And tipt the mountaines with a tender ray:
When on a hill (whose high imperious brow
Lookes downe, and sees the humble Nile below
Licke his proud feet, and haste into the seas 5
Through the great mouth that's nam'd from Hercules)
A band of men, rough as the armes they wore
Look't round, first to the sea, then to the shore.
The shore that shewed them, what the sea deny'd,
Hope of a prey. There to the maine-land ty'd 10
A ship they saw; no men she had, yet prest
Appear'd with other lading, for her brest
Deep in the groaning waters wallowed
Vp to the third ring: o're the shore was spread
Death's purple triumph; on the blushing ground 15
Life's late forsaken houses all lay drown'd
In their owne blood's deare deluge: some new dead;
Some panting in their yet warme ruines bled,
While their affrighted soules, now wing'd for flight
Lent them the last flash of her glimmering light. 20
Those yet fresh streames which crawled every where
Shew'd that sterne Warre had newly bath'd him there.
Nor did the face of this disaster show
Markes of a fight alone, but feasting too:
A miserable and a monstruous feast, 25
Where hungry Warre had made himself a guest:
And comming late had eat up guests and all,
Who prov'd the feast to their owne funerall &c.
CUPID'S CRYER:
OUT OF THE GREEKE.[66]
Love is lost, nor can his mother 1
Her little fugitive discover:
She seekes, she sighes, but no where spyes him;
Love is lost: and thus shee cryes him.
O yes! if any happy eye, 5
This roaving wanton shall descry;
Let the finder surely know
Mine is the wagge; 'tis I that owe
The winged wand'rer; and that none
May thinke his labour vainely gone, 10
The glad descryer shall not misse,
To tast the nectar of a kisse
From Venus lipps. But as for him
That brings him to me, he shall swim
In riper joyes: more shall be his 15
(Venus assures him) than a kisse.
But lest your eye discerning slide,
These markes may be your judgement's guide;
His skin as with a fiery blushing
High-colour'd is; his eyes still flushing 20
With nimble flames; and though his mind
Be ne're so curst, his tongue is kind:
For never were his words in ought
Found the pure issue of his thought.
The working bees' soft melting gold, 25
That which their waxen mines enfold,
Flow not so sweet as doe the tones
Of his tun'd accents; but if once
His anger kindle, presently
It boyles out into cruelty, 30
And fraud: he makes poor mortalls' hurts
The objects of his cruell sports.
With dainty curles his froward face
Is crown'd about: But O what place,
What farthest nooke of lowest Hell 35
Feeles not the strength, the reaching spell
Of his small hand? Yet not so small
As 'tis powerfull therewithall.
Though bare his skin, his mind he covers,
And like a saucy bird he hovers 40
With wanton wing, now here, now there,
'Bout men and women, nor will spare
Till at length he perching rest,
In the closet of their brest.
His weapon is a little bow, 45
Yet such a one as--Jove knows how--
Ne're suffred, yet his little arrow,
Of Heaven's high'st arches to fall narrow.
The gold that on his quiver smiles,
Deceives men's feares with flattering wiles. 50
But O---too well my wounds can tell--
With bitter shafts 'tis sauc't too well.
He is all cruell, cruell all,
His torch imperious though but small
Makes the sunne--of flames the sire-- 55
Worse than sun-burnt in his fire.
Wheresoe're you chance to find him
Ceaze him, bring him--but first bind him--
Pitty not him, but feare thy selfe
Though thou see the crafty elfe, 60
Tell down his silver-drops unto thee:
They'r counterfeit, and will undoe thee.
With baited smiles if he display
His fawning cheeks, looke not that way.
If he offer sugred kisses, 65
Start, and say, the serpent hisses.
Draw him, drag him, though he pray
Wooe, intreat, and crying say
Prethee, sweet, now let me go,
Here's my quiver, shafts and bow, 70
I'le give thee all, take all; take heed
Lest his kindnesse make thee bleed.
What e're it be Loue offers, still presume
That though it shines, 'tis fire and will consume.
VPON BISHOP ANDREWS' PICTURE BEFORE HIS SERMONS.[67]
This reverend shadow cast that setting sun, 1
Whose glorious course through our horrizon run,
Left the dimme face of this dull hemispheare,
All one great eye, all drown'd in one great teare.
