XCVIITO ALTHEA FROM PRISON.

My dear and only Love, I prayThat little world of theeBe governed by no other swayBut purest monarchy:For if confusion have a part,5Which virtuous souls abhor,And hold a Synod in thy heart,I’ll never love thee more.As Alexander I will reign,And I will reign alone;10My thoughts did evermore disdainA rival on my throne.He either fears his fate too much,Or his deserts are small,Who dares not put it to the touch,15To gain or lose it all.But I will reign and govern still,And always give the law,And have each subject at my will,And all to stand in awe:20But ’gainst my batteries if I findThou storm, or vex me sore,As if thou set me as a blind,I’ll never love thee more.And in the empire of thy heart,25Where I should solely be,If others do pretend a part,Or dare to share with me:Or committees if thou erect,Or go on such a score,30I’ll smiling mock at thy neglect,And never love thee more.But if no faithless action stainThy love and constant word,I’ll make thee famous by my pen,35And glorious by my sword.I’ll serve thee in such noble waysAs ne’er was known before;I’ll deck and crown thy head with bays,And love thee more and more.40Marquis of Montrose.

My dear and only Love, I pray

That little world of thee

Be governed by no other sway

But purest monarchy:

For if confusion have a part,5

Which virtuous souls abhor,

And hold a Synod in thy heart,

I’ll never love thee more.

As Alexander I will reign,And I will reign alone;10My thoughts did evermore disdainA rival on my throne.He either fears his fate too much,Or his deserts are small,Who dares not put it to the touch,15To gain or lose it all.

As Alexander I will reign,

And I will reign alone;10

My thoughts did evermore disdain

A rival on my throne.

He either fears his fate too much,

Or his deserts are small,

Who dares not put it to the touch,15

To gain or lose it all.

But I will reign and govern still,And always give the law,And have each subject at my will,And all to stand in awe:20But ’gainst my batteries if I findThou storm, or vex me sore,As if thou set me as a blind,I’ll never love thee more.

But I will reign and govern still,

And always give the law,

And have each subject at my will,

And all to stand in awe:20

But ’gainst my batteries if I find

Thou storm, or vex me sore,

As if thou set me as a blind,

I’ll never love thee more.

And in the empire of thy heart,25Where I should solely be,If others do pretend a part,Or dare to share with me:Or committees if thou erect,Or go on such a score,30I’ll smiling mock at thy neglect,And never love thee more.

And in the empire of thy heart,25

Where I should solely be,

If others do pretend a part,

Or dare to share with me:

Or committees if thou erect,

Or go on such a score,30

I’ll smiling mock at thy neglect,

And never love thee more.

But if no faithless action stainThy love and constant word,I’ll make thee famous by my pen,35And glorious by my sword.I’ll serve thee in such noble waysAs ne’er was known before;I’ll deck and crown thy head with bays,And love thee more and more.40Marquis of Montrose.

But if no faithless action stain

Thy love and constant word,

I’ll make thee famous by my pen,35

And glorious by my sword.

I’ll serve thee in such noble ways

As ne’er was known before;

I’ll deck and crown thy head with bays,

And love thee more and more.40

Marquis of Montrose.

When Love with unconfinèd wingsHovers within my gates,And my divine Althea bringsTo whisper at the grates;When I lie tangled in her hair,5And fettered to her eye,The birds, that wanton in the air,Know no such liberty.When flowing cups run swiftly roundWith no allaying Thames,10Our careless heads with roses crowned,Our hearts with loyal flames;When thirsty grief in wine we steep,When healths and draughts go free,Fishes, that tipple in the deep,15Know no such liberty.When, like committed linnets, IWith shriller throat shall singThe sweetness, mercy, majestyAnd glories of my King;20When I shall voice aloud how goodHe is, how great should be,Enlargèd winds, that curl the flood,Know no such liberty.Stone walls do not a prison make,25Nor iron bars a cage;Minds innocent and quiet takeThat for an hermitage:If I have freedom in my love,And in my soul am free,30Angels alone, that soar above,Enjoy such liberty.Richard Lovelace.

When Love with unconfinèd wings

Hovers within my gates,

And my divine Althea brings

To whisper at the grates;

When I lie tangled in her hair,5

And fettered to her eye,

The birds, that wanton in the air,

Know no such liberty.

When flowing cups run swiftly roundWith no allaying Thames,10Our careless heads with roses crowned,Our hearts with loyal flames;When thirsty grief in wine we steep,When healths and draughts go free,Fishes, that tipple in the deep,15Know no such liberty.

When flowing cups run swiftly round

With no allaying Thames,10

Our careless heads with roses crowned,

Our hearts with loyal flames;

When thirsty grief in wine we steep,

When healths and draughts go free,

Fishes, that tipple in the deep,15

Know no such liberty.

When, like committed linnets, IWith shriller throat shall singThe sweetness, mercy, majestyAnd glories of my King;20When I shall voice aloud how goodHe is, how great should be,Enlargèd winds, that curl the flood,Know no such liberty.

When, like committed linnets, I

With shriller throat shall sing

The sweetness, mercy, majesty

And glories of my King;20

When I shall voice aloud how good

He is, how great should be,

Enlargèd winds, that curl the flood,

Know no such liberty.

Stone walls do not a prison make,25Nor iron bars a cage;Minds innocent and quiet takeThat for an hermitage:If I have freedom in my love,And in my soul am free,30Angels alone, that soar above,Enjoy such liberty.Richard Lovelace.

Stone walls do not a prison make,25

Nor iron bars a cage;

Minds innocent and quiet take

That for an hermitage:

If I have freedom in my love,

And in my soul am free,30

Angels alone, that soar above,

Enjoy such liberty.

Richard Lovelace.

If to be absent were to beAway from thee;Or that when I am goneYou or I were alone;Then, my Lucasta, might I crave5Pity from blustering wind, or swallowing wave.Though seas and land betwixt us both,Our faith and troth,Like separated souls,All time and space controls:10Above the highest sphere we meetUnseen, unknown, and greet as angels greet.So then we do anticipateOur after-fate,And are alive i’ the skies,15If thus our lips and eyesCan speak like spirits unconfinedIn Heaven, their earthy bodies left behind.Richard Lovelace.

If to be absent were to beAway from thee;Or that when I am goneYou or I were alone;Then, my Lucasta, might I crave5Pity from blustering wind, or swallowing wave.

If to be absent were to be

Away from thee;

Or that when I am gone

You or I were alone;

Then, my Lucasta, might I crave5

Pity from blustering wind, or swallowing wave.

Though seas and land betwixt us both,Our faith and troth,Like separated souls,All time and space controls:10Above the highest sphere we meetUnseen, unknown, and greet as angels greet.

Though seas and land betwixt us both,

Our faith and troth,

Like separated souls,

All time and space controls:10

Above the highest sphere we meet

Unseen, unknown, and greet as angels greet.

So then we do anticipateOur after-fate,And are alive i’ the skies,15If thus our lips and eyesCan speak like spirits unconfinedIn Heaven, their earthy bodies left behind.Richard Lovelace.

So then we do anticipate

Our after-fate,

And are alive i’ the skies,15

If thus our lips and eyes

Can speak like spirits unconfined

In Heaven, their earthy bodies left behind.

Richard Lovelace.

A steed, a steed, of matchless speed,A sword of metal keen;All else to noble hearts is dross,All else on earth is mean.The neighing of the war-horse proud,5The rolling of the drum,The clangour of the trumpet loud,Be sounds from heaven that come.And oh! the thundering press of knights,Whenas their war-cries swell,10May toll from heaven an angel bright,And rouse a fiend from hell.Then mount, then mount, brave gallants all,And don your helms amain;Death’s couriers, Fame and Honour, call15Us to the field again.No shrewish tears shall fill our eye,When the sword-hilt’s in our hand;Heart-whole we’ll part, and no whit sighFor the fairest in the land.20Let piping swain and craven wightThus weep and puling cry;Our business is like men to fight,And, like to heroes, die!Anon.

A steed, a steed, of matchless speed,

A sword of metal keen;

All else to noble hearts is dross,

All else on earth is mean.

The neighing of the war-horse proud,5

The rolling of the drum,

The clangour of the trumpet loud,

Be sounds from heaven that come.

And oh! the thundering press of knights,

Whenas their war-cries swell,10

May toll from heaven an angel bright,

And rouse a fiend from hell.

Then mount, then mount, brave gallants all,And don your helms amain;Death’s couriers, Fame and Honour, call15Us to the field again.No shrewish tears shall fill our eye,When the sword-hilt’s in our hand;Heart-whole we’ll part, and no whit sighFor the fairest in the land.20Let piping swain and craven wightThus weep and puling cry;Our business is like men to fight,And, like to heroes, die!Anon.

