Part 13
Art come? O welcome, my triumphant lord, My glory’s sweetheart! how many millions Of happy wishes hath my love told out For this desirèd minute! I was dead Till I enjoy’d thy presence, I saw nothing, A blindness thicker than idolatry Clove to my eyeballs; now I’m all of light, Of fire, of joy, pleasure runs nimbly through me; Let’s join together both in state and triumph, And down with beggarly and friendless Virtue, That hath so long impoverish’d this fair city; My beasts shall trample on her naked breast, Under my chariot-wheels her bones lie prest, She ne’er shall rise again. Great power this day Is given into thy hand; make use on’t, lord, And let thy will and appetite sway the sword; Down with them all now whom thy heart envìes, Let not thy conscience come into thine eyes This twelvemonth, if thou lov’st revenge or gain; I’ll teach thee to cast mists to blind the plain And simple eye of man; he shall not know’t, Nor see thy wrath when ’tis upon his throat; All shall be carried with such art and wit, That what thy lust acts shall be counted fit: Then for attendants that may best observe thee, I’ll pick out sergeants of my band to serve thee; Here’s Gluttony and Sloth, two precious slaves, Will tell thee more than a whole herd of knaves; The worth of every office to a hair, And who bids most, and how the markets are, Let them alone to smell; and, for a need, They’ll bring thee in bribes for measure and light bread; Keep thy eye winking and thy hand wide ope, Then thou shalt know what wealth is, and the scope Of rich authority; ho, ’tis sweet and dear! Make use of time then, thou’st but one poor year, And that will quickly slide, then be not nice: Both power and profit cleave[293] to my advice; And what’s he locks his ear from those sweet charms, Or runs not to meet gain with wide-stretch’d arms? There is a poor, thin, threadbare thing call’d Truth, I give thee warning of her; if she speak, Stop both thine ears close; most professions break That ever dealt with her; an unlucky thing, She’s almost sworn to nothing: I can bring A thousand of our parish, besides queans, That ne’er knew what Truth meant, nor ever means; Some I could cull out here, e’en in this throng, If I would shew my children, and how strong I were in faction. ’Las, poor simple stray! She’s all her lifetime finding out one way; Sh’as but one foolish way, straight on, right forward, And yet she makes a toil on’t, and goes on With care and fear, forsooth, when I can run Over a hundred with delight and pleasure, Back-ways and by-ways, and fetch in my treasure After the wishes of my heart, by shifts, Deceits, and slights:[294] and I’ll give thee those gifts; I’ll shew thee all my corners yet untold, The very nooks where beldams hide their gold, In hollow walls and chimneys, where the sun Never yet shone, nor Truth came ever near: This of thy life I’ll make the golden year; Follow me then.
ENVY.
Learn now to scorn thy inferiors, those[295] most love thee, And wish to eat their hearts that sit above thee.
Zeal, stirred up with divine indignation at the impudence of these hell-hounds, both forces their retirement, and makes way for the chariot wherein Truth his mistress sits, in a close garment of white satin, which makes her appear thin and naked, figuring thereby her simplicity and nearness of heart to those that embrace her; a robe of white silk cast over it, filled with the eyes of eagles, shewing her deep insight and height of wisdom; over her thrice-sanctified head a milk-white dove, and on each shoulder one, the sacred emblems of purity, meekness, and innocency; under her feet serpents, in that she treads down all subtlety and fraud; her forehead empaled with a diadem of stars, the witness of her eternal descent; on her breast a pure round crystal, shewing the brightness of her thoughts and actions; a sun in her right hand, than which nothing is truer; a fan, filled all with stars, in her left, with which she parts darkness, and strikes away the vapours of ignorance. If you hearken to Zeal, her champion, after his holy anger is past against Error and his crew, he will give it you in better terms, or at least more smoothly and pleasingly.
_The speech of_ ZEAL.
