The Project Gutenberg EBook of Some Longer Elizabethan Poems, by Various

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Title: Some Longer Elizabethan Poems

Author: Various

Commentator: A. H. Bullen

Release Date: February 19, 2017 [EBook #54194]

Language: English

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AN ENGLISH GARNER

SOME LONGER
ELIZABETHAN POEMS

WITH AN INTRODUCTION BY

A. H. BULLEN

WESTMINSTER
ARCHIBALD CONSTABLE AND CO., LTD.
1903

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PUBLISHERS' NOTE

The texts contained in the present volume are reprinted with very slight alterations from the English Garner issued in eight volumes (1877-1890, London, 8vo) by Professor Arber, whose name is sufficient guarantee for the accurate collation of the texts with the rare originals, the old spelling being in most cases carefully modernised. The contents of the original Garner have been rearranged and now for the first time classified, under the general editorial supervision of Mr. Thomas Seccombe. Certain lacunae have been filled by the interpolation of fresh matter. The Introductions are wholly new and have been written specially for this issue.

Edinburgh: T. and A. Constable, Printers to His Majesty

[v]

CONTENTS

*The items indicated by an asterisk are new additions to An English Garner.

[vii]

INTRODUCTION

As there is no need to adopt a strictly chronological order for the poems included in the present volume, I have begun with the Orchestra and Nosce Teipsum of Sir John Davies (1569-1626), who was undoubtedly one of the most brilliant figures of the Elizabethan Age. Well-born and gently bred, educated at Winchester and at New College, Oxford, Davies was exceptionally fortunate in escaping the pecuniary cares that harassed so many Elizabethan men of letters. From the Middle Temple he was called to the bar in 1595 (at the age of twenty-six). In the previous year Orchestra had been entered in the Stationers' Register, but the poem was first published in 1596. From the dedicatory sonnet to Richard Martin we learn that it was written in fifteen days. There are, however, no signs of haste in the writing, and it may fairly be claimed that this poem in praise of dancing is a graceful monument of ingenious fancy. Lucian composed a valuable and entertaining treatise on dancing, and I suspect that Περὶ ᾽Ορχήσεως gave Davies the idea of writing Orchestra.

In the opening stanzas[1] we are presented with a picturesque description of

[viii]

lit with a thousand lamps on a festal night when the suitors had assembled, at the queen's invitation, to hear the minstrel Phoemius sing the praises of the heroes who had fought at Troy. With such beauty shone Penelope that the suitors were abashed at their temerity in having dared to woo her. But one 'fresh and jolly knight,' Antinous, so far from being dismayed,

She blushingly declined, and mildly chided him for trying to persuade her to new-fangled follies. Forthwith he launched into a rapturous disquisition on the antiquity of dancing, which began when Love persuaded the jarring elements—fire, air, earth, and water—to cease from conflict and observe true measure. The sun and moon, the fixed and wandering stars, the girdling sea and running streams, all 'yield perfect forms of dancing.' With exuberant fancy, fetching his illustrations from near and far, he pursues his theme through many richly-coloured stanzas. It may be worth while to remark (as his editors have been silent on the subject) that Davies does not scruple to borrow freely from Lucian. Take, for instance, stanza 80:—

Now hear Lucian:—

[ix]

Here is another example (Stanza 17):—

With this compare Lucian (as Englished by Jasper Mayne): 'First, then, you plainly seem to me not to know that dancing is no new invention or of yesterday's or the other day's growth, or born among our forefathers or their ancestors. But they who most truly derive dancing, say it sprung with the first beginning of the universe, and had a birth equally as ancient as love.' It would be easy to multiply instances. Of course Davies' borrowings from Lucian do not for a moment detract from his poem's merit: indeed they give an added zest.

In the 1596 edition Orchestra ends with a compliment to Queen Elizabeth, and stanzas in praise of Spenser, Daniel, and others. Davies had evidently intended to write a sequel; for, when Orchestra was republished in the[x] collective edition of his poems (1622), it was described on the title-page as 'not finished,' some new stanzas were added, and it ended abruptly in the middle of a simile. The poem is quite long enough as we have it in the 1596 edition, and we need not lament that Davies failed to carry out his intention of continuing it: μηδὲν ἄγαν.

To his youthful days belong the Epigrams, which were bound up with Marlowe's translation of Ovid's Amores (with a Middleburgh imprint): occasionally indecorous, they are seldom wanting in wit and pleasantry.

In February 1597-8, Davies was disbarred for a breach of discipline. He quarrelled with Richard Martin (afterwards Recorder of London)—to whom he had dedicated Orchestra—and assaulted him at dinner in the Middle Temple Hall, breaking a cudgel over his head. Retiring to Oxford, he engaged in the more peaceful occupation of composing Nosce Teipsum, a poem on the immortality of the soul, which was published in 1599. It was an ambitious task that this young disbarred bencher took in hand, but he acquitted himself ably. Some of his modern admirers have exceeded all reasonable bounds in their praise of the poem. Rejecting these extravagant eulogies, we may claim that Davies, while he was leading the life of an inns-of-court man of fashion, had remained a steadfast lover of learning and letters; that he had stored his mind richly; and that his well-turned quatrains have had an inspiring influence on later poets. Young, in Night Thoughts, was under special obligation to Davies. Matthew Arnold had no enthusiasm for Elizabethan writers; but, unless I am greatly mistaken, he had glanced at Nosce Teipsum. In 'A Southern Night' Arnold wrote—

[xi]

—a stanza that bears a very suspicious resemblance to Davies' quatrain—

All the arguments for and against the immortality of the soul were threshed out ages ago, and there is little or nothing new to say on the subject. A poet's skill lies in graciously attiring the old commonplaces; in searching out the right persuasive words and uttering them so melodiously that dull 'approved verities'—sparkling with sudden lustre—are transmuted into something rich and strange. It is idle to talk about Davies' 'deep and original thinking.' Many stanzas can be brushed aside as tiresome and uncouth; but something will be left. In his handling of the ten-syllabled quatrain (with alternate rhymes) Davies showed considerable deftness. The metre has weight and dignity, but is apt to become stiff and monotonous. Davies certainly succeeded in securing more freedom and variety than might have been anticipated. Inspired by his example, Davenant chose this metre for Gondibert; and Davenant was followed by Dryden, who in the preface to Annus Mirabilis says all that can be said in favour of the quatrain (which was seen to best advantage in Gray's Elegy).

[xii]

Though few may be at the pains to read through Nosce Teipsum at a blow, it is a poem that lends itself admirably to quotation. Towards the end there is a cluster of fine stanzas('O ignorant poor man,' etc.) that have found their way into many volumes of selected poetry; and even the arid tracts are dotted with green oases. Tennyson, with somewhat wearisome iteration, pleaded through stanza after stanza of In Memoriam that the longing which most men unquestionably have for immortality must needs be based on a sure foundation:—

Davies sums up pithily in a single line:—

A poet greater than Davies, greater than Tennyson, the august Lucretius, in the noble verses that he pondered through the still nights (seeking to do justice to the doctrine of his Master Epicurus), scathingly checks our vaulting aspirations. If we have enjoyed the banquet of life, why should we not rise content and pass to our dreamless sleep? If our life has been wastefully squandered and is become a weariness to us, why should we hesitate to make an end of it? 'Aufer abhinc lacrimas, balatro, et compesce querellas!'

Astræa, a series of acrostic verses on Queen Elizabeth, is merely a tour de force of courtly ingenuity. Much more interesting is Davies' group of graceful little poems, Twelve Wonders of the World, published in the second edition (1608) of Davison's Poetical Rhapsody.

In 1603 Davies was appointed Solicitor-General for Ireland, and in 1606 Attorney-General. His letters to Cecil give a valuable and vivid account of the state of Ireland;[xiii] and his Discovery of the True Cause why Ireland was never entirely subdued, 1612, is a treatise of the first importance. Davies' political writings wait the attention of a competent editor, who would undoubtedly find absorbing interest in his task.

It was the poet's misfortune to marry a crazy rhapsodical woman (Eleanor Touchet, sister of the notorious Baron Audley), who annoyed him by putting herself into mourning and bidding him 'within three years to expect the mortal blow.' Three days before his death she 'gave him pass to take his long sleep.' He resented these admonitions, and testily exclaimed, 'I pray you weep not while I am alive, and I will give you leave to laugh when I am dead.' On 7th December 1626 he dined with Lord Keeper Coventry, and on the following morning was found dead of apoplexy. It was perhaps fortunate that his life had not been prolonged, for his views of kingly prerogative were high. He had supported the king's demand for a forced loan, and (when 'the mortal blow' really came) was about to succeed Lord Chief Justice Crew, who had been removed from office for refusing to affirm the legality of such loans.

Not much need be said about Six Idillia, 1588, the anonymous translations (pp. 123-146) from Theocritus. It is a performance worthy of George Turberville or 'that painful furtherer of learning' Barnabe Googe. On the verso of the title page is the Horatian inscription:—

Collier, misreading this dedication, claimed the Idillia for Sir Edward Dyer, and his mistake has been followed by[xiv] some later bibliographers. But in the first place there is nothing to show that 'E.D.' was Sir Edward Dyer; and in the second it is perfectly plain that the translations were dedicated to 'E.D.,' not written by him. The rhymed fourteen-syllable lines are somewhat uncouth and do scant justice to the liquid melody of Theocritus' hexameters; but though these Idillia have no great literary value, the hardy pioneer is entitled to some credit for breaking new ground. Only one copy (preserved in the Bodleian Library) of the original edition is known. Some years ago a small edition, for private circulation, was issued from the press of Rev. H.C. Daniel.

Richard Barnfield(1574-1627) had genuine poetical gifts, but seldom displayed them to advantage. Born in 1574 at Norbury, near Newport, Shropshire, he was educated at Brasenose College, Oxford, and is conjectured to have been a member of Gray's Inn. He seems to have spent most of his time in the country, leading the life of a country gentleman. In 1594 he published The Affectionate Shepheard (with a dedication to Lady Penelope Rich), and in 1595 Cynthia. His last work, The Encomion of Lady Pecunia, followed in 1598, a second edition (with changes and additions) appearing in 1605. He died in March 1626-7, leaving a son and a grand-daughter. In his will he is described as of 'Dorlestone, in the Countie of Stafford, Esquire.'[4]

The Affectionate Shepheard was inspired by Virgil's Second Eclogue. Though the choice of subject was not happy, it must be allowed that in describing country contentment and the pastimes of silly shepherds Barnfield shows un-[xv]laboured fluency and grace, with playful touches of quaint extravagance. The passage beginning 'And when th'art wearie of thy keeping Sheepe'(pp. 159, 160) and ending 'Like Lillyes in a bed of roses shed' is a pleasant piece of poetical embroidery. Barnfield doubtless adopted the six-line stanza in imitation of Venus and Adonis, 1593(which had in turn been modelled on Lodge's Glaucus and Scylla, 1589). It has been recently pointed out—by Mr. Charles Crawford in Notes and Queries—that some passages in The Affectionate Shepheard were closely imitated from Marlowe and Nashe's Dido (published in 1594), and that one line has been taken straight out of Marlowe's Edward II. Appended to The Affectionate Shepheard are The Complainte of Chastitie, in imitation of Michael Drayton, and Hellens Rape—a copy of 'English Hexameters' so atrociously bad that one wonders whether it was written to bring contempt on the metre which Gabriel Harvey and others were vainly striving to popularise.

To Cynthia is prefixed a copy of high-flying commendatory verses, from which very little sense can be extracted, by 'T.T.,' possibly Thomas Thorpe, the publisher of Shakespeare's Sonnets. In the address to 'The Curteous Gentlemen Readers' Barnfield claims indulgence for Cynthia on the ground that it was the first 'imitation of the verse of that excellent Poet, Maister Spencer, in his Fayrie Queene.' The poem is a compliment to Queen Elizabeth, who is adjudged by Jove to have merited the golden apple wrongly given by Paris to Venus. When Barnfield mentioned that he borrowed the metre of Cynthia from Spenser, he forgot to add that the matter was drawn from Peele's Arraignment of Paris. To Cynthia succeed twenty sonnets extolling, after the[xvi] fashion of the age, the beauty and virtues of an imaginary youth, Ganymede. In the last sonnet Barnfield introduces compliments to Spenser (Colin) and Drayton (Rowland):—

The 'Ode' that follows the sonnets runs trippingly away in easy trochaics; but Cassandra is laboured and languid.

The Encomion of Lady Pecunia has an 'Address to the Gentlemen Readers,' in which Barnfield states that he had been at much pains to find an unhackneyed subject for his pen. After long consideration he had determined to write the praises of money, a theme both new (for none had ventured upon it before) and pleasing (for money is always in esteem). It was in pursuit of money that Hawkins and Drake had lost their lives. Barnfield wrote a fine epitaph on Hawkins:—

His lines on Drake are not quite so happy:—

[xvii]

The Encomion is smoothly written, and is not without humour. A country gentleman in easy circumstances, Barnfield could dally playfully with a subject that had for him no terrors. His example probably led 'T. A.' (Thomas Acheley?) to write The Massacre of Money, 1602. The Complaint of Poetrie for the Death of Liberalitie seems to be an imitation of Spenser's Teares of the Muses. More interesting are the Poems: in divers humors at the end of the booklet, for among them are the sonnet 'If Musique and sweet Poetrie agree,' and the 'Ode' beginning 'As it fell upon a day,' which were long ascribed erroneously to Shakespeare. In the poem entitled 'A Remembrance of some English Poets' Barnfield praises Spenser, Daniel, Drayton, and Shakespeare. For Sir Philip Sidney he had a deep admiration, but his 'Epitaph' was a poor tribute. The verse with which the tract ends,'A Comparison of the Life of Man,' is distinctly impressive:—

We now reach a group of elegies (pp. 271-318) by various hands on Sir Philip Sidney, printed as an Appendix to Spenser's Colin Clouts Come Home Againe, 1595, with a dedication to Sidney's widow, who by her second marriage had become Countess of Essex. There was no man more generally beloved than Sidney, and none whose loss was more sincerely deplored. Numberless were the tributes paid in verse and prose to his memory. The present[xviii] collection embraces 'Astrophel,' by Spenser; the 'Dolefull Lay of Clorinda,' by Sidney's sister, the Countess of Pembroke; 'The Mourning Muse of Thestylis' and 'A Pastorall Æglogue,' both by Lodowick Bryskett; 'An Elegie, or Friends Passion, for his Astrophel,' by Matthew Roydon; 'An Epitaph,' probably by Sir Walter Ralegh; and 'Another of the same' (i.e. on the same subject), which Malone was inclined to attribute to Sir Edward Dyer, while Charles Lamb ascribed it on internal evidence to Fulke Greville. Although Colin Clouts Come Home Againe was first published in 1595, the dedicatory epistle to Sir Walter Ralegh is dated from Kilcolman, 27th December 1591. All the elegies were doubtless written soon after Sidney's death. Lodowick Bryskett's two poems had been entered in the Stationers' Register on 22nd August 1587, but are not known to have been separately published. Matthew Roydon's elegy had appeared in the Phœnix Nest, 1593, where also are found the 'Epitaph' and 'Another of the Same. Excellently written by a most woorthy gentleman.'

