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And next (as if their bus'ness rul'd mankinde) Historians stand, bigg as their living looks; Who thought, swift Time they could in fetters binde;

Till his confessions they had ta'ne in books: But Time oft scap'd them in the shades of night; And was in princes' closets oft conceal'd, And hid in battels' smoke; so what they write

Of courts and camps, is oft by guess reveal'd, Near these, physitians stood; who but reprieve Like life a judge, whom greater pow'r does awe; And cannot an almighty pardon give;

So much yields subject Art to Nature's law. And not weak Art, but Nature we upbraid,

When our frail essence proudly we take ill; Think we are robb'd, when first we are decay'd. And those were murder'd whom her law did kill. Now they refresh, after this long survey,

With pleasant poets, who the soul sublime; Fame's heraulds, in whose triumphs they make way; And place all those whom honour helps to climbe.

And he who seem'd to lead this ravish'd race, Was Heav'n's lov'd laureat, that in Jewry writ; Whose harp approach'd God's ear, though none his face

Durst see, and first made inspiration, wit. And his attendants, such blest poets are,

As make unblemish'd love, courts' best delight; And sing the prosp'rous battels of just warre;

By these the loving, love, and valiant, fight. O hireless science! and of all alone

The liberal; meanly the rest each state In pension treats, but this depends on none; Whose worth they rev'rendly forbear to rate.

GONDIBERT.

CANTO THE SIXTH.

THE ARGUMENT.

How Astragon to Heav'n his duty pays In pray'r, and penitence, but most in praise: To these he sev'ral temples dedicates; And Ulfin their distinguish'd use relates. "Religion's rites, seem here, in reasons sway; Though reason must religion's laws obey.

THE noble youths (reclaim'd by what they saw) Would here unquiet war, as pride, forsake; And study quiet Nature's pleasant law;

[make.

Which schools, through pride, by art uneasie But now a sudden shout their thoughts diverts! So cheerfull, general, and loud it was, As pass'd through all their ears, and fill'd their hearts;

[cause. Which lik'd the joy, before they knew the This Ulfin, by his long domestick skill

Does thus explain. "The wise I here observe, Are wise tow'rds God; in whose great service still, More than in that of kings, themselves they

serve.

"He who this building's builder did create, Has an apartment here triangular; Where Astragon, three fanes did dedicate,

To dayes of praise, of penitence, and pray'r. "To these, from diff'rent motives, all proceed, For when discov'ries they on Nature gain, They praise high Heav'n which makes their work succeed,

But when it fails, in penitence complain. "If after praise, new blessings are not giv'n, Nor mourning Penitence can ills repair, Like practis'd beggers, they solicite Heav'n, And will prevail by violence of pray'r. "The temple built for pray'r, can neither boast The builder's curious art, nor does declare, By choice materials he intended cost; [pray'r. To show, that nought should need to tempt to "No bells are here! unhing'd are all the gates! Since craving in distress is naturall,

All lies so op'e that none for ent'rance waites;

And those whom faith invites, can need no call. "The great have by distinction here no name; For all so cover'd come, in grave disguise, (To show none come for decency or fame) That all are strangers to each other's eyes. "But penitence appears unnaturall;

For we repent what Nature did perswade; And we lamenting man's continu'd fall,

Accuse what Nature necessary made. "Since the requir'd extream of penitence

Seems so severe, this temple was design'd, Solemn and strange without, to catch the sense, And dismal show'd within, to awe the mind. "Of sad black marble was the outward frame, (A mourning monument to distant sight) But by the largeness when you near it came, It seem'd the palace of eternal night. "Black beauty (which black Meroens had prais'd Above their own) sadly adorn'd each part; In stone, from Nyle's hard quarries, slowly rais'd, And slowly'er polish'd by Numidian art. "Hither a loud bell's tole, rather commands, Than seems t'invite the persecuted eare;

A summons Nature hardly understands;
For few, and slow are those who enter here,
"Within, a dismall majesty they find!

