To do their Sovereign honour and delight,
As soothed her mind with sweet enchanting pleasure,
Although the various Change amazed her sight,
And her weak judgement did entangle quite:
Besides, their moving made them shine more clear;
As diamonds moved more sparkling do appear.
126.
This was the Picture of her wondrous thought!
But who can wonder that her thought was so,
Sith VULCAN, King of Fire, that Mirror wrought
(Which things to come, present, and past doth know),
And there did represent in lively show
Our glorious English Court's divine Image,
As it should be in this our Golden Age?
[_See duplicate ending from this point on the next pages._]
127.
Away, TERPSICHORE, light Muse, away!
And come, URANIA, Prophetess divine!
Come, Muse of Heaven, my burning thirst allay!
Even now, for want of sacred drink, I pine:
In heavenly moisture dip this pen of mine,
And let my mouth with nectar overflow,
For I must more than mortal glory show!
128.
O that I had HOMER'S abundant vein,
I would hereof another Ilias make!
Or else the Man of Mantua's charmèd brain,
In whose large throat great JOVE the thunder spake!
O that I could old GEOFFREY'S Muse awake,
Or borrow COLIN'S fair heroic style,
Or smooth my rhymes with _DELIA'S_ servant's file!
129.
O could I, sweet Companion, sing like you
Which of a _Shadow_, under a shadow sing!
Or like fair SALVES' sad lover true!
Or like the Bay, the marigold's darling,
Whose sudden verse, Love covers with his wing!
O that your brains were mingled all with mine,
T' enlarge my Wit for this great work divine!
130.
Yet ASTROPHEL might one for all suffice.
Whose supple Muse camelion-like doth change
Into all forms of excellent device:
So might the Swallow, whose swift Muse doth range
Through rare _Idæas_ and inventions strange,
And ever doth enjoy her joyful Spring,
And Sweeter than the Nightingale doth sing.
131.
O that I might that singing Swallow hear,
To whom I owe my service and my love!
His sugared tunes would so enchant mine ear,
And in my mind such sacred fury move,
As I should knock at heaven's great gate above,
With my proud rhymes; while, of this heavenly state,
I do aspire the Shadow to relate.
FINIS.
[_In later editions a different ending of the poem was substituted for
the above, from after Stanza 126, thus:_
* * * * *
_Here are wanting some stanzas describing Queen
ELIZABETH.
Then follow these:_
127.
Her brighter dazzling beams of Majesty
Were laid aside: for she vouchsafed awhile
With gracious, cheerful, and familiar eye,
Upon the Revels of her Court to smile,
For so Time's journey she doth oft beguile:
Like sight no mortal eye might elsewhere see
So full of State, Art, and variety.
128.
For of her Barons brave, and Ladies fair
(Who had they been elsewhere, most fair had been),
Many an incomparable lovely pair
With hand-in-hand were interlinkèd seen,
Making fair honour to their sovereign Queen:
Forward they paced, and did their pace apply
To a most sweet and solemn melody.
129.
So subtle and curious was the measure
With such unlooked-for change in every strain,
As that PENELOPE rapt with sweet pleasure
Weened she beheld the true proportion plain
Of her own web, weaved and unweaved again:
But that her Art was somewhat less, she thought,
And on a mere ignoble subject wrought.
130.
For here, like to the silkworm's industry,
Beauty itself out of itself did weave
So rare a work, and of such subtlety,
As did all eyes entangle and deceive;
And in all minds a strange impression leave.
In this sweet labyrinth did CUPID stray,
And never had the power to pass away.
131.
As when the Indians, neighbours of the Morning,
In honour of the cheerful rising Sun,
With pearl and painted plumes themselves adorning,
A solemn stately measure have begun;
The god well pleased with that fair honour done,
Sheds forth his beams, and doth their faces kiss
With that immortal glorious face of his:
132.
So * * * *]
[Illustration]
[Illustration:]
Nosce teipsum!
_This Oracle expounded in two
Elegies._
1. Of Human Knowledge.
2. Of the Soul of Man, and the Immortality
thereof.
[Illustration:]
_LONDON:_
Printed by RICHARD FIELD, for JOHN STANDISH.
1599.
[This work was thus registered for publication at Stationers' Hall:
10 Aprilis [1599].
JOHN STANDYSHE
Entred for his copie A booke called _Nosce Teipsum
The oracle expounded in two Elegies._ 1. _of human
kno[w]ledge._ 2. _of the soule of Man and th[e]
immortality thereof._
Master PONSONBYES
[_the junior Warden_
_at the time_] hand is
to yt.