In The Ruines of Time (1591) there are some fine stanzas to Sidney's memory; but if the literary public expected an elaborate elegy from Spenser, 'Astrophel' must have disappointed their hopes. When we recall Moschus' lament over Bion, or Ovid's tribute to Tibullus, or Lycidas, or Adonais, Spenser's elegy on Sidney seems thin and colourless. Scores of poets who had not a tithe of Spenser's genius have left elegies that far transcend 'Astrophel.' Lady Pembroke's sisterly tribute of affection will be read with respect; but however much we may commend the pious intentions of the naturalised Italian[xix] Ludowick Bryskett, it is impossible to find a word of praise for such 'rude rhymes' as

Matthew Roydon's elegy is too diffuse, but has some most happy and memorable stanzas. As we gaze at Isaac Oliver's beautiful miniature of Sidney, in the Windsor Palace collection, those oft-quoted lines of Roydon inevitably leap to the lips:—

The 'Epitaph' beginning, 'To praise thy life, or waile thy worthie death' appears to have been written by Sir Walter Ralegh. Sir John Harington, in the notes appended to the sixteenth book of his translation of Orlando Furioso (1591), refers to 'our English Petrarke, Sir Philip Sidney, or (as Sir Walter Rawleigh in his Epitaph worthily calleth him) the Scipio and the Petrarke of our time' (see the last stanza of the poem). Harington had evidently seen the 'Epitaph' in ms.; and there is not the slightest reason for questioning the accuracy of his ascription, for he was well acquainted with the poets of the time, and curious information may be gathered from his Notes. I find Ralegh's elegy somewhat obscure; pregnant, but harshly worded. Nor can I profess any great admiration for 'Another of the same,' where the vehemence of the writer's grief choked his utterance.

[xx]

Of the first edition of Alcilia: Philoparthen's Loving Folly, 1595 (pp. 319-362), only one copy is known, preserved in the public library at Hamburgh. On the last page are subscribed the author's initials 'J.C.', which have been altered in ink to 'J.G.' in the Hamburgh copy. The poem was reprinted in London in 1613, 1619, and 1628, being accompanied by Marston's Pygmalion's Image and Samuel Page's Amos and Laura. Who 'J.C.' may have been is unknown; for the wild conjecture that he was John Chalkhill, author of Thealma and Clearchus and friend of Izaak Walton, is chronologically untenable. For the space of two years the unknown poet had pressed his attentions upon the lady whom he called Alcilia. She finally rejected his addresses, and young 'J.C.' was not sorry to escape from bondage. Hardly a trace of genuine passion can be found in Alcilia, which is merely (as the author freely admits) a collection of odds and ends written 'at divers times and upon divers occasions.' It is somewhat surprising that there was a demand for new editions. 'J.C.' wrote with elegance and facility, but the note of originality is wanting. Had the poem appeared a few years earlier, it would have been entitled to more consideration; but the achievements of Greene, Lodge, and others had made it possible in the closing years of the sixteenth century for any young writer of respectable talents to compose such verse as we find in Alcilia.

Daiphantus, or The Passions of Love, 1604 (pp. 363-404), is described on the title-page as 'By An. Sc. Gentleman,' assumed to stand for Antony Scoloker. In the days of Henry VIII there was an Antony Scoloker, a printer and translator, with whom 'An. Sc.' was doubtless connected[xxi] In the humorous prose address there is an interesting reference to Shakespeare:—'It should be like the never-too-well-read Arcadia where the Prose and Verse, Matter and Words, are like his Mistress eyes, one still excelling another and without corrival; or to come home to the Vulgar's element, like friendly Shake-speare's Tragedies, where the Comedian rides when the Tragedian stands on tiptoe. Faith it should please all like Prince Hamlet. But, in sadness, then it were to be feared he would run mad. In sooth I will not be moonsick to please, nor out of my wits though I displease all. What? Poet, are you in passion or out of Love? This is as strange as true.' In the poem itself there is another reference to 'mad Hamlet,' though Scoloker there seems to be glancing at the older play on the subject of Hamlet. For the reader's guidance an 'Argument' is obligingly prefixed, but it is to be feared that even with the help of this Argument he will not find the poem very intelligible or of engrossing interest. Daiphantus, of which only one copy (in the Douce Collection) is known, was perhaps intended merely for circulation among the author's friends, who may have been able to read between the lines. Appended is the fine poem, 'The Passionate Man's Pilgrimage,' beginning:—

Possibly the publisher tacked on these verses without Scoloker's knowledge. It is quite certain that they were not written by the author of Daiphantus, and there are[xxii] good reasons for assigning them to Sir Walter Ralegh (see Hannah's edition of Ralegh's Poems, 1885).

The 'Odes' of Michael Drayton (pp. 405-441), drawn from Poems Lyrick and Pastorall (1606?), and the later collection of 1619, contain some of his best writing. There is no need to praise the glorious 'Ballad of Agincourt,' but it may be noted that Drayton spent considerable pains over the revision of this poem. It was fine in its original form, but every change found in the later version was a clear improvement. No signs of the file are visible, and we should certainly judge—unless we had evidence to the contrary—that this imperishable 'ballad' had been thrown off at a white heat. Only inferior to 'Agincourt' is the stirring ode 'To the Virginian Voyage.' Professor Arber, a high authority, is of opinion that it was composed some time before 12th August 1606, on which day the Plymouth Company despatched Captain Henry Challons' ship to North Virginia. In this valedictory address Drayton writes:—

Captain Challons sailed to Madeira, St. Lucia, Porto Rico,[xxiii] and thence towards North Virginia. His little ship of fifty-five tons, with a crew of twenty-nine Englishmen (and two native Virginians), had the ill-luck on 10th November to fall in with the Spanish fleet of eight ships returning from Havanna. It was captured by the Spaniards and the crew were taken prisoners to Spain.

In a lighter vein, the ode beginning 'Maidens, why spare ye,' was worthy to have been set to music by Robert Jones. The seventh ode was written from the Peak in winter—

where Charles Cotton afterwards resided. Drayton's statement in the ninth ode—

will draw a smile from any reader who has ever seriously attempted to grapple with his multitudinous works. But in these odes, and in the other 'lyric poesies' added in the 1619 edition, he was careful to curb his tendency to diffuseness. He employed a variety of metres, and his experiments were not always happy. Ode 5, 'An Amouret Anacreontic,' cannot be unreservedly commended, and Ode 9, 'A Skeltoniad,' could be spared. One of the most attractive poems is the address 'To his Rival,' a capital piece of good-natured raillery. In his early work Drayton frequently taxes the reader's patience by his disregard for grammatical proprieties, and some of these maturer Odes are so ineptly harsh that one has to grope for the writer's meaning (while one bans the punctuation of old printers and modern editors alike). Hence it is particularly pleasant to meet[xxiv] such a poem as 'To his Rival,' which never swerves awry, but runs on blithely without an encountering obstacle. The 'Hymn to his Lady's Birthplace' is a polished compliment, and very charming is the canzonet 'To his Coy Love.' I end with expressing a hope that the extracts here given from Michael Drayton may induce the reader to make further acquaintance[8] with the writings of one of the most lovable of our elder poets.

A.H. BULLEN.

[2]

[The following entries at Stationers' Hall prove that this Poem, composed in fifteen days, was written not later than June, 1594; though it did not come to the press till November, 1596.

[3]

To his very friend,
Master Richard Martin.

 

O whom, shall I, this Dancing Poem send;

This sudden, rash, half-capreol of my wit?

To you, first mover and sole cause of it,

Mine own-self's better half, my dearest friend!

Oh would you, yet, my Muse some honey lend

From your mellifluous tongue (whereon doth sit

Suada in majesty) that I may fit

These harsh beginnings with a sweeter end!

You know the modest sun, full fifteen times,

Blushing did rise, and blushing did descend,

While I, in making of these ill made rhymes,

My golden hours unthriftily did spend:

Yet if, in friendship, you these Numbers praise,

I will mispend another fifteen days.

[4]

[The following Dedication was substituted in the edition of 1622.

To the Prince.

[i.e., Charles, Prince of Wales.]

 

Ir, whatsoever You are pleased to do,

It is your special praise, that you are bent,

And sadly set your Princely mind thereto:

Which makes You in each thing so excellent.

Hence is it, that You came so soon to be

A Man-at-arms in every point aright,

The fairest flower of noble Chivalry,

And of Saint George his Band the bravest Knight.

And hence it is, that all your youthful train

In activeness and grace You do excel,

When You do Courtly dancings entertain:

Then Dancing's praise may be presented well

To You, whose action adds more praise thereto

Than all the Muses, with their pens can do.]

[5]

ORCHESTRA,
or,
A Poem of Dancing.

1.

 

Here lives the man, that never yet did hear

Of chaste Penelope, Ulysses's Queen?

Who kept her faith unspotted twenty year;

Till he returned, that far away had been,

And many men and many towns had seen:

Ten year at Siege of Troy, he ling'ring lay;

And ten year in the midland sea did stray.

2.

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FINIS.

** * * *

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[41]

Nosce teipsum!

This Oracle expounded in two
Elegies.

1. Of Human Knowledge.

2. Of the Soul of Man, and the Immortality thereof.

LONDON:

Printed by Richard Field, for John Standish.

1599.

---

[42]

[43]

To my most gracious dread Sovereign.

 

O 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.

[44]

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.

[45]

Of Human Knowledge.

 

Hy 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.

[46]

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?

[47]

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.

[48]

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;)

[49]

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.

[50]

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!

[51]

Of the Soul of Man;
and the Immortality thereof.

 

He 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.

[52]

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!

[53]

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.

[54]

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.

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.

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.

[55]

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.

[56]

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.

[57]

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!"

[58]

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?

What is it, then, that doth the Sense accuse,

Both of false judgements, and fond appetites?

Which makes us do, what Sense doth most refuse?

Which oft, in torment of the Sense delights?

Sense thinks the planets' spheres not much asunder;

What tells us, then, their distance is so far?

Sense thinks the lightning born before the thunder,

What tells us, then, they both together are?

When men seem crows, far off upon a tower;

Sense saith, "They are crows!" What makes us think them men?

When we, in agues, think all sweet things sour;

What makes us know our tongue's false judgements then?

What power was that, whereby Medea saw,

And well approved and praised the better course,

When her rebellious Sense did so withdraw

Her feeble powers, as she pursued the worst?

Did Sense persuade Ulysses not to hear

The Mermaid's songs? which so his men did please,

As they were all persuaded through the ear,

To quit the ship, and leap into the seas.

Could any power of Sense the Roman move,

To burn his own right hand, with courage stout?

Could Sense make Marius sit unbound, and prove

The cruel lancing of the knotty gout?

Doubtless in Man, there is a Nature found

Beside the senses, and above them far;

Though "most men being in sensual pleasures drowned,

It seems their souls but in their senses are."

[59]

If we had nought but sense, then only they

Should have sound minds, which have their senses sound;

But Wisdom grows, when senses do decay,

And Folly most, in quickest sense is found.

If we had nought but Sense, each living wight,

Which we call brute, would be more sharp than we;

As having Sense's apprehensive might

In a more clear and excellent degree.

But they do want that quick discoursing Power,

Which doth, in us, the erring Sense correct:

Therefore the bee did suck the painted flower,

And birds, of grapes the cunning shadow peckt.

Sense, outsides knows! the Soul, through all things sees,

Sense, circumstance! She doth, the substance view;

Sense sees the bark! but She, the life of trees;

Sense hears the sounds! but She, the concords true.

But why do I the Soul and Sense divide?

When Sense is but a power, which She extends,

Which being in divers parts diversified,

The divers Forms of objects apprehends?

This power spreads outward; but the root doth grow

In th'inward Soul, which only doth perceive;

For the Eyes and Ears, no more their objects know,

Than glasses know what faces they receive.

For if we chance to fix our thoughts elsewhere;

Although our eyes be ope, we do not see,

And if one Power did not both see and hear,

Our sights and sounds would always double be.

Then is the Soul a Nature which contains

The power of Sense within a greater power;

Which doth employ and use the senses' pains,

But sits and rules within her private bower.

[60]

3. That the Soul is more than the Temperature of the Humours of the body.

If She doth then the subtle Sense excel,

How gross are they, that drown her in the blood!

Or in the Body's humours tempered well,

As if in them, such high perfection stood.

As if most skill in that musician were,

Which had the best and best-tuned instrument;

As if the pencil neat, and colours clear

Had power to make the painter excellent

Why doth not Beauty then refine the Wit?

And good Complexion rectify the Will?

Why doth not Health bring Wisdom still with it?

Why doth not Sickness make men brutish still?

Who can in Memory, or Wit, or Will;

Or Air! or Fire! or Earth! or Water find!

What alchemist can draw, with all his skill,

The Quintessence of these, out of the Mind?

If th'Elements (which have, nor Life, nor Sense)

Can breed in us so great a power as this!

Why give they not themselves, like excellence,

Or other things wherein their mixture is?

If She were but the Body's quality

Then would She be, with it, sick! maimed! and blind!

But we perceive, when these privations be,

A healthy, perfect, and sharp-sighted Mind.

If She, the Body's nature did partake,

Her strength would, with the Body's strength decay;

But when the Body's strongest sinews slake,

Then is the Soul most active! quick! and gay!

If She were but the Body's accident,

And her sole Being did in it subsist

As white in snow; She might herself absent!

And in the Body's substance not the mist.

[61]

But it on Her, not She on it depends,

For She the Body doth sustain and cherish.

Such secret powers of life to it, She lends;

That when they fail, then doth the Body perish.

Since, then, the Soul works by herself alone,

Springs not from Sense, nor Humours well agreeing;

Her nature is peculiar, and her own.

She is a Substance! and a Perfect Being.

That the Soul is a Spirit.

But though this Substance be the root of Sense,

Sense knows her not! (which doth but bodies know)

She is a Spirit, and a heavenly influence;

Which from the fountain of GOD's Spirit doth flow.

She is a Spirit; yet not like air, or wind,

Nor like the spirits about the heart or brain,

Nor like those spirits which alchemists do find,

When they, in everything, seek gold, in vain.

For She, all natures under heaven doth pass;

Being like those spirits, which GOD's bright face do see,

Or like Himself! whose Image once She was,

Though now, alas, She scarce his Shadow be.

Yet of the forms, She holds the first degree,

That are to gross material bodies knit;

Yet She herself is bodiless and free,

And, though confined, is almost infinite.

That it cannot be a Body.

Were She a Body, how could She remain

Within this body, which is less than She?

Or how could She, the world's great shape contain;

And in our narrow breasts contained be?

All bodies are confined within some place;

But She all place within herself confines;

All bodies have their measure and their space;

But who can draw the Soul's dimensive lines?

[62]

No Body can, at once, two forms admit,

Except the one, the other do deface;

But in the Soul, ten thousand forms do sit,

And none intrudes into her neighbour's place.

All bodies are, with other bodies filled,

But She receives both heaven and earth together,

Nor are their Forms, by rash encounter, spilled,

For there they stand, and neither toucheth either.

Nor can her wide embracements fillèd be;

For they that most and greatest things embrace,

Enlarge thereby their mind's capacity,

As streams enlarged, enlarge the channel's space.

All things received, do such proportion take,

As those things have, wherein they are received:

So little glasses, little faces make;

And narrow webs, on narrow frames be weaved:

Then, what vast body must we make the Mind?

Wherein are men, beasts, trees, towns, seas, and lands,

And yet each thing a proper place doth find,

And each thing in the true proportion stands.

Doubtless, this could not be, but that She turns

Bodies to Spirits, by sublimation strange;

As fire converts to fire, the things it burns;

As we, our meats into our nature change.

From their gross Matter, she abstracts the Forms,

And draws a kind of Quintessence from things,

Which to her proper nature, She transforms,

To bear them light on her celestial wings.

This doth She, when from things particular,

She doth abstract the universal kinds,

Which bodiless and immaterial are,

And can be lodged but only in our minds.

[63]

And thus, from divers accidents and acts,

Which do within her observation fall;

She, goddesses and Powers Divine abstracts,

As Nature, Fortune, and the Virtues all.

Again, how can She, several bodies know,

If in herself a body's form She bears?

How can a mirror sundry faces show,

If from all shapes and forms it be not clear?

