Part 20

Amazèd at the freedom of her words, 3 Their tongue-tied accents drove them to despair, And made them change their minds to woe’s records, And say within themselves, Lo, what we are! We have had virtue in derision’s place, And made a parable of her disgrace.

See where she sits enthronis’d in the sky! 4 See, see her labour’s crown upon her head! See how the righteous live, which erst did die, From death to life with virtue’s loadstar led! See those whom we derided, they are blest, They heaven’s, not hell’s, we hell’s, not heaven’s guest!

We thought the righteous had been fury’s son, With inconsiderate speech, unstayèd way; We thought that death had his dishonour won, And would have made his life destruction’s prey: But we were mad, they just; we fools, they wise; We shame, they praise; we loss, they have the prize.

We thought them fools, when we ourselves were fools; 5 We thought them mad, when we ourselves were mad; The heat which sprang from them, our folly cools; We find in us which we but thought they had: We thought their end had been dishonour’s pledge; They but survey’d the place, we made the hedge.

We see how they are blest, how we are curst; How they accepted are, and we refus’d; And how our bands are tied, their bands are burst; Our faults are hourly blam’d, their faults excus’d; See how heavens gratulate their welcom’d sight, Which come[414] to take possession of their right!

But O too late we see our wickedness, 6 Too late we lie in a repentant tomb, Too late we smooth old hairs with happiness, Too late we seek to ease our bodies’ doom! Now falsehood hath advanc’d her forgèd banner, Too late we seem to verify truth’s manner.

The sun of righteousness, which should have shin’d, And made our hearts the cabins of his east, Is now made cloudy night through vice’s wind, And lodgeth with his downfall in the west; That summer’s day, which should have been night’s bar, Is now made winter in her icy car.

Too much our feet have gone, but never right; 7 Much labour we have took, but none in good; We wearièd ourselves with our delight, Endangering ourselves to please our mood; Our feet did labour much, ’twas for our pleasure; We wearièd ourselves,’twas for our leisure.

In sin’s perfection was our labour spent, In wickedness’ preferment we did haste; To suffer perils we were all content For the advancement of our vices past: Through many dangerous ways our feet have gone, But yet the way of God we have not known.

We which have made our hearts a sea of pride, 8 With huge risse[415] billows of a swelling mind, With tossing tumults of a flowing tide, Leaving our laden bodies plung’d behind; What traffic have we got? ourselves are drown’d, Our souls in hell, our bodies in the ground.

Where are our riches now? like us consum’d; 9 Where is our pomp? decay’d; where’s glory? dead; Where is the wealth of which we all presum’d? Where is our profit? gone; ourselves? misled: All these are like to shadows what they were; There is nor wealth, nor pomp, nor glory here.

The dial gives a caveat of the hour; 10 Thou canst not see it go, yet it is gone; Like this the dial of thy fortune’s power, Which fades by stealth, till thou art left alone: Thy eyes may well perceive thy goods are spent, Yet can they not perceive which way they went.

Lo, even as ships sailing on Tethys’ lap Plough[416] up the furrows of hard-grounded waves, Enforcèd for to go by Æol’s clap, Making with sharpest team the water graves; The ship once past, the trace cannot be found, Although she diggèd in the water’s ground:

Or as an eagle, with her soaring wings, 11 Scorning the dusty carpet of the earth, Exempt from all her clogging jesses,[417] flings Up to the air, to shew her mounting birth; And every flight doth take a higher pitch, To have the golden sun her wings enrich;

Yet none can see the passage of her flight, But only hear her hovering in the sky, Beating the light wind with her being light, Or parting through the air where she might fly; The ear may hear, the eye can never see What course she takes, or where she means to be:

Or as an arrow which is made to go 12 Through the transparent and cool-blowing air, Feeding upon the forces of the bow, Else forceless lies in wanting her repair; Like as the branches when the tree is lopt, Wanteth the forces which they forceless cropt;

The arrow, being fed with strongest shot, Doth part the lowest elemental breath, Yet never separates the soft air’s knot, Nor never wounds the still-foot winds to death; It doth sejoin and join the air together, Yet none there is can tell or where or whither:

So are our lives; now they begin, now end, 13 Now live, now die, now born, now fit for grave; As soon as we have breath, so soon we spend, Not having that which our content would have: As ships, as birds, as arrows, all as one, Even so the traces of our lives are gone:

A thing not seen to go, yet going seen, And yet not shewing any sign to go; Even thus the shadows of our lives have been, Which shew[418] to fade, and yet no virtues shew: How can a thing consum’d with vice be good? Or how can falsehood bear true virtue’s food?

