Why ran the started aire trembling away?
Who's this that comes circled in rayes that scorn
Acquaintance with the sun? what second morn
At midday opes a presence which Heaven's eye
Stands off and points at? Is't some deity 120
Stept from her throne of starres, deignes to be seen?
Is it some deity? or is't our queen?
'Tis she, 'tis she: her awfull beauties chase
The Day's abashed glories, and in face
Of noon wear their own sunshine. O thou bright 125
Mistresse of wonders! Cynthia's is the Night;
But thou at noon dost shine, and art all day
(Nor does thy sun deny't) our Cynthia.
Illustrious sweetnesse! in thy faithfull wombe,
That nest of heroes, all our hopes find room. 130
Thou art the mother-phenix, and thy brest
Chast as that virgin honour of the East,
But much more fruitfull is; nor does, as she,
Deny to mighty Love, a deitie.
Then let the Eastern world brag and be proud 135
Of one coy phenix, while we have a brood,
A brood of phenixes: while we have brother
And sister-phenixes, and still the mother.
And may we long! Long may'st thou live t'increase
The house and family of phenixes. 140
Nor may the life that gives their eye-lids light
E're prove the dismall morning of thy night:
Ne're may a birth of thine be bought so dear
To make his costly cradle of thy beer.
O may'st thou thus make all the year thine own, 145
And see such names of joy sit white upon
The brow of every month! and when th' hast done,
Mayst in a son of his find every son
Repeated, and that son still in another,
And so in each child, often prove a mother. 150
Long may'st thou, laden with such clusters, lean
Vpon thy royall elm (fair vine!) and when
The Heav'ns will stay no longer, may thy glory
And name dwell sweet in some eternall story!
Pardon (bright Excellence,) an untun'd string, 155
That in thy eares thus keeps a murmuring.
O speake a lowly Muse's pardon, speake
Her pardon, or her sentence; onely breake
Thy silence. Speake, and she shall take from thence
Numbers, and sweetnesse, and an influence 160
Confessing thee. Or (if too long I stay,)
O speake thou, and my pipe hath nought to say:
For see Apollo all this while stands mute,
Expecting by thy voice to tune his lute.
But gods are gracious; and their altars make 165
Pretious the offrings that their altars take.
Give then this rurall wreath fire from thine eyes,
This rurall wreath dares be thy sacrifice.
NOTES AND ILLUSTRATIONS.
This poem was originally entitled (as _supra_) 'Upon the Duke of York's
Birth.' As new children were born additions were made to it and the
title altered. Cf. the Latin poem in our vol. ii. _ad Reginam_.
The children celebrated were the following: Charles James, born May 13,
1628, died the same day; the Queen's first child: Charles II., born May
29, 1630: James, who is placed before his sister Mary, who was older
than he; born Oct. 14, 1633; afterwards James II.: Princess Mary, born
Nov. 4, 1631, afterwards mother of William III.: Princess Elizabeth,
born Dec. 28, 1635; died of grief at her father's tragical end, Sept. 8,
1650; was buried in the church at Newport, Isle of Wight, where her
remains were found in 1793. Vaughan the Silurist has a fine poem to her
memory (our edition, vol. ii. pp. 115-17): Anne, born March 17, 1636-7;
she died Dec. 8, 1640 (Crashaw from first to last keeps Death out of his
poem): Henry, born July 8, 1640, afterwards Duke of Gloucester and Earl
of Cambridge. Henrietta Anne, born June 16, 1644, is not named.
The title in 1646 is 'Vpon the Duke of Yorke his Birth: a Panegyricke;'
and so in 1670, which throughout agrees with that very imperfect text,
except in one deplorable blunder of its own left uncorrected by
TURNBULL, as noted below. The heading in the SANCROFT MS. is 'A
Panegyrick vpon the birth of the Duke of Yorke. R. CR.'
Line 7, in 1646 'glories' for 'honours.' In the SANCROFT MS. line 8
reads 'As sitts alone ....'