Nor could we by our eyes, all colours learn,

Except our eyes were, of all colours void,

Nor sundry tastes can any tongue discern,

Which is with gross and bitter humours cloyed.

Nor may a man, of Passions judge aright,

Except his mind be from all Passions free;

Nor can a Judge, his office well acquite,

If he possest of either party be!

If, lastly, this quick power a Body were,

Were it as swift, as is the wind or fire,

(Whose atomies do, th' one down sideways bear,

And make the other, in pyramids aspire);

Her nimble body, yet in time must move,

And not in instants through all places slide:

But She is nigh! and far! beneath! above!

In point of time which thought can not divide.

She's sent as soon to China, as to Spain,

And thence returns, as soon as She is sent,

She measures with one time and with one pain,

An ell of silk, and heaven's wide-spreading tent.

As then, the Soul a Substance hath alone

Besides the Body, in which She is confined;

So hath She not a body of her own,

But is a Spirit and immaterial Mind.

[64]

That the Soul is created immediately by God.—Zach, xii. x.

Since Body and Soul have such diversities;

Well, might we muse, how first their match began,

But that we learn, that He, that spread the skies

And fixed the earth, first formed the Soul in Man.

This true Prometheus, first, made man of earth,

And shed in him a beam of heavenly fire:

Now, in their mother's womb, before their birth,

Doth in all sons of men, their souls inspire.

And as Minerva is, in fables, said,

From Jove, without a mother, to proceed;

So our true Jove, without a mother's aid,

Doth, daily, millions of Minervas breed.

Erroneous opinions of the creation of souls.

Then neither, from Eternity before,

Nor from the time, when time's first point began;

Made He all souls! which now He keeps in store,

Some in the moon, and others in the sun:

Nor in the secret cloister doth He keep,

These virgin spirits until their marriage day,

Nor locks them up in chambers, where they sleep,

Till they awake within these beds of clay.

Nor did He first a certain number make,

Infusing part in beasts, and part in men,

And as unwilling farther pains to take,

Would make no more, than those He framèd then.

So that the widow Soul, her Body dying,

Unto the next born Body married was;

And so by often changing and supplying,

Men's souls to beasts, and beasts' to men did pass.

(These thoughts are fond! for since the bodies born

Be more in number far than those that die;

Thousands must be abortive, and forlorn,

Ere others' deaths, to them their souls supply.)

[65]

But as GOD's handmaid, Nature, doth create

Bodies, in time distinct and order due;

So GOD gives souls the like successive date,

Which Himself makes in bodies formèd new.

Which Himself makes, of no material things,

For unto angels, He no power hath given,

Either to form the shape, or stuff to bring,

From air, or Fire, or substance of the heaven.

That the Soul is not traduced from the parents.

Nor He, in this, doth Nature's service use,

For though from bodies she can bodies bring;

Yet could she never, souls from souls traduce,

As fire from fire, or light from light doth spring.

Alas! that some that were great lights of old,

And in their hands the Lamp of GOD did bear,

Some reverend Fathers did this error hold,

Having their eyes dimmed with religious fear.

"For when," say they, "by rule of faith we find,

That every soul unto her body knit,

Brings from the mother's womb, the Sin of Kind,

The root of all the ill She doth commit."

"How can we say, that GOD, the Soul doth make,

But we must make Him author of her sin;

Then from man's soul, She doth beginning take,

Since in man's soul, corruption did begin."

"For if GOD make her, first he makes her ill,

(Which GOD forbid! our thoughts should yield unto)

Or makes the body, her fair form to spill;

Which, of itself, it hath no power to do."

"Not Adam's Body, but his Soul did sin,

And so herself unto corruption brought:

But our poor Soul corrupted is within,

Ere She hath sinned, either in act or thought";

[66]

"And yet we see in her such powers divine,

As we could gladly think, from GOD she came;

Fain would we make Him author of the wine,

If for the dregs, we could some other blame."

The Answer to the Objection.

Thus these good men, with holy zeal were blind,

When on the other part the truth did shine,

Whereof we do clear demonstrations find,

By light of Nature, and by light Divine.

None are so gross, as to contend for this,

That Souls from Bodies may traducèd be;

Between whose natures no proportion is,

When root and branch in nature still agree.

But many subtle wits have justified

That Souls from Souls, spiritually may spring;

Which (if the nature of the Soul be tried)

Will even, in Nature, prove as gross a thing.

Reasons derived from Nature.

For all things made, are either made of nought,

Or made of stuff that ready made doth stand:

Of nought, no creature ever formed ought,

For that is proper to th'Almighty's hand.

If then the Soul, another soul do make;

Because her power is kept within a bound,

She must some former stuff or matter take;

But in the Soul, there is no matter found.

Then if her heavenly Form do not agree,

With any matter which the world contains;

Then She of nothing must created be,

And to Create, to GOD alone, pertains!

Again, if Souls do other Souls beget,

'Tis by themselves, or by the Body's power!

If by themselves! what doth their working let,

But they might Souls engender every hour?

[67]

If by the Body! how can Wit and Will,

Join with the body, only in this act?

Since when they do their other works fulfil,

They from the Body, do themselves abstract!

Again, if Souls, of Souls begotten were,

Into each other they should change and move;

And Change and Motion still corruption bear;

How shall we then, the Soul immortal prove?

If, lastly, Souls did generation use,

Then should they spread incorruptible seed:

What then becomes of that which they to lose,

When the acts of generation do not speed?

And though the Soul could cast spiritual seed,

Yet would She not, because She never dies;

For mortal things desire, their like to breed;

That so they may their kind immortalise.

Therefore the angels, Sons of God are named,

And marry not, nor are in marriage given;

Their spirits and ours are of one Substance framed,

And have one Father, even the Lord of heaven:

Who would at first, that in each other thing,

The earth and water, living souls should breed;

But that Man's Soul (whom He would make their king)

Should from Himself immediately proceed.

And when He took the woman from man's side,

Doubtless Himself inspired her soul alone;

For 'tis not said, he did, Man's soul divide,

But took flesh of his flesh, bone of his bone.

Lastly, GOD, being made Man, for man's own sake,

And being like man in all, except in sin:

His Body, from the Virgin's womb did take;

But all agree, GOD formed His soul within.

[68]

Then is the Soul from God? So Pagans say,

Which saw by Nature's light, her heavenly kind,

Naming her "Kin to God!" and "GOD's bright ray,"

"A citizen of heaven, to earth confined!"

But now I feel they pluck me by the ear,

(Whom my young Muse so boldly termed blind)

And crave more heavenly light; that cloud to clear,

Which makes them think GOD doth not make the Mind!

Reasons drawn from divinity.

GOD doubtless makes her! and doth make her good!

And grafts her in a Body, there to spring;

Which though it be corrupted, flesh and blood,

Can no way to the Soul, corruption bring.

And yet this Soul (made good by GOD at first,

And not corrupted by the Body's ill)

Even in the womb, is sinful and accurst,

Ere she can judge by Wit, or choose by Will.

Yet is not GOD, the author of her Sin;

Though author of her Being, and being there;

And if we dare to judge our Judge therein;

He can condemn us, and Himself can clear.

First, GOD, from infinite eternity

Decreed what hath been, is, or shall be done;

And was resolved that every man should Be

And, in his turn, his race of life should run.

And so did purpose all the souls to make,

That ever have been made, or ever shall;

And that their Being, they should only take

In human bodies, or not Be at all.

Was it then fit, that such a weak event

(Weakness, itself! the sin and fall of Man)

His counsel's execution should prevent?

Decreed and fixed before the world began.

[69]

Or that one penal law, by Adam broke,

Should make GOD break His own eternal law;

The settled order of the world revoke,

And change all forms of things, which He foresaw.

Could Eve's weak hand, extended to the tree,

In sunder rent that Adamantine Chain,

Whose golden links, Effects and Causes be;

And which to GOD's own chair, doth fixt remain?

O could we see! how Cause from Cause doth spring!

How mutually they linked and folded are!

And hear how oft one disagreeing string,

The harmony doth rather make, than mar!

And view at once, how Death by sin is brought!

And how from Death a better Life doth rise;

How this, GOD's Justice and his Mercy taught;

We, this decree, would praise, as right and wise!

But we (that measure times, by First and Last)

The sight of things successively do take;

When GOD, on all at once, His view doth cast;

And of all times, doth but one instant make.

All in Himself, as in a glass, He sees,

And from Him, by Him, through Him, all things be;

His sight is not discursive, by degrees;

But seeing the whole, each single part doth see.

He looks on Adam, as a root, or well,

And on his heirs, as branches, and as streams;

He sees all men as one man! though they dwell

In sundry cities, and in sundry realms.

And as the root and branch are but one tree,

And well and stream do but one river make;

So, if the root and well corrupted be;

The stream and branch the same corruption take

[70]

So when the root and fountain of Mankind;

Did draw corruption, and GOD's curse by sin:

This was a charge that all his heirs did bind;

And all his offspring grew corrupt therein!

And as when th' hand doth strike, the man offends,

(For part from whole, Law severs not in this!)

So Adam's sin to the whole Kind extends,

For all their natures are but part of his.

Therefore, this sin, of Kind, not personal;

But real, and hereditary was:

The guilt whereof, and punishment to all,

By Course of Nature, and of Law doth pass.

For as that easy law was given to all!

To ancestor and heir! to first and last!

So was the first transgression general;

And All did pluck the fruit! and All did taste!

Of this, we find some footsteps in our Law,

Which doth her root from GOD and Nature take.

Ten thousand men she doth together draw,

And of them all, one Corporation make!

Yet these and their successors are but One;

And if they gain or lose their liberties;

They harm or profit not themselves alone,

But such, as in succeeding time, shall rise!

And so the ancestor and all his heirs,

(Though they in number pass the stars of heaven)

Are still but One! His forfeitures are theirs!

And unto them, are his advancements given!

His civil acts to bind and bar them all!

And as from Adam, all corruption take;

So if the father's crime be capital;

In all the blood, Law doth corruption make!

[71]

Is it, then, just with us, to disinherit

The unborn nephews, for the father's fault?

And to advance again, for one man's merit,

A thousand heirs that have deserved nought?

And is not GOD's decree as just as ours,

If He, for Adam's sins, his sons deprive

Of all those native virtues, and those powers;

Which He to him, and to his race did give?

For what is this contagious Sin of Kind,

But a privation of that grace within,

And of that great rich dowry of the mind;

Which all had had, but for the first man's sin?

If then a man, on light conditions, gain

A great estate, to him and his, for ever;

If wilfully, he forfeit it again:

Who doth bemoan his heir? or blame the giver?

So, though GOD make the Soul good, rich, and fair;

Yet when her form is to the Body knit,

Which makes the Man: which Man is Adam's heir;

Justly, forthwith, he takes his grace from it.

And then the Soul, being first from nothing brought,

When GOD's grace fails her, doth to nothing fall;

And this declining Proneness unto nought,

Is even that Sin, that we are born withal.

Yet not, alone, the first good qualities,

Which in the first Soul were, deprivèd are;

But in their place the contrary do rise,

And real spots of sin, her beauty mar.

Nor is it strange that Adam's ill desert,

Should be transferred unto his guilty race;

When Christ, His grace and justice doth impart

To men unjust! and such as have no grace!

[72]

Lastly, the Soul were better so to be

Born slave to sin, than not to Be at all!

Since, if She do believe, One sets her free,

That makes her mount the higher, from her fall.

Yet this, the curious Wits will not content!

They yet will know (since GOD foresaw this Ill)

Why His high providence did not prevent

The declination of the first Man's will.

If by His word, He had the current stayed,

Of Adam's will, which was by nature free;

It had been one as if His word had said,

"I will, henceforth, that man, no Man shall be!"

For what is Man, without a moving Mind;

Which hath a judging Wit, and choosing Will?

Now, if GOD's power should her election bind;

Her motions then would cease, and stand all still.

And why did GOD in Man this Soul infuse;

But that he should his Maker know and love?

Now if love be compelled, and cannot choose;

How can it grateful, or thankworthy prove?

Love must free hearted be, and voluntary,

And not enchanted, or by Fate constrained:

Not like that love, which did Ulysses carry

To Circe's isle, with mighty charms enchained

Besides! Were we unchangeable in Will,

And of a Wit, that nothing could misdeem;

Equal to GOD (whose wisdom shineth still,

And never errs) we might ourselves esteem.

So that if Man would be unvariable;

He must be GOD! or like a rock, or tree!

For even the perfect angels were not stable;

But had a fall, more desperate than we.

[73]

Then let us praise that Power, which makes us be

Men, as we are! and rest contented so!

And knowing man's fall was Curiosity,

Admire GOD's counsels! which we cannot know.

And let us know that GOD, the Maker is

Of all the Souls, in all the men that be:

Yet their corruption is no fault of His;

But the first man's, that broke GOD's first decree

Why the Soul is united to the Body.

This Substance, and this Spirit, of God's own making,

Is in the Body placed, and planted there:

That both of GOD, and of the world partaking;

Of all that is, Man might the Image bear!

GOD, first, made Angels! bodiless pure minds!

Then, other things, which mindless bodies be.

Last, He made Man, the Horizon 'twixt both kinds,

In whom, we do the World's Abridgement see.

Besides! This world below did need one wight,

Which might thereof, distinguish every part;

Make use thereof, and take therein delight;

And order things with industry and Art.

Which, also, GOD, might (in His works) admire,

And here, beneath, yield Him both prayer and praise;

As there, above, the holy Angels' Quire

Doth spread His glory, with spiritual lays.

Lastly, the brute unreasonable wights,

Did want a Visible King, on them to reign;

And GOD Himself, thus to the world unites,

That so the world might endless bliss obtain.

In what manner the Soul is united to the Body.

But how shall we this Union well express?

Nought ties the Soul, her subtility is such:

She moves the body, which She doth possess;

Yet no part toucheth, but by virtue's touch!

[74]

Then dwells She not therein, as in a tent,

Nor as a pilot, in his ship doth sit,

Nor as a spider, in her web is pent,

Nor as the wax retains the print in it:

Nor as a vessel, water doth contain,

Nor as one liquor, in another shed,

Nor as the heat doth in the fire remain,

Nor as a voice, throughout the air is spread.

But as the fair and cheerful Morning Light

Doth, here and there, her silver beams impart:

And, in an instant, doth herself unite

To the transparent air, in all and part.

Still resting whole, when blows, the air divide,

Abiding pure, when th'air is most corrupted;

Throughout the air, her beams dispersing wide;

And, when the air is tost, not interrupted!

So doth the piercing Soul, the Body fill,

Being all in all, and all in part diffused?

Indivisible! incorruptible still!

Not forced! encountered! troubled! or confused!

And as the Sun above, the light doth bring,

Though we behold it in the air below;

So from th' Eternal Light, the Soul doth spring,

Though in the body, She her powers do show.

How the Soul doth exercise her powers in the Body.

But as this world's sun doth effects beget,

Diverse in divers places, every day,

Here, Autumn's temperature! there, Summer's heat!

Here, flowery Spring-tide! and there, Winter grey!

Here, Even! there, Morn! here, Noon! there, Day! there, Night!

Melts wax! dries clay! makes flowers some quick, some dead!

Makes the Moor black! and th'European, white!

Th'American tawny! and th'East Indian red!

[75]

So in our little world, this Soul of ours,

Being only One, and to one Body tied,

Doth use on divers objects, diverse powers,

And so are her effects diversified.

The Vegetative or Quickening Power.

Her Quick'ning Power in every living part,

Doth as a Nurse, or as a Mother serve;

And doth employ her economic art,

And busy care, her household to preserve.

Here, She attracts! and there, She doth retain,

There, She decocts, and doth the food prepare,

There, She distributes it to every vein,

There, She expels, what She may fitly spare.

This power to Martha, may compared be,

Which busy was, the household things to do;

Or to a Dryas living in a tree,

For even to trees, this power is proper too.