This is aucthorised vnder the hand of the L[ord]
Bysshop of LONDON PROVYED that yt must not be
printed without his L[ordships] hand to yt again.
_Transcript &c._ iii. 142. _Ed._ 1876.
[Illustration]
To my most gracious dread Sovereign.
[Illustration]
_To that clear Majesty which in the North
Doth like another sun in glory rise;
Which standeth fixt, yet spreads her heavenly worth
Loadstone to hearts, and loadstar to all eyes:_
_Like heaven in all; like th' earth in this alone,
That though great States by her support do stand,
Yet she herself supported is of none,
But by the finger of th' Almighty's hand:_
_To the divinest and the richest Mind,
Both by Art's purchase and by Nature's dower,
That ever was from heaven to earth confined,
To shew the utmost of a creature's power:_
_To that great Spirit which doth great kingdoms move,
The sacred spring, whence Right and Honour streams,
Distilling Virtue, shedding Peace and Love
In every place, as CYNTHIA sheds her beams:_
_I offer up some sparkles of that fire,
Whereby we Reason, Live, and Move, and Be.
These sparks, by nature, evermore aspire;
Which makes them to so high a Highness flee._
_Fair Soul, since to the fairest body knit,
You give such lively life, such quick'ning power.
Such sweet celestial influence to it
As keeps it still in youth's immortal flower;_
_(As where the sun is present all the year,
And never doth retire his golden ray,
Needs must the Spring be everlasting there,
And every season, like the month of May)_
_O many, many years, may you remain
A happy Angel to this happy land!
Long, long may you on earth our Empress reign!
Ere you in heaven, a glorious angel stand._
_Stay long, sweet Spirit, ere than to heaven depart,
Which mak'st each place a heaven, wherein thou art._
_Her Majesty's least and unworthiest subject,_
_JOHN DAVIES._
[Illustration]
[Illustration]
Of Human Knowledge.
[Illustration]
Why did my parents send me to the Schools,
That I with knowledge might enrich my mind?
Since the Desire to Know first made men fools,
And did corrupt the root of all mankind.
For when GOD's hand had written in the hearts
Of the First Parents, all the rules of good;
So that their skill infused, did pass all Arts
That ever were, before, or since the Flood;
And when their Reason's eye was sharp and clear,
And, as an eagle can behold the sun,
Could have approached the Eternal Light as near
As th'intellectual angels could have done:
Even then, to them the Spirit of Lies suggests
That they were blind, because they saw not Ill;
And breathes into their incorrupted breasts,
A curious Wish, which did corrupt their Will.
For that same Ill they straight desired to know,
Which Ill (being nought but a defect of Good);
In all GOD's works, the Devil could not show,
While Man, their Lord, in his perfection stood.
So that themselves were first to _do_ the Ill
Ere they thereof the _knowledge_ could attain;
Like him, that knew not poison's power to kill,
Until, by tasting it, himself was slain.
Even so, by tasting of that fruit forbid,
Where they sought Knowledge, they did Error find;
Ill they desired to know, and Ill, they did;
And to give Passion eyes, made Reason blind.
For then their minds did first in Passion see,
Those wretched Shapes of Misery and Woe,
Of Nakedness, of Shame, of Poverty,
Which then their own experience made them know.
But then grew Reason dark, that she no more
Could the fair forms of Good and Truth discern:
Bats they became, that eagles were before;
And this they got by their Desire to Learn.
But we, their wretched offspring, what do we?
Do not we still taste of the fruit forbid?
Whiles, with fond fruitless curiosity,
In books profane we seek for knowledge hid?
What is this Knowledge but the sky-stol'n fire
For which the Thief still chained in ice doth sit,
And which the poor rude Satyr did admire,
And needs would kiss, but burnt his lips with it?
What is it, but the cloud of empty rain,
Which when JOVE'S guest embraced, he monsters got?
Or the false pails, which oft being filled with pain,
Received the water, but retained it not?
Shortly, what is it but the fiery Coach
Which the Youth sought, and sought his death withal?
Or the Boy's wings, which when he did approach
The sun's hot beams, did melt, and let him fall?
And yet, alas, when all our lamps are burned,
Our bodies wasted, and our spirits spent;
When we have all the learned volumes turned,
Which yield men's wits, both help and ornament:
What can we know? or what can we discern?
When Error chokes the windows of the Mind;
The divers Forms of things how can we learn,
That have been, ever from our birthday, blind?
When Reason's lamp (which, like the sun in sky,
Throughout man's little world her beams did spread)
Is now become a Sparkle, which doth lie
Under the ashes, half extinct, and dead;
How can we hope, that through the Eye and Ear,
This dying Sparkle, in this cloudy place,
Can re-collect these beams of knowledge clear,
Which were infused in the first minds, by grace?
