I.

THE DELIGHTS OF THE MUSES

(1646).

NOTE.

For the title-page of 'The Delights of the Muses' see Note immediately before the original Preface, and our Preface on the classification of the several poems. G.

MUSICK'S DUELL.[61]

Now Westward Sol had spent the richest beams 1 Of Noon's high glory, when hard by the streams Of Tiber, on the sceane of a greene plat, Vnder protection of an oake, there sate A sweet Lute's-master; in whose gentle aires 5 He lost the daye's heat, and his owne hot cares. Close in the covert of the leaves there stood A Nightingale, come from the neighbouring wood: (The sweet inhabitant of each glad tree, Their Muse, their Syren--harmlesse Syren she!) 10 There stood she listning, and did entertaine The musick's soft report, and mold the same In her owne murmures, that what ever mood His curious fingers lent, her voyce made good: The man perceiv'd his rivall, and her art; 15 Dispos'd to give the light-foot lady sport, Awakes his lute, and 'gainst the fight to come Informes it in a sweet praeludium Of closer straines, and ere the warre begin, He lightly skirmishes on every string, 20 Charg'd with a flying touch: and streightway she Carves out her dainty voyce as readily, Into a thousand sweet distinguish'd tones, And reckons up in soft divisions, Quicke volumes of wild notes; to let him know 25 By that shrill taste, she could do something too. His nimble hands' instinct then taught each string A capring cheerefullnesse; and made them sing To their owne dance; now negligently rash He throwes his arme, and with a long drawne dash 30 Blends all together; then distinctly tripps From this to that; then quicke returning skipps And snatches this again, and pauses there. Shee measures every measure, every where Meets art with art; sometimes as if in doubt 35 Not perfect yet, and fearing to be out, Trayles her plaine ditty in one long-spun note, Through the sleeke passage of her open throat, A cleare unwrinckled song; then doth shee point it With tender accents, and severely joynt it 40 By short diminutives, that being rear'd In controverting warbles evenly shar'd, With her sweet selfe shee wrangles. Hee amazed That from so small a channell should be rais'd The torrent of a voyce, whose melody 45 Could melt into such sweet variety, Straines higher yet; that tickled with rare art The tatling strings (each breathing in his part) Most kindly doe fall out; the grumbling base In surly groans disdaines the treble's grace; 50 The high-perch't treble chirps at this, and chides, Vntill his finger (Moderatour) hides And closes the sweet quarrell, rowsing all, Hoarce, shrill at once; as when the trumpets call Hot Mars to th' harvest of Death's field, and woo 55 Men's hearts into their hands: this lesson too Shee gives him back, her supple brest thrills out Sharpe aires, and staggers in a warbling doubt Of dallying sweetnesse, hovers o're her skill, And folds in wav'd notes with a trembling bill 60 The plyant series of her slippery song; Then starts shee suddenly into a throng Of short, thicke sobs, whose thundring volleyes float And roule themselves over her lubrick throat In panting murmurs, 'still'd out of her breast, 65 That ever-bubling spring; the sugred nest Of her delicious soule, that there does lye Bathing in streames of liquid melodie; Musick's best seed-plot, whence in ripen'd aires A golden-headed harvest fairely reares 70 His honey-dropping tops, plow'd by her breath, Which there reciprocally laboureth In that sweet soyle; it seemes a holy quire Founded to th' name of great Apollo's lyre, Whose silver-roofe rings with the sprightly notes 75 Of sweet-lipp'd angel-imps, that swill their throats In creame of morning Helicon, and then Preferre soft-anthems to the eares of men, To woo them from their beds, still murmuring That men can sleepe while they their mattens sing: 80 (Most divine service) whose so early lay, Prevents the eye-lidds of the blushing Day! There you might heare her kindle her soft voyce, In the close murmur of a sparkling noyse, And lay the ground-worke of her hopefull song, 85 Still keeping in the forward streame, so long, Till a sweet whirle-wind (striving to get out) Heaves her soft bosome, wanders round about, And makes a pretty earthquake in her breast, Till the fledg'd notes at length forsake their nest, 90 Fluttering in wanton shoales, and to the sky Wing'd with their owne wild ecchos, pratling fly. Shee opes the floodgate, and lets loose a tide Of streaming sweetnesse, which in state doth ride On the wav'd backe of every swelling straine, 95 Rising and falling in a pompous traine. And while she thus discharges a shrill peale Of flashing aires; she qualifies their zeale With the coole epode of a graver noat, Thus high, thus low, as if her silver throat 100 Would reach the brazen voyce of War's hoarce bird; Her little soule is ravisht: and so pour'd Into loose extasies, that she is plac't Above her selfe, Musick's Enthusiast. Shame now and anger mixt a double staine 105 In the Musitian's face; yet once againe (Mistresse) I come; now reach a straine my lute Above her mocke, or be for ever mute; Or tune a song of victory to me, Or to thy selfe, sing thine own obsequie: 110 So said, his hands sprightly as fire, he flings And with a quavering coynesse tasts the strings. The sweet-lip't sisters, musically frighted, Singing their feares, are fearefully delighted, Trembling as when Appolo's golden haires 115 Are fan'd and frizled, in the wanton ayres Of his own breath: which marryed to his lyre Doth tune the spheares, and make Heaven's selfe looke higher. From this to that, from that to this he flyes. Feeles Musick's pulse in all her arteryes; 120 Caught in a net which there Apollo spreads, His fingers struggle with the vocall threads. Following those little rills, he sinkes into A sea of Helicon; his hand does goe Those pathes of sweetnesse which with nectar drop, 125 Softer than that which pants in Hebe's cup. The humourous strings expound his learned touch, By various glosses; now they seeme to grutch, And murmur in a buzzing dinne, then gingle In shrill-tongu'd accents: striving to be single. 130 Every smooth turne, every delicious stroake Gives life to some new grace; thus doth h' invoke Sweetnesse by all her names; thus, bravely thus (Fraught with a fury so harmonious) The lute's light genius now does proudly rise, 135 Heav'd on the surges of swolne rapsodyes, Whose flourish (meteor-like) doth curle the aire With flash of high-borne fancyes: here and there Dancing in lofty measures, and anon Creeps on the soft touch of a tender tone; 140 Whose trembling murmurs melting in wild aires Runs to and fro, complaining his sweet cares, Because those pretious mysteryes that dwell In Musick's ravish't soule, he dares not tell, But whisper to the world: thus doe they vary 145 Each string his note, as if they meant to carry Their Master's blest soule (snatcht out at his eares By a strong extasy) through all the spheares Of Musick's heaven; and seat it there on high In th' empyraeum of pure harmony. 150 At length (after so long, so loud a strife Of all the strings, still breathing the best life Of blest variety, attending on His fingers fairest revolution In many a sweet rise, many as sweet a fall) 155 A full-mouth'd diapason swallowes all. This done, he lists what she would say to this, And she, (although her breath's late exercise Had dealt too roughly with her tender throate,) Yet summons all her sweet powers for a noate. 160 Alas! in vaine! for while (sweet soule!) she tryes To measure all those wild diversities Of chatt'ring strings, by the small size of one Poore simple voyce, rais'd in a naturall tone; She failes, and failing grieves, and grieving dyes. 165 She dyes: and leaves her life the Victor's prise, Falling upon his lute: O, fit to have (That liv'd so sweetly) dead, so sweet a grave!

NOTES AND ILLUSTRATIONS.

In our Essay we give the original Latin of this very remarkable poem, that the student may see how CRASHAW has ennobled and transfigured STRADA. Still further to show how much we owe to our Poet, I print here (_a_) An anonymous translation, which I discovered at the British Museum in Additional MSS. 19.268; never before printed. (_b_) Sir FRANCIS WORTLEY'S translation from his 'Characters and Elegies' (1646). In the former I have been obliged to leave one or two words unfilled-in as illegible in the MS.

(_a_) _The Musicke Warre between ye Fidler and the Nightingale._

Nowe had greate Sol ye middle orbe forsooke When as a fidler by a slidinge brooke With shadie bowers was guarded from ye aire And on his fidle plaid away his care. A nightingale hid in the leaues there stood The muse and harmeles Syren of the wood; Shee snatcht ye soundes and with an echo prates: What his hand playde her voice reiterates. Perceavinge how ye listninge bird did sit Ye fidler faine would make some sport with it, And neately stroke ye lute; then she began And through those notes ran glib division; Then with quicke hand he strikes ye tremblinge strings, Now with a skilfull negligence he flings His carelesse armes, then softly playes his part: Then shee begins and answers art with art, And now as if vncertaine how to singe Lengthens her notes and choisest art doth bringe, And interminglinge softer notes with shrill Daintily quavers through her trembling bill. Ye fidler wonders such melodious notes Shold haue proceedinges from soe slender throats; Tryes her againe, then loudly spoke ye.... Sometimes graue were ye tones, sometimes.... Then high, then lowe againe, yn sweetly iarrs Just like a trumpet callinge men to warrs. Thus did ye dainty Philomela doe And with hoarse voice sange an alarme too. The fidler blusht, and al in ragg [_i.e._ rage] he went About to breake his conquered instrument, But yet suspectinge lest ambitious shee Shold to the woods warble her victory; Strikes with inimitable blowes And flies through all the strings, now these, now those, Then tryes the notes, labours in each strayne And then expects if shee replyed agayne. The poore harmonious bird now almost dombe, But impatient, to be overcome Calls her sweet strength together all in vayne, For while shee thinkes to imitate each strayne In pure and natiue language, in this strife And dayntie musicke warre shee left her life, And yeldinge to the gladsome conquerour Falls in his fidle: a fit sepulchere.