Line 15, ib. 'O' for 'Sure.'
" 16, ib. 'Th' art.'
" 29-32 restored from 1648. Not in SANCROFT MS.
" 33. These headings here and onward omitted hitherto.
" 34, in 1646 'great' for 'bright.'
" 43, our text (1648) misprints 'owne' for 'one' of Voces
Votivae.
Line 50, 1646 oddly misprints 'these Cherrimock.'
Line 52, 1646, 'art' for 'wert.'
" 54, ib. 'may'st' for 'did'st.'
" 55, ib. 'th' art' for 'th' hadst.'
" 64-70 restored from 1648. Not in SANCROFT MS.
" 74, 1646, 'pearls' for 'tears.' So the SANCROFT MS.
" 78-118, all these lines--most characteristic---restored
from 1648. TURNBULL overlooked them. Not in the SANCROFT MS.
Line 140, 1670 drops a line here, and thus confuses,
'A brood of phenixes, and still the mother:
And may we long: long may'st thou live t' encrease
The house,' &c.
PEREGRINE PHILLIPS in his selections from CRASHAW (1785), following the
text of 1670, says in a foot-note, 'A line seems wanting, but is so in
the original copy.' TURNBULL follows suit and says, 'Here a line seems
deficient.' If either had consulted the 'original' editions, which both
professed to know, it would have saved them from this and numerous
kindred blunders.
line 145, 1646, 'light' for 'life.'
" 151, ib. 'that's.'
" 170, ib. 'their' for 'the offerings.'
In line 27 'Thee therefore &c.' is a thought not unfrequent with the
panegyrists of James. BEN JONSON makes use of it at least twice. In
the Masque of Blackness we have,
'With that great name Britannia, this blest isle
Hath won her ancient dignity and style;
A world divided from a world, and tried
The abstract of it, in his general pride.'
SHAKESPEARE used the same thought more nobly when he made it the theme
of that glorious outburst of patriotism from the lips of the dying
Gaunt. G.
VPON TWO GREENE APRICOCKES SENT TO COWLEY BY SIR CRASHAW.[87]
Take these, Time's tardy truants, sent by me 1
To be chastis'd (sweet friend) and chide by thee.
Pale sons of our Pomona! whose wan cheekes
Have spent the patience of expecting weekes,
Yet are scarce ripe enough at best to show 5
The redd, but of the blush to thee they ow.
By thy comparrison they shall put on
More Summer in their shame's reflection,
Than ere the fruitfull Phoebus' flaming kisses
Kindled on their cold lips. O had my wishes 10
And the deare merits of your Muse, their due,
The yeare had found some fruit early as you;
Ripe as those rich composures Time computes
Blossoms, but our blest tast confesses fruits.
How does thy April-Autumne mocke these cold 15
Progressions 'twixt whose termes poor Time grows old!
With thee alone he weares no beard, thy braine
Gives him the morning World's fresh gold againe.
'Twas only Paradice, 'tis onely thou,
Whose fruit and blossoms both blesse the same bough. 20
Proud in the patterne of thy pretious youth,
Nature (methinks) might easily mend her growth.
Could she in all her births but coppie thee,
Into the publick yeares proficiencie,
No fruit should have the face to smile on thee 25
(Young master of the World's maturitie)
But such whose sun-borne beauties what they borrow
Of beames to day, pay back again to morrow,
Nor need be double-gilt. How then must these
Poor fruites looke pale at thy Hesperides! 30
Faine would I chide their slownesse, but in their
Defects I draw mine own dull character.
Take them, and me in them acknowledging,
How much my Summer waites upon thy Spring.
ALEXIAS:
THE COMPLAINT OF THE FORSAKEN WIFE OF SAINTE ALEXIS.[88]
THE FIRST ELEGIE.
