth, in honour whereof
divers triumphs are done. Nicholas
Turian (a young Nobleman) coming
with Maximilian to Vienna, and seeing
Mariana, falls in love with her ; by
means of her father's kinsman (his
entire friend) he comes acquainted
with Mariana's parents : he sues for
Mariana : Her parents better liking his
present and better means than Shere-
tine's, (which most depended on hope)
force her against her will and plighted
faith, to wed Turian.

Castalde(come intoHungary) causeth
Agria (a town of great importance,
yet neither strong by site nor Art) to be
strongly fortified, committing the charge
thereof to Erasmus Tewfle. Castalde
proceeds on his journey to Transilvania.
Arriving at Tiss or Tibiscus, (a large
and deep river, which taketh his be-
ginning in Poland, at the foot of the
hill Carpatus, and thwarteth Hungary
towards the South till it fall in Danu-
bius, between Belgrad and Cenedin,
where it loseth the name. It is in some
places eight miles broad, by reason of
quagmires) and having passedtheriver,
they marched in battle till they came
to Debrezen : there he met with two of
the greatest and richest Lords of Hun-
gary, Andrew Buttor, and Thomas
Nadasdy, who joined with him. By
the way Dalmas, holdingfor the Queen,
is besieged, and taken by John Baptista
of Arco. The Queen hearing of Cas-
talde his approach, calleth a Diet at
Egneth, which (by the Friar's cunning)
is dissolved without anything con-
cluded. She retires with her son to
Albeiula with such force as she had.
The Friar pursues her, and she fear-
ing the weakness of the town, retires
to Sassebess (a place by situation
far stronger than Albeiula :) George
besiegeth Albeiula. The Queen
hearing of the approach often thousand
Spaniards to his aid, seeks an accord,
which George easily grants, knowing
Castalde was not nigh. The Queen
yields the Town on condition to have
her movables saved. George consents
thereto, not suffering one of his soldiers
to enter, till her goods were brought

^ Orig. ' Cavaliaric'

(644)

Sheretine a7id Mariana

out and carried to her. Castalde and
George meet soon after at Egneth ;
they go to seek the Queen to Sasse-
bess : there they sit in council : Cas-
talde declares his charge : that the
Queen should render the kingdom
according to the former agreement
made with her Husband John. He
adds also, that the Infanta Joan (young-
est daughter to Ferdinand, with
loo.ooo Crowns for a Dowry) should
be given to her son Stephenin marriage . ■
with other offers, allseeminggoodtothat
assembly. They send her that mes-
sage by George ; whereupon she (know-
ing the impossibility to keep it by
force, being destitute of all aid) yields
herself to Ferdinand. The Friar (fear-
ing lest this agreement might eclipse
his greatness) seeks to dissolve it ; but
she (jealous of his inconstancy and
cunning, and not able longer to suffer
his insolencies) accuseth him to Cas-
talde ; seekethto confirm the agreement,
and at a Diet held at Egneth in pres-
ence of her son and Nobility, delivers
up the kingly Ornaments, which were
a Crown of plates of gold mounting on
high in form of a high-crowned hat,
enriched with Pearl and stones, with
a small golden Cross on the top, a
Sceptre of Ivory, a Mantle of cloth of
gold set with stones : a Gown and a
pair of shoes of gold : The Friar
would have had the Crown in keeping,
which she with disdain denied him,
saying, ' She would never consent that
a Friar should be King of that king-

dom, whereof she dispossessed herself
and son.' Then (with great effusion of
tears) delivers Castalde the Crown ;
earnestly imploring Ferdinand's re-
lief to her and her son (whose grief
showed he disliked the surrender) con-
sidering they were sprung from a noble
stock. The next day alter she took
her journey towards Cassovia with her
sickly son, manifesting the great sorrow
and discontent she felt to see herself
deprived of her Kingdom ; and by
agreement to leave her own, which (in
time) small help of friends could still
have kept. At Cassovia she stays,
with patience expecting a change of
Fortune. At last is made Vayvod of
Transalpinia, seeketh aid of the Turk.
The Transilvanians (wearied with the
Austrian oppression) practise her re-
turn. She coming, drives out Ferdi-
nand's forces ; is re-established, and re-
wardeth those who had still stuck to
her. Castalde after receipt of the
Crown diligently kept it. At last find-
ing fit opportunity sends it to Ferdi-
nand by John Alphonse Castalde Pes-
caire (his nephew) whom Sheretine
(longing to see Mariana) accompanieth

to Vienna : there

the incon-

stancy of Mariana (who had promised
never to yield to any other) and the
ill dealing of her parents, within short
time he falleth sick with extreme
sorrow, and dieth ; whose death
bringeth on their tragic ends, as in
this Poem more at large doth appear.

Canto I

THE ARGUMENT

Marian's Ghost her birth doth tell,

How Sheretine her lov'd :
And how requited ; how both griev'd

When he to war remov'd.

I

One evening 'twas when the declin-
ing Sun
Wearied, gave place to the ensuing
night :

And silver Phoebe had her course
begun

(645)

To cheer the world with her more
feeble light :
To rest myself upon a bed I cast.
Till gentle sleep seiz'd on me at
the last.

II
As soon as sleep me wholly had

possest,
And bid sad cares a time for to

depart,
I thought to me a lovely maid
addrest,

Patrick Hannay

[Canto I

Whose sight might pierce the most

obdurate heart : lo

Soft was her gate, and heavy was

her cheer,
Ghostly, yet mild, her visage did
appear.

Ill
Her golden tramels trailed down

her back.
And in herhand a gory knife she bare:
Down from her breast streamed a

bloody track ;
A sable sarsenet was all that she ware,
Thoro' which that blood appear'd,

as I on lawn
Have seen with crimson silk
a currant drawn.

IV

Then gently did she by the hand

me take.
Saying, ' Fear not, with me vouch-
safe to go, 20
Even for thine only Saint fair Coelia!s

sake,
Where thou shalt all my forepast
fortunes know ' :
Then to a flow'ry green she forth

me led,
Which was in Florals finest livery
clad.

V

The Sun nor Moon there never

show their face,
Nor yet doth horrid darkness there

appear ;
Nor nights, nor days, nor seasons

there take place,
One night, one day, one season

serves the year.
Such light as when the early

lark doth sing,
Such season as 'twixt summer and

the spring. 30

VI

Down by this field there runs a
deep black lake.

O'er which a ferry-man doth steer
a boat

So smear'd with blood, that doubt-
ful it doth make,

Or black or red, with gory pitch^dcoat,
With twisted long black hair, and

blue lips side^
Lamp-burning eyes, mare-brows
and nostrils wide.

VII

To him there flock'd of every sort
and fashion,

Over that river waftage for to have ;

But he devoid of all love and com-
passion.

Would none transport, but such as

passport gave : 40

Here would she fain have past,

but back he held
Her with his pole, and churlishly
repell'd.

VIII

Then back she brought me to that
flow'ry green.

And set me down, then pitifully said,

' Thou seest how fain I would trans-
ported been ;

But churlish Charon hath my pas-
sage staid :
Nor ere can I pass o'er this grisly

lake,
Unless thou deign pity on me to
take.

IX

P'or still I'm stay'd till one do write

my story.
Whose infant Muse is by a maid

inspir'd, 50

To write her worth, and to set forth

her glory,

13 ' tramels ' = 'chains,' or rather 'network' of hair.

23 flow'ry] Orig. ' floorie,' which might possibly, though not probably = 'level,' if it
were not for stanza viii, where it is ' flowry.'

35 'side' in this engaging picture seems to have the old Scots sense of 'long,'
'trailing.'

36 ' mare-brows' are penthouse-eyebrows.

49 I keep the variation of • staid ' and ' stay'd ' in four lines only, for the moral.

(646)

Canto I]

Sheretine and Mariana

Who for her parts deserves to be

admir'd ;
Such is thy fairest Coelia, such

the Muse
Which her rare beauty bred and

did infuse.

X

By thy sweet Coelia!s name I thee
conjure,

My rueful legend that thou wouldst
relate,

This may from her some pity thee
procure,

For as hers now, such once was my
estate :
I bid her say, and I would do

my best
To please my mistress, and pro-
cure her rest. 60

XI

Then thus. At Vien first I drew

my breath,
And at my birth I Marian was nam'd,
I at Vienna gave myself my death,
For that alone not worthy to be

blam'd ;
My parents had not base, nor

noble blood.
But betwixt both in a mean

order stood.

XII

At my wretch'd birth appear'd no

ominous star.
Which might my future misery

divine ;
None opposite, they all according

were
To show my rise, but not my sad

decline : 70

All did agree to grace my infant

years
With happiness, but drown mine

age in tears.

XIII

Kind Nature freely her best gifts

bestow'd,
And all the Graces join'd to do me

grace :
In giving what they gave, they

nothing ow'd,

(647)

Which well to those appear'd, who

saw my face ;
There was no maid who durst

with me compare,
My beauty and my virtues were

so rare.

XIV

My parents plac'd in me their whole

content,
I was their joy, they had no children

more, 80

Kin and acquaintance all of me

did vaunt.
And bragg'd to see my youth produce

such store
Of budding blossoms, fairest

fruit presaging,
All which were nipp'd by adverse

fortune's raging.

XV

My parents' care was chiefly how to

train
Me up in virtue from my tender years,
They us'd all means, sparing nor

cost nor pain.
Nor day nor night, me to instruct

forbears,
So in short time my virtue had

such growth.
As age whiles brings, but is not

seen in youth. 90

XVI

Like as the rising Sun with weaker

light.
Steals from the bed of bashful

blushing Morn,
Permitting freely to the feeblest sight
Him to behold, but such beams him

adorn
Mounting our height, as who him

then beholds.
Is blinded, with the brightness

him enfolds.

XVII

So I an Infant at the first appearance,

With hopbd beauty did but weakly
shine ;

But as in years I further did ad-
vance.

Perfection's pencil so did me refine.

Patrick Ha72nay

[Canto I

As my accomplish'd beauty at

the height

lOI

Dazzled the bold beholder's dar-
ing sight.

XVIII

About this time th' Hungarian state

distrest,
(King John being dead) by civil

discord torn,
Some Ferdinand would in the state

invest,
The Friar for young Stephen others

doth suborn ;
He with Queen Isabel calls in

the Turk,
Who seems her friend, but for

himself doth work.

XIX

Biida by sieging Ferdinand is girt,
By Solymoft his Army 's there

defeat; no

Who taketh Festhe, Mustafa doth

hurt.
On Mai/iat wa.rs : The Transilvanian

state
Swears homage unto Stephen ;

Malliat betray'd
To StaniboVs sent, where till he

died he staid.

XX

Solyman having Ferdinand o'er-

thrown,
To Buda comes ; deprives the

woful Queen
Of Hungary, seizing it as his own :
Sends her distressed with her Infant
Stephen
To Transilvafiia with the crafty

Friar
Her coadjutor, for to govern there.

XXI

You easily may guess her heart was
sorry, i 2 i

Being depriv'd of what she held
most dear :

Robb'd of her state, degraded of her

glory
By th' injust Lord she call'd to free
her fear :
Buda bears witness of her sad

complaint.
Which mine own woe permits me
not to paint.

XXII

To Transilvania come, no sorrow

ceaseth,
Th' ambitious Bishop governs as

him listeth :
The Queen he curbs, command in

her decreaseth.
Whilst he grows greater and in

pride persisteth : 130

Till her abused patiencecannot bear
More the demeanour of the saucy

Friar.

XXIII

Her Father Sigismond no comfort

sends her,
He was but careless, though she

thus was crost :
Not one of his confederates befriends

her.
Seeing him leave her should relieve

her most.
Ah, wretched Queen, what help

can moaning make thee,
When father, friends, kin, and

allies forsake thee?

XXIV

Her sorrows now she can no more
support,

(Yet peremptory George was great-
est grief:) 140

Since who should love, had left her
in such sort.

Her discontented mind hopes small
relief:
To Solyman she sends ; O woful

wight,
To seek an injurer to do thee right.

Ill Pesthe] The orig. spelling ' Peslh^ ' is required here wei. grat.

n8 The evident scansion of this hne is 'distressed,' with 'Stephen' pronounced
' Ste'en ' as in ' Steenie,' to rhyme to Queen. This pronunciation may also save ]. 113 :
but of the versification of these historical parts perhaps the less said the better.

132 Friar] = ' Frere ' : but Frier in orig.

(648)

Canto I]

Sheretine and Mariana

XXV

The Turk commiserates her sad
estate ;

George knowing this, to Sassehess
retires,

Scours ditches, heightens walls
debas'd of late,

Lays in munition that a siege
requires :
Then raiseth forces. Isabel pro-
vides
Force 'gainst his force, which the
whole land divides. 150

XXVI

The Turk Chiauss in Isabel's favour

sent
Threatens the Friar, and those to

him adhere ;
Which did no good but ill^ it from

her rent
Most part of those that erst her

fautors were :
Such inbred hatred to the Turk

they bore,
They hate her cause, 'cause he

would her restore.

XXVII

The Queen (misdoubting of the

Turk^s supply)
Seeks an agreement, which is lightly

granted :
For the Friar knew that the Turk's

force drew nigh.
Intelligence there to her hurt she

wanted: 160

Agreed, the Friar forceth the

Turk retire.
Still misregards her^ still doth

high aspire.

XXVIII

She once again the Nobles doth

incite,
(Disdaining his neglect) and they

once more
In a firm league to her do reunite.
The crafty Friar thinks to provide

therefore :

To Ferdinattd he sends, his aid

doth proffer,
Which Ferdinand accepts, glad of

that offer.

XXIX

To Charles the Fifth his brother he

doth send,
In such affair to have his present

aid, 170

Yet knowing no great succour he

could lend,
(In Germany his whole force being

staid :)
Yet at the least an expert Captain

brave
For his Lieutenant he doth press

to have.

XXX

Charles weighing what this enter-
prise importeth,

John Baptist Castald, Count of
Piaden,

Doth single out, and to this charge
exhorteth ;

He willingly accepts, but with few men
He takes his leave, and unto Vien

comes.
Where he is welcom'd with the
pressing-drums. 1 80

XXXI

One of his train, (and what concerns

me most,
With that she sigh'd) was one in

Viett born,
Joh?i Sheretine, his kin of him did

boast,
As if his stock he chiefly did adorn.
And those who have no int'rest

in his blood.
Honour him more, the more he's

understood.

XXXII

From native home he long time had

remain'd.
In Padua ten years at school he staid,
And in that time he so much learn-
ing gain'd,

169 Fifth] Orig. here and elsewhere 'Fift,' Scotice. These survivals in the Angli-
cized Scots of this period are perhaps worth noting.

( 649 )

Patrick Hannay

As virtue's firm foundations sure were

laid : _ ^9°

His father hereof knowing, him

commends
To Castald, who on bloody Mars
attends.

XXXIII

He willingly his father's hest obeys,
And in short time made to the

world appear
That learning ne'er the haughty

spirit allays,
Which honour'd glory for his badge
doth bear.
And though that Envy still doth

hate brave deeds,
Yet his worth even in Envy
liking breeds.

xxxiv
He with Castalde to Vien comes

back,
Where hungry expectation longs to
see him, 200

Kin and acquaintance to the case-
ments make.
They think him happiest that first
can eye him :
Yet when they see, they know hot

whom t' affect.
All-changing Time had alter'd his
aspect.

XXXV

To see these soldiers in the town

received,
The confus'd multitude in clusters

throng :
The better sort, (yet novelty that

craved)
In spacious windows rangbd were

along ;
There was I plac'd, I clothed was

in green.
Embroidered o'er with flowers

like Summer's Queen. 210

XXXVI

As each did pass, he did our censure

pasSj

[Canto I
did like, another did

Whom one

disdain :
Shereiine came, and none knew

what he was.
Yet each one's approbation he did

gain,
Each one him prais'd, and I

amongst the rest,
Of all that pass'd said he deserved

best.

XXX VI I

Nor was this favour forced from

affection.
It was desert that drew this verdict

fra me,
Love had not then inflam'd me

with infection,
No object had had hap from me to

draw me ; 220

Though love had found me fit to

show his power.
Yet did I live at liberty that hour.

XXXVIII

Though mine eyes were the arsenal

where he hid
His choicest arms, from whence he

might take fires,
(Which in continual lightning from

them slid)
To kindle in cold hearts most hot

desires ;
Yet I not knowing what their

power meant,
My youth's sweet spring, free from

disquiet spent.

XXXIX

Some noble thought possessing still
my mind)

Whilst gold on canvas ground my
fingers place, 230

Ornimblyonalutelightnotesoutfind,

Which with sweet airs my charming
voice did grace :
These gave no leave to Love to let

mine ease,
Which disrespect did the Love-
god displease.

199 Castalde] The addition of the e to get an extra syllable is interesting-.
218 fra me] Note Hannay's utilizing of a Scots form for rhyme and the evidence
for 'draw ' as 'dra'.' But he drops into it again infra, stanza xlix, where no rhyme calls.

(650)

Canto I]

Sheretine a7id Mariana

XL

He languish'd that the flames which

in mine eyes
Were plac'd, had yet but darted

feeble rays :
Now did the bruit of Sheretine him

please,
Of him all speak, all listen to his

praise ;
He thinks him only worthy of

those fires
Which had not kindled others'

deep desires. 240

XLI

Whilst at Vienna they for dispatch
stay,

They're visit'd by their country
gallantry.

Which to express affection doth assay :

They with requital quit their curtesy ;
For Sheretine the Fates do lay a

train.
My father woos, he may him enter-
tain.

XLII

He willing to his suit doth con-
descend.

To be eye-witness (to his house
resorted)

Whether that Fame me falsely did
commend,

Or if I were such as I was

reported : 250

For she had blaz'd my beauty

everywhere,
Call'd others fair and fairer, me
most fair.

XLIII

The day did seem to break even at

the noon,
My coming so eclips'd the former

light,
Small stars are dimm'd so, by a

rounded moon
Wliich from a cloud comes suddenly

to sight :
My beauty blaz'd so at the first

appearing,
He thinks report my worth had

wrong'd by bearing.

(651)

XLIV

What learned Padua could not

effect.
Nor spacious Germany where he

had stayed, 260

That Vien doth, one beauty there

respect
Bred, which all theirs conjoin'd in

vain assayed :
His heart from their attracting

baits left free,
At Vien he doth offer up to me.

XLV

My father his affection to express.

Bids him kind welcome as his dear-
est friend,

Vows lasting love, meanwhile Love
doth address

His surest shaft, his golden bow
doth bend ;
Mine eye the quiver whence he

took the dart
With unavoiding stroke, that hit
his heart. 270

XLVI

One might have seen mid-day of his
desires,

Even from the East of their new-
taken birth :

He strove to hide the new flame of
his fires,

But grounded passion is not masqu'd
with mirth :
His mirth to melancholy sighs

redoubled.
Did well bewray, his musing mind
was troubled.

XLVII

Thus was he first enamoured, yet

he strove
To hide his passion ; but we did

perceive
Some unaccustom'd accident did

move
These sudden fits, yet we no cause

would crave : 280

He takes his leave, unto his home

returns.
Whilst in his heart, that new fire

hotly burns.

Patrick Hannay

[Canto I

XLVIII

He careless casts himself upon his

bed,
And 'gins to reason with his restless

thought :
He curseth Chance that first him

thither led,
He straight doth bless it 'cause it

there him brought.
He blames it for the breeding his

unrest,
Loves it for showing what could

make him blest.

XLIX

" How did I live with unperturbed
mind.

Passing the day with joy, the night
with sleep, 290

(Saith he; where wakerife cares I
now do find.

And new disquiet for my late de-
light :
Are these th' effects of Beauty and

of Love ?
Heaven Love and Beauty fra me
then remove.

L

Ah, hateful tongue, recant this foul

amiss.
Love is the God that first gave life a

being :
Beauty 's the breeder of this greater

bliss,
How dar'st thou then profane their

power weying ?
Beauty breeds Love, Love beauty

doth requite
With the attractive lines of sweet

delight. 300

LI

Then welcome Love, I now will

entertain thee.
Beauty, I'll thee with reverence

adore ;
But what if beauteous love should

now disdain me,
Since love and beauty I have brav'd

before ?

Nay, they will not take that as a

disgrace,
I saw nor knew not them, till first

her face.

LII

Her face where wanton love keeps

residence,
He takes no progress but when she

removes :
Beauty projects from thence unto

the sense
Such beaming glances, as their

brightness proves 310

Young Eaglets, pardon Love, for I

had been
Sooner your subject, if she sooner

seen.

LIII

Thus passed he the night withouten
slumber.

Longing for day, nor did I take such
rest

As theretofore, new thoughts 'gan me
to cumber,

Making me wakerife whilst my sleep
decreast.
Nor could I think what did pro-
cure that change,
'Cause unaccustom'd I did hold
it strange.

LIV

Whilst sleep remov'd, on Sheretine I

thought,
(The mind must still be busied) I

his shape .^20

Did think that Nature curiously had

wrought.
On which the Graces did their

blessings heap ;
And Virtue that she part of him

might claim.
Had deck'd with rarest ornaments

his frame.

LV

" Why should I think on him more

than another ? "
(I say :) And straight begin my

thought to blame.

(653)

298 weyingj = ' weighing'?

Canto I]

Sheretine and Maria7ia

I would forget his shape, his virtues

smother,
Place where he sate, the time he
went and came :
Yet still the more I wish him out

of mind.
Him livelier represented there I
find. 330

LVI

I sleepless spend the night, I early

rise.
He restless longeth for to leave his bed,
Ev'n then our thoughts began to

sympathize ;
Abroad he walk'd as Morn the East-
heaven clad :
To put him out of mind I didrepair
T' a Garden, yet in thought I
found him there.