Whose faire, illustrious soule, led his free thought 5
Through Learning's vniverse, and (vainly) sought
Room for her spatious selfe, untill at length
Shee found the way home, with an holy strength;
Snatch't her self hence to Heaven: fill'd a bright place,
'Mongst those immortall fires, and on the face 10
Of her great Maker fixt her flaming eye,
There still to read true, pure divinity.
And now that grave aspect hath deign'd to shrinke
Into this lesse appearance: If you thinke
'Tis but a dead face, Art doth here bequeath: 15
Looke on the following leaves, and see him breath.
VPON THE DEATH OF A GENTLEMAN.[68]
Faithlesse and fond Mortality! 1
Who will ever credit thee?
Fond, and faithlesse thing! that thus,
In our best hopes beguilest us.
What a reckoning hast thou made, 5
Of the hopes in him we laid!
For life by volumes lengthened,
A line or two to speake him dead.
For the laurell in his verse,
The sullen cypresse o're his herse _crape_ 10
For soe many hoped yeares
Of fruit, soe many fruitles teares:
For a silver-crowned head
A durty pillow in Death's bed.
For so deare, so deep a trust, 15
Sad requitall, thus much dust!
Now though the blow that snatch him hence,
Stopt the mouth of Eloquence:
Though shee be dumbe e're since his death,
Not us'd to speake but in his breath; 20
Leaving his death vngarnished
Therefore, because hee is dead
Yet if at least shee not denyes,
The sad language of our eyes,
Wee are contented: for then this 25
Language none more fluent is.
Nothing speakes our griefe so well
As to speak nothing. Come then tell
Thy mind in teares who e're thou be,
That ow'st a name to misery. 30
Eyes are vocall, teares have tongues,
And there be words not made with lungs;
Sententious showres: O let them fall,
Their cadence is rhetoricall.
Here's a theame will drinke th' expence, 35
Of all thy watry eloquence.
Weepe then! onely be exprest
Thus much, 'he's dead:' and weep the rest.
VPON THE DEATH OF MR. HERRYS.[69]
A plant of noble stemme, forward and faire, 1
As ever whisper'd to the morning aire,
Thriv'd in these happie grounds; the Earth's just pride;
Whose rising glories made such haste to hide
His head in cloudes, as if in him alone 5
Impatient Nature had taught motion
To start from Time, and cheerfully to fly
Before, and seize upon Maturity.
Thus grew this gratious tree, in whose sweet shade
The sunne himselfe oft wisht to sit, and made 10
The morning Muses perch like birds, and sing
Among his branches: yea, and vow'd to bring
His owne delicious phoenix from the blest
Arabia, there to build her virgin nest,
To hatch her selfe in; 'mongst his leaves, the Day 15
Fresh from the rosie East, rejoyc't to play;
To them shee gave the first and fairest beame
That waited on her birth: she gave to them
The purest pearles, that wept her evening death;
The balmy Zephirus got so sweet a breath 20
By often kissing them. And now begun
Glad Time to ripen Expectation:
The timorous maiden-blossomes on each bough
Peept forth from their first blushes; so that now
A thousand ruddy hopes smil'd in each bud, 25
And flatter'd every greedy eye that stood
Fixt in delight, as if already there
Those rare fruits dangled, whence the golden Yeare
His crowne expected: when, (O Fate! O Time!
That seldome lett'st a blushing youthfull prime 30
Hide his hot beames in shade of silver age,
So rare is hoary Vertue) the dire rage
Of a mad storme these bloomy joyes all tore,
Ravisht the maiden blossoms, and downe bore
The trunke. Yet in this ground his pretious root 35
Still lives, which when weake Time shall be pour'd out
Into Eternity, and circular joyes
Dance in an endlesse round, again shall rise
The faire son of an ever-youthfull Spring,
To be a shade for angels while they sing; 40
Meane while who e're thou art that passest here,
O doe thou water it with one kind teare.
VPON THE DEATH OF THE MOST DESIRED MR. HERRYS.[70]
Death, what dost? O, hold thy blow, 1
What thou dost thou dost not know.