All gloomy, great, all silent does appear!
As Chaos was, ere th' elements were design'd;
Man's evil fate seems hid and fashion'd here.
"Here all the ornament is rev'rend black;

Here, the check'd Sun his universal face
Stops bashfully, and will no entrance make;
As if he spy'd Night naked through the glass.
"Black curtains hide the glass; whilst from on

high

A winking lamp, still threatens all the room; As if the lazy flame just now would die:

Such will the Sun's last light appear at doom!

"This lamp was all, that here inform'd all eyes; And by reflex, did on a picture gain Some few false beames, that then from Sodome rise; [rain. Where pencils feigne the fire which Heav'n did

"This on another tablet did reflect,

Where twice was drawn the am'rous Magdaline; Whilst beauty was her care, then her neglect; And brightest through her tears she seem'd to shine.

"Near her, seem'd crucifi'd, that lucky thief (In Heav'n's dark lot'ry prosp'rous, more than wise)

Who groap'd at last, by chance, for Heav'n's relief, [prise. And throngs undoes with hope, by one drawn "In many figures by reflex were sent,

Through this black vault (instructive to the That early, and this tardy penitent;

[minde)

For with Obsidian stone 'twas chiefly lin❜d, "The seats were made of Ethiopian wood, The polish'd ebony, but thinly fill'd; For none this place by Nature understood; And practise, when unpleasant, makes few skill'd. "Yet these, whom Heav'n's misterious choice fetch'd in,

Quickly attain devotion's utmost scope; For having softly mourn'd away their sin, They grow so certain, as to need no hope. "At a low door they enter, but depart

Through a large gate, and to fair fields proceed; Where Astragon makes Nature last by art,

And such long summers shows, as ask no seed."

Whilst Ulfin this black temple thus exprest

To these kind youths, whom equal soul endeers; (Goltho, and Ulfinore, in friendship blest)

A second gen'ral shout salutes their eares.

To the glad house of praise this shout does call! "To pray'r," (said he) “no summons us invites,

Because distress does thither summon all;
As the loud tole to penitence excites.
"But since, dull men to gratitude are slow;
And joy'd consent of hearts is high Heaven's
choice;

To this of praise, shouts summon us to goe:
Of hearts assembled, the unfeigned voice.
"And since, wise Astragon, with due applause,
Kinde Heav'n, for his success, on Nature payes;
This day victorious art has giv'n him cause,
Much to augment Heav'n's lov'd reward of
praise.

"For this effectuall day his art reveal'd,

What has so oft made Nature's spies to pine,
The loadstone's mistick use, so long conceal'd
In close allyance with the courser mine.
"And this, in sleepy vision, he was bid

To register in characters unknown;
Which Heav'n will have from navigators hid,
Till Saturne's walk be twenty circuits grown.
"For as religion (in the warm east bred)

And arts (which next to it most needfull were) From vices sprung from their corruption, fled; And thence vouchsaf'd a cold plantation here; "So when they here again corrupted be,

(For man can even his antidotes infect) Heav'n's reserv'd world they in the west shall see; To which this stone's hid vertue will direot.

"Religion then (whose age this world upbraids, As scorn'd deformitie) will thither steer; Serv'd at fit distance by the arts, her maids; Which grow too bold, when they attend too neer. "And some, whom traffick thither tempts, shall thence [shrines, In her exchange (though they did grudge her And poorly banish'd her to save expence) [mines. Bring home the idol, gold, from new found "Till then, sad pilots must be often lost, Whilst from the ocean's dreaded face they shrink;

L

And seeking safety near the cous'ning coast, With windes surpris'd, by rocky ambush sink. "Or if success rewards, what they endure,

'The world's chief jewel, time, they then engage And forfeit (trusting long the Cynosure) [age.

To bring home nought but wretched gold, and "Yet when this plague of ignorance shall end, (Dire ignorance, with which God plagues us most; Whilst we not feeling it, him most offend)

Then lower'd sayles no more shall tide the coast. "They with new tops to formasts and the main,

And misens new, shall th' ocean's breast invade; Stretch new sayles out, as armes to entertain

Those windes, of which their fathers were afraid. "Then (sure of either pole) they will with pride, In ev'ry storm, salute this constant stone! And scorn that star, which ev'ry cloud could hide; The seamen's spark! which soon, as seen, is

gone!

