Decoration A
Passenger, who e're thou art1Stay a while, and let thy heartTake acquaintance of this stone,Before thou passest further on.This stone will tell thee, that beneath,5Is entomb'd the crime of Death;The ripe endowments of whose mindLeft his yeares so much behind,That numbring of his vertues' praise,Death lost the reckoning of his dayes;10And believing what they told,Imagin'd him exceeding old.In him Perfection did set forthThe strength of her united worth.Him his wisdome's pregnant growth15Made so reverend, even in youth,That in the center of his brest(Sweet as is the phœnix' nest)Every reconcilèd GraceHad their generall meeting-place.20In him Goodnesse joy'd to seeLearning learne Humility.The splendor of his birth and bloodWas but the glosse of his owne good.The flourish of his sober youth25Was the pride of naked truth.In composure of his face,Liv'd a faire, but manly grace.His mouth was Rhetorick's best mold,His tongue the touchstone of her gold.30What word so e're his breath kept warme,Was no word now but a charme:For all persuasive Graces thenceSuck't their sweetest influence.His vertue that within had root,35Could not chuse but shine without.And th' heart-bred lustre of his worth,At each corner peeping forth,Pointed him out in all his wayes,Circled round in his owne rayes:40That to his sweetnesse, all men's eyesWere vow'd Love's flaming sacrifice.Him while fresh and fragrant TimeCherisht in his golden prime;E're Hebe's hand had overlaid45His smooth cheekes with a downy shade;The rush of Death's unruly wave,Swept him off into his grave.Enough, now (if thou canst) passe on,For now (alas!) not in this stone50(Passenger who e're thou art)Is he entomb'd, but in thy heart.
Passenger, who e're thou art1Stay a while, and let thy heartTake acquaintance of this stone,Before thou passest further on.This stone will tell thee, that beneath,5Is entomb'd the crime of Death;The ripe endowments of whose mindLeft his yeares so much behind,That numbring of his vertues' praise,Death lost the reckoning of his dayes;10And believing what they told,Imagin'd him exceeding old.In him Perfection did set forthThe strength of her united worth.Him his wisdome's pregnant growth15Made so reverend, even in youth,That in the center of his brest(Sweet as is the phœnix' nest)Every reconcilèd GraceHad their generall meeting-place.20In him Goodnesse joy'd to seeLearning learne Humility.The splendor of his birth and bloodWas but the glosse of his owne good.The flourish of his sober youth25Was the pride of naked truth.In composure of his face,Liv'd a faire, but manly grace.His mouth was Rhetorick's best mold,His tongue the touchstone of her gold.30What word so e're his breath kept warme,Was no word now but a charme:For all persuasive Graces thenceSuck't their sweetest influence.His vertue that within had root,35Could not chuse but shine without.And th' heart-bred lustre of his worth,At each corner peeping forth,Pointed him out in all his wayes,Circled round in his owne rayes:40That to his sweetnesse, all men's eyesWere vow'd Love's flaming sacrifice.Him while fresh and fragrant TimeCherisht in his golden prime;E're Hebe's hand had overlaid45His smooth cheekes with a downy shade;The rush of Death's unruly wave,Swept him off into his grave.Enough, now (if thou canst) passe on,For now (alas!) not in this stone50(Passenger who e're thou art)Is he entomb'd, but in thy heart.
DEAD AND BVRYED TOGETHER.[73]
To these, whom Death again did wed,1This grave's their second marriage-bed;For though the hand of Fate could force'Twixt sovl and body, a diuorce,It could not sunder man and wife,5'Cause they both liuèd but one life.Peace, good Reader, Doe not weep.Peace, the louers are asleep.They, sweet turtles, folded lyIn the last knott that Loue could ty.10And though they ly as they were dead,Their pillow stone, their sheetes of lead;(Pillow hard, and sheetes not warm)Loue made the bed; they'l take no harm;Let them sleep: let them sleep on,15Till this stormy night be gone,And the æternall morrow dawn;Then the curtaines will be drawnAnd they wake into a light,Whose Day shall neuer sleepe in Night.20
To these, whom Death again did wed,1This grave's their second marriage-bed;For though the hand of Fate could force'Twixt sovl and body, a diuorce,It could not sunder man and wife,5'Cause they both liuèd but one life.Peace, good Reader, Doe not weep.Peace, the louers are asleep.They, sweet turtles, folded lyIn the last knott that Loue could ty.10And though they ly as they were dead,Their pillow stone, their sheetes of lead;(Pillow hard, and sheetes not warm)Loue made the bed; they'l take no harm;Let them sleep: let them sleep on,15Till this stormy night be gone,And the æternall morrow dawn;Then the curtaines will be drawnAnd they wake into a light,Whose Day shall neuer sleepe in Night.20
NOTES AND ILLUSTRATIONS.
In theSancroft ms.the heading is 'Epitaphium Conjugum vnà mortuor. et sepultor.R. Cr.' It was reprinted in 1648 'Delights' (p. 26), where it is entitled assupra, and 1670 (p. 95). Our text is that of 1648, which yields the five lines (11-14), and whichEllisin his 'Specimens' (iii. 208, 1845) introduced from ams.copy, but as doubtful from not having appeared in any of the editions; a mistake on his part, as the lines appear in 1648 and 1652. His note is, nevertheless, 'The lines included in brackets are inno printed edition: they were found in ams.copy, and are perhaps not Crashaw's.' As usual,Turnbulloverlooked them. I add a few slight various readings from 1646.
Line 2, 'the.'" 5, 'sever.'" 6, 'Because they both liv'd but one life.'" 10, I accept 'that' in 1646 andSancroft ms.as it is confirmed byHarleian ms.6917-18, as before.Line 17, I adopt 'And' for 'Till' from 1648." 19, 'waken with that Light,' and soSancroft ms.: 1648 reads 'And they wake into that Light:'Harleian ms.as before, 'And they waken with.'Line 20, 'sleep' for 'dy,' which I adopt as agreeing with the 'wake,' and as being confirmed byHarleian ms.as before. G.