(_b_) _From 'Characters and Elegies.' By Francis Wortley, knight and baronet: 1646_ (p. 66). _A Paraphrase upon the Verses which Famianus Strada made of the Lutanist and Philomell in Contestation._

'When past the middle orbe the parching sun Had downward nearer our horizon run A Lutenist neare Tiber's streames had found Where the eccho did resound. Under a holme a shady bower he made To ease his cares, his severall phancies play'd; The philomell no sooner did the musicke hear But straight-wayes she drew neare. The harmlesse Syren, musicke of the wood, Hid in a leavy-bush, she hearking stood, She ruminates upon the ayers he plaid, And to him answers made. With her shirl voyce doth all his paines requite Lost not one note, but to his play sung right; Well pleased to heare her skil, and envy, he Tryes his variety. And dares her with his severall notes, runs throw Even all the strains his skill could reach unto: A thousand wayes he tryes: she answers all, And for new straynes dares call. He could not touch a string in such a straine, To which she warble and not sung it plaine; His fingers could not reach to greater choice, Then she did with her voyce. The Lutenist admired her narrow throat Could reach so high or fall to any note: But that which he did thinke in her most strange, She instantly could change. Or sharpe or flat, or meane, or quicke, or slow, What ere he plaid, she the like skill would show: And if he inward did his notes recall, She answer made to all. Th' inraged Lutenist, he blusht for shame That he could not this weake corrivall tame: If thou canst answer this I'le breake my lute, And yeild in the dispute. He said no more, but aimes at such a height Of skill, he thought she could not imitate: He shows the utmost cunning of his hand And all he could command. He tryes his strength, his active fingers flye To every string and stop, now low, now high, And higher yet he multiplyes his skill, Then doth his chorus fill. Then he expecting stands to try if she His envy late would yeeld the victory: She would not yeeld, but summons all her force Though tyred out and hoarse. She strives with various strings the lute's bast chest The spirit of man, one narrow throat and chest: Unequal matches, yet she's pleased that she Concludes victoriously. Her spirit was such she would not live to heare The Lutenist bestow on her a jeere, But broken-hearted fall upon the tombe She choose the sweet lute's wombe. The warbling lutes doe yet their triumphs tell (With mournfull accents) of the philomell, And have usurpt the title ever since, Of harmony the prince. The morall this, by emulation wee May much improve both art and industry, Though she deserve the name of Philomell Yet men must her excell.'

A third (anonymous) translation, with the Latin on the opposite pages, I came on in LANSDOWNE MSS. 3910, Pl. lxvi. from which extracts will be found in our Essay.

In the SANCROFT MS. the heading is 'Fidicinis et Philomelae Bellum Musicum. R. CR.' It reads in line 79 'whence' for 'where;' adopted: line 125, 'pathes' for 'parts;' adopted: other variations only orthographic, as is the case with the different editions. I note these: in 1670, line 83 reads 'might you:' line 99, 1646 misprints 'grave:' line 156, our text misprints 'full-mouth,' and so 1646; I adopt 'full-mouth'd' from 1670 and SANCROFT MS. G.

THE PRAISE OF THE SPRING:

OUT OF VIRGIL.[62]

All trees, all leavy groves confesse the Spring 1 Their gentlest friend; then, then the lands begin To swell with forward pride, and feed desire To generation; Heaven's Almighty Sire Melts on the bosome of His love, and powres 5 Himselfe into her lap in fruitfull showers. And by a soft insinuation, mixt With Earth's large masse, doth cherish and assist Her weake conceptions. No lone shade but rings With chatring birds' delicious murmurings; 10 Then Venus' mild instinct (at set times) yields The herds to kindly meetings, then the fields (Quick with warme Zephyre's lively breath) lay forth Their pregnant bosomes in a fragrant birth. Each body's plump and jucy, all things full 15 Of supple moisture: no coy twig but will Trust his beloved blossome to the sun (Growne lusty now): no vine so weake and young That feares the foule-mouth'd Auster or those stormes That the Southwest-wind hurries in his armes, 20 But hasts her forward blossomes, and layes out Freely layes out her leaves: nor doe I doubt But when the world first out of chaos sprang So smil'd the dayes, and so the tenor ran Of their felicity. A Spring was there, 25 An everlasting Spring, the jolly yeare Led round in his great circle; no wind's breath As then did smell of Winter or of Death. When Life's sweet light first shone on beasts, and when From their hard mother Earth, sprang hardy men, 30 When beasts tooke up their lodging in the Wood, Starres in their higher chambers: never cou'd The tender growth of things endure the sence Of such a change, but that the Heav'ns indulgence Kindly supplyes sick Nature, and doth mold 35 A sweetly-temper'd meane, nor hot nor cold.

WITH A PICTURE SENT TO A FRIEND.[63]

I paint so ill, my peece had need to be 1 Painted againe by some good poesie. I write so ill, my slender line is scarce So much as th' picture of a well-lim'd verse: Yet may the love I send be true, though I 5 Send not true picture, nor true poesie. Both which away, I should not need to feare, My love, or feign'd or painted should appeare.

IN PRAISE OF LESSIUS'S RULE OF HEALTH.[64]

Goe now, with some dareing drugg, 1 Baite thy disease, and while they tugg, Thou, to maintaine their cruell strife Spend the deare treasure of thy life: Goe take physicke, doat upon 5 Some big-nam'd composition,-- The oraculous doctors' mistick bills, Certain hard words made into pills; And what at length shalt get by these? Onely a costlyer disease. 10 Goe poore man, thinke what shall bee Remedie 'gainst thy remedie. That which makes us have no need Of phisick, that's phisick indeed. Heark hither, Reader: would'st thou see 15 Nature her own physician be? Would'st see a man all his own wealth, His own musick, his own health? A man, whose sober soul can tell How to wear her garments well? 20 Her garments, that upon her sit, (As garments should do) close and fit? A well-clothed soul, that's not opprest Nor choked with what she should be drest? Whose soul's sheath'd in a crystall shrine, 25 Through which all her bright features shine? As when a piece of wanton lawn, A thin aerial vail is drawn, O're Beauty's face; seeming to hide, More sweetly shows the blushing bride: 30 A soul, whose intellectuall beams No mists do mask, no lazie steams? A happie soul, that all the way To Heav'n, hath a Summer's day? Would'st see a man whose well-warm'd bloud 35 Bathes him in a genuine floud? A man, whose tuned humours be A set of rarest harmonie? Would'st see blithe looks, fresh cheeks beguile Age? Would'st see December smile? 40 Would'st see a nest of roses grow In a bed of reverend snow? Warm thoughts, free spirits, flattering Winter's self into a Spring? In summe, would'st see a man that can 45 Live to be old, and still a man? Whose latest, and most leaden houres, Fall with soft wings, stuck with soft flowres; And when Life's sweet fable ends, His soul and bodie part like friends: 50 No quarrels, murmures, no delay: A kisse, a sigh, and so away? This rare one, Reader, would'st thou see, Heark hither: and thyself be he.

NOTES AND ILLUSTRATIONS.

Besides the reprint of 1646 as _supra_, this poem appeared in 1648 (pp. 8, 9), 1652 (pp. 126-8), where it is entitled 'Temperance. Of the Cheap Physitian, vpon the Translation of Lessivs (pp. 126-8):' and 1670 (pp. 108-9 and pp. 207-8, being inadvertently printed twice). These variations are noticeable:

Line 1, in 1648 and 1652, 'Goe now and with....'

" 2, in 1670, 'the' for 'thy;' and TURNBULL, as usual, repeats the error.

Line 3, in 1648 'pretious' for 'cruel:' so 1670 in 2d copy.

" 9, ib. 'last' for 'length,' and 1670 'gaine' for 'get' in 2d copy.

Lines 11, 12, this couplet is inadvertently dropped in 1648. I adopt ''gainst' for 'against' from SANCROFT MS. in line 12.

Line 15, ib. 'wilt' for 'wouldst.'

" 18, 'physick' in 1646, 1648 and 1670 (1st copy); but 'musick' is assuredly the finer reading, as in Hygiasticon and 1670 (in 2d copy). Cf. lines 19, 20, onward, which show that 'music' was intended.