I late the Roman youth's loud prayse and pride, 1
Whom long none could obtain, though thousands try'd;
Lo, here am left (alas!) For my lost mate
T' embrace my teares, and kisse an vnkind fate.
Sure in my early woes starres were at strife, 5
And try'd to make a widow ere a wife.
Nor can I tell (and this new teares doth breed)
In what strange path, my lord's fair footsteppes bleed.
O knew I where he wander'd, I should see
Some solace in my sorrow's certainty: 10
I'd send my woes in words should weep for me,
(Who knowes how powerfull well-writt praires would be.)
Sending's too slow a word; myselfe would fly.
Who knowes my own heart's woes so well as I?
But how shall I steal hence? Alexis thou, 15
Ah thou thy self, alas! hast taught me how.
Loue too that leads the way would lend the wings
To bear me harmlesse through the hardest things.
And where Loue lends the wing, and leads the way,
What dangers can there be dare say me nay? 20
If I be shipwrack't, Loue shall teach to swimme:
If drown'd, sweet is the death indur'd for him:
The noted sea shall change his name with me,
I'mongst the blest starres, a new name shall be.
And sure where louers make their watry graues, 25
The weeping mariner will augment the waues.
For who so hard, but passing by that way
Will take acquaintance of my woes, and say
Here 'twas the Roman maid found a hard fate,
While through the World she sought her wandring mate 30
Here perish't she, poor heart; Heauns, be my vowes
As true to me, as she was to her spouse.
O liue, so rare a loue! liue! and in thee
The too frail life of femal constancy.
Farewell; and shine, fair soul, shine there aboue 35
Firm in thy crown, as here fast in thy loue.
There thy lost fugitiue th' hast found at last:
Be happy; and for euer hold him fast.
THE SECOND ELEGIE.
Though all the ioyes I had, fled hence with thee, 1
Vnkind! yet are my teares still true to me:
I'm wedded o're again since thou art gone;
Nor couldst thou, cruell, leaue me quite alone.
Alexis' widdow now is Sorrow's wife, 5
With him shall I weep out my weary life.
Wellcome, my sad-sweet mate! Now haue I gott
At last a constant Loue, that leaues me not:
Firm he, as thou art false; nor need my cryes
Thus vex the Earth and teare the beauteous skyes. 10
For him, alas! n'ere shall I need to be
Troublesom to the world thus as for thee:
For thee I talk to trees; with silent groues
Expostulate my woes and much-wrong'd loues;
Hills and relentlesse rockes, or if there be 15
Things that in hardnesse more allude to thee,
To these I talk in teares, and tell my pain,
And answer too for them in teares again.
How oft haue I wept out the weary sun!
My watry hour-glasse hath old Time's outrunne. 20
O I am learned grown: poor Loue and I
Haue study'd ouer all Astrology;
I'm perfect in Heaun's state; with euery starr
My skillfull greife is grown familiar.
Rise, fairest of those fires; what'ere thou be 25
Whose rosy beam shall point my sun to me.
Such as the sacred light that e'rst did bring
The Eastern princes to their infant King,
O rise, pure lamp! and lend thy golden ray
That weary Loue at last may find his way. 30
THE THIRD ELEGIE.
Rich, churlish Land! that hid'st so long in thee 1
My treasures; rich, alas! by robbing mee.
Needs must my miseryes owe that man a spite
Who e're he be was the first wandring knight.
O had he nere been at that cruell cost 5
Natvre's virginity had nere been lost;
Seas had not bin rebuk't by sawcy oares
But ly'n lockt vp safe in their sacred shores;
Men had not spurn'd at mountaines; nor made warrs
With rocks, nor bold hands struck the World's strong barres, 10
Nor lost in too larg bounds, our little Rome
Full sweetly with it selfe had dwell't at home.
My poor Alexis, then, in peacefull life
Had vnder some low roofe lou'd his plain wife;
But now, ah me! from where he has no foes 15
He flyes; and into willfull exile goes.