Decoration F
Dear reliques of a dislodg'd sovl, whose lack1Makes many a mourning paper put on black!O stay a while, ere thou draw in thy headAnd wind thy self vp close in thy cold bed.Stay but a little while, vntill I call5A summon's worthy of thy funerall.Come then, Youth, Beavty, Blood! all ye soft powres,Whose sylken flatteryes swell a few fond howresInto a false æternity. Come man;Hyperbolizèd nothing! know thy span;10Take thine own measure here, down, down, and bowBefore thy self in thine idæa; thouHuge emptynes! contract thy bulke; and shrinkeAll thy wild circle to a point. O sinkLower and lower yet; till thy leane size15Call Heaun to look on thee with narrow eyes.Lesser and lesser yet; till thou beginTo show a face, fitt to confesse thy kin,Thy neighbourhood to Nothing!Proud lookes, and lofty eyliddes, here putt on20Your selues in your vnfaign'd reflexion;Here, gallant ladyes! this vnpartiall glasse(Through all your painting) showes you your true face.These death-seal'd lippes are they dare giue the lyTo the lowd boasts of poor Mortality;25These curtain'd windows, this retirèd eyeOutstares the liddes of larg-look't Tyranny.This posture is the braue one, this that lyesThus low, stands vp (me thinkes) thus and defiesThe World. All-daring dust and ashes! only you30Of all interpreters read Nature true.
Dear reliques of a dislodg'd sovl, whose lack1Makes many a mourning paper put on black!O stay a while, ere thou draw in thy headAnd wind thy self vp close in thy cold bed.Stay but a little while, vntill I call5A summon's worthy of thy funerall.Come then, Youth, Beavty, Blood! all ye soft powres,Whose sylken flatteryes swell a few fond howresInto a false æternity. Come man;Hyperbolizèd nothing! know thy span;10Take thine own measure here, down, down, and bowBefore thy self in thine idæa; thouHuge emptynes! contract thy bulke; and shrinkeAll thy wild circle to a point. O sinkLower and lower yet; till thy leane size15Call Heaun to look on thee with narrow eyes.Lesser and lesser yet; till thou beginTo show a face, fitt to confesse thy kin,Thy neighbourhood to Nothing!Proud lookes, and lofty eyliddes, here putt on20Your selues in your vnfaign'd reflexion;Here, gallant ladyes! this vnpartiall glasse(Through all your painting) showes you your true face.These death-seal'd lippes are they dare giue the lyTo the lowd boasts of poor Mortality;25These curtain'd windows, this retirèd eyeOutstares the liddes of larg-look't Tyranny.This posture is the braue one, this that lyesThus low, stands vp (me thinkes) thus and defiesThe World. All-daring dust and ashes! only you30Of all interpreters read Nature true.
NOTES AND ILLUSTRATIONS.
These various readings are worthy of record:
Line 7 in our text (1652) is misprinted as two lines, the first ending with 'blood,' a repeated blunder of the Paris printer. It reads also 'the' for 'ye' of 1646. I adopt the latter. I have also cancelled 'and' before 'blood' as a misprint.Line 8 in 1652 is misprinted 'svlken' for 'sylken.'" 12, ib. 'thy self,' and so in 1648 and 1670: 'bulke' from 1646 is preferable, and so adopted.Line 15, 1646 has 'small' for 'lean,' which is inferior." 16, our text (1652) misspells 'norrow.'" 19, in 1646 the readings here are,
'Thy neighbourhood to nothing I here put onThy selfe in this unfeign'd reflection.'
'Thy neighbourhood to nothing I here put onThy selfe in this unfeign'd reflection.'
1648 and our text as given. 'Nothing' is intended to rhyme with 'kin' and 'begin,' and so to form a triplet.Line 23, our text (1652), 1648 and 1670 read 'Though ye be painted:' 1646 reads 'Through all your painting,' which is much more powerful, and therefore adopted by us. It reminds us (from line 22, 'gallant ladyes') of Hamlet's apostrophe to the skull of poor Yorick.Line 25, 1646 reads poorly,
'To the proud hopes of poor Mortality.'
'To the proud hopes of poor Mortality.'
" 26, in 1646 reads curiously, 'this selfe-prison'd eye.' G.
A Brooke, whose streame so great, so good,1Was lov'd, was honour'd, as a flood:Whose bankes the Muses dwelt upon,More than their owne Helicon;Here at length, hath gladly found5A quiet passage under ground;Meane while his lovèd bankes, now dryThe Muses with their teares supply.
A Brooke, whose streame so great, so good,1Was lov'd, was honour'd, as a flood:Whose bankes the Muses dwelt upon,More than their owne Helicon;Here at length, hath gladly found5A quiet passage under ground;Meane while his lovèd bankes, now dryThe Muses with their teares supply.
Decoration H
Decoration G
Where art thou Sol, while thus the blind-fold Day1Staggers out of the East, loses her wayStumbling on Night? Rouze thee illustrious youth,And let no dull mists choake thy Light's faire growth.Point here thy beames: O glance on yonder flocks,5And make their fleeces golden as thy locks.Vnfold thy faire front, and there shall appeareFull glory, flaming in her owne free spheare.Gladnesse shall cloath the Earth, we will instileThe face of things, an universall smile.10Say to the sullen Morne, thou com'st to court her;And wilt command proud Zephirus to sport herWith wanton gales: his balmy breath shall lickeThe tender drops which tremble on her cheeke;Which rarified, and in a gentle raine15On those delicious bankes distill'd againe,Shall rise in a sweet Harvest, which disclosesTwo ever-blushing bed[s] of new-borne roses.Hee'l fan her bright locks, teaching them to flow,And friske in curl'd mæanders: hee will throw20A fragrant breath suckt from the spicy nestO' th' pretious phœnix, warme upon her breast.Hee with a dainty and soft hand will trimAnd brush her azure mantle, which shall swimIn silken volumes; wheresoe're shee'l tread,25Bright clouds like golden fleeces shall be spread.Rise then (faire blew-ey'd maid!) rise and discoverThy silver brow, and meet thy golden lover.See how hee runs, with what a hasty flight,Into thy bosome, bath'd with liquid light.30Fly, fly prophane fogs, farre hence fly away,Taint not the pure streames of the springing Day,With your dull influence; it is for youTo sit and scoule upon Night's heavy brow,Not on the fresh cheekes of the virgin Morne,35Where nought but smiles, and ruddy joyes are worne.Fly then, and doe not thinke with her to stay;Let it suffice, shee'l weare no maske to day.