LVII

Ere noon he came (acquaintance

loath to lose)
To visit and give thanks ; I joy'd to

see him,
As he to be with me of all did

choose ;
So I was well contented to be nigh

him : 34°

Thus did the Destinies draw on our

fate,
I knew not Love, fear'd not his

hidden bait.

LVIII

After we often walk'd into the fields,

Passing the time with sport and harm-
less mirth.

Where nought did want, that fairest
Flora yields,

Or Tellus from her treasure bringeth
forth :
But discontented minds seld find

relief
By outward show for inward
hidden grief.

LIX

For in his countenance we might
behold

Some hidden grief, though gilded

o'er with gladness, 350

Sudden abortive sighs unto us told ;

His pensive mind was seiz'd with

inward sadness ;

Ignorant of the cause, I thought

to please him,
The more I cherish'd, more I did
disease him.

LX

Shereti?ie's love still more and more

increast,
The more he did my company

frequent :
His beating breast bewrayed his

heart's unrest.
Yet could not (though he strove) my

sight absent.
So doth Farfalla dally with the

flame.
Till, his wings sear'd, he sinks

down in the same. 360

LXI

Oft would he strive to look another

way,
And still endeavour'd me for to

neglect :
Yet did his eye more steadfast on me

stay,
Endeav'ring to dislike bred more

respect.
Now look'd he pale, now red, cold,

straight in fire,
Merry, soon sad; how changing

is desire !

LXII

Yet his desire he strove to cover still.
And each way to conceal his passion

tried,
But love resisted, like a close-pent

kill
Most hotly burns, when least the

flame 's espied, 370

He thought it would have kill'd it

to conceal it.
The salve hurt most, which most

he thought should heal it.

340 nigh] ' nigh ' and ' see ' rhymed as above, st. xxxiv : ' see ' and ' eye.'
359 Farfalla\ ' butterfly,' ' moth.'
369 kiaj='kiln.'

(653)

Patrick Ha?27tay

[Canto I

LXIII

Within short time his hid fire out
doth blaze,

His strength no longer able to sup-
press it :

He woos Occasion, then blames her
she stays

To fit him Time when he might well
express it :
Time soon befriends, we to a

garden walk,
Unseen, unheard, where we might
freely talk.

LXIV

" How comes it, Sir," taking him by
the hand.

Then said I, "that grief taketh on you
seizure : 380

(Without presumption if I might
demand, )

Where nothing is intended but your
pleasure ?
For in your visage Care's idea's

plac'd.
Which hath your late-joy sem-
blance clean defac'd."

LXV

" Love-worthiest Maiden, blameless

if I durst
(Saith he) lay ope my heart and

thought reveal,
I would tell how my sobbing sighs

were first
Conceiv'd, took birth, and why they

still do dwell."
Then finding me willing to hear

inclined,
He thus begins to tell his troubled

mind. 390

LXVI

" Fair(if that fair be not toobasea name
For thee, sweet deity of my affection,)
Before this boldness receive check,

or blame,
(My tongue is free from flattery's

infection :)
Vouchsafe to hear, (and hear

without offence)
My rude, yet love-enforced

eloquence.

(654)

LXVII

Love now the sole commander o'er

my soul.
Elsewhere that could not by his

craft or might
Captive my thought, or liberty

control.
Hath brought me here (using that

cunning slight) 400

To see thy face, which in an hour

hath gain'd
Love conquest o'er him, who erst

love disdain'd.

LXVIII

'Gainst his assaults, hitherto as
defence,

A constant resolution I prepar'd :

His beauty-batteries poorly beat my
sense,

Beauty's neglect 'bout me kept
watch and ward.
Ne'er could love gain till thy com-
manding look
Surpris'd my fort and guard, me
captive took.

LXIX

I am thy prisoner, but no freedom

seek,
In this captivity I joy to bide, 410
Only I crave my heart's keeper be

meek ;
Dear, let not this desire be me

denied :
For it 's my joy, since Love doth

conquer all,
That I had hap to be thy beauty's

thrall.

LXX

And thy sweet look (if I do right

divine)
Doth promise, thou wilt not so cruel

prove.
Nor pitiless to make thy captive

pine
By base disdain, and so requite his

love,
Which is not touched with least

part of folly, *

My aim is honest, my pretension 's

holy. 420

Canto I]

Sheretine and Maria7ta

LXXI

Then dear (but dearer far if thou

wer't mine),
Let pity (the companion of sweet

beauty)
Move thee to love him, whom Love

hath made thine :
Love to requite with love is but love's

duty.
Grant love ; if not, say thou scorn'st

my desires,
That death may quickly quench

my loving fires."

LXXII

As doth a prisoner at the bar expect
With pity-moving look the doubtful

doom,
And by the judge's more severe

aspect.
Doth rather fear than hope what is

to come : 430

So Sheretine torn betwixt hope and

fear.
His joy or sorrow so awaits to

hear.

LXXIII

A purple blush with native tincture

dyed
My cheek's late lily in a deepest red.
Whilst I (abashed) to his speech

replied,
Whose fainting eyes still on my face

do feed :
I was amaz'd, I mus^d what to

say,
Love seeks consent, modesty bids

deny.

LXXIV

At last " Brave Sir (said I), I am not

train'd
So in love's school as make a quaint

reply, 440

Nor think I lovers can be so much

pain'd
As they make shew, but thereby

only try
Their wit on woman's weakness,

to ensnare
That harmless sex before it be

aware.

(655)

LXXV

Or if they be, it's by some rarer
beauty.

My poor perfection cannot passion
move,

Your courage should propose else-
where that duty ;

Vain-glory cannot so puff me with
self-love
As to believe mine such ; the

looks I scatter
Are feeble, ne'er inflame, nor such
I'll flatter." 45 ^

LXXVI

"My speech (saith he) of flattery
Cometh not,

Love brings it from the oracle of
truth :

I cannot flatter, I, nor fain God wot.

Nor doth it need where beauty hath
such growth :
With cunning I would not com-
passion move.
Nor try my wit with an imagin'd
love.

LXXVII

My protestations whence they do

proceed,
Will soon be seen by sighing out

my breath,
Unless my martyrdom thy mercy

meed,
Thou'lt know thy beauty's force by

timeless death : 460

Then shall you see character'd on

my heart
True holy love, not flattery nor

art."

LXXVIII

" I must not enter in intelligence
Of such love-passion, gentle Sir (I

said).
If I have answer'd (prompt with

innocence)
Seek not the rather to entrap a

maid.
Th' access which my simplicity

doth give,
Hence I will bar, unless such suit

you leave."

Patrick Han72ay

[Canto I

LXXIX

My father's coming hindered his

reply,
Willi him the residue of the day he

spent, 47°

Then to his chamber went, there

down did He,
Bathing his bed with tears of

discontent ;
Accompanied with every kind of

care
He tumbUng lay, Hope yielding

to Despair.

LXXX

My mind no less than his was sore

perplex'd,
It griev'd me that I granted not his

suit :
It vex'd my heart to know that he

was vex'd,
I reason'd, and my reason did

confute.
Should I have yielded ? no, who

soon are won.
Are soon disdain'd, then I had

been undone. 4S0

LXXX I

Yet who doth love, and can torment
her lover :

Yield then, unask'd ? may be he'll
sue no more.

Alas, how shall I then my love
discover ?

Oh ! would to God I granted had be-
fore.
His love 's extreme ; if it kill, or

take flight,
Or turn to hate, then, all my joys,
good night.

LXXXII

May be it was not serious that he

said.
Oh! lamlostifthathe only tried me;
Then my own self I seriously survey'd,
And saw that loving Nature nought

denied me : 490

Yet priz'd I not my parts, 'cause

they were rare.
But 'cause they could my Sheretine

ensnare.

(656)

LXXXIII

Yet being doubtful of his back

returning,
I call myself too cruel, too unkind :
And he that could not hinder inward

mourning.
Absents not long, returns to know

my mind.
He vows, protests, thereto adds

sighs and tears.
Which sweeter than sweet'st

music pierc'd mine ears.

LXXXIV

I was well pleasl'd that he came

again,
(But better far his love was not

decay'd) 500

I thought it folly longer to detain
With doubtful Ifope^ lest Love should

die denay'd :
I (seeming loath) granted all that

he crav'd.
Mine honour and my reputation

sav'd.

LXXXV

Those who have felt the fits of

fervent Love,
Which hath the strength decay'd,

and vigour wasted
With strongest Passion, and in end

did move
Their Saint to pity, and some

comfort tasted :
Such and none else, can tell if he

were glad.
When of my love, this overture I

made. 510

LXXXVI

My hands he kisses, doth not speak

a word,
(Joy chaining fast the passage of his

speech)
His gesture did more eloquence

afford
By moving signs, than Rhetoric can

teach :
Therewith o'ercome, I open laid

my heart,
And all my loving-secrets did

impart.

Canto I]

Sheretine and Mariana

LXXXVII

I told him that I did no less affect
His virtuous parts, than he admired

mine,
How I delay'd not 'cause I did

neglect,
Or joy'd to see him for my sake to

pine : 520

But only love's continuance did

doubt,
The soonest kindled fire goes soonest

out.

LXXXVIII

No more we then on ceremony

stand.
Each unto other firmly plighteth

troth,
In sign whereof I took his, gave my

hand,
Call'd God to witness with religious

oath :
He unto me vow'd a ne'er-bating

love,
I vow'd my fancy ne'er should

other prove.

LXXXIX

Our next care was, to gain our

friends' consent.
Who heard no sooner we did other

like, 530

But they did yield, and are so well

content,
They joy and thank the heavens,

that so did strike
Our hearts with equal heat, they

hop'd to see
Honour and joy of our wish'd-

progeny.

xc
We sometimes after walk'd to take

the air.
Sometimes to see them hunt the

fearful roe :
Sometimes we to the Temple did

repair :

Sometimes to the Theatre we would

Thus did we banquet still with

fresh variety,
Yet ne'er did cloy or surfeit with

satiety. 540

xci

Methinks the sweet remembrance

yet me glads,
How in my father's flore-perfumM

garth.
Where leafy tops chequer'd out

motley shades.
And Florals minions diaper'd the

earth :
How we have walk'd discoursing of

our love,
With kindest appellations Dear

and Dove.

xcii

An arbour there, fenc'd from the

southern Sun
With honeysuckle, thorn, and

smelling brier,
Which intermix'd through others

quaintly run.
Oft hath had hap our loving lays to

hear: 5 50

There hath he laid his head down

in my lap
To hear me sing, feigning to steal

a nap.

XCIII

There sitting once, I told him how

I dream'd,
And wish'd my dream were true !

he long'd to know it :
And then most eager for to hear it,

seem'd ; *■

Yet shamefastness would never let

me show it
Before our plighted-faith ; then I

it read,
It was how I was first enamoured.

538 Theatre] Note the accent (of course in strictness justifiable, hke so many vulgar-
isms) ' Thertjiter.'
542 flore-perfumed] ' flore-perfum^d garth ' is good, methinks.
557 read] = ' expounded.'

(657) UU

Patrick Hamtay

[Canto 1

XCIV

There have we talk'd, chaste kisses

interrupping
Our kind discourse, which every
word did point : 560

I from his Ups, he from mine nectar

supping.
Mix'd tears of Pity oft our cheeks
anoint :
There have we spent long time in

such Hke sport,
And that long time, we still
thought very short,
xcv
Such happiness we had, we none

envied,
We counted Keasars caitiffs match'd

with us.
But permanent felicity 's denied
To mortals here, none can enjoy that
bliss :
Our joy soon turns to sorrow, we

must part,
Which with griefs sharpest prickles
pierc'd each heart. 570

xcvi
Now Ferdinand had everything

prepar'd
Was necessary the war to maintain :
Castalde who for conduct thereof

car'd.
Was ready, and gave warning to his
train
To be in readiness him to attend
To Hungary to make their valour
ken'd.

XCVII

Young Sheretine prepareth for to go,
Though all his friends persuade him

stay behind,
Yet he will forward, though even I

say no :
" Sweet," (saith he") '■''Love doth not

debase the mind. 580

What ! shall I now obscure my

former worth ?
No, no, thy love doth no such fruit

bring forth.

XCVIII

Weep not," (for then the tears stood

in mine eye)
" Life of my Life, for so my sorrow 's

doubled.
Although thereby signs of thy love

I see
Which it assureth, yet therewith I'm
troubled :
If thou wouldst have me to enjoy

content.
Leave, dearest Love, with sorrow
to lament."

xcix

The hapless day being come that

must us sunder,
All such persuasions he pour'd out

m vam

590

That my heart broke not then it was

a wonder,
Swift scalding tears out o'er my
cheeks did rain,
"What, wilt thou go? and meanst

thou thus to leave mc ? "
(Said I) "And wilt thou of all bliss
bereave me ?
c
Thou saidst thou wouldst my prisoner

abide.
Is this thy craft thy keeper to

betray ?
What, wilt thou, cruel now, my soul

divide ?
I know thou wouldst not kill me,
Dear, then stay;
Ah, wilt thou go ? and must I stay

behind ?
Oh ! Is this Love ? Is this it to be
kind ? " (>oo

ci
No more could Passion suffer me

produce.
To whom my grieving Sheretine

replied.
Each eye a tear-evacuating sluice ; |
"My Heart, my All, my Star that
doth me guide,

559 interrupping] This useful if not elegant form does not seem common.
( 658 )

Canto I]

Sheretine and Mariana

Leave now to grieve, my chiefest

care shall be
Soon to return, then still to stay

with thee.

CII

Nor mean I now to leave thee

altogether,
AVith its affection I leave thee my

Heart,
Let Destiny or Fortune draw me

whither
They will, yet from thee that shall

never part : 6io

In nought I'll joy deprived of thy

sight,
Except the minding of thee breed

delight.

cm
I3ear, let the hope of a soon joyful

meeting,
Better to bear this separation move

thee,
Think of the joys that will be at our

meeting.
The Fates do force my absence but

to prove thee :
Hence from my thoughts all else

shall be debarr'd : "
(I said) My constancy may chance

be heard.

CIV

Passion no more permits, we did
embrace,

Each other wringing in our winding

arms, 620

With mixed tears bedewing other's

face.
One's heart the other's rous'd with
love-alarms :
Oh ! none but such as have felt like

distress.
Can think how sorrowful this sever-
ing was.

cv
I think Ulysses (feigning to be

mad.
Loath to depart from lov'd Penelope)
No such distracting fits (through

fancy) had,
As had my Sheretine going away ;
Jjlysses had reaped the longed

crop,
Sheretine in the blade had bloom-
ing-hope. 630
cvi
Thus did we part, he with Castalde

goes;
Yet while in sight he still did look

behind him,
I stay'd, steeping mine eyes in seas of

woes :
Oft unawares I look'd about to find
him :
Imagination did delude my sense,
I thought I saw him, who was far
from thence.

Canto II

THE ARGUMENT

Turian Mariana loves,

She 's forced by her friends

To marry him : This luckless match
With blood and sorrow ends.

I

Of all the Passions which perturb

the mind.
Love is the strongest, and molests it

most ;
Love never leayes it as it doth it

find ;

( 659 ) u

By it some goodness is or got, or lost :
None yet ere lov'd, and liv'd in

like estate.
But did to Virtue add, or from it
bate.

II
Sometimes it makes a wise man

weakly dote,
And makes the wariest sometimes to

be wild.
Sometimes it makes a wise man of a
sot,

u 2

Patrick Hanjiay

[Canto II

Sometimes it makes a savage to be

mild : lo

It maketh Mirth to turn to sullen

Sadness,
And settled brains it often cracks
with Madness.
Ill
By cursed all-suspecting Jealousy,
Faint doubtful Hope, and ever-shak-
ing Fear,
(Whom pale-fac'd Care still keepeth

company)
It is attended: These companions are
No minute's rest who let the lover

find,
But with their several thoughts do
rack his mind.

IV

So was't with me : I everything did

fear 19

That might unto xny Sheretine befall ;
Sometimes I thought I clatt'ring

arms did hear.
Sometimes for help I thought I heard

him call :
Sometimes I fear'd newbeautyhim

allur'd.
Sometimes my hope his honesty

assur'd.

V

Now (absent) I did love him more

intearely,
It taught me deprivation was a hell.
The parting pangs did touch my

heart but nearly ;
But now in centre of the same they

dwell :
I oftentimes lov'd to consult with

Hope,
And of his swift return propos'd the

scope. 30

VI

But now the Fates with Fortune do

conspire,
To cross the kind intendements of

Love ;
And with salt tears to quench his

kindled fire,

25 intearely] I keep this form intact
doubtless have justified himself from the Fr

( 660 )

Not satisfied with my dearfriend's re-
move :

My Joys are in the wane, daily
grow less,

My Sorrows waxing, daily do in-
crease.

VII

To Vien back comes Maximilian,
( Kingof Bohemia) Ferdinand his son.
With Mary daughter unto Charles of

Spain,
In honour whereof divers sports are

done ; 40

Tilting and Turnay, Feasts to

entertain
(With pomp) the coming stranger

they ordain.

VIII

'Mongst others who to Vien then

resorted,
Nicholas Turian (a brave youth) was

one ;
Most of his friends him from the

feast dehorted,
Yet he from it will be detain'd by

none :
Such warnings oft the unknown

Fate forerun.
Yet misconceiv'd, by those must

be undone.

IX

His straying eyes which wander'd
every way,

('Mongst the rare beauties that assem-
bly bred) 50

Seeking fit subject their roving to
stay.

At last unto my firing looks were led ;
Which with one glance (that Cupid

fra them prest)
Dazzl'd his sight, and did his eyes
arrest.

X

He thinks he ne'er such fairness saw

beforn,
It did eclipse the beauty that was by,
As doth the fresh-forth-streaming

ruddy Morn

because of the rhyme." Hannay would
, entier.

Canto II]

She7^eti7ie a?td Maria7ia

Put out the lesser-lights of nigh ted sky.
He thinks there is not any of such

prize,
If inward worth do outward

equalize. 60

XI

He longs to know, and presseth to

be near,
The nearer he his courage did

abase :
Approach'd he speaks not, seems to

quake for fear,
He shames so to be daunted in that

place :
Shame him encourag'd, prick'd

him on to prove.
The more my mind was known,

it more did move.

XII

" I thought not, Lady " (said he) " if

in one
The rarest beauties of the world had

been
By Nature plac'd, that that one

could have shown 69

So great perfection as in you is seen :

Whose lustre doth exceed each

beauty else,
As lively diamond dull glass

excels."

XIII

"The beauty which you speak of"

(I reply)
"Is pale, but by reflex is fairer made :
If it receiv'd not light by those are by,
It should be veiled with an obscure

shade."
Some time thus spent in talk he

doth depart.
Leaving his freedom with a fettered

heart.

XIV

Then home he goes with new-bred

thoughts turmoiling
The late-sweet quiet of his beating

brains : 80

His heaving heart with bitter anguish

boiling,

He Love with his effects now enter-
tains ;

He' s pensive, musing, company
absents,

^Vith frequent sighs his smoulder'd
fire forth vents.

XV

One of my father's kindred very near,

(In whom much trust my parents
did repose.)

True friendship did to Turian en-
dear.

Secrets were common, he by grieving
shows
Perceives his friend's distress,

demands the cause :
Turian tells all, compell'd by
Friendship's laws. 90

XVI

My kinsman told him who, and how
I was

To Sheretine by solemn oath con-
tracted.

No sooner Turian heard but cries
" Alas,"

(By loving frenzy well-nigh dis-
tracted :)
"Now see I" (said he) " that the

Fates pretend
To bring my wretched life to wo-
ful end."

XVII

My cousin was astonish'd that to hear,
Knowing how hard the enterprise

would be
To undo what was done, wills him

forbear,
Instantly urges it, letting him see 100
The stopping lets, which would

his love disturb.
Therefore whiles young, he wishes

it to curb.

XVIII

But he (whom no dissuasive argument
From that resolve had force for to

withdraw)
Unwilling hears, to go on still is

bent.

(661)

88 shows] Orig. 'shoes.'

Patrick Hannay

[Canto 1 1

Though likelihood of no good end he

saw :
"In things difficult" (saith he)

"worth is shown,
By light achievements courage is

not known."

XIX

His friend (whose oratory was in

vain)
Doth condescend to aid him to his

power : no

He vows to lose his life, or to obtain
Help for the ill that did his friend

devour :
Hence my mishap, hence had my

grief first breeding,
Hence my successive sorrows still

had feeding.

XX

No more I afterward in public go,
(Loath to bewray my beauty to his

eyes :)
I shun all that might trouble or

o'erthrow
The order I propos'd to eternize
My constant love, unto the Love

that hath
My Hand, my Heart, Affection,

and my Faith. 120

XXI

He cannot brook delay, spurs on
his friend

To know the issue, Danger'' s in
deferring :

Though it prove bad, yet best to
know the end.

Protraction is the worst of all love-
erring :
To know the worst of ill is some

relief
Faint hope afid feverish fear are
food for grief

XXII

The agent (that his cause had under-
taken)

Doth first address himself unto my
mother :

He thinks if that weak fortress were

shaken.
He with assurance may assail an-
other : 1.^0
With doubtful speeches he doth

try her mind.
Meaning to prosecute, as she 's
inclin'd.

XXIII

He him commends, with best praise

tongue affords,
(Yet in no commendation did belie

him)
He had Youth,beauty,virtue,wimiing-

words,
Behaviour from detracting hate to

free him :
So well he mov'd, my mother was

content,
Turian (if 't pleas'd him) should

her house frequent.