And though the Soul may not this power extend

Out of the body, but still use it there;

She hath a Power, which she abroad doth send,

Which views and searcheth all things everywhere.

The power of Sense.

This Power is Sense, which from abroad doth bring,

The Colour, Taste, and Touch, and Scent, and Sound,

The Quantity, and shape of everything

Within th'earth's centre or heaven's circle found.

This Power, in parts made fit, fit objects takes,

Yet not the Things, but Forms of Things receives:

As when a seal in wax impression makes,

The print therein, but not itself, it leaves:

And though things sensible be numberless,

But only five the Sense's organs be;

And in those five, All Things their Forms express,

Which we can Touch, Taste, Feel, or Hear, or See.

[76]

These are the Windows, through the which She views

The Light of Knowledge, which is Life's Load-star;

And yet whiles She, these spectacles doth use,

Oft, worldly things seem greater than they are.

Sight.

First, the two Eyes, which have the Seeing Power,

Stand as one Watchman, Spy, or Sentinel,

Being placed aloft within the head's high Tower

And though both see, yet both but one thing tell.

These Mirrors take into their little space,

The Forms of moon, and sun, and every star;

Of every body, and of every place,

Which, with the world's wide arms, embracèd are.

Yet their best object, and their noblest use,

Hereafter in another world will be;

When GOD in them, shall heavenly light infuse,

That face to face, they may their Maker see.

Here are they guides, which do the Body lead,

Which else would stumble in eternal night:

Here in this world, they do much knowledge read,

And are the Casements, which admit most light.

They are her farthest-reaching instrument;

Yet they no beams unto their objects send:

But all the rays are from their objects sent;

And in the Eyes, with pointed angles end.

If th'objects be far off, the rays do meet

In a sharp point, and so things seem but small;

If they be near, their rays do spread and fleet,

And make broad points, that things seem great withal.

Lastly. Nine things to Sight requirèd are.

The Power to see! the Light! the Visible thing!

Being not too small! too thin! too nigh! too far!

Clear space! and Time, the Form distinct to bring.

[77]

Thus see we, how the Soul doth use the Eyes,

As instruments of her quick power of sight;

Hence do th'Arts Optic, and fair Painting rise.

Painting, which doth all gentle minds delight!

Hearing.

Now let us hear, how She the Ears employs:

Their office is the troubled air to take,

Which in their mazes, forms a sound or noise;

Whereof herself doth true distinction make.

These Wickets of the Soul are placed on high,

Because all sounds do lightly mount aloft;

And that they may not pierce too violently;

They are delayed with turns and windings oft.

For should the voice directly strike the brain,

It would astonish and confuse it much;

Therefore these plaits and folds the sound restrain,

That it, the Organ may more gently touch!

As streams, which, with their winding banks, do play,

Stopt by their creeks, run softly through the plain;

So in the Ear's labyrinth, the voice doth stray,

And doth, with easy motion, touch the brain!

It is the slowest, yet the daintiest Sense!

For even the ears of such as have no skill,

Perceive a discord, and conceive offence,

And knowing not what's good, yet find the ill!

And though this Sense, first, gentle Music found;

Her proper object is the Speech of Man!

But that speech chiefly which GOD's heralds sound,

When their tongues utter, what his Spirit did pen.

Our Eyes have lids, our Ears still ope we see!

Quickly to hear, how every tale is proved;

Our Eyes still move, our Ears unmoved be!

That though we hear quick, we be not quickly moved.

[78]

Thus by the organs of the Eye and Ear,

The Soul with knowledge doth herself endue!

Thus She her prison, may with pleasure bear;

Having such prospects, all the world to view!

These Conduit Pipes of Knowledge feed the Mind:

But th'other three attend the Body still;

For by their services the Soul doth find

What things are to the Body, good or ill.

Taste.

The Body's life, with meats and air is fed,

Therefore the Soul doth use the Tasting power!

In veins, which through the tongue and palate spread,

Distinguish every relish, sweet and sour.

This is the Body's Nurse! But since Man's wit

Found th'art of cookery to delight his Sense:

More bodies are consumed and killed with it!

Than with the sword, famine, or pestilence.

Smell.

Next, in the nostrils, She doth use the Smell,

As GOD the breath of life in them did give;

So makes He, now, His power in them to dwell;

To judge all airs, whereby we breath and live.

This Sense is also mistress of an Art,

Which to soft people, sweet perfumes doth sell;

Though this dear Art doth little good impart,

Since "they smell best; that do of nothing smell!"

And yet good scents do purify the Brain,

Awake the Fancy, and the Wits refine.

Hence Old Devotion, incense did ordain,

To make men's spirits more apt for thoughts divine.

Feeling.

Lastly, the Feeling power, which is Life's Root,

Through every living part itself doth shed;

By sinews, which extend from head to foot,

And like a net, all o'er the Body spread.

[79]

Much like a subtle spider, which doth sit

In middle of her web, which spreadeth wide;

If ought do touch the utmost thread of it;

She feels it, instantly, on every side!

By touch; the first pure qualities we learn,

Which quicken all things, Hot, Cold, Moist, and Dry!

By touch; Hard, Soft, Rough, Smooth, we do discern!

By touch; sweet Pleasure, and sharp Pain we try!

These are the outward instruments of Sense!

These are the Guards, which every thing must pass;

Ere it approach the Mind's intelligence!

Or touch the Phantasy "Wits Looking Glass!"

The Imagination, or Common Sense.

And yet these Porters which all things admit,

Themselves perceive not, nor discern the things;

One Common Power doth in the forehead sit,

Which all their proper forms together brings.

For all those Nerves, which spirits of Sense do bear,

And to those outward organs spreading go,

United are as in a centre there!

And, there, this power, those sundry forms doth know!

Those outward Organs present things receive;

This inward Sense doth absent things retain!

Yet, straight, transmits all Forms she doth perceive,

Unto a higher region of the brain;

The Phantasy.

Where Phantasy (near handmaid to the Mind!)

Sits and beholds, and doth discern them all;

Compounds in one, things diverse in their kind,

Compares the black and white, the great and small.

Besides those single forms, She doth esteem,

And in her balance doth their values try;

Where some things good, and some things ill do seem,

And neutral some in her Phantastic eye.

[80]

This busy power is working day and night,

For when the outward senses rest do take;

A thousand dreams, phantastical and light,

With fluttering wings, do keep her still awake!

The sensitive Memory.

Yet, always, all may not afore her be;

Successively, she this, and that intends:

Therefore such forms as she doth cease to see,

To Memory's large volume she commends!

The Ledger Book lies in the brain behind,

Like Janus' eye, which in his poll was set;

The Layman's Tables! Storehouse of the Mind!

Which doth remember much, and much forget.

Here, Sense's Apprehensions end doth take;

As, when a stone is into water cast,

One circle doth another circle make,

Till the last circle touch the bank at last!

The Passions of Sense.

But though the Apprehensive Power do pause,

The Motive Virtue then begins to move!

Which in the heart below, doth Passions cause,

Joy, Grief, and Fear, and Hope, and Hate, and Love

These Passions have a free commanding might,

And divers actions in our life do breed;

For all acts done without true Reason's light,

Do from the Passion of the Sense proceed.

But sith the Brain doth lodge these powers of Sense,

How makes it, in the Heart those passions spring?

The mutual love, the kind intelligence

'Twixt heart and brain, this Sympathy doth bring.

From the kind heat, which in the heart doth reign,

The spirits of Life do their beginning take!

These spirits of Life ascending to the brain,

When they come there, the spirits of Sense do make

[81]

These spirits of Sense in Phantasy's high court,

Judge of the Forms of Objects, ill or well!

And so, they send a good or ill report

Down to the heart, where all Affections dwell.

If the report be good; it causeth love!

And longing hope! and well assured joy!

If it be ill; then doth it hatred move!

And trembling fear! and vexing griefs annoy!

Yet were these natural affections good

(For they which want them, blocks or devils be!);

If Reason in her first perfection stood,

That she might Nature's Passions rectify.

The motion of Life.

Besides, another Motive Power doth rise

Out of the heart: from whose pure blood do spring

The Vital Spirits, which born in arteries,

Continual motion to all parts do bring.

The local motion.

This makes the pulses beat, and lungs respire,

This holds the sinews, like a bridle's reins;

And makes the body to advance, retire,

To turn or stop, as she them slacks or strains!

Thus the Soul tunes the Body's instrument;

These harmonies She makes with Life and Sense:

The organs fit, are by the Body lent;

But th'actions flow from the Soul's influence.

The Intellectual Powers of the Soul.

But now I have a Will, yet want a Wit,

To express the workings of the Wit and Will;

Which, though their root be to the body knit,

Use not the Body, when they use their skill.

These powers the nature of the Soul declare,

For to Man's Soul, these only proper be!

For on the earth, no other wights there are,

Which have these heavenly powers, but only

[82]

The Wit or Understanding.

The Wit (the pupil of the Soul's clear eye!

And in Man's world, th'only shining star!)

Looks in the Mirror of the Phantasy,

Where all the gatherings of the senses are

From thence this Power, the Shapes of things abstracts,

And them within her Passive part receives;

Which are enlightened by that part which Acts,

And so the Forms of single things perceives.

But after, by discoursing to and fro,

Anticipating, and comparing things;

She doth all universal natures know,

And all Effects into their Causes brings.

Reason.

Understanding.

When She rates things, and moves from ground to ground,

The name of Reason, She obtains by this!

But when, by reasons, She the truth hath found,

And standeth fixt, She, Understanding is!

Opinion.

Judgement.

When her assent, She lightly doth incline

To either part, She is Opinion light!

But when She doth by principles define

A certain truth, She hath true Judgement's sight.

And as from senses, Reason's work doth spring;

So many reasons, Understanding gain:

And many understandings, Knowledge bring,

And by much knowledge, Wisdom we obtain

So, many stairs we must ascend upright,

Ere we attain to Wisdom's high degree:

So doth this earth eclipse our Reason's light,

Which else (in instants) would like angels see.

Yet hath the Soul a dowry natural,

And Sparks of Light some common things to see;

Not being a blank, where nought is writ at all,

But what the writer will, may written be.

[83]

For Nature, in man's heart her laws doth pen,

Prescribing Truth to Wit! and Good to Will!

Which do accuse, or else excuse all men,

For every thought or practice, good or ill!

And yet these sparks grow almost infinite,

Making the world and all therein, their food;

As fire so spreads, as no place holdeth it,

Being nourished still with new supplies of wood.

And though these sparks were almost quenched with sin,

Yet they, whom that Just One hath justified,

Have them increased, with Heavenly Light within!

And, like the Widow's oil, still multiplied!

The power of Will.

And as this Wit should goodness truly know,

We have a Wit which that true good should choose!

Though Will do oft (when Wit, false Forms doth show)

Take Ill, for Good; and Good, for Ill refuse.

The relations betwixt Wit and Will.

Will puts in practice what the Wit deviseth;

The Will ever acts, and Wit contemplates still:

And as from Wit the power of Wisdom riseth;

All other virtues, daughters are of Will!

Will is the Prince! and Wit, the Councillor!

Which doth for common good in council sit;

And when Wit is resolved; Will lends her power

To execute what is advised by Wit.

Wit is the Mind's Chief Judge! which doth control,

Of Fancy's Court, the judgements false and vain!

Will holds the royal sceptre in the Soul;

And on the Passions of the Heart doth reign!

Will is as free as any Emperor,

Nought can restrain her gentle liberty;

No tyrant, nor no torment hath the power

To make us will; when we unwilling be!

[84]

The intellectual Memory.

To these high powers, a Storehouse doth pertain;

Where they, all Arts and general reasons lay!

Which in the Soul (even after death!) remain,

And no Lethean flood can wash away!

This is the Soul! and those, her virtues be!

Which, though they have their sundry proper ends,

And one exceeds another in degree;

Yet each on other mutually depends.

Our Wit is given, Almighty GOD to know!

Our Will is given to love Him, being known!

But GOD could not be known to us below,

But by His works, which through the Sense are shown.

And as the Wit doth reap the fruits of Sense;

So doth the Quick'ning Power, the Senses feed!

Thus while they do their sundry gifts dispense,

The best, the service of the least doth need!

Even so, the King, his magistrates do serve;

Yet Commons feed both magistrate and King!

The Commons' peace, the magistrates preserve

By borrowed power, which from the Prince doth spring.

The Quickening Power would be, and so would rest!

The Sense would not be only, be be well!

But Wit's ambition longeth to be best!

For it desires in endless bliss, to dwell.

And these three Powers, three sorts of men do make.

For some, like plants, their veins do only fill;

And some, like beasts, their senses' pleasure take,

And some, like angels, do contemplate still.

Therefore the fables turned some men to flowers,

And others, did with brutish forms invest;

And did of others, make celestial powers

Like angels! which still travail, yet still rest!

[85]

Yet these three Powers are not three Souls but one,

As one and two are both contained in three;

Three being one number by itself alone.

A shadow of the blessed Trinity!

An acclamation.

O what is Man! (Great Maker of mankind!)

That Thou to him so great respect dost bear!

That Thou adorn'st him with so bright a Mind!

Mak'st him a king! and even an angel's peer!

O what a lively life! what heavenly power!

What spreading virtue! what a sparkling fire!

How great! how plentiful! how rich a dower!

Dost Thou, within this dying flesh inspire!

Thou leav'st Thy Print in other works of Thine!

But Thy whole Image, Thou, in Man hast writ!

There cannot be a creature more divine;

Except, (like Thee!) it should be infinite.

But it exceeds Man's thought, to think how high

GOD hath raised Man, since GOD, a man became:

The angels do admire this mystery,

And are astonished when they view the same!

 

Or hath He given these blessings for a day,

That the Soul is immortal, and cannot die.

 Nor made them on the Body's life depend,

 The Soul, though made in Time, survives for Aye;

 And though it hath beginning, sees no end!

Her only end, in never-ending bliss;

Which is, th'eternal face of GOD to see:

Who Last of Ends and First of Causes is,

And to do this, She must Eternal be!

[86]

How senseless then, and dead a Soul hath he,

Which thinks his soul doth with his body die:

Or thinks not so, but so would have it be,

That he might sin with more security!

For though these light and vicious persons say,

"Our Soul is but a smoke! or airy blast!

Which, during life, doth in our nostrils play;

And when we die, doth turn to wind at last!"

Although they say, "Come, let us eat, and drink!

Our life is but a spark, which quickly dies!"

Though thus they say, they know not what to think,

But in their minds, ten thousand doubts arise.

Therefore no heretics desire to spread

Their light opinions, like these Epicures;

For so their staggering thoughts are comforted,

And other men's assent, their doubt assures.

Yet though these men against their conscience strive,

There are some sparkles in their flinty breasts,

Which cannot be extinct, but still revive,

That (though they would) they cannot, quite be beasts!

But whoso makes a Mirror of his Mind;

And doth, with patience, view himself therein;

His Soul's eternity shall clearly find,

Though th'other beauties be defaced with sin.

1 Reason. Drawn from the Desire of Knowledge.

First, In man's mind, we find an appetite

To Learn and Know the Truth of everything:

Which is connatural, and born with it;

And from the essence of the Soul doth spring.

With this Desire, She hath a native Might,

To find out every truth, if She had time

Th'innumerable effects to sort aright;

And, by degrees, from cause to cause to climb!

[87]

But since our life so fast away doth slide!

(As doth a hungry eagle through the wind,

Or as a ship transported with the tide;

Which in their passage, leave no print behind.)

Of which swift little time, so much we spend,

While some few things, we, through the Sense, do strain;

That our short race of life is at an end,

Ere we, the Principles of Skill attain:

Or GOD (which to vain ends, hath nothing done)

In vain, this Appetite and Power hath given;

Or else our knowledge, which is here begun,

Hereafter must be perfected in heaven.