Where art thou Sol, while thus the blind-fold Day1Staggers out of the East, loses her wayStumbling on Night? Rouze thee illustrious youth,And let no dull mists choake thy Light's faire growth.Point here thy beames: O glance on yonder flocks,5And make their fleeces golden as thy locks.Vnfold thy faire front, and there shall appeareFull glory, flaming in her owne free spheare.Gladnesse shall cloath the Earth, we will instileThe face of things, an universall smile.10Say to the sullen Morne, thou com'st to court her;And wilt command proud Zephirus to sport herWith wanton gales: his balmy breath shall lickeThe tender drops which tremble on her cheeke;Which rarified, and in a gentle raine15On those delicious bankes distill'd againe,Shall rise in a sweet Harvest, which disclosesTwo ever-blushing bed[s] of new-borne roses.Hee'l fan her bright locks, teaching them to flow,And friske in curl'd mæanders: hee will throw20A fragrant breath suckt from the spicy nestO' th' pretious phœnix, warme upon her breast.Hee with a dainty and soft hand will trimAnd brush her azure mantle, which shall swimIn silken volumes; wheresoe're shee'l tread,25Bright clouds like golden fleeces shall be spread.Rise then (faire blew-ey'd maid!) rise and discoverThy silver brow, and meet thy golden lover.See how hee runs, with what a hasty flight,Into thy bosome, bath'd with liquid light.30Fly, fly prophane fogs, farre hence fly away,Taint not the pure streames of the springing Day,With your dull influence; it is for youTo sit and scoule upon Night's heavy brow,Not on the fresh cheekes of the virgin Morne,35Where nought but smiles, and ruddy joyes are worne.Fly then, and doe not thinke with her to stay;Let it suffice, shee'l weare no maske to day.
NOTES AND ILLUSTRATIONS.
In theSancroft ms.this is headed 'An Invitation to faire weather. In itinere adurgeretur matutinum cœlum tali carmine invitabatur serenitas.R. Cr.' In line 12 thems.reads 'smooth' for 'proud' (Turnbullhere, after 1670, as usual misreads 'demand' for 'command'): line 18 corrects the misreading of all the editions, which is 'To every blushing...:' line 23 reads 'soft and dainty:' line 36, 'is' for 'are:' other orthographic differences only.
The opening lines of this poem seem to be adapted from remembrance of the Friar's inRomeo and Juliet:
'The grey-eyed Morn smiles on the frowning Night. . . . . .And flecked Darkness like a drunkard reelsFrom forth Day's path and Titan's burning wheels.' (ii. 3.)
'The grey-eyed Morn smiles on the frowning Night. . . . . .And flecked Darkness like a drunkard reelsFrom forth Day's path and Titan's burning wheels.' (ii. 3.)
Line 4, inHarleian ms.6917-18 reads, as I have adopted,'thy' for 'the.'Line 5, ib. 'on yond faire.'" 7, ib. 'Unfold thy front and then....'" 9, instile is = instill, used in Latinate sense of dropinto or upon:Harleian ms., as before, is 'enstile.'Line 14,Harleian ms., as before, 'thy' for 'her.'" 16, ib. 'these.'" 17-18, ib.
. . . . . . . 'and disclose. . . . . . the new-born rose.'
. . . . . . . 'and disclose. . . . . . the new-born rose.'
See our Essay for critical remarks. G.
SATISFACTION FOR SLEEPE.[77]
What succour can I hope my Muse shall send1Whose drowsinesse hath wrong'd the Muses' friend?What hope, Aurora, to propitiate thee,Vnlesse the Muse sing my apologie?O in that morning of my shame! when I5Lay folded up in Sleepe's captivity,How at the sight did'st thou draw back thine eyes,Into thy modest veyle? how didst thou riseTwice dy'd in thine owne blushes! and did'st runTo draw the curtaines, and awake the sun!10Who, rowzing his illustrious tresses, came,And seeing the loath'd object, hid for shameHis head in thy faire bosome, and still hidesMee from his patronage; I pray, he chides:And pointing to dull Morpheus, bids me take15My owne Apollo, try if I can makeHis Lethe be my Helicon: and seeIf Morpheus have a Muse to wait on mee.Hence 'tis, my humble fancie finds no wings,No nimble rapture starts to Heaven, and brings20Enthusiasticke flames, such as can giveMarrow to my plumpe genius, make it liveDrest in the glorious madnesse of a Muse,Whose feet can walke the milky way, and chuseHer starry throne; whose holy heats can warme25The grave, and hold up an exalted armeTo lift me from my lazy vrne, to climbeVpon the stoopèd shoulders of old Time,And trace Eternity—But all is dead,All these delicious hopes are buried30In the deepe wrinckles of his angry brow,Where Mercy cannot find them: but O thouBright lady of the Morne! pitty doth lyeSo warme in thy soft brest, it cannot dye.Have mercy then, and when he next shall rise35O meet the angry God, invade his eyes,And stroake his radiant cheekes; one timely kisseWill kill his anger, and revive my blisse.So to the treasure of thy pearly deaw,Thrice will I pay three teares, to show how true40My griefe is; so my wakefull lay shall knockeAt th' orientall gates, and duly mockeThe early larkes' shrill orizons, to beAn anthem at the Daye's nativitie.And the same rosie-finger'd hand of thine,45That shuts Night's dying eyes, shall open mine.But thou, faint God of Sleepe, forget that IWas ever known to be thy votary.No more my pillow shall thine altar be,Nor will I offer any more to thee50My selfe a melting sacrifice; I'me borneAgaine a fresh child of the buxome Morne,Heire of the sun's first beames. Why threat'st thou so?Why dost thou shake thy leaden scepter? goe,Bestow thy poppy upon wakefull Woe,55Sicknesse, and Sorrow, whose pale lidds ne're knowThy downie finger; dwell upon their eyes,Shut in their teares: shut out their miseries.