Then mount, then mount, brave gallants all,

And don your helms amain;

Death’s couriers, Fame and Honour, call15

Us to the field again.

No shrewish tears shall fill our eye,

When the sword-hilt’s in our hand;

Heart-whole we’ll part, and no whit sigh

For the fairest in the land.20

Let piping swain and craven wight

Thus weep and puling cry;

Our business is like men to fight,

And, like to heroes, die!

Anon.

Preserve thy sighs, unthrifty girl,To purify the air;Thy tears to thread, instead of pearl,On bracelets of thy hair.The trumpet makes the echo hoarse,5And wakes the louder drum;Expense of grief gains no remorse,When sorrow should be dumb:For I must go, where lazy peaceWill hide her drowsy head;10And, for the sport of kings, increaseThe number of the dead.But first I’ll chide thy cruel theft;Can I in war delight,Who, being of my heart bereft,Can have no heart to fight?15Thou know’st the sacred laws of oldOrdained a thief should pay,To quit him of his theft, sevenfoldWhat he had stol’n away.Thy payment shall but double be;20Oh then with speed resignMy own seducèd heart to me,Accompanied with thine.Sir William Davenant.

Preserve thy sighs, unthrifty girl,To purify the air;Thy tears to thread, instead of pearl,On bracelets of thy hair.

Preserve thy sighs, unthrifty girl,

To purify the air;

Thy tears to thread, instead of pearl,

On bracelets of thy hair.

The trumpet makes the echo hoarse,5And wakes the louder drum;Expense of grief gains no remorse,When sorrow should be dumb:

The trumpet makes the echo hoarse,5

And wakes the louder drum;

Expense of grief gains no remorse,

When sorrow should be dumb:

For I must go, where lazy peaceWill hide her drowsy head;10And, for the sport of kings, increaseThe number of the dead.

For I must go, where lazy peace

Will hide her drowsy head;10

And, for the sport of kings, increase

The number of the dead.

But first I’ll chide thy cruel theft;Can I in war delight,Who, being of my heart bereft,Can have no heart to fight?15

But first I’ll chide thy cruel theft;

Can I in war delight,

Who, being of my heart bereft,

Can have no heart to fight?15

Thou know’st the sacred laws of oldOrdained a thief should pay,To quit him of his theft, sevenfoldWhat he had stol’n away.

Thou know’st the sacred laws of old

Ordained a thief should pay,

To quit him of his theft, sevenfold

What he had stol’n away.

Thy payment shall but double be;20Oh then with speed resignMy own seducèd heart to me,Accompanied with thine.Sir William Davenant.

Thy payment shall but double be;20

Oh then with speed resign

My own seducèd heart to me,

Accompanied with thine.

Sir William Davenant.

Beat on, proud billows; Boreas, blow;Swell, curlèd waves, high as Jove’s roof;Your incivility doth showThat innocence is tempest-proof:Though surly Nereus frown, my thoughts are calm;5Then strike, Affliction, for thy wounds are balm.That which the world miscalls a jail,A private closet is to me,Whilst a good conscience is my bail,And innocence my liberty:10Locks, bars, and solitude together met,Make me no prisoner, but an anchoret.I, whilst I wished to be retired,Into this private room was turned;As if their wisdom had conspired15The salamander should be burned;Or like a sophy that would drown a fish,I am constrained to suffer what I wish.The cynic loves his poverty;The pelican her wilderness;20And ’tis the Indian’s pride to beNaked on frozen Caucasus:Contentment cannot smart; stoics we seeMake torments easy to their apathy.These manacles upon my arm25I, as my mistress’ favours, wear;And for to keep my ancles warm,I have some iron shackles there:These walls are but my garrison; this cell,Which men call jail, doth prove my citadel.30I’m in the cabinet locked up,Like some high-prizèd margarite,Or like the great mogul or pope,Am cloistered up from public sight:Retiredness is a piece of majesty,35And thus, proud sultan, I’m as great as thee.Here sin for want of food must starve,Where tempting objects are not seen;And these strong walls do only serveTo keep vice out, and keep me in:40Malice of late’s grown charitable, sure,I’m not committed, but am kept secure.So he that struck at Jason’s life,Thinking to’ have made his purpose sure,By a malicious friendly knife45Did only wound him to a cure:Malice, I see, wants wit; for what is meantMischief, ofttimes proves favour by the event.When once my Prince affliction hath,Prosperity doth treason seem;50And for to smooth so rough a path,I can learn patience from him:Now not to suffer shows no loyal heart,When kings want ease, subjects must bear a part.What though I cannot see my King,55Neither in person nor in coin;Yet contemplation is a thingThat renders what I have not, mine:My King from me what adamant can part,Whom I do wear engraven on my heart?60Have you not seen the nightingale,A pilgrim, coopt into a cage,How doth she chaunt her wonted taleIn that her narrow hermitage?Even there her charming melody doth prove65That all her bars are trees, her cage a grove.I am that bird, whom they combineThus to deprive of liberty;But though they do my corps confine,Yet, maugre hate, my soul is free:70And though immured, yet can I chirp and singDisgrace to rebels, glory to my King.My soul is free as ambient air,Although my baser part’s immewed,Whilst loyal thoughts do still repair75To’ accompany my solitude:Although rebellion do my body bind,My King alone can captivate my mind.Anon.

Beat on, proud billows; Boreas, blow;

Swell, curlèd waves, high as Jove’s roof;

Your incivility doth show

That innocence is tempest-proof:

Though surly Nereus frown, my thoughts are calm;5

Then strike, Affliction, for thy wounds are balm.

That which the world miscalls a jail,A private closet is to me,Whilst a good conscience is my bail,And innocence my liberty:10Locks, bars, and solitude together met,Make me no prisoner, but an anchoret.

That which the world miscalls a jail,

A private closet is to me,

Whilst a good conscience is my bail,

And innocence my liberty:10

Locks, bars, and solitude together met,

Make me no prisoner, but an anchoret.

I, whilst I wished to be retired,Into this private room was turned;As if their wisdom had conspired15The salamander should be burned;Or like a sophy that would drown a fish,I am constrained to suffer what I wish.

I, whilst I wished to be retired,

Into this private room was turned;

As if their wisdom had conspired15

The salamander should be burned;

Or like a sophy that would drown a fish,

I am constrained to suffer what I wish.

The cynic loves his poverty;The pelican her wilderness;20And ’tis the Indian’s pride to beNaked on frozen Caucasus:Contentment cannot smart; stoics we seeMake torments easy to their apathy.

The cynic loves his poverty;

The pelican her wilderness;20

And ’tis the Indian’s pride to be

Naked on frozen Caucasus:

Contentment cannot smart; stoics we see

Make torments easy to their apathy.

These manacles upon my arm25I, as my mistress’ favours, wear;And for to keep my ancles warm,I have some iron shackles there:These walls are but my garrison; this cell,Which men call jail, doth prove my citadel.30

These manacles upon my arm25

I, as my mistress’ favours, wear;

And for to keep my ancles warm,

I have some iron shackles there:

These walls are but my garrison; this cell,

Which men call jail, doth prove my citadel.30

I’m in the cabinet locked up,Like some high-prizèd margarite,Or like the great mogul or pope,Am cloistered up from public sight:Retiredness is a piece of majesty,35And thus, proud sultan, I’m as great as thee.

I’m in the cabinet locked up,

Like some high-prizèd margarite,

Or like the great mogul or pope,

Am cloistered up from public sight:

Retiredness is a piece of majesty,35

And thus, proud sultan, I’m as great as thee.

Here sin for want of food must starve,Where tempting objects are not seen;And these strong walls do only serveTo keep vice out, and keep me in:40Malice of late’s grown charitable, sure,I’m not committed, but am kept secure.

Here sin for want of food must starve,

Where tempting objects are not seen;

And these strong walls do only serve

To keep vice out, and keep me in:40

Malice of late’s grown charitable, sure,

I’m not committed, but am kept secure.

So he that struck at Jason’s life,Thinking to’ have made his purpose sure,By a malicious friendly knife45Did only wound him to a cure:Malice, I see, wants wit; for what is meantMischief, ofttimes proves favour by the event.

So he that struck at Jason’s life,

Thinking to’ have made his purpose sure,

By a malicious friendly knife45

Did only wound him to a cure:

Malice, I see, wants wit; for what is meant

Mischief, ofttimes proves favour by the event.

When once my Prince affliction hath,Prosperity doth treason seem;50And for to smooth so rough a path,I can learn patience from him:Now not to suffer shows no loyal heart,When kings want ease, subjects must bear a part.