Line 25, in all the three editions 'a' for 'whose:' in 1670 (2d copy) 'A soul sheath'd....'

Line 34, in 1646 'hath' for 'rides in,' and so in 1670 (1st copy): 'hath' seems the simpler and better.

Line 35, 1646 and 1670 misinsert 'thou' before 'see.'

" 38, 'set' for 'seat' in the three editions (1670, 1st copy); adopted.

Line 41, in 1648 'Would'st see nests of new roses grow:' so 1670 (2d copy).

Line 46, 1646 and 1670 end here.

Leonard Lessius was a learned Jesuit, born 1st October 1554, and died 15th January 1623-4. He was professor of theology in the University of Louvaine. His 'Hygiasticon, seu vera ratio valetudinis bonae et vitae' is still readable and quick. G.

THE BEGINNING OF HELIODORUS.[65]

The smiling Morne had newly wak't the Day, 1 And tipt the mountaines with a tender ray: When on a hill (whose high imperious brow Lookes downe, and sees the humble Nile below Licke his proud feet, and haste into the seas 5 Through the great mouth that's nam'd from Hercules) A band of men, rough as the armes they wore Look't round, first to the sea, then to the shore. The shore that shewed them, what the sea deny'd, Hope of a prey. There to the maine-land ty'd 10 A ship they saw; no men she had, yet prest Appear'd with other lading, for her brest Deep in the groaning waters wallowed Vp to the third ring: o're the shore was spread Death's purple triumph; on the blushing ground 15 Life's late forsaken houses all lay drown'd In their owne blood's deare deluge: some new dead; Some panting in their yet warme ruines bled, While their affrighted soules, now wing'd for flight Lent them the last flash of her glimmering light. 20 Those yet fresh streames which crawled every where Shew'd that sterne Warre had newly bath'd him there. Nor did the face of this disaster show Markes of a fight alone, but feasting too: A miserable and a monstruous feast, 25 Where hungry Warre had made himself a guest: And comming late had eat up guests and all, Who prov'd the feast to their owne funerall &c.

CUPID'S CRYER:

OUT OF THE GREEKE.[66]

Love is lost, nor can his mother 1 Her little fugitive discover: She seekes, she sighes, but no where spyes him; Love is lost: and thus shee cryes him. O yes! if any happy eye, 5 This roaving wanton shall descry; Let the finder surely know Mine is the wagge; 'tis I that owe The winged wand'rer; and that none May thinke his labour vainely gone, 10 The glad descryer shall not misse, To tast the nectar of a kisse From Venus lipps. But as for him That brings him to me, he shall swim In riper joyes: more shall be his 15 (Venus assures him) than a kisse. But lest your eye discerning slide, These markes may be your judgement's guide; His skin as with a fiery blushing High-colour'd is; his eyes still flushing 20 With nimble flames; and though his mind Be ne're so curst, his tongue is kind: For never were his words in ought Found the pure issue of his thought. The working bees' soft melting gold, 25 That which their waxen mines enfold, Flow not so sweet as doe the tones Of his tun'd accents; but if once His anger kindle, presently It boyles out into cruelty, 30 And fraud: he makes poor mortalls' hurts The objects of his cruell sports. With dainty curles his froward face Is crown'd about: But O what place, What farthest nooke of lowest Hell 35 Feeles not the strength, the reaching spell Of his small hand? Yet not so small As 'tis powerfull therewithall. Though bare his skin, his mind he covers, And like a saucy bird he hovers 40 With wanton wing, now here, now there, 'Bout men and women, nor will spare Till at length he perching rest, In the closet of their brest. His weapon is a little bow, 45 Yet such a one as--Jove knows how-- Ne're suffred, yet his little arrow, Of Heaven's high'st arches to fall narrow. The gold that on his quiver smiles, Deceives men's feares with flattering wiles. 50 But O---too well my wounds can tell-- With bitter shafts 'tis sauc't too well. He is all cruell, cruell all, His torch imperious though but small Makes the sunne--of flames the sire-- 55 Worse than sun-burnt in his fire. Wheresoe're you chance to find him Ceaze him, bring him--but first bind him-- Pitty not him, but feare thy selfe Though thou see the crafty elfe, 60 Tell down his silver-drops unto thee: They'r counterfeit, and will undoe thee. With baited smiles if he display His fawning cheeks, looke not that way. If he offer sugred kisses, 65 Start, and say, the serpent hisses. Draw him, drag him, though he pray Wooe, intreat, and crying say Prethee, sweet, now let me go, Here's my quiver, shafts and bow, 70 I'le give thee all, take all; take heed Lest his kindnesse make thee bleed. What e're it be Loue offers, still presume That though it shines, 'tis fire and will consume.

VPON BISHOP ANDREWS' PICTURE BEFORE HIS SERMONS.[67]

This reverend shadow cast that setting sun, 1 Whose glorious course through our horrizon run, Left the dimme face of this dull hemispheare, All one great eye, all drown'd in one great teare. Whose faire, illustrious soule, led his free thought 5 Through Learning's vniverse, and (vainly) sought Room for her spatious selfe, untill at length Shee found the way home, with an holy strength; Snatch't her self hence to Heaven: fill'd a bright place, 'Mongst those immortall fires, and on the face 10 Of her great Maker fixt her flaming eye, There still to read true, pure divinity. And now that grave aspect hath deign'd to shrinke Into this lesse appearance: If you thinke 'Tis but a dead face, Art doth here bequeath: 15 Looke on the following leaves, and see him breath.

VPON THE DEATH OF A GENTLEMAN.[68]

Faithlesse and fond Mortality! 1 Who will ever credit thee? Fond, and faithlesse thing! that thus, In our best hopes beguilest us. What a reckoning hast thou made, 5 Of the hopes in him we laid! For life by volumes lengthened, A line or two to speake him dead. For the laurell in his verse, The sullen cypresse o're his herse _crape_ 10 For soe many hoped yeares Of fruit, soe many fruitles teares: For a silver-crowned head A durty pillow in Death's bed. For so deare, so deep a trust, 15 Sad requitall, thus much dust! Now though the blow that snatch him hence, Stopt the mouth of Eloquence: Though shee be dumbe e're since his death, Not us'd to speake but in his breath; 20 Leaving his death vngarnished Therefore, because hee is dead Yet if at least shee not denyes, The sad language of our eyes, Wee are contented: for then this 25 Language none more fluent is. Nothing speakes our griefe so well As to speak nothing. Come then tell Thy mind in teares who e're thou be, That ow'st a name to misery. 30 Eyes are vocall, teares have tongues, And there be words not made with lungs; Sententious showres: O let them fall, Their cadence is rhetoricall. Here's a theame will drinke th' expence, 35 Of all thy watry eloquence. Weepe then! onely be exprest Thus much, 'he's dead:' and weep the rest.

VPON THE DEATH OF MR. HERRYS.[69]

A plant of noble stemme, forward and faire, 1 As ever whisper'd to the morning aire, Thriv'd in these happie grounds; the Earth's just pride; Whose rising glories made such haste to hide His head in cloudes, as if in him alone 5 Impatient Nature had taught motion To start from Time, and cheerfully to fly Before, and seize upon Maturity. Thus grew this gratious tree, in whose sweet shade The sunne himselfe oft wisht to sit, and made 10 The morning Muses perch like birds, and sing Among his branches: yea, and vow'd to bring His owne delicious phoenix from the blest Arabia, there to build her virgin nest, To hatch her selfe in; 'mongst his leaves, the Day 15 Fresh from the rosie East, rejoyc't to play; To them shee gave the first and fairest beame That waited on her birth: she gave to them The purest pearles, that wept her evening death; The balmy Zephirus got so sweet a breath 20 By often kissing them. And now begun Glad Time to ripen Expectation: The timorous maiden-blossomes on each bough Peept forth from their first blushes; so that now A thousand ruddy hopes smil'd in each bud, 25 And flatter'd every greedy eye that stood Fixt in delight, as if already there Those rare fruits dangled, whence the golden Yeare His crowne expected: when, (O Fate! O Time! That seldome lett'st a blushing youthfull prime 30 Hide his hot beames in shade of silver age, So rare is hoary Vertue) the dire rage Of a mad storme these bloomy joyes all tore, Ravisht the maiden blossoms, and downe bore The trunke. Yet in this ground his pretious root 35 Still lives, which when weake Time shall be pour'd out Into Eternity, and circular joyes Dance in an endlesse round, again shall rise The faire son of an ever-youthfull Spring, To be a shade for angels while they sing; 40 Meane while who e're thou art that passest here, O doe thou water it with one kind teare.