So might the heir, whose father hath in play
Wasted a thousand pounds of ancient rent,
By painful earning of one groat a day,
Hope to restore the patrimony spent.
The wits that dived most deep, and soared most high,
Seeking man's powers, have found his weakness such;
"Skill comes so slow, and life so fast doth fly;
We learn so little, and forget so much."
For this, the wisest of all moral men
Said, _He knew nought, but that he nought did know!_
And the great mocking Master, mocked not then,
When he said, _Truth was buried deep below!_
For how may we, to other's things attain,
When none of us, his own Soul understands?
For which, the Devil mocks our curious brain,
When, _Know thyself!_ his oracle commands.
For why should we the busy Soul believe,
When boldly she concludes of that and this?
When of herself, she can no judgement give,
Nor How, nor Whence, nor Where, nor What she is?
All things without, which round about we see,
We seek to know, and have therewith to do;
But that, whereby we Reason, Live, and Be,
Within ourselves, we strangers are thereto.
We seek to know the moving of each sphere,
And the strange cause of th' ebbs and floods of Nile;
But of that Clock, which in our breasts we bear,
The subtle motions we forget the while!
We that acquaint ourselves with every zone,
And pass both tropics, and behold both poles;
When we come home, are to ourselves unknown
And unacquainted still with our own souls!
We study Speech, but others we persuade;
We Leechcraft learn, but others cure with it;
We interpret Laws which other men have made,
But read not those which in our hearts are writ.
Is it because the Mind is like the Eye,
(Through which it gathers knowledge by degrees)
Whose rays reflect not but spread outwardly,
Not seeing itself, when other things it sees?
No, doubtless, for the Mind can backward cast
Upon herself, her understanding light;
But she is so corrupt, and so defac't,
As her own image doth herself affright.
As in the fable of that Lady fair,
Which, for her lust, was turned into a cow;
When thirsty to a stream she did repair,
And saw herself transformed (she wist not how;)
At first, she startles! then, she stands amazed!
At last, with terror, she from thence doth fly,
And loathes the wat'ry glass wherein she gazed,
And shuns it still, though she for thirst do die.
Even so, Man's Soul, which did God's Image bear,
And was, at first, fair, good, and spotless pure;
Since with her sins, her beauties blotted were,
Doth, of all sights, her own sight least endure.
For even, at first reflection, she espies
Such strange CHIMERAS and such monsters there!
Such toys! such antics! and such vanities!
As she retires, and shrinks for shame and fear.
And as the man loves least at home to be,
That hath a sluttish house, haunted with sprites;
So she, impatient her own faults to see,
Turns from herself, and in strange things delights.
For this, few _know themselves_! for merchants broke,
View their estate with discontent and pain;
And seas are troubled, when they do revoke
Their flowing waves into themselves again.
And while the face of outward things we find,
Pleasing and fair, agreeable and sweet;
These things transport and carry out the mind,
That with herself, herself can never meet.
Yet if Affliction once her wars begin,
And threat the feeble Sense with sword and fire;
The Mind contracts herself, and shrinketh in,
And to herself she gladly doth retire,
As spiders touched, seek their web's inmost part;
As bees in storms, unto their hives return;
As blood in danger, gathers to the heart;
And men seek towns, when foes the country burn.
If ought can teach us ought, Affliction's looks
(Making us look into ourselves so near)
Teach us to _know ourselves_, beyond all books,
Or all the learned Schools that ever were!
This Mistress, lately, plucked me by the ear,
And many a golden lesson hath me taught,
Hath made my Senses quick, and Reason clear,
Reformed my Will, and rectified my Thought.
So do the winds and thunders cleanse the air;
So working lees settle and purge the wine;
So lopt and pruned trees do flourish fair;
So doth the fire the drossy gold refine.
Neither MINERVA, nor the learned Muse,
Nor Rules of Art, nor Precepts of the Wise,
Could in my brain, those beams of skill infuse,
As but the glance of this Dame's angry eyes.
She, within lists, my ranging mind hath brought,
That now beyond myself I list not go;
Myself am Centre of my circling thought,
Only Myself, I study, learn, and know.
I _know_ my Body's of so frail a kind,
As force without, fevers within, can kill;
I _know_ the heavenly nature of my Mind;
But 'tis corrupted, both in Wit and Will.
I _know_ my Soul hath power to know all things,
Yet is she blind and ignorant in all;
I _know_ I am one of Nature's little kings,
Yet to the least and vilest things am thrall!