Bold furies, back! or with this scourge of fire, Whence sparkles out religious chaste desire, I’ll whip you down to darkness: this a place Worthy my mistress; her eternal grace Be the full object to feast all these eyes, But thine the first—he that feeds here is wise: Nor by the naked plainness of her weeds Judge thou her worth, no burnish’d gloss Truth needs; That crown of stars shews her descent from heaven; That robe of white, fill’d all with eagles’ eyes, Her piercing sight through hidden mysteries; Those milk-white doves her spotless innocence; Those serpents at her feet her victory shews Over deceit and guile, her rankest foes; And by that crystal mirror at her breast The clearness of her conscience is exprest; And shewing that her deeds all darkness shun, Her right hand holds Truth’s symbol, the bright sun; A fan of stars she in her other twists, With which she chaseth away Error’s mists: And now she makes to thee her so even grace, For to her rich and poor look with one face.
_The words of_ TRUTH.
Man, rais’d by faith and love, upon whose head Honour sits fresh, let not thy heart be led, In ignorant ways of insolence and pride, From her that to this day hath been thy guide; I never shew’d thee yet more paths than one, And thou hast found sufficient that alone To bring thee hither; then go forward still, And having most power, first subject thy will; Give the first fruits of justice to thyself,— Then dost thou wisely govern, though that elf Of sin and darkness, still opposing me, Counsels thy appetite to master thee. But call to mind what brought thee to this day,— Was falsehood, cruelty, or revenge the way? Thy lust or pleasures? people’s curse or hate? These were no ways could raise thee to this state, The ignorant must acknowledge; if, then, from me, Which no ill dare deny or sin control, Forsake me not, that can advance thy soul: I see a blessed yielding in thy eye; Thou’rt mine; lead on, thy name shall never die.
These words ended, they all set forward, this chariot of Truth and her celestial handmaids, the Graces and Virtues, taking place next before his lordship; Zeal and the Angel before that, the chariot of Error following as near as it can get; all passing on till they come into Paul’s-Churchyard, where stand ready the five islands, those dumb glories that I spake of before upon the water: upon the heighth of these five islands sit five persons, representing the Five Senses,[296]—_Visus_, _Auditus_, _Tactus_, _Gustus_, _Olfactus_, or, Seeing, Hearing, Touching, Tasting, Smelling; at their feet their proper emblems,—_aquila_, _cervus_, _araneus_, _simia_, _canis_, an eagle, a hart, a spider, an ape, a dog.
No sooner can your eyes take leave of these, but they may suddenly espy a strange ship making toward, and that which may raise greater astonishment, it having neither sailor nor pilot, only upon a white silk streamer these two words set in letters of gold, _Veritate gubernor_,—I am steered by Truth. The persons that are contained within this little vessel are only four; a king of the Moors, his queen, and two attendants, of their own colour; the rest of their followers people of the castle that stands in the middle island, of which company two or three on the top appear[297] to sight. This king seeming much astonied at the many eyes of such a multitude, utters his thoughts in these words:
_The speech of that_ KING.
I see amazement set upon the faces Of these white people, wonderings and strange gazes; Is it at me? does my complexion draw So many Christian eyes, that never saw A king so black before? no, now I see Their entire object, they’re all meant to thee, Grave city-governor, my queen and I Well honour’d with the glances that [pass] by. I must confess, many wild thoughts may rise, Opinions, common murmurs, and fix’d eyes, At my so strange arrival in a land Where true religion and her temple stand; I being a Moor, then, in opinion’s lightness, As far from sanctity as my face from whiteness. But I forgive the judgings of th’ unwise, Whose censures ever quicken in their eyes, Only begot of outward form and show; And I think meet to let such censurers know, However darkness dwells upon my face, Truth in my soul sets up the light of grace; And though, in days of error, I did run To give all adoration to the sun, The moon, and stars, nay, creatures base and poor, Now only their Creator I adore. My queen and people all, at one time won By the religious conversation Of English merchants, factors, travellers, Whose Truth did with our spirits hold commèrce, As their affairs with us; following their path, We all were brought to the true Christian faith: Such benefit in good example dwells, It oft hath power to convert infidels; Nor could our desires rest till we were led Unto this place, where those good spirits were bred; And see how we arriv’d in blessed time To do that mistress service, in the prime Of these her spotless triumphs, and t’ attend That honourable man, her late-sworn friend. If any wonder at the safe arrive Of this small vessel, which all weathers drive According to their rages, where appears Nor mariner nor pilot, arm’d ’gainst fears, Know this came hither from man’s guidance free, Only by Truth steer’d, as our souls must be: And see where one of her fair temples stands! Do reverence, Moors, bow low, and kiss your hands: Behold, our queen.