Cruell, return, O tell the reason why
Thy dearest parents have deseru'd to dy.
And I, what is my crime, I cannot tell,
Vnlesse it be a crime t' haue lou'd too well. 20
If heates of holyer loue and high desire,
Make bigge thy fair brest with immortall fire,
What needes my virgin lord fly thus from me,
Who only wish his virgin wife to be?
Witnesse, chast Heauns! no happyer vowes I know 25
Then to a virgin grave vntouch't to goe.
Loue's truest knott by Venus is not ty'd,
Nor doe embraces onely make a bride.
The queen of angels (and men chast as you)
Was maiden-wife and maiden-mother too. 30
Cecilia, glory of her name and blood,
With happy gain her maiden-vowes made good:
The lusty bridegroom made approach; young man
Take heed (said she) take heed, Valerian!
My bosome's guard, a spirit great and strong, 35
Stands arm'd, to sheild me from all wanton wrong;
My chastity is sacred; and my Sleep
Wakefull, her dear vowes vndefil'd to keep.
Pallas beares armes, forsooth; and should there be
No fortresse built for true Virginity? 40
No gaping Gorgon, this: none, like the rest
Of your learn'd lyes. Here you'll find no such iest.
I'm your's: O were my God, my Christ so too,
I'd know no name of Loue on Earth but you.
He yeilds, and straight baptis'd, obtains the grace 45
To gaze on the fair souldier's glorious face.
Both mixt at last their blood in one rich bed
Of rosy martyrdome, twice married.
O burn our Hymen bright in such high flame,
Thy torch, terrestriall Loue, haue here no name. 50
How sweet the mutuall yoke of man and wife,
When holy fires maintain Loue's heaunly life!
But I (so help me Heaun my hopes to see)
When thousands sought my loue, lou'd none but thee.
Still, as their vain teares my firm vowes did try, 55
Alexis, he alone is mine (said I).
Half true, alas! half false, proues that poor line,
Alexis is alone; but is not mine.
NOTES AND ILLUSTRATIONS.
The heading in 1648 omits 'Sainte.' These variations from 1648 are
interesting:
1st Elegy: Line 9, 'would' for 'should.'
Line 17, our text (1652) drops 'way' inadvertently. TURNBULL tinkers
it by reading 'thee' for 'the,' instead of collating the texts.
Line 23, 'its' for 'his.'
" 25, 'when' for 'where.'
" 37, I have adopted 'th'' for 'thou' of our text (1652).
2d Elegy: Line 1, our text (1652) misspells 'fleed.'
Line 3, ib. misprints 'I' am.'
" 10, ib. drops 'beauteous' inadvertently. TURNBULL,
for a wonder, wakes up here to notice a deficient word; but
again, instead of collating his texts, inserts without authority
'lofty.' Had he turned to 1648 edition, he would have found
'beauteous.'
Line 20, I have adopted 'Time's' for 'Time.'
" 23, as in line 17 in 1st Elegy.
" 30, a reference to the 'Love will find out the way,'
in the old song 'Over the mountain.' 'Weary' is misprinted
'Wary' in 1670.
3d Elegy: Line 7, 'with' for 'by.'
Line 17, our text (1652) misprints 'Or' for 'O.'
" 20, I accept 't'' for 'to.'
" 29, 'The Blessed Virgin' for 'The queen of angels.'
" 41, 'facing' for 'gaping.'
" 43, as in line 17 in 1st Elegy.
" 50, 'hath' for 'haue.'
" 51, 'sweet's' for 'sweet.'
" 54, our text (1652) misprints 'thousand.' G.
Secular Poetry.
II.
AIRELLES.
NOTE.
See Note on page 184 for reference on the title here and elsewhere of
'Airelles.' G.