VPON THE DEATH OF THE MOST DESIRED MR. HERRYS.[70]

Death, what dost? O, hold thy blow, 1 What thou dost thou dost not know. Death, thou must not here be cruell, This is Nature's choycest iewell: This is hee, in whose rare frame 5 Nature labour'd for a name: And meant to leave his pretious feature The patterne of a perfect creature. Ioy of Goodnesse, love of Art, Vertue weares him next her heart. 10 Him the Muses love to follow, Him they call their vice-Apollo. Apollo, golden though thou bee, Th' art not fairer than is hee, Nor more lovely lift'st thy head 15 (Blushing) from thine Easterne bed. The glories of thy youth ne're knew Brighter hopes than his can shew. Why then should it e're be seen That his should fade, while thine is green? 20 And wilt thou (O, cruell boast!) Put poore Nature to such cost? O, twill undoe our common mother, To be at charge of such another. What? thinke me to no other end 25 Gracious heavens do use to send Earth her best perfection, But to vanish, and be gone? Therefore onely given to day To-morrow to be snatch't away? 30 I've seen indeed the hopefull bud Of a ruddy rose that stood Blushing, to behold the ray Of the new-saluted Day: (His tender toppe not fully spread) 35 The sweet dash of a shower new shead, Invited him, no more to hide Within himselfe the purple pride Of his forward flower; when lo, While he sweetly 'gan to show His swelling gloryes, Auster spide him, 40 Cruell Auster thither hy'd him, And with the rush of one rude blast, Sham'd not, spitefully to wast All his leaves, so fresh, so sweet, And lay them trembling at his feet. 45 I've seen the Morning's lovely ray Hover o're the new-borne Day, With rosie wings so richly bright, As if she scorn'd to thinke of Night; When a rugged storme, whose scowle 50 Made heaven's radiant face looke foule Call'd for an untimely night, To blot the newly-blossom'd light. But were the rose's blush so rare, Were the Morning's smile so faire, 55 As is he, nor cloud, nor wind, But would be courteous, would be kind. Spare him Death, ah! spare him then, Spare the sweetest among men: And let not Pitty, with her teares 60 Keepe such distance from thine eares. But O, thou wilt not, can'st not spare, Haste hath never time to heare. Therefore if he needs must go, And the Fates will have it so; 65 Softly may he be possest Of his monumentall rest. Safe, thou darke home of the dead, Safe, O hide his loved head: Keepe him close, close in thine armes, 70 Seal'd vpp with a thousand charmes. For Pittie's sake, O, hide him quite From his mother Nature's sight; Lest for griefe his losse may move All her births abortive proue. 75

NOTES AND ILLUSTRATIONS.

See our Essay for notice of 'Mr. Herrys.' In the SANCROFT MS. the heading is 'An Elegie on Mr. Herris. R. CR.' It offers these variations: lines 1 and 2, 'doest:' line 18, 'his' for 'he;' adopted: line 29, 'given' for 'give;' adopted: line 36, 'new' for 'now;' adopted from 1648: line 50, the MS. reads 'rugged' for 'ruddy;' adopted: line 58, 'ah' for 'O;' adopted: line 60, 'And let:' lines 70-71 added from the MS., where in the margin is written 'not printed.' G.

ANOTHER.[71]

If ever Pitty were acquainted 1 With sterne Death; if e're he fainted, Or forgot the cruell vigour Of an adamantine rigour; Here, O, here we should have knowne it, 5 Here, or no where, hee'd have showne it. For hee, whose pretious memory Bathes in teares of every eye; Hee, to whom our Sorrow brings All the streames of all her springs; 10 Was so rich in grace, and nature, In all the gifts that blesse a creature; The fresh hopes of his lovely youth Flourish't in so faire a growth; So sweet the temple was, that shrin'd 15 The sacred sweetnesse of his mind; That could the Fates know to relent, Could they know what mercy meant, Or had ever learnt to beare The soft tincture of a teare; 20 Teares would now have flow'd so deepe, As might have taught Griefe how to weepe. Now all their steely operation Would quite have lost the cruell fashion. Sicknesse would have gladly been 25 Sick himselfe to have sav'd him; And his feaver wish'd to prove, Burning onely in his love. Him when Wrath it selfe had seen, Wrath it selfe had lost his spleen. 30 Grim Destruction here amaz'd, In stead of striking, would have gaz'd. Even the iron-pointed pen, That notes the tragick doomes of men, Wet with teares, 'still'd from the eyes 35 Of the flinty Destinies, Would have learn't a softer style, And have been asham'd to spoyle His live's sweet story, by the hast Of a cruell stop, ill plac't. 40 In the darke volume of our fate, Whence each lease of life hath date, Where in sad particulars The totall summe of man appeares, And the short clause of mortall breath, 45 Bound in the period of Death: In all the booke if any where Such a tearme as this, 'Spare here,' Could been found, 'twould have been read, Writ in white letters o're his head: 50 Or close unto his name annext, The faire glosse of a fairer text. In briefe, if any one were free Hee was that one, and onely hee. But he, alas! even hee is dead, 55 And our hope's faire harvest spread In the dust. Pitty, now spend All the teares that Griefe can lend. Sad Mortality may hide In his ashes all her pride; 60 With this inscription o're his head, 'All hope of never dying here is dead.'

NOTES AND ILLUSTRATIONS

The SANCROFT MS. furnishes these variations: line 1, 'was:' line 26, 't' have:' line 34, 'quotes' for 'notes:' l. 42, 'lease' for 'leafe;' adopted: line 49 omits rightly the first 'have' and spells 'bin;' the former adopted: line 50, 'wrote:' line 62, 'is' for 'lyes;' adopted: line 23, 'steely' = hard as steel, or, as we say, iron-hearted. The SANCROFT MS. writes the two poems as one. G.

HIS EPITAPH.[72]

Passenger, who e're thou art 1 Stay a while, and let thy heart Take acquaintance of this stone, Before thou passest further on. This stone will tell thee, that beneath, 5 Is entomb'd the crime of Death; The ripe endowments of whose mind Left his yeares so much behind, That numbring of his vertues' praise, Death lost the reckoning of his dayes; 10 And believing what they told, Imagin'd him exceeding old. In him Perfection did set forth The strength of her united worth. Him his wisdome's pregnant growth 15 Made so reverend, even in youth, That in the center of his brest (Sweet as is the phoenix' nest) Every reconciled Grace Had their generall meeting-place. 20 In him Goodnesse joy'd to see Learning learne Humility. The splendor of his birth and blood Was but the glosse of his owne good. The flourish of his sober youth 25 Was 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. 30 What word so e're his breath kept warme, Was no word now but a charme: For all persuasive Graces thence Suck't their sweetest influence. His vertue that within had root, 35 Could 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: 40 That to his sweetnesse, all men's eyes Were vow'd Love's flaming sacrifice. Him while fresh and fragrant Time Cherisht in his golden prime; E're Hebe's hand had overlaid 45 His 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 stone 50 (Passenger who e're thou art) Is he entomb'd, but in thy heart.

AN EPITAPH VPON A YOVNG MARRIED COVPLE

DEAD AND BVRYED TOGETHER.[73]

To these, whom Death again did wed, 1 This 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 liued but one life. Peace, good Reader, Doe not weep. Peace, the louers are asleep. They, sweet turtles, folded ly In the last knott that Loue could ty. 10 And 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, 15 Till this stormy night be gone, And the aeternall morrow dawn; Then the curtaines will be drawn And they wake into a light, Whose Day shall neuer sleepe in Night. 20

NOTES AND ILLUSTRATIONS.

In the SANCROFT MS. the heading is 'Epitaphium Conjugum vna mortuor. et sepultor. R. CR.' It was reprinted in 1648 'Delights' (p. 26), where it is entitled as _supra_, and 1670 (p. 95). Our text is that of 1648, which yields the five lines (11-14), and which ELLIS in his 'Specimens' (iii. 208, 1845) introduced from a MS. 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 in _no printed edition_: they were found in a MS. copy, and are perhaps not Crashaw's.' As usual, TURNBULL overlooked 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 and SANCROFT MS. as it is confirmed by HARLEIAN MS. 6917-18, as before.

Line 17, I adopt 'And' for 'Till' from 1648.

" 19, 'waken with that Light,' and so SANCROFT 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 by HARLEIAN MS. as before. G.

DEATH'S LECTVRE AND THE FVNERAL OF A YOVNG GENTLEMAN.[74]

Dear reliques of a dislodg'd sovl, whose lack 1 Makes many a mourning paper put on black! O stay a while, ere thou draw in thy head And wind thy self vp close in thy cold bed. Stay but a little while, vntill I call 5 A summon's worthy of thy funerall. Come then, Youth, Beavty, Blood! all ye soft powres, Whose sylken flatteryes swell a few fond howres Into a false aeternity. Come man; Hyperbolized nothing! know thy span; 10 Take thine own measure here, down, down, and bow Before thy self in thine idaea; thou Huge emptynes! contract thy bulke; and shrinke All thy wild circle to a point. O sink Lower and lower yet; till thy leane size 15 Call Heaun to look on thee with narrow eyes. Lesser and lesser yet; till thou begin To show a face, fitt to confesse thy kin, Thy neighbourhood to Nothing! Proud lookes, and lofty eyliddes, here putt on 20 Your 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 ly To the lowd boasts of poor Mortality; 25 These curtain'd windows, this retired eye Outstares the liddes of larg-look't Tyranny. This posture is the braue one, this that lyes Thus low, stands vp (me thinkes) thus and defies The World. All-daring dust and ashes! only you 30 Of 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 on Thy 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.'