I _know_ my Life's a pain, and but a span;
I _know_ my Sense is mocked with every thing:
And to conclude, I _know_ myself a Man;
Which is a proud, and yet a wretched thing!
[Illustration]
Of the Soul of Man; and the Immortality thereof.
[Illustration]
The Lights of Heaven, which are the world's fair eyes,
Look down into the world, the world to see;
And as they turn, or wander in the skies,
Survey all things, that on this Centre be.
And yet the Lights which in my Tower do shine,
Mine Eyes! (which view all objects, nigh and far)
Look not into this little world of mine,
Nor see my face, wherein they fixed are.
Since Nature fails us in no needful thing;
Why want I means, mine inward self to see?
Which sight, the Knowledge of Myself might bring;
Which, to true wisdom, is the first degree.
That Power (which gave me eyes, the world to view)
To view myself, infused an Inward Light,
Whereby my Soul, as by a Mirror true,
Of her own form, may take a perfect sight.
But as the sharpest Eye discerneth nought,
Except the sunbeams in the air do shine;
So the best Soul, with her reflecting thought,
Sees not herself, without some light Divine.
O LIGHT! (which makest the Light, which makest the Day;
Which settest the Eye without, and Mind within)
Lighten my spirit, with one clear heavenly ray!
Which now to view itself, doth first begin.
For her true form, how can my Spark discern?
Which dim by Nature, Art did never clear;
When the great wits, of whom all skill we learn,
Are ignorant, both What She is! and Where!
One thinks the Soul is Air, another Fire,
Another, Blood diffused about the heart,
Another saith, the Elements conspire,
And to her Essence, each doth give a part.
Musicians think our Souls are Harmonies;
Physicians hold that they Complexions be:
Epicures make them Swarms of Atomies,
Which do, by change, into our bodies flee!
Some think one General Soul fills every brain,
As the bright sun sheds light in every star;
And others think the name of Soul is vain,
And that We, only Well-mixed Bodies are.
In judgement of her Substance, thus they vary;
And thus they vary in judgement of her Seat;
For some, her chair up to the Brain do carry,
Some thrust it down into the Stomach's heat!
Some place it in the root of life, the Heart;
Some, in the Liver, fountain of the veins;
Some say, "She is all in all, and all in part!"
Some say, "She is not contained, but all contains!"
Thus these great Clerks their little wisdom show,
While with their doctrines, they at hazard play;
Tossing their light opinions to and fro,
To mock the lewd; as learned in this, as they!
For no crazed brain could ever yet propound,
Touching the Soul, so vain and fond a thought;
But some among these Masters, have been found,
Which in their Schools, the selfsame thing have taught.
GOD, only-Wise! to punish Pride of Wit,
Among men's wits hath this confusion wrought!
As the proud Tower, whose points the clouds did hit,
By Tongues' Confusion, was to ruin brought.
But, Thou! which didst Man's Soul, of nothing make!
And when to nothing, it was fallen again;
To make it new, the Form of Man didst take,
And, GOD with GOD, becam'st a Man with men!
Thou! that hast fashioned twice, this Soul of ours,
So that She is, by double title, Thine;
Thou, only, knowest her nature and her powers,
Her subtle form, Thou, only, canst define!
To judge herself, She must herself transcend,
As greater circles comprehend the less:
But She wants power, her own powers to extend,
As fettered men cannot their strength express.
But Thou, bright morning Star! Thou, rising Sun!
Which, in these later times, has brought to light
Those mysteries, that, since the world began,
Lay hid in darkness and eternal night!
Thou, like the sun, doth with indifferent ray,
Into the palace and the cottage shine!
And showest the Soul, both to the Clerk and Lay,
By the clear Lamp of thy Oracle Divine!
This Lamp, through all the regions of my brain,
Where my Soul sits, doth spread such beams of grace,
As now, methinks! I do distinguish plain
Each subtle line of her immortal face.
[Sidenote: What the Soul is?]
The Soul, a Substance and a Spirit is,
Which GOD Himself doth in the body make,
Which makes the Man; for every man, from this,
The Nature of a man and Name doth take.
And though the Spirit be to the Body knit,
As an apt meane her powers to exercise;
Which are Life, Motion, Sense, and Will, and Wit:
Yet she survives, although the Body dies.
[Sidenote: That the Soul is a thing subsisting by itself, without the
Body.]
She is a Substance, and a real thing,
1. Which hath, itself, an actual working Might,
2. Which neither from the Sense's power doth spring,
3. Nor from the Body's humours tempered right.
She is a Vine, which doth no propping need,
To make her spread herself, or spring upright;
She is a Star, whose beams do not proceed
From any sun, but from a native light.
[Sidenote: That the Soul hath a proper operation, without the Body.]