Death, thou must not here be cruell,
This is Nature's choycest iewell:
This is hee, in whose rare frame 5
Nature labour'd for a name:
And meant to leave his pretious feature
The patterne of a perfect creature.
Ioy of Goodnesse, love of Art,
Vertue weares him next her heart. 10
Him the Muses love to follow,
Him they call their vice-Apollo.
Apollo, golden though thou bee,
Th' art not fairer than is hee,
Nor more lovely lift'st thy head 15
(Blushing) from thine Easterne bed.
The glories of thy youth ne're knew
Brighter hopes than his can shew.
Why then should it e're be seen
That his should fade, while thine is green? 20
And wilt thou (O, cruell boast!)
Put poore Nature to such cost?
O, twill undoe our common mother,
To be at charge of such another.
What? thinke me to no other end 25
Gracious heavens do use to send
Earth her best perfection,
But to vanish, and be gone?
Therefore onely given to day
To-morrow to be snatch't away? 30
I've seen indeed the hopefull bud
Of a ruddy rose that stood
Blushing, to behold the ray
Of the new-saluted Day:
(His tender toppe not fully spread) 35
The sweet dash of a shower new shead,
Invited him, no more to hide
Within himselfe the purple pride
Of his forward flower; when lo,
While he sweetly 'gan to show
His swelling gloryes, Auster spide him, 40
Cruell Auster thither hy'd him,
And with the rush of one rude blast,
Sham'd not, spitefully to wast
All his leaves, so fresh, so sweet,
And lay them trembling at his feet. 45
I've seen the Morning's lovely ray
Hover o're the new-borne Day,
With rosie wings so richly bright,
As if she scorn'd to thinke of Night;
When a rugged storme, whose scowle 50
Made heaven's radiant face looke foule
Call'd for an untimely night,
To blot the newly-blossom'd light.
But were the rose's blush so rare,
Were the Morning's smile so faire, 55
As is he, nor cloud, nor wind,
But would be courteous, would be kind.
Spare him Death, ah! spare him then,
Spare the sweetest among men:
And let not Pitty, with her teares 60
Keepe such distance from thine eares.
But O, thou wilt not, can'st not spare,
Haste hath never time to heare.
Therefore if he needs must go,
And the Fates will have it so; 65
Softly may he be possest
Of his monumentall rest.
Safe, thou darke home of the dead,
Safe, O hide his loved head:
Keepe him close, close in thine armes, 70
Seal'd vpp with a thousand charmes.
For Pittie's sake, O, hide him quite
From his mother Nature's sight;
Lest for griefe his losse may move
All her births abortive proue. 75
NOTES AND ILLUSTRATIONS.
See our Essay for notice of 'Mr. Herrys.' In the SANCROFT MS. the
heading is 'An Elegie on Mr. Herris. R. CR.' It offers these variations:
lines 1 and 2, 'doest:' line 18, 'his' for 'he;' adopted: line 29,
'given' for 'give;' adopted: line 36, 'new' for 'now;' adopted from
1648: line 50, the MS. reads 'rugged' for 'ruddy;' adopted: line 58,
'ah' for 'O;' adopted: line 60, 'And let:' lines 70-71 added from the
MS., where in the margin is written 'not printed.' G.
ANOTHER.[71]
If ever Pitty were acquainted 1
With sterne Death; if e're he fainted,
Or forgot the cruell vigour
Of an adamantine rigour;
Here, O, here we should have knowne it, 5
Here, or no where, hee'd have showne it.
For hee, whose pretious memory
Bathes in teares of every eye;
Hee, to whom our Sorrow brings
All the streames of all her springs; 10
Was so rich in grace, and nature,
In all the gifts that blesse a creature;
The fresh hopes of his lovely youth
Flourish't in so faire a growth;
So sweet the temple was, that shrin'd 15
The sacred sweetnesse of his mind;
That could the Fates know to relent,
Could they know what mercy meant,
Or had ever learnt to beare
The soft tincture of a teare; 20
Teares would now have flow'd so deepe,
As might have taught Griefe how to weepe.
Now all their steely operation
Would quite have lost the cruell fashion.
