Part 25

These smallest actors were of greatest pain, Of folly’s overthrow, of mischief’s fall; But yet the furious dragons could not gain The life of those whom verities exhale: These folly overcame, they foolish were; These mercy cur’d, and cures these godly are.

When poison’d jaws and venenated stings 11 Were both as opposite against content— Because content with that which fortune brings— They easèd were when thou thy mercies sent; The jaws of dragons had not hunger’s fill, Nor stings of serpents a desire to kill.

Appall’d they were and struck with timorous fears, For where is fear but where destruction reigns? Aghast they were, with wet-eye-standing tears, Outward commencers of their inward pains; They soon were hurt, but sooner heal’d and cur’d, Lest black oblivion had their minds inur’d.

The lion, wounded with a fatal blow, 12 Is as impatient as a king in rage; Seeing himself in his own bloody show Doth rent the harbour of his body’s cage; Scorning the base-hous’d earth, mounts to the sky, To see if heaven can yield him remedy.

O sinful man! let him example be, A pattern to thine eye, glass to thy face, That God’s divinest word is cure to thee, Not earth, but heaven, not man, but heavenly grace; Nor herb nor plaster could help teeth or sting, But ’twas thy word which healeth every thing.

We fools lay salves upon our body’s skin, 13 But never draw corruption from our mind; We lay a plaster for to keep in sin, We draw forth filth, but leave the cause behind; With herbs and plasters we do guard misdeeds, And pare away the tops, but leave the seeds.

Away with salves, and take our Saviour’s word! In this word Saviour lies immortal ease; What can thy cures, plasters, and herbs afford, When God hath power to please and to displease? God hath the power of life, death, help, and pain, He leadeth down and bringeth up again.

Trust to thy downfal, not unto thy raise, 14 So shalt thou live in death, not die in life; Thou dost presume, if give thyself the praise, For virtue’s time is scarce, but mischief’s rife:[490] Thou may’st offend, man’s nature is so vain; Thou, now in joy, beware of after-pain.

First cometh fury, after fury thirst, 15 After thirst blood, and after blood a death; Thou may’st in fury kill whom thou lov’d’st first, And so in quaffing blood stop thine own breath; And murder done can never be undone, Nor can that soul once live whose life is gone.

What is the body but an earthen case 16 That subject is to death, because earth dies? But when the living soul doth want God’s grace, It dies in joy, and lives in miseries: This soul is led by God, as others were, But not brought up again, as others are.

This stirs no provocation to amend, For earth hath many partners in one fall, Although the Lord doth many tokens send, As warnings for to hear when he doth call: The earth was burnt and drown’d with fire and rain, And one could never quench the other’s pain.

Although both foes, God made them then both friends, 17 And only foes to them which were their foes; That hate begun in earth what in them ends, Sin’s enemies they which made friends of those; Both bent both forces unto single earth, From whose descent they had their double birth.

’Tis strange that water should not quench a fire, For they were heating-cold and cooling-hot; ’Tis strange that wails could not allay desire, Wails water-kind, and fire desire’s knot; In such a cause, though enemies before, They would join friendship, to destroy the more.

The often-weeping eyes of dry lament 18 Do[491] pour forth burning water of despair, Which warms the caves from whence the tears are sent, And, like hot fumes, do foul their nature’s fair:[492] This, contrary to icy water’s vale, Doth scorch the cheeks and makes them red and pale.

Here fire and water are conjoin’d in one, Within a red-white glass of hot and cold; Their fire like this, double and yet alone, Raging and tame, and tame and yet was bold; Tame when the beasts did kill, and felt no fire Raging upon the causers of their ire.

Two things may well put on two several natures, 19 Because they differ in each nature’s kind, They differing colours have and differing features; If so, how comes it that they have one mind? God made them friends, let this the answer be; They get no other argument of me.

What is impossible to God’s command? Nay, what is possible to man’s vain care? ’Tis much, he thinks, that fire should burn a land, When mischief is the brand which fires bear; He thinks it more, that water should bear fire: Then know it was God’s will; now leave t’ inquire.