What succour can I hope my Muse shall send1Whose drowsinesse hath wrong'd the Muses' friend?What hope, Aurora, to propitiate thee,Vnlesse the Muse sing my apologie?O in that morning of my shame! when I5Lay folded up in Sleepe's captivity,How at the sight did'st thou draw back thine eyes,Into thy modest veyle? how didst thou riseTwice dy'd in thine owne blushes! and did'st runTo draw the curtaines, and awake the sun!10Who, rowzing his illustrious tresses, came,And seeing the loath'd object, hid for shameHis head in thy faire bosome, and still hidesMee from his patronage; I pray, he chides:And pointing to dull Morpheus, bids me take15My owne Apollo, try if I can makeHis Lethe be my Helicon: and seeIf Morpheus have a Muse to wait on mee.Hence 'tis, my humble fancie finds no wings,No nimble rapture starts to Heaven, and brings20Enthusiasticke flames, such as can giveMarrow to my plumpe genius, make it liveDrest in the glorious madnesse of a Muse,Whose feet can walke the milky way, and chuseHer starry throne; whose holy heats can warme25The grave, and hold up an exalted armeTo lift me from my lazy vrne, to climbeVpon the stoopèd shoulders of old Time,And trace Eternity—But all is dead,All these delicious hopes are buried30In the deepe wrinckles of his angry brow,Where Mercy cannot find them: but O thouBright lady of the Morne! pitty doth lyeSo warme in thy soft brest, it cannot dye.Have mercy then, and when he next shall rise35O meet the angry God, invade his eyes,And stroake his radiant cheekes; one timely kisseWill kill his anger, and revive my blisse.So to the treasure of thy pearly deaw,Thrice will I pay three teares, to show how true40My griefe is; so my wakefull lay shall knockeAt th' orientall gates, and duly mockeThe early larkes' shrill orizons, to beAn anthem at the Daye's nativitie.And the same rosie-finger'd hand of thine,45That shuts Night's dying eyes, shall open mine.But thou, faint God of Sleepe, forget that IWas ever known to be thy votary.No more my pillow shall thine altar be,Nor will I offer any more to thee50My selfe a melting sacrifice; I'me borneAgaine a fresh child of the buxome Morne,Heire of the sun's first beames. Why threat'st thou so?Why dost thou shake thy leaden scepter? goe,Bestow thy poppy upon wakefull Woe,55Sicknesse, and Sorrow, whose pale lidds ne're knowThy downie finger; dwell upon their eyes,Shut in their teares: shut out their miseries.
NOTES AND ILLUSTRATIONS.
In 1646, line 1, for 'shall' reads 'will:' ib. inHarleian ms.as before, 'my' for 'the Muse;' which I adopt here, but not in next line: line 9, ib. 'thy:' line 11, illustrious is = lustrous, radiant:Harleian ms.as before, line 19, 'this my humble:' line 20, 1646 misprints 'raptures:' line 27, 1670 has 'andclimb:' line 28, 1646 has 'stooped' for 'stooping' of 1648; infinitely superior, and therefore adopted: 1670 misprints 'stopped:' theSancroft ms.has 'stooping:' line 45,Harleian ms.as before, 'thy altar.' Further: in theSancroft ms.this poem is headed 'Ad Auroram Somnolentiæ expiatio.R. Cr.,' and it supplies these various readings: line 1, 'will:' line 7, 'call back:' line 16, 'my' for 'mine;' line 20-21, 'winge' and 'bringe:' line 40, 'treasures:' other orthographic differences only. See Essay, as in last poem. G.
Love, brave Vertue's younger brother,1Erst hath made my heart a mother;Shee consults the conscious sphearesTo calculate her young son's yeares.Shee askes, if sad, or saving powers,5Gave omen to his infant howers;Shee askes each starre that then stood by,If poore Love shall live or dy.Ah, my heart, is that the way?Are these the beames that rule thy day?10Thou know'st a face in whose each looke,Beauty layes ope Love's fortune-booke;On whose faire revolutions waitThe obsequious motions of man's fate:Ah, my heart, her eyes, and shee,15Have taught thee new astrologie.How e're Love's native houres were set,What ever starry synod met,'Tis in the mercy of her eye,If poore Love shall live or dye.20If those sharpe rayes putting onPoints of death, bid Love be gon:(Though the Heavens in counsell sateTo crowne an uncontroulèd fate,Though their best aspects twin'd upon25The kindest constellation,Cast amorous glances on his birth,And whisper'd the confederate EarthTo pave his pathes with all the good,That warmes the bed of youth and blood)30Love hath no plea against her eye:Beauty frownes, and Love must dye.But if her milder influence move,And gild the hopes of humble Love:(Though Heaven's inauspicious eye35Lay blacke on Love's nativitie;Though every diamond in Love's crowneFixt his forehead to a frowne:)Her eye, a strong appeale can giue,Beauty smiles, and Love shall live.40O, if Love shall live, O, whereBut in her eye, or in her eare,In her brest, or in her breath,Shall I hide poore Love from Death?For in the life ought else can give,45Love shall dye, although he live.Or, if Love shall dye, O, whereBut in her eye, or in her eare,In her breath, or in her breast,Shall I build his funerall nest?50While Love shall thus entombèd lye,Love shall live, although he dye.
Love, brave Vertue's younger brother,1Erst hath made my heart a mother;Shee consults the conscious sphearesTo calculate her young son's yeares.Shee askes, if sad, or saving powers,5Gave omen to his infant howers;Shee askes each starre that then stood by,If poore Love shall live or dy.