"Tis sung, the ocean shall his bonds untie, And earth in half a globe be pent no more; Typhis shall saile, till Thule he descry,

But a domestick step to distant shore! "This Astragon had read; and what the Greek, Old Cretias, in Egyptian books had found; By which, his travail'd soul, new worlds did seek, And div'd to find the old Atlantis droun'd." Grave Ulfin thus discours'd; and now he brings The youths to view the temple built for Praise; Where olive, for th' Olympian victor springs; Mirtle, for love's; and for war's triumph, bayes. These, as rewards of praise, about it grew;

For lib'rall praise, from an abundant minde, Does even the conqueror of Fate subdue;

Since Heav'n's good king is captive to the kinde. Dark are all thrones, to what this temple seem'd; Whose marble veines out-shin'd Heav'n's various

bow;

And would (eclipsing all proud Rome esteem'd). To northern eyes, like castern mornings, show. From Paros isle, was brought the milkie white; From Sparta, came the green, which cheers the From Araby, the blushing onychite, [view;

And from the Misnian hills, the deeper blew. The arched front did on vaste pillars fall;

Where all harmonious instruments they spie Drawn out in bosse; which from the astrigall To the flat frise, in apt resemblance lie. Toss'd cymballs (which the sullen Jewes admir'd) Were figur'd here, with all of ancient choice That joy did ere invent, or breath inspir'd, ...... Or flying fingers, touch'd into a voice.

In statute o're the gate, God's fav'rite-king
(The author of celestial praise) did stand;
His quire (that did his sonnets set and sing)
In niches rang'd, attended either hand.

From these, old Greeks sweet musick did improve;
The solemn Dorian did in temples charm,
The softer Lydian sooth'd to bridal love,
And warlike Phrygian did to battel warm!
They enter now, and with glad rev'rence saw
Glory, too solid great to taste of pride;
So sacred pleasant, as preserves an awe;
Though jealous priests, it neither praise nor hide.
Tapers and lamps are not admitted here;

Those, but with shaddowes, give false beauty
And this victorious glory can appear
[grace;
Unvayl'd before the Sun's meridian face:
Whose eastern lustre rashly enters now;
Where it his own mean infancy displays;
Where it does man's chief obligation show,
In what does most adorn the house of Praise;

The great creation by bold pencils drawn;

Where a feign'd curtain does our eyes forbid, Till the Sun's parent, Light, first seems to dawn From quiet Chaos, which that curtain hid. Then this all-rev'renc'd Sun (God's hasty spark Struck out of Chaos, when he first struck light) Flies to the sphears, where first he found all dark, And kindled there th' unkindled lamps of night.

Then motion, Nature's great preservative,

Tun'd order in this world, life's restless inn; Gave tydes to seas, and caus'd stretch'd plants to live; [bin. Else plants but seeds, and seas but lakes had But this fourth fiat, warming what was made, (For light ne'r warm'd, till it did motion get) The picture fills the world with woody shade;

To show how Nature thrives by motion's heat. Then to those woods the next quick fiat brings

The feather'd kinde; where merrily they fed,
As if their hearts were lighter than their wings;
For yet no cage was fram'd, nor net was spred.
The same fifth voice does seas and rivers store;
Then into rivers brooks the painter powres,
And rivers into seas; which (rich before)

Return their gifts, to both, exbal'd in show'rs.
This voice (whose swift dispatch in all it wrought,
Seems to denote the speaker was in haste,
As if more worlds were framing in his thought)
Adds to this world one fiat, as the last.

Then strait an universal herd appears;

First gazing on each other in the shade;
Wondring with levell'd eyes, and lifted eares,
Then play, whilst yet their tyrant is unmade.
And man, the painter now presents to view;

Haughty without, and busie still within;
Whom, when his furr'd and horned subjects knew,
Their sport is ended, and their fears begin.
But here (to cure this tyrant's sullenness)

The painter has a new false curtain drawn,
Where, beauty's hid creation to express;

From thence, harmless as light, he makes it
dawn,

From thence breaks lov'ly forth, the world's first
maid;

Her breast, Love's cradle, where Love quiet lies;
Nought yet had seen so foule, to grow afraid,
Nor gay, to make it cry with longing eyes.
And thence, from stupid sleep, her monarch steals ;
She wonders, till so vain his wonder growes,
That it his feeble sov'raignty reveales;

Her beauty then, his manhood does depose.
Deep into shades the painter leads them now;
To hide their future deeds; then stormes does
raise
[grow
O're Heav'n's smooth face, because their life does
Too black a story for the house of Praise.

