Sivut kuvina

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 :
And virtue, and such ingredients, have made
A mithridate, whose operation

So in this pilgrimage I would behold
Keeps off, or cures, what can be done or said.

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,
Yet this is not your physic, but your food, And after this survey oppose to all
A diet fit for you; for you are here

Builders of chapels, you, th’Escurial.
The first good angel, since the world's frame stood,
That ever did in woman's shape appear. Yet not as consecrate, but merely as fair:

On these I cast a lay and country eye.
Since you are then God's masterpiece, and so Of past and future stories, which are rare,
His factor for our loves ; do as you do,

I find you all record and prophecy.
Make your return home gracious; and bestow Purge but the book of Fate, that it admit

This life on that; so make one life of two. No sad nor guilty legends, you are it.
For, so, God help me, I would not miss you there,
For all the good which you can do me here. If good and lovely were not one, of both

You were the transcript and original,
The elements, the parent, and the growth;

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.
This shows that you from nature loathly stray, Nor scapes he so, but is himself their prey;
That suffer not an artificial day.

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;
Our apprehension contributes the sting.

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
But who e'er saw, though Nature can work so,
That pearl, or gold, or corn, in man did grow


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.
But 't is not so. Nothings, as I am, may

Even in you, virtue's best paradise,
Pay all they have, and yet have all to pay. Virtue hath some, but wise degrees of vice.
Such borrow in their payments, and owe more, Too many virtues, or too much of one,
By having leave to write so, than before.

Begets in you unjust suspicion.
Yet since rich mines in barren grounds are shown, And ignorance of vice makes virtue less,
May not I yield, not gold, but coal or stone ? Quenching compassion of our wretchedness.
Temples were not demolish'd, though profane : But these are riddles : some aspersion
Here Peter Jove's, there Paul hath Dina's fane. Of vice becomes well some complexion.'
So whether my bymns you admit or choose, Statesmen purge vice with vice, and may corrode
In me you ’ve hollow'd a Pagan Muse,

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.
I have been told, that virtue in courtiers' hearts Take then no vicious purge, but be content
Suffers an ostracism, and departs.

With cordial virtue, your known nourishment.
Profit, ease, fitness, plenty, bid it go,
But whitber, only knowing you, I know ;
Your, or you virtue, two vast uses serves,
It ransoms one sex, and one court preserves;
There's nothing but your worth, which being true

Is known to any otber, not to you:

And you can never know it ; to admit
No knowledge of your worth, is some of it.

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
Debtor to th' old, nor creditor to th' new:

That cannot say, my thanks I have forgot,
Nor trust I this with hopes, and yet scarce true:

This bravery's since these times show'd me you.

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.
As spice doth bodies from corrupt air's touch.

Who vagrant transitory comets sees,
Mine are short-liv'd; the tincture of your name Wonders, because they're rare; but a new star,
Creates in them, but dissipates as fast

Whose motion with the firmament agrees,
New spirits; for strong agents with the same Is miracle ; for there no new things are.

Force, that doth warm and cherish us, do waste;
Kept hot with strong extracts no bodies last. In women so perchance mild innocence

A seldom comet is, but active good
So my verse, built of your just praise, might want A miracle, which reason 'scapes and sense;
Reason and likelihood, the firmest base;

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
And you and it too much grace might disgrace. The manger-cradled infant, God below:

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
He will perplex security with doubt, [you good, Informed us, but transubstantiates you:

And clear those doubts; hide from you, and show Soft dispositions, which dactile be,
And so increase your appetite and food.

Elixir-like, she makes not clean, but new.
He will teach you, that good and bad have not Though you a wife's and mother's name retain,
One latitude in cloisters and in court;

'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 ;
And though what none else lost, be truliest yours, So for our sakes you do low names abide;

He will make you, what you did not, possess,
By using others (not vice, but) weakness. Taught by great constellations, (which, being fram'd

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,
What you will not acknowledge, what not kpow. And in the vale of kindred others see;

To some you are reveald, as in a friend,
For your own conscience he gives innocence, And as a virtuous prince far off, to me.

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
And if I fatter any, 't is not you,

Infections follow, overtake, and meet.
But my own judgment, who did long ago Live I or die, by you my love is sent,
Pronounce, that all these praises should be true, You are my pawns, or else my testament.

And virtue should your beauty’and birth outgrow.
Now that my prophecies are all fulfillid,
Rather than God should not be honour'd too,

TO MR. T. W.
And all these gifts confess'd, which he instillid,
Yourself were bound to say that which I do. PREGNANT again with th' old twins, Hope and Fear,

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 :
Or mouth, and speaker of the universe,
A ministerial notary; for 't is

As in our streets sly beggars narrowly
Not I. but you and fame, that make this verse. Watch motions of the giver's hand or eye,

And evermore conceive some hope thereby.
I was your prophet in your younger days,
And now your chaplain, God in you to praise. And now thy alms is giv'n, the letter's read,

The body risen again, tbe which was dead,
And thy poor starveling bountifully fed.
After this banquet my soul doth say grace,

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,
I lov'd what Nature gave thee, but thy merit

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;
Which be envy'd than pity'd : therefore I,

I to the nurse, they to the child of art.
Because I wish the best, do thee envy :
O would'st thou by like reason pity me,

Yet as a firm house, though the carpenter
But care not for me, I, that ever was

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
Thy worth but thine: how good it were to see

Merit of love, bestow that love on me.
A poem in thy praise, and writ by thee !
Now if this song be too harsh for rhyme, yet as
The painter's bad god made a good devil,

TO MR. C. B.
'T will be good prose, although the verse be evil.
If thou forget the rhyme, as thou dost pass,

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,
TO MR. S. B.

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;
Of th' India, or rather Paradise
Of knowledge, hast with courage and advice

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,
Disdain not in thy constant travelling
To do as other voyagers, and make

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 :
Fresh water at the Heliconian spring.

Our slowness is our punishment and sin.
I sing not siren-like to tempt; for I
Am harsh; nor as those schismatics with you,

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
Something to answer in some proportion
All the world's riches : and in good men this

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 ;
Not my will only, but pow'r doth withhold;
Hence comes it that these rhymes, which never had

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
To be counted children of poetry,
Except confirm'd and bishopped by thee. Stay'd in your north (I think) for she was there,

And bither by kind Nature drawn from thence,
Here rages, chafes, and threatens pestilence;

Yet I, as long as she from hence doth stay,
TO MR. R. W.

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.

ride post.

TO MR. J. P.

: year,

« EdellinenJatka »