UPON THE KING'S CORONATION.[89]
Sound forth, coelestiall organs, let heauen's quire
Ravish the dancing orbes, make them mount higher
With nimble capers, & force Atlas tread
Vpon his tiptoes, e're his siluer head
Shall kisse his golden curthen. Thou glad Isle,
That swim'st as deepe in joy, as seas, now smile;
Lett not thy weighty glories, this full tide
Of blisse, debase thee; but with a just pride
Swell: swell to such an height, that thou maist vye
With heauen itselfe for stately majesty.
Doe not deceiue mee, eyes: doe I not see
In this blest earth heauen's bright epitome,
Circled with pure refined glory? heere
I view a rising sunne in this our sphere,
Whose blazing beames, maugre the blackest night,
And mists of greife, dare force a joyfull light.
The gold, in wch he flames, does well praesage
A precious season, & a golden age.
Doe I not see joy keepe his revels now,
And sitt triumphing in each cheerfull brow?
Vnmixt felicity with siluer wings
Broodeth this sacred place: hither Peace brings
The choicest of her oliue-crownes, & praies
To haue them guilded with his courteous raies.
Doe I not see a Cynthia, who may
Abash the purest beauties of the day?
To whom heauen's lampes often in silent night
Steale from their stations to repaire their light.
Doe I not see a constellation,
Each little beame of wch would make a sunne?
I meane those three great starres, who well may scorn
Acquaintance with the vsher of the morne.
To gaze vpon such starres each humble eye
Would be ambitious of astronomie
Who would not be a phoenix, & aspire
To sacrifice himselfe in such sweet fire?
Shine forth, ye flaming sparkes of Deity,
Yee perfect emblemes of divinity.
Fixt in your spheres of glory, shed from thence,
The treasures of our liues, your influence,
For if you sett, who may not justly feare,
The world will be one ocean, one great teare.
UPON THE KING'S CORONATION.
Strange metamorphosis! It was but now
The sullen heauen had vail'd its mournfull brow
With a black maske: the clouds with child by Greife
Traueld th' Olympian plaines to find releife.
But at the last (having not soe much power
As to refraine) brought forth a costly shower
Of pearly drops, & sent her numerous birth
(As tokens of her greife) vnto the Earth.
Alas, the Earth, quick drunke with teares, had reel'd
From of her center, had not Ioue vpheld
The staggering lumpe: each eye spent all its store,
As if heereafter they would weepe noe more:
Streight from this sea of teares there does appeare
Full glory naming in her owne free sphere.
Amazed Sol throwes of his mournfull weeds,
Speedily harnessing his fiery steeds,
Vp to Olympus' stately topp he hies,
From whence his glorious rivall hee espies.
Then wondring starts, & had the curteous night
Withheld her vaile, h' had forfeited his sight.
The joy full sphaeres with a delicious sound
Afright th' amazed aire, and dance a round
To their owne musick, nor (untill they see
This glorious Phoebus sett) will quiet bee.
Each aery Siren now hath gott her song,
To whom the merry lambes doe tripp along
The laughing meades, as joy full to behold
Their winter coates couer'd with naming gold.
Such was the brightnesse of this Northerne starre,
It made the virgin phoenix come from farre
To be repair'd: hither she did resort,
Thinking her father had remou'd his Court.
The lustre of his face did shine soe bright,
That Rome's bold egles now were blinded quite;
The radiant darts shott from his sparkling eyes,
Made euery mortall gladly sacrifice
A heart burning in loue; all did adore
This rising sunne; their faces nothing wore,
But smiles, and ruddy joyes, and at this day
All melancholy clouds vanisht away.
VPON THE BIRTH OF THE PRINCESSE ELIZABETH.[90]
Bright starre of Majesty, oh shedd on mee,
A precious influence, as sweet as thee.
That with each word, my loaden pen letts fall,
The fragrant Spring may be perfum'd withall.
That Sol from them may suck an honied shower,
To glutt the stomack of his darling flower.
With such a sugred livery made fine,
They shall proclaime to all, that they are thine.
Lett none dare speake of thee, but such as thence
Extracted haue a balmy eloquence.
