To the disordered Chaos. O what bright
And nimble chariot brought thee through the aire?
While the amazed stars to see so faire
And pure a beauty from the earth arise,
Chang'd all their glorious bodies into eyes.
O let my zealous lip print on thy hand
The story of my love, which there shall stand
A bright inscription to be read by none,
But who as I love thee, and love but one.
Why vanish you away? Or is my sense
Deluded by my hope? O sweete offence
Of erring nature! And would heaven this had
Beene true; or that I thus were ever mad.
[16]_To the Honourable Mr._ Wm. E.
Hee who is good is happy. Let the loude
Artillery of Heaven breake through a cloude
And dart its thunder at him; hee'le remaine
Unmov'd, and nobler comfort entertaine
In welcomming th' approach of death; then vice
Ere found in her fictitious Paradise.
Time mocks our youth, and (while we number past
Delights, and raise our appetite to taste
Ensuing) brings us to unflattered age.
Where we are left to satisfie the rage
Of threatning Death: Pompe, beauty, wealth, and all
Our friendships, shrinking from the funerall.
The thought of this begets that brave disdaine
With which thou view'st the world and makes those vaine
Treasures of fancy, serious fooles so court,
And sweat to purchase, thy contempt or sport.
What should we covet here? Why interpose
A cloud twixt us and heaven? Kind Nature chose
Mans soule th' Exchecquer where she'd hoord her wealth,
And lodge all her rich secrets; but by th' stealth
Of our owne vanity, w'are left so poore,
The creature meerely sensuall knowes more.
The learn'd _Halcyon_ by her wisedome finds
A gentle season, when the seas and winds
Are silenc't by a calme, and then brings forth
The happy miracle of her rare birth,
Leaving with wonder all our arts possest,
That view the architecture of her nest.
Pride raiseth us 'bove justice. We bestowe
Increase of knowledge on old minds, which grow
By age to dotage: while the sensitive
Part of the World in it's first strength doth live.
Folly? what dost thou in thy power containe
Deserves our study? Merchants plough the maine
And bring home th' Indies, yet aspire to more,
By avarice in the possession poore.
And yet that Idoll wealth we all admit
Into the soules great temple. Busie wit
Invents new Orgies, fancy frames new rites
To show it's superstition, anxious nights
Are watcht to win its favour: while the beast
Content with Natures courtesie doth rest.
Let man then boast no more a soule, since he
Hath lost that great prerogative. But thee
(Whom Fortune hath exempted from the heard
Of vulgar men, whom vertue hath prefer'd
Farre higher than thy birth) I must commend,
Rich in the purchase of so sweete a friend.
And though my fate conducts me to the shade
Of humble quiet, my ambition payde
With safe content, while a pure Virgin fame
Doth raise me trophies in _Castara's_ name.
No thought of glory swelling me above
The hope of being famed for vertuous love.
Yet wish I thee, guided by the better starres
To purchase unsafe honour in the warres
Or envied smiles at court; for thy great race,
And merits, well may challenge th' highest place.
Yet know, what busie path so-ere you tread
To greatnesse, you must sleepe among the dead.
[16] _To the Honourable my most honoured friend_, Wm. E. _Esquire_.
1635.
_To_ CASTARA,
_The vanity of Avarice_.
Harke? how the traytor wind doth court
The Saylors to the maine;
To make their avarice his sport?
A tempest checks the fond disdaine,
They beare a safe though humble port.
Wee'le sit my love upon the shore,
And while proud billowes rise
To warre against the skie, speake ore
Our Loves so sacred misteries.
And charme the Sea to th' calme it had before.
Where's now my pride t' extend my fame
Where ever statues are?
And purchase glory to my name
In the smooth court or rugged warre?
My love hath layd the Devill, I am tame.
I'de rather like the violet grow
Unmarkt i'th shaded vale,
Then on the hill those terrors know
Are breath'd forth by an angry gale,
There is more pompe above, more sweete below.
