OU have put the theorbo into my hand, and I have played: you gave the musician the first encouragement; the mufic returneth to you for patronage. Had it been a light air, no doubt but it had taken the most, and, among them, the worst, but being a grave strain, my hopes are, that it will pleafe the best, and, among them, you. Toyifh airs pleafe trivial ears; they kifs the fancy, and betray it. They cry Hail, first; and after, Crucify let daws delight to immerd themselves in dung, whilst eagles fcorn so poor a game as flies. Sir, you have art and candour; let the one judge, let the other excufe
Your most affectionate Friend,
FRA. QUARLES.
N EMBLEM is but a filent parable: let
not the tender eye check, to fee the allufion to our bleffed SAVIOUR figured in these types. In holy fcripture he is fometimes called a fower, sometimes a fisher, sometimes a physician; and why not presented so, as well to the eye as to the ear? Before the knowledge of letters, GOD was known by Hieroglyphics. And indeed what are the heavens, the earth, nay, every creature, but Hieroglyphics and Emblems of his glory?, I have no more to fay: I wifh thee as much pleasure in the reading, as I had in writing. Farewell, Reader.
Y fathers back'd, by holy writ led on,
Thou fhew'ft a way to heav'n by HELICON: The Mufes' font is confecrate by thee,
And Poefy baptiz'd Divinity.
Bleft foul, that here embark'ft: thou fail'ft apace,
'Tis hard to fay, mov'd more by wit or grace,
Each mufe fo plies her oar: but O the fail
Is fill'd from heav'n with a diviner gale:
When poets prove divines, why should not I
Approve in verfe this divine poetry?
Let this fuffice to licenfe thee the prefs:
I must no more, nor could the truth fay less.
Sic approbavit RIC. LOVE, Procan. Cant.
Tot Flores QUARLES, quot Paradifus habet.
Qui legit ex Horto hôc Flores, Qui carpit, uterque
Jure poteft Violas dicere, jure Rofas:
Non è Parnaflo VIOLAM, Feftivè ROSETO
Carpit Apollo, magis quæ fit amoena, ROSAM.
Quot Verfus VIOLAS legis; & quem verba locutum
Credis, verba dedit: Nam dedit ille ROSAS.'
Utque Ego non dicam hæc VIOLAS fuaviffima; Tute
Ipfe facis VIOLAS, Livide, fi violas.
Nam velut è VIOLIS fibi fugit Aranea virus :
Vertis at in fuccos Hafque ROSA Sque tuos.
Quas violas Mufas, VIOLAS puto, quafque recufas
Dente tuo rofas, has, reor, effe ROSAS.
Sic rofas, facis effe ROSAS, dum, Zoile, rodis:
Sic facies has VIOLAS, Livide, dum violas..
Of vulgar thoughts: fcrew up the heighten'd pegs
Of thy fublime theorbo four notes higher,
And higher yet, that fo the fhrill-mouth'd choir
Of fwift-wing'd feraphims may come and join,
And make thy concert more than half divine.
Invoke no mufe; let Heav'n be thine Apollo;
And let his facred influences hallow
Thy high-bred ftrains. Let his full beams inspire
Thy ravifh'd brains with more heroic fire:
Snatch thee a quill from the spread eagle's wing,
And, like the morning lark, mount up and fing:
Caft off thefe dangling plummets, that fo clog
Thy lab'ring heart, which gropes in this dark fog
Of dungeon earth; let flesh and blood forbear
To ftop thy flight, till this bafe world appear
A thin blue landscape: let thy pinions foar
So high a pitch, that men may seem no more
Than pifmires, crawling on this mole-hill earth,
Thy ear untroubled with their frantic mirth;
Let not the frailty of thy flefl difturb
Thy new-concluded peace; let reason curb
Thy hot-mouth'd paffion; and let heav'n's fire season
The fresh conceits of thy corrected reason.
Difdain to warm thee at luft's fmoaky fires,
Scorn, fcorn to feed on thy old bloat defires:
Come, come, my foul, hoife up thy higher fails,
The wind blows fair; fhall we ftill creep like fnails,
That glide their ways with their own native flimes?
No, we muft fly like eagles; and our rhymes
Muft mount to heav'n, and reach th' Olympic ear;
Our heav'n-blown fire muft feek no other fphere.
Thou great Theanthropos, that giv❜ft and ground'ft Thy gifts in duft, and from our dunghill crown'st Reflecting honour, taking, by retale,
What thou haft giv'n in grofs, from lapfed, frail,
And finful man: that drink'ft full draughts, wherein
Thy children's leprous fingers, fcurf'd with fin,
Have paddled; cleanfe, O cleanse my crafty foul
From fecret crimes, and let my thoughts controul
My thoughts: O teach me ftoutly to deny
Myfelf, that I may be no longer I:
Enrich my fancy, clarify my thoughts,
Refine my drofs; O wink at human faults;
And, through the flender current of my quill,
Convey thy current, whofe clear ftreams may fill
The hearts of men with love, their tongues with praife:
Crown me with glory, take who lift the bays.
|