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lu ev'ry thing there naturally grows
As all which go to Rome, do not thereby A balsamum, to keep it fresh and new,
Esteein religions, and hold fast the best If 't were not injur'd by extrinsic, blows;
But serve discourse and curiosity Your birth and beauty are this balm in you. With that, which doth religion but invest,
And shun th' entangling labyrinths of schools, But you of learning and religion,
And make it wit to think the wiser fools :
So in this pilgrimage I would behold
You as you 're Virtue's temple, not as she ; What walls of tender crystal her infold,
What eyes, hands, bosom, her pure altars be,
Builders of chapels, you, th’Escurial.
On these I cast a lay and country eye.
I find you all record and prophecy.
This life on that; so make one life of two. No sad nor guilty legends, you are it.
You were the transcript and original,
And every piece of you is worth their all.
So entire are all your deeds and you, that you TO THE COUNTESS OF BEDFORD.
Must do the same things still; you cannot two. MADAM,
But these (as nicest school divinity You have refio'd me, and to worthiest things, Serves heresy to further or repress) Virtue, art, beauty, fortune, now I see
Taste of poetic rage, or flattery; Rareness, or use, not nature, value brings ;
And need not, where all hearts one truth profess; And such, as they are circumstanc'd, they be. Oft from new proofs and new phrase new doubts Two ills can ne'er perplex us, sin t excuse,
grow, Bat of two good things we may leave or choose. As strange attire aliens the men we know. Therefore at court, which is not virtue's clime, Leaving then busy praise, and all appeal
Where a transcendent height (as lowness me) To higher courts, sense's decree is true. Makes her not see, or not show: all my rhyme The mine, the magazine, the common-weal,
Your virtues challenge, which there rarest be; The story of beauty, in Twicknam is and you. For as dark texts need notes; some there must be Who hath seen one, would both; as who hath been To usber virtue, and say, This is she.
In Paradise, would seek the cherubin. So in the country's beauty. To this place
You are the season, madam, you the day, 'T is but a grave of spices, till your face
TO SIR EDWARD HERBERT, Exhale them, and a thick close bud display. Widow'd and reclus'd else, her sweets sh'enshrines ; SINCE LORD HERBERT OF CHERBURY, BEING AT THE SIEGE As China, when the Sun at Brasil dines. Out from your chariot morning breaks at night, Man is a lump, where all beasts needed be, And falsifies both computations so ;
Wisdom makes him an ark where all agree; Since a new world doth rise bere from your light, The fool, in whom these beasts do live at jar,
We your new creatures by new reck’nings go. Is sport to others, and a theatre.
All which was man in him, is eat away:
And now his beasts on one another feed, In this you 're made the court th' antipodes, Yet couple in anger, and new monsters breed :
And will'd your delegate, the vulgar Sun, How happy 's he, which hath due place assign'd To do profane autumnal offices,
To his beasts; and disa forested his mind! Whilst here to you we sacrifices run;
Empal'd himself to keep them out, not in; And whether priests or organs, you w' obey, Can sow, and dares trust corn, where they have been; We sound your influence, and your dictates say. Can use his horse, goat, wolf, and ev'ry beast,
And is not ass himself to all the rest. Yet to that deity which dwells in you,
Else man not only is the herd of swine, Your virtuous soul, I now not sacrifice;
But he's those devils too, which did incline These are petitions, and not hymns; they sue
Them to an headlong rage, and made them worse : But that I may survey the edifice.
For man can add weight to Heav'n's heaviest curse. lo all religions, as much care hath been
As souls, they say, by our first touch take in Of temples frames, and beauty, as rites within. The poisonous tincture of original sin ;
So to the punishments which God doth fling, Lightness depresseth us, emptiness Alls;
We sweat and faint, yet still go down the hills; To us, as to his chickens, be doth cast
As new philosophy arrests the Sun, Hemlock; and we, as men, bis hemlock taste: And bids the passive Earth about it run; We do infuse to what he meant for meat,
So we have dull'd our mind, it hath no ends; Corrosiveness, or intense cold or heat.
Only the body 's busy, and pretends. For God no such specific poison hath
As dead low Earth eclipses and controls As kills, men know not how ; his fiercest wrath The quick high Moon: so doth the body souls. Hath no antipathy, but may be good
In none but us are such mix'd engines found, At least for physic, if not for our food.