When once my Prince affliction hath,

Prosperity doth treason seem;50

And for to smooth so rough a path,

I can learn patience from him:

Now not to suffer shows no loyal heart,

When kings want ease, subjects must bear a part.

What though I cannot see my King,55Neither in person nor in coin;Yet contemplation is a thingThat renders what I have not, mine:My King from me what adamant can part,Whom I do wear engraven on my heart?60

What though I cannot see my King,55

Neither in person nor in coin;

Yet contemplation is a thing

That renders what I have not, mine:

My King from me what adamant can part,

Whom I do wear engraven on my heart?60

Have you not seen the nightingale,A pilgrim, coopt into a cage,How doth she chaunt her wonted taleIn that her narrow hermitage?Even there her charming melody doth prove65That all her bars are trees, her cage a grove.

Have you not seen the nightingale,

A pilgrim, coopt into a cage,

How doth she chaunt her wonted tale

In that her narrow hermitage?

Even there her charming melody doth prove65

That all her bars are trees, her cage a grove.

I am that bird, whom they combineThus to deprive of liberty;But though they do my corps confine,Yet, maugre hate, my soul is free:70And though immured, yet can I chirp and singDisgrace to rebels, glory to my King.

I am that bird, whom they combine

Thus to deprive of liberty;

But though they do my corps confine,

Yet, maugre hate, my soul is free:70

And though immured, yet can I chirp and sing

Disgrace to rebels, glory to my King.

My soul is free as ambient air,Although my baser part’s immewed,Whilst loyal thoughts do still repair75To’ accompany my solitude:Although rebellion do my body bind,My King alone can captivate my mind.Anon.

My soul is free as ambient air,

Although my baser part’s immewed,

Whilst loyal thoughts do still repair75

To’ accompany my solitude:

Although rebellion do my body bind,

My King alone can captivate my mind.

Anon.

Great Monarch of the world, from whose power springsThe potency and power of [earthly] kings,Record the royal woe my suffering sings.Nature and law by thy divine decree,(The only root of righteous royalty,)5With this dim diadem invested me:With it the sacred sceptre, purple robe,The holy unction, and the royal globe;Yet am I levelled with the life of Job.The fiercest furies, that do daily tread10Upon my grief, my grey discrownèd head,Are they that owe my bounty for their bread.With my own power my majesty they wound,In the King’s name the King’s himself uncrowned;So doth the dust destroy the diamond.15They promise to erect my royal stem,To make me great, to’ advance my diadem,If I will first fall down, and worship them.My life they prize at such a slender rate,That in my absence they draw bills of hate,20To prove the King a traitor to the State.Felons obtain more privilege than I;They are allowed to answer ere they die:’Tis death for me to ask the reason why.But, sacred Saviour, with thy words I woo25Thee to forgive, and not be bitter toSuch as Thou know’st do not know what they do.Augment my patience, nullify my hate,Preserve my issue, and inspire my mate;Yet, though we perish, bless this Church and State.30King Charles the First.

Great Monarch of the world, from whose power springsThe potency and power of [earthly] kings,Record the royal woe my suffering sings.

Great Monarch of the world, from whose power springs

The potency and power of [earthly] kings,

Record the royal woe my suffering sings.

Nature and law by thy divine decree,(The only root of righteous royalty,)5With this dim diadem invested me:

Nature and law by thy divine decree,

(The only root of righteous royalty,)5

With this dim diadem invested me:

With it the sacred sceptre, purple robe,The holy unction, and the royal globe;Yet am I levelled with the life of Job.

With it the sacred sceptre, purple robe,

The holy unction, and the royal globe;

Yet am I levelled with the life of Job.

The fiercest furies, that do daily tread10Upon my grief, my grey discrownèd head,Are they that owe my bounty for their bread.

The fiercest furies, that do daily tread10

Upon my grief, my grey discrownèd head,

Are they that owe my bounty for their bread.

With my own power my majesty they wound,In the King’s name the King’s himself uncrowned;So doth the dust destroy the diamond.15

With my own power my majesty they wound,

In the King’s name the King’s himself uncrowned;

So doth the dust destroy the diamond.15

They promise to erect my royal stem,To make me great, to’ advance my diadem,If I will first fall down, and worship them.

They promise to erect my royal stem,

To make me great, to’ advance my diadem,

If I will first fall down, and worship them.

My life they prize at such a slender rate,That in my absence they draw bills of hate,20To prove the King a traitor to the State.

My life they prize at such a slender rate,

That in my absence they draw bills of hate,20

To prove the King a traitor to the State.

Felons obtain more privilege than I;They are allowed to answer ere they die:’Tis death for me to ask the reason why.

Felons obtain more privilege than I;

They are allowed to answer ere they die:

’Tis death for me to ask the reason why.

But, sacred Saviour, with thy words I woo25Thee to forgive, and not be bitter toSuch as Thou know’st do not know what they do.

But, sacred Saviour, with thy words I woo25

Thee to forgive, and not be bitter to

Such as Thou know’st do not know what they do.

Augment my patience, nullify my hate,Preserve my issue, and inspire my mate;Yet, though we perish, bless this Church and State.30King Charles the First.

Augment my patience, nullify my hate,

Preserve my issue, and inspire my mate;

Yet, though we perish, bless this Church and State.30

King Charles the First.

The forward youth that would appear,Must now forsake his Muses dear,Nor in the shadows singHis numbers languishing.’Tis time to leave the books in dust,5And oil the unused armour’s rust,Removing from the wallThe corslet of the hall.So restless Cromwell could not ceaseIn the inglorious arts of peace,10But through adventurous warUrgèd his active star:And like the three-forked lightning first,Breaking the clouds where it was nurst,Did thorough his own side15His fiery way divide:For ’tis all one to courage highThe emulous, or enemy;And with such, to encloseIs more than to oppose.20Then burning through the air he went,And palaces and temples rent;And Cæsar’s head at lastDid through his laurels blast.’Tis madness to resist or blame25The face of angry heaven’s flame;And if we would speak true,Much to the Man is due,Who, from his private gardens, whereHe lived reservèd and austere30(As if his highest plotTo plant the bergamot,)Could by industrious valour climbTo ruin the great work of time,And cast the Kingdoms old35Into another mould.Though Justice against Fate complain,And plead the ancient Rights in vain—But those do hold or breakAs men are strong or weak.40Nature, that hateth emptiness,Allows of penetration less,And therefore must make room,Where greater spirits come.What field of all the Civil War45Where his were not the deepest scar?And Hampton shows what partHe had of wiser art,Where, twining subtle fears with hope,He wove a net of such a scope50That Charles himself might chaseTo Carsbrook’s narrow case;That thence the royal actor borneThe tragic scaffold might adorn:While round the armèd bands55Did clap their bloody hands;He nothing common did or meanUpon that memorable scene,But with his keener eyeThe axe’s edge did try;60Nor called the Gods, with vulgar spite,To vindicate his helpless right;But bowed his comely headDown, as upon a bed.—This was that memorable hour65Which first assured the forcèd power:So when they did designThe Capitol’s first line,A Bleeding Head, where they begun,Did fright the architects to run;70And yet in that the StateForesaw its happy fate!And now the Irish are ashamedTo see themselves in one year tamed:So much one man can do75That does both act and know.They can affirm his praises best,And have, though overcome, confessedHow good he is, how justAnd fit for highest trust;80Nor yet grown stiffer with command,But still in the Republic’s hand—How fit he is to swayThat can so well obey!He to the Commons’ feet presents85A Kingdom for his first year’s rents,And (what he may) forbearsHis fame, to make it theirs:And has his sword and spoils ungirtTo lay them at the Public’s skirt.90So when the falcon highFalls heavy from the sky,She, having killed, no more does searchBut on the next green bough to perch,Where, when he first does lure,95The falconer has her sure.—What may not then our Isle presume,While victory his crest does plume?What may not others fear,If thus he crowns each year!100As Cæsar he, ere long, to Gaul,To Italy an Hannibal,And to all states not freeShall climacteric be.The Pict no shelter now shall find105Within his parti-coloured mind,But from this valour, sadShrink underneath the plaid—Happy, if in the tufted brakeThe English hunter him mistake,110Nor lay his hounds in nearThe Caledonian deer.But thou, the War’s and Fortune’s son,March indefatigably on;And for the last effect115Still kept the sword erect:Besides the force it has to frightThe spirits of the shady night,The same arts that did gainA power, must it maintain.120Andrew Marvell.

The forward youth that would appear,Must now forsake his Muses dear,Nor in the shadows singHis numbers languishing.