QUEEN.
Her goodnesses are such, We cannot honour her and her house too much.
All in the ship and those in the castle bowing their bodies to the temple of Saint Paul; but Error smiling, betwixt scorn and anger, to see such a devout humility take hold of that complexion, breaks into these:
ERROR.
What, have my sweet-fac’d devils forsook me too? Nay, then, my charms will have enough to do.
But Time, sitting by the frame of Truth his daughter’s chariot, attired agreeable to his condition, with his hour-glass, wings, and scythe, knowing best himself when it is fittest to speak, goes forward in this manner:
This Time hath brought t’effect, for on thy day Nothing but Truth and Virtue shall display Their virgin ensigns; Infidelity, Barbarism, and Guile, shall in deep darkness lie. O, I could ever stand still thus and gaze! Never turn glass again; wish no more days, So this might ever last; pity the light Of this rich glory must be cas’d in night! But Time must on; I go,’tis so decreed, To bless my daughter Truth and all her seed With joys immortal, triumphs never ending; And as her hand lifts me, to thy ascending May it be always ready, worthy son! To hasten which my hours shall quickly run. See’st thou yon place?[298] thither I’ll weekly bring thee, Where Truth’s celestial harmony thou shalt hear; To which, I charge thee, bend a serious ear.— Lead on, Time’s swift attendants!
Then the five islands pass along into Cheapside, the ship next after them; the chariot of Truth still before his lordship, and that of Error still chased before it; where their eyes meet with another more subtle object, planting itself close by the Little Conduit, which may bear this character,—the true form and fashion of a mount triumphant, but the beauty and glory thereof overspread with a thick, sulphurous darkness, it being a fog or mist, raised from Error, enviously to blemish that place which bears the title of London’s Triumphant Mount, the chief grace and lustre of the whole triumph. At the four corners sit four monsters, Error’s disciples, on whom hangs part of the mist for their clothing, holding in their hands little thick clubs, coloured like their garments; the names of these four monsters, Barbarism, Ignorance, Impudence, Falsehood; who, at the near approaching of Truth’s chariot, are seen a little to tremble, whilst her deity gives life to these words:
TRUTH.
What’s here? the mist of Error? dare his spite Stain this Triumphant Mount, where our delight Hath been divinely fix’d so many ages? Dare darkness now breathe forth her insolent rages, And hang in poisonous vapours o’er the place From whence we receiv’d love, and return’d grace? I see if Truth a while but turn her eyes, Thick are the mists that o’er fair cities rise: We did expect to receive welcome here From no deform’d shapes, but divine and clear; Instead of monsters that this place attends, To meet with goodness and her glorious friends; Nor can they so forget me to be far. I know there stands no other envious bar But that foul cloud to darken this bright day, Which with this fan of stars I’ll chase away.— Vanish, infectious fog, that I may see This city’s grace, that takes her light from me!