As hands of double office: for the ground Thus mau, that might be his pleasure, is his rod; We till with them; and them to Heaven we raise; And is his devil, that might be his god.
Who prayer-less labours, or without these prays, Since then our business is to rectify
Doth but one half, that 's none; he which said, Nature, to what she was ; we're led awry
“ Plow, By them, who man to us in little show;
And look not back," to look up doth allow. Greater than due, no form we can bestow
Good seed degenerates, and oft obeys On him ; for man into himself can draw
The soil's disease, and into cockle strays : All; all his faith can swallow, or reason chay; Let the mind's thoughts be but transplanted so All that is fill'd, and all that which doth fill, Into the body, and bastardly they grow. All the round world, to man is but a pill;
What hate could hurt our bodies like our love? In all it works not, but it is in all
We, but po foreign tyrants, could remove Poisonous, or purgative, or cordial.
These, not engray'd, but inborn dignities, For knowledge kindles calentures in some, Caskets of souls; temples and palaces. And is to others icy opium.
For bodies shall from death redeemed be As brave as true is that profession then,
Souls but preserv'd, born naturally free; Which you do use to make; that you know man. As men to our prisons now, souls to us are sent, This makes it credible, you 've dwelt upon Which lean vice there, and come in innocent. All worthy books; and now are such an one. First seeds of every creature are in us, Actions are authors, and of those in you
Whate'er the world hath bad, or precious, Your friends find ev'ry day a mart of new. Man's body can produce: hence hath it been,
That stones, worms, frogs, and soakes, in man are
? TO THE COUNTESS OF BEDFORD.
We've added to the world Virginia, and sent
Two new stars lately to the firmament; T HAVE written then, when you writ, seem'd to me Why grudge we us (not Heaven) the dignity Worst of spiritual vices, simony:
To increase with ours those fair souls' company? And not t have written then, seems little less But I must end this letter; though it do Thanı worst of civil vices, thanklessness,
Stand on two truths, neither is true to you. In this my debt I seem'd loath to confess,
Virtue bath some perverseness; for she will In that I seem'd to shun beholdenness :
Neither believe her good, nor other's ill.
Even in you, virtue's best paradise,
Begets in you unjust suspicion.
The bad with bad, a spider with a toad. And devizon'd a stranger, who, mistaught For so ill thralls not them, but they tame ill, By blamers of the times they marr’d, hath sought and make her do much good against her will; Virtues in corners, which now bravely do
But in your common-wealth, or world in you, Shine in the world's best part, or all it, you.
Vice hath no office or good work to do.
With cordial virtue, your known nourishment.
TO THE COUNTESS OF BEDFORD.
ON NEW-YEAR'S DAY.
Tars twilight of two years, not past, nor next, But since to you your praises discords be,
Some emblem is of me, or I of this, Stoop others' ills to meditate with me.
Who, (meteor-like, of stuff and form perplex'd, Oh, to confess we know not what we should,
Whose what and where in disputation is) Is half excuse, we know not what we would. If I should call me any thing, should miss.
I sum the years and me, and find me not
COUNTESS OF HUNTINGDON.
MADAM, In recompense I would show future times (such. Man to God's image, Eve to man's was made,
What you were, and teach them turge towards Nor find we that God breath'd a soul in her; Verse embalms virtue; and tombs or thrones of Canons will not church-functions you invade,
Preserve frail transitory fame, as much (rhymes Nor laws to civil office you prefer.
Who vagrant transitory comets sees,
Whose motion with the firmament agrees,
Force, that doth warm and cherish us, do waste;
A seldom comet is, but active good
For art and nature this in them withstood. And made of miracle, now faith is scant,
Will vanish soon, and so possess Do place; As such a star the Magi led to view
By virtue's beams (by fame deriv'd from you) When all (as truth commands assent) confess May apt souls, and the worst may virtue know.
All truth of you, yet they will doubt how I (One corn of one low ant-hill's dust, and less) If the world's age and death be argued well
Should name, know, or express a thing so high, By the Sun's fall, which now towards Earth doth And (not an inch) measure infinity.
Then we might fear that Virtue, since she fell I cannot tell them, nor myself, nor you,
So low as woman, should be near her end. But leave, lest truth b' endanger'd by my praise, And turn to God, who knows I think this true, But she's not stoop’d, but rais'd; exil'd by men
And useth oft, when such a heart mis-says, She fled to Hear'n, that's heav'nly things, that's To make it good; for such a praiser prays. She was in all men thinly scatter'd then. [you;
But now a mass contracted in a few. He will best teach you, how you should lay out
His stock of beauty, learning, favour, blood; She gilded us, but you are gold; and she
And clear those doubts; hide from you, and show Soft dispositions, which dactile be,
Elixir-like, she makes not clean, but new.