Love, thou divine Philosopher
(While covetous Landlords rent,
And Courtiers dignity preferre)
Instructs us to a sweete content,
Greatnesse it selfe, doth in it selfe interre.
_Castara_, what is there above
The treasures we possesse?
We two are all and one, wee move
Like starres in th' orbe of happinesse.
All blessings are Epitomiz'd in Love.
_To my most honoured Friend and Kinsman_, R. St., _Esquire_.
It shall not grieve me (friend) though what I write
Be held no wit at Court. If I delight
So farre my sullen Genius, as to raise
It pleasure; I have money, wine, and bayes
Enough to crowne me Poet. Let those wits,
Who teach their Muse the art of Parasits
To win on easie greatnesse; or the yongue
Spruce Lawyer who's all impudence and tongue
Sweat to divulge their fames: thereby the one
Gets fees; the other hyre, I'me best unknowne:
Sweet silence I embrace thee, and thee Fate
Which didst my birth so wisely moderate;
That I by want am neither vilified,
Nor yet by riches flatter'd into pride.
Resolve me friend (for it must folly be
Or else revenge 'gainst niggard Destinie,
That makes some Poets raile?) Why are their times
So steept in gall? Why so obrayde the times?
As if no sin call'd downe heav'ns vengeance more
Then cause the world leaves some few writers poore?
Tis true, that _Chapmans_ reverend ashes must
Lye rudely mingled with the vulgar dust,
Cause carefull heyers the wealthy onely have;
To build a glorious trouble o're the grave.
Yet doe I not despaire, some one may be
So seriously devout to Poesie
As to translate his reliques, and finde roome
In the warme Church, to build him up a tombe.
Since _Spencer_ hath a Stone; and _Draytons_ browes
Stand petrified ith' wall, with Laurell bowes
Yet girt about; and nigh wise _Henries_ herse,
Old _Chaucer_ got a Marble for his verse.
So courteous is Death; Death Poets brings
So high a pompe, to lodge them with their Kings:
Yet still they mutiny. If this man please
His silly Patron with Hyperboles.
Or most mysterious non-sence, give his braine
But the strapado in some wanton straine;
Hee'le sweare the State lookes not on men of parts
And, if but mention'd, slight all other Arts.
Vaine ostentation! Let us set so just
A rate on knowledge, that the world may trust
The Poets Sentence, and not still aver
Each Art is to it selfe a flatterer.
I write to you Sir on this theame, because
Your soule is cleare, and you observe the lawes,
Of Poesie so justly, that I chuse
Yours onely the example to my muse.
And till my browner haire be mixt with gray
Without a blush, Ile tread the sportive way,
My Muse direct; A Poet youth may be,
But age doth dote without Philosophie.
_To the World._
_The Perfection of Love._
You who are earth, and cannot rise
Above your sence,
Boasting the envyed wealth which lyes
Bright in your Mistris lips or eyes,
Betray a pittyed eloquence.
That which doth joyne our soules, so light
And quicke doth move.
That like the Eagle in his flight,
It doth transcend all humane sight,
Lost in the element of Love.
You Poets reach not this, who sing
The praise of dust
But kneaded, when by theft you bring
The rose and Lilly from the Spring
T' adorne the wrinckled face of lust.
When we speake Love, nor art, nor wit
We glosse upon:
Our soules engender, and beget
_Idaas_, which you counterfeit
In your dull propagation.
While Time, seven ages shall disperse,
Wee'le talke of Love,
And when our tongues hold no commerse.
Our thoughts shall mutually converse.
And yet the blood no rebell prove.
And though we be of severall kind
Fit for offence:
Yet are we so by Love refin'd,
From impure drosse we are all mind.
Death could not more have conquer'd sence.
How suddenly those flames expire
Which scorch our clay?
_Prometheas_-like when we steale fire
From heaven 'tis endlesse and intire
It may know age, but not decay.
_To the_ Winter.
Why dost thou looke so pale, decrepit man?