Vain hope, to think that wickedness hath bearing 14 When she is drownèd in oblivion’s sea! Yet can she not forget presumption’s wearing, Nor yet the badge of vanity’s decay: Her fruits are cares, her cares are vanities, Two both in one destruction’s liveries.

Vain hope is like a vane turn’d with each wind; ’Tis like a smoke scatter’d with every storm; Like dust, sometime before, sometime behind; Like a thin foam made in the vainest form: This hope is like to them which never stay, But comes and goes again all in one day.

View nature’s gifts; some gifts are rich, some 15 poor; Some barren grounds there are, some cloth’d with fruit; Nor hath all nothing, nor hath all her store; Nor can all creatures speak, nor are all mute; All die by nature, being born by nature; So all change feature, being born with feature.

This life is hers; this dead, dead is her power, Her bound[419] begins and ends in mortal state; Whom she on earth accounteth as her flower May be in heaven condemn’d of mortal hate; But he whom virtue judges for to live, The Lord his life and due reward will give.

The servant of a king may be a king, 16 And he that was a king a servile slave; Swans before death a funeral dirge do sing, And wave[420] their wings again[421] ill fortune’s wave: He that is lowest in this lowly earth May be the highest in celestial birth.

The rich may be unjust in being rich, For riches do corrupt and not correct; The poor may come to highest honour’s pitch, And have heaven’s crown for mortal life’s respect: God’s hands shall cover them from all their foes, God’s arm defend them from misfortune’s blows:

His hand eternity, his arm his force, 17, 18 His armour zealousy, his breast-plate heaven, His helmet judgment, justice, and remorse,[422] His shield is victory’s immortal steven;[423] The world his challenge, and his wrath his sword, Mischief his foe, his aid his gospel’s word:

His arm doth overthrow his enemy, 19, 20 His breast-plate sin, his helmet death and hell, His shield prepar’d against mortality, His sword ’gainst them which in the world do dwell: So shall vice, sin, and death, world and the devil, Be slain by him which slayeth every evil.

All heaven shall be in arms against earth’s world; 21 The sun shall dart forth fire commix’d with blood, The blazing stars from heaven shall be hurl’d, The pale-fac’d moon against the ocean-flood; Then shall the thundering chambers[424] of the sky Be lighten’d with the blaze of Titan’s eye.

The clouds shall then be bent like bended bows, To shoot the thundering arrows of the air; Thick hail and stones shall fall on heaven’s foes, And Tethys overflow in her despair; The moon shall overfill her horny hood With Neptune’s ocean’s overflowing flood.

The wind shall be no longer kept in caves, 22 But burst the iron cages of the clouds; And Æol shall resign his office-staves, Suffering the winds to combat with the floods: So shall the earth with seas be palèd in, As erst it hath been overflow’d with sin.

Thus shall the earth weep for her wicked sons, And curse the concave of her tirèd womb, Into whose hollow mouth the water runs, Making wet wilderness her driest tomb; Thus, thus iniquity hath reign’d so long, That earth on earth is punish’d for her wrong.

CHAP. VI.

After this conflict between God and man, 1 Remorse[425] took harbour in God’s angry breast; Astræa to be pitiful began, All heavenly powers to lie in mercy’s rest; Forthwith the voice of God did redescend, And his Astræa warn’d all to amend.

To you I speak, quoth she; hear, learn, and mark, 2 You that be kings, judges, and potentates, Give ear, I say; wisdom, your strongest ark, Sends me as messenger to end debates; Give ear, I say, you judges of the earth, Wisdom is born, seek out for wisdom’s birth.

