Sivut kuvina

For if we justly call each silly man

Traitors are. Friends are ourselves. This I thee tell A little world, what shall we call thee then? As to my friend, and myself as counsel : Thou art not soft, and clear, and straight, and fair, Let for awhile the time's unthrifty rout As down, as stars, cedars, and lilies are ;

Contemn learning, and all your studies flout : But thy right hand, and cheek, and eye only Let them scorn Hell, they will a serjeant fear, Are like thy other hand, and cheek, and eye. More than we them; that ere long God may forbear, Such was my Phao awhile, but shall be never But creditors will not. Let them increase As thou wast, art, and oh! may'st thou be ever. In riot and excess, as their means cease; Here lovers swear in their idolatry,

Let them scorn him that made them, and still shun That I am such; but grief discolours me: His grace, but love the whore, who hath undone And yet I grieve the less, lest grief remove Them and their souls. But, that they that allow My beauty, and make m' unworthy of thy love. But one God, should have religions enow Plays some soft boy with thee? oh! there wants yet For the queen's mask, and their husbands, for more A mutual feeling, which should sweeten it. Than all the Gentiles knew or Atlas bore. His chin, a thorny hairy unevenness,

Well, let all pass, and trust inim, who nor cracks
Doth threaten, and some daily change possess. The bruised reed, nor quencbeth smoking dar.
Thy body is a natural paradise,
In whose self, upmanur'd, all pleasure lies,
Nor needs perfection; why should'st thou then
Admit the tillage of a harsh rough man?

Men leave behind them that, which their sin shows,
And are as thieves trac'd, which rob when it snows;

NOV. 9, 1603.
But of our dalliance no more signs there are,

Is great men wrong me, I will spare myself; Than fishes leave in streams, or birds in air.

If mean, I will spare them; I know, the pelf, And between as all sweetness may be had; Which is ill got, the owner doth upbraid; All, all that nature yields, or art can add.

It may corrupt a judge, make me afraid My two lipe, eyes, thighs, differ from thy two, And a jury: but 't will revenge in this, But so, as thine from one another do:

That, though himself be judge, he guilty is. And, oh! no more; the likeness being such, What care I though of weakness men tax me? Why should they not alike in all parts touch? I'd rather sufferer than doer be; Hand to strange hand, lip to lip none denies; That I did trust it was my nature's praise, Why should they breast to breast, or thighs to thighs? For breach of word I knew but as a phrase. Likeness begets such strange self-flattery, That judgment is, that surely can comprise That touching myself, all seems done to thee.

The world in precepts, most happy and most wise. Myself I embrace, and mine own hands I kiss,

What though? though less, yet some of both have And amoroosiy thank myself for this.

Who have learn'd it by use and misery. [we, Me in my glass I call thee; but, alas!

Poor I, whom every petty cross doth trouble, When I would kiss, tears dim mine eyes and glass. Who apprehend each hurt, that's done me, double, O cure this loving madness, and restore

Am of this (though it should think me) careless, Me to me; thee my half, my all, my more. It would but force me ta stricter goodness. So may thy cheek's red outwear scarlet die,

They have great gain of me, who gain do win And their wbite whiteness of the galaxy ;

(If such gain be not loss) from every sin. So may thy mighty amazing beauty move

The standing of great men's lives would afford Envy in all women, and in all men love;

A pretty sum, if God would sell his word. And so be change and sickness far from thee,

He cannot; they can theirs, and break them too. As thou, by coming near, keep'st them from me. How unlike they are that they 're likened to ?

Yet I conclude, they are amidst my evils,
If good, like gods; the naught are so like devils.

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JAN. 6, 1603.

Tue state and men's affairs are the best plays

1603. Next yours; 't is not more nor less than due praise: Write, but touch not the much descending race

DEAR TOM. Of lords' houses, so settled in worth's place, TELL her, if she to hired servants show As but themselves none think them usurpers: Dislike, before they take their leave they go; It is no fault in thee to suffer theirs.

When nobler spirits start at no disgrace; If the queen mask, or king a hunting go,

For who hath but one mind, hath but one face. Though all the court follow, let them. We know If then why I take not my leave she ask, Like them in goodness that court ne'er will be, Ask her again why she did not unmask. Pof that were virtue, and not flattery.