Sicknesse would have gladly been 25
Sick himselfe to have sav'd him;
And his feaver wish'd to prove,
Burning onely in his love.
Him when Wrath it selfe had seen,
Wrath it selfe had lost his spleen. 30
Grim Destruction here amaz'd,
In stead of striking, would have gaz'd.
Even the iron-pointed pen,
That notes the tragick doomes of men,
Wet with teares, 'still'd from the eyes 35
Of the flinty Destinies,
Would have learn't a softer style,
And have been asham'd to spoyle
His live's sweet story, by the hast
Of a cruell stop, ill plac't. 40
In the darke volume of our fate,
Whence each lease of life hath date,
Where in sad particulars
The totall summe of man appeares,
And the short clause of mortall breath, 45
Bound in the period of Death:
In all the booke if any where
Such a tearme as this, 'Spare here,'
Could been found, 'twould have been read,
Writ in white letters o're his head: 50
Or close unto his name annext,
The faire glosse of a fairer text.
In briefe, if any one were free
Hee was that one, and onely hee.
But he, alas! even hee is dead, 55
And our hope's faire harvest spread
In the dust. Pitty, now spend
All the teares that Griefe can lend.
Sad Mortality may hide
In his ashes all her pride; 60
With this inscription o're his head,
'All hope of never dying here is dead.'
NOTES AND ILLUSTRATIONS
The SANCROFT MS. furnishes these variations: line 1, 'was:' line 26, 't'
have:' line 34, 'quotes' for 'notes:' l. 42, 'lease' for 'leafe;'
adopted: line 49 omits rightly the first 'have' and spells 'bin;' the
former adopted: line 50, 'wrote:' line 62, 'is' for 'lyes;' adopted:
line 23, 'steely' = hard as steel, or, as we say, iron-hearted. The
SANCROFT MS. writes the two poems as one. G.
HIS EPITAPH.[72]
Passenger, who e're thou art 1
Stay a while, and let thy heart
Take acquaintance of this stone,
Before thou passest further on.
This stone will tell thee, that beneath, 5
Is entomb'd the crime of Death;
The ripe endowments of whose mind
Left his yeares so much behind,
That numbring of his vertues' praise,
Death lost the reckoning of his dayes; 10
And believing what they told,
Imagin'd him exceeding old.
In him Perfection did set forth
The strength of her united worth.
Him his wisdome's pregnant growth 15
Made so reverend, even in youth,
That in the center of his brest
(Sweet as is the phoenix' nest)
Every reconciled Grace
Had their generall meeting-place. 20
In him Goodnesse joy'd to see
Learning learne Humility.
The splendor of his birth and blood
Was but the glosse of his owne good.
The flourish of his sober youth 25
Was the pride of naked truth.
In composure of his face,
Liv'd a faire, but manly grace.
His mouth was Rhetorick's best mold,
His tongue the touchstone of her gold. 30
What word so e're his breath kept warme,
Was no word now but a charme:
For all persuasive Graces thence
Suck't their sweetest influence.
His vertue that within had root, 35
Could not chuse but shine without.
And th' heart-bred lustre of his worth,
At each corner peeping forth,
Pointed him out in all his wayes,
Circled round in his owne rayes: 40
That to his sweetnesse, all men's eyes
Were vow'd Love's flaming sacrifice.
Him while fresh and fragrant Time
Cherisht in his golden prime;
E're Hebe's hand had overlaid 45
His smooth cheekes with a downy shade;
The rush of Death's unruly wave,
Swept him off into his grave.
Enough, now (if thou canst) passe on,
For now (alas!) not in this stone 50
(Passenger who e're thou art)
Is he entomb'd, but in thy heart.
AN EPITAPH VPON A YOVNG MARRIED COVPLE
DEAD AND BVRYED TOGETHER.[73]
To these, whom Death again did wed, 1
This grave's their second marriage-bed;
For though the hand of Fate could force
'Twixt sovl and body, a diuorce,
It could not sunder man and wife, 5
'Cause they both liued but one life.
Peace, good Reader, Doe not weep.
Peace, the louers are asleep.