This heavenly embassage from wisdom’s tongue, 3 Worthy the volume of all heaven’s sky, I bring as messenger to right your wrong; If so, her sacred name might never die: I bring you happy tidings; she is born, Like golden sunbeams from a silver morn.

The Lord hath seated you in judgment’s seat, Let wisdom place you in discretion’s places; Two virtues, one will make one virtue great, And draw more virtues with attractive faces: Be just and wise, for God is just and wise; He thoughts, he words, he words and actions tries.

If you neglect your office’s decrees, 4 Heap new lament on long-toss’d miseries, Do and undo by reason of degrees, And drown your sentences in briberies, Favour and punish, spare and keep in awe, Set and unset, plant and supplant the law;

O be assur’d there is a judge above, 5 Which will not let injustice flourish long; If tempt him, you your own temptation move, Proceeding from the judgment of his tongue: Hard judgment shall he have which judgeth hard, And he that barreth others shall be barr’d.

For God hath no respect of rich from poor, 6 For he hath made the poor and made the rich; Their bodies be alike, though their minds soar, Their difference nought but in presumption’s pitch: The carcass of a king is kept from foul, The beggar yet may have the cleaner soul.

The highest men do bear the highest minds; The cedars scorn to bow, the mushrooms bend; The highest often superstition blinds, But yet their fall is greatest in the end; The winds have not such power of the grass, Because it lowly stoopeth whenas they pass.

The old should teach the young observance’ way, 7 But now the young doth teach the elder grace; The shrubs do teach the cedars to obey, These yield to winds, but these the winds out-face: Yet he that made the winds to cease and blow, Can make the highest fall, the lowest grow.

He made the great to stoop as well as small, 8 The lions to obey as other beasts; He cares for all alike, yet cares for all, And looks that all should answer his behests; But yet the greater hath the sorer trial, If once he finds them with his law’s denial.

Be warn’d, you tyrants, at the fall of pride; 9 You see how surges change to quiet calm, You see both flow and ebb in folly’s tide, How fingers are infected by their palm: This may your caveat be, you being kings, Infect your subjects, which are lesser things.

Ill scents of vice once crept into the head Do[426] pierce into the chamber of the brain, Making the outward skin disease’s bed, The inward powers as nourishers of pain; So if that mischief reigns in wisdom’s place, The inward thought lies figur’d in the face.

Wisdom should clothe herself in king’s attire, 10 Being the portraiture of heaven’s queen; But tyrants are no kings, but mischief’s mire, Not sage, but shows of what they should have been; They seek for vice, and how to go amiss, But do not once regard what wisdom is.

They which are kings by name are kings by deed, Both rulers of themselves and of their land; They know that heaven is virtue’s duest meed, And holiness is knit in holy band: These may be rightly callèd by their name, Whose words and works are blaz’d in wisdom’s flame.

To nurse up cruelty with mild aspèct, 11 Were to begin, but never for to end; Kindness with tigers never takes effect, Nor proffer’d friendship with a foelike friend: Tyrants and tigers have all natural mothers, Tyrants her sons, tigers the tyrants’ brothers.

No words’ delight can move delight in them, But rather plough the traces of their ire; Like swine, that take the dirt before the gem, And scorn[427] that pearl which they should most desire: But kings whose names proceed from kindness’ sound Do plant their hearts and thoughts on wisdom’s ground.

A grounding ever moist, and never dry, 12 An ever-fruitful earth, no fruitless way, In whose dear womb the tender springs do lie, Which ever flow and never ebb[428] away; The sun but shines by day, she day and night Doth keep one stayèd essence of her light.

Her beams are conducts to her substance’ view, 13 Her eye is adamant’s attractive force; A shadow hath she none, but substance true, Substance outliving life of mortal course: Her sight is easy unto them which love her, Her finding easy unto them which prove her.

The far-fet[429] chastity of female sex 14 Is nothing but allurement into lust, Which will forswear and take, scorn and annex, Deny and practise it, mistrust and trust: Wisdom is chaste, and of another kind; She loves, she likes, and yet not lustful blind.