A noble painted vision next appears: [waste:
Where all Heav'n's frowns in distant prospect
And nought remains, but a short showre of tears,
Shed, by its pity, for revenges past.

The world's one ship, from th' old to a new world
bound;

Freighted with life (chief of uncertain trades!) After five moons at drift, lies now a ground; Where her frail stowage, she in haste unlades. On Persian Caucasus the eight descend;

And seem their trivial beings to deplore;

Griev'd to begin this world in th' other's end;

And to behold wrack'd nations on the shore,
Each humbled thus, his beasts led from aboard,
As fellow passengers, and heirs to breath;
Joyut tennants to the world, he not their lord;
Such likeness have we in the glass of death.
Yet this humility begets their joy;
And taught, that Heav'n (which fully sin sur-
Was partial where it did not quite destroy;
So made the whole world's dirge their song of
praise.

This first redemption to another led,

Kinder in deeds, and nobler in effects;
That but a few did respit from the dead,

[veys)

This all the dead, from second death protects.
And know, lost Nature! this resemblance was
Thy franke Redeemer, in ascension shown;
When Hell he conquer'd in thy desp'rate cause;
Hell, which before, man's common grave was
grown.

By pencils this was exquisitely wrought;
Rounded in all the curious would behold;
Where life came out, and met the painter's
thought;
[bold.
The force was tender, though the strokes were

The holy mourners, who this Lord of life

Ascending saw, did seem with him to rise; So well the painter drew their passions' strife, To follow him with bodies, as with eyes. This was the chief which in this temple did,

By pencil's rhetorique, to praise perswade; Yet to the living here, compar'd, seems hid; Who shine all painted glory into shade.

Lord Astragon a purple mantle wore,

Where Nature's story was in colours wrought; And though her ancient text seem'd dark before, 'Tis in this pleasant comment clearly taught.

Such various flowry wreaths th' assembly weare, As shew'd them wisely proud of Nature's pride; Which so adorn'd them, that the coursest here Did seem a prosp'rous bridegroom, or a bride. All show'd as fresh, and faire, and innocent,

As virgins to their lovers' first survey; [spent, Joy'd as the spring, when March bis sighs has And April's sweet rash teares are dry'd by May. And this confed'rate joy so swell'd each breast, That joy would turn to pain without a vent; Therefore their voices Heav'n's renown exprest; Though tongues ne'r reach, what mindes so nobly meant.

Yet Music here, show'd all her art's high worth;
Whilst virgin-trebles, seem'd, with bashfull
To call the bolder marry'd tenor forth; [grace,
Whose manly voice challeng'd the giant base.
To these the swift soft instruments reply;
Whisp'ring for help to those whom winds inspire;
Whose lowder notes, to neighb'ring forrests flie,
And summon Nature's voluntary quire.
These Astragon, by secret skill had taught,

To help, as if in artfull consort bred;
Who sung, as if by chance on him they thought,
Whose care their careless merry fathers fed.
Hither, with borrow'd strength, duke Gondibert
Was brought, which now his rip'ning wounds
allow;

And high Heav'n's praise in music of the heart,
He inward sings, to pay a victor's vow.
Praise is devotion, fit for mighty mindes,
The diff'ring world's agreeing sacrifice;
Where Heaven divided faiths united findes:
But pray'r, in various discord, upward flies.
For pray'r the ocean is, where diversly

Men steer their course, each to a sev'ral coast; Where all our int'rests so discordant be,

That half beg windes by which the rest are lost. By penitence, when we our selves forsake,

Tis but in wise design on pitious Heaven; In praise we nobly give what God may take, And are without a beggar's blush forgiven. Its utmost force, like powder's, is unknown;

And tho' weak kings excess of praise may fear, Yet when 'tis here, like powder dang'rous grown, Heaven's vault receives what would the palace

tear.