The forward youth that would appear,

Must now forsake his Muses dear,

Nor in the shadows sing

His numbers languishing.

’Tis time to leave the books in dust,5And oil the unused armour’s rust,Removing from the wallThe corslet of the hall.

’Tis time to leave the books in dust,5

And oil the unused armour’s rust,

Removing from the wall

The corslet of the hall.

So restless Cromwell could not ceaseIn the inglorious arts of peace,10But through adventurous warUrgèd his active star:

So restless Cromwell could not cease

In the inglorious arts of peace,10

But through adventurous war

Urgèd his active star:

And like the three-forked lightning first,Breaking the clouds where it was nurst,Did thorough his own side15His fiery way divide:

And like the three-forked lightning first,

Breaking the clouds where it was nurst,

Did thorough his own side15

His fiery way divide:

For ’tis all one to courage highThe emulous, or enemy;And with such, to encloseIs more than to oppose.20

For ’tis all one to courage high

The emulous, or enemy;

And with such, to enclose

Is more than to oppose.20

Then burning through the air he went,And palaces and temples rent;And Cæsar’s head at lastDid through his laurels blast.

Then burning through the air he went,

And palaces and temples rent;

And Cæsar’s head at last

Did through his laurels blast.

’Tis madness to resist or blame25The face of angry heaven’s flame;And if we would speak true,Much to the Man is due,

’Tis madness to resist or blame25

The face of angry heaven’s flame;

And if we would speak true,

Much to the Man is due,

Who, from his private gardens, whereHe lived reservèd and austere30(As if his highest plotTo plant the bergamot,)

Who, from his private gardens, where

He lived reservèd and austere30

(As if his highest plot

To plant the bergamot,)

Could by industrious valour climbTo ruin the great work of time,And cast the Kingdoms old35Into another mould.

Could by industrious valour climb

To ruin the great work of time,

And cast the Kingdoms old35

Into another mould.

Though Justice against Fate complain,And plead the ancient Rights in vain—But those do hold or breakAs men are strong or weak.40

Though Justice against Fate complain,

And plead the ancient Rights in vain—

But those do hold or break

As men are strong or weak.40

Nature, that hateth emptiness,Allows of penetration less,And therefore must make room,Where greater spirits come.

Nature, that hateth emptiness,

Allows of penetration less,

And therefore must make room,

Where greater spirits come.

What field of all the Civil War45Where his were not the deepest scar?And Hampton shows what partHe had of wiser art,

What field of all the Civil War45

Where his were not the deepest scar?

And Hampton shows what part

He had of wiser art,

Where, twining subtle fears with hope,He wove a net of such a scope50That Charles himself might chaseTo Carsbrook’s narrow case;

Where, twining subtle fears with hope,

He wove a net of such a scope50

That Charles himself might chase

To Carsbrook’s narrow case;

That thence the royal actor borneThe tragic scaffold might adorn:While round the armèd bands55Did clap their bloody hands;

That thence the royal actor borne

The tragic scaffold might adorn:

While round the armèd bands55

Did clap their bloody hands;

He nothing common did or meanUpon that memorable scene,But with his keener eyeThe axe’s edge did try;60

He nothing common did or mean

Upon that memorable scene,

But with his keener eye

The axe’s edge did try;60

Nor called the Gods, with vulgar spite,To vindicate his helpless right;But bowed his comely headDown, as upon a bed.

Nor called the Gods, with vulgar spite,

To vindicate his helpless right;

But bowed his comely head

Down, as upon a bed.

—This was that memorable hour65Which first assured the forcèd power:So when they did designThe Capitol’s first line,

—This was that memorable hour65

Which first assured the forcèd power:

So when they did design

The Capitol’s first line,

A Bleeding Head, where they begun,Did fright the architects to run;70And yet in that the StateForesaw its happy fate!

A Bleeding Head, where they begun,

Did fright the architects to run;70

And yet in that the State

Foresaw its happy fate!

And now the Irish are ashamedTo see themselves in one year tamed:So much one man can do75That does both act and know.

And now the Irish are ashamed

To see themselves in one year tamed:

So much one man can do75

That does both act and know.

They can affirm his praises best,And have, though overcome, confessedHow good he is, how justAnd fit for highest trust;80

They can affirm his praises best,

And have, though overcome, confessed

How good he is, how just

And fit for highest trust;80

Nor yet grown stiffer with command,But still in the Republic’s hand—How fit he is to swayThat can so well obey!

Nor yet grown stiffer with command,

But still in the Republic’s hand—

How fit he is to sway

That can so well obey!

He to the Commons’ feet presents85A Kingdom for his first year’s rents,And (what he may) forbearsHis fame, to make it theirs:

He to the Commons’ feet presents85

A Kingdom for his first year’s rents,

And (what he may) forbears

His fame, to make it theirs:

And has his sword and spoils ungirtTo lay them at the Public’s skirt.90So when the falcon highFalls heavy from the sky,

And has his sword and spoils ungirt

To lay them at the Public’s skirt.90

So when the falcon high

Falls heavy from the sky,

She, having killed, no more does searchBut on the next green bough to perch,Where, when he first does lure,95The falconer has her sure.

She, having killed, no more does search

But on the next green bough to perch,

Where, when he first does lure,95

The falconer has her sure.

—What may not then our Isle presume,While victory his crest does plume?What may not others fear,If thus he crowns each year!100

—What may not then our Isle presume,

While victory his crest does plume?

What may not others fear,

If thus he crowns each year!100

As Cæsar he, ere long, to Gaul,To Italy an Hannibal,And to all states not freeShall climacteric be.

As Cæsar he, ere long, to Gaul,

To Italy an Hannibal,

And to all states not free

Shall climacteric be.

The Pict no shelter now shall find105Within his parti-coloured mind,But from this valour, sadShrink underneath the plaid—

The Pict no shelter now shall find105

Within his parti-coloured mind,

But from this valour, sad

Shrink underneath the plaid—

Happy, if in the tufted brakeThe English hunter him mistake,110Nor lay his hounds in nearThe Caledonian deer.

Happy, if in the tufted brake

The English hunter him mistake,110

Nor lay his hounds in near

The Caledonian deer.

But thou, the War’s and Fortune’s son,March indefatigably on;And for the last effect115Still kept the sword erect:

But thou, the War’s and Fortune’s son,

March indefatigably on;

And for the last effect115

Still kept the sword erect:

Besides the force it has to frightThe spirits of the shady night,The same arts that did gainA power, must it maintain.120Andrew Marvell.

Besides the force it has to fright

The spirits of the shady night,

The same arts that did gain

A power, must it maintain.120

Andrew Marvell.

Avenge, O Lord, thy slaughtered saints, whose bonesLie scattered on the Alpine mountains cold;Even them who kept thy truth so pure of old,When all our fathers worshipped stocks and stones,Forget not: in thy book record their groans5Who were thy sheep, and in their ancient foldSlain by the bloody Piemontese that rolledMother with infant down the rocks. Their moansThe vales redoubled to the hills, and theyTo heaven. Their martyred blood and ashes sow10O’er all the Italian fields, where still doth swayThe triple tyrant; that from these may growA hundred fold, who, having learned thy way,Early may fly the Babylonian woe.John Milton.

Avenge, O Lord, thy slaughtered saints, whose bones

Lie scattered on the Alpine mountains cold;

Even them who kept thy truth so pure of old,

When all our fathers worshipped stocks and stones,

Forget not: in thy book record their groans5

Who were thy sheep, and in their ancient fold

Slain by the bloody Piemontese that rolled

Mother with infant down the rocks. Their moans

The vales redoubled to the hills, and they

To heaven. Their martyred blood and ashes sow10

O’er all the Italian fields, where still doth sway

The triple tyrant; that from these may grow

A hundred fold, who, having learned thy way,

Early may fly the Babylonian woe.

John Milton.

