Disdainefull wretch! how hath one bold sinne costThee all the beauties of thy once bright eyes!How hath one black eclipse cancell'd, and crostThe glories that did gild thee in thy rise!Proud morning of a perverse day! how lostArt thou unto thy selfe, thou too selfe-wiseNarcissus! foolish Phaeton! who for allThy high-aym'd hopes, gaind'st but a flaming fall.
Disdainefull wretch! how hath one bold sinne costThee all the beauties of thy once bright eyes!How hath one black eclipse cancell'd, and crostThe glories that did gild thee in thy rise!Proud morning of a perverse day! how lostArt thou unto thy selfe, thou too selfe-wiseNarcissus! foolish Phaeton! who for allThy high-aym'd hopes, gaind'st but a flaming fall.
From Death's sad shades to the life-breathing ayre,This mortall enemy to mankind's good,Lifts his malignant eyes, wasted with care,To become beautifull in humane blood.Where Iordan melts his chrystall, to make faireThe fields of Palestine, with so pure a flood,There does he fixe his eyes: and there detectNew matter, to make good his great suspect.
From Death's sad shades to the life-breathing ayre,This mortall enemy to mankind's good,Lifts his malignant eyes, wasted with care,To become beautifull in humane blood.Where Iordan melts his chrystall, to make faireThe fields of Palestine, with so pure a flood,There does he fixe his eyes: and there detectNew matter, to make good his great suspect.
He calls to mind th' old quarrell, and what sparkeSet the contending sons of Heav'n on fire:Oft in his deepe thought he revolves the darkeSibill's divining leaves: he does enquireInto th' old prophesies, trembling to markeHow many present prodigies conspire,To crowne their past predictions, both he layesTogether, in his pondrous mind both weighs.
He calls to mind th' old quarrell, and what sparkeSet the contending sons of Heav'n on fire:Oft in his deepe thought he revolves the darkeSibill's divining leaves: he does enquireInto th' old prophesies, trembling to markeHow many present prodigies conspire,To crowne their past predictions, both he layesTogether, in his pondrous mind both weighs.
Heaven's golden-wingèd herald, late he sawTo a poore Galilean virgin sent:How low the bright youth bow'd, and with what aweImmortall flowers to her faire hand present.He saw th' old Hebrewe's wombe, neglect the lawOf age and barrennesse, and her babe preventanticipateHis birth by his devotion, who beganBetimes to be a saint, before a man.
Heaven's golden-wingèd herald, late he sawTo a poore Galilean virgin sent:How low the bright youth bow'd, and with what aweImmortall flowers to her faire hand present.He saw th' old Hebrewe's wombe, neglect the lawOf age and barrennesse, and her babe preventanticipateHis birth by his devotion, who beganBetimes to be a saint, before a man.
He saw rich nectar-thawes, release the rigourOf th' icy North; from frost-bound Atlas hands,His adamantine fetters fall: green vigourGladding the Scythian rocks and Libian sands.He saw a vernall smile, sweetly disfigureWinter's sad face, and through the flowry landsOf faire Engaddi, hony-sweating fountainesWith manna, milk, and balm, new-broach the mountaines.
He saw rich nectar-thawes, release the rigourOf th' icy North; from frost-bound Atlas hands,His adamantine fetters fall: green vigourGladding the Scythian rocks and Libian sands.He saw a vernall smile, sweetly disfigureWinter's sad face, and through the flowry landsOf faire Engaddi, hony-sweating fountainesWith manna, milk, and balm, new-broach the mountaines.
He saw how in that blest Day-bearing Night,The Heav'n-rebukèd shades made hast away;How bright a dawne of angels with new lightAmaz'd the midnight world, and made a DayOf which the Morning knew not. Mad with spightHe markt how the poore shepheards ran to payTheir simple tribute to the Babe, Whose birthWas the great businesse both of Heav'n and Earth.
He saw how in that blest Day-bearing Night,The Heav'n-rebukèd shades made hast away;How bright a dawne of angels with new lightAmaz'd the midnight world, and made a DayOf which the Morning knew not. Mad with spightHe markt how the poore shepheards ran to payTheir simple tribute to the Babe, Whose birthWas the great businesse both of Heav'n and Earth.
He saw a threefold Sun, with rich encreaseMake proud the ruby portalls of the East.He saw the Temple sacred to sweet Peace,Adore her Prince's birth, flat on her brest.He saw the falling idolls, all confesseA comming Deity: He saw the nestOf pois'nous and unnaturall loves, Earth-nurst,Toucht with the World's true antidote, to burst.
He saw a threefold Sun, with rich encreaseMake proud the ruby portalls of the East.He saw the Temple sacred to sweet Peace,Adore her Prince's birth, flat on her brest.He saw the falling idolls, all confesseA comming Deity: He saw the nestOf pois'nous and unnaturall loves, Earth-nurst,Toucht with the World's true antidote, to burst.
He saw Heav'n blossome with a new-borne light,On which, as on a glorious stranger gaz'dThe golden eyes of Night: whose beame made brightThe way to Beth'lem and as boldly blaz'd,(Nor askt leave of the sun) by day as night.By whom (as Heav'ns illustrious hand-maid) rais'd,Three kings (or what is more) three wise men wentWestward to find the World's true orient.
He saw Heav'n blossome with a new-borne light,On which, as on a glorious stranger gaz'dThe golden eyes of Night: whose beame made brightThe way to Beth'lem and as boldly blaz'd,(Nor askt leave of the sun) by day as night.By whom (as Heav'ns illustrious hand-maid) rais'd,Three kings (or what is more) three wise men wentWestward to find the World's true orient.