'T is not as woman, for all are not so; Indifferent there the greatest space hath got, But Virtue, having made you virtue, 's fain
Some pity's not good there, some vain disport, T adhere in these names, her and you to show, On this side sin, with that place may comport.
Else, being alike pure, we should neither see, Yet he, as he bounds seas, will fix your hours, As water being into air rarefi'd,
Which pleasure and delight may not ingress; Neither appear, till in one cloud they be ;
He will make you, what you did not, possess,
Of the most stars, take low names Crab and Bull, He will make you speak truths, and credibly, When single planets by the gods are nam'd)
And make you doubt that others do not so: You covet not great names, of great things full. He will provide you keys and locks, to spy,
And 'scape spies, to good ends, and he will show So you, as woman, one doth comprehend,
To some you are reveald, as in a friend,
But for your fame a discreet wariness, And (though to 'scape than to revenge offence To whom, because from you all virtues flow, Be better) he shows both, and to repress
And 't is not none to dare contemplate you, Joy,when your state swells; sadness, when 't is less. 1, which do so, as your true subject owe
Some tribute for that; so these lines are due. From need of tears he will defend your soul, Or make a rebaptizing of one tear;
If you can think these flatteries, they are, He cannot (that's, he will not) disenroll
For then your judgment is below my praise. Your pame; and when with active joy we hear If they were so, oft Hatteries work as far This private gospel, then 't is our new year. As counsels, and as far th' endeavour raise.
TO MR. J. W.
So iny ill reaching you might there grow good, Tell him, all questions, which men have defended, But I remain a poison'd fountain still;
Both of the place and pains of Hell, are ended; And not your beauty, virtue, knowledge, blood, And 't is decreed, our Hell is but privation Are more above all fattery than my will. Of him, at least in this Earth's babitation :
And 't is where I am, where in every street
Infections follow, overtake, and meet.
And virtue should your beauty’and birth outgrow.
TO MR. T. W.
Oft have I ask'd for thee, both how and where So I but your recorder am in this,
Thou wert, and what my hopes of letters were :
As in our streets sly beggars narrowly
And evermore conceive some hope thereby.
The body risen again, tbe which was dead,
And praise thee for 't, and zealously embrace All hail, sweet poet! and full of more strong fire, Thy love ; though I think thy love in this case
Than hath or shall enkindle my dull spirit,
To be as gluttons', which say midst their meat, Of wit and art I love not, but admire;
They love that best, of which they most do eat. Who have before or shall write after thee, Their works, though toughly laboured, will be Like infancy or age to man's firm stay,
INCERTO. Or early and late twilights to mid-day.
As once from bence my lines and I depart, Men say, and truly, that they better be,
I to my soft still walks, they to my heart;
I to the nurse, they to the child of art.
Yet as a firm house, though the carpenter
Perish, doth stand : as an ambassador In Nature's and in Fortune's gifts, alas!
Lies safe, hoxe'er his king be in danger : (But for thy grace got in the Muse's school) A monster and a beggar, am a fool.
So, though I languish, press'd with melancholy,
My verse, the strict map of my misery, Oh, how I grieve, that late-born modesty
Shall live to see that, for whose want I die. Hath got such root in easy waxen bearts, (parts
That men may not themselves their own good Therefore I envy them, and do repent, Extol, without suspect of surquedry;
That from unhappy me things happy are sent; For, but thyself, no subject can be found
Yet as a picture, or bare sacrament, Worthy thy quill, nor any quill resound
Accept these lines, and if in them there be
Merit of love, bestow that love on me.
TO MR. C. B.
Thy friend, whom thy deserts to thee enchain, Then write, that I may follow, and so be
Urg'd by this inexcusable occasion, Thy 'echo, thy debtor, thy foil, thy zanee.
Thee and the saint of his affection I shall be thought (if mine like thine I shape)
Leaving behind, doth of both wants complain ; All the world's lion, though I be thy ape.