They, sweet turtles, folded ly
In the last knott that Loue could ty. 10
And though they ly as they were dead,
Their pillow stone, their sheetes of lead;
(Pillow hard, and sheetes not warm)
Loue made the bed; they'l take no harm;
Let them sleep: let them sleep on, 15
Till this stormy night be gone,
And the aeternall morrow dawn;
Then the curtaines will be drawn
And they wake into a light,
Whose Day shall neuer sleepe in Night. 20
NOTES AND ILLUSTRATIONS.
In the SANCROFT MS. the heading is 'Epitaphium Conjugum vna mortuor. et
sepultor. R. CR.' It was reprinted in 1648 'Delights' (p. 26), where it
is entitled as _supra_, and 1670 (p. 95). Our text is that of 1648,
which yields the five lines (11-14), and which ELLIS in his 'Specimens'
(iii. 208, 1845) introduced from a MS. copy, but as doubtful from not
having appeared in any of the editions; a mistake on his part, as the
lines appear in 1648 and 1652. His note is, nevertheless, 'The lines
included in brackets are in _no printed edition_: they were found in a
MS. copy, and are perhaps not Crashaw's.' As usual, TURNBULL overlooked
them. I add a few slight various readings from 1646.
Line 2, 'the.'
" 5, 'sever.'
" 6, 'Because they both liv'd but one life.'
" 10, I accept 'that' in 1646 and SANCROFT MS. as it is
confirmed by HARLEIAN MS. 6917-18, as before.
Line 17, I adopt 'And' for 'Till' from 1648.
" 19, 'waken with that Light,' and so SANCROFT MS.:
1648 reads 'And they wake into that Light:' HARLEIAN MS. as
before, 'And they waken with.'
Line 20, 'sleep' for 'dy,' which I adopt as agreeing with the
'wake,' and as being confirmed by HARLEIAN MS. as before. G.
DEATH'S LECTVRE AND THE FVNERAL OF A YOVNG GENTLEMAN.[74]
Dear reliques of a dislodg'd sovl, whose lack 1
Makes many a mourning paper put on black!
O stay a while, ere thou draw in thy head
And wind thy self vp close in thy cold bed.
Stay but a little while, vntill I call 5
A summon's worthy of thy funerall.
Come then, Youth, Beavty, Blood! all ye soft powres,
Whose sylken flatteryes swell a few fond howres
Into a false aeternity. Come man;
Hyperbolized nothing! know thy span; 10
Take thine own measure here, down, down, and bow
Before thy self in thine idaea; thou
Huge emptynes! contract thy bulke; and shrinke
All thy wild circle to a point. O sink
Lower and lower yet; till thy leane size 15
Call Heaun to look on thee with narrow eyes.
Lesser and lesser yet; till thou begin
To show a face, fitt to confesse thy kin,
Thy neighbourhood to Nothing!
Proud lookes, and lofty eyliddes, here putt on 20
Your selues in your vnfaign'd reflexion;
Here, gallant ladyes! this vnpartiall glasse
(Through all your painting) showes you your true face.
These death-seal'd lippes are they dare giue the ly
To the lowd boasts of poor Mortality; 25
These curtain'd windows, this retired eye
Outstares the liddes of larg-look't Tyranny.
This posture is the braue one, this that lyes
Thus low, stands vp (me thinkes) thus and defies
The World. All-daring dust and ashes! only you 30
Of all interpreters read Nature true.
NOTES AND ILLUSTRATIONS.
These various readings are worthy of record:
Line 7 in our text (1652) is misprinted as two lines, the first ending
with 'blood,' a repeated blunder of the Paris printer. It reads also
'the' for 'ye' of 1646. I adopt the latter. I have also cancelled 'and'
before 'blood' as a misprint.
Line 8 in 1652 is misprinted 'svlken' for 'sylken.'
" 12, ib. 'thy self,' and so in 1648 and 1670: 'bulke' from
1646 is preferable, and so adopted.
Line 15, 1646 has 'small' for 'lean,' which is inferior.
" 16, our text (1652) misspells 'norrow.'
" 19, in 1646 the readings here are,
'Thy neighbourhood to nothing I here put on
Thy selfe in this unfeign'd reflection.'
1648 and our text as given. 'Nothing' is intended to rhyme with 'kin'
and 'begin,' and so to form a triplet.