First-born of Chaos, who so fair didst comeFrom the old Negro’s darksome womb!Which, when it saw the lovely child,The melancholy mass put on kind looks and smiled:Thou tide of glory which no rest dost know,5But ever ebb and ever flow!Thou golden shower of a true Jove!Who does in thee descend, and heaven to earth make love!Say, from what golden quivers of the skyDo all thy wingèd arrows fly?10Swiftness and power by birth are thine;From thy great sire they came, thy sire, the Word Divine.’Tis, I believe, this archery to show,That so much cost in colours thouAnd skill in painting dost bestow15Upon thy ancient arms, the gaudy heavenly bow.Swift as light thoughts their empty carriere run,Thy race is finished when begun;Let a post-angel start with thee,And thou the goal of earth shalt reach as soon as he.20Thou in the moon’s bright chariot proud and gayDost thy bright wood of stars survey;And all the year dost with thee bringOf thousand flowery lights thine own nocturnal spring.Thou, Scythian-like, dost round thy lands, above25The sun’s gilt tent, for ever move;And still as thou in pomp dost go,The shining pageants of the world attend thy show.Nor amidst all these triumphs dost thou scornThe humble glowworms to adorn,30And with those living spangles gild(O greatness without pride!) the bushes of the field.Night and her ugly subjects dost thou fright,And sleep, the lazy owl of night;Ashamed and fearful to appear,35They screen their horrid shapes with the black hemisphere.With them there hastes, and wildly takes the alarm,Of painted dreams a busy swarm;At the first opening of thine eyeThe various clusters break, the antic atoms fly.40When, Goddess, thou lift’st up thy wakened headOut of the Morning’s purple bed,Thy choir of birds about thee play,And all thy joyful world salutes the rising day.All the world’s bravery that delights our eyes,45Is but thy several liveries;Thou the rich dye on them bestowest,Thy nimble pencil paints this landscape as thou goest.A crimson garment in the rose thou wear’st;A crown of studded gold thou bear’st;50The virgin lilies, in their white,Are clad but with the lawn of almost naked light.The violet, spring’s little infant, standsGirt in thy purple swaddling-bands;On the fair tulip thou dost dote,55Thou cloth’st it in a gay and parti-coloured coat.With flame condensed thou dost thy jewels fix,And solid colours in it mix:Flora herself envies to seeFlowers fairer than her own, and durable as she.60Through the soft ways of heaven and air and sea,Which open all their pores to thee,Like a clear river thou dost glide,And with thy living stream through the close channels slide.But where firm bodies thy free course oppose,65Gently thy source the land o’erflows;Takes there possession, and does make,Of colours’ mingled light, a thick and standing lake:But the vast ocean of unbounded dayIn the empyrean heaven does stay;70Thy rivers, lakes, and springs belowFrom thence took first their rise, thither at last must flow.Abraham Cowley.

First-born of Chaos, who so fair didst comeFrom the old Negro’s darksome womb!Which, when it saw the lovely child,The melancholy mass put on kind looks and smiled:

First-born of Chaos, who so fair didst come

From the old Negro’s darksome womb!

Which, when it saw the lovely child,

The melancholy mass put on kind looks and smiled:

Thou tide of glory which no rest dost know,5But ever ebb and ever flow!Thou golden shower of a true Jove!Who does in thee descend, and heaven to earth make love!

Thou tide of glory which no rest dost know,5

But ever ebb and ever flow!

Thou golden shower of a true Jove!

Who does in thee descend, and heaven to earth make love!

Say, from what golden quivers of the skyDo all thy wingèd arrows fly?10Swiftness and power by birth are thine;From thy great sire they came, thy sire, the Word Divine.

Say, from what golden quivers of the sky

Do all thy wingèd arrows fly?10

Swiftness and power by birth are thine;

From thy great sire they came, thy sire, the Word Divine.

’Tis, I believe, this archery to show,That so much cost in colours thouAnd skill in painting dost bestow15Upon thy ancient arms, the gaudy heavenly bow.

’Tis, I believe, this archery to show,

That so much cost in colours thou

And skill in painting dost bestow15

Upon thy ancient arms, the gaudy heavenly bow.

Swift as light thoughts their empty carriere run,Thy race is finished when begun;Let a post-angel start with thee,And thou the goal of earth shalt reach as soon as he.20

Swift as light thoughts their empty carriere run,

Thy race is finished when begun;

Let a post-angel start with thee,

And thou the goal of earth shalt reach as soon as he.20

Thou in the moon’s bright chariot proud and gayDost thy bright wood of stars survey;And all the year dost with thee bringOf thousand flowery lights thine own nocturnal spring.

Thou in the moon’s bright chariot proud and gay

Dost thy bright wood of stars survey;

And all the year dost with thee bring

Of thousand flowery lights thine own nocturnal spring.

Thou, Scythian-like, dost round thy lands, above25The sun’s gilt tent, for ever move;And still as thou in pomp dost go,The shining pageants of the world attend thy show.

Thou, Scythian-like, dost round thy lands, above25

The sun’s gilt tent, for ever move;

And still as thou in pomp dost go,

The shining pageants of the world attend thy show.

Nor amidst all these triumphs dost thou scornThe humble glowworms to adorn,30And with those living spangles gild(O greatness without pride!) the bushes of the field.

Nor amidst all these triumphs dost thou scorn

The humble glowworms to adorn,30

And with those living spangles gild

(O greatness without pride!) the bushes of the field.

Night and her ugly subjects dost thou fright,And sleep, the lazy owl of night;Ashamed and fearful to appear,35They screen their horrid shapes with the black hemisphere.

Night and her ugly subjects dost thou fright,

And sleep, the lazy owl of night;

Ashamed and fearful to appear,35

They screen their horrid shapes with the black hemisphere.

With them there hastes, and wildly takes the alarm,Of painted dreams a busy swarm;At the first opening of thine eyeThe various clusters break, the antic atoms fly.40

With them there hastes, and wildly takes the alarm,

Of painted dreams a busy swarm;

At the first opening of thine eye

The various clusters break, the antic atoms fly.40

When, Goddess, thou lift’st up thy wakened headOut of the Morning’s purple bed,Thy choir of birds about thee play,And all thy joyful world salutes the rising day.

When, Goddess, thou lift’st up thy wakened head

Out of the Morning’s purple bed,

Thy choir of birds about thee play,

And all thy joyful world salutes the rising day.

All the world’s bravery that delights our eyes,45Is but thy several liveries;Thou the rich dye on them bestowest,Thy nimble pencil paints this landscape as thou goest.

All the world’s bravery that delights our eyes,45

Is but thy several liveries;

Thou the rich dye on them bestowest,

Thy nimble pencil paints this landscape as thou goest.

A crimson garment in the rose thou wear’st;A crown of studded gold thou bear’st;50The virgin lilies, in their white,Are clad but with the lawn of almost naked light.

A crimson garment in the rose thou wear’st;

A crown of studded gold thou bear’st;50

The virgin lilies, in their white,

Are clad but with the lawn of almost naked light.

The violet, spring’s little infant, standsGirt in thy purple swaddling-bands;On the fair tulip thou dost dote,55Thou cloth’st it in a gay and parti-coloured coat.

The violet, spring’s little infant, stands

Girt in thy purple swaddling-bands;

On the fair tulip thou dost dote,55

Thou cloth’st it in a gay and parti-coloured coat.

With flame condensed thou dost thy jewels fix,And solid colours in it mix:Flora herself envies to seeFlowers fairer than her own, and durable as she.60

With flame condensed thou dost thy jewels fix,

And solid colours in it mix:

Flora herself envies to see

Flowers fairer than her own, and durable as she.60

Through the soft ways of heaven and air and sea,Which open all their pores to thee,Like a clear river thou dost glide,And with thy living stream through the close channels slide.

Through the soft ways of heaven and air and sea,

Which open all their pores to thee,

Like a clear river thou dost glide,

And with thy living stream through the close channels slide.

But where firm bodies thy free course oppose,65Gently thy source the land o’erflows;Takes there possession, and does make,Of colours’ mingled light, a thick and standing lake:

But where firm bodies thy free course oppose,65

Gently thy source the land o’erflows;

Takes there possession, and does make,

Of colours’ mingled light, a thick and standing lake:

But the vast ocean of unbounded dayIn the empyrean heaven does stay;70Thy rivers, lakes, and springs belowFrom thence took first their rise, thither at last must flow.Abraham Cowley.

But the vast ocean of unbounded day

In the empyrean heaven does stay;70

Thy rivers, lakes, and springs below

From thence took first their rise, thither at last must flow.

Abraham Cowley.