GOD never gave a Power to one whole Kind;

But most of that Kind did use the same!

Most eyes have perfect sight! though some be blind;

Most legs can nimbly run! though some be lame.

But in this life, no Soul, the Truth can know

So perfectly, as it hath power to do!

If then perfection be not found below,

A higher place must make her mount thereto.

2 Reason. Drawn from the motion of the Soul.

Again, how can She but immortal be?

When with the motions of both Will and Wit,

She still aspireth to Eternity,

And never rests, till she attain to it.

Water in conduit pipes can rise no higher

Than the well head, from whence it first doth spring!

Then since to eternal GOD, She doth aspire;

She cannot be but an eternal thing.

"All moving things to other things do move

Of the same kind," which shows their natures such;

So earth falls down, and fire doth mount above,

Till both their proper Elements do touch.

[88]

The soul compared to a river.

And as the moisture which the thirsty earth

Sucks from the sea, to fill her empty veins;

From out her womb at last doth take a birth,

And runs, a Nymph! along the grassy plains:

Long doth she stay, as loath to leave the land,

From whose soft side, she first did issue make:

She tastes all places! turns to every hand!

Her flow'ry banks unwilling to forsake:

Yet Nature, so her streams doth lead and carry,

As that her course doth make no final stay

Till she, herself unto the Ocean marry;

Within whose watry bosom first she lay.

Even so the Soul, which in this earthy mould,

The Spirit of GOD doth secretly infuse;

Because, at first, She doth the earth behold,

And only this material world She views!

At first, our Mother Earth, She holdeth dear!

And doth embrace the World, and worldly things!

She flies close by the ground, and hovers here!

And mounts not up with her celestial wings!

Yet, under heaven, She cannot light on ought,

That with her heavenly nature doth agree:

She cannot rest! She cannot fix her thought!

She cannot in this world contented be!

For who did ever yet in Honour, Wealth,

Or Pleasure of the Sense, contentment find?

Who ever ceased to wish, when he had Health?

Or having Wisdom, was not vext in mind?

Then as a bee, which among weeds doth fall,

Which seem sweet flowers, with lustre fresh and gay;

She lights on that! and this! and tasteth all;

But pleased with none, doth rise and soar away!

[89]

So, when the Soul finds here no true content,

And, like Noah's dove, can no sure footing take;

She doth return from whence She first was sent,

And flies to Him, that first her wings did make!

Wit seeking Truth, from Cause to Cause ascends;

And never rests, till it the First attain;

Will seeking Good, finds many middle Ends,

But never stays, till it the Last do gain.

Now, GOD, the Truth! and First of Causes is!

GOD is the Last Good End! which lasteth still:

Being Alpha and Omega named for this,

Alpha to Wit! Omega to the Will!

Since then, her heavenly kind She doth bewray,

In that to GOD, She doth directly move:

And on no mortal thing can make her stay;

She cannot be from hence, but from above.

And yet this First True Cause and Last Good End,

She cannot hear so well, and truly see;

For this perfection, She must yet attend,

Till to her Maker, She espousèd be.

As a King's daughter, being in person sought

Of divers Princes, which do neighbour near;

On none of them can fix a constant thought,

Though she to all do lend a gentle ear.

Yet can she love a foreign Emperor!

Whom, of great worth and power, she hears to be;

If she be wooed but by Ambassador;

Or but his letters, or his picture see.

For well she knows, that when she shall be brought

Into the kingdom, where her Spouse doth reign;

Her eyes shall see what she conceived in thought,

Himself! his State! his glory! and his train!

[90]

So while the virgin Soul on earth doth stay

She wooed and tempted is, ten thousand ways,

By these great Powers, which on the earth bear sway;

The Wisdom of the World, Wealth, Pleasure, Praise.

With these, sometime, She doth her time beguile.

These do, by fits, her Phantasy possess,

But She distastes them all, within a while;

And in the sweetest, finds a tediousness:

But if, upon the world's Almighty King,

She once do fix her humble loving thought;

Which, by his Picture drawn in everything,

And sacred Messages, her love hath sought,

Of Him, She thinks She cannot think too much.

This honey tasted, still is ever sweet;

The pleasure of her ravished thought is such,

As almost here, She, with her bliss doth meet.

But when in heaven, She shall His Essence see,

This is her Sovereign Good! and Perfect Bliss!

Her longings, wishings, hopes, all finished be!

Her joys are full! her motions rest in this!

There, is She crowned with Garlands of Content,

There, doth She manna eat, and nectar drink,

That Presence doth such high delights present,

As never tongue could speak, nor heart could think!

3 Reason. From contempt of death in the better sort of spirits.

For this! the better Souls do oft despise

The body's death, and do it oft desire;

For when on ground, the burdened balance lies;

The empty part is lifted up the higher!

But if the body's death, the Soul should kill?

Then death must needs against her nature be;

And were it so, all Souls would fly it still,

"For Nature hates, and shuns her contrary."

[91]

For all things else, which Nature makes to be;

Their Being to preserve, are chiefly taught!

For though some things desire a change to see,

"Yet never thing did long to turn to nought!"

If then, by death, the Soul were quenchèd quite,

She could not thus against her nature run!

Since every senseless thing, by Nature's light,

Doth preservation seek! destruction shun!

Nor could the world's best spirits so much err,

(If Death took all!) that they should all agree,

Before this life, their Honour to prefer!

For what is praise, to things that nothing be?

Again, if by the body's prop, She stand?

If on the body's life, her life depend?

As Meleager's on the fatal brand!

The body's good, She only would intend!

We should not find her half so brave and bold,

To lead it to the wars, and to the seas!

To make it suffer watchings! hunger! cold!

When it might feed with plenty! rest with ease!

Doubtless, all Souls have a surviving thought;

Therefore of Death, we think with quiet mind;

But if we think of being turned to nought,

A trembling horror in our Souls we find!

4. Reason. From the fear of death in the wicked souls.

And as the better spirit, when She doth bear

A scorn of death, doth shew She cannot die;

So when the wicked Soul, Death's face doth fear,

Even then, She proves her own eternity!

For, when Death's form appears, She feareth not

An utter quenching or extinguishment!

She would be glad to meet with such a lot!

That so She might all future ill prevent.

[92]

But She doth doubt what after may befall,

For Nature's law accuseth her within,

And saith, "'Tis true, that is affirmed by all,

That after death, there is a pain for sin!"

Then She, which hath been hoodwinked from her birth,

Doth first herself within Death's Mirror see;

And when her body doth return to earth,

She first takes care, how She alone shall be.

Whoever sees these irreligious men,

With burden of a sickness, weak and faint;

But hears them talking of religion then,

And vowing of their souls to every saint?

When was there ever cursed atheist brought

Unto the gibbet, but he did adore

That blessed Power! which he had set at nought,

Scorned, and blasphemed, all his life before?

These light vain persons, still are drunk and mad,

With surfeitings and pleasures of their youth;

But, at their deaths, they are fresh! sober! sad!

Then, they discern! and then, they speak the truth!

If then, all souls, both good and bad, do teach

With general voice, that souls can never die;

'Tis not Man's flattering Gloss, but Nature's Speech,

Which, like GOD's Oracle, can never lie.

5. Reason. From the general desire of Immortality.

Hence, springs that universal strong desire,

Which all men have, of Immortality:

Not some few spirits unto this thought aspire,

But all men's minds in this, united be.

Then this desire of Nature is not vain!

"She covets not impossibilities!"

"Fond thoughts may fall into some idle brain;

But one Assent of All, is ever true!"

[93]

From hence, that general care and study springs,

That launching and progression of the Mind,

Which all men have, so much of Future things,

As they no joy, do in the Present find.

From this desire, that main Desire proceeds,

Which all men have, surviving Fame to gain;

By tombs, by books, by memorable deeds;

For She that this desires, doth still remain.

Hence, lastly, springs Care of Posterities!

For things, their kind would everlasting make!

Hence is it, that old men do plant young trees,

The fruit whereof, another age shall take!

If we these rules unto ourselves apply,

And view them by reflection of the mind;

All these True Notes of Immortality,

In our hearts' tables, we shall written find!

6. Reason. From the very doubt and disputation of immortality.

And though some impious wits do questions move,

And doubt "if souls immortal be or no?"

That doubt, their immortality doth prove!

Because they seem immortal things to know.

For he which reasons, on both parts doth bring,

Doth some things mortal, some immortal call;

Now if himself were but a mortal thing;

He could not judge immortal things, at all!

For when we judge, our Minds we Mirrors make,

And as those glasses, which material be,

Forms of material things do only take

(For Thoughts or Minds in them, we cannot see);

So when we GOD and Angels do conceive,

And think of Truth (which is eternal too),

Then do our Minds, immortal Forms receive,

Which if they mortal were, they could not do.

[94]

And as if beasts conceived what Reason were,

And that conception should distinctly shew;

They should the name of reasonable bear

(For without Reason, none could reason know).

So when the Soul mounts with so high a wing,

As of eternal things, She doubts can move,

She, proofs of her eternity doth bring;

Even when She strives the contrary to prove.

For even the thought of Immortality,

Being an act done without the body's aid,

Shews, that herself alone could move, and be,

Although the body in the grave were laid.

And if herself She can so lively move,

And never need a foreign help to take,

Then must her motion everlasting prove,

"Because her self She never can forsake."

That the Soul cannot be destroyed.

"But though Corruption cannot touch the Mind,

By any cause, that from itself may spring;

Some Outward Cause, Fate hath perhaps designed,

Which to the Soul, may utter quenching bring?"

Her Cause ceaseth not.

"Perhaps her Cause may cease, and She may die!"

GOD is her Cause! His WORD, her Maker was!

Which shall stand fixed for all eternity!

When heaven and earth shall like a shadow pass.

She hath no contrary.

"Perhaps something repugnant to her kind,

By strong antipathy, the Soul may kill!"

But what can be contrary to the Mind,

Which holds all contraries in concord still?

She lodgeth heat, and cold! and moist, and dry!

And life, and death! and peace, and war together:

Ten thousand fighting things in her do lie,

Yet neither troubleth or disturbeth either.

[95]

She cannot die for want of food.

"Perhaps, for want of food, the Soul may pine!"

But that were strange! since all things bad and good,

Since all GOD's creatures, mortal and divine;

Since GOD Himself is her eternal food.

Bodies are fed with things of mortal kind,

And so are subject to mortality;

But Truth, which is eternal, feeds the Mind,

The Tree of Life, which will not let her die.

Violence cannot destroy her.

"Yet violence perhaps the Soul destroys,

As lightning or the sunbeams dim the sight;

Or as a thunder-clap or cannon's noise,

The power of hearing doth astonish quite?"

But high perfection to the Soul it brings,

T'encounter things most excellent and high;

For when She views the best and greatest things,

They do not hurt, but rather clear the eye.

Besides as Homer's gods 'gainst armies stand;

Her subtle form can through all dangers slide;

Bodies are captive, Minds endure no band,

"And Will is free, and can no force abide!"

Time cannot destroy her.

"But lastly, Time perhaps, at last, hath power,

To spend her lively powers, and quench her light?"

But old god Saturn, which doth all devour,

Doth cherish her, and still augment her might

Heaven waxeth old; and all the spheres above

Shall, one day, faint, and their swift motion stay;

And Time itself, in time, shall cease to move,

Only the Soul survives, and lives for aye.

Our bodies, every footstep that they make,

March towards death, until at last they die:

Whether we work, or play, or sleep, or wake,

Our life doth pass, and with Time's wings doth fly

[96]

But to the Soul, time doth perfection give,

And adds fresh lustre to her beauty still,

And makes her in eternal youth to live,

Like her which nectar to the gods doth fill.

The more She lives, the more She feeds on Truth;

The more She feeds, her Strength doth more increase:

And what is Strength, but an effect of Youth!

Which if Time nurse, how can it ever cease?

Objections against the Immortality of the Soul.

But now these Epicures begin to smile,

And say, "My doctrine is more safe, than true!"

And that "I fondly do myself beguile,

While these received opinions I ensue."

Objection.

"For what!" they say, "doth not the Soul wax old?

How comes it, then, that aged men do dote,

And that their brains grow sottish, dull, and cold;

Which were in youth, the only spirits of note?"

"What! are not Souls within themselves corrupted?

How can there idiots then by Nature be?

How is it that some wits are interrupted,

That now they dazzled are, now clearly see?"

Answer.

These questions make a subtle argument

To such as think both Sense and Reason one:

To whom, nor Agent, from the Instrument;

Nor Power of Working, from the Work is known

But they that know that Wit can show no skill,

But when she things in Sense's glass doth view;

Do know, if accident this glass do spill,

It nothing sees! or sees the false for true.

For if that region of the tender brain,

Wherein th'inward sense of Phantasy should sit,

And th'outward senses' gatherings should retain,

By Nature, or by chance become unfit.

[97]

Either at first uncapable it is;

And so few things or none at all receives;

Or marred by accident which haps amiss,

And so amiss it everything perceives;

Then as a cunning Prince that useth spies;

If they return no news, doth nothing know;

But if they make advertisement of lies,

The Prince's Council all awry do go.

Even so, the Soul, to such a Body knit,

Whose inward senses undisposèd be,

And to receive the Forms of things unfit;

Where nothing is brought in, can nothing see.

This makes the Idiot, which hath yet a mind,

Able to know the Truth, and choose the Good;

If she such figures in the brain did find,

As might be found, if it in temper stood.

But if a frenzy do possess the brain;

It so disturbs and blots the forms of things,

As Phantasy proves altogether vain,

And to the Wit, no true relation brings.

Then doth the Wit, admitting all for true,

Build fond conclusions on those idle grounds;

Then doth it fly the Good, and Ill pursue,

Believing all that this false spy propounds.

But purge the humours, and the rage appease;

Which this distemper in the Fancy wrought:

Then will the Wit, which never had disease,

Discourse and judge discreetly, as it ought.

So though the clouds eclipse the Sun's fair light,

Yet from his face they do not take one beam:

So have our eyes their perfect power of sight,

Even when they look into a troubled stream.

[98]

Then these defects in Sense's organs be,

Not in the Soul, or in her working might;

She cannot lose her perfect Power to See,

Though mists and clouds do choke her window light.

These imperfections then we must impute,

Not to the Agent, but the Instrument;

We must not blame Apollo, but his Lute,

If false accords from her false strings be sent

The Soul, in all, hath one intelligence,

Though too much moisture in an infant's brain,

And too much dryness in an old man's sense

Cannot the prints of outward things retain.

Then doth the Soul want work, and idle sit:

And this we Childishness and Dotage call:

Yet hath She then a quick and active Wit,

If She had stuff and tools to work withal.

For, give her organs fit, and objects fair,

Give but the aged man, the young man's sense:

Let but Medea, Æson's youth repair,

And straight She shews her wonted excellence.

As a good harper, stricken far in years,

Into whose cunning hands, the gout is fall:

All his old crotchets, in his brain he bears,

But on his harp, plays ill, or not at all.

But if Apollo take his gout away,

That he, his nimble fingers may apply;

Apollo's self will envy at his play,

And all the world applaud his minstrelsy!

Then Dotage is no weakness of the Mind,

But of the Sense; for if the Mind did waste;

In all old men, we should this wasting find,

When they some certain term of years had past.

[99]

But most of them, even to their dying hour,

Retain a Mind more lively, quick, and strong,

And better use their Understanding Power,

Than when their brains were warm, and limbs were young.

For though the body wasted be and weak,

And though the leaden form of earth it bears;

Yet when we hear that half-dead body speak,

We oft are ravished to the heavenly spheres.

2. Objection.

Yet say these men, "If all her organs die,

Then hath the Soul no power, her Powers to use!