" 26, in 1646 reads curiously, 'this selfe-prison'd eye.' G.

AN EPITAPH VPON DOCTOR BROOKE.[75]

A Brooke, whose streame so great, so good, 1 Was lov'd, was honour'd, as a flood: Whose bankes the Muses dwelt upon, More than their owne Helicon; Here at length, hath gladly found 5 A quiet passage under ground; Meane while his loved bankes, now dry The Muses with their teares supply.

ON A FOULE MORNING, BEING THEN TO TAKE A JOURNEY.[76]

Where art thou Sol, while thus the blind-fold Day 1 Staggers out of the East, loses her way Stumbling 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, 5 And make their fleeces golden as thy locks. Vnfold thy faire front, and there shall appeare Full glory, flaming in her owne free spheare. Gladnesse shall cloath the Earth, we will instile The face of things, an universall smile. 10 Say to the sullen Morne, thou com'st to court her; And wilt command proud Zephirus to sport her With wanton gales: his balmy breath shall licke The tender drops which tremble on her cheeke; Which rarified, and in a gentle raine 15 On those delicious bankes distill'd againe, Shall rise in a sweet Harvest, which discloses Two ever-blushing bed[s] of new-borne roses. Hee'l fan her bright locks, teaching them to flow, And friske in curl'd maeanders: hee will throw 20 A fragrant breath suckt from the spicy nest O' th' pretious phoenix, warme upon her breast. Hee with a dainty and soft hand will trim And brush her azure mantle, which shall swim In silken volumes; wheresoe're shee'l tread, 25 Bright clouds like golden fleeces shall be spread. Rise then (faire blew-ey'd maid!) rise and discover Thy silver brow, and meet thy golden lover. See how hee runs, with what a hasty flight, Into thy bosome, bath'd with liquid light. 30 Fly, fly prophane fogs, farre hence fly away, Taint not the pure streames of the springing Day, With your dull influence; it is for you To sit and scoule upon Night's heavy brow, Not on the fresh cheekes of the virgin Morne, 35 Where 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 the SANCROFT MS. this is headed 'An Invitation to faire weather. In itinere adurgeretur matutinum coelum tali carmine invitabatur serenitas. R. CR.' In line 12 the MS. reads 'smooth' for 'proud' (TURNBULL here, 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 in _Romeo and Juliet_:

'The grey-eyed Morn smiles on the frowning Night ... And flecked Darkness like a drunkard reels From forth Day's path and Titan's burning wheels.' (ii. 3.)

Line 4, in HARLEIAN 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 drop into 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.'

See our Essay for critical remarks. G.

TO THE MORNING:

SATISFACTION FOR SLEEPE.[77]

What succour can I hope my Muse shall send 1 Whose 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 I 5 Lay folded up in Sleepe's captivity, How at the sight did'st thou draw back thine eyes, Into thy modest veyle? how didst thou rise Twice dy'd in thine owne blushes! and did'st run To draw the curtaines, and awake the sun! 10 Who, rowzing his illustrious tresses, came, And seeing the loath'd object, hid for shame His head in thy faire bosome, and still hides Mee from his patronage; I pray, he chides: And pointing to dull Morpheus, bids me take 15 My owne Apollo, try if I can make His Lethe be my Helicon: and see If Morpheus have a Muse to wait on mee. Hence 'tis, my humble fancie finds no wings, No nimble rapture starts to Heaven, and brings 20 Enthusiasticke flames, such as can give Marrow to my plumpe genius, make it live Drest in the glorious madnesse of a Muse, Whose feet can walke the milky way, and chuse Her starry throne; whose holy heats can warme 25 The grave, and hold up an exalted arme To lift me from my lazy vrne, to climbe Vpon the stooped shoulders of old Time, And trace Eternity--But all is dead, All these delicious hopes are buried 30 In the deepe wrinckles of his angry brow, Where Mercy cannot find them: but O thou Bright lady of the Morne! pitty doth lye So warme in thy soft brest, it cannot dye. Have mercy then, and when he next shall rise 35 O meet the angry God, invade his eyes, And stroake his radiant cheekes; one timely kisse Will kill his anger, and revive my blisse. So to the treasure of thy pearly deaw, Thrice will I pay three teares, to show how true 40 My griefe is; so my wakefull lay shall knocke At th' orientall gates, and duly mocke The early larkes' shrill orizons, to be An anthem at the Daye's nativitie. And the same rosie-finger'd hand of thine, 45 That shuts Night's dying eyes, shall open mine. But thou, faint God of Sleepe, forget that I Was ever known to be thy votary. No more my pillow shall thine altar be, Nor will I offer any more to thee 50 My selfe a melting sacrifice; I'me borne Againe 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, 55 Sicknesse, and Sorrow, whose pale lidds ne're know Thy 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. in HARLEIAN 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 'and climb:' line 28, 1646 has 'stooped' for 'stooping' of 1648; infinitely superior, and therefore adopted: 1670 misprints 'stopped:' the SANCROFT MS. has 'stooping:' line 45, HARLEIAN MS. as before, 'thy altar.' Further: in the SANCROFT MS. this poem is headed 'Ad Auroram Somnolentiae 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'S HOROSCOPE.[78]

Love, brave Vertue's younger brother, 1 Erst hath made my heart a mother; Shee consults the conscious spheares To calculate her young son's yeares. Shee askes, if sad, or saving powers, 5 Gave 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? 10 Thou know'st a face in whose each looke, Beauty layes ope Love's fortune-booke; On whose faire revolutions wait The obsequious motions of man's fate: Ah, my heart, her eyes, and shee, 15 Have 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 on Points of death, bid Love be gon: (Though the Heavens in counsell sate To crowne an uncontrouled fate, Though their best aspects twin'd upon 25 The kindest constellation, Cast amorous glances on his birth, And whisper'd the confederate Earth To pave his pathes with all the good, That warmes the bed of youth and blood) 30 Love 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 eye 35 Lay blacke on Love's nativitie; Though every diamond in Love's crowne Fixt 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, where But 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, 45 Love shall dye, although he live.

Or, if Love shall dye, O, where But in her eye, or in her eare, In her breath, or in her breast, Shall I build his funerall nest? 50 While Love shall thus entombed 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 as CRASHAW uses 'twin'd:' see _s.v._ in our edition.

In line 14 we have accepted the reading 'man's' for 'Loves' from the SANCROFT MS.

A SONG:

OUT OF THE ITALIAN.[79]

To thy lover Deere, discover That sweet blush of thine that shameth --When those roses It discloses-- All the flowers that Nature nameth.

In free ayre, Flow thy haire; That no more Summer's best dresses, Bee beholden For their golden Locks, to Phoebus' flaming tresses.

O deliver Love his quiver; From thy eyes he shoots his arrowes: Where Apollo Cannot follow: Featherd with his mother's sparrowes.

O envy not --That we dye not-- Those deere lips whose doore encloses All the Graces In their places, Brother pearles, and sister roses.

From these treasures Of ripe pleasures One bright smile to cleere the weather. Earth and Heaven Thus 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 thunder Would sit under, And keepe silence round about thee.

But if Nature's Common creatures, So deare glories dare not borrow: Yet thy beauty Owes a duty, To my loving, lingring sorrow,

When to end mee Death shall send mee All his terrors to affright mee: Thine eyes' Graces Gild their faces, And those terrors shall delight mee.

When my dying Life is flying, Those sweet aires that often slew mee Shall revive mee, Or reprive mee, And to many deaths renew mee.

OUT OF THE ITALIAN.

Love now no fire hath left him, 1 We 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, 5 Let my heat to your light be reconciled.

So shall these flames, whose worth Now all obscured lyes: --Drest in those beames--start forth And dance before your eyes. 10 Or else partake my flames (I care not whither) And so in mutuall names Of Love, burne both together.

OUT OF THE ITALIAN.

Would any one the true cause find 1 How 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 delight 5 So 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.

VPON THE FRONTISPEECE OF MR. ISAACKSON'S CHRONOLOGIE.[81]

Let hoary Time's vast bowels be the grave 1 To what his bowels' birth and being gave; Let Nature die, (Phoenix-like) from death Revived Nature takes a second breath; If on Time's right hand, sit faire Historie, 5 If from the seed of emptie Ruine, she Can raise so faire an harvest; let her be Ne're so farre distant, yet Chronologie (Sharp-sighted as the eagle's eye, that can Out-stare the broad-beam'd daye's meridian) 10 Will 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, 15 Babel's bold artists strive (below) to build Ruine a temple; on whose fruitfull fall History reares her pyramids, more tall Than were th' Aegyptian (by the life these give, Th' Egyptian pyramids themselves must live): 20 On these she lifts the world; and on their base Showes 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 to CRASHAW.