Philosophy! the great and only heirOf all that human knowledge which has beenUnforfeited by man’s rebellious sin,Though full of years he do appear,(Philosophy! I say, and call it He,5For whatsoe’er the painter’s fancy be,It a male virtue seems to me)Has still been kept in nonage till of late,Nor managed or enjoyed his vast estate.Three or four thousand years, one would have thought,10To ripeness and perfection might have broughtA science so well bred and nursed,And of such hopeful parts, too, at the first;But oh! the guardians and the tutors then,(Some negligent, some ambitious men)15Would ne’er consent to set him free,Or his own natural powers to let him see,Lest that should put an end to their authority.That his own business he might quite forget,They’ amused him with the sports of wanton wit;20With the deserts of poetry they fed him,Instead of solid meats to’ increase his force;Instead of vigorous exercise they led himInto the pleasant labyrinths of ever-fresh discourse:Instead of carrying him to see25The riches which do hoarded for him lieIn Nature’s endless treasury,They chose his eye to entertain(His curious, but not covetous, eye)With painted scenes and pageants of the brain.30Some few exalted spirits this latter age has shown,That laboured to assert the liberty(From guardians who were now usurpers grown)Of this old minor still, captived Philosophy;But ’twas rebellion called, to fight35For such a long-oppressèd right.Bacon, at last, a mighty man! arose,Whom a wise King and Nature choseLord Chancellor of both their laws,And boldly undertook the injured pupil’s cause.40Authority, which did a body boast,Though ’twas but air condensed, and stalked aboutLike some old giant’s more gigantic ghost,To terrify the learnèd rout,With the plain magic of true reason’s light45He chased out of our sight,Nor suffered living men to be misledBy the vain shadows of the dead:To graves, from whence it rose, the conquered phantom fled.He broke that monstrous god which stood,50In midst of the orchard, and the whole did claim,Which with a useless scythe of wood,And something else not worth a name,(Ridiculous and senseless terrors!) madeChildren and superstitious men afraid.55The orchard’s open now, and free:Bacon has broke that scarecrow deity:Come, enter all that will,Behold the ripened fruit, come, gather now your fill!Yet still, methinks, we fain would be60Catching at the forbidden tree;We would be like the Deity;When truth and falsehood, good and evil, weWithout the senses’ aid within ourselves would see;For ’tis God only who can find65All nature in his mind.From words, which are but pictures of the thought(Though we our thoughts from them perversely drew,)To things, the mind’s right object, he it brought;Like foolish birds to painted grapes we flew.70He sought and gathered for our use the true;And when on heaps the chosen bunches lay,He pressed them wisely the mechanic way,Till all their juice did in one vessel join,Ferment into a nourishment divine,75The thirsty soul’s refreshing wine.Who to the life an exact piece would make,Must not from others’ work a copy take;No, not from Rubens or Vandyck;Much less content himself to make it like80The ideas and the images which lieIn his own fancy or his memory:No, he before his sight must placeThe natural and the living face;The real object must command85Each judgment of his eye and motion of his hand.From these, and all long errors of the way,In which our wandering predecessors went,And, like the old Hebrews, many years did strayIn deserts, but of small extent,90Bacon! like Moses, led us forth at last;The barren wilderness he passed,Did on the very border standOf the blessed Promised Land,And from the mountain’s top of his exalted wit,95Saw it himself, and showed us it.But life did never to one man allowTime to discover worlds, and conquer too;Nor can so short a line sufficient beTo fathom the vast deeps of Nature’s sea:100The work he did we ought to admire,And were unjust if we should more requireFrom his few years, divided ’twixt the excessOf low affliction and high happiness:For who on things remote can fix his sight,105That’s always in a triumph or a fight?From you, great champions! we expect to getThese spacious countries but discovered yet;Countries where yet, instead of Nature, weHer images and idols worshipped see:110These large and wealthy regions to subdue,Though Learning has whole armies at command,Quartered about in every land,A better troop she ne’er together drew.Methinks, like Gideon’s little band,115God with design has picked out you,To do these noble wonders by a few.When the whole host He saw, they are, said He,Too many to o’ercome for Me:And now He chooses out his men,120Much in the way that He did then:Not those many, whom He foundIdly extended on the ground,To drink, with their dejected head,The stream, just so as by their mouths it fled:125No; but those few who took the waters up,And made of their laborious hands the cup.Thus you prepared, and in the glorious fightTheir wondrous pattern too you take:Their old and empty pitchers first they brake,130And with their hands then lifted up the light.Iö! sound too the trumpets here!Already your victorious lights appear;New scenes of heaven already we espy,And crowds of golden worlds on high,135Which from the spacious plains of earth and seaCould never yet discovered beBy sailor’s or Chaldean’s watchful eye.Nature’s great works no distance can obscure,No smallness her near objects can secure:140You’ have taught the curious sight to pressInto the privatest recessOf her imperceptible littleness:You’ have learned to read her smallest hand,And well begun her deepest sense to understand.145Mischief and true dishonour fall on thoseWho would to laughter or to scorn exposeSo virtuous and so noble a design,So human for its use, for knowledge so divine.The things which these proud men despise, and call150Impertinent, and vain, and small,Those smallest things of nature let me know,Rather than all their greatest actions do.Whoever would deposèd truth advanceInto the throne usurped from it,155Must feel at first the blows of ignorance,And the sharp points of envious wit.So when, by various turns of the celestial dance,In many thousand yearsA star, so long unknown, appears,160Though heaven itself more beauteous by it grow,It troubles and alarms the world below,Does to the wise a star, to fools a meteor, show.With courage and success you the bold work begin;Your cradle has not idle been;165None e’er but Hercules and you would beAt five years’ age worthy a history:And ne’er did fortune better yetThe historian to the story fit.As you from all old errors free170And purge the body of Philosophy,So from all modern follies heHas vindicated eloquence and wit:His candid style like a clean stream does slide,And his bright fancy all the way175Does, like the sunshine, in it play;It does like Thames, the best of rivers, glide,Where the god does not rudely overturn,But gently pour, the crystal urn,And with judicious hand does the whole current guide.’T has all the beauties Nature can impart,181And all the comely dress, without the paint, of Art.Abraham Cowley.

Philosophy! the great and only heir

Of all that human knowledge which has been

Unforfeited by man’s rebellious sin,

Though full of years he do appear,

(Philosophy! I say, and call it He,5

For whatsoe’er the painter’s fancy be,

It a male virtue seems to me)

Has still been kept in nonage till of late,

Nor managed or enjoyed his vast estate.

Three or four thousand years, one would have thought,10

To ripeness and perfection might have brought

A science so well bred and nursed,

And of such hopeful parts, too, at the first;

But oh! the guardians and the tutors then,

(Some negligent, some ambitious men)15

Would ne’er consent to set him free,

Or his own natural powers to let him see,

Lest that should put an end to their authority.

That his own business he might quite forget,They’ amused him with the sports of wanton wit;20With the deserts of poetry they fed him,Instead of solid meats to’ increase his force;Instead of vigorous exercise they led himInto the pleasant labyrinths of ever-fresh discourse:Instead of carrying him to see25The riches which do hoarded for him lieIn Nature’s endless treasury,They chose his eye to entertain(His curious, but not covetous, eye)With painted scenes and pageants of the brain.30Some few exalted spirits this latter age has shown,That laboured to assert the liberty(From guardians who were now usurpers grown)Of this old minor still, captived Philosophy;But ’twas rebellion called, to fight35For such a long-oppressèd right.Bacon, at last, a mighty man! arose,Whom a wise King and Nature choseLord Chancellor of both their laws,And boldly undertook the injured pupil’s cause.40

That his own business he might quite forget,

They’ amused him with the sports of wanton wit;20

With the deserts of poetry they fed him,

Instead of solid meats to’ increase his force;

Instead of vigorous exercise they led him

Into the pleasant labyrinths of ever-fresh discourse:

Instead of carrying him to see25

The riches which do hoarded for him lie

In Nature’s endless treasury,

They chose his eye to entertain

(His curious, but not covetous, eye)

With painted scenes and pageants of the brain.30

Some few exalted spirits this latter age has shown,

That laboured to assert the liberty

(From guardians who were now usurpers grown)

Of this old minor still, captived Philosophy;

But ’twas rebellion called, to fight35

For such a long-oppressèd right.

Bacon, at last, a mighty man! arose,

Whom a wise King and Nature chose

Lord Chancellor of both their laws,

And boldly undertook the injured pupil’s cause.40

Authority, which did a body boast,Though ’twas but air condensed, and stalked aboutLike some old giant’s more gigantic ghost,To terrify the learnèd rout,With the plain magic of true reason’s light45He chased out of our sight,Nor suffered living men to be misledBy the vain shadows of the dead:To graves, from whence it rose, the conquered phantom fled.He broke that monstrous god which stood,50In midst of the orchard, and the whole did claim,Which with a useless scythe of wood,And something else not worth a name,(Ridiculous and senseless terrors!) madeChildren and superstitious men afraid.55The orchard’s open now, and free:Bacon has broke that scarecrow deity:Come, enter all that will,Behold the ripened fruit, come, gather now your fill!Yet still, methinks, we fain would be60Catching at the forbidden tree;We would be like the Deity;When truth and falsehood, good and evil, weWithout the senses’ aid within ourselves would see;For ’tis God only who can find65All nature in his mind.