Ah, my heart, is that the way?Are these the beames that rule thy day?10Thou know'st a face in whose each looke,Beauty layes ope Love's fortune-booke;On whose faire revolutions waitThe obsequious motions of man's fate:Ah, my heart, her eyes, and shee,15Have taught thee new astrologie.How e're Love's native houres were set,What ever starry synod met,'Tis in the mercy of her eye,If poore Love shall live or dye.20
If those sharpe rayes putting onPoints of death, bid Love be gon:(Though the Heavens in counsell sateTo crowne an uncontroulèd fate,Though their best aspects twin'd upon25The kindest constellation,Cast amorous glances on his birth,And whisper'd the confederate EarthTo pave his pathes with all the good,That warmes the bed of youth and blood)30Love hath no plea against her eye:Beauty frownes, and Love must dye.
But if her milder influence move,And gild the hopes of humble Love:(Though Heaven's inauspicious eye35Lay blacke on Love's nativitie;Though every diamond in Love's crowneFixt his forehead to a frowne:)Her eye, a strong appeale can giue,Beauty smiles, and Love shall live.40
O, if Love shall live, O, whereBut in her eye, or in her eare,In her brest, or in her breath,Shall I hide poore Love from Death?For in the life ought else can give,45Love shall dye, although he live.
Or, if Love shall dye, O, whereBut in her eye, or in her eare,In her breath, or in her breast,Shall I build his funerall nest?50While Love shall thus entombèd lye,Love shall live, although he dye.
NOTES AND ILLUSTRATIONS.
In line 16 the heavens are the planets. To 'crown' his fate is to invest it with regal power, and so place it beyond control. It is doubtful whether 'uncontrouled' expresses that state or result of crowning, or whether the clause is hyperbolical, and means to put further beyond control an already uncontrolled fate. 'Twin'd' seems a strange word to use, but refers, I presume, to the apparently irregular and winding-like motions of the planets through the constellations until they result in the favourable aspects mentioned. According to astrology, the beneficence or maleficence of the planetary aspects varies with the nature of the constellation in which they occur.Henry Vaughan, Silurist, uses 'wind' very much asCrashawuses 'twin'd:' sees.v.in our edition.
In line 14 we have accepted the reading 'man's' for 'Loves' from theSancroft ms.
Decoration I
OUT OF THE ITALIAN.[79]
To thy loverDeere, discoverThat sweet blush of thine that shameth—When those rosesIt discloses—All the flowers that Nature nameth.In free ayre,Flow thy haire;That no more Summer's best dresses,Bee beholdenFor their goldenLocks, to Phœbus' flaming tresses.O deliverLove his quiver;From thy eyes he shoots his arrowes:Where ApolloCannot follow:Featherd with his mother's sparrowes.O envy not—That we dye not—Those deere lips whose doore enclosesAll the GracesIn their places,Brother pearles, and sister roses.From these treasuresOf ripe pleasuresOne bright smile to cleere the weather.Earth and HeavenThus made even,Both will be good friends together.The aire does wooe thee,Winds cling to thee;Might a word once fly from out thee,Storme and thunderWould sit under,And keepe silence round about thee.But if Nature'sCommon creatures,So deare glories dare not borrow:Yet thy beautyOwes a duty,To my loving, lingring sorrow,When to end meeDeath shall send meeAll his terrors to affright mee:Thine eyes' GracesGild their faces,And those terrors shall delight mee.When my dyingLife is flying,Those sweet aires that often slew meeShall revive mee,Or reprive mee,And to many deaths renew mee.
To thy loverDeere, discoverThat sweet blush of thine that shameth—When those rosesIt discloses—All the flowers that Nature nameth.
In free ayre,Flow thy haire;That no more Summer's best dresses,Bee beholdenFor their goldenLocks, to Phœbus' flaming tresses.
O deliverLove his quiver;From thy eyes he shoots his arrowes:Where ApolloCannot follow:Featherd with his mother's sparrowes.
O envy not—That we dye not—Those deere lips whose doore enclosesAll the GracesIn their places,Brother pearles, and sister roses.
From these treasuresOf ripe pleasuresOne bright smile to cleere the weather.Earth and HeavenThus made even,Both will be good friends together.
The aire does wooe thee,Winds cling to thee;Might a word once fly from out thee,Storme and thunderWould sit under,And keepe silence round about thee.
But if Nature'sCommon creatures,So deare glories dare not borrow:Yet thy beautyOwes a duty,To my loving, lingring sorrow,
When to end meeDeath shall send meeAll his terrors to affright mee:Thine eyes' GracesGild their faces,And those terrors shall delight mee.
When my dyingLife is flying,Those sweet aires that often slew meeShall revive mee,Or reprive mee,And to many deaths renew mee.
Love now no fire hath left him,1We two betwixt us have divided it.Your eyes the light hath reft him,The heat commanding in my heart doth sit.[80]O that poore Love be not for ever spoyled,5Let my heat to your light be reconciled.So shall these flames, whose worthNow all obscurèd lyes:—Drest in those beames—start forthAnd dance before your eyes.10Or else partake my flames(I care not whither)And so in mutuall namesOf Love, burne both together.
Love now no fire hath left him,1We two betwixt us have divided it.Your eyes the light hath reft him,The heat commanding in my heart doth sit.[80]O that poore Love be not for ever spoyled,5Let my heat to your light be reconciled.
So shall these flames, whose worthNow all obscurèd lyes:—Drest in those beames—start forthAnd dance before your eyes.10
Or else partake my flames(I care not whither)And so in mutuall namesOf Love, burne both together.
Would any one the true cause find1How Love came nak't, a boy, and blind?'Tis this: listning one day too long,So th' Syrens in my mistris' song,The extasie of a delight5So much o're-mastring all his might,To that one sense, made all else thrall,And so he lost his clothes, eyes, heart and all.
Would any one the true cause find1How Love came nak't, a boy, and blind?'Tis this: listning one day too long,So th' Syrens in my mistris' song,The extasie of a delight5So much o're-mastring all his might,To that one sense, made all else thrall,And so he lost his clothes, eyes, heart and all.