GONDIBERT.

CANTO THE SEVENTH.

THE ARGUMENT.

The duke's wish'd health in doubtfull wounds

assur'd,

Who gets new wounds before the old are cur'd:
Nature in Birtha Art's weak help derides,
Which strives to mend what it at best but hides;
Showes Nature's coarser works, so hid, more course,
As sin conceal'd, and unconfess'd, growes worse.

Let none our Lombard author rudely blame, Who from the story has thus long digrest; But, for his righteous paines, may his fair fame For ever travail, whilst his ashes rest.

Ill could he leave Art's shop of Nature's store, Where she the hidden soul would make more known;

Though common faith seeks souls, which is no more Than long opinion to religion grown.

A while then let this sage historian stay

With Astragon, till he new wounds reveales, And such (though now the old are worn away) As balm, nor juice of pyrol, never heales. To Astragon, Heav'n for succession gave One onely pledge, and Birtha was her name; Whose mother slept where flow'rs grew on her grave, And she succeeded her in face and fame. Her beauty princes durst not hope to use,

Unless, like poets, for their morning theam; And her minde's beauty they would rather choose, Which did the light in beautie's lanthorn seem. She ne'r saw courts, yet courts could have undone With untaught looks, and an unpractis'd heart; Her nets, the most prepar'd could never shun, For Nature spread them in the scorn of Art. She never had in busie cities bin; [fears; Ne'r warm'd with hopes, nor ere allay'd with Not seeing punishment, could guess no sin; And sin not seeing, ne'r had use of tears. But here her father's precepts gave her skill, Which with incessant business fill'd the houres; In spring, she gather'd blossonis for the still;

In autumn, berries; and in summer, flowers. And as kinde Nature, with calm diligence, Her own free vertue silently imploys, Whilst she, unheard, does rip'ning growth dispence, So were her vertues busie without noise. Whilst her great mistris, Nature, thus she tends, The busie houshold waites no less on her; By secret law, each to her beauty bends, Though all her lowly minde to that prefer. Gracious and free, she breaks upon them all With morning looks; and they, when she does Devoutly at her dawn in homage fall,

[rise,

And droop like flowers, when evening shuts her

eyes.

The sooty chymist, (who his sight does waste,
Attending lesser fires) she passing by,,
Broke his lov'd lymbick, through enamour'd haste,
And let, like common dew, th' elixer fly.
And here the grey philosophers resort,

Who all to her, like crafty courtiers, bow;
Hoping for secrets now in Nature's court,
Which only she (her fav'rite maid) can know.
These, as the lords of science, she respects,

And with familiar beams their age she chears; Yet all those civil formes seem but neglec's To what she showes, when Astragon apears. For as she once from him her being took, She hourly takes her law; reads with swift sight His will, even at the op'ning of his look, And shows, by haste, obedience her delight. She makes (when she at distance to him bowes) His int'rest in her mother's beauty known, For that's th' original whence her copy growes, And near originalls, copys are not shown

And he, with dear regard, her gifts does wear
Of flowers, which she in mistick order ties;
And with the sacrifice of many a teare
Salutes her loyal mother in her eyes.
The just historians Birtha thus express,

And tell how, by her syre's example taught,
She serv'd the wounded duke in life's distress,
And his fled spirits back by cordials brought.
Black melancholy mists, that fed despair

Thro' wounds' long rage, with sprinkled vervin Strew'd leaves of willow to refresh the air, [cleer'd; And with rich fumes his sullen sences cheer'd. He that had serv'd great Love with rev'rend heart, In these old wounds, worse wounds from him endures;

For Love makes Birtha shift with Death his dart,
And she kills faster than her father cures.
Her heedless innocence as little knew

[took;

The wounds she gave, as those from Love she And Love lifts high cach secret shaft he drew, Which at their stars he first in triumph shook! Love he had lik'd, yet never lodg'd before;

But findes him now a bold unquiet guest, Who climbes to windowes, when we shut the dore; And enter'd, never lets the master rest. So strange disorder, now he pines for health,

Makes him conceal this reveller with shame; She not the robber knows, yet feeles the stealth, And never but in songs had heard his name. Yet then it was, when she did smile at hearts Which country lovers wear in bleeding seals, Ask'd where his pretty godhead found such darts, As make those wounds that onely Hymen heals. And this, her ancient maid, with sharp complaints, Heard, and rebuk'd; shook her experienc'd head; With teares besought her not to jest at saints, Nor mock those martyrs Love had captive led.