For when She sorts things present with the past,
And thereby things to come doth oft foresee;
When She doth doubt at first, and choose at last:
These acts her own, without the Body, be.
When of the dew, which the Eye and Ear do take,
From flowers abroad, and bring into the brain;
She doth, within, both wax and honey make:
This work is hers, this is her proper pain!
When She from sundry acts, one Skill doth draw;
Gathering from divers fights, one Art of War;
From many Cases like, one Rule of Law:
These, her collections, not the Sense's, are.
When in th'Effects, She doth the Causes know;
And seeing the stream, thinks where the spring doth rise;
And seeing the branch, conceives the root below:
These things She views, without the Body's eyes.
When She, without a Pegasus, doth fly
Swifter than lightning's fire, from East to West;
About the Centre, and above the Sky:
She travels then, although the Body rest.
When all her works She formeth first within;
Proportions them, and sees their perfect end,
Ere She in act, doth any part begin:
What instruments doth then, the Body lend?
When without hands, She thus doth castles build;
Sees without eyes, and without feet doth run;
When She digests the world, yet is not filled:
By her own power, these miracles are done.
When She defines, argues, divides, compounds;
Considers Virtue, Vice, and General Things;
And marrying diverse principles and grounds,
Out of their match, a true conclusion brings:
These actions, in her closet, all alone,
(Retired within herself) She doth fulfil;
Use of her Body's organs, She hath none,
When She doth use the powers of Wit and Will.
Yet in the Body's prison, so She lies,
As through the Body's windows She must look,
Her divers powers of Sense to exercise,
By gathering notes out of the world's great book.
Nor can herself discourse, or judge of ought,
But what the Sense collects, and home doth bring,
And yet the Power of her discoursing Thought,
From these Collections, is a diverse thing.
For though our eyes can nought but colours see,
Yet colours give them not their Power of Sight;
So, though these fruits of Sense, her objects be,
Yet She discerns them by her proper light.
The workman on his stuff, his skill doth shew,
And yet the stuff gives not the man his skill;
Kings, their affairs, do, by their servants know,
But order them by their own royal will.
So though this cunning Mistress, and this Queen
Doth, as her instruments, the Senses use,
To know all things that are Felt, Heard, or Seen;
Yet She herself doth only Judge and Choose:
Even as our great wise Empress (that now reigns
By sovereign title over sundry lands)
Borrows, in mean affairs, her subjects' pains,
Sees by their eyes, and writeth by their hands:
But things of weight and consequence indeed,
Herself doth in her chamber them debate;
Where, all her Councillors she doth exceed
As far in judgement, as she doth in State.
Or as the man, whom she doth now advance,
Upon her gracious Mercy Seat to sit,
Doth common things, of course and circumstance,
To the Reports of common men commit:
But when the Cause itself must be decreed,
Himself in person, in his proper Court,
To grave and solemn hearing doth proceed,
Of every proof, and every by-report.
Then, like God's angel, he pronounceth right,
And milk and honey from his tongue do flow:
Happy are they, that still are in his sight,
To reap the wisdom, which his lips do sow.
Right so, the Soul, which is a Lady free,
And doth the justice of her State maintain;
Because the Senses, ready servants be,
Attending nigh about her Court, the Brain;
By them, the forms of outward things She learns,
For they return unto the Fantasy,
Whatever each of them abroad discerns;
And there enrol it for the Mind to see.
But when She sits to judge the good and ill,
And to discern betwixt the false and true;
She is not guided by the Senses' skill,
But doth each thing in her own mirror view.
Then She the Senses checks! which oft do err,
And even against their false reports, decrees;
And oft She doth condemn, what they prefer,
For with a power above the Sense, She sees:
Therefore, no Sense, the precious joys conceives,
Which in her private contemplations be;
For then, the ravished Spirit, the Senses leaves,
Hath her own powers, and proper actions free.
Her harmonies are sweet and full of skill,
When on the Body's instrument She plays:
But the proportions of the Wit and Will,
Those sweet accords are even the angels' lays.
These tunes of Reason are AMPHION's lyre,
Wherewith he did the Theban city found;
These are the notes, wherewith the heavenly Quire,
The praise of Him, which spreads the heaven, doth sound.
Then her self-being nature shines in this,
That She performs her noblest works alone!
"The work, the touchstone of the nature is!"
And "by their operations, things are known!"
[Sidenote: 2. That the Soul is more than a perfection or reflection of
the Sense.]
Are they not senseless then! that think the Soul
Nought but a fine perfection of the Sense,
Or of the forms which Fancy doth enrol,
A quick Resulting, and a Consequence?