Let hoary Time's vast bowels be the grave1To what his bowels' birth and being gave;Let Nature die, (Phœnix-like) from deathRevivèd Nature takes a second breath;If on Time's right hand, sit faire Historie,5If from the seed of emptie Ruine, sheCan raise so faire an harvest; let her beNe're so farre distant, yet Chronologie(Sharp-sighted as the eagle's eye, that canOut-stare the broad-beam'd daye's meridian)10Will have a perspicill to find her out,And, through the night of error and dark doubt,Discerne the dawne of Truth's eternall ray,As when the rosie Morne budds into Day.Now that Time's empire might be amply fill'd,15Babel's bold artists strive (below) to buildRuine a temple; on whose fruitfull fallHistory reares her pyramids, more tallThan were th' Aegyptian (by the life these give,Th' Egyptian pyramids themselves must live):20On these she lifts the world; and on their baseShowes the two termes, and limits of Time's race:That, the creation is; the judgement, this;That, the World's morning; this, her midnight is.
Let hoary Time's vast bowels be the grave1To what his bowels' birth and being gave;Let Nature die, (Phœnix-like) from deathRevivèd Nature takes a second breath;If on Time's right hand, sit faire Historie,5If from the seed of emptie Ruine, sheCan raise so faire an harvest; let her beNe're so farre distant, yet Chronologie(Sharp-sighted as the eagle's eye, that canOut-stare the broad-beam'd daye's meridian)10Will have a perspicill to find her out,And, through the night of error and dark doubt,Discerne the dawne of Truth's eternall ray,As when the rosie Morne budds into Day.Now that Time's empire might be amply fill'd,15Babel's bold artists strive (below) to buildRuine a temple; on whose fruitfull fallHistory reares her pyramids, more tallThan were th' Aegyptian (by the life these give,Th' Egyptian pyramids themselves must live):20On these she lifts the world; and on their baseShowes the two termes, and limits of Time's race:That, the creation is; the judgement, this;That, the World's morning; this, her midnight is.
NOTE.
As explained in preceding Note, I add here the poem so long misassigned toCrashaw.
BY DR. EDWARD RAINBOW, BISHOP OF CARLISLE.
If with distinctive eye, and mind, you looke1Vpon the Front, you see more than one Booke.Creation is God's Booke, wherein He writEach creature, as a letter filling it.History is Creation's Booke; which showes5To what effects the Series of it goes.Chronologie's the Booke of Historie, and bearesThe just account of Dayes, Moneths, and Yeares.But Resurrection, in a later Presse,And New Edition, is the summe of these.10The Language of these Bookes had all been one,Had not th' aspiring Tower of BabylonConfus'd the tongues, and in a distance hurl'dAs farre the speech, as men, o' th' new fill'd world.Set then your eyes in method, and behold15Time's embleme, Saturne; who, when store of goldCoyn'd the first age, devour'd that birth, he fear'd;Till History, Time's eldest child appear'd;And Phœnix-like, in spight of Saturne's rage,Forc'd from her ashes, heyres in every age.20From th' Rising Sunne, obtaining by just suit,A Spring's ingender, and an Autumne's fruit.Who in those Volumes at her motion pend,Vnto Creation's Alpha doth extend.Againe ascend, and view Chronology,25By optick skill, pulling farre HistoryNeerer; whose Hand the piercing Eagle's eyeStrengthens, to bring remotest objects nigh.Vnder whose feet, you see the Setting Sunne,From the darke Gnomon, o're her volumes runne,30Drown'd in eternall night, never to rise,Till Resurrection show it to the eyesOf Earth-worne men; and her shrill trumpet's soundAffright the Bones of mortals from the ground.The Columnes both are crown'd with either Sphere,35To show Chronology and History beare,No other Culmen than the double Art,Astronomy, Geography, impart.
If with distinctive eye, and mind, you looke1Vpon the Front, you see more than one Booke.Creation is God's Booke, wherein He writEach creature, as a letter filling it.History is Creation's Booke; which showes5To what effects the Series of it goes.Chronologie's the Booke of Historie, and bearesThe just account of Dayes, Moneths, and Yeares.But Resurrection, in a later Presse,And New Edition, is the summe of these.10The Language of these Bookes had all been one,Had not th' aspiring Tower of BabylonConfus'd the tongues, and in a distance hurl'dAs farre the speech, as men, o' th' new fill'd world.Set then your eyes in method, and behold15Time's embleme, Saturne; who, when store of goldCoyn'd the first age, devour'd that birth, he fear'd;Till History, Time's eldest child appear'd;And Phœnix-like, in spight of Saturne's rage,Forc'd from her ashes, heyres in every age.20From th' Rising Sunne, obtaining by just suit,A Spring's ingender, and an Autumne's fruit.Who in those Volumes at her motion pend,Vnto Creation's Alpha doth extend.Againe ascend, and view Chronology,25By optick skill, pulling farre HistoryNeerer; whose Hand the piercing Eagle's eyeStrengthens, to bring remotest objects nigh.Vnder whose feet, you see the Setting Sunne,From the darke Gnomon, o're her volumes runne,30Drown'd in eternall night, never to rise,Till Resurrection show it to the eyesOf Earth-worne men; and her shrill trumpet's soundAffright the Bones of mortals from the ground.The Columnes both are crown'd with either Sphere,35To show Chronology and History beare,No other Culmen than the double Art,Astronomy, Geography, impart.
A CONFORMABLE CITIZEN.[82]
The modest front of this small floore,1Beleeve me, Reader, can say moreThan many a braver marble can;Here lyes a truly honest man.One whose conscience was a thing,5That troubled neither Church nor King.One of those few that in this towne,Honour all Preachers, heare their owne.Sermons he heard, yet not so manyAs left no time to practise any.10He heard them reverendly, and thenHis practice preach'd them o're agen.His Parlour-Sermons rather wereThose to the eye, then to the eare.His prayers took their price and strength,15Not from the lowdnesse, nor the length.He was a Protestant at home,Not onely in despight of Rome.He lov'd his Father; yet his zealeTore not off his Mother's veile.20To th' Church he did allow her dresse,True Beauty, to true Holinesse.Peace, which he lov'd in life, did lendHer hand to bring him to his end.When Age and Death call'd for the score,25No surfets were to reckon for.Death tore not—therefore—but sans strifeGently untwin'd his thread of life.What remaines then, but that thouWrite these lines, Reader, in thy brow,30And by his faire example's light,Burne in thy imitation bright.So while these lines can but bequeathA life perhaps unto his death;His better Epitaph shall bee,35His life still kept alive in thee.