So in a sort her Powers extinct do lie,

When into Act She cannot them reduce."

"And if her Powers be dead, then what is She?

For since from everything, some Powers do spring,

And from those Powers some Acts proceeding be:

Then kill both Power and Act, and kill the Thing."

Answer.

Doubtless the Body's death, when once it dies,

The Instruments of Sense and Life doth kill;

So that She cannot use those faculties,

Although their root rest in her substance still.

But as, the Body living, Wit and Will

Can judge and choose without the Body's aid,

Though on such objects, they are working still,

As through the Body's organs are conveyed:

So, when the Body serves her turn no more,

And all her Senses are extinct and gone,

She can discourse of what She learned before,

In heavenly contemplations all alone.

So if one man well on the lute doth play,

And have good horsemanship, and learning's skill:

Though both his lute and horse we take away;

Doth he not keep his former learning still?

[100]

He keeps it doubtless! and can use it too!

And doth both th'other skills, in power retain!

And can of both the proper actions do,

If with his Lute, or Horse he meet again.

So, though the instruments by which we live

And view the world, the Body's death doth kill:

Yet with the Body, they shall all revive;

And all their wonted offices fulfil.

3. Objection.

"But how, till then, shall She herself employ?

Her spies are dead; which brought home news before:

What she hath got and keeps, she may enjoy;

But She hath means to understand no more."

"Then what do those poor Souls which nothing get?

Or what do those which get and nothing keep,

Like buckets bottomless, which all out let?

Those Souls, for want of exercise, must sleep."

Answer.

See how Man's Soul, against itself doth strive:

Why should we not have other means to know?

As children, while within the womb they live,

Feed by the navel; Here, they feed not so.

These children (if they had some use of Sense,

And should by chance their mothers talking, hear;

That, in short time, they shall come forth from thence)

Would fear their birth, more than our death we fear.

They would cry out, "If we, this place shall leave,

Then shall we break our tender navel strings:

How shall we then our nourishment receive,

Since our sweet food, no other conduit brings?"

And if a man should, to these babes reply,

That "Into this fair world they shall be brought,

Where they shall see the earth, the sea, the sky,

The glorious sun, and all that GOD hath wrought:

[101]

That there ten thousand dainties they shall meet,

Which by their mouths they shall with pleasure take;

Which shall be cordial too, as well as sweet,

And of their little limbs, tall bodies make!"

This, would they think a fable! even as we

Do think the story of the Golden Age;

Or as some sensual spirits amongst us be,

Which hold the World to Come, "a feigned Stage."

Yet shall these infants, after, find all true;

Though, then, thereof, they nothing could conceive.

As soon as they are born, the world they view,

And with their mouths, the nurse's milk receive.

So when the Soul is born (for Death is nought

But the Soul's Birth, and so we should it call!)

Ten thousand things She sees, beyond her thought;

And, in an unknown manner, knows them all.

Then doth She see by spectacles no more,

She hears not by report of double spies,

Herself, in instants, doth all things explore,

For each thing present, and before her lies.

4. Objection.

But still this Crew, with questions me pursues;

"If Souls deceased," say they, "still living be",

Why do they not return to bring us news

Of that strange world, where they such wonders see?

Answer.

Fond men! if we believe that men do live

Under the zenith of both frozen poles;

Though none come thence, advertisement to give;

Why bear we not the like faith of our Souls?

The Soul hath, here on earth, no more to do,

Than we have business in our mother's womb;

What child doth covet to return thereto?

Although all children, first from thence do come!

[102]

But as Noah's pigeon which returned no more,

Did shew she footing found, for all the flood;

So when good Souls, departed through death's door,

Come not again; it shews their dwelling good.

And doubtless such a Soul as up doth mount,

And doth appear before her Maker's face,

Holds this vile world in such a base account,

As She looks down and scorns this wretched place.

But such as are detruded down to hell;

Either for shame, they still themselves retire,

Or tied in chains, they in close prison dwell,

And cannot come, although they much desire.

5. Objection.

"Well, well," say these vain spirits, "though vain it is

To think our Souls to heaven or hell do go;

Politic men have thought it not amiss,

To spread this lie, to make men virtuous so!"

Answer.

Do you, then, think this moral Virtue, good?

I think you do! even for your private gain;

For commonwealths by Virtue ever stood;

And common good, the private doth contain.

If then this Virtue, you do love so well,

Have you no means, her practice to maintain?

But you this lie must to the people tell,

"That good Souls live in joy, and ill in pain."

Must Virtue be preservèd by a lie?

Virtue and Truth do ever best agree.

By this, it seems to be a verity,

Since the effects so good and virtuous be.

For as the Devil, father is of lies,

So Vice and Mischief do his lies ensue.

Then this good doctrine did he not devise,

But made this Lie which saith, "It is not true!"

[103]

The General Consent of all.

For how can that be false, which every tongue,

Of every mortal man, affirms for true;

Which truth hath, in all ages, been so strong,

As loadstone-like, all hearts it ever drew.

For not the Christian or the Jew alone;

The Persian, or the Turk acknowledge this:

This mystery to the wild Indian known,

And to the Cannibal and Tartar, is.

This rich Assyrian drug grows everywhere,

As common in the North, as in the East!

This doctrine doth not enter by the ear,

But, of itself, is native in the breast!

None that acknowledge GOD, or Providence,

Their Soul's eternity did ever doubt;

For all religion takes her root from hence,

Which no poor naked nation lives without.

For since the world for Man created was,

(For only Man, the use thereof doth know)

If Man do perish like a withered grass,

How doth GOD's wisdom order things below?

And if that wisdom still wise ends propound,

Why made He Man, of other creatures king?

When (if he perish here!) there is not found,

In all the world so poor and vile a thing?

If Death do quench us quite; we have great wrong;

Since for our service, all things else were wrought:

That daws, and trees, and rocks should last so long,

When we must in an instant pass to nought.

But, blest be that Great Power! that hath us blest

With longer life, than heaven or earth can have

Which hath infused into one mortal breast,

Immortal Powers, not subject to the grave.

[104]

For though the Soul do seem her grave to bear,

And in this world is almost buried quick;

We have no cause the Body's death to fear,

"For when the shell is broke, out comes a chick."

Three kinds of Life answerable to the three powers of the Soul.

For as the Soul's essential Powers are three,

The Quick'ning Power, the Power of Sense, and Reason;

Three kinds of Life to her designèd be,

Which perfect these three Powers, in their due season.

The first Life in the mother's womb is spent,

Where She her Nursing Power doth only use;

Where, when She finds defect of nourishment,

Sh' expels her body, and this world She views.

This, we call Birth! but if the child could speak,

He, Death would call it! and of Nature, 'plain

That She should thrust him out naked and weak;

And in his passage, pinch him with such pain.

Yet, out he comes! and in this world is placed,

Where all his Senses in perfection be;

Where he finds flowers to smell, and fruits to taste,

And sounds to hear, and sundry forms to see.

When he hath passed some time upon this Stage,

His Reason, then, a little seems to wake,

Which though She spring, when Sense doth fade with age,

Yet can She here, no perfect practice make.

Then doth th' aspiring Soul, the Body leave,

Which we call Death. But were it known to all,

What Life our Souls do, by this death, receive;

Men would it, Birth! or Gaol Delivery! call.

[105]

In this third Life, Reason will be so bright,

As that her Spark will like the sunbeams shine;

And shall, of GOD enjoy the real sight,

Being still increased by influence divine.

FINIS.

H Y M N S   O F
ASTRÆA, IN
ACROSTIC
VERSE.

LONDON:

Printed for I. S.

1599.

---

[109]

[Hymns of Astræa.]

HYMN I.

Of Astræa.

[110]

HYMN II.

To Astræa.

HYMN III.

To the Spring.

[111]

HYMN IV.

To the month of May.

HYMN V.

To the Lark.

[112]

HYMN VI.

To the Nightingale.

HYMN VII.

To the Rose.

[113]

HYMN VIII.

To all the Princes of Europe.

HYMN IX.

To Flora.

[114]

HYMN X.

To the Month of September.

HYMN XI.

To the Sun.

[115]

HYMN XII.

To her Picture.

HYMN XIII.

Of her Mind.

[116]

HYMN XIV.

Of the Sunbeams of her Mind.

HYMN XV.

Of her Wit.

[117]

HYMN XVI.

Of her Will.

HYMN XVII.

Of her Memory.

[118]

HYMN XVIII.

Of her Phantasy.

HYMN XIX.

Of the Organs of her Mind.

[119]

HYMN XX.

Of the Passions of her Heart.

HYMN XXI.

Of the innumerable Virtues of her Mind.

[120]

HYMN XXII.

Of her Wisdom.

HYMN XXIII.

Of her Justice.

[121]

HYMN XXIV.

Of her Magnanimity.

HYMN XXV.

Of her Moderation.

[122]

HYMN XXVI.

FINIS.

SIX IDILLIA,
THAT IS,
SIX SMALL, OR PETTY, POEMS,
OR ÆGLOGUES,
chosen out of the right famous Sicilian Poet
THEOCRITUS,
And translated into English verse.

Dum defluat amnis.

PRINTED
At Oxford by IOSEPH BARNES.
1588.

---

E. D.

Libenter hic, et omnis exantlabitur

Labor, in tuæ spem gratiæ.

[Horace, Epodes i. 23-24.]

[125]

SIX IDILLIA

chosen out of the famous Sicilian Poet

THEOCRITUS,

and translated into English verse.

THE EIGHTH IDILLION.

Argument.

Menalcas a Shepherd and Daphnis a Neatherd, two Sicilian Lads, contending who should sing best, pawn their Whistles; and choose a Goatherd to be their Judge: who giveth sentence on Daphnis his side. The thing is imagined to be done in the Isle of Sicily, by the sea-shore. Of whose singing, this Idillion is called Bucoliastæ, that is, "Singers of a Neatherd's Song."

BUCOLIASTÆ.

Daphnis, Menalcas, Goatherd.

 

ith lovely Neatherd Daphnis on the hills, they say,

 Shepherd Menalcas met upon a summer's day:

 Both youthful striplings, both had yellow heads of hair;

 In whistling both, and both in singing skilful were.

 

 

[126]

Menalcas first, beholding Daphnis, thus bespake:

Menalcas.

"Wilt thou in singing, Neatherd Daphnis, undertake

To strive with me? For I affirm that, at my will,

I can thee pass!" Thus Daphnis answered on the hill.

Daphnis.

"Whistler Menalcas, thou shalt never me excel

In singing, though to death with singing thou should'st swell!"

Menalcas.

"Then wilt thou see, and something for the victor wage?"

Daphnis.

"I will both see, and something for the victor gage!"

Menalcas.

"What therefore shall we pawn, that for us may be fit?"

Daphnis.

"I'll pawn a calf; a wennell lamb lay thou to it!"

Menalcas.

"I'll pawn no lamb: for both my Sire and Mother fell

Are very hard; and all my sheep at e'en they tell."

Daphnis.

"What then? What shall he gain that wins the victory?"

[127]

Menalcas.

"A gallant Whistle which I made with notes thrice three,

Joined with white wax, both e'en below and e'en above;

This will I lay! My father's things I will not move!"

Daphnis.

"And I a Whistle have with notes thrice three a row,

Joined with white wax, both e'en below and e'en above.

I lately framed it: for this finger yet doth ache

With pricking, which a splinter of the reed did make.

But who shall be our Judge, and give us audience?"

Menalcas.

"What if we call this Goatherd here, not far from hence,

Whose dog doth bark hard by the kids?" The lusty boys

Did call him, and the Goatherd came to hear their toys.

The lusty boys did sing, the Goatherd judgment gave.

Menalcas first, by lot, unto his Whistle brave,

Did sing a Neatherd's Song; and Neatherd Daphnis then

Did sing, by course: but first Menalcas thus began:

Menalcas.

"Ye Groves and Brooks divine, if on his reed

Menalcas ever sang a pleasant Lay;

Fat me these lambs! If Daphnis here will feed

His calves, let him have pasture too I pray!"

Daphnis.

"Ye pleasant Springs and Plants, would Daphnis had

As sweet a voice as have the nightingales!

Feed me this herd! and if the Shepherd's lad

Menalcas comes, let him have all the dales!"

[128]

Menalcas.

"'Tis ever Spring; there meads are ever gay;

There strout the bags; there sheep are fatly fed,

When Daphne comes! Go she away;

Then both the Shepherd there, and grass are dead."

Daphnis.

"There both the ewes, and goats, bring forth their twins;

There bees do fill their hives; there oaks are high;

Where Milo treads! When he away begins

To go, both Neatherd and the neat wax dry."

Menalcas.

"O husband of the goats! O wood so high!

O kids! come to this brook, for he is there!

Thou with the broken horns tell Milo shy,

That Proteus kept sea-calves, though god he were."

Daphnis.

"Nor Pelops' kingdom may I crave, nor gold;

Nor to outrun the winds upon a lea:

But in this cave I'll sing, with thee in hold,

Both looking on my sheep, and on the sea."

Menalcas.

"A tempest marreth trees; and drought, a spring:

Snares unto fowls, to beasts nets, are a smart;

Love spoils a man. O Jove, alone his sting

I have not felt; for thou a lover art!"

Thus sang these boys, by course, with voices strong;

Menalcas then began a latter song:

[129]

Menalcas.

"Wolf, spare my kids! and spare my fruitful sheep!

And hurt me not! though but a lad, these flocks I guide.

Lampur my dog, art thou indeed so sound asleep?

Thou should'st not sleep while thou art by thy master's side!

My sheep, fear not to eat the tender grass at will!

Nor when it springeth up again, see that you fail!

Go to, and feed apace, and all your bellies fill!

That part your lambs may have; and part, my milking pail."

Then Daphnis in his turn sweetly began to sing:

Daphnis.

"And me, not long ago, fair Daphne whistly eyed

As I drove by; and said, I was a paragon:

Nor then indeed to her I churlishly replied;

But, looking on the ground, my way still held I on.

Sweet is a cow-calf's voice, and sweet her breath doth smell;

A bull calf, and a cow, do low full pleasantly.

'Tis sweet in summer by a spring abroad to dwell!

Acorns become the oak; apples, the apple-tree;

And calves, the kine; and kine, the Neatherd much set out."

Thus sung these youths. The Goatherd thus did end the doubt:

Goatherd.

"O Daphnis, what a dulcet mouth and voice thou hast!

'Tis sweeter thee to hear than honey-combs to taste!

Take thee these Pipes, for thou in singing dost excel!

If me, a Goatherd, thou wilt teach to sing so well;

This broken-hornèd goat, on thee bestow I will!

Which to the very brim, the pail doth ever fill."

[130]

So then was Daphnis glad, and lept and clapt his hands;

And danced as doth a fawn, when by the dam he stands.

Menalcas grieved, the thing his mind did much dismay:

And sad as Bride he was, upon the marriage day.

Since then among the Shepherds, Daphnis chief was had!

And took a Nymph to wife when he was but a lad.

 Daphnis his Emblem.

   Me tamen urit Amor.

Menalcas his Emblem.

At hæc Daphne forsan probet.

   Goatherd's Emblem.

Est minor nemo nisi comparatus

[131]

THE ELEVENTH IDILLION.

Argument.

Theocritus wrote this Idillion to Nicias a learned Physician: wherein he sheweth—by the example of Polyphemus a giant in Sicily, of the race of the Cyclops, who loved the Water Nymph Galatea—that there is no medicine so sovereign against Love as is Poetry. Of whose Love Song, as this Idillion, is termed Cyclops; so he was called Cyclops, because he had but one eye, that stood like a circle in the midst of his forehead.

CYCLOPS.