Line 23, our text (1652), 1648 and 1670 read 'Though ye be painted:'
1646 reads 'Through all your painting,' which is much more powerful,
and therefore adopted by us. It reminds us (from line 22, 'gallant
ladyes') of Hamlet's apostrophe to the skull of poor Yorick.
Line 25, 1646 reads poorly,
'To the proud hopes of poor Mortality.'
" 26, in 1646 reads curiously, 'this selfe-prison'd eye.' G.
AN EPITAPH VPON DOCTOR BROOKE.[75]
A Brooke, whose streame so great, so good, 1
Was lov'd, was honour'd, as a flood:
Whose bankes the Muses dwelt upon,
More than their owne Helicon;
Here at length, hath gladly found 5
A quiet passage under ground;
Meane while his loved bankes, now dry
The Muses with their teares supply.
ON A FOULE MORNING, BEING THEN TO TAKE A JOURNEY.[76]
Where art thou Sol, while thus the blind-fold Day 1
Staggers out of the East, loses her way
Stumbling on Night? Rouze thee illustrious youth,
And let no dull mists choake thy Light's faire growth.
Point here thy beames: O glance on yonder flocks, 5
And make their fleeces golden as thy locks.
Vnfold thy faire front, and there shall appeare
Full glory, flaming in her owne free spheare.
Gladnesse shall cloath the Earth, we will instile
The face of things, an universall smile. 10
Say to the sullen Morne, thou com'st to court her;
And wilt command proud Zephirus to sport her
With wanton gales: his balmy breath shall licke
The tender drops which tremble on her cheeke;
Which rarified, and in a gentle raine 15
On those delicious bankes distill'd againe,
Shall rise in a sweet Harvest, which discloses
Two ever-blushing bed[s] of new-borne roses.
Hee'l fan her bright locks, teaching them to flow,
And friske in curl'd maeanders: hee will throw 20
A fragrant breath suckt from the spicy nest
O' th' pretious phoenix, warme upon her breast.
Hee with a dainty and soft hand will trim
And brush her azure mantle, which shall swim
In silken volumes; wheresoe're shee'l tread, 25
Bright clouds like golden fleeces shall be spread.
Rise then (faire blew-ey'd maid!) rise and discover
Thy silver brow, and meet thy golden lover.
See how hee runs, with what a hasty flight,
Into thy bosome, bath'd with liquid light. 30
Fly, fly prophane fogs, farre hence fly away,
Taint not the pure streames of the springing Day,
With your dull influence; it is for you
To sit and scoule upon Night's heavy brow,
Not on the fresh cheekes of the virgin Morne, 35
Where nought but smiles, and ruddy joyes are worne.
Fly then, and doe not thinke with her to stay;
Let it suffice, shee'l weare no maske to day.
NOTES AND ILLUSTRATIONS.
In the SANCROFT MS. this is headed 'An Invitation to faire weather. In
itinere adurgeretur matutinum coelum tali carmine invitabatur serenitas.
R. CR.' In line 12 the MS. reads 'smooth' for 'proud' (TURNBULL here,
after 1670, as usual misreads 'demand' for 'command'): line 18 corrects
the misreading of all the editions, which is 'To every blushing...:'
line 23 reads 'soft and dainty:' line 36, 'is' for 'are:' other
orthographic differences only.
The opening lines of this poem seem to be adapted from remembrance of
the Friar's in _Romeo and Juliet_:
'The grey-eyed Morn smiles on the frowning Night
...
And flecked Darkness like a drunkard reels
From forth Day's path and Titan's burning wheels.' (ii. 3.)
Line 4, in HARLEIAN MS. 6917-18 reads, as I have adopted,
'thy' for 'the.'
Line 5, ib. 'on yond faire.'
" 7, ib. 'Unfold thy front and then....'
" 9, instile is = instill, used in Latinate sense of drop
into or upon: HARLEIAN MS., as before, is 'enstile.'
Line 14, HARLEIAN MS., as before, 'thy' for 'her.'
" 16, ib. 'these.'
" 17-18, ib.
... 'and disclose
... the new-born rose.'
See our Essay for critical remarks. G.
TO THE MORNING:
SATISFACTION FOR SLEEPE.[77]