ON THE FRONTISPIECE OF ISAACSON'S CHRONOLOGIE EXPLAINED.

BY DR. EDWARD RAINBOW, BISHOP OF CARLISLE.

If with distinctive eye, and mind, you looke 1 Vpon the Front, you see more than one Booke. Creation is God's Booke, wherein He writ Each creature, as a letter filling it. History is Creation's Booke; which showes 5 To what effects the Series of it goes. Chronologie's the Booke of Historie, and beares The just account of Dayes, Moneths, and Yeares. But Resurrection, in a later Presse, And New Edition, is the summe of these. 10 The Language of these Bookes had all been one, Had not th' aspiring Tower of Babylon Confus'd the tongues, and in a distance hurl'd As farre the speech, as men, o' th' new fill'd world. Set then your eyes in method, and behold 15 Time's embleme, Saturne; who, when store of gold Coyn'd the first age, devour'd that birth, he fear'd; Till History, Time's eldest child appear'd; And Phoenix-like, in spight of Saturne's rage, Forc'd from her ashes, heyres in every age. 20 From 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, 25 By optick skill, pulling farre History Neerer; whose Hand the piercing Eagle's eye Strengthens, to bring remotest objects nigh. Vnder whose feet, you see the Setting Sunne, From the darke Gnomon, o're her volumes runne, 30 Drown'd in eternall night, never to rise, Till Resurrection show it to the eyes Of Earth-worne men; and her shrill trumpet's sound Affright the Bones of mortals from the ground. The Columnes both are crown'd with either Sphere, 35 To show Chronology and History beare, No other Culmen than the double Art, Astronomy, Geography, impart.

AN EPITAPH VPON MR. ASHTON,

A CONFORMABLE CITIZEN.[82]

The modest front of this small floore, 1 Beleeve me, Reader, can say more Than many a braver marble can; _Here lyes a truly honest man._ One whose conscience was a thing, 5 That 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 many As left no time to practise any. 10 He heard them reverendly, and then His practice preach'd them o're agen. His Parlour-Sermons rather were Those to the eye, then to the eare. His prayers took their price and strength, 15 Not 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 zeale Tore not off his Mother's veile. 20 To th' Church he did allow her dresse, True Beauty, to true Holinesse. Peace, which he lov'd in life, did lend Her hand to bring him to his end. When Age and Death call'd for the score, 25 No surfets were to reckon for. Death tore not--therefore--but sans strife Gently untwin'd his thread of life. What remaines then, but that thou Write these lines, Reader, in thy brow, 30 And by his faire example's light, Burne in thy imitation bright. So while these lines can but bequeath A life perhaps unto his death; His better Epitaph shall bee, 35 His life still kept alive in thee.

OUT OF CATULLUS.[83]

Come and let us live my deare, 1 Let us love and never feare, What the sowrest fathers say: Brightest Sol that dyes to day Lives againe as blith to morrow; 5 But if we darke sons of sorrow Set: O then how long a Night Shuts the eyes of our short light! Then let amorous kisses dwell On our lips, begin and tell 10 A thousand, and a hundred score, An hundred and a thousand more, Till another thousand smother That, and that wipe of[f] another. Thus at last when we have numbred 15 Many 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

WISHES.

TO HIS (SUPPOSED) MISTRESSE.[84]

1. Who ere she be, 1 That not impossible she That shall command my heart and me; 2. Where ere she lye, Lock't up from mortall eye, 5 In shady leaves of Destiny;

3. Till that ripe birth Of studied Fate stand forth, And teach her faire steps tread our Earth;

4. Till that divine 10 Idaea, take a shrine Of 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, beauty That owes not all its duty To gaudy tire or glistring shoo-ty.

7. Something more than Taffata or tissew can, 20 Or rampant feather, or rich fan.

8. More than the spoyle Of shop, or silkeworme's toyle, Or a bought blush, or a set smile.

9. A face that's best 25 By its owne beauty drest, And can alone commend the rest.

10. A face made up, Out of no other shop Than what Nature's white hand sets ope. 30

11. A cheeke where Youth, And blood, with pen of Truth Write, what their reader sweetly ru'th.

12. A cheeke where growes More than a morning rose: 35 Which to no boxe his being owes.

13. Lipps, where all day A lover's kisse may play, Yet carry nothing thence away.

14. Lookes that oppresse 40 Their richest tires, but dresse Themselves in simple nakednesse.

15. Eyes, that displace The neighbour diamond, and out-face That sunshine, by their own sweet grace. 45

16. Tresses, that weare Iewells, but to declare How much themselves more pretious are.

17. Whose native ray, Can tame the wanton day 50 Of 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, 55 For whose more noble smart, Love may be long chusing a dart.

20. Eyes, that bestow Full quivers on Love's bow; Yet pay lesse arrowes than they owe. 60

21. Smiles, that can warme The blood, yet teach a charme, That Chastity shall take no harme.

22. Blushes, that bin The burnish of no sin, 65 Nor 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, 70 As the coy bride's, when Night First does the longing lover right.

25. Teares, quickly fled, And vaine, as those are shed For 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 spight Of darknesse, by the light 80 Of 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 send 85 A challenge to his end, And when it comes say, Welcome friend!

30. Sydnaean showers Of sweet discourse, whose powers Can 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 delight Can make Daye's forehead bright, 95 Or 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, 100 Picture and Poesy, Her counsell her owne vertue be.

35. I wish her store Of worth may leave her poore Of wishes; and I wish----no more. 105

36. Now if Time knowes That her, whose radiant browes Weave them a garland of my vowes;

37. Her whose just bayes, My future hopes can raise, 110 A 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 here 115 Lo 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 is Shall fixe my flying wishes, And determine them to kisses.

42. Let her full glory, My fancyes, fly before ye, 125 Be ye my fictions; but her story.

NOTES AND ILLUSTRATIONS.

The HARLEIAN 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:' the MS. 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 the HARLEIAN 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.

TO THE QUEEN:

AN APOLOGIE FOR THE LENGTH OF THE FOLLOWING PANEGYRICK.[85]

When you are mistresse of the song, 1 Mighty queen, to thinke it long, Were treason 'gainst that majesty Your Vertue wears. Your modesty Yet thinks it so. But ev'n that too 5 --Infinite, since part of you-- New matter for our Muse supplies, And so allowes what it denies. Say then dread queen, how may we doe To mediate 'twixt your self and you? 10 That so our sweetly temper'd song Nor be too sort, nor seeme to[o] long. Needs must your noble prayses' strength That made it long excuse the length.

TO THE QUEEN,

VPON HER NUMEROUS PROGENIE: A PANEGYRICK.[86]

Britain! the mighty Ocean's lovely bride! 1 Now stretch thy self, fair isle, and grow: spread wide Thy bosome, and make roome. Thou art opprest With thine own glories, and art strangely blest Beyond thy self: for (lo!) the gods, the gods 5 Come fast upon thee; and those glorious ods Swell thy full honours to a pitch so high As sits above thy best capacitie. Are they not ods? and glorious? that to thee Those mighty genii throng, which well might be 10 Each one an Age's labour? that thy dayes Are gilded with the union of those rayes Whose each divided beam would be a sunne To glad the sphere of any Nation? Sure, if for these thou mean'st to find a seat, 15 Th' hast need, O Britain, to be truly Great. And so thou art; their presence makes thee so: They are thy greatnesse. Gods, where-e're they go, Bring their Heav'n with them: their great footsteps place An everlasting smile upon the face 20 Of the glad Earth they tread on: while with thee Those beames that ampliate mortalitie, And teach it to expatiate and swell To majestie and fulnesse, deign to dwell, Thou by thy self maist sit, (blest Isle) and see 25 How thy great mother Nature dotes on thee. Thee therefore from the rest apart she hurl'd, And seem'd to make an Isle, but made a World.

Time yet hath dropt few plumes since Hope turn'd Joy, And took into his armes the princely boy, 30 Whose birth last blest the bed of his sweet mother, And bad us first salute our prince, a brother.

_The Prince and Duke of York._

Bright Charles! thou sweet dawn of a glorious Day! Centre of those thy grandsires (shall I say, Henry and James? or, Mars and Phoebus rather? 35 If this were Wisdome's god, that War's stern father; 'Tis but the same is said: Henry and James Are Mars and Phoebus under diverse names): O thou full mixture of those mighty souls Whose vast intelligences tun'd the poles 40 Of Peace and War; thou, for whose manly brow Both lawrels twine into one wreath, and woo To be thy garland: see (sweet prince), O see, Thou, and the lovely hopes that smile in thee, Art ta'n out and transcrib'd by thy great mother: 45 See, see thy reall shadow; see thy brother, Thy little self in lesse: trace in these eyne The beams that dance in those full stars of thine. From the same snowy alabaster rock Those hands and thine were hewn; those cherries mock 50 The corall of thy lips: thou wert of all This well-wrought copie the fair principall.