Strucke with these great concurrences of things,Symptomes so deadly unto Death and him;Faine would he have forgot what fatall stringsEternally bind each rebellious limbe.He shooke himselfe, and spread his spatious wings:Which like two bosom'd sailes, embrace the dimmeAire, with a dismall shade; but all in vaine:Of sturdy adamant is his strong chaine.
Strucke with these great concurrences of things,Symptomes so deadly unto Death and him;Faine would he have forgot what fatall stringsEternally bind each rebellious limbe.He shooke himselfe, and spread his spatious wings:Which like two bosom'd sailes, embrace the dimmeAire, with a dismall shade; but all in vaine:Of sturdy adamant is his strong chaine.
While thus Heav'n's highest counsails, by the lowFootsteps of their effects, he trac'd too well,He tost his troubled eyes: embers that glowNow with new rage, and wax too hot for Hell:With his foule clawes he fenc'd his furrowed brow,And gave a gastly shreeke, whose horrid yellRan trembling through the hollow vaults of Night,The while his twisted tayle he gnaw'd for spight.
While thus Heav'n's highest counsails, by the lowFootsteps of their effects, he trac'd too well,He tost his troubled eyes: embers that glowNow with new rage, and wax too hot for Hell:With his foule clawes he fenc'd his furrowed brow,And gave a gastly shreeke, whose horrid yellRan trembling through the hollow vaults of Night,The while his twisted tayle he gnaw'd for spight.
Yet on the other side, faine would he startAbove his feares, and thinke it cannot be.He studies Scripture, strives to sound the heartAnd feele the pulse of every prophecy;He knows (but knowes not how, or by what art)The Heav'n-expecting ages hope to seeA mighty Babe, Whose pure, unspotted birthFrom a chast virgin wombe, should blesse the Earth.
Yet on the other side, faine would he startAbove his feares, and thinke it cannot be.He studies Scripture, strives to sound the heartAnd feele the pulse of every prophecy;He knows (but knowes not how, or by what art)The Heav'n-expecting ages hope to seeA mighty Babe, Whose pure, unspotted birthFrom a chast virgin wombe, should blesse the Earth.
But these vast mysteries his senses smother,And reason (for what's faith to him?) devoure.How she that is a maid should prove a mother,Yet keepe inviolate her virgin flower;How God's eternall Sonne should be Man's brother,Poseth his proudest intellectuall power.How a pure Spirit should incarnate bee,And Life it selfe weare Death's fraile livery.
But these vast mysteries his senses smother,And reason (for what's faith to him?) devoure.How she that is a maid should prove a mother,Yet keepe inviolate her virgin flower;How God's eternall Sonne should be Man's brother,Poseth his proudest intellectuall power.How a pure Spirit should incarnate bee,And Life it selfe weare Death's fraile livery.
That the great angell-blinding Light should shrinkeHis blaze, to shine in a poore shepherd's eye:That the unmeasur'd God so low should sinke,As pris'ner in a few poore rags to lye:That from His mother's brest He milke should drinke,Who feeds with nectar Heav'n's faire family:That a vile manger His low bed should prove,Who in a throne of stars thunders above.
That the great angell-blinding Light should shrinkeHis blaze, to shine in a poore shepherd's eye:That the unmeasur'd God so low should sinke,As pris'ner in a few poore rags to lye:That from His mother's brest He milke should drinke,Who feeds with nectar Heav'n's faire family:That a vile manger His low bed should prove,Who in a throne of stars thunders above.
That He Whom the sun serves, should faintly peepeThrough clouds of infant flesh: that He the oldEternall Word should be a child, and weepe:That He Who made the fire, should feare the cold:That Heav'n's high Majesty His court should keepeIn a clay-cottage, by each blast control'd:That Glorie's Self should serve our griefs and feares,And free Eternity, submit to yeares.
That He Whom the sun serves, should faintly peepeThrough clouds of infant flesh: that He the oldEternall Word should be a child, and weepe:That He Who made the fire, should feare the cold:That Heav'n's high Majesty His court should keepeIn a clay-cottage, by each blast control'd:That Glorie's Self should serve our griefs and feares,And free Eternity, submit to yeares.
And further, that the Lawe's eternall GiverShould bleed in His Owne Lawe's obedience:And to the circumcising knife deliverHimselfe, the forfet of His slave's offence:That the unblemisht Lambe, blessèd for ever,Should take the marke of sin, and paine of sence.These are the knotty riddles, whose darke doubtIntangles his lost thoughts, past getting out.
And further, that the Lawe's eternall GiverShould bleed in His Owne Lawe's obedience:And to the circumcising knife deliverHimselfe, the forfet of His slave's offence:That the unblemisht Lambe, blessèd for ever,Should take the marke of sin, and paine of sence.These are the knotty riddles, whose darke doubtIntangles his lost thoughts, past getting out.
While new thoughts boyl'd in his enragèd brest,His gloomy bosome's darkest characterWas in his shady forehead seen exprest:The forehead's shade in Griefe's expression there,Is what in signe of joy among the blestThe face's lightning, or a smile is here.Those stings of care that his strong heart opprest,A desperate, Oh mee! drew from his deepe brest.
While new thoughts boyl'd in his enragèd brest,His gloomy bosome's darkest characterWas in his shady forehead seen exprest:The forehead's shade in Griefe's expression there,Is what in signe of joy among the blestThe face's lightning, or a smile is here.Those stings of care that his strong heart opprest,A desperate, Oh mee! drew from his deepe brest.
Oh mee! (thus bellow'd he) Oh mee! what greatPortents before mine eyes their powers advance?And serves my purer sight, onely to beatDowne my proud thought, and leave it in a trance?Frowne I: and can great Nature keep her seat?And the gay starrs lead on their golden dance?Can His attempts above still prosp'rous be,Auspicious still, in spight of Hell and me?