Why doe thy cheeks curle like the Ocean,
Into such furrowes? Why dost thou appeare
So shaking, like an ague to the yeare?
The Sunne is gone. But yet _Castara_ stayes,
And will adde stature to thy Pigmy dayes,
Warme moysture to thy veynes: her smile can bring
Thee the sweet youth, and beauty of the Spring.
Hence with thy palsie then, and on thy head
Weare flowrie chaplets as a bridegroome led
To th' holy Fane. Banish thy aged ruth,
That Virgins may admire and court thy youth.
And the approaching Sunne when she shall finde
A Spring without him, fall, since uselesse, blinde.
_Upon a visit to_ CASTARA _in the Night_.
T'was Night: when _Phœbe_ guided by thy rayes,
Chaste as my zeale, with incence of her praise,
I humbly crept to my _Castara's_ shrine.
But oh my fond mistake! for there did shine
A noone of beauty, with such lustre crown'd,
As shewd 'mong th' impious onely night is found.
It was her eyes which like two Diamonds shin'd,
Brightest ith' dark. Like which could th' Indian find,
But one among his rocks, he would out vie
In brightnesse all the Diamonds of the Skie.
But when her lips did ope, the Phœnix nest
Breath'd forth her odours; where might _Jove_ once feast,
Hee'd loath his heavenly surfets: if we dare
Affirme, _Jove_ hath a heaven without my faire.
_To_ CASTARA,
_Of the chastity of his Love_.
Why would you blush _Castara_, when the name
Of love you heare? Who never felt his flame,
Ith' shade of melancholly night doth stray,
A blind Cymmerian banisht from the day.
Let's chastly love _Castara_, and not soyle
This Virgin lampe, by powring in the oyle
Of impure thoughts. O let us sympathize,
And onely talke ith' language of our eyes,
Like two starres in conjunction. But beware
Lest th' Angels who of love compacted are,
Viewing how chastly burnes thy zealous fire,
Should snatch thee hence, to joyne thee to their quire.
Yet take thy flight: on earth for surely we
So joyn'd, in heaven cannot divided be.
_The Description of_ CASTARA.
Like the Violet which alone
Prospers in some happy shade;
My _Castara_ lives unknowne,
To no looser eye betray'd.
For shee's to her selfe untrue,
Who delights ith' publicke view.
Such is her beauty, as no arts
Have enricht with borrowed grace.
Her high birth no pride imparts,
For she blushes in her place.
Folly boasts a glorious blood,
She is noblest being good.
Cautious she knew never yet
What a wanton courtship meant:
Not speaks loud to boast her wit,
In her silence eloquent.
Of her selfe survey she takes,
But 'tweene men no difference makes.
She obeyes with speedy will
Her grave Parents wise commands.
And so innocent, that ill,
She nor acts, nor understands.
Womens feete runne still astray.
If once to ill they know the way.
She sailes by that rocke, the Court,
Where oft honour splits her mast:
And retir'dnesse thinks the port,
Where her fame may anchor cast.
Vertue safely cannot sit,
Where vice is enthron'd for wit.
She holds that dayes pleasure best.
Where sinne waits not on delight.
Without maske, or ball, or feast,
Sweetly spends a winters night.
O're that darknesse, whence is thrust,
Prayer and sleepe oft governs lust.
She her throne makes reason climbe,
While wild passions captive lie.
And each article of time,
Her pure thoughts to heaven flie:
All her vowes religious be,
And her love she vowes to me.
_FINIS._
[Illustration]
CASTARA
The Second part.
_Vatumque lascivos triumphos,
Calcat Amor, pede conjugali._
[Illustration]
_LONDON_
Printed for WILLIAM COOKE
and are to be sold at his Shop,
neare _Furnivals-Inne_ Gate
in _Holborne_. 1639.
A Wife
_Is the sweetest part in the harmony of our being. To the love of
which, as the charmes of Nature inchant us, so the law of grace by
speciall priviledge invites us. Without her, Man if piety not restraine
him; is the creator of sinne; or, if an innated cold render him not
onely the businesse of the present age; the murderer of posterity.