She is true love, the other love a toy; Her love hath eyes, the other love is blind; This doth proceed from God, this from a boy; This constant is, the other vain-combin’d: If longing passions follow her desire, She offereth herself as labour’s hire.

She is not coyish she, won by delay, 15 With sighs and passions, which all lovers use, With hot affection, death, or life’s decay, With lovers’ toys, which might their loves excuse: Wisdom is poor, her dowry is content; She nothing hath, because she nothing spent.

She is not woo’d to love, nor won by wooing; Nor got by labour, nor possess’d by pain; The gain of her consists in honest doing; Her gain is great in that she hath no gain: He that betimes follows repentance’ way Shall meet with her his virtue’s worthy pay.

To think upon her is to think of bliss, 16 The very thought of her is mischief’s bar, Depeller of misdeeds which do amiss, The blot of vanity, misfortune’s scar: Who would not think, to reap such gain by thought? Who would not love, when such a life is bought?

If thought be understanding, what is she? The full perfection of a perfect power, A heavenly branch from God’s immortal tree, Which death, nor hell, nor mischief can devour: Herself is wisdom, and her thought is so; Thrice happy he which doth desire to know!

She man-like woos, men women-like refuses; 17 She offers love, they offer’d love deny, And hold her promises as love’s abuses, Because she pleads with an indifferent eye; They think that she is light, vain, and unjust, When she doth plead for love, and not for lust.

Hard-hearted men, quoth she, can you not love? Behold my substance, cannot substance please? Behold my feature, cannot feature move? Can substance nor my feature help or ease? See heaven’s joy defigur’d in my face, Can neither heaven nor joy turn you to grace?

O, how desire sways her pleading tongue, 18 Her tongue her heart, her heart her soul’s affection! Fain would she make mortality be strong, But mortal weakness yields rejection: Her care is care of them, they careless are; Her love loves them, they neither love nor care.

Fain would she make them clients in her law, 19 Whose law’s assurance is immortal honour; But them nor words, nor love, nor care can awe, But still will fight under destruction’s bonner:[430] Though immortality be their reward, Yet neither words nor deeds will they regard.

Her tongue is hoarse with pleading, yet doth plead, 20 Pleading for that which they should all desire; Their appetite is heavy, made of lead, And lead can never melt without a fire: Her words are mild, and cannot raise a heat, Whilst they with hard repulse her speeches beat.

Requested they, for what they should request; Entreated they, for what they should entreat; Requested to enjoy their quiet rest, Entreated like a sullen bird to eat; Their eyes behold joy’s maker which doth make it, Yet must they be entreated for to take it.

You whose delight is plac’d in honour’s game, 21 Whose game in majesty’s imperial throne, Majestic portraitures of earthly fame, Relievers of the poor in age’s moan; If your content be seated on a crown, Love wisdom, and your state shall never down.

Her crowns are not as earthly diadems, But diapasons of eternal rest; Her essence comes not from terrestrial stems, But planted on the heaven’s immortal breast: If you delight in sceptres and in reigning, Delight in her, your crown’s immortal gaining.

Although the shadow[431] of her glorious view 22 Hath been as accessary to your eyes, Now will I shew you the true substance’ hue, And what she is, which without knowledge lies; From whence she is deriv’d, whence her descent, And whence the lineage of her birth is lent:

Now will I shew the sky, and not the cloud; The sun, and not the shade; day, not the night; Tethys herself, not Tethys in her flood; Light, and not shadow of suppressing light; Wisdom herself, true type of wisdom’s grace, Shall be apparent before heart and face.

Had I still fed you with the shade of life, 23 And hid the sun itself in envy’s air, Myself might well be callèd nature’s strife, Striving to cloud that which all clouds impair; But envy, haste thee hence! I loathe thy eye, Thy love, thy life, thyself, thy company.

Here is the banner of discretion’s name, Advanc’d on wisdom’s ever-standing tower; Here is no place for envy or her shame, For Nemesis, or black Megæra’s power: He that is envious is not wisdom’s friend; She ever lives, he dies when envies end.