Authority, which did a body boast,

Though ’twas but air condensed, and stalked about

Like some old giant’s more gigantic ghost,

To terrify the learnèd rout,

With the plain magic of true reason’s light45

He chased out of our sight,

Nor suffered living men to be misled

By the vain shadows of the dead:

To graves, from whence it rose, the conquered phantom fled.

He broke that monstrous god which stood,50

In midst of the orchard, and the whole did claim,

Which with a useless scythe of wood,

And something else not worth a name,

(Ridiculous and senseless terrors!) made

Children and superstitious men afraid.55

The orchard’s open now, and free:

Bacon has broke that scarecrow deity:

Come, enter all that will,

Behold the ripened fruit, come, gather now your fill!

Yet still, methinks, we fain would be60

Catching at the forbidden tree;

We would be like the Deity;

When truth and falsehood, good and evil, we

Without the senses’ aid within ourselves would see;

For ’tis God only who can find65

All nature in his mind.

From words, which are but pictures of the thought(Though we our thoughts from them perversely drew,)To things, the mind’s right object, he it brought;Like foolish birds to painted grapes we flew.70He sought and gathered for our use the true;And when on heaps the chosen bunches lay,He pressed them wisely the mechanic way,Till all their juice did in one vessel join,Ferment into a nourishment divine,75The thirsty soul’s refreshing wine.Who to the life an exact piece would make,Must not from others’ work a copy take;No, not from Rubens or Vandyck;Much less content himself to make it like80The ideas and the images which lieIn his own fancy or his memory:No, he before his sight must placeThe natural and the living face;The real object must command85Each judgment of his eye and motion of his hand.

From words, which are but pictures of the thought

(Though we our thoughts from them perversely drew,)

To things, the mind’s right object, he it brought;

Like foolish birds to painted grapes we flew.70

He sought and gathered for our use the true;

And when on heaps the chosen bunches lay,

He pressed them wisely the mechanic way,

Till all their juice did in one vessel join,

Ferment into a nourishment divine,75

The thirsty soul’s refreshing wine.

Who to the life an exact piece would make,

Must not from others’ work a copy take;

No, not from Rubens or Vandyck;

Much less content himself to make it like80

The ideas and the images which lie

In his own fancy or his memory:

No, he before his sight must place

The natural and the living face;

The real object must command85

Each judgment of his eye and motion of his hand.

From these, and all long errors of the way,In which our wandering predecessors went,And, like the old Hebrews, many years did strayIn deserts, but of small extent,90Bacon! like Moses, led us forth at last;The barren wilderness he passed,Did on the very border standOf the blessed Promised Land,And from the mountain’s top of his exalted wit,95Saw it himself, and showed us it.But life did never to one man allowTime to discover worlds, and conquer too;Nor can so short a line sufficient beTo fathom the vast deeps of Nature’s sea:100The work he did we ought to admire,And were unjust if we should more requireFrom his few years, divided ’twixt the excessOf low affliction and high happiness:For who on things remote can fix his sight,105That’s always in a triumph or a fight?

From these, and all long errors of the way,

In which our wandering predecessors went,

And, like the old Hebrews, many years did stray

In deserts, but of small extent,90

Bacon! like Moses, led us forth at last;

The barren wilderness he passed,

Did on the very border stand

Of the blessed Promised Land,

And from the mountain’s top of his exalted wit,95

Saw it himself, and showed us it.

But life did never to one man allow

Time to discover worlds, and conquer too;

Nor can so short a line sufficient be

To fathom the vast deeps of Nature’s sea:100

The work he did we ought to admire,

And were unjust if we should more require

From his few years, divided ’twixt the excess

Of low affliction and high happiness:

For who on things remote can fix his sight,105

That’s always in a triumph or a fight?

From you, great champions! we expect to getThese spacious countries but discovered yet;Countries where yet, instead of Nature, weHer images and idols worshipped see:110These large and wealthy regions to subdue,Though Learning has whole armies at command,Quartered about in every land,A better troop she ne’er together drew.Methinks, like Gideon’s little band,115God with design has picked out you,To do these noble wonders by a few.When the whole host He saw, they are, said He,Too many to o’ercome for Me:And now He chooses out his men,120Much in the way that He did then:Not those many, whom He foundIdly extended on the ground,To drink, with their dejected head,The stream, just so as by their mouths it fled:125No; but those few who took the waters up,And made of their laborious hands the cup.

From you, great champions! we expect to get

These spacious countries but discovered yet;

Countries where yet, instead of Nature, we

Her images and idols worshipped see:110

These large and wealthy regions to subdue,

Though Learning has whole armies at command,

Quartered about in every land,

A better troop she ne’er together drew.

Methinks, like Gideon’s little band,115

God with design has picked out you,

To do these noble wonders by a few.

When the whole host He saw, they are, said He,

Too many to o’ercome for Me:

And now He chooses out his men,120

Much in the way that He did then:

Not those many, whom He found

Idly extended on the ground,

To drink, with their dejected head,

The stream, just so as by their mouths it fled:125

No; but those few who took the waters up,

And made of their laborious hands the cup.

Thus you prepared, and in the glorious fightTheir wondrous pattern too you take:Their old and empty pitchers first they brake,130And with their hands then lifted up the light.Iö! sound too the trumpets here!Already your victorious lights appear;New scenes of heaven already we espy,And crowds of golden worlds on high,135Which from the spacious plains of earth and seaCould never yet discovered beBy sailor’s or Chaldean’s watchful eye.Nature’s great works no distance can obscure,No smallness her near objects can secure:140You’ have taught the curious sight to pressInto the privatest recessOf her imperceptible littleness:You’ have learned to read her smallest hand,And well begun her deepest sense to understand.145

Thus you prepared, and in the glorious fight

Their wondrous pattern too you take:

Their old and empty pitchers first they brake,130

And with their hands then lifted up the light.

Iö! sound too the trumpets here!

Already your victorious lights appear;

New scenes of heaven already we espy,

And crowds of golden worlds on high,135

Which from the spacious plains of earth and sea

Could never yet discovered be

By sailor’s or Chaldean’s watchful eye.

Nature’s great works no distance can obscure,

No smallness her near objects can secure:140

You’ have taught the curious sight to press

Into the privatest recess

Of her imperceptible littleness:

You’ have learned to read her smallest hand,

And well begun her deepest sense to understand.145

Mischief and true dishonour fall on thoseWho would to laughter or to scorn exposeSo virtuous and so noble a design,So human for its use, for knowledge so divine.The things which these proud men despise, and call150Impertinent, and vain, and small,Those smallest things of nature let me know,Rather than all their greatest actions do.Whoever would deposèd truth advanceInto the throne usurped from it,155Must feel at first the blows of ignorance,And the sharp points of envious wit.So when, by various turns of the celestial dance,In many thousand yearsA star, so long unknown, appears,160Though heaven itself more beauteous by it grow,It troubles and alarms the world below,Does to the wise a star, to fools a meteor, show.

Mischief and true dishonour fall on those

Who would to laughter or to scorn expose

So virtuous and so noble a design,

So human for its use, for knowledge so divine.

The things which these proud men despise, and call150

Impertinent, and vain, and small,

Those smallest things of nature let me know,

Rather than all their greatest actions do.

Whoever would deposèd truth advance

Into the throne usurped from it,155

Must feel at first the blows of ignorance,

And the sharp points of envious wit.

So when, by various turns of the celestial dance,

In many thousand years

A star, so long unknown, appears,160

Though heaven itself more beauteous by it grow,

It troubles and alarms the world below,

Does to the wise a star, to fools a meteor, show.

With courage and success you the bold work begin;Your cradle has not idle been;165None e’er but Hercules and you would beAt five years’ age worthy a history:And ne’er did fortune better yetThe historian to the story fit.As you from all old errors free170And purge the body of Philosophy,So from all modern follies heHas vindicated eloquence and wit:His candid style like a clean stream does slide,And his bright fancy all the way175Does, like the sunshine, in it play;It does like Thames, the best of rivers, glide,Where the god does not rudely overturn,But gently pour, the crystal urn,And with judicious hand does the whole current guide.’T has all the beauties Nature can impart,181And all the comely dress, without the paint, of Art.Abraham Cowley.

With courage and success you the bold work begin;

Your cradle has not idle been;165

None e’er but Hercules and you would be

At five years’ age worthy a history:

And ne’er did fortune better yet

The historian to the story fit.

As you from all old errors free170

And purge the body of Philosophy,

So from all modern follies he

Has vindicated eloquence and wit:

His candid style like a clean stream does slide,

And his bright fancy all the way175

Does, like the sunshine, in it play;

It does like Thames, the best of rivers, glide,

Where the god does not rudely overturn,

But gently pour, the crystal urn,

And with judicious hand does the whole current guide.