XXIV

He seeks no more, goes, tells his

friend, who 's glad.
So soon he looked not for free

access : 140

No more he can forbear ; he came,

did shade
His deep Desire^ his Passion did

suppress :
Acquainted, he comes more than

compliment
Requir'd, but cunning Love did

cause invent.

XXV

He in my father's good opinion
grows,

My mother 'gins him well for to
affect :

As time permits his friend his worth
out throws.

With poison'd words, he doth their
ears infect :
Himself to me imparteth still his

love,
And languisheth 'cause it did no-
thing move. 150

122-6 I keep the italics in such passages as this because, as noted above in regard to
Philomela, they seem to represent a sort of proverbial aside va.iheT than part of the text.

( 663 )

Canto II]

S here tine and Mariana

XXVI

In his pale cheek the lily loseth
white,

The red, the rosy livery off did
cast :

His favour lately that did so de-
light,

With ardour of his hot desire did
waste.
In inapparent fire he now con-
sumes,
His beauty fades, as forward frost-
nipp'd blooms.

XXVII

I grieve because I cannot help his
grieving,

His pain relenting pity in me bred :

I do accompt him worthy of reliev-
ing,

That he deserv'd to speed if none

had sped. 160

I blame my beauty 'cause it breeds

his woe :
I cherish it 'cause Sheretine
would so.

XXVIII

His friend (perceiving what such

signs portend)
Knows if he salve not suddenly his

sore,
Protraction with a perfect cure must

end
His woes in death : he doth provide

therefore.
My mother now he plainly doth

assail.
And by preferment thinks for to

prevail.

XXIX

Women by Nature are ambitious,

With Turiafi's titles tickles first her
ear : 170

She of her daughter's state solicit-
ous,

That honour is her aim, doth gladly
hear.
He tells to her his riches and his

land,
And then for wealth she more
than worth doth stand.

(663)

XXX

Ah, that base earth, and baser excre-
ment

(Placed by Nature underfoot,) should
move

The mind of greedy age with jnore
cotitent

Than Love, the life of things that's
from above I
Wealth for their Summum bonum

oft is taken,
Loving it most when it must be
forsaken. iSo

XXXI

My serpent-seduc'd mother, Eva-
like.

Tempts and entraps my pelf-affect-
ing sire :

Judge ye what pensive pangs my
soul did strike.

Seeing parents, friends, and furious
love conspire
To work my ruin, and their power

bend
To prostitute my Faith, and wrong
my friend.

XXXII

My Father with authority commands,

My Mother with enticing blandish-
ment

Allures, for Turian my kinsman
stands,

With kind persuasions, Turian doth

vent 190

With sobs and sighs his too

apparent love.
All join my faith and fancy to
remove.

XXXIII

Yet I resist : my Father 'gins to

rage:
" How now, you minion, must you

have your will ?
Becomes it you to cross us in our

age?
It is thy due our pleasure to fulfil :
Is this the way for to requite the

pain
Which for thy education we have

ta'en ?

Patrick Ha7tnay

[Canto II

XXXIV

Thou canst ne'er that repay, thou'lt

still be debtor,
Yet still we travail to have thee

preferr'd : 200

Wants Turian worth? deserves He

not thy better ?
Reform thyself, acknowledge thou

hast err'd.
The law divine (which you so

much pretend,)
Commands thee to thy parents' will

to bend.

XXXV

What though that Sheretine be

gentle, free?
Yet he hath left thee languishing

alone :
Turian is no less courteous than

he.
He flies not from thee, gives no cause
of moan :
Had Sheretine but half so dearly

lov'd,
He had not from thy sight so far
remov'd. 210

xxxvi
Nor are their fortunes equal : near

our friends.
Is Turian's state, fair lands and

signories :
Sheretifie's most on doubtful war

depends,
It is by others' ruins he must rise :
Who would such Worth with

Certainty forgo,
For Worth and Likelihood, with
fairest show ?

xxxvii
Then, foolish lass, leave off and con-
descend.
It is my will and I must have it so. "
My mother follows on, as he doth

end,
"Ah, daughter, I beseech thee by
that woe, 220

By the sore throbs I did for thee

endure,
Whilst (yet unborn) these sides
did thee immure ;

( ^'64 )

XXXVIII

By these lank breasts at which thou
oft hast hung.

And looked in mine eyes with child-
ish toys.

Oft fallen asleep whilst I have to
thee sung.

Do not now strive to stop our
coming joys :
Who now can be more tender,

wish thee better,
Than she, whom Love to such
kind work did set her ?

XXXIX

Shalt thou, the only pledge of ancient

Love,
The sweet-expected comfort of mine

age,^ _ 230

That hoped happiness fra me remove,
Which thy ne'er-disobeying did

presage ?
I know thou wilt not, dear

child ; then incline.
Scorn to be his that left for to be

thine."

XL

My kinsman urges, adds to what
they said,
j Turian extols, detracts my Sheretine,
Lessens his means, affirms he is

unstaid,
Hath wand'ring-thoughts : if his love
had not been
Quench'd — with my beauty if he

still had burn'd,
He had not gone, or sooner had
return'd. 240

XLI

Turian himself (with tears) doth tell
his woes.

He needeth not protest to move
belief.

Passion is soon perceiv'd, his out-
ward shows

Did well bewray great was his inward
grief,
He doth not feigned (for the

fashion) mourn.
As widows oft, and rich heirs at the
urn.

Canto II]

Shereti72e and Mariana

XLII

" Children obedience to their parents

owe,
I grant," (said I) "butinalawful thing;
This is not, you me freely did

bestow,
I did submit ; fra Sheretine to wring
Me now were wrong, in me a foul
offence : 251

To disobey here, is obedience.

XLIII

Parents give being, noble benefit,

If with 't content, if not, better un-
born :

Yet even the best doth oft-times
bring with it

A misery whereby the mind is torn.
For making children capable of

woe.
Must they free Choice, the best
of bests, forgo.

XLIV

Our Minds must like, none by

attorney loveth.
If Love decay, we cannot grieve by

friends : 260

From Marriage, Love Misery re-

moveth.
On Love all wedlock's happiness

depends.
''Tivixt those ne^er Itk'd, what hope

is love will last.
When ^twixt those dearliest lov'd

oft falls distaste ?

XLV

If Turianthan he is more noble were,
More virtuous, more rich, of higher

degree :
Sheretine more mean, more poor, less

worthy far.
Yet he hath that, that more con-

tenteth me.
It^s tiot in tis to love or to despise.
They love by Fate, whose souls do

sympathize. 270

XLVI

I grant his worth is worthy of
respect,

Tears for his grief, my cheeks have

often stain'd :
Yet with that love I cannot him

affect.
Wherewith a husband should be

entertain'd.
' Twixt those who wed, if wooing

love be cold,
The married friendship can no long

time hold.

XLVII

Yet do suppose I could affect him

dearly,
How might I with my plighted faith

dispense ?
Oh, how my conscience is touched

nearly.
Even with the thought of such a

foul offence. 280

Ho7v can that prosper, or have

happy end,
Which sin begins, and still must

God offend ?

XLVIII

For I cannot be lawfully his wife,
// 'j- not the act that ties the marriage

knot.
It is the Will; then must I all my

life
Be stained with Unchastitfs foul

blot.
O grant me then my choice be

either free,
Or an unstained Virgin let me

die. "

XLIX

All would not do, my father so
austere

Commands, and must not, will not,
be denay'd. 290

My mother and my kinsman will not
hear ;

Turian still urgeth, they must be
obey'd:
"O Heaven, bear witness, since

you force me do it,"
(Say I) " my heart doth not con-
sent unto it."

(665)

286 Unchasiitys] Orig. ' Inc/tasti/ie^ s.'

Patrick Hannay

[Canto II

Thus 'gainst my will I give myself

away,
They (glad they gained) every thing

do haste :
Fearing disturbance by the smallest

stay,
They think them not secure till it be

past.
I to my chamber go, on bed me

threw,
Which my moist eyes do suddenly

bedew. 300

LI

With these complaints I entertain

the time .*
"Ah, must I now my hoped joys

forgo ?
Must pleasure perish with me in the

prime ?
Must I be wedded to a lasting woe?
Must I my settled fancy now

remove,
And leave a lawful for an unjust

love ?

LH

Must I recall my promise freely

given>
And falsify my faith unto my friend ?
Is not my oath now register'd in

Heaven ?
Is not my Promise to its power

ken'd ? 310

Ah, ah, it is, and therefore they

decree
To tie my life to lasting misery.

LIII

Ah, Sheretine, if thou but now didst

know
In what a case thy Mariana is :
How she's surpds'd and taken by thy

foe,
Left comfortless, debarred of all

bliss :
Would not relenting pity make thy

heart
To melt with sorrow for thy sweet

love's smart ?

LIV

Free from their forcing to thee shall

remain,
Do what they can, my best, most

noble part, 320

Which they shall want power and

skill to gain,
Reserv'd for thee shall be my Love,

my Heart,
Farewell, dear love, and as much

joy possess,
As doth thy Marian unhappiness."

LV

The day is come, we solemnly are
wed.

That part displeasing I do over-
pass :

You easily may think my heart was
sad,

When forced thus against my will I
was.
Vain were their wishes, who did

bid us joy ;
Sad grief my nuptial pleasure did
destroy. 330

LVI

Castalde in Hungaria arriv'd ;
Agria in haste commands to fortify,
A town of great import, but yet

depriv'd
Of natural strength, or artful industry.
There was his Rendez-vous, his

men there met,
For Transilvaniaiox\}i\\i^ Z;'5^they
set.

LVII

They in battaillie march Tibiscus

past.
Till they arrive at small, weak

Debrezen,
While Castald with the Friar to

meet doth haste,
A Diet's held at Egneth by the

Qiieen. 34°

The Friar with craft hinders her

enterprise.
By fear or flattery makes the Lords

to rise.

337 battaillie] The form ' battaillie ' seems better kept.
(666)

Canto II] Sherettm and Mariana

As she might have her movables

of worth
From Albeiula safely brought her

forth.

LXII

The Friar at Egneth with Castalde

meets,
Albehda Dalmas being ta'en :
With joyful semblance one the

other greets,
Yet craft and jealousies in heart

retain. 370

Ferdinand's letters George chief

guider made,
Whereof th' ambitious Bishop 'i

very glad.

LXIII

To Sassebess they come to find the

Queen^
And there arise at third hour of the

night :
Within two days the Lords they do

convene,
They sit in counsel, Castald to their

sight
Shows his Commission, wills the

Queen restore
That Province as it was agreed

before.

LXIV

He many arg'ments to this end doth

urge.
It was concluded by her late Lord

John : 380

The Tiirk (the Christian's common

foe and scourge)
Could not be daunted with so weak

a one.
She held it but with trouble and

unrest.
At the Turk's pleasure might be

dispossest.

344 overthrown, vanisheth] Orig. ' overthrowne, vanisheth ' may be 'overthrown,
evanisheth,' and so save the metre.

346-8] The poet, who, from his little doggrel mottoes downwards, shows various
signs of acquaintance with Spenser, has taken an extreme Spenserian libertj' with
'shock' to get the rhyme, though Scotice it is fairly phonetic. ' Retrait ' is actually
Spenser's, though he usually spells it ' retrrt^*?.'

372 Hannay does not often rise high : but he seldom sinks as low as this.

(667)

LVIII

The Diet thus dissolv'd, the Queen^s

design
Is overthrown, vanisheth to smoke :
To Albeiula with her son, in fine.
She doth withdraw; there fearing

sieging shoake.
And weakness of the place, to

Sassebess
Makes her retrait, which more

strong sited was.

LIX

Albeiula George besiegeth strait.
To take it fairly, or to throw it

down, 350

Is bent ; it kept the Queen^s jewels

and plate,
The Gown, the Mantle, Sceptre,

Shoes and Crown.
The cannon vomiting forth fiery

balls,
In divers places shakes the

mould'ring walls.

LX

With braver courage than the Priest

expected.
The valiant besieged did defend :
To Castald letters George in haste

directed.
Post after post with diligence doth

send.
Wills him to speed, yet 'cause he

saw small haste,
T' accord with Isabel he thinks it

best. 360

LXI

Ten thousand Spaniards thither to

his aid
Were coming (and now nigh) Fame

did report :
Whereby the Queen was troubled,

sore afraid.
Accords with George to render in

such sort.

Patrick IIa72nay

[Canto II

LXV

Not only Hungary thereon depends,
But the whole good of all the

Christian state,
Her Power weak, she wanted help

of Friends,
Unable his encroaching force to bate :
A mighty Prince was meeter him

to curb,
If he the common peace durst to

disturb. 390

LXVI

To the old offers, he now addeth more.
Th' Infanta Joan to her young son

Stephen
With crowns a hundred thousand

to her dower,
By Ferdinand should faithfully be

given.
All like this well, all willingly it

hear,
And send to her this message by

the Friar.

LXVII

Whilst, unresolved, things thus doubt-
ful hung,

She with Castald hath private con-
ference :

Bitterly plaineth of the Prelate's
wrong,

Wherewith her patience can no

more dispense. 400

Constrain'd by need, she yields

to Ferdina?id,
George thereof knowing, seeks it
to withstand.

LXVIII

He thinks ifsettled peace were surely

plac'd,
And all the civil broils were fully

ceas't :
His plumes were pluckbd, he should

be disgrac'd,
Who now is most, should be regarded

least.

Often a gold-affecti^ig Prelate proud,
For private ends hitiders a public
good.

LXIX

The Queen unto Castalde him

accuseth,

(Inconstancy and cunning she did

doubt :) 410

To ratify th' agreement rather chuseth,

G7i'/'fl'/(!/e labours how to bring't about :

There is a Diet call'd at Colosvar,

The States from all sides to it do

repair.

LXX

The day come, and the regal orna-
ments

Produc'd, the Priest desires the
Crown in keeping :

With sobs and sighs her inward*
sorrow vents ;

Scorn and Disdain detain her eyes
from weeping :
" What, shall I to a base Friar give

the Crown,
Whereof I dispossessed myself and
son?" 420

LXXI

She said. Then in her hand the

Cronni she took,
In presence of Castalde and her Son,
And all the Lords, her eyes tears

cannot brook ;
In pearly torrents o'er her cheeks

they run.
The tears which from her SofCs

eyes did distil,
Show'd the surrender was against

his will.

LXXII

" Since froward Fortu7ie (that in

change delights,
Wherewith her fickleness infects the

world,
Hath us subverted loaded with

despights,

392 Joan] ' Jo-an,' as in ' Joanna.'

429 dcspightJTlie influence of Spenser, which is often strong in theearlierseventeenth
century, appears again in this context with the present 'eye-rhyme-spelling,' the
rhyme of ' entreat ' and ' estate ' below, and ' Mutability ' lower still. Each separately
would prove nothing: but they are all Spenserian,

( 668 )

Canto II]

Sheretine a7id Mariana

And all her mischiefs on our heads
have hurl'd :) 430

Makes me this woful resignation
make,

My Mates, thy father's Kingdoms
to forsake ;

LXXIII

Yet shall She not amidst all these

annoys
Let us but that in this we'll take

content,
Since we must leave them, that he

them enjoys
Who is a Christian ; Here I them

present
To thee, Castald, for Ferdinand,

tell we
Not by constraint, but yield them

to thee free.

LXXIV

Now we submit ourselves unto his

Grace,
With all our fortunes, humbly him

entreat 440

{Since sprung of princely blood and

royal race)
To take some pity of our poor estate :
Let not his bounty now deny

relief.
Nor breach of promise add unto

our grief.

LXXV

And thou (sweet y<?^«) my dear and
tender son,

Since now our fortune 's not sufficient

That to repair, that malice hath
o'erthrown

Without the aid of others : be con-
tent ;
Midst of such miseries, I thought

it best
With private loss to gain a public
rest. 450

LXXVI

Like to a Prince (though not like to

a King)
Yet thou mayst live with some good

certainty,
When Destiny's disgrace on Kings

do bring,
( 669 )

There they govern with Mutability :
Dear Child, of friends, of aid, of

hope forsaken.
For thy repose this course is

undertaken.

LXXVII

Yet 'mongst these troubles let us not

despair,
Nor doubt but thou art kept for

more command ;
Think it not strange, nor be dismay'd

with care.
Where thou didst first take breath

to leave that land, 460

Love Virtue, Virtue's dignity ^s so

great,
Fortune canfiot debar it long from

state.

LXXVII I

I grant there's cause of grief, to
give away

This Crown thy father's temples did
adorn,

And if false Fortune had not put
a stay,

Had now upon thy Kingly head
been worn :
But now with Patience we must be

content.
Each state doth change, no king-
dom 's permanent."

LXXIX

Thus spoke she with such penetra-
ting words,

(And therewith did deliver up the
Crown) 470

As they did pierce the hearts of all
the Lords,

But chiefly George, in tears his eyes
did drown.
Castalde with kind words strives

to appease
Her sorrow, and to 'swage her
swelling seas.

LXXX

Within few days she doth from

thence depart,
With painful travel and in habit poor.
Dissembling not the anguish of her

heart,

Patrick Hannay

[Canto II

She manifests it to her utmost power ;
Towards Cassovia she doth take

the way,
Where a steep hill enforceth her

to stay. 480

LXXXI

The roughness hinders her in coach

to ride,
She 's fain with labour on her foot to

Her tender child and ladies by her

side,
The only now-copartners of her woe,
Whilst they 're on foot, a sudden

storm doth rise,
Black pitchy clouds enveloping
the skies.

LXXXII

The wind and rain them boister-
ously did beat.
She blameth Fortune that is not

content

To be her opposite in matters great,

But even in trifles, thus her spite to

vent. 490

She attributes it to her Destiny,

That she is subject to such misery.

LXXXIII

Therefore a little for to ease her

mind.
Under a tree for shelter she took

seat:
Sic fata volunt carved in its rind,
Regina Isabella under-wrait.

Ah, wretched Queen, no wonder

thou wast sorry
To fall so low, from such a height

of glory.

LXXXIV

She to Cassovia comes, and bears it

out
With patience, till Fortune's fury 's

past : 500

With Time, her rolling wheel doth

come about,
And she is of her country repossest.
God grant her soon her state, and

kingdom lost,

Who with more courage bears it,
though more crost.

LXXXV

Castalde having what he would
obtain'd,

Lord John Alphonse Castald with
the Crown

He sends to Ferdinafid : my Lover
pain'd,

With ling'ring-stay for Vien's ready
boun.
Castald (though unwilling) con-
descends,
Loath for to part at once with two
such friends. 510

LXXXVI

In journeying every hour he thinketh

two.
The nearer, he doth think the

leagues the longer :
His love increases, and he knows

not how.
The nearer to Me, his Desire is

stronger.
Long-look'd-for Vien he beholds

at last,
Spurr'd by Desire, he to it hasteth

fast.

LXXXVII

Thinks with himself, "■ O what a joy-
ful greeting

Will't be when Marian sees her
Sheretine !

How shall we bear ourselves at
this wish'd meeting ?

Can the joy be express'd we shall be

in?" 520

Ah, Sheretine, how little didst thou

know.
How far from joy thou wast, how
near to woe.

LXXXVIII

No sooner he in Vien 's come, but

hears
The sad news of the thing he least

suspected :
He thinks them mandrake-sounds,

he stops his ears,

(670)

496 under-wrait] A little />/M5yMaw-Spenseriaift.

Canto II] Sheretim and Mariana

He trows each tongue with poison

is infected :
He none believes, he thinks that

each tongue Ues,
Longing to see me, to my home

he hies.

LXXXIX

He came, in Turiatis arms me

locked found,
He could not trust his eyes (though
still he gazed) : 530

No doubt his heart receiv'da deadly

wound,
Long ere he spoke, he was so much
amazed.
At last, " Is this the constancy "

(he said)
"Should be heard of?" that
spoke, no longer staid.
xc
My heart was no less cut with Care

than his
Because he staid not to hear my

excuse,
I know he deem'd I willing did amiss.
Which did more sorrow in my soul
infuse :
Taking no leave, he fair Vietma

leaves.
Accompanied with care-increasing
griefs. 540

xci
All woe-begone, he wanders here

and there.
Looks most for rest when furthest

from resort.
Submits himself solely to %dA Despair,
With cheering comfort he cannot
comport :
At last he came unto an obscure

shade.
Where mirthless Melancholy man-
sion had.

XCII

Low on the ground grew Hyssop,

Wormwood, Rue,
The mourning mounting trees were

Cypress green,

Whose twining tops so close together

grew,
They all seem'd as they but one
bough had been : 550

Covering a spacious tomb where

cursed Care
Herself had sepulchriz'd with
dire Despair.

XCIII

No wanton bird there warbled loving

lays,
There was no merry Merle, Gold-
Finch, or Thrush ;
No other hopping bird in higher

sprays.
No mourning Nightingale in lower
bush :
The carcass-craving Raven, Night-
Crow, Owl,
In this dark grove their hateful
notes did howl,
xciv

This sullen seat doth suit well with

his soul.
There throws himself down in the
bitter weeds; 562

His heart did thrust out sighs, his

tongue condole.
His wat'ring eyes with bitter moisture
feeds
These hapless herbs, there 'gins he

to lament,
With interrupting sighs his woes
to vent.

xcv

"Ah, cursed Time" (and there ^

sigh him staid) '

"That ere I saw " (that scarcely he

had spoken
When that a groan his fainting speech

allay'd.
With such abound as if his heart had

broken ;
When sighs and groans had got

some little vent.
He 'gins anew his sorrows to

lament.) 570

550 bough] Orig. ' Bow,' perhaps for 'bow^r.'