Oh mee! (thus bellow'd he) Oh mee! what greatPortents before mine eyes their powers advance?And serves my purer sight, onely to beatDowne my proud thought, and leave it in a trance?Frowne I: and can great Nature keep her seat?And the gay starrs lead on their golden dance?Can His attempts above still prosp'rous be,Auspicious still, in spight of Hell and me?
Hee has my Heaven (what would He more?) whose brightAnd radiant scepter this bold hand should beare:And for the never-fading fields of light,My faire inheritance, He confines me hereTo this darke house of shades, horrour and night,To draw a long-liv'd death, where all my cheereIs the solemnity my sorrow weares,That mankind's torment waits upon my teares.
Hee has my Heaven (what would He more?) whose brightAnd radiant scepter this bold hand should beare:And for the never-fading fields of light,My faire inheritance, He confines me hereTo this darke house of shades, horrour and night,To draw a long-liv'd death, where all my cheereIs the solemnity my sorrow weares,That mankind's torment waits upon my teares.
Darke, dusky Man, He needs would single forth,To make the partner of His Owne pure ray:And should we powers of Heav'n, spirits of worth,Bow our bright heads before a king of clay?It shall not be, said I, and clombe the North,Where never wing of angell yet made way:What though I mist my blow? yet I strooke high,And to dare something, is some victory.
Darke, dusky Man, He needs would single forth,To make the partner of His Owne pure ray:And should we powers of Heav'n, spirits of worth,Bow our bright heads before a king of clay?It shall not be, said I, and clombe the North,Where never wing of angell yet made way:What though I mist my blow? yet I strooke high,And to dare something, is some victory.
Is He not satisfied? meanes He to wrestHell from me too, and sack my territories?Vile humane nature means He not t' invest(O my despight!) with His divinest glories?And rising with rich spoiles upon His brestWith His faire triumphs fill all future stories?Must the bright armes of Heav'n, rebuke these eyes?Mocke me, and dazle my darke mysteries?
Is He not satisfied? meanes He to wrestHell from me too, and sack my territories?Vile humane nature means He not t' invest(O my despight!) with His divinest glories?And rising with rich spoiles upon His brestWith His faire triumphs fill all future stories?Must the bright armes of Heav'n, rebuke these eyes?Mocke me, and dazle my darke mysteries?
Art thou not Lucifer? he to whom the drovesOf stars that gild the Morne, in charge were given?The nimblest of the lightning-wingèd loves,The fairest, and the first-borne smile of Heav'n?Looke in what pompe the mistrisse planet movesRev'rently circled by the lesser seaven:Such, and so rich, the flames that from thine eyes,Opprest the common-people of the skyes.
Art thou not Lucifer? he to whom the drovesOf stars that gild the Morne, in charge were given?The nimblest of the lightning-wingèd loves,The fairest, and the first-borne smile of Heav'n?Looke in what pompe the mistrisse planet movesRev'rently circled by the lesser seaven:Such, and so rich, the flames that from thine eyes,Opprest the common-people of the skyes.
Ah wretch! what bootes thee to cast back thy eyes,Where dawning hope no beame of comfort showes?While the reflection of thy forepast joyes,Renders thee double to thy present woes:Rather make up to thy new miseries,And meet the mischiefe that upon thee growes.If Hell must mourne, Heav'n sure shall sympathize,What force cannot effect, fraud shall devise.
Ah wretch! what bootes thee to cast back thy eyes,Where dawning hope no beame of comfort showes?While the reflection of thy forepast joyes,Renders thee double to thy present woes:Rather make up to thy new miseries,And meet the mischiefe that upon thee growes.If Hell must mourne, Heav'n sure shall sympathize,What force cannot effect, fraud shall devise.
And yet whose force feare I? have I so lostMy selfe? my strength too with my innocence?Come try who dares, Heav'n, Earth, what ere doth boastA borrowed being, make thy bold defence.Come thy Creator too: What though it costMe yet a second fall? wee'd try our strengths:Heav'n saw us struggle once; as brave a fightEarth now should see, and tremble at the sight.
And yet whose force feare I? have I so lostMy selfe? my strength too with my innocence?Come try who dares, Heav'n, Earth, what ere doth boastA borrowed being, make thy bold defence.Come thy Creator too: What though it costMe yet a second fall? wee'd try our strengths:Heav'n saw us struggle once; as brave a fightEarth now should see, and tremble at the sight.
Thus spoke th' impatient prince, and made a pause:His foule hags rais'd their heads, and clapt their hands,And all the powers of Hell in full applauseFlourisht their snakes, and tost their flaming brands.We (said the horrid sisters) wait thy lawes,Th' obsequious handmaids of thy high commands:Be it thy part, Hell's mighty lord, to layOn us thy dread command, our's to obey.
Thus spoke th' impatient prince, and made a pause:His foule hags rais'd their heads, and clapt their hands,And all the powers of Hell in full applauseFlourisht their snakes, and tost their flaming brands.We (said the horrid sisters) wait thy lawes,Th' obsequious handmaids of thy high commands:Be it thy part, Hell's mighty lord, to layOn us thy dread command, our's to obey.
What thy Alecto, what these hands can doe,Thou mad'st bold proofe upon the brow of Heav'n,Nor should'st thou bate in pride, because that nowTo these thy sooty kingdomes thou art driven.Let Heav'n's Lord chide above lowder than thouIn language of His thunder, thou art evenWith Him below: here thou art lord alone,Boundlesse and absolute: Hell is thine owne.