At this her powerful command the [mists][299] vanish [and] give way; [the] cloud suddenly rises and changes into a bright-spreading canopy, stuck thick with stars, and beams of gold shooting forth round about it, the mount appearing then most rich in beauty and glory, the four monsters falling flat at the foot of the hill: that grave, feminine shape, figuring London, sitting in greatest honour: next above her, in the most eminent place, sits Religion, the model of a fair temple on her head and a burning lamp in her hand, the proper emblems of her sanctity, watchfulness, and zeal; on her right hand sits Liberality, her head circled with a wreath of gold, in her hand a cornucopia, or horn of abundance, out of which rusheth a seeming flood of gold, but no way flowing to prodigality; for, as the sea is governed by the moon, so is that wealthy river by her eye, for bounty must be led by judgment; and hence is artfully derived the only difference between prodigality and bounty,—the one deals her gifts with open eyes, the other blindfold: on her left side sits Perfect Love, his proper seat being nearest the heart, wearing upon his head a wreath of white and red roses mingled together, the ancient witness of peace, love, and union, wherein consists the happiness of this land, his right hand holding a sphere, where, in a circle of gold, is contained all the Twelve Companies’ arms, and therefore called The Sphere of true Brotherhood, or _Annulus Amoris_, the Ring of Love: upon his left hand stand two billing turtles, expressing thereby the happy condition of mutual love and society: on either side of this mount are displayed the charitable and religious works of London—especially the worthy Company of Grocers—in giving maintenance to scholars, soldiers, widows, orphans, and the like, where are placed one of each number: and on the two heights sit Knowledge and Modesty, Knowledge wearing a crown of stars, in her hand a perspective glass, betokening both her high judgment and deep insight: the brow of Modesty circled with a wreath all of red roses, expressing her bashfulness and blushings, in her hand a crimson banner filled with silver stars, figuring the white purity of her shamefastness; her cheeks not red with shame or guilt, but with virgin fear and honour. At the back of this Triumphant Mount, Chastity, Fame, Simplicity, Meekness, have their seats; Chastity wearing on her head a garland of white roses, in her hand a white silk banner filled with stars of gold, expressing the eternity of her unspotted pureness: Fame next under her, on her head a crown of silver, and a silver trumpet in her hand, shewing both her brightness and shrillness: Simplicity with a milk-white dove upon her head; and Meekness with a garland of mingled flowers, in her hand a white silk banner with a red cross, a lamb at her feet, by which both their conditions are sufficiently expressed. The mount thus made glorious by the power of Truth, and the mist expelled, London thus speaks:
LONDON.
Thick scales of darkness, in a moment’s space, Are fell from both mine eyes; I see the face Of all my friends about me now most clearly, Religion’s sisters, whom I honour dearly. O, I behold the work! it comes from thee, Illustrious patroness, thou that mad’st me see In days of blindest ignorance; when this light Was e’en extinguish’d, thou redeem’st my sight. Then to thy charge, with reverence, I commend That worthy son of mine, thy virtuous friend, Whom, on my love and blessing, I require To observe thee faithfully, and his desire To imitate thy will, and there lie bounded; For power’s a dangerous sea, which must be sounded With truth and justice, or man soon runs on ’Gainst rocks and shelves of dissolution. Then, that thou may’st the difference ever know ’Twixt Truth and Error, a few words shall shew: The many ways that to blind Error slide Are in the entrance broad, hell-mouth is wide; But when man enters far, he finds it then Close, dark, and strait, for hell returns no men: But the one sacred way which Truth directs, Only at entrance man’s affection checks, And is there strict alone; to which place throngs All world’s afflictions, calumnies, and wrongs; But having past those, then thou find’st a way In breadth whole heaven, in length eternal day; Then, following Truth, she brings thee to that way: But first observe what works she here requires, Religion, knowledge, sanctity, chaste desires; Then charity, which bounty must express To scholars, soldiers, widows, fatherless: These have been still my works, they must be thine; Honour and action must together shine, Or the best part’s eclips’d: behold but this, Thy very crest shews bounty, here ’tis put; Thou giv’st the open hand, keep it not shut, But to the needy or deserving spirit Let it spread wide, and heaven enrols that merit. Do these, and prove my hopeful, worthy son; Yet nothing’s spoke but needfully must be done: And so lead forward.