Yet might’st thou ask, because importunate, 20 How God preserv’d the good; why? because good; Ill fortune made not them infortunate, They angels were, and fed with angels’ food: Yet may’st thou say—for truth is always had— That rain falls on the good as well as bad:

And say it doth; far be the letter P From R, because of a more reverent style; It cannot do without suppression be; These are two bars against destruction’s wile; Pain without changing P cannot be rain, Rain without changing R cannot be pain:

But sun and rain are portions to the ground, 21 And ground is dust, and what is dust but nought? And what is nought is naught, with alpha’s sound; Yet every earth the sun and rain hath bought; The sun doth shine on weeds as well as flowers, The rain on both distills her weeping showers.

Yet far be death from breath, annoy from joy, Destruction from all happiness’ allines![493] God will not suffer famine to destroy The hungry appetite of virtue’s signs: These were in midst of fire, yet not harm’d, In midst of water, yet but cool’d and warm’d.

And water-wet they were, not water-drown’d, 22 And fire-hot they were, not fire-burn’d; Their foes were both, whose hopes destruction crown’d, But yet with such a crown which ne’er return’d; Here fire and water brought both joy and pain, To one disprofit, to the other gain.

The sun doth thaw what cold hath freez’d before, Undoing what congealèd ice had done, Yet here the hail and snow did freeze the more, In having heat more piercing than the sun; A mournful spectacle unto their eyes, That as they die, so their fruition dies.

Fury once kindled with the coals of rage 23 Doth hover unrecall’d, slaughters untam’d; This wrath on fire no pity could assuage, Because they pitiless which should be blam’d; As one in rage, which cares not who he have, Forgetting who to kill and who to save.

One deadly foe is fierce against the other, 24 As vice with virtue, virtue against vice; Vice heartenèd by death, his heartless mother, Virtue by God, the life of her device: ’Tis hard to hurt or harm a villany, ’Tis easy to do good to verity.

Is grass man’s meat? no, it is cattle’s food, 25 But man doth eat the cattle which eats grass, And feeds his carcass with their nurs’d-up blood, Lengthening the lives which in a moment pass: Grass is good food if it be join’d with grace, Else sweeter food may take a sourer place.

Is there such life in water and in bread, 26 In fish, in flesh, in herbs, in growing flowers? We eat them not alive, we eat them dead; What fruit then hath the word of living powers? How can we live with that which is still dead? Thy grace it is by which we all are fed.

This is a living food, a blessèd meat, 27 Made to digest the burden at our hearts, That leaden-weighted food which we first eat, To fill the functions of our bodies’ parts, An indigested heap, without a mean, Wanting thy grace, O Lord, to make it clean!

That ice which sulphur-vapours could not thaw, 28 That hail which piercing fire could not bore, The cool-hot sun did melt their frosty jaw, Which neither heat nor fire could pierce before; Then let us take the spring-time of the day, Before the harvest of our joys decay.

A day may be divided, as a year, 29 Into four climes, though of itself but one; The morn the spring, the noon the summer’s sphere, The harvest next, evening the winter’s moon: Then sow new seeds in every new day’s spring, And reap new fruit in day’s old evening.

Else if too late, they will be blasted seeds, If planted at the noontide of their growing; Commencers of unthankful, too late deeds, Set in the harvest of the reaper’s going: Melting like winter-ice against the sun, Flowing like folly’s tide, and never done.

CHAP. XVII.

O, fly the bed of vice, the lodge of sin! 1 Sleep not too long in your destruction’s pleasures; Amend your wicked lives, and new begin A more new perfect way to heaven’s treasures: O, rather wake and weep than sleep and joy! Waking is truth, sleep is a flattering toy.

O, take the morning of your instant good! Be not benighted with oblivion’s eye; Behold the sun, which kisseth Neptune’s flood, And re-salutes the world with open sky: Else sleep, and ever sleep; God’s wrath is great, And will not alter with too late entreat.

Why wake I them which have a sleeping mind? 2 O words, sad sergeants to arrest my thoughts! If wak’d, they cannot see, their eyes are blind, Shut up like windolets, which sleep hath bought: Their face is broad awake, but not their heart; They dream of rising, but are loath to start.