What thy Alecto, what these hands can doe,Thou mad'st bold proofe upon the brow of Heav'n,Nor should'st thou bate in pride, because that nowTo these thy sooty kingdomes thou art driven.Let Heav'n's Lord chide above lowder than thouIn language of His thunder, thou art evenWith Him below: here thou art lord alone,Boundlesse and absolute: Hell is thine owne.
If usuall wit, and strength will doe no good,Vertues of stones, nor herbes: use stronger charmes,Anger and love, best hookes of humane blood.If all faile, wee'l put on our proudest armes,And pouring on Heav'n's face the Sea's huge floodQuench His curl'd fires: wee'l wake with our alarmesRuine, where e're she sleepes at Nature's feet:And crush the World till His wide corners meet.
If usuall wit, and strength will doe no good,Vertues of stones, nor herbes: use stronger charmes,Anger and love, best hookes of humane blood.If all faile, wee'l put on our proudest armes,And pouring on Heav'n's face the Sea's huge floodQuench His curl'd fires: wee'l wake with our alarmesRuine, where e're she sleepes at Nature's feet:And crush the World till His wide corners meet.
Reply'd the proud king, O my crowne's defence,Stay of my strong hopes, you of whose brave worth,The frighted stars tooke faint experience,When 'gainst the Thunder's mouth we marchèd forth:Still you are prodigall of your Love's expenceIn our great projects, both 'gainst Heav'n and Earth:I thanke you all, but one must single out:Cruelty, she alone shall cure my doubt.
Reply'd the proud king, O my crowne's defence,Stay of my strong hopes, you of whose brave worth,The frighted stars tooke faint experience,When 'gainst the Thunder's mouth we marchèd forth:Still you are prodigall of your Love's expenceIn our great projects, both 'gainst Heav'n and Earth:I thanke you all, but one must single out:Cruelty, she alone shall cure my doubt.
Fourth of the cursèd knot of hags is shee,Or rather all the other three in one;Hell's shop of slaughter shee do's oversee,And still assist the execution.But chiefly there do's she delight to be,Where Hell's capacious cauldron is set on:And while the black soules boile in their own gore,To hold them down, and looke that none seeth o're.
Fourth of the cursèd knot of hags is shee,Or rather all the other three in one;Hell's shop of slaughter shee do's oversee,And still assist the execution.But chiefly there do's she delight to be,Where Hell's capacious cauldron is set on:And while the black soules boile in their own gore,To hold them down, and looke that none seeth o're.
Thrice howl'd the caves of Night, and thrice the sound,Thundring upon the bankes of those black lakes,Rung through the hollow vaults of Hell profound:At last her listning eares the noise o're takes,She lifts her sooty lampes, and looking round,A gen'rall hisse from the whole tire of snakesRebounding, through Hell's inmost cavernes came,In answer to her formidable name.
Thrice howl'd the caves of Night, and thrice the sound,Thundring upon the bankes of those black lakes,Rung through the hollow vaults of Hell profound:At last her listning eares the noise o're takes,She lifts her sooty lampes, and looking round,A gen'rall hisse from the whole tire of snakesRebounding, through Hell's inmost cavernes came,In answer to her formidable name.
'Mongst all the palaces in Hell's command,No one so mercilesse as this of her's.The adamantine doors, for ever standImpenetrable, both to prai'rs and teares;The walls inexorable steele, no handOf Time, or teeth of hungry Ruine feares.Their ugly ornaments are the bloody stainesOf ragged limbs, torne sculls, and dasht-out braines.
'Mongst all the palaces in Hell's command,No one so mercilesse as this of her's.The adamantine doors, for ever standImpenetrable, both to prai'rs and teares;The walls inexorable steele, no handOf Time, or teeth of hungry Ruine feares.Their ugly ornaments are the bloody stainesOf ragged limbs, torne sculls, and dasht-out braines.
There has the purple Vengeance a proud seatWhose ever-brandisht sword is sheath'd in blood:About her Hate, Wrath, Warre and Slaughter sweat;Bathing their hot limbs in life's pretious flood:There rude impetuous Rage do's storme and fret,And there as master of this murd'ring brood,scytheSwinging a huge sith stands impartiall Death:With endlesse businesse almost out of breath.
There has the purple Vengeance a proud seatWhose ever-brandisht sword is sheath'd in blood:About her Hate, Wrath, Warre and Slaughter sweat;Bathing their hot limbs in life's pretious flood:There rude impetuous Rage do's storme and fret,And there as master of this murd'ring brood,scytheSwinging a huge sith stands impartiall Death:With endlesse businesse almost out of breath.
For hangings and for curtaines, all alongThe walls (abominable ornaments!)Are tooles of wrath, anvills of torments hung;Fell executioners of foule intents,Nailes, hammers, hatchets sharpe, and halters strong,Swords, speares, with all the fatall instrumentsOf Sin and Death, twice dipt in the dire stainesOf brothers' mutuall blood, and fathers' braines.
For hangings and for curtaines, all alongThe walls (abominable ornaments!)Are tooles of wrath, anvills of torments hung;Fell executioners of foule intents,Nailes, hammers, hatchets sharpe, and halters strong,Swords, speares, with all the fatall instrumentsOf Sin and Death, twice dipt in the dire stainesOf brothers' mutuall blood, and fathers' braines.
The tables furnisht with a cursèd feastWhich Harpyes, with leane Famine feed upon,Vnfill'd for ever. Here among the rest,Inhumane Erisicthon too makes one;Tantalus, Atreus, Progne, here are guests:Wolvish Lycaon here a place hath won.The cup they drinke in is Medusa's scull,Which mixt with gall and blood they quaffe brim-full.