She is so religious that every day crownes her a martyr, and her
zeale neither rebellious nor uncivill. Shee is so true a friend, her
Husband may to her communicate even his ambitions, and if successe
Crowne not expectation, remaine neverthelesse uncontemned. Shee is
colleague with him in the Empire of prosperity; and a safe retyring
place when adversity exiles him from the World. She is so chaste,
she never understood the language lust speakes in, nor with a smile
applaudes it, although there appeare wit in the Metaphore. Shee is
faire only to winne on his affections, nor would she be Mistris of the
most eloquent beauty; if there were danger, that might perswade the
passionate auditory, to the least irregular thought. Shee is noble
by a long descent, but her memory is so evill a herald, shee never
boasts the story of her Ancestors. Shee is so moderately rich, that
the defect of portion doth neither bring penury to his estate, nor the
superfluity licence her to Riot. Shee is liberall, and yet owes not
ruine to vanity, but knows Charity, to be the soule of goodnesse,
and Vertue without reward often prone to bee her own destroyer. Shee
is much at home, and when she visites 'tis for mutuall commerce, not
for intelligence. Shee can goe to Court, and returne no passionate
doater on bravery; and when shee hath seene the gay things muster up
themselves there, she considers them as Cobwebs the Spider vanity hath
spunne. Shee is so generall in her acquaintance, that shee is familiar
with all whom fame speakes vertuous; but thinkes there can bee no
friendship but with one; and therefore hath neither shee friend nor
private servant. Shee so squares her passion to her Husbands fortunes,
that in the Countrey shee lives without a froward Melancholly, in the
town without a fantastique pride. She is so temperate, she never read
the modern pollicie of glorious surfeits; since she finds Nature is no
Epicure if art provoke her not by curiositie. Shee is inquisitive onely
of new wayes to please him, and her wit sayles by no other compasse
then that of his direction. Shee lookes upon him as Conjurers upon the
Circle, beyond which there is nothing but Death and Hell; and in him
shee beleeves Paradice circumscrib'd. His vertues are her wonder and
imitation; and his errors, her credulitie thinkes no more frailtie,
then makes him descend to the title of Man. In a word, shee so lives
that she may dye; and leave no cloude upon her Memory, but have her
character nobly mentioned: while the bad Wife is flattered into infamy,
and buyes pleasure at too[17] deare a rate, if shee onely payes for it
Repentance._
[17] _so._ 1635.
_Fifty Poems, chiefly on Wedded Happiness._
_To_ CASTARA,
_Now possest of her in marriage_.
This day is ours. The marriage Angell now
Sees th' Altar in the odour of our vow,
Yeeld a more precious breath, then that which moves
The whispring leaves in the _Panchayan_ groves.
View how his temples shine, on which he weares
A wreath of pearle, made of those precious teares
Thou wept a Virgin, when crosse winds did blow,
Our hopes disturbing in their quiet flow.
But now _Castara_ smile, No envious night
Dares enterpose it selfe, t'ecclipse the light
Of our cleare joyes. For even the lawes divine
Permit our mutuall love[18] so to entwine,
That Kings, to ballance true content, shall say:
Would they were great as we, we blest as they.
[18] loves. 1634.
_To_ CASTARA,
_Upon the mutuall love of their Majesties_.
Did you not see, _Castara_, when the King
Met his lov'd Queene; what sweetnesse she did bring
T' incounter his brave heat; how great a flame
From their brests meeting, on the sudden came?
The Stoike, who all easie passion flies,
Could he but heare the language of their eyes,
As heresies would from his faith remove
The tenets of his sect, and practise love.
The barb'rous nations which supply the earth
With a promiscuous and ignoble birth,
Would by his precedent correct their life,
Each wisely chuse, and chastely love a wife.
[19]Princes example is a law. Then we
If loyall subjects, must true lovers be.