 

 Nicias, there is no other remedy for Love,

 With ointing, or with sprinkling on, that ever I could prove,

 Beside the Muses nine! This pleasant medicine of the mind

 Grows among men; and seems but light, yet very hard to find:

As well I wote you know; who are in physic such a Leech,

And of the Muses so beloved. The cause of this my speech

A Cyclops is, who lived here with us right wealthily;

That ancient Polyphem, when first he loved Galate

(When, with a bristled beard, his chin and cheeks first clothed were):

He loved her not with roses, apples, or with curlèd hair;

But with the Furies' rage. All other things he little plied.

Full often to their fold, from pastures green, without a guide,

His sheep returnèd home: when all the while he singing lay

In honour of his Love, and on the shore consumed away

From morning until night; sick of the wound, fast by the heart,

Which mighty Venus gave, and in his liver stuck the dart.

[132]

For which, this remedy he found, that sitting oftentimes

Upon a rock and looking on the sea, he sang these rhymes:

"O Galatea fair, why dost thou shun thy lover true?

More tender than a lamb, more white than cheese when it is new,

More wanton than a calf, more sharp than grapes unripe, I find.

You use to come when pleasant sleep, my senses all do bind:

But you are gone again when pleasant sleep doth leave mine eye;

And as a sheep you run, that on the plain a wolf doth spy.

"I then began to love thee, Galate, when first of all

You, with my mother, came to gather leaves of crowtoe [hyacinth] small

Upon our hill; when I, as Usher, squired you all the way.

Nor when I saw thee first, nor afterwards, nor at this day,

Since then could I refrain: but you, by Jove! nought set thereby!

"But well I know, fair Nymph, the very cause why thus you fly.

Because upon my front, one only brow, with bristles strong

From one ear to the other ear is stretchèd all along:

'Neath which, one eye; and on my lips, a hugy nose, there stands.

Yet I, this such a one, a thousand sheep feed on these lands;

And pleasant milk I drink, which from the strouting bags is presst.

Nor want I cheese in summer, nor in autumn of the best,

Nor yet in winter time. My cheese racks ever laden are;

And better can I pipe than any Cyclops may compare.

O apple sweet! of thee, and of myself I use to sing,

And that at midnight oft. For thee! eleven fawns up I bring,

[133]

All great with young: and four bears' whelps, I nourish up for thee!

But come thou hither first, and thou shall have them all of me.

And let the bluish coloured sea beat on the shore so nigh,

The night with me in cave, thou shalt consume more pleasantly!

There are the shady bays, and there tall cypress trees do sprout:

And there is ivy black, and fertile vines are all about.

Cool water there I have, distilled of the whitest snow,

A drink divine, which out of woody Etna mount doth flow.

In these respects, who in the sea and waves would rather be?

"But if I seem as yet too rough and savage unto thee,

Great store of oaken wood I have, and never-quenchèd fire;

And I can well endure my soul to burn with thy desire,

With this my only eye, than which I nothing think more trim:

Now woe is me, my mother bore me not with fins to swim!

That I might dive to thee; that I thy dainty hand might kiss,

If lips thou wouldst not let. Then would I lilies bring iwis,

And tender poppy-toe that bears a top like rattles red,

And these in summer time: but others are in winter bred,

So that I cannot bring them all at once. Now certainly

I'll learn to swim of some or other stranger passing by,

That I may know what pleasure 'tis in waters deep to dwell.

"Come forth, fair Galate! and once got out, forget thee well

}

(As I do, sitting on this rock) home to return again!{  

But feed my sheep with me, and for to milk them take the pain!{  

And cheese to press, and in the milk the rennet sharp to strain!{  

My mother only wrongeth me; and her I blame, for she

Spake never yet to thee one good, or lovely, word of me:

And that, although she daily sees how I away do pine.

But I will say, 'My head and feet do ache,' that she may whine,

[134]

And sorrow at the heart: because my heart with grief is swoll'n.

"O Cyclops, Cyclops! whither is thy wit and reason flown?

If thou would'st baskets make; and cut down brouzing from the tree,

And bring it to thy lambs, a great deal wiser thou should'st be!

Go, coy some present Nymph! Why dost thou follow flying wind?

Perhaps another Galate, and fairer, thou shalt find!

}

For many Maidens in the evening tide with me will play,{  

And all do sweetly laugh, when I stand heark'ning what they say:{  

And I somebody seem, and in the earth do bear a sway."{  

Thus Polyphemus singing, fed his raging love of old;

Wherein he sweeter did, than had he sent her sums of gold.

Polyphem's Emblem.
Ubi Dictamum inventiam?

[135]

THE SIXTEENTH IDILLION.

Argument.

The style of this Poem is more lofty than any of the rest, and Theocritus wrote it to Hiero, King of Syracuse in Sicily. Wherein he reproveth the nigardise of Princes and Great Men towards the Learned, and namely [especially] Poets: in whose power it is to make men famous to all posterity. Towards the end, he praiseth Hiero; and prayeth that Sicily may be delivered by his prowess from the invasions of the Carthaginians. This Idillion is named Hiero in respect of the person to whom it was written; or Charites, that is, "Graces," in respect of the matter whereof it treateth.

CHARITES, or HIERO

 

Oets have still this care, and still the Muses have this care;

To magnify the gods with Songs, and men that worthy are.

The Muses they are goddesses, and gods with praise they crown;

But we are mortal men, and mortal men let us renown!

But who, of all the men under the cope of heaven that dwell,

By opening of his doors, our Graces entertains so well

That unrewarded quite he doth not send them back again?

They in a chafe, all barefoot, home to me return with pain:

And me they greatly blame, and that they went for nought they grudge;

And all too weary, in the bottom of an empty hutch,

Laying their heads upon their knees full cold, they still remain:

Where they do poorly dwell, because they home returned in vain.

[136]

Of all that living are, who loves a man that speaketh well?

I know not one. For now a days for deeds that do excel

}

Men care not to be praised: but all are overcome with gain.{  

For every man looks round, with hand in bosom, whence amain{  

Coin he may get: whose rust rubbed off, he will not give again.{  

But straightway thus he says, "The leg is further than the knee,

Let me have gold enough; the gods to Poets pay their fee!"

Who would another hear, "Enough for all, one Homer is;

Of poets he is Prince: yet gets he nought of me iwis!"

Madmen, what gain is this, to hoard up bags of gold within?

This is not money's use, nor hath to wise men ever been!

But part is due unto ourselves, part to the Poet's pen;

And many kinsfolk must be pleasured, and many men:

And often to the gods thou must do solemn sacrifice.

Nor must thou keep a sparing house: but when, in friendly wise,

Thou hast receivèd strangers at thy board; when they will thence,

Let them depart! But chiefly Poets must thou reverence!

That after thou art hidden in thy grave, thou mayest hear well!

Nor basely mayest thou mourn when thou in Acheron dost dwell!

Like to some ditcher vile, whose hands with work are hard and dry;

Who from his parents poor, bewails his life in beggary.

In King Antiochus his Court, and King Alevas' too

To distribute the monthly bread a many had to do.

The Scopedans had many droves of calves, which in their stalls

[137]

'Mong oxen lowed; and shepherds kept, in the Cranonian dales,

}

Infinite flocks to bear the hospital [hospitable] Creondan's charge.{  

No pleasure should these men enjoy of their expenses large,{  

When once their souls they had embarked in the Infernal Barge;{  

But leaving all this wealth behind, in wretched misery

Among the dead, without renown, for ever they should lie:

Had not Simonides the Chian Poet, with his pen

And with his lute of many strings so famous made these men

To all posterity. The very horses were renowned;

Which, from their races swift returned, with olive garlands crowned.

Whoever should have known the Lycian Princes and their race,

Or them of Troy, of Cignus [Cycnus] with his woman's coloured face:

Had not the Poets sung the famous Wars of them of old?

Nor yet Ulysses (who, for ten years space on seas was rolled,

By sundry sorts of men; and who at last went down to Hell

As yet alive; and from the Cyclops' den escapèd well)

Had got such lasting fame: and drowned should lie in silence deep

Swineherd Eumæus, and Philætus who had to keep

A herd of neat; Laertes eke himself had been unknown—

If far and wide their names, great Homer's verses had not blown.

Immortal fame to mortal men, the Muses nine do give:

But dead men's wealth is spent and quite consumed of them that live.

But all one pain[s] it is, to number waves upon the banks,

Whereof great store, the wind from sea doth blow to land in ranks;

Or for to wash a brick with water clear till it be white:

[138]

As for to move a man whom avarice doth once delight.

Therefore "Adieu!" to such a one for me! and let him have

Huge silver heaps at will, and more and more still let him crave!

But I, Goodwill of Men, and Honour, will prefer before

A many mules of price, or many horses kept in store.

Therefore I ask, To whom shall I be welcome with my train

Of Muses nine? whose ways are hard, if Jove guides not the rein.

The heavens yet have not left to roll both months and years on reels;

And many horses yet shall turn about the Chariot's wheels:

The man shall rise that shall have need of me to set him out;

Doing such deeds of arms as Ajax, or Achilles stout,

Did in the field of Simois, where Ilus' bones do rest

And now the Carthaginians, inhabiting the West,

Who in the utmost end of Liby' dwell, in arms are prest:

And now the Syracuseans their spears do carry in the rest;

Whose left arms laden are with targets made of willow tree.

'Mongst whom King Hiero, the ancient Worthies' match, I see

In armour shine; whose plume doth overshade his helmet bright.

O Jupiter, and thou Minerva fierce in fight,

And thou Proserpina (who, with thy mother, has renown

By Lysimelia streams, in Ephyra that wealthy town),

Out of our island drive our enemies, our bitter fate,

Along the Sardine sea! that death of friends they may relate

Unto their children and their wives! and that the town opprest

By enemies, of th' old inhabitants may be possesst!

That they may till the fields! and sheep upon the downs may bleat

By thousands infinite, and fat! and that the herds of neat

As to their stalls they go, may press the ling'ring traveller!

Let grounds be broken up for seed, what time the grasshopper

[139]

Watching the shepherds by their flocks, in boughs close singing lies!

And let the spiders spread their slender webs in armories;

So that of War, the very name may not be heard again!

But let the Poets strive, King Hiero's glory for to strain

Beyond the Scythean sea; and far beyond those places where

Semiramis did build those stately walls, and rule did bear.

'Mongst whom, I will be one: for many other men beside,

Jove's daughters love; whose study still shall be, both far and wide,

Sicilian Arethusa, with the people, to advance;

And warlike Hiero. Ye Graces! (who keep resiance [residence]

In the Thessalian Mount Orchomenus; to Thebes of old

So hateful, though of you beloved) to stay I will be bold,

Where I am bid to come: and I with them will still remain,

That shall invite me to their house, with all my Muses' train.

Nor you, will I forsake! For what to men can lovely be

Without your company? The Graces always be with me!

Emblem.

Si nihil attuleris, ibis Homere foras.

[140]

THE EIGHTEENTH IDILLION.

Argument.

Twelve noble Spartan Virgins are brought in singing, in the evening, at the chamber door of Menelaus and Helena on their Wedding Day. And first they prettily jest with the Bridegroom, then they praise Helena, last they wish them both joy of their marriage. Therefore this Idillion is entitled Helen's Epithalamion that is "Helen's Wedding Song."

HELEN's Epithalamion.

 

   N Sparta, long ago, where Menelaus wore the crown,

 Twelve noble Virgins, daughters to the greatest in the town,

 All dight upon their hair in crowtoe [hyacinth] garlands fresh and green,

 Danced at the chamber door of Helena the Queen:

What time this Menelaus, the younger son of Atreus,

Did marry with this lovely daughter of Prince Tyndarus;

And therewithal, at eve, a Wedding Song they jointly sang,

With such a shuffling of their feet that all the palace rang.

"Fair Bridegroom, do you sleep? Hath slumber all your limbs

}

possesst?   {  

What, are you drowsy? or hath wine your body so oppresst{  

That you are gone to bed? For if you needs would take your rest,{  

You should have ta'en a season meet. Mean time, till it be day

Suffer the Bride with us, and with her mother dear, to play!

For, Menelaus, She, at evening and at morning tide.

[141]

From day to day, and year to year, shall be thy loving Bride.

"O happy Bridegroom, sure some honest man did sneeze to thee,

When thou to Sparta came, to meet with such a one as She!

}

Among the demi-gods thou only art accounted meet{  

To be the Son-in-law to Jove! for underneath one sheet{  

His daughter lies with thee! Of all that tread on ground with feet{  

There is not such a one in Greece! Now sure some goodly thing

She will thee bear; if it be like the mother that she bring.

For we, her peers in age, whose course of life is e'en the same;

Who, at Eurotas' streams, like men, are oilèd to the game:

And four times sixty Maids, of all the women youth we are;

Of these none wants a fault, if her with Helen we compare.

Like as the rising morn shews a grateful lightening,

When sacred night is past; and Winter now lets loose the Spring:

So glittering Helen shined among her Maids, lusty and tall.

As is the furrow in a field that far outstretcheth all;

Or in a garden is a cypress tree; or in a trace,

A steed of Thessaly; so She to Sparta was a grace.

No damsel with such works as She, her baskets used to fill;

Nor in a divers coloured web, a woof of greater skill

Doth cut off from the loom; nor any hath such Songs and Lays

Unto her dainty harp, in Dian's and Minerva's praise,

As Helen hath: in whose bright eyes all Loves and Graces be.

"O fair, O lovely Maid! a Matron is now made of thee!

But we will, every Spring, unto the leaves in meadow go

To gather garlands sweet; and there, not with a little woe,

[142]

Will often think of thee, O Helen! as the suckling lambs

Desire the strouting bags and presence of their tender dams.

We all betimes for thee, a wreath of melitoe will knit;

And on a shady plane for thee will safely fasten it.

And all betimes for thee, under a shady plane below,

Out of a silver box the sweetest ointment will bestow.

And letters shall be written in the bark that men may see,

And read, DO HUMBLE REVERENCE, FOR I AM HELEN'S TREE!

"Sweet Bride, good night! and thou, O happy Bridegroom, now good night!

Latona send your happy issue! who is most of might

In helping youth; and blissful Venus send you equal love

Betwixt you both! and Jove give lasting riches from above,

Which from your noble selves, unto your noble imps may fall!

Sleep on, and breathe into your breasts desires mutual!

But in the morning, wake! Forget it not in any wise!

And we will then return; as soon as any one shall rise

And in the chamber stir, and first of all lift up the head!

Hymen! O Hymen! now be gladsome at this marriage bed!"

Emblem.

Usque adeo latet utilitas.

[143]

THE TWENTY-FIRST IDILLION.

Argument.

A Neatherd is brought chafing that Eunica, a Maid of the city, disdained to kiss him. Whereby it is thought that Theocritus seemeth to check them that think this kind of writing in Poetry to be too base and rustical. And therefore this Poem is termed Neatherd.

NEATHERD.

 

Unica scorned me, when her I would have sweetly kist

And railing at me said, "Go with a mischief, where thou list!

Thinkest thou, a wretched Neatherd, me to kiss! I have no will

After the country guise to smouch! Of city lips I skill!

My lovely mouth, so much as in thy dream, thou shalt not touch!

How dost thou look! How dost thou talk! How play'st thou the slouch!

How daintily thou speak'st! What Courting words thou bringest out!

How soft a beard thou hast! How fair thy locks hang round about!

Thy lips are like a sick man's lips! thy hands, so black they be!

And rankly thou dost smell! Away, lest thou defilest me!"

Having thus said, she spattered on her bosom twice or thrice;

And, still beholding me from top to toe in scornful wise,

She muttered with her lips; and with her eyes she looked aside,

And of her beauty wondrous coy she was; her mouth she wryed,

And proudly mocked me to my face. My blood boiled in each vein,

And red I wox for grief as doth the rose with dewy rain.

Thus leaving me, away she flang! Since when, it vexeth me

That I should be so scorned of such a filthy drab as She.