Nor think the pious poets e're would waste

So many teares in ink, to make maids mourn, If injur'd lovers had in ages paste

The lucky mirtle, more than willow, worn. This grave rebuke officious memory

Presents to Birtha's thought, who now believ'd Such sighing songs, as tell why lovers dy,

And prais'd their faith, who wept, when poets
griev'd.

She, full of inward questions, walks alone,
To take her heart aside in secret shade;
But knocking at her breast, it seem'd, or gone,
Or by confed'racie was useless made;

Or else some stranger did usurp its room;
One so remote, and new in ev'ry thought,
As his behaviour shows him not at home,
Nor the guide sober that him thither brought.
Yet with his forraign heart she does begin

To treat of love, her most unstudy'd theame; And like young conscienc'd casuists, thinks that sin, Which will by talk and practise lawfull seeme. With open eares, and ever-waking eyes,

And flying feet, love's fire she from the sight Of all her maids does carry, as from spys; [light. Jealous, that what burns her, might give them

Beneath a mirtle covert she does spend,

In maid's weak wishes, her whole stock of thought; [mend, Fond maids! who love with minde's fine stuff would Which Nature purposely of bodys wrought. She fashions him she lov'd of angels kinde ; Such as in holy story were imploy'd

To the first fathers, from th' Eternal Minde,
And in short vision onely are injoy'd.

As eagles then, when nearest Heaven they flie,
Of wild impossibles soon weary grow;
Feeling their bodies finde no rest so high,
And therefore pearch on earthly things below:
So now she yields; him she an angel deem'd
Shall be a man, the name which virgins fear;
Yet the most harmless to a inaid he seem'd,
That ever yet that fatal name did bear.
Soon her opinion of his hurtless heart,

Affection turns to faith; and then love's fire
To Heav'n, though bashfully, she does impart,
And to her mother in the heav'nly quire.
"If I do love," (said she) "that love (O Heav'n !)
Your own disciple, Nature, bred in me!
Why should I hide the passion you have given,
Or blush to show effects which you decree?
"And you, my alter'd mother, (grown above
Great Nature, which you read and revrenc'd

here)

Chide not such kindness, as you once call'd love,
When you as mortal as my father were,”

This said, her soul into her breast retires!
With love's vain diligence of heart she dreams
Her self into possession of desires,

And trusts unanchor'd hope in fleeting streams, Already thinks the duke, her own spous'd lord,

Cur'd, and again from bloody battel brought, Where all false lovers perish'd by his sword,

The true to her for his protection sought. She thinks, how her imagin'd spouse and she, So inuch from Heav'n, may by her vertues gain; That they by Time shall ae'r o'retaken be,

No more than Time himself is overta'ne. Or should he touch them as he by does pass, Heav'n's favour may repay their summers gone, And he so mix their sand in a slow glass,

That they shall live, and not as two, but one. She thinks of Eden-life; and no rough winde In their pacifique sea shall wrinkles make; That still her lowliness shall keep him kinde, Her eares keep him asleep, her voice awake. She thinks, if ever anger in him sway,

(The youthful warrior's most excus'd disease) Such chance her teares shall calm, as showres allay The accidental rage of windes and seas.

She thinks, that babes proceed from mingling eyes, Or Heav'n from neighbourhood increase allows, As palm, and the mamora fructefies;

Or they are got by closse exchanging vows.

But come they (as she hears) from mother's pain,
(Which by th' unlucky first-maid's longing,
A lasting curse) yet that she will sustain, [proves
So they be like this heav'nly man she loves.

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