_Lady Mary._

Iustly, great Nature, didst thou brag, and tell How ev'n th' hadst drawn that faithfull parallel, And matcht thy master-piece. O then go on, 55 Make such another sweet comparison. Seest thou that Marie there? O teach her mother To shew her to her self in such another. Fellow this wonder too; nor let her shine Alone; light such another star, and twine 60 Their rosie beams, that so the Morn for one Venus, may have a constellation.

_Lady Elizabeth._

These words scarce waken'd Heaven, when--lo!--our vows Sat crown'd upon the noble infant's brows. Th' art pair'd, sweet princesse: in this well-writ book 65 Read o're thy self; peruse each line, each look. And when th' hast summ'd up all those blooming blisses, Close up the book, and clasp it with thy kisses. So have I seen (to dresse their mistresse May) Two silken sister-flowers consult, and lay 70 Their bashfull cheeks together: newly they Peep't from their buds, show'd like the garden's eyes Scarce wak't: like was the crimson of their joyes; Like were the tears they wept, so like, that one Seem'd but the other's kind reflexion. 75

_The new-borne Prince._

And now 'twere time to say, sweet queen, no more. Fair source of princes, is thy pretious store Not yet exhaust? O no! Heavens have no bound, But in their infinite and endlesse round Embrace themselves. Our measure is not their's; 80 Nor may the pov'rtie of man's narrow prayers Span their immensitie. More princes come: Rebellion, stand thou by; Mischief, make room: War, blood, and death--names all averse from Ioy-- Heare this, we have another bright-ey'd boy: 85 That word's a warrant, by whose vertue I Have full authority to bid you dy. Dy, dy, foul misbegotten monsters! dy: Make haste away, or e'r the World's bright eye Blush to a cloud of bloud. O farre from men 90 Fly hence, and in your Hyperborean den Hide you for evermore, and murmure there Where none but Hell may heare, nor our soft aire Shrink at the hatefull sound. Mean while we bear High as the brow of Heaven, the noble noise 95 And name of these our just and righteous joyes, Where Envie shall not reach them, nor those eares Whose tune keeps time to ought below the spheres. But thou, sweet supernumerary starre, Shine forth; nor fear the threats of boyst'rous Warre. 100 The face of things has therefore frown'd a while On purpose, that to thee and thy pure smile The World might ow an universall calm; While thou, fair halcyon, on a sea of balm Shalt flote; where while thou layst thy lovely head, 105 The angry billows shall but make thy bed: Storms, when they look on thee, shall straigt relent; And tempests, when they tast thy breath, repent To whispers, soft as thine own slumbers be, Or souls of virgins which shall sigh for thee. 110 Shine then, sweet supernumerary starre, Nor feare the boysterous names of bloud and warre: Thy birth-day is their death's nativitie; They've here no other businesse but to die.

_To the Queen._

But stay; what glimpse was that? why blusht the Day? 115 Why ran the started aire trembling away? Who's this that comes circled in rayes that scorn Acquaintance with the sun? what second morn At midday opes a presence which Heaven's eye Stands off and points at? Is't some deity 120 Stept from her throne of starres, deignes to be seen? Is it some deity? or is't our queen? 'Tis she, 'tis she: her awfull beauties chase The Day's abashed glories, and in face Of noon wear their own sunshine. O thou bright 125 Mistresse of wonders! Cynthia's is the Night; But thou at noon dost shine, and art all day (Nor does thy sun deny't) our Cynthia. Illustrious sweetnesse! in thy faithfull wombe, That nest of heroes, all our hopes find room. 130 Thou art the mother-phenix, and thy brest Chast as that virgin honour of the East, But much more fruitfull is; nor does, as she, Deny to mighty Love, a deitie. Then let the Eastern world brag and be proud 135 Of one coy phenix, while we have a brood, A brood of phenixes: while we have brother And sister-phenixes, and still the mother. And may we long! Long may'st thou live t'increase The house and family of phenixes. 140 Nor may the life that gives their eye-lids light E're prove the dismall morning of thy night: Ne're may a birth of thine be bought so dear To make his costly cradle of thy beer. O may'st thou thus make all the year thine own, 145 And see such names of joy sit white upon The brow of every month! and when th' hast done, Mayst in a son of his find every son Repeated, and that son still in another, And so in each child, often prove a mother. 150 Long may'st thou, laden with such clusters, lean Vpon thy royall elm (fair vine!) and when The Heav'ns will stay no longer, may thy glory And name dwell sweet in some eternall story!

Pardon (bright Excellence,) an untun'd string, 155 That in thy eares thus keeps a murmuring. O speake a lowly Muse's pardon, speake Her pardon, or her sentence; onely breake Thy silence. Speake, and she shall take from thence Numbers, and sweetnesse, and an influence 160 Confessing thee. Or (if too long I stay,) O speake thou, and my pipe hath nought to say: For see Apollo all this while stands mute, Expecting by thy voice to tune his lute.

But gods are gracious; and their altars make 165 Pretious the offrings that their altars take. Give then this rurall wreath fire from thine eyes, This rurall wreath dares be thy sacrifice.

NOTES AND ILLUSTRATIONS.

This poem was originally entitled (as _supra_) 'Upon the Duke of York's Birth.' As new children were born additions were made to it and the title altered. Cf. the Latin poem in our vol. ii. _ad Reginam_.

The children celebrated were the following: Charles James, born May 13, 1628, died the same day; the Queen's first child: Charles II., born May 29, 1630: James, who is placed before his sister Mary, who was older than he; born Oct. 14, 1633; afterwards James II.: Princess Mary, born Nov. 4, 1631, afterwards mother of William III.: Princess Elizabeth, born Dec. 28, 1635; died of grief at her father's tragical end, Sept. 8, 1650; was buried in the church at Newport, Isle of Wight, where her remains were found in 1793. Vaughan the Silurist has a fine poem to her memory (our edition, vol. ii. pp. 115-17): Anne, born March 17, 1636-7; she died Dec. 8, 1640 (Crashaw from first to last keeps Death out of his poem): Henry, born July 8, 1640, afterwards Duke of Gloucester and Earl of Cambridge. Henrietta Anne, born June 16, 1644, is not named.

The title in 1646 is 'Vpon the Duke of Yorke his Birth: a Panegyricke;' and so in 1670, which throughout agrees with that very imperfect text, except in one deplorable blunder of its own left uncorrected by TURNBULL, as noted below. The heading in the SANCROFT MS. is 'A Panegyrick vpon the birth of the Duke of Yorke. R. CR.'

Line 7, in 1646 'glories' for 'honours.' In the SANCROFT MS. line 8 reads 'As sitts alone ....'

Line 15, ib. 'O' for 'Sure.'

" 16, ib. 'Th' art.'

" 29-32 restored from 1648. Not in SANCROFT MS.

" 33. These headings here and onward omitted hitherto.

" 34, in 1646 'great' for 'bright.'

" 43, our text (1648) misprints 'owne' for 'one' of Voces Votivae.

Line 50, 1646 oddly misprints 'these Cherrimock.'

Line 52, 1646, 'art' for 'wert.'

" 54, ib. 'may'st' for 'did'st.'

" 55, ib. 'th' art' for 'th' hadst.'

" 64-70 restored from 1648. Not in SANCROFT MS.

" 74, 1646, 'pearls' for 'tears.' So the SANCROFT MS.

" 78-118, all these lines--most characteristic---restored from 1648. TURNBULL overlooked them. Not in the SANCROFT MS.

Line 140, 1670 drops a line here, and thus confuses,

'A brood of phenixes, and still the mother: And may we long: long may'st thou live t' encrease The house,' &c.

PEREGRINE PHILLIPS in his selections from CRASHAW (1785), following the text of 1670, says in a foot-note, 'A line seems wanting, but is so in the original copy.' TURNBULL follows suit and says, 'Here a line seems deficient.' If either had consulted the 'original' editions, which both professed to know, it would have saved them from this and numerous kindred blunders.

line 145, 1646, 'light' for 'life.'

" 151, ib. 'that's.'

" 170, ib. 'their' for 'the offerings.'

In line 27 'Thee therefore &c.' is a thought not unfrequent with the panegyrists of James. BEN JONSON makes use of it at least twice. In the Masque of Blackness we have,

'With that great name Britannia, this blest isle Hath won her ancient dignity and style; A world divided from a world, and tried The abstract of it, in his general pride.'

SHAKESPEARE used the same thought more nobly when he made it the theme of that glorious outburst of patriotism from the lips of the dying Gaunt. G.