[144]

"Ye shepherds, tell me true, am not I as fair as any swan?

Hath of a sudden any god made me another man?

For well I wot, before a comely grace in me did shine,

Like ivy round about a tree, and decked this beard of mine.

My crispèd locks, like parsley, on my temples wont to spread;

And on my eyebrows black a milk white forehead glisterèd:

More seemly were mine eyes than are Minerva's eyes, I know.

My mouth for sweetness passèd cheese; and from my mouth did flow

A voice more sweet than honeycombs. Sweet is my Roundelay

When on the whistle, flute, or pipe, or cornet I do play.

And all the women on our hills do say that I am fair,

And all do love me well: but these that breathe the city air

Did never love me yet. And why? The cause is this I know.

That I a Neatherd am. They hear not how in vales below,

Fair Bacchus kept a herd of beasts. Nor can these nice ones tell

How Venus, raving for a Neatherd's love, with him did dwell

Upon the hills of Phrygia; and how she loved again

Adonis in the woods, and mourned in woods when he was slain.

Who was Endymion? Was he not a Neatherd? Yet the Moon

Did love this Neatherd so, that, from the heavens descending soon,

She came to Latmos grove where with the dainty lad she lay.

And Rhea, thou a Neatherd dost bewail! and thou, all day,

O mighty Jupiter! but for a shepherd's boy didst stray!

Eunica only, deigned not a Neatherd for to love:

Better, forsooth, than Cybel, Venus, or the Moon above!

And Venus, thou hereafter must not love thy fair Adone

In city, nor on hill! but all the night must sleep alone!"

Emblem.

Habitarunt Dii quoque sylvas.

[145]

THE THIRTY-FIRST IDILLION.

Argument

The conceit of this Idillion is very delicate. Wherein it is imagined how Venus did send for the Boar who in hunting slew Adonis, a dainty youth whom she loved: and how the Boar answering for himself that he slew him against his will, as being enamoured on him, and thinking only to kiss his naked thigh; she forgave him. The Poet's drift is to shew the power of Love, not only in men, but also in brute beasts: although in the last two verses, by the burning of the Boar's amorous teeth, he intimateth that extravagant and unorderly passions are to be restrained by reason.

ADONIS.

 

  Hen Venus first did see

Adonis dead to be;

With woeful tattered hair

And cheeks so wan and sear,

The wingèd Loves she bade,

The Boar should straight be had.

Forthwith like birds they fly,

And through the wood they hie;

The woeful beast they find,

And him with cords they bind.

One with a rope before

Doth lead the captive Boar:

Another on his back

Doth make his bow to crack.

The beast went wretchedly,

For Venus horribly

He feared; who thus him curst:

"Of all the beasts the worst,

Didst thou this thigh so wound?

Didst thou my Love confound?"

[146]

The beast thus spake in fear

"Venus, to thee I swear!

By thee, and husband thine,

And by these bands of mine,

And by these hunters all,

Thy husband fair and tall,

I mindèd not to kill!

But, as an image still,

I him beheld for love:

Which made me forward shove

His thigh, that naked was;

Thinking to kiss, alas,

And that hath hurt me thus.

"Wherefore these teeth, Venus!

Or punish, or cut out:

Why bear I in my snout

These needless teeth about!

If these may not suffice;

Cut off my chaps likewise!"

To ruth he Venus moves,

And she commands the Loves,

His bands for to untie.

After he came not nigh

The wood; but at her will

He followed Venus still.

And coming to the fire,

He burnt up his desire.

Emblem.

Raris forma viris, secula prospice

Impunita fuit.

FINIS.

[147]

The Affectionate
Shepheard.

Containing the Complaint of Daphnis for
the loue of Ganymede.

Amor plus mellis, quam fellis, est.

LONDON,
Printed by Iohn Danter for T.G. and E.N.
and are to bee sold in Saint Dunstones
Church-yeard in Fleetstreet,
1594.

---

[149]

To the Right Excellent
and most beautifull Lady, the Ladie
PENELOPE RITCH.

 

Ayre louely Ladie, vvhose Angelique eyes

Are Vestall Candles of sweet Beauties Treasure,

Whose speech is able to inchaunt the wise,

Conuerting Ioy to Paine, and Paine to Pleasure;

Accept this simple Toy of my Soules Dutie,

Which I present vnto thy matchles Beautie.

And albeit the gift be all too meane,

Too meane an Offring for thine Iuorie Shrine;

Yet must thy Beautie my iust blame susteane,

Since it is mortall, but thy selfe diuine.

Then (Noble Ladie) take in gentle vvorth,

This new-borne Babe which here my Muse brings forth.

Your Honours most affectionate

and perpetually deuoted Shepheard:

DAPHNIS.

[150]

[151]

The Teares of an
affectionate Shepheard sicke
for Loue.

OR
The Complaint of Daphnis for the Loue
of Ganimede.

 

Carce had the morning Starre hid from the light

 Heauens crimson Canopie with stars bespangled,

 But I began to rue th'vnhappy sight

 Of that faire Boy that had my hart intangled;

Cursing the Time, the Place, the sense, the sin;

I came, I saw, I viewd, I slipped in.

 

If it be sinne to loue a sweet-fac'd Boy,

(Whose amber locks trust vp in golden tramels

Dangle adowne his louely cheekes with ioy,

When pearle and flowers his faire haire enamels)

If it be sinne to loue a louely Lad;

Oh then sinne I, for whom my soule is sad.

His Iuory-white and Alabaster skin

Is staind throughout with rare Vermillion red,

Whose twinckling starrie lights do neuer blin

To shine on louely Venus (Beauties bed:)

But as the Lillie and the blushing Rose,

So white and red on him in order growes.

[152]

Vpon a time the Nymphs bestird them-selues

To trie who could his beautie soonest win:

But he accounted them but all as Elues,

Except it were the faire Queene Guendolen,

Her he embrac'd, of her was beloued,

With plaints he proued, and with teares he moued.

But her an Old-Man had beene sutor too,

That in his age began to doate againe;

Her would he often pray, and often woo,

When through old-age enfeebled was his Braine:

But she before had lou'd a lustie youth

That now was dead, the cause of all her ruth.

And thus it hapned, Death and Cupid met

Vpon a time at swilling Bacchus house,

Where daintie cates vpon the Board were set,

And Goblets full of wine to drinke carouse:

Where Loue and Death did loue the licor so,

That out they fall and to the fray they goe.

And hauing both their Quiuers at their backe

Fild full of Arrows; Th'one of fatall steele,

The other all of gold; Deaths shaft was black,

But Loues was yellow: Fortune turnd her wheele;

And from Deaths Quiuer fell a fatall shaft,

That vnder Cupid by the winde was waft.

And at the same time by ill hap there fell

Another Arrow out of Cupids Quiuer;

The which was carried by the winde at will,

And vnder Death the amorous shaft did shiuer:

They being parted, Loue tooke vp Deaths dart,

And Death tooke vp Loues Arrow (for his part.)

Thus as they wandred both about the world,

At last Death met with one of feeble age:

Wherewith he drew a shaft and at him hurld

The vnknowne Arrow; (with a furious rage)

Thinking to strike him dead with Deaths blacke dart,

But he (alas) with Loue did wound his hart.

[153]

This was the doting foole, this was the man

That lou'd faire Guendolena Queene of Beautie;

Shee cannot shake him off, doo what she can,

For he hath vowd to her his soules last duety:

Making him trim vpon the holy-daies;

And crownes his Loue with Garlands made of Baies.

Now doth he stroke his Beard; and now (againe)

He wipes the driuel from his filthy chin;

Now offers he a kisse; but high Disdaine

Will not permit her hart to pity him:

Her hart more hard than Adamant or steele,

Her hart more changeable than Fortunes wheele.

But leaue we him in loue (vp to the eares)

And tell how Loue behau'd himselfe abroad;

Who seeing one that mourned still in teares

(a young-man groaning vnder Loues great Load)

Thinking to ease his Burden, rid his paines:

For men haue griefe as long as life remaines.

Alas (the while) that vnawares he drue

The fatall shaft that Death had dropt before;

By which deceit great harme did then issue,

Stayning his face with blood and filthy goare.

His face, that was to Guendolen more deere

Than loue of Lords, of any lordly Peere.

This was that faire and beautifull young-man,

Whom Guendolena so lamented for;

This is that Loue whom she doth curse and ban,

Because she doth that dismall chaunce abhor:

And if it were not for his Mothers sake,

Euen Ganimede himselfe she would forsake.

Oh would shee would forsake my Ganimede,

Whose sugred loue is full of sweete delight,

Vpon whose fore-head you may plainely reade

Loues Pleasure, grau'd in yuorie Tables bright:

In whose faire eye-balls you may clearely see

Base Loue still staind with foule indignitie.

[154]

Oh would to God he would but pitty mee,

That loue him more than any mortall wight;

Then he and I with loue would soone agree,

That now cannot abide his Sutors sight.

O would to God (so I might haue my fee)

My lips were honey, and thy mouth a Bee.

Then shouldst thou sucke my sweete and my faire flower

That now is ripe, and full of honey-berries:

Then would I leade thee to my pleasant Bower

Fild full of Grapes, of Mulberries, and Cherries;

Then shouldst thou be my Waspe or else my Bee,

I would thy hiue, and thou my honey bee.

I would put amber Bracelets on thy wrests,

Crownets of Pearle about thy naked Armes:

And when thou sitst at swilling Bacchus feasts

My lips with charmes should saue thee from all harmes:

And when in sleepe thou tookst thy chiefest Pleasure,

Mine eyes should gaze vpon thine eye-lids Treasure.

And euery Morne by dawning of the day,

When Phœbus riseth with a blushing face,

Siluanus Chappel-Clarkes shall chaunt a Lay,

And play thee hunts-vp in thy resting place:

My Coote thy Chamber, my bosome thy Bed;

Shall be appointed for thy sleepy head.

And when it pleaseth thee to walke abroad,

(Abroad into the fields to take fresh ayre:)

The Meades with Floras treasure should be strowde,

(The mantled meaddowes, and the fields so fayre.)

And by a siluer Well (with golden sands)

Ile sit me downe, and wash thine yuory hands.

And in the sweltring heate of summer time,

I would make Cabinets for thee (my Loue:)

Sweet-smelling Arbours made of Eglantine

Should be thy shrine, and I would be thy Doue.

Coole Cabinets of fresh greene Laurell boughs

Should shadow vs, ore-set with thicke-set Eughes.

[155]

Or if thou list to bathe thy naked limbs,

Within the Christall of a Pearle-bright brooke,

Paued with dainty pibbles to the brims;

Or cleare, wherein thyselfe thy selfe mayst looke;

Weele goe to Ladon, whose still trickling noyse,

Will lull thee fast asleepe amids thy ioyes.

Or if thoult goe vnto the Riuer side,

To angle for the sweet fresh-water fish:

Arm'd with thy implements that will abide

(Thy rod, hooke, line) to take a dainty dish;

Thy rods shall be of cane, thy lines of silke,

Thy hooks of siluer, and thy bayts of milke.

Or if thou lou'st to heare sweet Melodie,

Or pipe a Round vpon an Oaten Reede,

Or make thy selfe glad with some myrthfull glee,

Or play them Musicke whilst thy flocke doth feede;

To Pans owne Pipe Ile helpe my louely Lad,

(Pans golden Pype) which he of Syrinx had.

Or if thou dar'st to climbe the highest Trees

For Apples, Cherries, Medlars, Peares, or Plumbs,

Nuts, Walnuts, Filbeards, Chest-nuts, Ceruices,

The hoary Peach, when snowy winter comes;

I have fine Orchards full of mellowed frute;

Which I will giue thee to obtain my sute.

Not proud Alcynous himselfe can vaunt,

Of goodlier Orchards or of brauer Trees

Than I haue planted; yet thou wilt not graunt

My simple sute; but like the honey Bees

Thou suckst the flowre till all the sweet be gone;

And lou'st mee for my Coyne till I haue none.

Leave Guendolen (sweet hart) though she be faire

Yet is she light; not light in vertue shining:

But light in her behauiour, to impaire

Her honour in her Chastities declining;

Trust not her teares, for they can watonnize,

When teares in pearle are trickling from her eyes.

[156]

If thou wilt come and dwell with me at home;

My sheep-cote shall be strowd with new greene rushes:

Weele haunt the trembling Prickets as they rome

About the fields, along the hauthorne bushes;

I haue a pie-bald Curre to hunt the Hare:

So we will liue with daintie forrest fare.

Nay more than this, I haue a Garden-plot,

Wherein there wants nor hearbs, nor roots, nor flowers;

(Flowers to smell, roots to eate, hearbs for the pot,)

And dainty Shelters when the Welkin lowers:

Sweet-smelling Beds of Lillies and of Roses,

Which Rosemary banks and Lauender incloses.

There growes the Gilliflowre, the Mynt, the Dayzie

(Both red and white,) the blew-veynd-Violet:

The purple Hyacinth, the Spyke to please thee,

The scarlet dyde Carnation bleeding yet;

The Sage, the Sauery, and sweet Margerum,

Isop, Tyme, and Eye-bright, good for the blinde and dumbe.

The Pinke, the Primrose, Cowslip, and Daffadilly,

The Hare-bell blue, the crimson Cullumbine,

Sage, Lettis, Parsley, and the milke-white Lilly,

The Rose, and speckled flowre cald Sops in wine,

Fine pretie King-cups, and the yellow Bootes,

That growes by Riuers, and by shallow Brookes.

And manie thousand moe (I cannot name)

Of hearbs and flowers that in gardens grow,

I haue for thee; and Coneyes that be tame,

Yong Rabbets, white as Swan, and blacke as Crow,

Some speckled here and there with daintie spots:

And more I haue two mylch and milke-white Goates.

All these, and more, Ile giue thee for thy loue;

If these, and more, may tyce thy loue away:

I haue a Pidgeon-house, in it a Doue,

Which I loue more than mortall tongue can say:

And last of all, Ile giue thee a little Lambe

To play withall, new weaned from her Dam.

[157]

But if thou wilt not pittie my Complaint,

My Teares, nor Vowes, nor Oathes, made to thy Beautie:

What shall I doo? But languish, die, or faint,

Since thou dost scorne my Teares, and my Soules Duetie:

And Teares contemned, Vowes and Oaths must faile;

For where Teares cannot, nothing can preuaile.

Compare the loue of faire Queene Guendolin

With mine, and thou shalt [s]ee how she doth loue thee:

I loue thee for thy qualities diuine,

But She doth loue another Swaine aboue thee:

I loue thee for thy gifts, She for hir pleasure;

I for thy Vertue, She for Beauties treasure.

And alwaies (I am sure) it cannot last,

But sometime Nature will denie those dimples:

In steed of Beautie (when thy Blossom's past)

Thy face will be deformed, full of wrinckles:

Then She that lou'd thee for thy Beauties sake,

When Age drawes on, thy loue will soone forsake.

But I that lou'd thee for thy gifts diuine,

In the December of thy Beauties waning,

Will still admire (with ioy) those louely eine,

That now behold me with their beauties baning:

Though Ianuarie will neuer come againe,

Yet Aprill yeres will come in showers of raine.

When will my May come, that I may embrace thee?

When will the hower be of my soules ioying?

Why dost thou seeke in mirthe still to disgrace mee?

Whose mirth's my health, whose griefe's my harts annoying.

Thy bane my bale, thy blisse my blessednes,

Thy ill my hell, thy weale my welfare is.

Thus doo I honour thee that loue thee so,

And loue thee so, that so doo honour thee,

Much more than anie mortall man doth know,

Or can discerne by Loue or Iealozie:

But if that thou disdainst my louing euer;

Oh happie I, if I had loued neuer. Finis.

Plus fellis quam mellis Amor.