These were the practisers how to betray The simple righteous with beguiling words, And bring them in subjection to obey Their irreligious laws and sin’s accords: But night’s black-colour’d veil did cloud their will, And made their wish rest in performance’ skill.

The darksome clouds are summoners of rain, 3 In being something black and something dark; But coal-black clouds make[494] it pour down amain, Darting forth thunderbolts and lightning’s spark: Sin of itself is black, but black with black Augments the heavy burthen of the back.

They thought that sins could hide their sinful shames, In being demi-clouds and semi-nights; But they had clouds enough to make their games, Lodg’d in black coverings of oblivious nights: Then was their vice afraid to lie so dark, Troubled with visions from Alastor’s[495] park.

The greater poison bears the greater sway, 4 The greatest force hath still the greatest face; Should night miss course, it would infect the day With foul-risse[496] vapours from a humorous place: Vice hath some clouds, but yet the night hath more, Because the night was fram’d and made before.

That sin which makes afraid was then afraid, Although enchamber’d in a den’s content; That would not drive back fear which comes repaid, Nor yet the echoes which the visions sent; Both sounds and shows, both words and action, Made apparition’s satisfaction.

A night in pitchy mantle of distress, 5 Made thick with mists and opposite to light, As if Cocytus’ mansion did possess The gloomy vapours of suppressing sight; A night more ugly than Alastor’s pack, Mounting all nights upon his night-made back.

The moon did mourn in sable-suited veil; The stars, her handmaids, were in black attire; All nightly visions told a hideous tale; The screech-owls made the earth their dismal quire: The moon and stars divide their twinkling eyes To lighten vice, which in oblivion lies.

Only appear’d a fire in doleful blaze, 6 Kindled by furies, rais’d by envious winds, Dreadful in sight, which put them to amaze, Having before fury-despairing minds: What hair in reading would not stand upright? What pen in writing would not cease to write?

Fire is God’s angel, because bright and clear, But this an evil angel, because dread; Evil to them which did already fear, A second death to them which were once dead: Annexing horror to dead-strucken life, Connexing dolor to live nature’s strife.

Deceit was then deceiv’d, treason betray’d, 7 Mischief beguil’d, a night surpassing night, Vice fought with vice, and fear was then dismay’d, Horror itself appall’d at such a sight; Sin’s snare was then ensnar’d, the fisher cought,[497] Sin’s net was then entrapt, the fowler fought.

Yet all this conflict was but in a dream, A show of substance and a shade of truth, Illusions for to mock in flattering theme, Beguiling mischief with a glass of ruth: For boasts require a fall, and vaunts a shame, Which two vice had in thinking but to game.

Sin told her creditors she was a queen, 8 And now become revenge to right their wrong, With honey-mermaid’s speech alluring seen, Making new-pleasing words with her old tongue: If you be sick, quoth she, I’ll make you whole; She cures the body, but makes sick the soul.

Safe is the body when the soul is wounded, The soul is joyful in the body’s grief; One’s joy upon the other’s sorrow grounded, One’s sorrow placèd in the one’s relief: Quoth sin, Fear nothing, know that I am here; When she, alas, herself was sick for fear!

A promise worthy of derision’s place, 9 That fear should help a fear when both are one; She was as sick in heart, though not in face, With inward grief, though not with outward moan: But she clasp’d up the closure of the tongue, For fear that words should do her body wrong.

Cannot the body weep without the eyes? Yes, and frame deepest canzons of lament; Cannot the body fear without it lies Upon the outward shew of discontent? Yes, yes, the deeper fear sits in the heart, And keeps the parliament of inward smart.

So sin did snare in mind, and not in face, 10 The dragon’s jaw, the hissing serpent’s sting; Some liv’d, some died, some ran a fearful race, Some did prevent[498] that which ill fortunes bring: All were officious servitors to fear, And her pale connizance[499] in heart did wear.

Malice condemn’d herself guilty of hate, With a malicious mouth of envious spite; For Nemesis is her own cruel fate, Turning her wrath upon her own delight: We need no witness for a guilty thought, Which to condemn itself, a thousand brought.