The tables furnisht with a cursèd feastWhich Harpyes, with leane Famine feed upon,Vnfill'd for ever. Here among the rest,Inhumane Erisicthon too makes one;Tantalus, Atreus, Progne, here are guests:Wolvish Lycaon here a place hath won.The cup they drinke in is Medusa's scull,Which mixt with gall and blood they quaffe brim-full.
The foule queen's most abhorrèd maids of honour,Medæa, Jezabell, many a meager witch,With Circe, Scylla, stand to wait upon her:But her best huswife's are the Parcæ, whichStill worke for her, and have their wages from her:They prick a bleeding heart at every stitch.Her cruell cloathes of costly threds they weave,Which short-cut lives of murdred infants leave.
The foule queen's most abhorrèd maids of honour,Medæa, Jezabell, many a meager witch,With Circe, Scylla, stand to wait upon her:But her best huswife's are the Parcæ, whichStill worke for her, and have their wages from her:They prick a bleeding heart at every stitch.Her cruell cloathes of costly threds they weave,Which short-cut lives of murdred infants leave.
hearsedThe house is hers'd about with a black wood,Which nods with many a heavy-headed tree:Each flowers a pregnant poyson, try'd and good,Each herbe a plague. The wind's sighes timèd beeBy a black fount, which weeps into a flood.Through the thick shades obscurely might you seeMinotaures, Cyclopses, with a darke droveOf Dragons, Hydraes, Sphinxes, fill the grove.
hearsedThe house is hers'd about with a black wood,Which nods with many a heavy-headed tree:Each flowers a pregnant poyson, try'd and good,Each herbe a plague. The wind's sighes timèd beeBy a black fount, which weeps into a flood.Through the thick shades obscurely might you seeMinotaures, Cyclopses, with a darke droveOf Dragons, Hydraes, Sphinxes, fill the grove.
Here Diomed's horses, Phereus' dogs appeare,With the fierce lyons of Therodamas.Busiris has his bloody altar here:Here Sylla his severest prison has:The Lestrigonians here their table reare:Here strong Procrustes plants his bed of brasse:Here cruell Scyron boasts his bloody rockesAnd hatefull Schinis his so fearèd oakes.
Here Diomed's horses, Phereus' dogs appeare,With the fierce lyons of Therodamas.Busiris has his bloody altar here:Here Sylla his severest prison has:The Lestrigonians here their table reare:Here strong Procrustes plants his bed of brasse:Here cruell Scyron boasts his bloody rockesAnd hatefull Schinis his so fearèd oakes.
What ever schemes of blood, fantastick FramesOf death, Mezentius or Geryon drew;Phalaris, Ochus, Ezelinus: namesMighty in mischiefe; with dread Nero too;Here are they all, here all the swords or flamesAssyrian tyrants or Egyptian knew.Such was the house, so furnisht was the hall,Whence the fourth Fury answer'd Pluto's call.
What ever schemes of blood, fantastick FramesOf death, Mezentius or Geryon drew;Phalaris, Ochus, Ezelinus: namesMighty in mischiefe; with dread Nero too;Here are they all, here all the swords or flamesAssyrian tyrants or Egyptian knew.Such was the house, so furnisht was the hall,Whence the fourth Fury answer'd Pluto's call.
Scarce to this monster could the shady kingThe horrid summe of his intentions tell;But shee (swift as the momentary wingOf lightning, or the words he spoke) left Hell.She rose, and with her to our World did bringPale proofe of her fell presence; th' aire too wellWith a chang'd countenance witnest the sight,And poore fowles intercepted in their flight.
Scarce to this monster could the shady kingThe horrid summe of his intentions tell;But shee (swift as the momentary wingOf lightning, or the words he spoke) left Hell.She rose, and with her to our World did bringPale proofe of her fell presence; th' aire too wellWith a chang'd countenance witnest the sight,And poore fowles intercepted in their flight.
Heav'n saw her rise, and saw Hell in the sight:The fields' faire eyes saw her, and saw no more,But shut their flowry lids for ever: NightAnd Winter strow her way: yea, such a soreIs she to Nature, that a generall fright,An universal palsie spreading o'reThe face of things, from her dire eyes had run,Had not her thick snakes hid them from the sun.
Heav'n saw her rise, and saw Hell in the sight:The fields' faire eyes saw her, and saw no more,But shut their flowry lids for ever: NightAnd Winter strow her way: yea, such a soreIs she to Nature, that a generall fright,An universal palsie spreading o'reThe face of things, from her dire eyes had run,Had not her thick snakes hid them from the sun.
Now had the Night's companion from her dew,Where all the busie day she close doth ly,With her soft wing wipt from the browes of menDay's sweat; and by a gentle tyrannyAnd sweet oppression, kindly cheating themOf all their cares, tam'd the rebellious eyeOf Sorrow, with a soft and downy hand,Sealing all brests in a Lethæan band.
Now had the Night's companion from her dew,Where all the busie day she close doth ly,With her soft wing wipt from the browes of menDay's sweat; and by a gentle tyrannyAnd sweet oppression, kindly cheating themOf all their cares, tam'd the rebellious eyeOf Sorrow, with a soft and downy hand,Sealing all brests in a Lethæan band.
When the Erinnys her black pineons spread,And came to Bethlem, where the cruell kingHad now retyr'd himselfe, and borrowedHis brest a while from Care's unquiet sting;Such as at Thebes' dire feast she shew'd her head,Her sulphur-breathèd torches brandishing:Such to the frighted palace now she comes,And with soft feet searches the silent roomes.