(671)

Patrick Haiinay

[Canto II

xcvi

"Ah, cursed Time^' (said he) "that

ere I saw
The light, and that my Nurse did

not o'erlie me ;
Ah, cursed Time, that first I breath

did draw,
Ah, cursed Time, that did not Time

deny me :
Ah, cursed Time ! Ah, cruel cursed

Time,
That let me pass the springtide of

my prime.

XCVII

Was it for this I was so sung and

dandled
Upon the knee, and watched when

I slept ?
Was it for this I tenderly was

handled ?
Was it for this I carefully was kept ?
Was it for this I was so neatly

nurst, 5S1

That I of all should be the most

accurst ?

XCVIII

Did Fortune smile in my young

tender years,
To make me better relish now my

pain?
Then pour'd I out no bitter briny tears,
That I should now have store my
cheeks to stain ?
Did Fortune and the Fates strive

to content me.
That they might now with sorrow
more torment me ?
xcix
Did cruel Love yield unto rrty Desif-e,
To know his pain by being dis-
possest ? 590

And did my Marian with Love

conspire.
Did all agree to rob me of my rest ?
Since it is Marianas will, welcome

Despair,
Farewell all Joy, welcome Woe,
Grief diXxd Care.

Welcome, since it's her will, now

wished Death,
Long may she live, and happy with

her choice :
I will wish that so long as I have breath,
Nay, even in death I will therein

rejoice.
Dear (though disloyal) Thou art

still to me.
So once (if thou not fain'dst) I

was to thee. 600

CI

If that one spark of thy old love

remain.
When thou shalt chance my timeless

death to hear ;

Let that so much favour for me obtain,

As offer at my hearse a sigh, and tear.

And if some chance be by when

them you spend.
And ask the cause, say You have
lost a friend. "

CII

Sorrow suffers no more, his tongue

there stays,
Heart-killing Care prepares to stop

his breath :
His strength and colour by degrees

decays,
Grief seems to grieve, and for his
help calls Death, 610

Who much displeased so to see

him languish,
Soon with his surest cure doth
help his anguish.
cm
No sooner heard I how my dear

Friend died,
(Soon it was known, for his friends

had sought him :)
And that his destiny was so descried.
That to his timeless death my deeds
had brought him :
But that my ill-divining hapless

heart
Was suddenly assail'd with unseen
smart.

614 A syllable seems missing : perhaps another ' soon ' after ' for.'
(67O

Canto II]

Sheretine and Mariana

CIV

Now Turiaii I will no more come

nigh,
His flattering blandishments I now
disdain : 620

He is despis'd, yet grieveth more to

see
The mistress of his soul thus seiz'd
with pain :
He with my sadness such a con-
sort bears,
Sighs as I sigh, doth weep when I
shed tears.

cv
Sad discontent so wholly me possest,
I seem'd not she that late I was be-
fore :
My woe that was by fits, is an unrest
Which with a still increase grows
ever more.
From mirthful company I now

absent,
And melancholy walks alone
frequent. 630

cvi
Thus many days only heart-killing

Grief
Me still accompanied and did attend
With black Despair, which told me

no relief
On earth could my least discontent-
ment end :
The days I spent in heavy plaints

and moanings,
In night I tire the answering
walls with groanings.
cvii
Yet never could I sit, or walk, or lie,
But still I thought I saw my

Sheretine,
With pale and meagre face standing

me by,
^Vith wrathful look upbraiding me of
sin, 640

Saying his soul could yet obtain

no rest
Amongst the souls in sweet
Elysium blest.

CVIII

Twixt Fear and Love my heavy heart

distract.
Knew neither what to follow, what to

flee ;
Love bids me for my Sheretine to act
A part that might me ease and set
him free ;
Persuades me and affirms I shall

remain
With my Love after in Elysian
Plain.

cix
Fear 'fore my face makes horrid

Death appear

In ugly shape seized with smarting

pain, 650

Making to tremble as hedrawethnear;

Yet I with scorn his terror do disdain :

Love doth prevail, I am resolv'd

to fly.
By death to keep my Lover
company.

cx
Thus mourning, on my bed myself

I threw.
Saying, "Sweet Sheretine, behold and

see,
For thy sweet sake I bid the world

adieu ;
And now, dear Love, I come to live
with Thee : "
Then out I drew this blood-

begored knife.
Therewith to cut the fatal thread
of life. 660

CXI

Thrice was my hand heav'd up to

give the stroke.
Thrice down again my fearful hand

did fall;
Still fear dissuades, and love doth

still provoke.
Courage her forces to my heart did call ;
Then gave this death's wound,

whilst my latest cry
Was, Sheretine, behold thy Marian

die.

{^75)

665 death's wound] Cf. 'deathsman,' &c.
X X

Patrick Hannay

[Canto II

CXII

My Mother (with my latest shriek

affrighted,
Come in and finding me in such a

guise)
"With sudden fright is lastingly

benighted ;
Fear-forced Death seals up her aged

eyes : 670

My Father rages, his gray hairs he

tore,
Turian (though still amazed),

grieved more.

CXIII

PuU'd out the blade, pans'd the

blood-weepirtg-wound,
Findeth it mortal, saw my soul de-
part ;
A frantic fury did him clean

confound,
He stroke himself on sudden to the
heart ;
Our blood doth mix in death, yet

mine would rtin
From his ; what life dislik'd e'en
death would shun.
cxiv
My Father now doth find (though all

too late,)
The misery forc'd marriage doth
ensue : 680

Unto the poor he gives his whole

estate,
The world (with his delights) he bids
adieu.
He as a pilgrim from Vienna goes ;
Where^ when, or how he died, yet
no man knows.

667 shriek] Orig. 'scrike.'

CXV

Then to these fields my sad Soul did

descend,
With my sweet S/ieretine, abode to

make :
But when I came, I found my

faithful friend
With Charon passing o'er this grisly
Lake:
For my Death had his wronged

Ghost appeas'd.
So that He might pass over as he
pleas'd. 690

cxvi
I followed fast, thinking with Him

to go.

That I might still enjoy his company :

But I was stay'd as I before did show

Until thy Muse should pity taken on

me :

And now by thy sweet Caelia's

name once more
I thee conjure, keep promise past
before.'

cxvii
Then back She brought me, and no

longer stay'd,
But with more cheerful looks did

thence depart,
With confidence she could not be

denay'd
What she desir'd, for her sake, hath
my heart : 700

For Caelia's sake my sole-adored

saint.
The world with Marianas woes I
thus acquaint.

Finis

673 pans'd] Another Gallicism.

(674)

A Happy Husband:

OR

DIRECTIONS FOR

A MAID TO CHVSE HER

MATE.

Together with

A WIVES BEH A V I O V R
after Mariage. i

The fecond Edition.
By Patrick Hannay Gent.

Proper.
Exeniplo jtin^cE tibijint in amove cohunbce,
Mq/adus <S^» totuin foimina conitigium.

LONDON,

Printed by lohn Haviland for Nathaniel Butter,

and are to be fold at his fliop at S. Anjiins

gate. 1622.

To the virtuous and noble lady, the Lady Margaret
Home, eldest daughter to the Right Honourable
Alexander Earl Home, Baron of Dunglas, &c.

Thinking with myself (Noble Lady)
what I might present some way to
express my love in remembrance of
those not to be requited favours, which
have wholly obliged me to your
House: It came into my mind, that
what is offered to Gods, or great ones,
ought rather to be apt, than equal :
and that it was held absurd in old
time to offer an Hecatomb to the
Muses, or an Ivy wreath to the God
of War. I thought no offering could
be more conformable to your virtues

than this Husband, which of due doth
challenge a maiden-Maecenas : and
none so fit as yourself, who even in
these years by your budding virtues,
do well bewray what fruit your riper
years will produce. Accept it then
(Madam) as an acknowledgement of
what is due by me to your deservings,
which have bound me to abide ever

yours

In all dutiful observance,

Patrick Hannay.

TO WOMEN IN GENERAL

In things of weight and moment, care
and circumspection are to be used,
with a truly grounded judgement
before resolution. Now in human
actions none is of more consequence
than marriage, where error can be but
once, and that never after remedied.
Therefore in it is great caution re-
quired before conclusion, the sequel
of staid deliberation, or unadvised
rashness, being a happy, or a wretched
life. And therein is another's counsel
most necessary (though through the
whole course of man's life it be safer
than the self-conceived) : for affection,

which in other affairs doth oft over-
rule reason (even in the wise) doth in
this ever hide the faults of the affected
under the blinding veil of love. This
hath caused me for the weal of your
Sex to produce this Husband to the
light, not gain, or glory ; knowing well
the vulgar and critic censurers in this
age do rather detract, than attribute :
but I care not much for their opinion :
who dislike, may freely abstain : if any
give better, I shall willingly assent ;
take it as it is meant, for your good, to
displease none, and to content all.

P. Hannay.

To Overbury's Widow, wife of this Husband

Leave, worthy Wife, to wear your

mourning weed,
Or bootless stain your cheeks for

him that 's dead ;
But rather joy, and thank this Author's

pen.

Hath so well match'd thee with this
matchless man :
For Overbur/s Ghost is glad to see
His widow such one's happy wife
to be.

R. S.

Overbur^^'s Widow] Allusions to Overbury's poem of A IVt/c, complicated or not with
others to his miserable fate, are abundant at the time.

( 677 )

Patrick Hannay

To his Friend the Author

Thy happy Husband shows thy high

ingine,
Whose muse such method in her

measures can,
The matter shows thy manners are

divine ;
Thy practis'd virtues shows thou art

this Man :
I half envy that highly blessed Maid,
Whose happy lot shall be to link with

thee,
And well-nigh wish that Nature had

me made

A woman ; so I such one's wife might

be:
Detraction is distraught thy lines to

see,
And swell'd with envy, can no words
bring forth, lo

Her baseness cannot parallel thy

worth.
Which still shall live unto eternity :
For after Ages reading of thy verse,
Shall deck with Laurel thy adored
herse.

P. S.

To his Friend Mr. Patrick Hannay

Friend, I am glad that you have
brought to life

A Husband fit for Overbiery's Wife ;

Whose chastity might else suspected
be,

Wanting too long a Husband's com-
pany :

But now being match'd so well by your

endeavour,
She'll live a chaste Penelope for ever,
And you brave Overbu?-y make to be
Your brother-in-law by act of
ingeny.

W. Jewell.

To the Author

W^HEN I behold the Author and his

book.
With wonder and delight on both

I look ;
Both are so like, and both deserve so

well,
Were I not friend, I in their praise

would dwell,
But since I should seem partial, I think

fit

To leave their praises to a better wit :
Yet Husband like to this I wish God

send
To those are chaste, and to me such a
friend.
Live each in other, be each other's

praise,
Time shall not end your glory with
your days. lo

Edward Leventhorpe.

The Argument

Marriage ordain'd ; the man made

head,
That kind may be, like like doth

breed :
God blest it ; youth it best befits :
The Author will not try his wits
To make one man of many parts,
Painters do so to show their Arts :
His birth and breeding first he shows,
Equal, and good ; the wants of those
W^hat ills they breed, yet self-gain'd

glore

He doth prefer both these before. lo
His shape must not deformed be,
Nature makes house and guest agree.
His stature neither low, nor tall.
The mean in each is best of all :
Not curious to be counted fair.
It 's womanish to take that care ;
Free from affecting gifts of others,
That self-weakness still discovers.
Such one found, then next is shown
What vice he s'd want, what virtue
own: 20

20 he s'd] ' s'd ' for ' should '
The absence of ' h ' Scotice.

(678)

is, I think, one of the rarest of these contractions.

Comme?tdatory Toems

Wealth must be set aside to try,
(It is a beam in judgement's eye.)
What ill doth haunt her weds for gold,
Is told : with the content of old.
When virtue and simplicity
Did choose : then he doth let her see
The Worthies that the World brought

forth,
Woo'd ne'er for wealth, but still for

worth.
With virtue this man should be nurst,
If't be deprav'd, he's worse than

first : 30

Drunkenness, gaming, he must want,
He shows what ills such unthrifts

haunt ;
He must not haunt another's sheets,
With grace, foul whoredom never

meets :

He must have spent well his time

past,
A wicked crime's bruit long doth

last :
His humours must with hers agree,
Or else true friendship cannot be ;
He must fear God, for on that fear
Wisdom doth her building rear, 40
It's that makes honest; Honesty
In show, not deed, is policy.
He must propose a certain end.
Whereto his actions all must bend ;
He must have unfeign'd piety.
And serve in truth the Deity :
The four chief virtues, in some mea-
sure,
Must hoard up in him their treasure.
Whereon the lesser do depend :
Age and behaviour do him end. 50

Another

To keep him good, his wife must be
Obedient, mild, her huswifery
Withindoors she must tend ; her charge
Is that at home ; his that at large :
She must be careful ; idle wives
Vice works on, and to some ill drives :
Not toying, fond, nor yet unkind.
Not of a weak dejected mind,
Nor yet insensible of loss,

Which doth with care her Husband
cross: 10

Not jealous, but deserving well,
Not gadding, news to know, or tell ;
Her conversation with the best,
In Husband's heart her thought must

rest :
Thus if she choose, thus use her mate.
He promiseth her happy state.

(679)

A HAPPY HUSBAND :

OR,

Directions for a Maid to choose her Mate

In Paradise God Marriage first

ordain'd,
That lawfully kind might be so

maintain'd ;
By it the Man is made the Woman's

head,
And kind immortalized in their

seed:
For like produces Hke, it so should

be,
God blest it with Increase and

7mcltiply.
Nature requires it, nothing is more

just.
Who were begot, beget of duty must.
It Youth becomes, Age is unapt to

breed,
Old stocks are barren, yoiithful pla7its

have seed. lo

Then, virtuous Virgin, since such

blessing springs
From wedlock (which earth's greatest

comfort brings )
Compell'd by love, which to thy

worth is due,
How to choose well thy mate, I will

thee shew ;
Whose sympathizing virtues may

combine
Your hearts in love, till death life's

thread untwine.
It 's not my mind the rarities to glean
Of blest perfections I have heard or

seen ;
And take the best, where bounty

doth abound.
And make a Husband, (nowhere

to be found :) 20

The painter so from boys, and girls

did take

Best of their beauties, Helen fair to

make ;
No, I will paint thy mate in such a

hew,
As Care may find : Discretion must

allow.
To choose aright, know from what

stock he 's grown ;
The birth suits best, is nearest to

thine own :
Dislike makes higher Birth deem

lower base,
Lower will never by thy Birth take

place :
In Man the fault is more to be

excus'd.
Who of low birth (for beauty) hath

one chus'd ; 30

His lightness therein ever love is

deem'd.
Yet as his place, his Wife shall be

esteem'd.
But when a Woman of a noble race
Doth match with Man of far inferior

place.
She cannot him ennoble, he is still
In place as .she first found him, good,

or ill :
His breeding will his birth still to

thee tell.
For as the Cask, the liquor still

doth smell.
A crab, though digg'd and dung'd,

cannot bring forth
A luscious fruit ; so hardly man of

worth 40

Doth from base stock proceed : still

like itself
Nature produces ; force of golden

pelf

23 hew] In the general sense of ' character,' ' quality.' The rhyme of ' alloo ' is of
course Scots.

( 680 )

A Happy Hiishand

To alter that 's not able, yet we know
Oft Men of worth have come of

Parents low :
For Parents' placeis not the Children's

merit,
Yet it adds grace, if they their worth

inherit ;
If not, it adds to shame : for from

high race
Virtue 's expected due to such a

place :
For undege?i€rate heroic minds
They should possess^ are come of noble

kinds : 50

What man's own worth acquires with

virtuous ends.
Is truly his, and not that which

descends.
Cicero brags (and justly) that his

line
He did in glorious virtue far out-
shine.
Which was his honour : They no

honour have,
\Vho (idle) add not to what they

receive ;
It is his own worth every Man doth

grace,
Less or more eminent, as is his place :
For Virtue (though aye clear) yet

clearest shines
When she doth dart her hghts from

noble lines. 60

A glorious flame blazing in valley

low,
Is soon barr'd sight, nor doth it far

way show,
Obscur'd with neighbour objects :

but on high
A little Beacon to both far and nigh
Shows like a bearded Comet in the

air,
Admir'd of some, of most accounted

rare.
Choose thou a Husband equal to thy

race.
Who's grac'd by virtue, and doth

virtue grace ;

Things different do never ivell agree.
True liking lodges in equality : 70
Better than birth his Parents' virtues

know,
Frotn poisoned springs no wholesome

waters flow.
As for his shape, I would it should

be free
From (Nature's note of spite) De-
formity :
Deformed shape is of so bad a nature,
That it 's dislik'd even in a noble

creature ;
Where comely shape with love at-
tracts the eyes,
By secret sympathy of all it sees.
England's third Richard, and the wife

of Shore,
The one deform'd, the other grac'd

with store 80

Of bounteous Nature's gifts, do show

th' effects
Of Love and Hate, to good and bad

aspects ;
She (when she bare-foot with a taper

Hght,
Did open penance in the people's

sight)
Went so demure, with such a lovely

face.
That beauty seem'd apparell'd in dis-
grace :
But most when shame summon'd the

blood too high
With native stains, her comely cheeks

to dye
In scarlet tincture. She did so

exceed,
That e'en disgrace in her delight did

breed ; 90

Firing beholders' hearts that came to

scorn her.
So Beauty cloth'd in baseness did

adorn her,
That e'en the good (who else the

vice did blame)
Thought she deserved pity more than

shame :

85, 86 A couplet not quite unworthy of Dryden, yet unborn.
( 681 )

Patrick Hannay

Condemning cunning Richard's cruel

mind
Who caus'd her shame, the multitude

to blind,
Lest it his greater mischief should

behold,
Which his ambition-plotters had in

mould :
So in them was the force of feature

seen,
Who, if less famous, had more happy

been. loo

Thus Nature makes each body with

the mind
Some way to keep decorum : for we

find
Mark'd bodies, manners cross accom-
pany,
Which in well-shap'd we seld, or

never see :
For she doth, builder-like, a mansion

frame
Fit for the guest should harbour in

the same.
No stature choose too low, for so in

time
Thy offspring may prove dwarfs ;

yet do not climb
To one too tall -.for buildings mounted

high,
Their upper rooms seldom well

furnisKd be : no

Herein observe the mean, it 's best

of all.
Let him not be observ'd for low nor

tall.
Fresh, lively colours, which fair

woman grace.
Modest, effeminate, alluring face.
Is not so much in Man to be

respected,
As other graces are to be affected :
The bloom of beauty is a fading

flower.
Which Age and Care consumeth

every hour ;

It blasted once, is ever after lost,
Like to a rose nipt with untimely
frost. 1 20

A manly face in Man is more com-
mended
Than a fair face from sun and wind

defended.
A Carpet Kfiight, who makes it his

chief care
To trick him neatly up, and doth

not spare
(Though sparing) precious time for

to devour,
(Consulting with his glass) a tedious

hour
Soon flees (spent so) whiles each

irregular hair
His barber rectifies, and to seem

rare.
His heat-lost locks to thicken closely

curls,

And curiously doth set his misplac'd

pearls. 130

Powders, perfumes, are then profusely

spent.
To rectify his native nasty scent :
This forenoon's task perform'd, his

way he takes,
And chamber-practis'd craving curt-
sies makes
To each he meets ; with cringes, and

screw'd faces,
(Which his too partial glass approv'd

for graces :)
Then dines, and after courts some

courtly dame.
Or idle busy 'bout misspending

game ;
Then sups, then sleeps, then rises for

to spend
Next day as that before, as t'were
the end 14°

For which he came : so womaniz'd,

turn'd Dame,
As place 'mongst Ovid's changelings
he might claim.

130 pearls] Orig. ' purles ' = 'pearls'? Or is it in the sense of 'purling'? Cf.
' purling billow ' in ' On the Queen ' inf., and ' purling Zephyr ' in the second Elegy.

138] Orig. ' busy-bout.' But the subst. ' bout ' would make no sense, and my
alteration seems pretty certain.

( 682 )

A Happy Husband

What ? Do not such discover their

weak mind
(Unapt for active virtue) is inclined
To superficial things, and can embrace
But outward Habits for internal

Grace ?
The niitid's gifts do the body's grace

adorn,
Where that's defective, to affectis scorn.
For Action 's hinder'd by too much

observing
Of decency : but where a well-de-
serving 150
And settled reputation is ; then there
Each thing becomes, and is ac-
counted, rare :
Where that's defective, striving to

affect
Another's worth, their weakness doth

detect.
Let thy Mate be what such do strive

to seem,
Thou must the substance, not the

shade esteem :
When thou hastfoundthiswell-form'd

cabinet,
Try what rich jewels are within it set :
Set wealth apart, thou shalt more

clearly see
His Virtues ( Riches dazzle fudgemenfs

Eye.) 160

Who weds for wealth, she only wealth

doth wed,
Not Man which got, and in posses-
sion had,
Love languishes : yet till one's death

she 's forc'd
To live with him ; though wealth fail,

yet divorced
They cannot be ; so is she all his hfe
His riches' Widow, though she be his

Wife.
That golden Age when sullen Saturn

reigned,
For Virtue's love, not gold's, the glory

gained ;

To be so styl'd, it was not then de-
manded
How rich in gold, or how that he

was landed : 170

When they did woo, simplicity had

wont
Be first, which now is last, in least

account ;
With Virtue leading Love, be Wed-
lock's aim,
And greatest wealth, apureunspotted

name :
They liv'd and lov'd, then joying

each in other.
Not fearing that their Mate should

love another,
Seduc'd by tempting Gold ; their

time they spent
Free from distrust, or open discon-
tent.
But the next Age, when as our

mother Earth
(Fertile before in voluntary birth)
Was sought into, and had her bowels

torn 181

For hidden wealth : then when the

keel was worn.
Ploughing the Ocean for his hidden

store.
The sweet Content did vanish was

before ;
The silly Maid (then ignorant of ill)
Having no Wealth might live a

Maiden still.
And die (except seduc'd) so ; the

poor swain
(Though virtuous) was straight held

in disdain.
But yet the Worthies that the world

brought forth
Since that blessed Age, postponed

wealth to worth. 190

Great Alexander did disdain the

offer
Declining Darius with his Child did

proffer,

192 Darius] Hannay is guilty either of ' Darius' or of bad metre. * Declining' is of
course to be taken with D., not A., and equals ' falling.' In the next line ' Maced's' is
textual and short for ' Macedon's,' but I do not know whether the genitive with 'full'
as a noun or the plural with 'full' as an adjective is the more likely.