Happy, thrice-happy land, where wisdom reigns! 24 Happy, thrice-happy king, whom wisdom sways! Where never poor laments, or soul[432] complains, Where folly never keeps discretion’s ways; That land, that king doth flourish, live, and joy, Far from ill-fortune’s reach or sin’s annoy.

That land is happy, that king fortunate, 25 She in her days, he in his wisdom’s force; For fortitude is wisdom’s sociate, And wisdom truest fortitude’s remorse: Be therefore rul’d by wisdom, she is chief, That you may rule in joy, and not in grief.

CHAP. VII.

What am I? man; O what is man? O nought! 1 What, am I nought? yes; what? sin and debate: Three vices all in one, of one life bought: Man am I not; what then? I am man’s hate: Yes, man I am; man, because mortal, dead; Mortality my guide, by mischief led.

Man, because like to man, man, because born; In birth no man, a child, child, because weak; Weak, because weaken’d by ill-fortune’s scorn; Scorn’d, because mortal, mortal, in wrong’s wreak: My father, like myself, did live on earth; I, like myself and him, follow his birth.

My mother’s matrice was my body’s maker, 2 There had I this same shape of infamies; Shape? ah, no shape, but substance mischief’s taker! In ten months’ fashion; months? ah, miseries! The shame of shape, the very shape of shame; Calamity myself, lament my name.

I was conceiv’d with seed, deceiv’d with sin; Deceiv’d, because my seed was sin’s deceit; My seed deceit, because it clos’d me in, Hemm’d me about, for sin’s and mischief’s bait: The seed of man did bring me into blood, And now I bring myself, in what? no good.

When I was born, when I was, then I was; 3 Born? when? yet born I was, but now I bear, Bear mine own vices, which my joys surpass, Bear mine own burden full of mischief’s fear: When I was born, I did not bear lament; But now unborn, I bear what birth hath spent.

When I was born, my breath was born to me, The common air which airs my body’s form; Then fell I on the earth with feeble knee, Lamenting for my life’s ill-fortune’s storm; Making myself the index of my woe, Commencing what I could, ere I could go.

Fed was I with lament, as well as meat; 4 My milk was sweet, but tears did make it sour; Meat and lament, milk and my tears I eat, As bitter herbs commix’d with sweetest flower; Care was my swaddling clothes, as well as cloth, For I was swaddled[433] and cloth’d in both.

Why do I make myself more than I am? 5 Why say I, I am nourishèd with cares, When every one is clothèd with the same, Sith[434] as I fare myself, another fares? No king hath any other birth than I, But wail’d his fortune with a watery eye.

Say, what is mirth? an entrance unto woe; 6 Say, what is woe? an entrance unto mirth; That which begins with joy doth not end so, These go by change, because a changing birth: Our birth is as our death, both barren, bare; Our entrance wail, our going out with care.

Naked we came into the world, as naked, We had not wealth nor riches to possess; Now differ we, which difference riches maked, Yet in the end we naked ne’ertheless; As our beginning is, so is our end, Naked and poor, which needs no wealth to spend.

Thus weighing in the balance of my mind 7 My state, all states, my birth, all births alike, My meditated passions could not find One freèd thought which sorrow did not strike; But knowing every ill is cur’d by prayer, My mind besought the Lord, my grief’s allayer.

Wherefore I pray’d; my prayer took effect, And my effect was good, my good was gain; My gain was sacred wisdom’s bright aspèct, And her aspèct in my respect did reign; Wisdom, that heavenly spirit of content, Was unto me from heaven by prayer sent:

A present far more worthy than a crown, 8 Because the crown of an eternal rest; A present far more worthy than a throne, Because the throne of heaven, which makes us blest; The crown of bliss, the throne of God is she; Comparèd unto heaven, not, earth, to thee.

Her footstool is thy face, her face thy shame; Thy shame her living praise, her praise thy scorn; Thy scorn her love, her love thy merit’s blame; Thy blame her worth, her worth thy being born: Thyself art dross to her comparison; Thy valour weak unto her garrison.