For fear deceives itself in being fear, 11 It fears itself in being still afraid; It fears to weep, and yet it sheds a tear; It fears itself, and yet it is obey’d: The usher unto death, a death to doom, A doom to die in horror’s fearful room:

His own betrayer, yet fears to betray, 12 He fears his life by reason of his name; He fears lament, because it brings decay, And blames himself in that he merits blame: He is tormented, yet denies the pain; He is the king of fear, yet loath to reign.

His sons were they which slept and dreamt of fear, 13 A waking sleep, and yet a sleepy waking, Which pass’d that night more longer than a year, Being grief’s prisoners, and of sorrow’s taking: Slept in night’s dungeon insupportable, Lodg’d in night’s horror too endurable.

O sleep, the image of long-lasting woe! O waking image of long-lasting sleep! The hollow cave where visions come and go, Where serpents hiss, where mandrakes groan and creep: O fearful show, betrayer of a soul, Dyeing each heart in white, each white in foul!

A guileful hole, a prison of deceit, 14 Yet nor deceit nor guile in being dead; Snare without snarer, net without a bait, A common lodge, and yet without a bed; A hollow-sounding vault, known and unknown, Yet not for mirth, but too, too well for moan.

’Tis a free prison, a chain’d liberty, 15 A freedom’s cave, a sergeant and a bail; It keeps close prisoners, yet doth set them free, Their clogs not iron, but a clog of wail; It stays them not, and yet they cannot go, Their chain is discontent, their prison woe.

Still it did gape for more, and still more had, 16 Like greedy avarice without content; Like to Avernus, which is never glad Before the dead-liv’d wicked souls be sent: Pull in thy head, thou sorrow’s tragedy, And leave to practice thy old cruelty.

The merry shepherd cannot walk alone, Tuning sweet madrigals of harvest’s joy, Carving love’s roundelays on every stone, Hanging on every tree some amorous toy, But thou with sorrow interlines his song, Opening thy jaws of death to do him wrong.

O, now I know thy chain, thy clog, thy fetter, 17 Thy free-chain’d prison and thy cloggèd walk! ’Tis gloomy darkness, sin’s eternal debtor, ’Tis poison’d buds from Acherontic stalk; Sometime ’tis hissing winds which are their bands, Sometime enchanting birds which bind[500] their hands;

Sometime the foaming rage of waters’ stream, 18 Or clattering down of stones upon a stone, Or skipping beasts at Titan’s gladsome beam, Or roaring lion’s noise at one alone, Or babbling Echo, tell-tale of each sound, From mouth to sky, from sky unto the ground.

Can such-like fears follow man’s mortal pace, 19 Within dry wilderness of wettest woe? It was God’s providence, his will, his grace, To make midnoon midnight in being so; Midnight with sin, midnoon where virtue lay; That place was night, all other places day.

The sun, not past the middle line of course, 20 Did clearly shine upon each labour’s gain, Not hindering daily toil of mortal force, Nor clouding earth with any gloomy stain; Only night’s image was apparent there, With heavy, leaden appetite of fear.

CHAP. XVIII.

You know the eagle by her soaring wings, 1 And how the swallow takes a lower pitch; Ye know the day is clear and clearness brings, And how the night is poor, though gloomy-rich: This eagle virtue is, which mounts on high; The other sin, which hates the heaven’s eye.

This day is wisdom, being bright and clear; This night is mischief, being black and foul; The brightest day doth wisdom’s glory wear, The pitchy night puts on a blacker rowl:[501] Thy saints, O Lord, were at their labour’s hire! At whose heard voice the wicked did admire.

They thought that virtue had been cloth’d in night, 2 Captive to darkness, prisoner unto hell; But it was sin itself, vice, and despite, Whose wishèd harbours do in darkness dwell: Virtue’s immortal soul had mid-day’s light, Mischief’s eternal foul had mid-day’s night.

For virtue is not subject unto vice, But vice is subject unto virtue’s seat; One mischief is not thaw’d with other’s ice, But more adjoin’d to one, makes one more great: Sin virtue’s captive is, and kneels for grace, Requesting pardon for her rude-run race.