But then, alas, my heart! oh how shall I
Cure thee of thy delightfull tympanie?
I cannot hold; such a spring-tide of joy
Must haue a passage, or 'twill force a way.
Yet shall my loyall tongue keepe this command:
But giue me leaue to ease it with my hand.
And though these humble lines soare not soe high,
As is thy birth; yet from thy flaming eye
Drop downe one sparke of glory, & they'l proue
A praesent worthy of Apollo's loue.
My quill to thee may not praesume to sing:
Lett th' hallowed plume of a seraphick wing
Bee consecrated to this worke, while I
Chant to my selfe with rustick melodie.
Rich, liberall heauen, what hath yor treasure store
Of such bright angells, that you giue vs more?
Had you, like our great sunne, stamped but one
For earth, t' had beene an ample portion.
Had you but drawne one liuely coppy forth,
That might interpret our faire Cynthia's worth,
Y' had done enough to make the lazy ground
Dance, like the nimble spheres, a joyfull round.
But such is the coelestiall excellence,
That in the princely patterne shines, from whence
The rest pourtraicted are, that 'tis noe paine
To ravish heauen to limbe them o're againe.
Wittnesse this mapp of beauty; euery part
Of wch doth show the quintessence of art.
See! nothing's vulgar, every atome heere
Speakes the great wisdome of th' artificer.
Poore Earth hath not enough perfection,
To shaddow forth th' admired paragon.
Those sparkling twinnes of light should I now stile
Rich diamonds, sett in a pure siluer foyle;
Or call her cheeke a bed of new-blowne roses;
And say that ivory her front composes;
Or should I say, that with a scarlet waue
Those plumpe soft rubies had bin drest soe braue;
Or that the dying lilly did bestow
Vpon her neck the whitest of his snow;
Or that the purple violets did lace
That hand of milky downe; all these are base;
Her glories I should dimme with things soe grosse,
And foule the cleare text with a muddy glosse.
Goe on then, Heauen, & limbe forth such another,
Draw to this sister miracle a brother;
Compile a first glorious epitome
Of heauen, & Earth, & of all raritie;
And sett it forth in the same happy place,
And I'le not blurre it with my paraphrase.
VPON A GNATT BURNT IN A CANDLE.
Little, buzzing, wanton elfe
Perish there, and thanke thy selfe.
Thou deseru'st thy life to loose,
For distracting such a Muse.
Was it thy ambitious aime
By thy death to purchase fame?
Didst thou hope he would in pitty
Haue bestow'd a funerall ditty
On thy ghoast? and thou in that
To haue outliued Virgill's gnatt?
No! The treason thou hast wrought
Might forbid thee such a thought.
If that Night's worke doe miscarry,
Or a syllable but vary;
A greater foe thou shalt me find,
The destruction of thy kind.
Phoebus, to revenge thy fault,
In a fiery trapp thee caught;
That thy winged mates might know it,
And not dare disturbe a poet.
Deare and wretched was thy sport,
Since thyselfe was crushed for't;
Scarcely had that life a breath,
Yet it found a double death;
Playing in the golden flames,
Thou fell'st into an inky Thames;
Scorch'd and drown'd. That petty sunne
A pretty Icarus hath vndone.
FROM PETRONIUS.[91]
_Ales Phasiacis petita Colchis, &c._
The bird that's fetch't from Phasis floud,
Or choicest hennes of Africk-brood;
These please our palates; and why these?
'Cause they can but seldome please.
Whil'st the goose soe goodly white,
And the drake, yeeld noe delight,
Though his wings' conceited hewe
Paint each feather, as if new.
These for vulgar stomacks be,
And rellish not of rarity.
But the dainty Scarus, sought
In farthest clime; what e're is bought
With shipwrack's toile, oh, that is sweet,
'Cause the quicksands hansell'd it.
The pretious barbill, now growne rife,
Is cloying meat. How stale is wife?