(683)

Patrick Hannay

Nor Maced's full of Gold, nor Eu-
phrates' brim,
To bound his Empire, could inveigle

him :
But he for that rather contemn'd

his foe,
For thinking he could have been

conquer'd so.
True worth doth wealth as an addi-
tion take,
Defective virtue's wants of iveight to

make :
Virtue's best wealth wherewith he

should be nurst,
That smell stays long, a vessel seasons
first. 200

Yet build not there, for good natures

depraved.
Are still the worst, so thou may'st

be deceived.
See that he have so spent his fore-
past time,
That he be free from censure of a

crime.
Youth's apt to slip : but a notorious

deed
From Nature, not from Age, doth

still proceed ;
And though that Fortune herein oft

hath part.
Yet th' actions still are judged from

the heart.
Adrastus thinking to revenge the

harms
Of his dead Love, his naked weapon

warms 2 to

In his brother's bosom (too dear

blood to spill)
Instead of his that did his Lady

kill:
FleeingtoCroesus,hehimentertain'd,
Where his behaviour so much credit

gain'd.
As Lydia's hope, young Atis, Croesus'

heir.
He got in charge; whom, hunting,

unaware
His hapless hand unfortunately slew,
"Whiles at a boar his dismal dart he

threw :

(O84)

Yet was it thought intention, and

not chance,
Till being freely pardon'd the offence.
Lest more disast'rous chances should

fall out, 221

His own self-slaughter clear'd them

of that doubt :
Thus when opinion hath possessed

the mind,
It leaves a deep impression long

behind ;
A fid they must do much good, that

have done ill,
Ere they be trusted, wer't by fate or

will.
See Drunkenness (from which all

vices spring)
Do no way stain him ; for that still

doth bring
Contempt, disgrace, and shame : |

Circe made swine
Of wise Ulysses' fellows, drunk with

wine. 230

The Macedonian Monarch (lately

nam'd)
Is not for worth so prais'd, as for

that blam'd ;
He in his drink destroy'd his dear-
est friend.
That did 'fore him his Father's deeds

commend :
Nor could his after-tears wash off

that stain
Which doth to blot his actions still

remain :
For if one would his glorious actions

show,
How strong, chaste, valiant, mild to

captiv'd foe ;
With such brave deeds though he

the world hath fiU'd,
Yet this still stays. He drunk^ dear

Clytus kill'd. 240

No Gamester let him be : for such

a Alan
Shall still be loser, do the best he can ;
His mind and money it frets, and

destroys
And wastes the precious time he

here enjoys :

A Happy Husband

Some in less time unto some Art

attain^
Than others spend in play ; some's

pleasing vein
Will seem so mild, in this dear

double loss,
They outwardly not take it for a

cross :
But when all's gone (for they but

then give over)
Their smother'd anguish they at last

discover; 250

Whereof man's foe, the Fiend,

advantage takes,
Whiles on self-slaughter'd rooks, he

gathers wrakes.
Examples hereof we may daily see,
How some by halter, some by poison

die ;
And who go not so far yet their

last ends
Contemned need, and misery attends :
For this ill haunts them, who to play

are bent,
They seldom leave till their estate be

spent.
With other's sheets let him not be

acquainted,
(They are still stained, tvhom once that

sin hath tainted) 260

And never hope to have him true to

thee.
Who hath oft prey'd on chang'd

variety :
Be sure who hath had choice, will

ne'er digest
To feed on one dish, (though of sweet-
est taste)
And whoso strays, loves not, but

lusts ; in one
Doth Love delight, when that leaves.

Love is gone ;
For Grace and Lust ne'er harbour

in one Inn,

And where Z«^/ lodges, ever lodgeth

Sin :
Which Sin when it is to a habit

grown.
Not fear of God (but Man, lest it be

known) 270

Doth stay the execution : but be

sure
Though the act be hinder'd, yet the

heart 's impure,
Whose lusts will predomine in time

and place.
Not over-rul'd by God's preventing

Grace.
Besides, he will be still suspecting

thee.
Though thou beest pure as spotless

Chastity :
For vice is ever conversant iti ill,
And guilty as itself thinks others still.
Upon this Earth there is no greater

Hell,
Than with suspecting Jealousy to

dwell. 280

See that his humours (as near as

may be)
Do with each humour of thy mind

agree ;
Or else contention, and dissension

still.
Will bar your sweet content ; while

the one's will
The other's doth resist, Love cannot

be,
'Twixt fire and water, they will ne'er

agree.
True friendship must express 'twixt

man and wife.
The comfort, stay, defence, and port

of life.
Is perfect, when two souls are so

confus'd.
And plung'd together (which free-
will hath chus'd) 290

246 vein] Orig. ' vaine ' ; but this is a very usual spelling of v<?in,'and I do not think
' vflin ' makes sense.

252 rooks] 'pigeons' rather; but the birds often interchange parts. There is
a complicated play on words in this line. ' Wrake ' is properly in Scots = ' wrack ' =
'sea-weed,' with which sense 'rook' has to suggest 'rock.' But it may also mean
' anger,' ' revenge ' : cf. wrmk.'

( 685 )

Patrick Hannay

As they can never sever'd be again,
But still one compound must of both

remain :
From which confused mixture, ne're

proceeds
Words of good turns, requitals, helps

of needs ;
For it is ever after but one soul,
Which both their wills and actions

doth control ;
And cannot thank itself for its

own deeds,
(What is done to itself, no self-love

breeds :)
But this holds not where humours

disagree.
There 's no concorda7ice in disparity.
See he fear God, then will he fear

to sin ; 301

Where Vice doth leave, there Virtue

doth begin :
Sin is nipt in the bud, when we do

mind
That God 's all light, and can in

darkness find
What we can hide from Man ; the

reins and heart
He searches through, and knows

each hidden part.
And each thought long before ; we

cannot hide
Our faults from Him, nor from His

censure slide.
The Wiseman saith, it 's Wisdom's

first degree.
To have a true fear of the Deity ;
For that makes Honest : Honesty's

commended, 3"

Whether sincere, or for a cloak

pretended.
The vulgar Honesty, servant to

Laws,
Customs, Religions, Hope and Fear

it draws,
Be more or less according to the

times.

It stillis wavering, difference of climes
Makes it unequal, rather Policy
I may call such respect, than

Honesty :
Which still aspiring, quickly oft

mounts high,
And in short time unto that mark

comes nigh 320

At which it aims : but builded on

false grounds,
A sudden fall it unawares confounds.
But Honesty doth always go upright,
With settled pace ; not wavering for

the might
Of winds, times, nor occasions : it

goes slow.
But still attains the end, towards

which doth go.
Now such an Honest man I wish

thee find
As still is Honest, out of Honest

mind :
That 's Wisdom's first ground : next

is to propose
A certain form of life ; for ever

those 330

(Who divers in themselves) aim at

no end.
But as occasion offers, each way tend,
Never attain the mark. If Hawk

assay
To truss two Birds, she doth on

neither prey :
These grounds being laid, an un-

feign'd Piety
Must build thereon, and though

that divers be
Religions, Laws ; yet ours amongst

them all
Is truest, purest, most authentical.
Religion true, loves God, and quiets

us, 339

And rests in a soul free and generous :
Where superstition is a frantic error,
A weak mind's sickness, and the own

soul's terror :

293 ne're] Sic in orig. : but 'never,' which is the usual expansion of ' ne're,' does
not seem to suit. ' There ' is possible ; and no doubt there are other possibihties.

313-6 This passage is a mere jam of eUipses, &c. — expansible, but perhaps not
worth expanding.

( 686 )

A Happy Husband

Religious men do still fear God for

love,
The superstitious, lest they torments

prove.
Let thy Mate be a man, whose

settled faith
In true Religion sure foundation hath:
Yox 'twixt those bodies love doth

best reside,
Whose souls no self-opinions do

divide :
The four chief Virtues next in order

go,
From which the rest as from four

fountains flow ; 3So

Frudence the first place hath, to see

and choose,
Which is so needful, and of so great

use,
That with it weighty things do seem

but light,
AVithout it nothing can be done of

weight ;
By it things even 'gainst Nature are

achieved,
A wise mind gains what many hands

hath grieved.
Just he must be himself first to

command,
For sensual things at Reason^ s Law

must stand.
The .S/''^'*^^'-^ power keeps "C^o. Passio7is

still in awe.
And strictly bounds them with an

austere Law, 360

V^'iih Moderation it guides our desires
(We must not all condemn Nature

requires)
To love things neat and needful,

base things hate.
It's wantonness to live too delicate :
But it's mere madness to condemn

the things
Which needful use, and common

custom brings.
Next, to his Neighbour he that right

must do

Which he expects, (freely, not forc'd

thereto ;)
Whom Law constrains, they falsify

all trust.
It 's conscience, not constraint, that

makes men Just. 370

As just, so valiant would I have him

be,
Not out of rashness or stupidity.
It is a constant patient resolution
Of bashless Courage 'gainst the

revolution
Of times and fortunes : it regards

not pains.
Where Honour is the Hire, Glory

the gains :
It's sensible careful man's self to save,
Not daring offer wrong, more than

receive.
As Prudent, Just, and Valiant, so he

must
Be Temperate, this virtue hath foul

lust, 380

And pleasure for its object : it

commands,
Laps, and reforms our sensual

thoughts ; it stands
'Twixt a desire, and dullness of our

nature.
And is the spurrer on, or the abater
Of ill or good, shamefast in refusing
Things filthy, honest in things

comely choosing.
Though with perfection these no

one man fits,
-Yet let him be free from their

opposites :
He must be sober, not given to excess,
It cures, and keeps in health, mind

it doth dress ; 3Q0

Making it pure, and capable of good.

Mother, and good counsel is

the Brood :
Excess doth dull the spirits, and

breeds disease.
So after punish'd by what first did

please.

362 I have shifted the bracket from ' condemn ' to ' requires.'
385 One might suggest 'is' before ' shamefast,'

(687)

Patrick Haitnay

Learn'd let him be, his learning

general,
Profound in none, yet have some

skill in all ;
Who 's deeply learn'd,' his Book is

most his Wife,
Conversing still with it, so of his Life
His Wife not half enjoys, for most

is spent
In study, so what should yield most

content, 400

Society 's debarr'd ; I do wish then
Who are mere Scholars, may live

single men :
Learning besots the weak and feeble

mind ;
But polishes the strong, and well

inclin'd :
The one Vain-glory puffs with self-
conceit,
The other's brain is settled Judge-
ment's seat.
Then so learn'd let him be, as he

may choose
Flowers of best Books, whose sweet

scent he may use
To rectify his knowledge, and distil
From thence life-blessing precepts,

which so will 410

Temper his understanding, that the

frown
Of fickle Fortune never shall cast

down.
Not bold in speech, no man of many

words
Choose thou a Husband, leafy tree

affords
The smallest store of fruit : Both

words and deeds
Seldom or never from one fnan

proceeds.
Who guides his words, he in a word

is wise :
Yet let him not be sullenly precise,
But gentle, pleasing, not crabbed, or

tart.
The wise man's tongue is ever in his

heart ; 420

The fool's heart 's in his tongue : //

is great gain

( 688)

For to be silent, and one's self contain ;

And see with whomsoever he
converse,

(Lest he be thought ill-nurtur'd, or
perverse)

That he be kind, obsequious,
affable ;

To fit himself unto their humours,
able

To change condition with the time,
and place,

Is wisdom, and such levity doth grace :

So Aristippus each face, each
behaviour

Did still become, and was a gracing
favour. 430

Choose thou a Husband older by
some years

Then thou thyself art, Man age
better bears

Then Women : for bearing of child-
ren makes

Their strength decay, soon beauty
them forsakes :

Many crops make a field soon to be
bare.

Where that that bears not long con-
tinues fair.

Now, Lady, such a man I wish you
find,

As here I have describ'd, with whom
to bind

Yourself, is to be blest, leading
a life

Full of content, free from conten-
tious strife. 440

A Wife's behaviour.

But to find good, is not enough to

show.
But having found him, how to keep

him so ;
Then since I have advis'd you how

to choose him,
I will give some advice how you

should use him.
Obedience first thy will to his must

fit.
(He is the pilot that must govern it)

It man condemns of inability,

A Happy Husband

When women rule, that are born to

obey :
Nor is it honour to her, but a

shame
To be match'd with one only man

in name : 450

But if imperious he should more

desire
Than due respect doth of a Wife

require,
Think not harsh stubbornness will

e'er procure him
To be more mild (it rather will

obdure him) ;
The ivhip and lash the angry horse

enrages,
Mild voice and gentle stroke his ire

assuages :
From steel-struck flint we see the

lightning flies,
But struck 'gainst wool, the flashing

flame none spies ;
Nor is the clangour heard : the one's

soft nature
Is to the other's hardness an aba-

ture. 460

Win thou thy mate with mildness :

for each cross
Answer'd with anger, is to both

a loss :
Like as the sea which 'gainst a

churlish rock
Breaks braving billows with a bois-

t'rous stroke.
Seeking by raging force to throw

on sands
The stiff" resisting rock, which

unmov'd stands,
Repelling his bold billows with like

scorn,
As th' others' bravery had bounced

them beforne ;
Thus both still strive, and striving

are o'ercome,
The rock is worn, the billow 'scrush'd

in foam : 470

Whereas the sea calmly the sand

embraces,
And with smooth forehead lovingly

it graces :

( 689 ) Y

Being content that it should bound

his shore,
Yielding to mildness where force

fail'd before.
So let thy mildness win thy Husband

to it.
If that do not, then nothing else will

do it :
Beware you (willing) to no anger

move him.
If he perceive't, he cannot think you

love him :
If anger once begin twixt man and wife,
If soon not reconcil'd, it turns to

strife : 480

Which still will stir on every light

occasion.
What might have ceas'd in silence ;

then persuasion
Of friends will hardly end : for every

Jar
Is ominous presaging life-long war :
And where two join'd do jar, their

state decays.
They go ?iot forward, who draw

divers ways,
Being yoked together : your first care

must be,
That with your husband you in love

agree.
As far from fondness be, as from

neglect.
Mixing affection with a staid re-
spect : 490
If toying fondness were man's only

aim,
Not reason,but hislustshould choose

his dame ;
Where whores lascivious, that can

ways invent.
Should equalize thee, nay, give more

content :
No, these are not the joys he hopes

to find.
The body not so much he weds, as

mind.
Be never fond, nor without cause

unkind.
These are the fruits of an inconstant

mind :

Patrick Hannay

Thou must not if his fortunes do

dedine,
Be discontented, or seem to repine,
But bear a constant countenance,

not dismayed, 501

As if you were of misery afraid :
His fortunes you must good or bad

abide,
With chains of mutual love, together

tied.
The loss of that which blindfold

chance doth give,
Cannot a worthy generous mind

aggrieve :
For it will never take it for a cross.
Which cannot make one wicked by its

loss,
Nor by the gaining good. Both fool

and knave
Are often rich : if such afflictions

have, pio

They drive them to despair ; but

draw the wise,
With elevated thoughts, such things

despise.
Seneca saith, the gods did take

delight
To see grave Cato with his fate to

fight:
O ! what should we, whose hopes

do higher rise,
If heathens thus could worldly things

despise ?
Affliction oft doth mount the wiser

high,
Joseph and Job rose by adversity :
It's sign of a weak mind to be

dejected
For worldly loss (such never are

respected). 520

If thou wouldst not be irksome

to thy mate,
Be cheerful, not succumbing with

his fate :
Yet if that anguish doth afiiict his

mind,
You must not seem so from the

world refin'd
As to disdain what human cross

brings forth,

(690)

Pride to be singular, that is not

worth :
Nay, thou must be a mirror, to

reflect
Thy husband's mind : for as is his

aspect,
So should be thine. Pale Phoebe

yields no light.
When th' interpos'd earth bars her

Phoebus' sight : 5,30

But when no object intercepts his

streams.
She decks herself with light-rebat-
ing beams.
Even so as is thy husband's joy, or

pain.
So must thy joy and sorrow wax

or wane :
Be not too curious in his ways to

Suspicion still makes the suspected

try
Jealousy's fear : for why should she

suspect
That knows herself guilty of no

defect ?
If he perceive thee of thyself de-
spair,
He will think sweeter joys are other-
where, 540
Which thou dost want ; so thou

thyself shalt give
The first occasion to what may

thee grieve :
Thy own desert must him unto tliee

bind,
Desert d.oth ?nake a savage to be

kind :
It is an adamantine chain to

knit
Two souls so fast, nought can them

disunite ;
Where that most sweet communion

of the minds
Save each in other, no contentment

finds ;
And whatsoever the one touches

near.
Jealous, the other ne'er conceals

for fear. 550

A Happy Husband

Brutus his honour (dearer priz'd

than hfe)
Concredited to Portia his wife ;
What fear from dearest friends

caus'd him conceal,
Worth and desert made him to her

reveal.
Great Caesar's death, and who his

consorts were,
With their designs, he did impart

to her ;
Nor is their birth, or beauty of such

might,
To alienate their hearts, or give

delight :
AVho had more beauty than that

captiv'd Queen,
The fair Statira, when in grief was

seen 560

The pearly hail blasting her beauty-
fields,
Which seemliness even cloth'd in

. sorrow yields ?
Being grac'd with modesty, and

unstain'd faith,
More force still fairness with such

fellows hath :
Yet could not her fair beauty move

the thought
Of Alexander (though less fair have

brought
Oft captains to be captives), nor her

state
(She being married) did affection

bate :
For then her virgin daughter yet

unstain'd,
(Whose beauty all comparison dis-

dain'd, 570

Going her lovely mother so before,
As she did all the rest of Asia's

store)
Should quickly have entangled his

desire.
Whose heart all one, Roxane's love

did fire :

For if proportion, colour, wealth, or

birth.
Could have captiv'd the Monarch of

the Earth ;
These should have won : but he

did her prefer,
Whose only merits pleaded love for

her.
Deserve then not in show, but from

the heart,
Zove is perpetuated by desert. 580
As it befits not man for to embrace
Domestic charge, so it 's not woman's

place
For to be busied with affairs abroad :
For that weak sex it is too great

a load,
Atid it's unseemly^ and doth both

disgrace.
When either doth usurp the other's

place :
Leave his to him, and of thine own

take charge.
Care thou at home, and let him

care at large :
Thou hast enough thyself for to

employ
Within doors, 'bout thy house and

huswifery : 590

Remember that it 's said of Lucrece

chaste.
When some dames wantoniz'd,

others took rest,
She with her maidens first her task

would end,
E're she would sleep : she did not idle

spend
Swift-running Time, nor gave allur-
ing pleasure
The least advantage, to make any

seizure
On her rare virtues. A soul vacant still
Is soon seduced to do good or ill :
For like perpetual motion is the mind,
In action still, while to this flesh

confined ; 600

552 Concredited] This rare English derivation from the not unclassical concredo might
have been made common with advantage, for it expresses in one word what requires
a long periphrasis without it.

590 huswifery] I keep this as well as ' housewifery.'

( 691) Y y 2

Patrick Hamiay

(From which soul-prison it takes

often stains,
For absolutely good no man remains.)
Employ'd if not 'bout good, about

some ill,
Producing fruits which do discover

still
How it is labour'd like a fertile field,
Which fruit, or weeds abundantly

doth yield,
As it is manur'd ; be not idle then^
Nor give vice time to work upon

thy brain
Imagined ill : for what it there

conceives,
It oft brings out, and in dishonour

leaves : 6io

The purest things are easiest to be

stained,
And it's soon lost which carefully

was gained.
Penelope did wheel and distaff

handle.
And her day's work undid at night

by candle ;
Nor labour-forcing need compell'd

that task.
Which toiling days, and tedious

nights did ask :
(For she was Queen of Ithacke)

'twas her name.
Which virtuous care kept spotless,

free from blame ;
One of so many suitors of each sort.
As for her love did to her Court

resort, 620

Not speeding, would have spoke

that might her stain,
(The greatest hate, when love, turns

to disdain.)
If colour could have made their

knavery stronger.
But Envy could not find a way to

wrong her.
Be thou as these, careful of house-
wifery,
With Providence what 's needful still

supply ;
Look thy Maids be not idle, nor yet

spend

(692)

Things wastingly : for they so oft

offend.
When careless is the Mistress ; yet

with need
Ne'er pinch them, nor yet let them

e'er exceed : 630

The one doth force them seek thee

to betray.
The other makes them wanton, and

. too gay ;
It is no shame to look to every

thing,
The Mistress' eye doth ever profit

bring.
Salomon saith, the good Wife seeks

for flax
And ivool, wherewith her hands glad

travail takes :
She '5 like a ship that bringeth bread

fro7n far,
She rises ere appear the morning

Star ;
Victuals her household, gives her

maidens food.
Surveys, and buys a field, plants

vines, tvith good 640

Gained by her hands : what merchan-
dise is best
She can discern, nor doth she go to

rest
When Phoebus hides his head, and

bars his sight.
But by her lamp, her hands do take

delight I

To touch the wheel and spindle ; she ^

doth stretch
Her hand to help the poor and needy

7vretch :
Her words are wisdom, she dersees

her train
That idle none do eat their bread in

vain ;
Her children rise and bless her, siveet

delight
Her husband takes still in her happy

sight. 650

Be thou this careful goodwife, for to

lend
Thy lielping hand, thy husband's

means to mend.