’T has all the beauties Nature can impart,181

And all the comely dress, without the paint, of Art.

Abraham Cowley.

No victor that in battle spent,When he at night asleep doth lieRich in a conquered monarch’s tent,E’er had so vain a dream as I.Methought I saw the earliest shade5And sweetest that the spring can spread,Of jasmin, briar, and woodbine made;And there I saw Clorinda dead.Though dead she lay, yet could I seeNo cypress nor no mourning yew;10Nor yet the injured lover’s tree;No willow near her coffin grew.But all showed unconcerned to be,As if just Nature there did striveTo be as pitiless as she15Was to her lover when alive.And now, methought, I lost all care,In losing her; and was as freeAs birds let loose into the air,Or rivers that are got to sea.20Methought Love’s monarchy was gone;And whilst elective numbers sway,Our choice and change makes power our own,And those court us whom we obey.Yet soon, now from my Princess free,25I rather frantic grew than glad,For subjects, getting liberty,Get but a license to be mad.Birds that are long in cages awed,If they get out, awhile will roam;30But straight want skill to live abroad,Then pine and hover near their home.And to the ocean rivers runFrom being pent in banks of flowers;Not knowing that the exhaling sun35Will send them back in weeping showers.Soon thus for pride of libertyI low desires of bondage found;And vanity of being freeBred the discretion to be bound.40But as dull subjects see too lateTheir safety in monarchal reign,Finding their freedom in a StateIs but proud strutting in a chain;Then growing wiser, when undone,45In winter nights sad stories singIn praise of monarchs long since gone,To whom their bells they yearly ring;So now I mourned that she was dead,Whose single power did govern me;50And quickly was by reason ledTo find the harm of liberty.Even so the lovers of this land(Love’s empire in Clorinda gone)Thought they were quit from Love’s command,55And beauty’s world was all their own.But lovers, who are Nature’s bestOld subjects, never long revolt;They soon in passion’s war contest,Yet in their march soon make a halt.60And those, when by my mandates broughtNear dead Clorinda, ceased to boastOf freedom found, and wept for thoughtOf their delightful bondage lost.And now the day to night was turned,65Or sadly night’s close mourning wore;All maids for one another mourned,That lovers now could love no more.All lovers quickly did perceiveThey had on earth no more to do70Than civilly to take their leave,As worthies that to dying go.And now all quires her dirges sing,In shades of cypress and of yew;The bells of every temple ring,75Where maids their withered garlands strew.To such extremes did sorrow rise,That it transcended speech and form,And was so lost to ears and eyesAs seamen sinking in a storm.80My soul, in sleep’s soft fetters bound,Did now for vital freedom strive;And straight, by horror waked, I foundThe fair Clorinda still alive.Yet she’s to me but such a light,85As are the stars to those who knowWe can at most but guess their height,And hope they mind us here below.Sir William Davenant.

No victor that in battle spent,When he at night asleep doth lieRich in a conquered monarch’s tent,E’er had so vain a dream as I.

No victor that in battle spent,

When he at night asleep doth lie

Rich in a conquered monarch’s tent,

E’er had so vain a dream as I.

Methought I saw the earliest shade5And sweetest that the spring can spread,Of jasmin, briar, and woodbine made;And there I saw Clorinda dead.

Methought I saw the earliest shade5

And sweetest that the spring can spread,

Of jasmin, briar, and woodbine made;

And there I saw Clorinda dead.

Though dead she lay, yet could I seeNo cypress nor no mourning yew;10Nor yet the injured lover’s tree;No willow near her coffin grew.

Though dead she lay, yet could I see

No cypress nor no mourning yew;10

Nor yet the injured lover’s tree;

No willow near her coffin grew.

But all showed unconcerned to be,As if just Nature there did striveTo be as pitiless as she15Was to her lover when alive.

But all showed unconcerned to be,

As if just Nature there did strive

To be as pitiless as she15

Was to her lover when alive.

And now, methought, I lost all care,In losing her; and was as freeAs birds let loose into the air,Or rivers that are got to sea.20

And now, methought, I lost all care,

In losing her; and was as free

As birds let loose into the air,

Or rivers that are got to sea.20

Methought Love’s monarchy was gone;And whilst elective numbers sway,Our choice and change makes power our own,And those court us whom we obey.

Methought Love’s monarchy was gone;

And whilst elective numbers sway,

Our choice and change makes power our own,

And those court us whom we obey.

Yet soon, now from my Princess free,25I rather frantic grew than glad,For subjects, getting liberty,Get but a license to be mad.

Yet soon, now from my Princess free,25

I rather frantic grew than glad,

For subjects, getting liberty,

Get but a license to be mad.

Birds that are long in cages awed,If they get out, awhile will roam;30But straight want skill to live abroad,Then pine and hover near their home.

Birds that are long in cages awed,

If they get out, awhile will roam;30

But straight want skill to live abroad,

Then pine and hover near their home.

And to the ocean rivers runFrom being pent in banks of flowers;Not knowing that the exhaling sun35Will send them back in weeping showers.

And to the ocean rivers run

From being pent in banks of flowers;

Not knowing that the exhaling sun35

Will send them back in weeping showers.

Soon thus for pride of libertyI low desires of bondage found;And vanity of being freeBred the discretion to be bound.40

Soon thus for pride of liberty

I low desires of bondage found;

And vanity of being free

Bred the discretion to be bound.40

But as dull subjects see too lateTheir safety in monarchal reign,Finding their freedom in a StateIs but proud strutting in a chain;

But as dull subjects see too late

Their safety in monarchal reign,

Finding their freedom in a State

Is but proud strutting in a chain;

Then growing wiser, when undone,45In winter nights sad stories singIn praise of monarchs long since gone,To whom their bells they yearly ring;

Then growing wiser, when undone,45

In winter nights sad stories sing

In praise of monarchs long since gone,

To whom their bells they yearly ring;

So now I mourned that she was dead,Whose single power did govern me;50And quickly was by reason ledTo find the harm of liberty.

So now I mourned that she was dead,

Whose single power did govern me;50

And quickly was by reason led

To find the harm of liberty.

Even so the lovers of this land(Love’s empire in Clorinda gone)Thought they were quit from Love’s command,55And beauty’s world was all their own.

Even so the lovers of this land

(Love’s empire in Clorinda gone)

Thought they were quit from Love’s command,55

And beauty’s world was all their own.

But lovers, who are Nature’s bestOld subjects, never long revolt;They soon in passion’s war contest,Yet in their march soon make a halt.60

But lovers, who are Nature’s best

Old subjects, never long revolt;

They soon in passion’s war contest,

Yet in their march soon make a halt.60

And those, when by my mandates broughtNear dead Clorinda, ceased to boastOf freedom found, and wept for thoughtOf their delightful bondage lost.

And those, when by my mandates brought

Near dead Clorinda, ceased to boast

Of freedom found, and wept for thought

Of their delightful bondage lost.

And now the day to night was turned,65Or sadly night’s close mourning wore;All maids for one another mourned,That lovers now could love no more.

And now the day to night was turned,65

Or sadly night’s close mourning wore;

All maids for one another mourned,

That lovers now could love no more.

All lovers quickly did perceiveThey had on earth no more to do70Than civilly to take their leave,As worthies that to dying go.

All lovers quickly did perceive

They had on earth no more to do70

Than civilly to take their leave,

As worthies that to dying go.

And now all quires her dirges sing,In shades of cypress and of yew;The bells of every temple ring,75Where maids their withered garlands strew.

And now all quires her dirges sing,

In shades of cypress and of yew;

The bells of every temple ring,75

Where maids their withered garlands strew.

To such extremes did sorrow rise,That it transcended speech and form,And was so lost to ears and eyesAs seamen sinking in a storm.80

To such extremes did sorrow rise,

That it transcended speech and form,

And was so lost to ears and eyes

As seamen sinking in a storm.80

My soul, in sleep’s soft fetters bound,Did now for vital freedom strive;And straight, by horror waked, I foundThe fair Clorinda still alive.

My soul, in sleep’s soft fetters bound,

Did now for vital freedom strive;

And straight, by horror waked, I found

The fair Clorinda still alive.

Yet she’s to me but such a light,85As are the stars to those who knowWe can at most but guess their height,And hope they mind us here below.Sir William Davenant.

Yet she’s to me but such a light,85

As are the stars to those who know

We can at most but guess their height,

And hope they mind us here below.

Sir William Davenant.

Back to Index Next