At which words the whole Triumph moves, in his richest glory, toward the cross in Cheap; at which place Error, full of wrath and malice to see his mist so chased away, falls into this fury:
ERROR.
Heart of all the fiends in hell! Could her beggarly power expel Such a thick and poisonous mist Which I set Envy’s snakes to twist? Up, monsters! was her feeble frown Of force to strike my officers down? Barbarism, Impudence, Lies, Ignorance, All your hell-bred heads advance, And once again with rotten darkness shroud This Mount Triumphant: drop down, sulphurous cloud!
At which the mist falls again and hangs over all the beauty of the mount, not a person of glory seen, only the four monsters gather courage again and take their seats, advancing their clubs above their heads; which no sooner perceived, but Truth in her chariot, making near to the place, willing still to rescue her friends and servants from the powers of Ignorance and Darkness, makes use of these words:
TRUTH.
Dare yet the works of ugliness appear ’Gainst this day’s brightness, and see us so near? How bold is sin and hell, that yet it dare Rise against us! but know, perdition’s heir, ’Tis idle to contend against our power: Vanish again, foul mist, from honour’s bower!
Then the cloud dispersing itself again, and all the mount appearing glorious, it passeth so on to the Standard,[300] about which place, by elaborate action from Error, it falls again, and goes so darkened till it comes to St. Laurence-Lane end, where, by the former words by Truth uttered being again chased away, London thus gratefully requites her goodness:
LONDON.
Eternity’s bright sister, by whose light Error’s infectious works still fly my sight, Receive thy servant’s thanks.—Now, Perfect Love, Whose right hand holds a sphere wherein do move Twelve blest Societies, whose belov’d increase Styles it the Ring of Brotherhood, Faith, and Peace, From thy harmonious lips let them all taste The golden counsel that makes health long last.
Perfect Love then standing up, holding in his right hand a sphere, on the other two billing turtles, gives these words:
PERFECT LOVE.
First, then, I banish from this feast of joy All excess, epicurism, both which destroy The healths of soul and body; no such guest Ought to be welcome to this reverend feast, Where Truth is mistress; who’s admitted here Must come for virtue’s love more than for cheer. These two white turtles may example give How perfect joy and brotherhood should live; And they from whom grave order is expected, Of rude excess must never be detected: This is the counsel which that lady calls Golden advice, for by it no man falls: He that desires days healthful, sound, and blest, Let moderate judgment serve him at his feast: And so lead on; may perfect brotherhood shine Still in [this] sphere, and honour still in thine!
This speech so ended, his lordship and the Companies pass on to Guildhall; and at their returning back, these triumphs attend to bring his lordship toward Saint Paul’s church, there to perform those yearly ceremonial rites which ancient and grave order hath determined; Error by the way still busy and in action to draw darkness often upon that Mount of Triumph, which by Truth is as often dispersed: then all returning homewards, full of beauty and brightness, this mount and the chariot of Truth both placed near to the entrance of his lordship’s gate near Leadenhall, London, the lady of that mount, first gives utterance to these words:
LONDON.
Before the day sprang from the morning’s womb I rose, my care was earlier than the light, Nor would it rest till I now brought thee home, Marrying to one joy both thy day and night; Nor can we call this night, if our eyes count The glorious beams that dance about this mount; Sure, did not custom guide ’em, men would say Two noons were seen together in one day, The splendour is so piercing: Triumph seems As if it sparkled, and to men’s esteems Threw forth his thanks, wrapt up in golden flames, As if he would give light to read their names, That were at cost this day to make him shine, And be as free in thanks as they in coin. But see, Time checks me, and his scythe stands ready To cut all off; no state on earth is steady; Therefore, grave son, the time that is to come Bestow on Truth; and so thou’rt welcome home.
Time, standing up in Truth’s chariot, seeming to make an offer with his scythe to cut off the glories of the day, growing near now to the season of rest and sleep, his daughter Truth thus meekly stays his hand:
TRUTH.