[19] Princes examples are a law. Then we. 1634.
_To_ ZEPHIRUS.
Whose whispers soft as those which lovers breath
_Castara_ and my selfe I here bequeath
To the calme wind. For heaven such joyes afford
To her and me, that there can be no third.
And you kinde starres, be thriftier of your light:
Her eyes supply your office with more bright
And constant lustre. Angels guardians, like
The nimbler ship boyes shall be joy'd to strike
Or hoist up saile; Nor shall our vessell move
By Card or Compasse, but a heavenly love.
The courtesie of this more prosperous gale
Shall swell our Canvas, and wee'le swiftly saile
To some blest Port, where ship hath never lane
At anchor, whose chaste soule no foot prophane
Hath ever trod; Where nature doth dispence
Her infant wealth, a beautious innocence.
Pompe (even a burthen to it selfe) nor Pride,
(The Magistrate of sinnes) did e're abide
On that so sacred earth. Ambition ne're,
Built for the sport of ruine, fabrickes there.
Thence age and death are exil'd, all offence
And feare expell'd, all noyse and faction thence.
A silence there so melancholly sweet,
That none but whispring Turtles ever meet.
Thus Paradise did our first Parents wooe,
To harmelesse sweets, at first possest by two.
And o're this second, wee'le usurpe the throne;
_Castara_, wee'le obey and rule alone.
For the rich vertue of this soyle I feare,
Would be depraved, should but a third be there.
_To_ CASTARA
_in a Trance_.
Forsake me not so soone. _Castara_ stay,
And as I breake the prison of my clay,
Ile fill the Canvas with m'expiring breath,
And with thee saile o're the vast maine of death.
Some Cherubin thus as we passe shall play.
Goe happy twins of love; The courteous Sea
Shall smooth her wrinkled brow: the winds shal sleep,
Or onely whisper musicke to the deepe.
Every ungentle rocke shall melt away,
The Syrens sing to please, not to betray.
Th' indulgent skie shall smile: each starry quire
Contend, which shall afford the brighter fire.
While Love the Pilot, steeres his course so even,
Ne're to cast anchor till we reach at Heaven.
_To_ DEATH,
CASTARA _being sicke_.
Hence prophane grim man, nor dare
To approach so neere my faire.
Marble vaults, and gloomy caves,
Church-yards, Charnell houses, graves,
Where the living loath to be,
Heaven hath design'd to thee.
But it needs 'mongst us thou'lt rage,
Let thy fury feed on age.
Wrinckled browes, and withered thighs,
May supply thy sacrifice.
Yet perhaps as thou flew'st by,
A flamed dart shot from her eye,
Sing'd thy wings with wanton fire,
Whence th' art forc't to hover nigh her.
If Love so mistooke his aime,
Gently welcome in the flame:
They who loath'd thee, when they see
Where thou harbor'st, will love thee.
Onely I, such is my fate,
Must thee as a rivall hate,
Court her gently, learne to prove,
Nimble in the thefts of love.
Gaze on th' errors of her haire:
Touch her lip; but oh beware,
Lest too ravenous of thy blisse,
Thou shouldst murder with a kisse.
_To_ CASTARA,
_Inviting her to sleepe_.
Sleepe my _Castara_, silence doth invite
Thy eyes to close up day; though envious night
Grieves Fate should her the sight of them debarre,
For she is exil'd, while they open are.
Rest in thy peace secure. With drowsie charmes,
Kinde sleepe bewitcheth thee into her armes;
And finding where Loves chiefest treasure lies,
Is like a theefe stole under thy bright eyes.
Thy innocence rich as the gaudy quilt
Wrought by the Persian hand, thy dreames from guilt
Exempted, heaven with sweete repose doth crowne
Each vertue, softer then the Swans fam'd downe.
As exorcists wild spirits mildly lay,
May sleepe thy fever calmely chase away.
_Upon_ CASTARA'S _recoverie_.