The tongue of virtue’s life cannot pronounce 3 The doom of death, or death of dying doom; ’Tis merciful, and will not once renounce Repentant tears, to wash a sinful room; Your sin-shine was not sun-shine of delight, But shining sin in mischief’s sunny night.

Now by repentance you are bath’d in bliss, Blest in your bath, eternal by your deeds; Behold, you have true light, and cannot miss The heavenly food which your salvation feeds: True love, true life, true light, your portions true; What hate, what strife, what night can danger you?

O happy, when you par’d your o’ergrown faults! 4 Your sin, like eagle’s claws, past growth of time, All underminèd with destruction’s vaults, Full of old filth, proceeding from new slime; Else had you been deformèd, like to those Which were your friends, but now become your foes.

Those which are worthy of eternal pain, Foes which are worthy of immortal hate, Dimming the glory of thy children’s gain With cloudy vapours set at darkness’ rate; Making new laws, which are too old in crime, Making old-wicked laws serve a new time.

Wicked? no, bloody laws; bloody? yea, worse, 5 If any worse may have a worser name: Men? O no, murderers, not of men’s remorse![502] For they are shameful, these exempt from shame: What? shall I call them slaughter-drinking hearts? Too good a word for their too-ill deserts.

Murder was in their thoughts, they thought to slay; And who? poor infants, harmless innocents; But murder cannot sleep, it will betray Her murderous self, with self-disparagements: One child, poor remnant, did reprove their deeds, And God destroy’d the bloody murderers’ seeds.

Was God destroyer then? no, he was just, 6 A judge severe, yet of a kind remorse; Severe to those in whom there was no trust, Kind to the babes which were of little force; Poor babes, half murder’d in whole murder’s thought, Had not one infant their escaping wrought.

’Twas God which breath’d his spirit in the child, The lively image of his self-like face; ’Twas God which drown’d their children, which defil’d Their thoughts with blood, their hearts with murder’s place: For that night’s tidings our old fathers joy’d, Because their foes by water were destroy’d.

Was God a murderer in this tragedy? 7 No, but a judge how blood should be repaid: Was’t he which gave them unto misery? No, ’twas themselves which miseries obey’d: Their thoughts did kill and slay within their hearts, Murdering themselves, wounding their inward parts.

When shines the sun but when the moon doth rest? When rests the sun but when the moon doth shine? When joys the righteous? when their foes are least; And when doth virtue live? when vice doth pine: Virtue doth live when villany doth die, Wisdom doth smile when misery doth cry.

The summer-days are longer than the nights, 8 The winter-nights are longer than the days; They shew both virtue’s loves and vice’s spites, Sin’s lowest fall, and wisdom’s highest raise: The night is foe to day, as naught to good; The day is foe to night, as fear to food.

A king may wear a crown, but full of strife, The outward show of a small-lasting space; Mischief may live, but yet a deadly life; Sorrow may grieve in heart and joy in face; Virtue may live disturb’d with vice’s pain; God sends this virtue a more better reign.

She doth possess a crown, and not a care, 9 Yet cares, in having none but self-like awe; She hath a sceptre without care or fear, Yet fears the Lord, and careth for the law: As much as she doth rise, so much sin falls, Subject unto her law, slave to her calls.

Now righteousness bears sway, and vice put down, Virtue is queen, treading on mischief’s head; The law of God sancited[503] with renown, Religion plac’d in wisdom’s quiet bed; Now joyful hymns are tunèd by delight, And now we live in love, and not in spite.

Strong-hearted vice’s sobs have pierc’d the ground, 10 In the deep cistern of the centre’s breast, Wailing their living fortunes with dead sound, Accents of grief and actions of unrest; It is not sin herself, it is her seed, Which, drown’d in sea, lies there for sea’s foul weed.

It is the fruit of murder’s bloody womb, The lost fruition of a murderous race; A little stone, which would have made a tomb To bury virtue, with a sin-bold face: Methinks I hear the echoes of the vaults, Sound and resound their old-new-weeping faults.

View the dead carcasses of human state, 11 The outside of the soul, case of the hearts; Behold the king, behold the subject’s fate; Behold each limb and bone of earthen arts; Tell me the difference then of every thing, And who a subject was, and who a king.