The modest front of this small floore,1Beleeve me, Reader, can say moreThan many a braver marble can;Here lyes a truly honest man.One whose conscience was a thing,5That troubled neither Church nor King.One of those few that in this towne,Honour all Preachers, heare their owne.Sermons he heard, yet not so manyAs left no time to practise any.10He heard them reverendly, and thenHis practice preach'd them o're agen.His Parlour-Sermons rather wereThose to the eye, then to the eare.His prayers took their price and strength,15Not from the lowdnesse, nor the length.He was a Protestant at home,Not onely in despight of Rome.He lov'd his Father; yet his zealeTore not off his Mother's veile.20To th' Church he did allow her dresse,True Beauty, to true Holinesse.Peace, which he lov'd in life, did lendHer hand to bring him to his end.When Age and Death call'd for the score,25No surfets were to reckon for.Death tore not—therefore—but sans strifeGently untwin'd his thread of life.What remaines then, but that thouWrite these lines, Reader, in thy brow,30And by his faire example's light,Burne in thy imitation bright.So while these lines can but bequeathA life perhaps unto his death;His better Epitaph shall bee,35His life still kept alive in thee.
Come and let us live my deare,1Let us love and never feare,What the sowrest fathers say:Brightest Sol that dyes to dayLives againe as blith to morrow;5But if we darke sons of sorrowSet: O then how long a NightShuts the eyes of our short light!Then let amorous kisses dwellOn our lips, begin and tell10A thousand, and a hundred score,An hundred and a thousand more,Till another thousand smotherThat, and that wipe of[f] another.Thus at last when we have numbred15Many a thousand, many a hundred,Wee'l confound the reckoning quite,And lose our selves in wild delight:While our joyes so multiply,As shall mocke the envious eye.20
Come and let us live my deare,1Let us love and never feare,What the sowrest fathers say:Brightest Sol that dyes to dayLives againe as blith to morrow;5But if we darke sons of sorrowSet: O then how long a NightShuts the eyes of our short light!Then let amorous kisses dwellOn our lips, begin and tell10A thousand, and a hundred score,An hundred and a thousand more,Till another thousand smotherThat, and that wipe of[f] another.Thus at last when we have numbred15Many a thousand, many a hundred,Wee'l confound the reckoning quite,And lose our selves in wild delight:While our joyes so multiply,As shall mocke the envious eye.20
TO HIS (SUPPOSED) MISTRESSE.[84]
1. Who ere she be,1That not impossible sheThat shall command my heart and me;2. Where ere she lye,Lock't up from mortall eye,5In shady leaves of Destiny;3. Till that ripe birthOf studied Fate stand forth,And teach her faire steps tread our Earth;4. Till that divine10Idæa, take a shrineOf chrystall flesh, through which to shine;5. Meet you her, my wishes,Bespeake her to my blisses,And be ye call'd, my absent kisses.156. I wish her, beautyThat owes not all its dutyTo gaudy tire or glistring shoo-ty.7. Something more thanTaffata or tissew can,20Or rampant feather, or rich fan.8. More than the spoyleOf shop, or silkeworme's toyle,Or a bought blush, or a set smile.9. A face that's best25By its owne beauty drest,And can alone commend the rest.10. A face made up,Out of no other shopThan what Nature's white hand sets ope.3011. A cheeke where Youth,And blood, with pen of TruthWrite, what their reader sweetly ru'th.12. A cheeke where growesMore than a morning rose:35Which to no boxe his being owes.13. Lipps, where all dayA lover's kisse may play,Yet carry nothing thence away.14. Lookes that oppresse40Their richest tires, but dresseThemselves in simple nakednesse.15. Eyes, that displaceThe neighbour diamond, and out-faceThat sunshine, by their own sweet grace.4516. Tresses, that weareIewells, but to declareHow much themselves more pretious are.17. Whose native ray,Can tame the wanton day50Of gems, that in their bright shades play.18. Each ruby there,Or pearle that dares appeare,Be its own blush, be its own teare.19. A well tam'd heart,55For whose more noble smart,Love may be long chusing a dart.20. Eyes, that bestowFull quivers on Love's bow;Yet pay lesse arrowes than they owe.6021. Smiles, that can warmeThe blood, yet teach a charme,That Chastity shall take no harme.22. Blushes, that binThe burnish of no sin,65Nor flames of ought too hot within.23. Ioyes, that confesse,Vertue their mistresse,And have no other head to dresse.24. Feares, fond, and flight,70As the coy bride's, when NightFirst does the longing lover right.25. Teares, quickly fled,And vaine, as those are shedFor a dying maydenhead.7526. Dayes, that need borrow,No part of their good morrow,From a fore-spent night of sorrow.27. Dayes, that in spightOf darknesse, by the light80Of a cleere mind are day all night.28. Nights, sweet as they,Made short by lovers play,Yet long by th' absence of the day.29. Life, that dares send85A challenge to his end,And when it comes say, Welcome friend!30. Sydnæan showersOf sweet discourse, whose powersCan crown old Winter's head with flowers.9031. Soft silken hours;Open sunnes; shady bowers;'Bove all, nothing within that lowers.32. What ere delightCan make Daye's forehead bright,95Or give downe to the wings of Night.33. In her whole frame,Haue Nature all the name,Art and ornament the shame.34. Her flattery,100Picture and Poesy,Her counsell her owne vertue be.35. I wish her storeOf worth may leave her pooreOf wishes; and I wish——no more.10536. Now if Time knowesThat her, whose radiant browesWeave them a garland of my vowes;37. Her whose just bayes,My future hopes can raise,110A trophie to her present praise.38. Her that dares be,What these lines wish to see:I seeke no further: it is she.39. 'Tis she, and here115Lo I uncloath and cleare,My wishes cloudy character.40. May she enjoy it,Whose merit dare apply it,But Modesty dares still deny it.12041. Such worth as this isShall fixe my flying wishes,And determine them to kisses.42. Let her full glory,My fancyes, fly before ye,125Be ye my fictions; but her story.