A Happy Husha7td

Last, let thy conversation be with

such,
As foul-mouth'd maUce can with no

crime touch :
I cannot but condemn such as

delight
Still to be sad and sullen in the sight
Of their own husbands, as they were

in fear,
^ySure guilty ofsomecrime such women

are)
But when they gossip it with other

wives
Of their own cut, then they have

merry lives, 660

Spending, and plotting how they

may deceive
Their husbands, rule themselves,

and mastery have ;
O let such women (for they make-
bates be
'Twixt man and wife) never consort

with thee :
But shun them, as thou dost see one

that 's fair
Flee the small pox ; both like infec-
tious are.
The grave, staid, blameless, and

religious dames.
Whose carriage hath procur'd them

honest names.
Are fit companions ; let such be thy

mates,

670

vet

When wearied with affairs, thou

recreates
Thyself with harmless mirth :

do not walk
Often abroad, that will occasion talk ;
Though thou hast store of friends,

yet let none be
(Saving thy husband) counsellor to

thee :
He 's nearest to thee, and it will

endear him.
He is thyself, thou needest not to

fear him :
Be free with him, and tell him all

thy thought.
It's he must help, when thou hast

need of ought ;
And constantly believe he'll love

thee best.
When he sees thou preferr'st him

'fore the rest. 680

Thus, lady, have I show'd you how

to chuse
A worthy mate, and how you should

him use ;
So choose, so use, so shall you all

your life
Be in a Husband blest, he in a Wife ;
And when death here shall end your

happy days.
Your souls shall reign in heaven, on

earth your praise.

FINIS

654 touch] Orig. 'tutch.'

(693)

ELEGIES

ON THE

DEATH OF OUR LATE SOVEREIGN

QUEEN ANNE

WITH

EPITAPHS

To the most Noble Prince Charles

Disdain not, Sir, this offering which

I make.
Although the incense s}noke doth tower

so black J
Nor think my fires faint, 'cause they

darkly shine^
Tapers burn dim, are set before a

shrine.
Sotne better hap to have their first

fruit glad.
This Common woe masques mine in

mourning shade :
And's st?-ange, You {solely left for our

relief)
For salve, do prove a cor'sive to our

grief:
Weigh what is it to add to those

opprest.

Then by Your woe, otirs shall not be

increast : i o

/ grant, nor Son nor Subject good,

can sfnother
Grief for so great, and good, a Queen

and Mother.
Yet moderate this sorrow; as you're seen
To use in joy, so use in grief a mean.
Overmatch thy matchless self that all

fnay see
Her courage, worth and love, do live

in Thee :
Then may this pen, which with tears

draws my plaint.
In gold Thy glorious actions after

paint.
Your Highness' most humble servant,
Patrick Hannay.

The First Elegy ^

As doth a Mother, who before her

eyes,
Her age's hope, her only Son espies
Butcher'd,and bathing still in bloody

strands,
Ravish'd with sudden grief amazed

stands ;
Nor weeps, nor sighs, nor lets one

tear distil,
But (withfix'd eye) still gazeth on her

ill:
But when with time her smothered

grief forth vents,
She wastes her eyes in tears, her

breath in plaints :
So we astonish'd could not tell our

woe ;
Who do grieve most, least signs of

grief do show, lo

' This poem, in the original (as well as its companion) is a sort of debauch of
italics, which the poet or his printer has showered on every Hne, for the most part
with no discoverable excuse of emphasis or anything else. They have been most trouble-
some to alter : but unaltered they would have been still more troublesome to read.

( 697 )

Yet time to those, in time, a time

affords.
To weep and wail, and show their woe

in words.
Time grant us now in time, lest of

her praise
Our offspring hearing, and when

her swift days
Had run their course, they hear none

of our plaints.
Do either think some Poet's pen her

paints,
Or that they are of the same stones

all sprung,
Which backward Pyrrha and Deuca-
lion flung.
So that will seem no fable, but a story.
If we do leave no witness that we're

sorry.

20

Patrick Hannay

Each senseless thing shall us upbraid I Of soul, wants vigour ? this Queen

to them,
And as less sensible (than they)

condemn :
Since in each object offer'd to the

eye.
Signs of sad sorrow settled there we

see :
The Heavens (tho' grac'd with her)

for us are griev'd,
And weep in showers for that we

are bereav'd
Of her : in, and for whom the World

was blest,
In whom her kind's perfection did

consist.
Aquarius seems to have a solemn

feast,
And that each other sign 's his house-
hold guest. 30
Not one of them now influence down-
pours,
But what distils in liquid weeping

showers.
The Skies of Clouds now make

them mourning weeds,
And general darkness all the world

o'erspreads :
What? hath the Sun for a new

Phaeton
Abandoned the Heavens, and

beamy throne ?
Is the cause theirs ? or doth it touch

us nigh ?
(Since with their sorrow we so

sympathy :)
No, it 's because our Cynthia left

this sphere.
The world wears black, because she

moves not here : 40

Her influence that made it freshly

flourish.
Leaves it to fade, and will no more

it nourish.
Leaves it ? hath left. How can it

then subsist ?
Can that be said to be, which,

dispossest

38] Note 'sympathy' as a verb,
the second person. Cf. A Happy Husband, I. 670,

(698)

was the soul,
Whose faculties world's frailties did

control ;
Corrected the ill humours, and

maintain'd
In it a wholesome concord, while

she reign'd :
But now (she gone) the world seems

out of frame,
Subord'nate passions now as Princes

claim 50

Seignory o'er the soul, which do

torment
The whole with anguish ; make the

heart to faint,
Whose sad infection generally 's so

spread,
Grief's character on every brow is

read.
Our eyes so drop (wer't not God

frees those fears)
The world might dread a new deluge

of tears.
Dread ? (thus distress'd) we rather

should desire
With the world's dissolution to

expire
Our latest woes, 'twere better have

no being,
Than live in \\T)e, so as we are still

dying. 60

Leave foolish passion, dares thou

thus repine
'Gainst what's enacted by the powers

divine ?
Humbly submit, yet passion were a

word.
Useless, a nothing's name, speech

should afford
No place for it, if it should not now

show
It's being by our grieving in this

woe :
Yet the woe's short, which on each

soul hath seiz'd.
It and the cause can ne'er be

equaliz'd :
61 darts] Hannay often uses this form for

The First Elegy

I will not blaze her birth, descent or

State,
Her princely progeny, her royal

mate : 70

They are known best, and greatest,

yet these are
But accidental honours : but this

star
With proper beams was so resplen-
dent here.
Others (though bright) yet when she

did appear,
Did lose their lustre : she honour'd

her place,
Her place not her : she Queen, was

Queen's sole grace.
'Twas she the Antique Poets so

admir'd,
^Vhen with prophetic fury they

inspir'd.
Did feign the heavenly powers they

did see,
(As in a dream) that such a one

should be : 80

And for each several grace, she

should contain.
One Deity they did for that ordain^
Not one for all, for that too much

had been.
To feign her like, whose like was

never seen.
Nor is their number equal to her

merits.
For she afar off was show'd to those

spirits ;
Now had they liv'd her virtues to

have seen,
The Goddesses sure numberless had

been,
But's well they did not, for then she

should be
(Though guiltless) yet cause of

Idolatry, 90

P'or they who honoured her shade

before,
Seeing her substance needs must it

adore.
The Moralists did all of her divine.
When they made every virtue

feminine ;

(699)

And but they knew that such a one

should be.
Doubtless with them virtue should

have been He.
Peruse all stories are compil'd by

Man,
Or Poets' fictions since the world

began,
You shall not find (true or imaginary)
Like worth in one, whose all in

nought doth vary. 100

Nay, take the abjects in these books

revil'd
For basest parts, so vicious and

defil'd,
As they seem Nature's monsters,

made in scorn.
As foils, her other fair works to

adorn,
( Cofitrar's opposed do others best set

forth)
They serve not all, to parallel her

worth.
They are deceiv'd, who say the world

decays.
And still grows worse and worse, as

old with days :
For then this Age could never that

have shown
Which was long since to Salomon

unknown, no

A woman : but had he lived in our

times.
He might have found one so devoid

of crimes,
That her own merits (if merits could

save)
Might justly (as of due) salvation

crave.
I rather think the world's first

infancy
Growing more perfect with antiquity,
(As younglings do) travail'd till now

at height.
Big of perfection brought this birth

to light :
This second to that Maiden-Mother-
Daughter,
She only was before, this only

after: 120

Patrick Hannay

For on this Grace and Nature spent

such store,
As after her we need expect none

more.
And those who read her praise

when we are gone,
Would think we but describ'd a

worthy one,
Not that there was one such, but

that she here
Left part of her, which and its seed

shall bear
Successive witness to all doubtful

ages.
Of her rare virtues^ which in those

dear pledges
Still live : they'll say our praise came

short, we dull,
With speech defective, could not to

the full 130

Set forth her worth; which she at death

did give :
Others may goods, not goodness' off-
spring, leave.
But she bequeath'd her goodness,

for her merit
Obtain'd her issue should that

wealth inherit.
Which we possess in them, while

they do prease
(As usurers) that stock still to

increase :
Onlyambitioustoaugment that store,
Robbing the world, which either is

but poor.
Or seems so, set by them, beggars

may boast,
But they alone have all that wealth

ingrossed : 140

And though that God the world's

gold hath refined.
And took the tried, He left this vein

behind,
Pitying the dross the lustre should

obscure,
Of her bright soul, while flesh did it

immure.

Yet did He not with it of all bereave

us.
But with her offspring, happiness

did leave us.
For her preferment, why then should

we toss
Our souls with torment ? or grieve

that our loss
Hath Heaven enrich'd? or 'cause

we held her dear,
Wish we her punished, to be living

here? 150

We rather should rejoice she thus

did leave us,
And nought but Heaven alone of

her could reave us.
O ! since that Cedar fell so right at

last,
Which way it standing lean'd, may

well be guessed.
And since the End doth crown the

actions still.
How lived she, who dying, died so

well !
For asked, if she did willing hence

depart.
Said (rapt with heavenly joy) With

All My Heart.
Though flesh be frail, yet hers so

void of fear
(For Death did not in his own shape

appear) 160

Did entertain so kindly its own foe,
(Who came to Court, but un'wares

killed her so)
As she esteem'd it only one hard

thrust
At that strait gate by which to life we

must :
Faiih, Hope, and Love possess'd her

heart and mind.
Leaving no place for fearful thoughts

to find :
Troops of white Angels did her bed

impale,
To tend the soul's flight from the

fleshly jail,

135 ' prease '=' press.'

167 impale] Orig. 'impailc,' in the sense apparently of 'surround like a paling.'

168 jail] Orig. -gaile.'

( 700 )

The First Elegy

It to conduct unto that heavenly

throne,
'\^^lich Christ prepared, with glore

to crown her on. 170

O ! how my flesh-clogg'd soul would

scale the sky,
And leave that dear companion here

to lie.
To see her entertain'd, with glory

crown'd,
While troops of Angels her arrival

sound
To that new kingdom : they all God

do praise
For her translation, and their voices

raise.
In sign of joy, but yet that joy

comes short
Of what they make for most to them

resort.
For, for the greater sinner, Christ

hath said.
That doth repent, the greater joy is

made : iSo

Yet that's made up in glore, for she

so far
Doth those exceed, as one another

star:
What may we think unto her soul is

shown.
When from her baser part such

virtues flown
As a sad reverent fear their senses

pierce,
Who sighing see her sorrow-suited

hearse :
What would they do, if their veil'd

soul could spy
Her sitting crown'd above the starry

sky ?
Sure they would do (nay in their

hearts they do)
Even at the thought thereof with

reverence bow. 190

But leave to speak, nay, not so much

as think.
Least of those joys which ne'er in

heart could sink.
Let's not envy her, but inveigh 'gainst

our Fate,

( 701)

That we behind her are staid here

so late :
And let 's not mourn for her, that

she 's gone hence,
But for ourselves, that we are kept

from thence
Whither she 's gone : yet let no tear

o'erflow,
{Sorrow soon ceaseth thaV s disburd' ned

so)
Let them strain inward, if they'll

needs distil.
And with their drops thy heart's sad

centre fill, 200

And when it's full, it can no more

contain.
Let the cask break, and drown thee

in that main.

On the Queen

The World 's a Sea of errors, all must

pass,
Where shelves and sands the purling

billo7ii bli7ids :
Men's bodies are frail barks of brittle

glass.
Which still are toss'd with adverse

tides and winds,
Reason 's the Pilot that the course

directs,
Which jnakes the vessel {as it 's hight)

hold out.
Passio7is are partners, a still-Jarring

rout :
Succumbifig thoughts are life-invading

leaks.
How built her body ! such a voyage

made ;
How great her reason I which so

rightly stvay'd ; 10

How pliafit passions f which so well

obeyed ;
How dauntless thoughts, vain doubts

durst ne'er itivade.
Her body, reason, passions, thoughts

did 'gree.
To fnake her life the Art to sail

this Sea.

Patrick Hannay

The Second Elegy

Each Country now contributes to the

Thames,
Which a support of every current

claims :
Why dost thou so, sweet Thames ?

Is not thy sorrow
Sufficient for thyself, but thou must

borrow ?
Or wants thy waters worth for such

a charge,
As to conduct Great Anne's last

body'd barge ?
Or is it 'cause so just and kind thou

art,
Thou'lt not encroach that, wherein

each hath part ?
Sure that 's the cause ; the loss is

general.
And that last Office must be help'd

by all. lo

Yet wonder not they come not now

so sweet,
As they do use, when they to solace

meet :
They're not themselves, they are com-
pounded things.
For every one his latest off'ring

brings.
And sends it by these brooks, unto

Her Shrine,
Whose waters with their tears are

turned brine :
Each subject's cheek such falling

drops distain,
As if to dew, sighs had dissolv'd

the brain :
Which from their eyes still in abun-
dance pour,
Like a moist hail, or liquid pearly

shower : 20

Which in such haste, each one an-
other chases.
Making swift torrents in late torrid

places.
Disgorging in these brooks, making

them rise,

(70a )

So's sovereign Thames almost fear

a surprise :
Fear not (fair Queen) it is not their

ambition.
But swelling sorrow, that breeds thy

suspicion :
Its sorrow feeds those currents and

those rills.
Which thy vast channel with an

ocean fills.
Which eye-bred humour so hath

chang'd thy nature,
Thy fishes think they live not in thy

water : 30

It or their taste is alter'd, for they

think
For thy sweet streams they briny

liquor drink :
How wearied is thy Sister, famous

Forth,
Bringing sad Scotland's sorrows

from the North ;
Who comes not out of duty, as the

rest
Who unto Thames their careful

course addrest ;
She comes, her equal will not yield

in tears.
In subject's sorrows nor in country's

cares.
Great Neptune's self doth fear

invasive wrong,
Seeing her strange waves through his

waters throng ; 40

And causeth Triton to found an

alarm
To warn the Sea-Gods in all haste to

arm ;
Who bringing billows in brave battle-

'ray.
Do mean FortKs fury with their force

to stay :
But when they see her thus all wrapt

in woe.
And the sad cause of her just sorrow

know ;
They lay not their defensive arms

aside,
But as a guard, her through their

gulfs do guide ;

The Second Elegy

Striving with all the pleasures of the

Main,
This grieving s,irdingtx- Queen to enter-
tain, 50
Out through their bowers of clear

transparent waves,
Crystalline-wainscot pearl the bottom

paves :
Her they conduct, and to abate her

woe,
Their Sea-delights and riches all they

show,
Which Neptiaie (now in love) would

gladly give her
For love, yet dares not offer lest he

grieve her ;
Who loves and zvould not have his

love unkind,
Must woo a pleasant humour, vacant

mind :
This makes him stay his suit, and

strive to please
With all the love-allurements of the

Seas. 60

Yet all do not so much as move one

smile.
An anxious sorrow sooti discover' th

guile ;
Yet he will guide and guard her

grieving streams.
Whom at her entry in the wished

Thames
He leaves, and vows in discontent

to mourn ;
Till fairest Forth back to the Sea

return.
Her sister her receives with kind

embrace.
Their liquid arms clasping, they in-
terlace
In love so straight, they cannot be

untwined,
They seem both one, in body and in
mind. 70

O happy union ! labour'd long in vain,
Reserv'd by God to James his joy-
ful reign,
And Acme's ; O blessed couple, so
esteem'd

By all fore-knowing Jove, that He
them deem'd

Worthy each other, and to wear that
Gem,

Blest Britain's now united-Diadem.

He esteem'd none worthy to wear't
before them.

But kept it still in store, for to decore
them.

How did He suffer those two King-
doms try

All open power and private policy, 80

Yet still increased discord, other's
force

Made separation greater, sued di-
vorce.

How did one tear the other, spare no
toil.

To bathfe] in blood the neighbour's
fertile soil ;

Wrath, discord, malice, envy, rapine,
strife,

Thefts, rapes, and murderous mis-
chiefs were so rife,

None liv'd secure, while each King
did protect

The other's fugitives, (for his respect)

Thus looking for no rest, or end of
hate.

But with the ruin of the adverse
State. 90

God, He effects it (that to Him alone

We might ascribe the honour ; and
being one.

We might love better : ' Twixt u?iited
foes.

And separated friends, love and hate

groivs

To greatest heights :) And for this end
doth raise,

(Using the means) the honour of his
days.

GreatjAMES, the joy-presaging North-
ern Star,

Whose radiant light illuminates so far,

As it doth warm with its all-quick'ning
beams

The frozen love betwixt the Tay and
Thames ; 100

59, 60] A couplet nearly as early as Waller's earliest of the same style.
( 703)

Patrick Hannay

With wonder and delight, drawing

all hearts
And eyes, to love and see his Princely

parts.
And (what is strange) who hated

most before,
With admiration, most his worth

adore.
Wishing they were his subjects : He

is King
Already of their hearts ; the poison'd

sting
Of rancour is remov'd, for love they

call him,
And with their Kingdom's ornaments

instal him.
Great confidence his virtuous life

must bring.
Whom, such old foes, Iqve forces

make their King. no

Where was e'er heard, of emulating

foes,
(Rooted in hate with others, over-
throws
Such and so long) that did their

wrath appease.
And yield (won but by love) to right,

as these ?
Yet do they not repent, they find

report
Sometime is wrong'd, and may in-
deed come short
In commendations ; yet it 's rare (as

here)
For she 's a woman, and (by kind)

will bear
More than she should : but his last

subjects find
Themselves with Saba^s Queen of

self-same mind, 120

That fame (though saying by belief)

had wrong'd
Two Kings, not telling half to each

that long'd.
For Engla7id heard not, nor could

it have thought,
That Scotlatid's king such wonders

could have wrought.
Long may he live, and die well, full

of years,

{ ?C4)

And when his death shall draw us

dry with tears,
On Britain's throne may his seed

ever reign,
Till Christ do come (to judge the

world) again.
Who would have thought from the

Scot-hated Dane,
Whom vanquish'd England so much

did disdain, 130

(Oppress'd with base subjection) they

did turn,
(Being freed) Lord-dane to liirdane

for a scorn ;
Whowouldhave thought (I say)from

Dane should spring
One, who from Scots and English

eyes should wring
Such hearty tears ; must not her

worth be much,
Since we do find itslove-eff"ects prove

such,
How great that worth (in such, such

love could breed)?
O let it live for ever in her seed :
And let that love in our hearts never die,
But ever live to her Posterity : 140
And those sweet streams her mate

and she combined
In love, O let their arms be ne'er

untwined
From kind embraces, and though

now their greetings
Be not so joyful as at other meetings ;
Yet is their love all one, they take

one part.
The one joys not, the other sad at

heart :
They surfeit now in sorrow, then in

pleasure ;
Joy then exceeds, grief now is above

measure.
To honour Charles (our hope) when

they met last.
How did they rob each meadow as

they past, 150

Of sweets, each bank a posy did be-
stow.
Of fairest flowers, that on his brim

did grow :

The Seco7id Elegy

These and such like, they brought

from every part,
And gratulations from each subject's

heart :
They swell'd with pride, rising in

lofty waves.
And all the neighbour bord'ring

banks outbraves :
Their fishes frolick'd, showing joy by

gesture,
The waters (wantonizing) woo'd their

Master ;
So fast their billows 'bout his blest

barge throng'd,
They hurt themselves oft, oft their

fellows wrong'd : 160

Each would be first, on others' backs

some ride.
Some under others' slipp'ry shoulders

slide.
Though beat with oars, yet will they

not turn back,
For they their humble prostrate

homage make :
The Sun then gilt each glistring glassy

coat
Those marine masquers wore,danc'd

'bout his boat.
Who by the music measur'd not

their paces ;
Deafd with a confus'd cry from

divers places,
Of maidens, matrons, aged men and

boys,
Which from each quarter made a

confus'd noise 170

Of hearty Aves, welcoming their

Prince,
Echo (with answering tir'd) was mute

still since.
The City with the suburbs did

appear
Like a large Theatre when he came

near :
Each window, wall, each turret-top

and steeple,
Was fill'd with every age, sex, sort

of people :

So as some thought (who erst had

never seen
Such numbers) that the buildings

all had been
Of Imag'ry contriv'd, by cunning

Art:
For on the ground, the brewer in

his cart, 180

The sculler, carman, and the baser

sort,
Seem'd strong and rudely carv'd

clowns, to support
The stately frame : maids, prentices

and grooms.
Made shop-door, window-stale, and

lower rooms :
The battlements, house-coverings

and the leads.
As tiles or slates, young boys and

girls o'erspreads.
The middle rooms all round about

the Thames,
Which ladies held, and choicer city

dames,
Such took for spaces, which fair

statues held,
Where carver and the painter both

excell'd ; 190

So pure complexions these seem'd

made by Art,
As Nature never did the like im-
part
To lovely youth; the large, low,

open breast.
Full, white, round, swelling, azure-

vein'd, increast
The error, for they thought none

living would
Lay out such parts, for all eyes to

behold :
So curious were the colours which

were shown.
As Nature hardly could from Art

be known :
So that they could adjudge them due

to neither.
But participles, taking part of
either ; 200

184 stale] in the sense of 'sill.' It occurs dialectically as 'stool,' &c., and is of
course a form of ' stall.'