When the Erinnys her black pineons spread,And came to Bethlem, where the cruell kingHad now retyr'd himselfe, and borrowedHis brest a while from Care's unquiet sting;Such as at Thebes' dire feast she shew'd her head,Her sulphur-breathèd torches brandishing:Such to the frighted palace now she comes,And with soft feet searches the silent roomes.
By Herod___________________now was borneThe scepter, which of old great David swaid;lineageWhose right by David's linage so long worne,Himselfe a stranger to, his owne had made;And from the head of Judah's house quite torneThe crowne, for which upon their necks he laidA sad yoake, under which they sigh'd in vaine,And looking on their lost state sigh'd againe.
By Herod___________________now was borneThe scepter, which of old great David swaid;lineageWhose right by David's linage so long worne,Himselfe a stranger to, his owne had made;And from the head of Judah's house quite torneThe crowne, for which upon their necks he laidA sad yoake, under which they sigh'd in vaine,And looking on their lost state sigh'd againe.
Vp, through the spatious pallace passèd she,To where the king's proudly-reposèd head(If any can be soft to TyrannyAnd selfe-tormenting sin) had a soft bed.She thinkes not fit, such, he her face should see,As it is seene in Hell, and seen with dread.To change her face's stile she doth devise,And in a pale ghost's shape to spare his eyes.
Vp, through the spatious pallace passèd she,To where the king's proudly-reposèd head(If any can be soft to TyrannyAnd selfe-tormenting sin) had a soft bed.She thinkes not fit, such, he her face should see,As it is seene in Hell, and seen with dread.To change her face's stile she doth devise,And in a pale ghost's shape to spare his eyes.
Her selfe a while she layes aside, and makesReady to personate a mortall part.Ioseph, the king's dead brother's shape, she takes:What he by nature was, is she by art.She comes to th' king, and with her cold hand slakesHis spirits (the sparkes of life) and chills his heart,Life's forge; fain'd is her voice, and false too, beHer words: 'sleep'st thou, fond man? sleep'st thou?' said she.
Her selfe a while she layes aside, and makesReady to personate a mortall part.Ioseph, the king's dead brother's shape, she takes:What he by nature was, is she by art.She comes to th' king, and with her cold hand slakesHis spirits (the sparkes of life) and chills his heart,Life's forge; fain'd is her voice, and false too, beHer words: 'sleep'st thou, fond man? sleep'st thou?' said she.
So sleeps a pilot, whose poore barke is prestWith many a mercylesse o're-mastring wave;For whom (as dead) the wrathfull winds contestWhich of them deep'st shall digge her watry grave.Why dost thou let thy brave soule lye supprestIn death-like slumbers, while thy dangers craveA waking eye and hand? looke vp and seeThe Fates ripe, in their great conspiracy.
So sleeps a pilot, whose poore barke is prestWith many a mercylesse o're-mastring wave;For whom (as dead) the wrathfull winds contestWhich of them deep'st shall digge her watry grave.Why dost thou let thy brave soule lye supprestIn death-like slumbers, while thy dangers craveA waking eye and hand? looke vp and seeThe Fates ripe, in their great conspiracy.
Know'st thou not how of th' Hebrewes' royall stemme(That old dry stocke) a despair'd branch is sprung:A most strange Babe! Who here conceal'd by themIn a neglected stable lies, amongBeasts and base straw: Already is the streameQuite turn'd: th' ingratefull rebells, this their youngMaster (with voyce free as the trumpe of Fame)Their new King, and thy Successour proclame.
Know'st thou not how of th' Hebrewes' royall stemme(That old dry stocke) a despair'd branch is sprung:A most strange Babe! Who here conceal'd by themIn a neglected stable lies, amongBeasts and base straw: Already is the streameQuite turn'd: th' ingratefull rebells, this their youngMaster (with voyce free as the trumpe of Fame)Their new King, and thy Successour proclame.
What busy motions, what wild engines standOn tiptoe in their giddy braynes! th' have fireAlready in their bosomes, and their handAlready reaches at a sword; they hirePoysons to speed thee; yet through all the LandWhat one comes to reveale what they conspire?Goe now, make much of these; wage still their warsAnd bring home on thy brest, more thanklesse scarrs.
What busy motions, what wild engines standOn tiptoe in their giddy braynes! th' have fireAlready in their bosomes, and their handAlready reaches at a sword; they hirePoysons to speed thee; yet through all the LandWhat one comes to reveale what they conspire?Goe now, make much of these; wage still their warsAnd bring home on thy brest, more thanklesse scarrs.
Why did I spend my life, and spill my blood,That thy firme hand for ever might sustaineA well-pois'd scepter? does it now seeme goodThy brother's blood be spilt, life spent in vaine?'Gainst thy owne sons and brothers thou hast stoodIn armes, when lesser cause was to complaine:And now crosse Fates a watch about thee keepe,Can'st thou be carelesse now? now can'st thou sleep?
Why did I spend my life, and spill my blood,That thy firme hand for ever might sustaineA well-pois'd scepter? does it now seeme goodThy brother's blood be spilt, life spent in vaine?'Gainst thy owne sons and brothers thou hast stoodIn armes, when lesser cause was to complaine:And now crosse Fates a watch about thee keepe,Can'st thou be carelesse now? now can'st thou sleep?
Where art thou man? what cowardly mistakeOf thy great selfe, hath stolne king Herod from thee?O call thy selfe home to thy self, wake, wake,And fence the hanging sword Heav'n throws upon thee.Redeeme a worthy wrath, rouse thee, and shakeThy selfe into a shape that may become thee.Be Herod, and thou shalt not misse from meeImmortall stings to thy great thoughts, and thee.