And let the love, I bear to both, sustain
No blot nor maim by this division;
Strong is this love, which ties our hearts in one, And strong that love pursu'd with amorous pain: But though besides myself I leave behind
Heaven's liberal and the thrice fair Sun, HASTE thee, harsh verse, as fast as thy lame measure Going to where starv'd Winter aye doth won; Will give thee leave, to him; my pain and pleasure Yet love's hot fires, which martyr my sad mind, I've given thee, and yet thou art too weak,
Do send forth scalding sighs, which have the art Feet and a reasoning soul, and tongue to speak, To melt all ice, but that which walls her heart.
TO MR. T. W.
TO MR. B. B.
TO MR. J. L.
That I rejoice, that unto where thou art,
Though I stay here, I can thus send my heart;
As kindly as any enamour'd patient. THOU, which to search out the secret parts
His picture to his absent love hath sent.
All news I think sooner reach thee than me;
Havens are Heav'ns, and ships wing'd angels be, Lately lanch'd into the vast sea of arts,
The which both gospel and stern threatnings bring;
Guiana's harvest is nipt in the spring,
I fear; and with us (methinks) Fate deals so,
As with the Jew's guide God did; he did show Some turns into less creeks, and wisely take
Him the rich land, but barr'd his entry in :
Our slowness is our punishment and sin.
Perchance, these Spanish businesses being done,
Which as the Earth between the Moon and Sun Which draw all wits of good hope to their crew; Fclipse the light, which Guiana would give, But seeing in you bright sparks of poetry, 1, though I brought no fuel, had desire
Our discontinued hopes we shall retrieve:
But if (as all th' all must) hopes smoke away, With these articulate blasts to blow the fire.
Is not almighty Virtue an India?
If men be worlds, there is in every one
Virtue our form's form, and our soul's soul is. Is not thy sacred hunger of science
Yet satisfy'd ? is not thy brain's rich hive
Fulfill'd with boney, which thou dost derive From the arts' spirits and their quintessence ? Then wean thyself at last, and thee withdraw
From Cambridge, thy old nurse; and, as the rest, 1 Of that short roll of friends writ in my heart, Here toughly chew and sturdily digest
Which with thy name begins, since their depart Th'immense vast volumes of our common law;
Whether in th’ English provinces they be, And begin soon, lest my grief grieve thee too,
Or drink of Po, Sequan, or Danuby, Which is that that, which I should have begun
There's none, that sometimes greets us not; and yet In my youth's morning, now late must be done : Your Trent is Lethe', that past, us you forget. And I as giddy travellers must do,
You do not duties of societies, Which stray or sleep all day, and having lost
If from th' embrace of a lov'd wife you rise, Light and strength, dark and tir'd must then View your fat beasts, stretch'd barns, and labourd
Eat, play, ride, take all joys, which all day yields, If thou unto thy Muse be married,
Aud then again to your embracements go; Embrace her ever, ever multiply;
Some hours on us your friends, and some bestow Be far from me that strange adultery
Upon your Muse ; else both we shall repent, To tempt thee, and procure her widowhood;
1, that my love, she, that her gifts on you are spent. My nurse, (for I had one) because I'm cold,
Divorc'd herself; the cause being in me,
That I can take no new bigamy ;
Mother, want matter; and they only have Bj.zss's are your north parts, for all this long time
A little form, the which their father gave : My Sun is with you, cold and dark's our clime. They are profane, imperfect, oh! too bad
Heaven's Sun, which stay'd so long from us this
And bither by kind Nature drawn from thence,
Yet I, as long as she from hence doth stay,
Think this no south, no summer, nor no day.
With thee my kind and unkind heart is run, IT, as mine is, thy life a slumber be,
There sacrifice it to that beauteous Sun: Seem, when thou read'st these lines, to dream of me; So may thy pastures with their flowery feasts, Never did Morpheus, nor his brother, wear
As suddenly as lard, fat thy lean beasts; Shapes so like those shapes, whom they would ap- So may thy woods oft poll'd yet ever wear pear;
A green, and (when she list) a golden hair; As this my letter is like me, for it
So may all thy sheep bring forth twins; and so Hath my name, words, hand, feet, heart, mind, and In chase and race may thy horse all ont.go; wit;
So may thy love and courage ne'er be cold; It is my deed of gift of me to thee,
Thy son ne'er ward ; thy lov'd wife ne'er seem old; It is my will, myself the legacy.
But may'st thou wish great things, and them atSo thy retirings I love, yea envy,
tain, Bred jo tbee by a wise melancholy;
As thou tell'st her, and none but her, my pain.
TO MR. J. P.