1. Who ere she be,1That not impossible sheThat shall command my heart and me;
2. Where ere she lye,Lock't up from mortall eye,5In shady leaves of Destiny;
3. Till that ripe birthOf studied Fate stand forth,And teach her faire steps tread our Earth;
4. Till that divine10Idæa, take a shrineOf chrystall flesh, through which to shine;
5. Meet you her, my wishes,Bespeake her to my blisses,And be ye call'd, my absent kisses.15
6. I wish her, beautyThat owes not all its dutyTo gaudy tire or glistring shoo-ty.
7. Something more thanTaffata or tissew can,20Or rampant feather, or rich fan.
8. More than the spoyleOf shop, or silkeworme's toyle,Or a bought blush, or a set smile.
9. A face that's best25By its owne beauty drest,And can alone commend the rest.
10. A face made up,Out of no other shopThan what Nature's white hand sets ope.30
11. A cheeke where Youth,And blood, with pen of TruthWrite, what their reader sweetly ru'th.
12. A cheeke where growesMore than a morning rose:35Which to no boxe his being owes.
13. Lipps, where all dayA lover's kisse may play,Yet carry nothing thence away.
14. Lookes that oppresse40Their richest tires, but dresseThemselves in simple nakednesse.
15. Eyes, that displaceThe neighbour diamond, and out-faceThat sunshine, by their own sweet grace.45
16. Tresses, that weareIewells, but to declareHow much themselves more pretious are.
17. Whose native ray,Can tame the wanton day50Of gems, that in their bright shades play.
18. Each ruby there,Or pearle that dares appeare,Be its own blush, be its own teare.
19. A well tam'd heart,55For whose more noble smart,Love may be long chusing a dart.
20. Eyes, that bestowFull quivers on Love's bow;Yet pay lesse arrowes than they owe.60
21. Smiles, that can warmeThe blood, yet teach a charme,That Chastity shall take no harme.
22. Blushes, that binThe burnish of no sin,65Nor flames of ought too hot within.
23. Ioyes, that confesse,Vertue their mistresse,And have no other head to dresse.
24. Feares, fond, and flight,70As the coy bride's, when NightFirst does the longing lover right.
25. Teares, quickly fled,And vaine, as those are shedFor a dying maydenhead.75
26. Dayes, that need borrow,No part of their good morrow,From a fore-spent night of sorrow.
27. Dayes, that in spightOf darknesse, by the light80Of a cleere mind are day all night.
28. Nights, sweet as they,Made short by lovers play,Yet long by th' absence of the day.
29. Life, that dares send85A challenge to his end,And when it comes say, Welcome friend!
30. Sydnæan showersOf sweet discourse, whose powersCan crown old Winter's head with flowers.90
31. Soft silken hours;Open sunnes; shady bowers;'Bove all, nothing within that lowers.
32. What ere delightCan make Daye's forehead bright,95Or give downe to the wings of Night.
33. In her whole frame,Haue Nature all the name,Art and ornament the shame.
34. Her flattery,100Picture and Poesy,Her counsell her owne vertue be.
35. I wish her storeOf worth may leave her pooreOf wishes; and I wish——no more.105
36. Now if Time knowesThat her, whose radiant browesWeave them a garland of my vowes;
37. Her whose just bayes,My future hopes can raise,110A trophie to her present praise.
38. Her that dares be,What these lines wish to see:I seeke no further: it is she.
39. 'Tis she, and here115Lo I uncloath and cleare,My wishes cloudy character.
40. May she enjoy it,Whose merit dare apply it,But Modesty dares still deny it.120
41. Such worth as this isShall fixe my flying wishes,And determine them to kisses.
42. Let her full glory,My fancyes, fly before ye,125Be ye my fictions; but her story.
NOTES AND ILLUSTRATIONS.
TheHarleian ms.6917-18, as before, gives an admirable reading, corrective of all the editions in st. 3, line 3. Hitherto it has run, 'And teach her faire steps to our Earth:' thems.as given by us 'tread' for 'to:' ib. st. 5, line 1, reads 'Meete her my wishes;' perhaps preferable: st. 6, I accept 'its' for 'his' from 1670 edition: st. 7, 'than'=then, and is spelled 'then' here and elsewhere in 1646 and 1670: st. 8, line 3,Harleian ms.reads 'Or a bowe, blush, or a set smile;' inferior: st. 9, ib. reads 'commend' for 'command;' adopted: st. 11, ib. 'their' for 'the;' adopted: st. 14, ib. spells 'tyers,' and line 3 reads as we print for 'And cloath their simplest nakednesse,' which is clumsy and poor: st. 15: Here, as in the poem, 'On the bleeding wounds of our crucified Lord' (st. 6), where we read 'The thorns that Thy blest brows encloses,' and elsewhere, we have an example of the Elizabethan use of 'that' as a singular (referring to and thus made a collective plural) taken as the governing nominative to the verb. So in this poem of 'Wishes' we have 'Eyes that bestow,' 'Joys that confess,' 'Tresses that wear.' But it must be stated that theHarleian ms., as before, reads not as in 1646 and 1648 'displaces,' 'out-faces' and 'graces,' but as printed by us on its authority; certainly the rhythm is improved thereby: st. 18, line 2, ib. 'dares' for 'dare;' adopted: st. 24, looking to 'tears quickly fled' of next stanza, I think 'flight' is correct, and not a misprint for 'slight.' Accordingly I have punctuated with a comma after fond, flight being = the shrinking-away of the bride, like the Horatian fair lady, a fugitive yet wishful of her lover's kiss: st. 31,Harleian ms.as before, 'Open sunn:' st. 42, line 3, 'be you my fictions, she my story.' G.