Where art thou man? what cowardly mistakeOf thy great selfe, hath stolne king Herod from thee?O call thy selfe home to thy self, wake, wake,And fence the hanging sword Heav'n throws upon thee.Redeeme a worthy wrath, rouse thee, and shakeThy selfe into a shape that may become thee.Be Herod, and thou shalt not misse from meeImmortall stings to thy great thoughts, and thee.
So said, her richest snake, which to her wristFor a beseeming bracelet she had ty'd(A speciall worme it was as ever kistThe foamy lips of Cerberus) she apply'dTo the king's heart: the snake no sooner hist,But Vertue heard it, and away she hy'd:Dire flames diffuse themselves through every veine:This done, home to her Hell she hy'd amaine.
So said, her richest snake, which to her wristFor a beseeming bracelet she had ty'd(A speciall worme it was as ever kistThe foamy lips of Cerberus) she apply'dTo the king's heart: the snake no sooner hist,But Vertue heard it, and away she hy'd:Dire flames diffuse themselves through every veine:This done, home to her Hell she hy'd amaine.
He wakes, and with him (ne're to sleepe) new feares:His sweat-bedewed bed hath now betraid himTo a vast field of thornes; ten thousand spearesAll pointed in his heart seem'd to invade him:So mighty were th' amazing charactersWith which his feeling dreame had thus dismay'd him,He his owne fancy-framèd foes defies:In rage, My armes, give me my armes, he cryes.
He wakes, and with him (ne're to sleepe) new feares:His sweat-bedewed bed hath now betraid himTo a vast field of thornes; ten thousand spearesAll pointed in his heart seem'd to invade him:So mighty were th' amazing charactersWith which his feeling dreame had thus dismay'd him,He his owne fancy-framèd foes defies:In rage, My armes, give me my armes, he cryes.
As when a pile of food-preparing fire,The breath of artificiall lungs embraves,The caldron-prison'd waters streight conspireAnd beat the hot brasse with rebellious waves;He murmurs, and rebukes their bold desire;Th' impatient liquor frets, and foames, and raves,Till his o're-flowing pride suppresse the flameWhence all his high spirits and hot courage came.
As when a pile of food-preparing fire,The breath of artificiall lungs embraves,The caldron-prison'd waters streight conspireAnd beat the hot brasse with rebellious waves;He murmurs, and rebukes their bold desire;Th' impatient liquor frets, and foames, and raves,Till his o're-flowing pride suppresse the flameWhence all his high spirits and hot courage came.
So boyles the firèd Herod's blood-swolne brest,Not to be slak't but by a sea of blood:His faithlesse crowne he feeles loose on his crest,Which a false tyrant's head ne're firmely stood.The worme of jealous envy and unrestTo which his gnaw'd heart is the growing food,Makes him, impatient of the lingring light,Hate the sweet peace of all-composing Night.
So boyles the firèd Herod's blood-swolne brest,Not to be slak't but by a sea of blood:His faithlesse crowne he feeles loose on his crest,Which a false tyrant's head ne're firmely stood.The worme of jealous envy and unrestTo which his gnaw'd heart is the growing food,Makes him, impatient of the lingring light,Hate the sweet peace of all-composing Night.
A thousand prophecies that talke strange thingsHad sowne of old these doubts in his deepe brest.And now of late came tributary kings,Bringing him nothing but new feares from th' East,More deepe suspicions, and more deadly stings,With which his feav'rous cares their cold increast.And now his dream (Hel's fireband) still more bright,Shew'd him his feares, and kill'd him with the sight.
A thousand prophecies that talke strange thingsHad sowne of old these doubts in his deepe brest.And now of late came tributary kings,Bringing him nothing but new feares from th' East,More deepe suspicions, and more deadly stings,With which his feav'rous cares their cold increast.And now his dream (Hel's fireband) still more bright,Shew'd him his feares, and kill'd him with the sight.
No sooner therefore shall the Morning see(Night hangs yet heavy on the lids of Day)But all the counsellours must summon'd bee,To meet their troubled lord: without delayHeralds and messengers immediatelyAre sent about, who poasting every wayTo th' heads and officers of every band,Declare who sends, and what is his command.
No sooner therefore shall the Morning see(Night hangs yet heavy on the lids of Day)But all the counsellours must summon'd bee,To meet their troubled lord: without delayHeralds and messengers immediatelyAre sent about, who poasting every wayTo th' heads and officers of every band,Declare who sends, and what is his command.
Why art thou troubled, Herod? what vaine feareThy blood-revolving brest to rage doth move?Heaven's King, Who doffs Himselfe weak flesh to weare,Comes not to rule in wrath, but serve in love.Nor would He this thy fear'd crown from thee teare,But give thee a better with Himselfe above.Poor jealousie! why should He wish to preyVpon thy crowne, Who gives His owne away?
Why art thou troubled, Herod? what vaine feareThy blood-revolving brest to rage doth move?Heaven's King, Who doffs Himselfe weak flesh to weare,Comes not to rule in wrath, but serve in love.Nor would He this thy fear'd crown from thee teare,But give thee a better with Himselfe above.Poor jealousie! why should He wish to preyVpon thy crowne, Who gives His owne away?
Make to thy reason, man, and mock thy doubts,Looke how below thy feares their causes are;Thou art a souldier, Herod; send thy scouts,See how Hee's furnish't for so fear'd a warre?What armour does He weare? A few thin clouts.His trumpets? tender cries; His men to dareSo much? rude shepheards: what His steeds? alasPoore beasts! a slow oxe and a simple asse.
Make to thy reason, man, and mock thy doubts,Looke how below thy feares their causes are;Thou art a souldier, Herod; send thy scouts,See how Hee's furnish't for so fear'd a warre?What armour does He weare? A few thin clouts.His trumpets? tender cries; His men to dareSo much? rude shepheards: what His steeds? alasPoore beasts! a slow oxe and a simple asse.