VPON TWO GREENE APRICOCKES SENT TO COWLEY BY SIR CRASHAW.[87]

Take these, Time's tardy truants, sent by me 1 To be chastis'd (sweet friend) and chide by thee. Pale sons of our Pomona! whose wan cheekes Have spent the patience of expecting weekes, Yet are scarce ripe enough at best to show 5 The redd, but of the blush to thee they ow. By thy comparrison they shall put on More Summer in their shame's reflection, Than ere the fruitfull Phoebus' flaming kisses Kindled on their cold lips. O had my wishes 10 And the deare merits of your Muse, their due, The yeare had found some fruit early as you; Ripe as those rich composures Time computes Blossoms, but our blest tast confesses fruits. How does thy April-Autumne mocke these cold 15 Progressions 'twixt whose termes poor Time grows old! With thee alone he weares no beard, thy braine Gives him the morning World's fresh gold againe. 'Twas only Paradice, 'tis onely thou, Whose fruit and blossoms both blesse the same bough. 20 Proud in the patterne of thy pretious youth, Nature (methinks) might easily mend her growth. Could she in all her births but coppie thee, Into the publick yeares proficiencie, No fruit should have the face to smile on thee 25 (Young master of the World's maturitie) But such whose sun-borne beauties what they borrow Of beames to day, pay back again to morrow, Nor need be double-gilt. How then must these Poor fruites looke pale at thy Hesperides! 30 Faine would I chide their slownesse, but in their Defects I draw mine own dull character. Take them, and me in them acknowledging, How much my Summer waites upon thy Spring.

ALEXIAS:

THE COMPLAINT OF THE FORSAKEN WIFE OF SAINTE ALEXIS.[88]

THE FIRST ELEGIE.

I late the Roman youth's loud prayse and pride, 1 Whom long none could obtain, though thousands try'd; Lo, here am left (alas!) For my lost mate T' embrace my teares, and kisse an vnkind fate. Sure in my early woes starres were at strife, 5 And try'd to make a widow ere a wife. Nor can I tell (and this new teares doth breed) In what strange path, my lord's fair footsteppes bleed. O knew I where he wander'd, I should see Some solace in my sorrow's certainty: 10 I'd send my woes in words should weep for me, (Who knowes how powerfull well-writt praires would be.) Sending's too slow a word; myselfe would fly. Who knowes my own heart's woes so well as I? But how shall I steal hence? Alexis thou, 15 Ah thou thy self, alas! hast taught me how. Loue too that leads the way would lend the wings To bear me harmlesse through the hardest things. And where Loue lends the wing, and leads the way, What dangers can there be dare say me nay? 20 If I be shipwrack't, Loue shall teach to swimme: If drown'd, sweet is the death indur'd for him: The noted sea shall change his name with me, I'mongst the blest starres, a new name shall be. And sure where louers make their watry graues, 25 The weeping mariner will augment the waues. For who so hard, but passing by that way Will take acquaintance of my woes, and say Here 'twas the Roman maid found a hard fate, While through the World she sought her wandring mate 30 Here perish't she, poor heart; Heauns, be my vowes As true to me, as she was to her spouse. O liue, so rare a loue! liue! and in thee The too frail life of femal constancy. Farewell; and shine, fair soul, shine there aboue 35 Firm in thy crown, as here fast in thy loue. There thy lost fugitiue th' hast found at last: Be happy; and for euer hold him fast.

THE SECOND ELEGIE.

Though all the ioyes I had, fled hence with thee, 1 Vnkind! yet are my teares still true to me: I'm wedded o're again since thou art gone; Nor couldst thou, cruell, leaue me quite alone. Alexis' widdow now is Sorrow's wife, 5 With him shall I weep out my weary life. Wellcome, my sad-sweet mate! Now haue I gott At last a constant Loue, that leaues me not: Firm he, as thou art false; nor need my cryes Thus vex the Earth and teare the beauteous skyes. 10 For him, alas! n'ere shall I need to be Troublesom to the world thus as for thee: For thee I talk to trees; with silent groues Expostulate my woes and much-wrong'd loues; Hills and relentlesse rockes, or if there be 15 Things that in hardnesse more allude to thee, To these I talk in teares, and tell my pain, And answer too for them in teares again. How oft haue I wept out the weary sun! My watry hour-glasse hath old Time's outrunne. 20 O I am learned grown: poor Loue and I Haue study'd ouer all Astrology; I'm perfect in Heaun's state; with euery starr My skillfull greife is grown familiar. Rise, fairest of those fires; what'ere thou be 25 Whose rosy beam shall point my sun to me. Such as the sacred light that e'rst did bring The Eastern princes to their infant King, O rise, pure lamp! and lend thy golden ray That weary Loue at last may find his way. 30

THE THIRD ELEGIE.

Rich, churlish Land! that hid'st so long in thee 1 My treasures; rich, alas! by robbing mee. Needs must my miseryes owe that man a spite Who e're he be was the first wandring knight. O had he nere been at that cruell cost 5 Natvre's virginity had nere been lost; Seas had not bin rebuk't by sawcy oares But ly'n lockt vp safe in their sacred shores; Men had not spurn'd at mountaines; nor made warrs With rocks, nor bold hands struck the World's strong barres, 10 Nor lost in too larg bounds, our little Rome Full sweetly with it selfe had dwell't at home. My poor Alexis, then, in peacefull life Had vnder some low roofe lou'd his plain wife; But now, ah me! from where he has no foes 15 He flyes; and into willfull exile goes. Cruell, return, O tell the reason why Thy dearest parents have deseru'd to dy. And I, what is my crime, I cannot tell, Vnlesse it be a crime t' haue lou'd too well. 20 If heates of holyer loue and high desire, Make bigge thy fair brest with immortall fire, What needes my virgin lord fly thus from me, Who only wish his virgin wife to be? Witnesse, chast Heauns! no happyer vowes I know 25 Then to a virgin grave vntouch't to goe. Loue's truest knott by Venus is not ty'd, Nor doe embraces onely make a bride. The queen of angels (and men chast as you) Was maiden-wife and maiden-mother too. 30 Cecilia, glory of her name and blood, With happy gain her maiden-vowes made good: The lusty bridegroom made approach; young man Take heed (said she) take heed, Valerian! My bosome's guard, a spirit great and strong, 35 Stands arm'd, to sheild me from all wanton wrong; My chastity is sacred; and my Sleep Wakefull, her dear vowes vndefil'd to keep. Pallas beares armes, forsooth; and should there be No fortresse built for true Virginity? 40 No gaping Gorgon, this: none, like the rest Of your learn'd lyes. Here you'll find no such iest. I'm your's: O were my God, my Christ so too, I'd know no name of Loue on Earth but you. He yeilds, and straight baptis'd, obtains the grace 45 To gaze on the fair souldier's glorious face. Both mixt at last their blood in one rich bed Of rosy martyrdome, twice married. O burn our Hymen bright in such high flame, Thy torch, terrestriall Loue, haue here no name. 50 How sweet the mutuall yoke of man and wife, When holy fires maintain Loue's heaunly life! But I (so help me Heaun my hopes to see) When thousands sought my loue, lou'd none but thee. Still, as their vain teares my firm vowes did try, 55 Alexis, he alone is mine (said I). Half true, alas! half false, proues that poor line, Alexis is alone; but is not mine.

NOTES AND ILLUSTRATIONS.

The heading in 1648 omits 'Sainte.' These variations from 1648 are interesting:

1st Elegy: Line 9, 'would' for 'should.'

Line 17, our text (1652) drops 'way' inadvertently. TURNBULL tinkers it by reading 'thee' for 'the,' instead of collating the texts.

Line 23, 'its' for 'his.'

" 25, 'when' for 'where.'

" 37, I have adopted 'th'' for 'thou' of our text (1652). 2d Elegy: Line 1, our text (1652) misspells 'fleed.' Line 3, ib. misprints 'I' am.'

" 10, ib. drops 'beauteous' inadvertently. TURNBULL, for a wonder, wakes up here to notice a deficient word; but again, instead of collating his texts, inserts without authority 'lofty.' Had he turned to 1648 edition, he would have found 'beauteous.'

Line 20, I have adopted 'Time's' for 'Time.'

" 23, as in line 17 in 1st Elegy.

" 30, a reference to the 'Love will find out the way,' in the old song 'Over the mountain.' 'Weary' is misprinted 'Wary' in 1670.

3d Elegy: Line 7, 'with' for 'by.'

Line 17, our text (1652) misprints 'Or' for 'O.'

" 20, I accept 't'' for 'to.'

" 29, 'The Blessed Virgin' for 'The queen of angels.'

" 41, 'facing' for 'gaping.'

" 43, as in line 17 in 1st Elegy.

" 50, 'hath' for 'haue.'

" 51, 'sweet's' for 'sweet.'

" 54, our text (1652) misprints 'thousand.' G.

Secular Poetry.