(705 )

z z

Patrick Hannay

Yet all by voice and gesture seemed

glad,
Wonder it was to see a thing look sad.
Now it 's not so, the offrings are but

tears,
The sighs and groans of Britain's

blest-reft sheres
Are now the acclamations ; these

two streams,
Compounded waters of mix'd sorrow

seems ;
Yet walk they hand in hand with

equal pace,
T'wards that late pleasant, but now

pensive place
Where sorrow suited in a sable

weed,
Doth with a mourning veil each heart

o'erspread, 210

And Phoebus for to make the world

and mind
To wear one livery all his beams

confined,
Dimming each eye in darkness of

the night,
Either asham'd to mourn in open

sight,
Or loath to alter with his brighter

streams.
Our late obscured Cynthia's lesser

gleams ;
For her fled soul which doth with

glory shine.
Left with its lodging something that's

divine,
Which with reflection smileth on

these rays,
Which her bright soul now from the

skies displays. 220

And these light orbs which with such

swiftness roll
About the Heavens, acquainted with

her soul

To light her corpse do set in every

porch
Of the damantine Heaven, a starry

torch.
Which dark'ned with the weeping

Earth's moist vapours,
Are her last lamps and never-dying

tapers.
Thames trembles, Forth6.oth. feverize

for fear.
Both roar to see their sovereign thus

appear :
Their billows break their hearts

against the shore.
Their fishes faint (yet cannot tell

wherefore), 2 30

But when they float upon the water

crop.
And see the tears from eyes and

oars which drop.
They think them all too few, and add

their own
And swim in proper waters (erst

unknown) ;
The water-Nymphs now round about

her boat,
Cloth'd in sad sable mourning habits

float.
The Hamadryads, and the Silvans all
To bear a part in this complaint they

callj
Who since her death had practis'd in

their tears,
Streams deep enough ; none now

the water fears. 240

They brought with them sweet camo-
mile and rue.
Mint, spikenard, marjoram, her way

they strew,
With flowers of choicest colour and

of scent.
Which from the slender weeping

stalk was rent.

204 ' blest-reft '='bh55-reft' ? Of 'shere' for 'shore' I do not know any other in-
stance ; but it is etymologicaily defensible, and the form ' shear ' is actually used in senses
very close. Of course it may be for 'shire,' not ' shore.'

224 'damantine' for 'adamantine,' if H. wrote it, is a particularly agreeable instance
of the almost insane terror of hiatus or trisyllabic foot — for it happens to reverse the
meaning.

231 ' crop ' for ' top ' is quite conceivable.

(706)

The Second Elegy

Her Exequies these Nymphs together

sing,
Till with this consort, Heaven and

Earth doth ring :
Heaven's envyifig our waters, walks,

and woods,
Hath 'reft our joy, and plac'd her

'mongst the Gods.
No more our wand'ring waves shall

wantonize,
No more shall swelling billows brave

the skies, 250

No more shall purling Zephyr curl

our head,
No more we'll foamy powders there-
on spread,
No more shall now Medndrian walks

delight us.
No more Despair with Death shall

now affright us,
Since Heaven envying our late happy

floods.
Hath 'reft our joy, and plac'd her

'mongst the Gods.
We'll take no sport now to pursue

the fawn,
We'll no more tread light measures

on the lawn,
We'll deck our heads no more with

Flora's flowers,
We'll woo no more our woody para-
mours, a 60

We'll bear no part hereafter with

the birds.
We'll weep for woe, and teach them

wail in words ;
Since Heaven envying our late happy

woods.
Hath 'reft our joy, and plac'd her

'mongst the Gods.
We'll hide our heads within our

shores and shelves,
We'll dwell in darkest cypress groves

with elves.
No more we'll solace in great

Neptune's halls.
No more we'll dance at Sylvan's

festivals.
Because she 's gone, whose glory grac'd

our floods.
Because she 's gone, who honoured

walks and woods. 2 70

Thus sung they her along, but

come to shore,
Where she must leave them, they

ne'er see her more ;
They sink to bottom, either in a

swoon.
Or else themselves (now loathing life)

to drown ;
The Forth and Thames losing their

so lov'd sight,
Vow, yearly to renew their woes,

that night.

An Epitaph

Power to do ill, and practise only

good.
Humblest in heart, highest in place and

blood.
Fairest, and freest from loose desires

in thought.
Pleasures to tempt, yet not disdai?i'd

in aught :

With anxious care, tn courage ne'er

dejected ;
Though cause of joy with no vain
joy affected,
Knoiv Reader, whensoe'er these

lines you scan.
Such {and none such but she) was
our Queen Anne.

247, 248] The italics here and later are kept because they seem to indicate not merely
the poet's usual asides, but a sort of stanza-burden to the unitalicized couplet-blocks
behind them.

( 707)

Z Z 2

Patrick Hannay

An Epitaph

A Wife, a Daughter, Sister to a
King,

Mother to those, whose hopes do
higher spring,

Chaste, fair,wise,ki?id ; first, Crown-
United tvore,

We knew her such, and held her for

no 7nore.
That she was inore, God's daughter

and Heaven^ s heir.
We know, since parted hence He

crotvn'd her there.

(708)

SONGS AND SONNETS

To the Right Honourable Sir Andrew Gray, Knight,
Colonel of a foot regiment, and General of the
Artillery to the high and mighty Prince Frederick,
King of Bohemia

If of these labours I did none direct,
Brave sir, to you for offering or for

shield,
Since you so fatherly did me affect,
When first you did conduct me to the
field :
I justly might be taxM as ingrate.
Deservedly your love might turn to
hate.

Let shriller Musket, Cannon, Culvering,

(Part of thy charge) with the sky-
tearing balls,

Which treble, base, mean, tenor rudely
sing

To bloody Mars, forcing the dancmg
walls, lo

Give place a space, while I do enter-
tain
Your ears with Music of a milder
strain.

Stern Mars himself hath ofttimes

danc'd a measure,
(Arms laid aside) his Minions most dear
Have woo'd the Muses, and have

taken pleasure
To tune their own, and others* notes

to hear :
Thou art a proof hereof thyself most

plain,
Who in their Art hast had so sweet

a vein.

To none more aptly can I then direct
These lines than thee, who both hast

skill to prove, 20

And worth (more than their errors) to

protect,
To none I'm so indebted for such love.
Accept them as they're sent with

love sincere,
With kind construction read them

whilst you're here.

I knowthy haughty spirit muchdisdains
Thisloath'ddetention,forIhavebeenby
When thy hot courage well-nigh crack'd

the reins
Of strict command, (when the fierce

foe drew nigh)

37 * earn '

(7^0

That to thy valour freedom was not

given.
Those Popish hirelings might by

thee be shriven. 30

Nor was it wage or want that spurr'd
thee on.

No hope of spoil nor thirsting after
blood :

But worth-bred love of that rare Para-
gon,

Thy dear King's daughter, whose cause
doubtful stood.
Had doubted Mansfelt led, you had

your will,
Pylsen prevented had this hap'nedill.

Yet shrinks He not, nor thou, you

both earn more,
(That cross your courage rather doth

inflame)
With sharp revenge the lost state to

restore
To that most worthy, best deserving

Dame, 40

Whom even her enemies so much

do honour.
As women's rarest praises they

throw on her.

There are nineWorthies hitherto of men,
But of all women, I not read of any :
I know not then, whether she makes

them ten.
Or of her sex first number unto many :
In spirit, courage, valour, to those nine
She 's equal ; Women none yet so
divine.

Go in Her cause, success crown thy

desires,
Soon may I change this softly tuned
song, 50

Inflam'd with new and unacquainted

fires.
To sing the Enemies' revengM wrong :
Oh how I long in high heroic verse,
Their ruin and Her risingto rehearse.
Ever yours most affectionate in
all humble duty,
Patrick Hannay.

= 'yearn.'

Patrick Hannay

Song- I

Sad Sheretine was seiz'd,

And wounded so with woe,
Fra he fair Mariana's faith

Was falsified did know.
Fra time he knew that her

Another did possess,
Whom in his heart he had propos'd

His height of happiness :
His tongue was sorrow-tied,

His passion inward pent, lo
His woes no passage could procure,

Forth from his heart to vent.
He scarce believes it so,

Although himself it sees :
To free her of so foul a fault.

He blames his blameless eyes :
But when he found her false.

Her vows and oaths untrue.
As after he could joy in nought.

He bids the world adieu. 20
His woes to aggravate,

He causes doth invent.
Though cause of care he had enough.

How he might more lament,
A woful banishment

He willing undertakes :
And comfort-causing company

He utterly forsakes.
In a care-clothed shade,

From eye and ear removed, 30
He thus with woe begins to wail

The loss of his beloved.
' Ah, Mariana, ah !

Is thus my love repaid ?
Do my fires still so freshly burn :

And are thy flames decayed !
How constant have I proved !

Though many baits there were
Where I have been, yet none had force

My fancy to ensnare. 40

Nor since thy favour first

Kindled my quenchless fire.
Did I see beauty that could breed

A dram of dear desire ;
Or if 'mongst fairest fairs

I thought one did excel :
My love was jealous of that thought,

And straight did it repel :
Wherein then did I fail ?

My heart doth hold it strange,
That seeing I have lov'd so well, 51

I should find such a change.
No doubt the gods were griev'd,

That I did thee adore ;
'Cause therein I idolatriz'd.

Have plagued me therefore.
Yet should not that in thee.

Least alteration mov'd :
It rather should thy love endear

To be so dearly lov'd : 60

Hadst thou with proud disdain

My favour first refus'd,
I might have blam'd my hapless fate.

But not thy crime accus'd.
My love with time had died :

Or if it still had liv'd,
My care this comfort yet had had.

That I for worth had griev'd.
But thou by granting love.

Didst bring me to such height
Of hoped joys, to such a low 71

Hast cast me with despight,
That the sad souvenance

Of such a love so lost.
Is now my greatest cause of grief,

And doth molest me most.
For if I ne'er had gain'd,

My grief had not been such,
The once- rich poor man grieijeih more

Thafi he that ?ie'er was rich. 80
Whom Nature with her gifts

'Bove others did indue ;

3 'Fra' = 'from' as usual: but, as shown by 1. 5, in sense of 'from the time
when.' It may be worth observing that in the Songs and Sonnets the pitiless rain
of italics ceases. These are quite rare and generally justifiable. In the First Song the
keeping of the old ' Poulter's Measure' (Alexandrine and Fourteener,divided or not into
a quatrain of 6, 6, 8, 6), which had given so much dreary work in the middle of the
sixteenth century, may be worth noticing.

73 souvenance] Again a Gallicism.

79, 80 The, &c.] A somewhat vulgarized variant of Nessun tnaggior, but to be noted
with others.

So7tgs and Sonnets

O ! that adds woe unto my woe,

That she should prove untrue.
If whilst on bloody Mars

I boldly did attend,
By some brave hand had I exhal'd,

Before thy crime was kend,
Then had my wronged Ghost

(Not conscious of this) 90

With joy expected thy approach,

To thy Elysiafi bliss.
Or if it there had griev'd,

The sole cause of its moan
Had been lest that thou shouldst
■ have griev'd

To hear that I was gone.
But now methinks I hear

Thy Turian with scorn
Upbraid thy crime as my disgrace ;

Fond Sheretin^s forlorn. 100
Methinks thou seconds him,

Not sensible thereof ;
And thy true loving Sheretitie

Rememberest with a scoff.
Another being wrong'd

By such a deep disdain,
Enrag'd might count it greater good

To lose such than obtain.
But that the world may see, 1C9

My first fires were not feign'd,
They shall not therefore be extinct,

'Cause I am thus disdain'd.
No, Turiati whom I most

Do hate and least respect,
'Cause thou dost love and honour
him,

I'll honour and affect.
By that (still dear !) thou'lt know

By leaving me what's lost,
If love disdain'd can do so much.

What had it ne'er been crost ?
But now since it's thy will

That I do suffer woe,
I do endeavour for thy sake

The greatest grief to know.
Bear witness with me, woods,
Weeds watered with tears,

121

How I do live devoid of joy,

But you there's none me hears :
Nor e'er shall more content

Seize on my heavy heart, 130
Witness with me while from this clay

My sad soul do depart.
And Mariana fair,

My first and latest love,
My last words shall be that the
heavens

May bless thee from above :
That thou may'st still enjoy

The best of sweet content ;
And let my death (since love could
not)

Move thee this fault repent. 140
That when from hence thou fleet'st,

Thy unafiflicted spirit
May with of like fault guiltless souls

A joyful peace inherit.'
That said he and no more,

But on the bitter weeds
His flesh-forsaken feeble limbs

He languishingly spreads.
His weary soul removes, 149

Death seiz'd him by degrees ;
So true Love's Martyr (not so wrong'd

As he deem'd) thus he dies.

Sonnet I

Eve, beauty, admiration, love, desire.
Did join in one to set my heart on

fire.
My eye did see that beauty did sur-
pass,
That boundless beauty made me

much admire :
With admiration love conceived was.
And love brought forth andnourish'd
my desire ;
Which now is grown unto so great

perfection.
It sees, admires, conceives, feeds
sans direction.

Sonnet I] That this is not strictly a sonnet at all is an almost unnecessary observa-
tion. It is less so that the printing illustrates the wholly unprincipled character of
this typography. Italics, or at least initial capitals, would have been quite in place
here : and there is not one in the original.

(713)

Patrick Hajtnay

Sonnet II

Experienc'd nature in this latter age,
Willing her masterpiece should then

be wrought,
Such my fair Coelia set on earth's

large stage.
As all the Gods in emulation

brought ;
For they did think, if Nature only

might
Brag of her worth, she should insult

o'er them.
Wherefore they 'preed to have an

equal right.
That they of her perfection part

might claim.
Pallas gave Wisdiom, Jtino stateliness,
And the mild Morning gave her

modesty : ip

The Graces carriage, Venus loveli-
ness.
And chaste Diana choicest chastity :
Thus heaven and earth their

powers did combine
To make her perfect ; kind Love !

make her mine.

Sonnet III

Whilst wand'ring thoughts unsettled

in desire.
Did rove at random in the fields of

love.
Where fancy found fair objects fit

to fire
Frozen affection, choice did choice

remove :
Cupid contemn'd taking it much at

heart,
For spite his dame's loose darling

made delight me ;
She, leaving Venus, taking Juno's

part,
With new chaste thoughts and fires

'gins to requite me.
Proud C)'/'//^r<'a angry with her wench.
Seeks in my heart a hate of her to

breed, lo

(7m)

So blaz'd her faults, which soon my

fires did quench.
But Malice still lights on the oivner's
head :
For this the ill that all her envy

wrought ;
It made her chaste, me author of
that thought.

Sonnet IV

Once early as the ruddy bashful

Morn
Did leave Dan Phoebus' purple-
streaming bed.
And did with scarlet streams East-

heav'n adorn,
I to my fairest Ctiij/Za'^ chamber sped :
She Goddess-like stood combing of

her hair.
Which like a sable veil did clothe

her round.
Her ivory comb was white, her hand

more fair !
She straight and tall, her tresses

trail'd to ground ;
Amaz'd I stood, thinking my dear

had been
Turn'd Goddess, every sense to sight

was gone. lo

With bashful blush my bliss fled, I

once seen.
Left me transformed (as it were) in

stone.
Yet did I wish so ever t' have re-

main'd.
Had she but stay'd, and I my

sight retain'd.

Sonnet V

While I do hope my thoughts do

high aspire.
In deep Despair these hopes are

quickly drown'd ;
Sometimes I burn with an Etnean

fire :
Sometimes I freeze : I swim, straight

sink to ground.

Songs a?id Sonnets

0 since such changes in my love
I find,

Death change my Hfe; or Love my
Coelia's mind.

Sonnet VI
Alluding to Hope

Hope makes the Sea be plough'd in
furrows white,

That in the end sweet gain may
thence arise ;

Hope makes the toiUng tradesman
take dehght

To labour ear' and late with watch-
ful eyes.

Hope makes the shepherd in the
^\'inter care

To tend his flock, and lodge them
from the cold.

Hope makes the Soldier fight, sense-
less of Fear

'Mongst hot alarms, both watch and
ward to hold.

The seaman's hope rich merchandise
repays ;

The tradesman's hope is answer'd
with his hire, lo

Young lambs and wool, the shep-
herd's charge defrays^.

The soldier's wage is that he doth
require.

1 do for Hope more than all these
sustain.

Yet Hope with no reward repays
my pain.

Sono^ II

Amantium irae amoris redintegratio
est.
I
Coelia jealous (lest I did

In my heart affect another)
Me her company forbid,

JVof/ien cannot passion smother.

VI. 4 ear'] This abbreviation must be very rare : yet it is etymologically defensible
without the apostrophe.

VIII. 4. This line in the original is another interesting example of the elision- and
apostrophe-mania of the time. It is printed 'Th'one th'other,' thereby quite falsifying
the metre.

(715)

II

The dearer love the more disdain,
When truth is with distrust re-
quited ;

I vow'd (in anger) to abstain,

She found her fault and me invited.

HI

I came with intent to chide her
('Cause she had true love abus'd),

Resolv'd never to abide her, u

Yet her fault she so excus'd,

IV

As it did me more entangle.

Telling, True love must have fears ;

They ne'er lov'd that ne'er did
wrangle,
Lovers' jars but love endears.

Sonnet VII

When as I wake I dream oft of my

dear,
And oft am serious with her in my

sleep ;
I am oft absent when I am most near,
And near whenas I greatest distance

keep :
These wonders love doth work,

but yet I find
That love wants power to make

my Mistress kind.

Sonnet VIII

I lov'd, was lovbd, and joy'd in con-
tent.

Our souls did surfeit on the sweets
of love ;

While equal heat our hearts affec-
tions lent,

The one the other to content did
prove.

Thus 'bove the pitch of other hap-
less wights,

Whose sweets are sunk still in a sea
of sours,

Patrick Hannay

Our hearts swam in the depth of

dear delights,
Pleasures seem pains, not equalizing

ours.

But love 's not love, wherein are no

disasters.
Time tried my trust was by my love

betray'd, lo

And she (for state) had got for me

some tasters,
Which lovers like not, so our love

decay'd.

Though she lov'd others; hereof

I may boast,
I lov'd, was loved chastely first and

most.

Sonnet IX
Lover, Mistress

L. Hence loose alluring looks, no

more of Love,
No more thy seeming virtues shall

deceive me.
M. Come, come my dearest, speak

not thus to prove
How well I love ; thou think'st it

doth not grieve me.

Thy beauty was a bait to draw
mine eye.

And with thy blink my heart was
set on fire.
L. I thought to find a suiting soul

in thee.
M. Thy love 's the limit that bounds
my desire.

L. Thy looseness makes my love's

date now expire.
M. Where then thy vows ? Z. Gone

with thy seeming worth. lo

M. And made to me ? L. No, virtue

brought them forth.
Which failing now no fuel feeds my

fire.

M. My heart 's the harbour where

thy hopes must stay.
Z. Where ground 's not good, an

anchor drags away.

Song

III

I CAN love, and love entirely,

And can prove a constant friend :
But I must be lov'd as dearly,
And as truly to the end :

For her love no sooner slaketh,
But my fancy farewell taketh.

Z

M.

II

I cannot endure delaying,

I must have her quickly won :
Be she nice (though not denaying)
By her leave I then have done :
For I am not yet at leisure, ii
To dwine for a doubtful pleasure.

Ill
My eyes shall not still be wailing.

Where I'm answered with neglect ;
My hurt is not at her hailing.
Who my pain doth not respect :
He 's a fool that seeks relieving,
From her glories in his grieving.

IV

With beauty I will not be blinded,

Yet I will none foul affect : 20
With wealth I will not be winded,
If in behaviour be defect ;

Beafity stained such love dieth,
Wealth decayed such love flieth.

V

Gifts do good, yet he is silly

That therein expendeth store,
If he win not, tell me, will he

Not be meetly mock'd therefore ?
It is better to be keeping
Than to sow not sure of reaping.

VI

As I would not words be waring 31
Where there 's no assurance had ;

VIII. 10 Time tried] Orig. 'try'd.' The construction is ambiguous: 'time-tried
with ' trust ' would be, perhaps, most poetical ; but I think ' Time tried my trust [and it]
was ' more Hannayish.

Song III. 31 waring] = 'spending,' Scotice.

(716)

Songs and Sonnets

So I would not gifts be sparing,
Where I woo and know shall wed.
Giving so is no decreasing,
I have hers in her possessing.

VII

Be she rich, and fair, and gained ;

If I fickleness do find,
My desires are quickly waned,
I can steer with other wind. 40
For Virtue, I have vow'd to

chuse her,
When that fails I will refuse her.