Deare wife hath ne're a handsome letter,
Sweet mistris sounds a great deale better.
Rose quakes at name of cinnamon.
Unlesse't be rare, what's thought vpon?
FROM HORACE.
_Ille et ne fasto te posuit die, &c._
Shame of thy mother soyle! ill-nurtur'd tree!
Sett, to the mischeife of posteritie!
That hand (what e're it wer) that was thy nurse,
Was sacrilegious (sure) or somewhat worse.
Black, as the day was dismall, in whose sight
Thy rising topp first stain'd the bashfull light.
That man---I thinke--wrested the feeble life
From his old father, that man's barbarous knife
Conspir'd with darknes 'gainst the strangers throate;
(Whereof the blushing walles tooke bloody note)
Huge high-floune poysons, eu'n of Colchos breed,
And whatsoe're wild sinnes black thoughts doe feed,
His hands haue padled in; his hands, that found
Thy traiterous root a dwelling in my ground.
Perfidious totterer! longing for the staines
Of thy kind Master's well-deseruing braines.
Man's daintiest care, & caution cannot spy
The subtile point of his coy destiny,
Wch way it threats. With feare the merchant's mind
Is plough'd as deepe, as is the sea with wind,
(Rowz'd in an angry tempest), Oh the sea!
Oh! that's his feare; there flotes his destiny:
While from another (vnseene) corner blowes
The storme of fate, to wch his life he owes;
By Parthians bow the soldier lookes to die,
(Whose hands are fighting, while their feet doe flie.)
The Parthian starts at Rome's imperiall name,
Fledg'd with her eagle's wing; the very chaine
Of his captivity rings in his eares.
Thus, o thus fondly doe wee pitch our feares
Farre distant from our fates, our fates, that mocke
Our giddy feares with an vnlook't for shocke.
A little more, & I had surely seene
Thy greisly Majesty, Hell's blackest Queene;
And Oeacus on his tribunall too,
Sifting the soules of guilt; & you, (oh you!)
You euer-blushing meads, where doe the blest
Farre from darke horrors home appeale to rest.
There amorous Sappho plaines vpon her lute
Her loue's crosse fortune, that the sad dispute
Runnes murmuring on the strings. Alcaeus there
In high-built numbers wakes his golden lyre
To tell the world, how hard the matter went,
How hard by sea, by warre, by banishment.
There these braue soules deale to each wondring eare
Such words, soe precious, as they may not weare
Without religious silence; aboue all
Warre's ratling tumults, or some tyrant's fall.
The thronging clotted multitude doth feast:
What wonder? when the hundred-headed beast
Hangs his black lugges, stroakt with those heavenly lines; _ears_
The Furies' curl'd snakes meet in gentle twines,
And stretch their cold limbes in a pleasing fire.
Prometheus selfe, and Pelops sterved sire
Are cheated of their paines; Orion thinkes
Of lions now noe more, or spotted linx.
EX EUPHORMIONE.
_O Dea, siderei seu tu stirpe alma tonantis, &c._
Bright goddesse (whether Joue thy father be,
Or Jove a father will be made by thee)
Oh crowne these praiers (mov'd in a happy bower)
But with one cordiall smile for Cloe. That power
Of Loue's all-daring hand, that makes me burne,
Makes me confess't. Oh, doe not thou with scorne,
Great nymph, o'relooke my lownesse. Heau'n you know
And all their fellow-deities will bow
Eu'n to the naked'st vowes. Thou art my fate;
To thee the Parcae haue given vp of late
My threds of life: if then I shall not live
By thee, by thee yet lett me die; this giue,
High Beautie's soveraigne, that my funerall flames
May draw their first breath from thy starry beames.
The phoenix' selfe shall not more proudly burne,
That fetcheth fresh life from her fruitfull vrne.
AN ELEGY VPON THE DEATH OF MR. STANNINOW,
FELLOW OF QUEENE'S COLLEDGE.[92]