She is restor'd to life. Unthrifty Death,
Thy mercie in permitting vitall breath
Backe to _Castara_, hath enlarg'd us all,
Whome griefe had martyr'd in her funerall.
While others in the ocean of their teares,
Had sinking, wounded the beholders eares,
With exclamations: I without a grone,
Had suddenly congeal'd into a stone:
There stood a statue, till the generall doome;
Had ruin'd time and memory with her tombe.
While in my heart, which marble, yet still bled,
Each Lover might this Epitaph have read.
"Her earth lyes here below; her soul's above,
This wonder speakes her vertue, and my love."
_To a Friend,
Inviting him to a meeting upon promise._
May you drinke beare, or that adult'rate wine
Which makes the zeale of _Amsterdam_ divine;
If you make breach of promise. I have now
So rich a Sacke, that even your selfe will bow
T' adore my _Genius_. Of this wine should _Prynne_
Drinke but a plenteous glasse, he would beginne
A health to _Shakespeares_ ghost, But you may bring
Some excuse forth, and answer me, the King
To-day will give you audience, or that on
Affaires of state, you and some serious Don
Are to resolve; or else perhaps you'le sin
So farre, as to leave word y'ar not within.
The least of these, will make me only thinke
Him subtle, who can in his closet drinke
Drunke even alone, and thus made wise create
As dangerous plots as the Low Countrey state,
Projecting for such baits, as shall draw ore
To _Holland_, all the herrings from our shore.
But y'are too full of candour: and I know
Will sooner stones at _Sals'burg_ casements throw,
Or buy up for the silenc'd Levits, all
The rich impropriations, then let pall
So pure Canary, and breake such an oath:
Since charity is sinn'd against in both.
Come therefore blest even in the Lollards zeale,
Who canst with conscience safe, 'fore hen and veale
Say grace in Latine; while I saintly sing
A Penitential verse in oyle and Ling.
Come then, and bring with you prepar'd for fight,
Unmixt Canary, Heaven send both prove right!
This I am sure: My sacke will disingage
All humane thoughts, inspire so high a rage,
That _Hypocrene_ shall henceforth Poets lacke,
Since more Enthusiasmes are in my sacke.
Heightned with which, my raptures shall commend,
How good _Castara_ is, how deare my friend.
_To_ CASTARA,
_Where true happinesse abides_.
_Castara_ whisper in some dead mans eare,
This subtill _quære_; and hee'le point out where,
By answers negative, true joyes abide.
Hee'le say they flow not on th' uncertaine tide
Of greatnesse, they can no firme basis have,
Upon the trepidation of a wave.
Nor lurke they in the caverns of the earth,
Whence all the wealthy minerals draw their birth,
To covetous man so fatall. Nor ith' grace
Love they to wanton of a brighter face,
For th'are above Times battery; and the light
Of beauty, ages cloud will soone be night.
If among these Content, he thus doth prove,
Hath no abode; where dwels it but in Love?
_To_ CASTARA.
Forsake with me the earth, my faire,
And travell nimbly through the aire,
Till we have reacht th' admiring skies;
Then lend sight to those heavenly eyes
Which blind themselves, make creatures see.
And taking view of all, when we
Shall finde a pure and glorious spheare;
Wee'le fix like starres for ever there.
Nor will we still each other view,
Wee'le gaze on lesser starres then you;
See how by their weake influence they,
The strongest of mens actions sway.
In an inferiour orbe below,
Wee'le see _Calisto_ loosely throw
Her haire abroad: as she did weare,
The self-same beauty in a Beare,
As when she a cold Virgin stood,
And yet inflam'd _Joves_ lustfull blood.
Then looke on _Lede_, whose faire beames
By their reflection guild those streames,
Where first unhappy she began
To play the wanton with a Swan.
If each of these loose beauties are
Transform'd to a more beauteous starre
By the adult'rous lust of _Jove_;
Why should not we, by purer love?
_To_ CASTARA,
_Upon the death of a Lady_.