Song

IV

Now do the Birds in their warbling
words
Welcome the year ;
While sugared notes they chirrup
thro' their throats,
To win a fere :
Sweetly they breathe the wanton love

That Nature in them warms :
And each to gain a mate doth prove,
With sweet enchanting charms.
II
He sweetly sings, and stays the
nimble wings
Of her in th' air, to

She hovering stays, to hear his loving
lays
Which woo her there :
She becomes willing, hears him woo,

Gives ear unto his song :
And doth as Nature taught her do,
Yields, sued unto not long.
Ill
But Coelia stays, she feeds me with
delay.
Hears not my moan :
She knows the smart in time will kill
my heart
To live alone : 2c

Learn of the birds to choose theea fere,

But not like them to range :
They have their mate but for a year,
But sweet, let 's never change.

IV

The Turtle-dove let's imitate in love.

That still loves one :
Dear, do not stay, youth quickly flies
away.

Then desire 's gone.
Love is kindest, and hath most length.

The kisses are most sweet, 30
When it 's enjoy'd in heat of strength,

Where like affections meet.

Sonnet X

As doXh. Solsequhwt, lover of the light.

When Sol is absent lock her golden
leaves.

And sealed mourns, till it regain his
sight.

Whose flaming rays soon counter-
vail its griefs —

Far more thy absence me of rest

bereaves.
The hopbd-morn the Marigold doth

cherish :
But when my Sun this blest horizon

leaves,
Hopeless of light my joys in darkness

perish.

Stay then, my Sun ! make this thy

Zodiac
And move, but make my arms to be

the sphere : 10

Make me thy West, with me thy

lodging take.
Move to my breast, and make thy

setting there.

So shall I be more glad of thy
decline.

Than Fhoebus-^owQx when he be-
gins to shine.

Song V

I
Servant, farewell ; is this my hire,
Do my deserts no more require ?

' There is some music in this.

(717)

Patrick Hannay

No, do not think to cheat me so,
I will have more yet ere yoti go.

II
Thy lov'd Idea I'll arrest,
And it imprison in my breast :
In sad conceit it there shall lie,
My jealous love shall keep the key.

Ill
The drops my wounded heart shall
bleed, 9

Shall be food whereon it shall feed :
The tears are shed when I do think
On thee, shall be its only drink.

IV

My restless thoughts shall range

about,
My cares shall care it come not out :
And when these fail their watch to

keep,
I'll chain it fast in leaden sleep.

V

Nor think it ever shall part thence,
Or that I will with it dispense :
Thy love alone can me avail,
Thyself alone I'll take for bail. 20

Sonnet XI

Sweet is the Rose and fair, yet who

the same
Would pluck, may wound his finger

with the briar.
So sweet, so fair is my beloved

Dame :
Her darting eye wounds those that

come her near.

They both are fair, both sweet,
they both make smart ;

The rose the finger; Coelia the
heart.

Sonnet XII

My love is such as I can ne'er obtain,
Nor can I think which way to ease

my pain :
If I conceal 't, there 's no hope of

relief,

( 718)

If I bewray 't, scorn will increase my

grief;
Grief hid brings soonest death, there

help remains,
Reveal'd life lingers, languishing in

pains :
Since my love 's hopeless, arid with-
out relief,
I scorn her scorn should add unto

my grief.
Therefore my thoughts I'll bury as

they rise.
And smother in my soul my infant

cries : 10

So hasten death : then if she chance

to hear
I died for love of her I held too

dear.
And say 'twas pity with her heavenly

breath,
That shall requite me well even after

death.

Sonnet XIII

When I do love, let me a mistress
find.

Whose hard repulse doth me small
hope procure.

Not yielding yielding-no : the con-
stant mind

Is long in gaining, but obtain'd is
sure:
The diamond is cut with care and

pains,
But being cut, it still one form
retains.

That which is lightly got is valued
least,

' The memory of care sweetens con-
tent ' :

Most feelingly we do those pleasures
taste.

That are procur'd with pain, made
known by want : 10

It's better never any comfort taste.
Than relish sorrows by the plea-
sures past.

Songs aiid Sonnets

Song VI 1

A MAID me lov'd, her love I not

respected,
She mourn'd, she sigh'd, nay sued,

yet I neglected :
Too late, too late, alas, I now repent,
For Cupid with her love hath me

infected.

II
As erst He hers, so love my heart

now burneth.
As I at her, she laughs at me that

mourneth :
Too late, too late, alas, I now repent.
Since her disdained love to hatred

turneth.

Hi
On her alone doth health and hope

rely.
Yet still she scorns and doth me love

deny : lo

Too late, too late, alas, I now repent,
Since she joys in my death, I for her

die.

Sonnet XIV

The loving Lizard takes so much

delight
To look upon the face of living man.
As it seems for to feed even by the

sight.
And lives by looks which it enjoyeth

than.

But when that pleasing object leaves

the place,
(As wanting that which only did it

cherish)
It fainting dies, deprival of that face
The only cause is why it so doth

perish.

Even so my Coelid's love hath lately
proved,

It joy'd, it liv'd to me, while I was
eyed lo

It vigorous was, but I from sight
removed,

It fainted, soon grew weak, and
quickly died.

My Coelia's loVe thus prov'd a

lizard right,
I seen, it lived ; it died I out of

sight.

A Paradox

I LOVE my Love the better she doth
change,

(Which some may chance hold a
position strange)

Women's extreme, if '^ love were still
at height.

Like ever-shining sun 't could not
delight.

A still-fruition dulls ; respite relieves :

An intermission still new relish
gives.

A changing faVour puffs not up
with pride.

Because uncertain how long 't shall
abide ;

It lets not languish with a long dis-
dain,

No sooner ebb'd but it doth flow again.

Then in my turn I shall be well re-
spected, 1 1

Late favourites as much shall be neg-
lected.

I love her 'cause she 's woman (if her
mind

Not wavering were, she were none
of that kind) ;

The more she's woman I the more
do love her.

The more inconstant, I more woman
prove her.

The more a woman 's of a woman's
mind.

The better, (best degener least from
kind :)

^ Did Hannay know Rohene and Makyne ?
(719)

^ * If women's extreme ' ?

Patrick Uanitay

The most inconstant they degener

least,
The most inconstant therefore are
the best. 20

The best I vow'd to love, therefore

none else
I'll love but whose inconstancy
excels.

Sonnet XV

Whilst Fortune's fondlings dandled

in her lap,
Swim in the depth of undeserv'd

desires.
Careless of cross, unmindful of mis-

hap.
Still floating higher than their hope

aspires :

Poor hapless I, whose hopes soar'd
lately higher,

(With promise-pens plum'd which
ne'er fail in flight)

Deferr'd, disdain'd, heartless dare(s)
not draw nigh her,

My wearied wand'ring wing can no-
where light.

And Fortune, still the more to show

her spite,
The nearer that my hope seems to

obtain, 10

With unexpected crosses curbs them

quite,
Which nigh gain'd good makes me

but taste my pain.

Yet, fickle Fortune, I disdain thy

frown :
' Base minds thou may'st, but never

brave cast down.'

Sonnet XVI

They Fortune much do wrong that

call her blind ;
And that she knows not how to give

her gifts 3

That she 's inconstant, wavering as

the wind,
Which in a minute many corners

shifts.

That she delights in nought but

turning states,
The misers raising, mighty ones o'er-

throwing ;
She loves not long, and long she

never hates,
At random (as it lights) her gifts

bestowing.

If she were blind, some gift I might

have got
By chance : if loving chance, I had

rise higher, 10

If long to love or hate inclining not,
I once had found her friend ; but I

will free her.

She sees, can give, is constant,

long can hate.
Too well I know 't, she still hath

cross'd my state.

Sonnet XVII

When I consider well how Cupid
kind

First did inflame my heart with lov-
ing fires,

And did remove the quiet of my
mind.

And for it plac'd wakerife (yet dear)
desires :

And how the friend I truly did affect
With like sincerity repaid my love :
How we did strive each other to

respect.
And no contention else did ever

prove :

How that our souls so nearly sym-

pathiz'd.
We oft did think and oft did dream

the same, 10

XV. 7. If dares is what H. wrote, he had either forgotten ' I ' or, more probably, was
thinking of hopes,' and gave them a singular verb — as he and his contemporaries so
often do.

XVI. I. ' Say ' must be understood from ' call.'
10 rise] ' rose ' for ' risen,' or * ris'n ' itself?

( 720 )

Songs a?ici So7t?jets

What one approv'd the other highly

priz'd,
What one dislik'd the other's heart

did blame.

O how thy envy, Fortune, makes

me wonder,
Whom Love so join'd, thou

shouldst have kept asunder.

Song VII

Horac. Car. lib. 3, Ode 9.
ad Lydiani.

Ho. Whilst I was welcome, and
thy chief delight,
And no youth else more wishedly
did bring
His arms about thy neck so lovely

white,
I liv'd more happy than the Persian
King.

II
Ly. Whilst thou didst not burn with
the love of other,
And Lydia no less grace than Che
found :
Lydia was famouser than any other ;
Liv'd more than Roman Llia re-
nown'd.

Ill
LIo. But Thracian Cloe now com-
mandeth me.
Skilled in sweet Music^ cunning on
the Lute : 10

For whom I would not be afeard to
die,
To save her life, so that my death
could do 't.

IV

Ly. Calais OrnitKs son with loving
fire
Burns me, and I affect him with
like strife :
For whom I willingly would twice
expire.
If so the fates would spare my
youngling's life.

(721) 3 A

LIo. What if our ancient love should
come about,
And join us jarring with a lasting
chain :
^Vere fair-hair'd Cloe fra my heart
cast out.
And cast-off Lydia receiv'd again.

VI

Ly. Though Calais fairer than a blaz-
ing star, 21
Lighter than fleeting cork although
you be :
And than the Adrian sea more
testy far,
With thee I'd love to live and
willing die.

Sonnet XVIII

Why dost thou doubt (dear Coelia)

that my love,
(Which beauty bred, and virtue still

doth nourish)
That any other object can remove,
Or faint with time? but still more

freshly flourish.

No, know thy beauty is of such

a force,
The fancy cannot flit that 's with it

taken :
Thy virtue's such my heart doth

hate divorce
From thy sweet love, wiiich ne'er

shall be forsaken.

So settled is my soul in this re-
solve,

That first the stars from crystal sky
shall fall : 10

The heavens shall lose their influence,
dissolve,

To the old Chaos shall be turn'd
this all,

Ere I from thee (dear Coelia)

remove,
My true, my constant, and my

sincere love.

Patrick Hannay

Song VIII
I

When curious Nature did her

cunning try,
In framing of this fair terrestrial

round :
Her workmanship the more to

beautify
Withchang'd variety made it abound,
And oft did place a plot of fertile

ground
Fraught with delights, nigh to

a barren soil.
To make the best seem better by

a foil.

II
Thus first were made by Thames

the motley meads,
Wearing the livery of the Summer's

Queen :
Whose flowery robe o'er them she

freely spreads, lo

With colours more than are in Iris

seen.
And all the ground and hem of

grassy green.
Whereon the silly sheep do fear-
less feed.
While on a bank the shepherd

tunes his reed.
Ill
Next shady groves where Delia

hunteth oft,
And light-foot Fairies tripping still

do haunt :
There mirthful Muses raise sweet

notes aloft,
And wanton birds their chaste loves

cheer'ly chant :

Where on fit object every sense may

feed ;
And fill'd with dainties that do

thence arise,
Of superfluity help others' need ;
Yet no satiety that store doth breed.
For when the sense nigh surfeits

on delight,
New objects the dull'd appetite

do whet.

V

This place, I say, doth border on

a plain,
Which step-dame Nature seems

t' have made in scorn, 30

Where hungry husbandmen have

toil'd in vain,
And with the share the barren soil

have torn ;
Nor did they rest till rise of ruddy

morn :
Yet when was come the harvest

of their hopes.
They for their gain do gather

grainless crops.

VI

It seems of starv'd Sterility the seat.

Where barren downs do it environ
round :

AVhose parched tops in Summer are
not wet,

And only are with snow in winter
crown'd.

Only with bareness they do still
abound ; 40

Or if on some of them we rough-
ness find.
It 's tawny heath, badge of the
barren rind.

VII

There no delightful pleasure e'er j In midst of these stands Croydon
doth want ; cloth'd in black.

There Sylvian with his Satyrs In a low bottom sink of all these

doth remain,

30

hills

There Nymphs do love and are And is receipt of all the dirty wrack

belov'd again. Which from their tops still in abun-
IV dance trills.

This place doth seem an earthly t The unpav'd lanes with muddy mire

Paradise,

it fills.

2o5)7riVn/]Notethe unnecessary ». It is probabl j' a misprint,as the form iscorrect below.

Songs a7id Son?tets

If one shower fall, or if that bless-
ing stay,

You may well smell, but never
see your way.

VIII

For never doth the flower-perfumed

_ Air, 50

Which steals choice sweets from

other blessed fields,
AVith panting breast take any resting

there,
Nor of that prey a portion to it

yields :
For those harsh hills his coming
either shields,
Or else his breath infected with

their kisses.
Cannot enrich it with his fragrant

blisses.

IX

And those who there inhabit, suiting

well
^\'ith such a place, do either negroes

seem.
Or harbingers for Pluto, Prince of

hell,
Or his fire-beaters one might rightly

deem, 60

Their sight would make a soul of

hell to dream,
Besmear'd with soot, and breath-
ing pitchy smoke,
Which (save themselves) a living

wight would choke.

X

These with the demi-gods still

disagreeing,
(As vice with virtue ever is at jar)
AVith all who in the pleasant woods

have being
Do undertake an everlasting war.
Cuts down their groves, and often

do them scare.
And in a close-pent fire their

arbours burn,
AVhile as the Muses can do nought

but mourn. 70

XI

The other Syivans with their sight

affrighted,
Do flee the place whereas these elves

resort.
Shunning the pleasures which them

erst delighted,
A\'hen they behold these grooms of

Flu to' s court,
While they do take their spoils and

count it sport
To spoil these dainties that them

so delighted.
And see them with their ugly

shapes affrighted.

XII

To all proud dames I wish no

greater hell.
Who do disdain of chastely proffered

love,
Than to that place confin'd there

ever dwell ; 80

That place their pride's dear price

might justly prove :
For if (which God forbid) my dear

should move
Me not come nigh her for to pass

my troth,
Place her but there : and I shall

keep mine oath ^

Sonnet XIX

Fond doubtful Hope, Reason de-
prav'd, false fires.

Deceiving thoughts and plaints prov-
ing but wind :

Ill-grounded grief, springing from
vain desires.

Have led me in a maze of error blind.

But Thou whose eye surveys this

earthly ball.
And sees our actions ere they be

begun :
High and Eternal Mover of this all,
AA'hose mercy doth man's misery

fore-run :

58 negroes] Orig. ' Nigro's.'
' The Collier ^charcoal-burner * ()/'C;q)rfo;/ illustrates this song.

( 733 ) 3 A 2

Patrick Hannay

Now in the right way turn my

wand'ring heart,
Teach me to bid farewell to fond

desire. lo

Deceiving Error and Vain-joy de-

With Thy all-quick'ning spirit my
soul inspire.

Grant, Lord, I may redeem my

mis-spent time,
And (if I sing) to Thee I praise

may chime.

Song IX

I

O HOW my sin-clogged soul would

soar aloft,
And scale the crystal sky to seek

remeed
But that foul Sin (wherewith I stain

it oft)
Makes it to sink through doubt of

my misdeed :
In scroll of guilty conscience I

read
The rueful legend of my passed

life,
The thought whereof maketh my

heart to bleed.
Finding my foul offences are so rife.

II
Fear makes me faint to find such,

and so many
As there are ranked in that ragged

roll : TO

Despair doth say there was ne'er

such in any,
Weeping cannot them wash nor

heart condole.
God 'j- Wrath and Justice showeth to

my soul,
For every sin that must be satis-
fied:
What will become of me with such

a scroll.
Since Death the wage of Sin is sure

decreed ?

( 724 )

III

Never to blooming virgin truest

mirror.
Did represent beauty with more

delight
Than subtil Satan with affrighting

terror.
My guiltiness doth show me with

despight. 20

What erst as trifles seemed to my

sight
Now are death-worthy ; my late-
liking sin
Is now displeasing ; and would bar

me quite
All hope of help, since such 1

wallowed in.

IV

Hope to my heart my Saviour doth

present,
With all His Passions prov'd for

sinners' sake.
Yet none but he that doth from

heart repent.
Can use of that great satisfaction

make :
I hold of Him by a firm faith must take,
And all His sufferings to myself

apply : 30

If penitence want not, nor Faith be

weak,
Of Heaven I know He cannot me

deny.

V

But where 's Repentance for so foul

a stain ?
Why stint you, eyes, continually to

shower ?
The humid liquor of your moist'ning-

rain
Doth make to sprout the fair Repent-

ing-flo7ver.
Give tears no respite, nor no truce

an hour,
And since with wand'ring looks you

did offend :
With still-distilling drops your can-
ker scour,
\\'ith coming-care your passed 'scapes

amend. 40

Songs and So7inets

VI

Ah, hapless heart, why rend'st not

with remorse ?
For quick conceiving what the flesh

hath wrought :
Hast thou (depraved) bent to ill thy

force ?
And knows thy Maker thy most

secret thought?
And wilt thou yet be negligent in

aught
Thee may reclaim, or with contrition

wound ?
Bleed, bleed to think that who so

dear thee bought.
Thou 'st crucifi'd again, with thorns

hast crown'd.

VII

And thou, frail Flesh, shame not now

to begin.
Thee to submit to the reforming

spirit : 50

Think of the by-ways thou hast

wander'd in,
Which lead to Hell, and Death-
deserved merit.
^^'hy art thou proud ? Thou canst

not heaven inherit ;
Lie down in dust, do no works of

thine own ;
But what the soul commands, oh !

willing hear it,
By thy obedience let its rule be

known.

VIII

But, Lord.' without Thy sweet assist-
ing grace,
I can do nought, all my attempts

are vain :
I cannot come without Thou call, alas !
Grant me this grace, and bring me

home again ; 60

Let Thy blest Spirit, Faith, Hope,

and Love remain
Still in my soul : the Flesh, the World

and Devil,
Deprive of power ; let them no more

reign.
Or if they tempt, deliver mc from

evil.

(725)

IX

Thou 'rt not desirous that a sinner

die.
But that he may repent his sins and

live :
Thou bidst the heavy laden come to

Thee,
And Thou \filt ease the weight that

doth him grieve.
Thou bidst him knock, and Thou

wilt ope the leave
Of that strict gate that leadeth unto

bliss ; 70

Grant I repent, do come, do knock,

receive
Life, lightning, entrance where no

anguish is.

X

Lord ! grant me grace my coming

days to number.
To wisdom then I shall my heart

apply :
Roll me out of this lethargy and

slumber,
Of sin and sloth wherein I now do

lie.
Sinners (that seeing) soon shall

draw Thee nigh,
Shunning base thoughts, their souls

to Thee shall raise.
And with a sweet consort shall

pierce the skies,
Of Thy great mercy, and eternal

praise. 80

Sonnet XX

O Father- God, who by Thy word

didst make
The Azured-vault, and all the host

of heaven.
The hills, vales, plains, fresh streams,

and briny lake.
And unto each inhabitants hast

given :

O Word which (for our sakes) didst

flesh become,
AVith sinners to purge sin hadst

habitation ;

Patrick Hannay

Crimeless accus'd, condemn'd, the

Cross Thy doom,
Suff'redst Death, Burial, rose for

our salvation.

O Holy Ghost, which dost from Both

proceed,
Sweet soul-inspiring Spirit, with

peace and love, lo

Comfort to all, cast down for sinful

deed,
Lessening their woes with hopes of

Heaven above.

O Trlnal-one, one God and Persons

three,
Reform my ways, and draw me unto

Thee.

FINIS

To his singular friend
Mr. William Lithgow ^

The double travail {Lithgoiv) thou

hast ta'en,
One of thy feet, the other of thy brain.
Thee, with thyself do make for to

contend,
Whether the Earth thou 'st better

pac'd or penn'd :
Would Malaga's sweet liquor had

thee crown'd,
And not its treachery ; made thy

joints unsound,
For Christ, King, Country, what

thou there endur'd,
Not them alone, but therein all

injur'd :

Their tort'ring rack, arresting of thy

pace,
Hath barr'd our hope of the world's

other face : i o

Who is it sees this side so well

express'd.
That with desire, doth not long for

the rest ?
Thy travail'd countries so described

be,
As readers think they do each

region see:
Thy well-compacted matter, ornate

style,
Doth them oft, in quick-sliding

Time beguile.
Like as a maid, wand'ring in Flora's

bowers,
Confin'd to small time, of few

flitting hours.
Rapt with delight, of her eye-pleas-
ing treasure,
Now culling this, now that flower,

takes such pleasure, 20

Tliat the strict time whereto she

was confin'd
Ls all expir'd : whiles she thought

half behind,
Or more remain'd. So each attract-
ing line
Makes them forget the time, they

do not tine :
But since sweet future travail is cut

short,
Yet lose no time, now with the

Muses sport ;
That reading of thee, aftertimes may

tell,
In Travel, Prose, and Verse, thou

didst excel.

Patrick Hannay.

^ Printed by Laing, in his Introduction, from the third edition of Lithgow's
Travels, 1623. The torture referred to in the poem is rather well known from the
passage describing it in these Travels^ which has found its way into books of * Selections. '
' To his singular friend ' seems not to occur till the fourth edition of 1632 : but it
would be unsafe to infer that the writer was still alive.

(726)

OXFORD
PRINTED AT THE CLARENDON PRESS

BY HORACE HART, M.A.
PRINTER TO THE UNIVERSITY

i

Date

AA 000 624 637 5

W$iM.

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