Il fine del primo Libro.
NOTES AND ILLUSTRATIONS.
See our Essay for critical remarks on the original andCrashaw'sinterpretation. These things may be recorded:
St. viii. line 6. '(His shop of flames) hefrieshimself.' This verb 'fries,' like 'stick' and some others, had not in Elizabethan times and later, that colloquial, and therefore in such a context ludicrous, sound that it has to us. InMarlowe'sorJonson'stranslation of Ovid's fifteenth elegy (book i.) the two lines which originally ran thus,
'Lofty Lucretius shall live that hourThat Nature shall dissolve this earthly bower,'
'Lofty Lucretius shall live that hourThat Nature shall dissolve this earthly bower,'
were afterwards altered byJonsonhimself to,
'Then shall Lucretius' lofty numbers die,When earth and seas in fire and flame shallfrie.'
'Then shall Lucretius' lofty numbers die,When earth and seas in fire and flame shallfrie.'
In another way one of our most ludicrous-serious experiences of printers' errors was in a paper contributed by us to an American religious periodical. The subject was Affliction, and we remarked that God still, as of old with the 'three children' (so-called) permits His people to be put into the furnace of 'fiery trials,' wherein Hetriesthem whether they be ore or dross. To our horror we found thetchanged intof, and so read sensationally 'fries'—all the worse that some might think it the author's own word.
St. xxviii. and xxx. The star Lucifer or Phosporos, to whom 'the droves of stars that guild the morn, in charge were given,'can never climb the North or reach the zenith, being conquered by the effulgence of the sun of day. When did the fable of the angel Lucifer, founded on an astronomical appearance, mingle itself as it has done here, and grandly inMilton, and in the popular mind generally, with the biblical history of Satan?
St. xxxvi. line 2.Turnbullperpetuates the misprint of 'whose' for 'my' from 1670.
St. li. line 3, 'linage' = 'lineage.' For once 1670 is correct in reading 'linage' for the misprint 'image' of 1646 and 1648. The original is literally as follows:
'Herod the liege of Augustus, a man now agèd,Then ruled over the royal courts of David:Not of the royalline...'
'Herod the liege of Augustus, a man now agèd,Then ruled over the royal courts of David:Not of the royalline...'
St. lix. line 3, 'a special worm:' soShakespeare(Ant. and Cleopatra, v. 2), 'the pretty worm' and 'the worm.'
St. lx. Every one will be reminded of the tent-scene in Richard III.
At end of this translationPeregrine Phillipsadds 'cetera desunt—heu! heu!'
MarinoandCrashawhave left proper names in the poem unannotated. They are mostly trite; but these may be noticed: st. xlii. l. 4, Erisichton (see Ovid,Met.viii. 814 &c.); he offended Ceres, and was by her punished with continual hunger, so that he devoured his own limbs: line 5, Tantalus the fabled son of Zeus and Pluto, whose doom in the 'lower world,' has been celebrated from Homer (Od.xi. 582) onward: ib. Atreus, grandson of Tantalus, immortalised in infamy with his brother Thyestes: ib. Progne = Procne, wife of Tereus, who was metamorphosed into a swallow (Apollod. iii. 14, 8): l. 6, Lycaon, like Tantalus, with his sons changed by Zeus into wolves (Ovid; Paus. viii. 3, § 1): st. xliii. line 2, Medea, most famous of the mythical sorcerers: ib. Jezebel, 2 Kings ix. 10, 36: line 3, Circe, another mythical sorceress: Scylla, daughter of Typho and rival of Circe, who transformed her (Ovid,Met.xiv. 1-74); cf. Paradise Lost: line 4, the Paræ = the Fates, ever spinning: st. xliv. lines 7-8, all classic monsters: st. xlv. line 1, 'Diomed's horses' = the fabled 'mares' fed on human flesh (Apollod. ii. 5, § 8): 'Phereus' dogs,' or Fereus of mythical celebrity: line 2, Therodamas or Theromedon, king of Scythia, who fed lions with human blood (Ovid,Ibis385,Pont.i. 2, 121): line 3, Busiris, associated with Osiris of Egypt; but Herodotus denies that the Egyptiansever offered human sacrifices: line 4, Sylla = Sulla: line 5, Lestrigonians, ancient inhabitants of Sicily who fed on human flesh (Ovid,Met.xiv. 233, &c.): line 6, Procrustes,i.e.the Stretcher, being a surname of the famous robber Damastes (Ovid,Met.vii. 438): line 7, Scyron, or Sciron (Ovid,Met.vii. 444-447), who threw his captives from the rocks: line 8, Schinis, more accurately Sinis or Sinnis, a celebrated robber, his name being connected with [Greek: σίνομαι], expressing the manner in which he tore his victims to pieces by tying them to branches of two trees, which he bent together and then let go (Ovid,Met.vii. 440); according to some he was surnamed Procrustes, butMarinoandCrashawdistinguish the two: st. xlvi. line 2, Mezentius, a mythical king of the Etruscans (Virgil,Æneid, viii. 480, &c.); he put men to death by tying them to a corpse: ib. Geryon, a fabulous king of Hesperia (Apollod. ii. 5, § 10); under this name the very reverend Dr. J.H. Newman has composed one of his most remarkable poems: line 3, Phalaris,thetyrant of Sicily, whose 'brazen bull' of torture gave point to Cicero's words concerning him, as 'crudelissimus omnium tyrannorum' (in Verr. iv. 33): ib. Ochus = Artaxerxes III. a merciless king of Persia: ib. Ezelinus or Ezzelinus, another wicked tyrant.