Was she or proud or cruel, or knew she Forget we were thrust out. It is but thus 'T would make my loss more felt, and pity'd me? God threatens kings, kings lords, as lords do us. Or did she fear one kiss might stay for moe? Judge of strangers, trust and believe your friend, Or else was she unwilling I should go ? And so me; and when I true friendship end, I think the best, and love so faithfully, With goilty conscience let me be worse stang I cannot choose but think that she loves me. Than with Popham's sentence thieves, or Cook's If this prove not my faith, then let her try tongue

How in her service I would fructify.

Ladies have boldly lov'd; bid her renew

So these high songs, that to thee suited biti, That decay'd worth, and prove the times past true. Serve but to sound thy maker's praise and thine ; Then he, whose wit and verse grows now so lame, Which thy dear soul as sweetly sings to him With songs to her will the wild Irish tame. Amid the choir of saints and seraphim, Howe'er, I 'll wear the black and white ribband; As any angels' tongues can sing of thee; White for her fortunes, black for mine shall stand. The subjects differ, though the skill agree: I do esteem her favour, not the stuff;

For as by infant years men judge of age, If what I have was given, I've enough,

Thy early love, thy virtues did presage
And all 's well, for had she lov'd, I had not had What high part thou bear'st in those best of songs,
All my friends' hate; for now departing sad Whereto no burden, nor no end belongs.
I feel not that: yet as the rack the gout

Sing on, thou virgin soul, whose lossful gain
Cures, so hath this worse grief that quite pat out: Thy love-sick parents have bewail'd in vain;
My first disease nought but that worse cureth, Never may thy name be in songs forgot,
Which (I dare foresay) nothing cares but death. Till we shall sing thy ditty and thy note.
Tell her all this before I am forgot,
That not too late she grieve she lov'd me not.

Burdened with this, I was to depart less
Willing than those which die, and not confess.


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When that rich soul, which to her Heav'n is gone,

Whom all do celebrate, who know they 've one,
(For who is sure he hath a soul, unless
It see, and judge, and follow worthiness,

And by deeds praise it? be, who doth not this, ANATOMY OF THE WORLD. May lodge an inmate soul, but 't is not his)

When that queen ended here her progress time, WHEREIN, BY OCCASION OF THE UNTIMELY DEATH OF And as t'her standing house to Heav'n did climb; MRS. ELIZABETH DRURY, THE FRAILTY AND DECAY OF Where, loath to make the saints attend her long,

She's now a part both of the choir and song:

This world in that great earthquake languished;

For in a common bath of tears it bled,
To the praise of the dead, and the anatomy. Which drew the strongest vital spirits out:

But succour'd them with a perplexed doubt,
Well dy'd the world, that we might live to see Whether the world did lose, or gain in this,
This world of wit in his anatomy:

(Because since now no other way there is No evil wants his good; so wilder heirs

But goodness, to see her, whom all would see, Bedew their father's tombs with forced tears, All must endeavour to be good as she) Whose 'state requites their loss: while thus we gain, | This great consumption to a fever turn'd, Well may we walk in blacks, but not complain. And so the world bad fits; it joy'd, it mourn'd; Yet how can I consent the world is dead,

And as men think that agues physic are, While this Muse lives? which in his spirit's stead And th' ague being spent, give over care: Seems to inform a world, and bids it be,

So thou, sick world, mistak'st thyself to be In spite of loss or frail mortality ?

Well, when, alas! thou 'rt in a lethargy: And thou the subject of this well-born thought, Her death did wound and tame thee then, and then Thrice noble maid, couldst not have found nor sought Thou might'st have better spar'd the Sun, or man. A fitter time to yield to thy sad fate,

That wound was deep; but 't is more misery, Than while this spirit lives, that can relate

That thou hast lost thy sense and memory. Thy worth so well to our last nephew's eyne, 'T was heavy then to hear thy voice of moan, That they shall wonder both at his and thine: But this is worse, that thou art speechless grown. Admired match! where strives in mutual grace Thou hast forgot thy name thou hadst; thou wast The cunning pencil and the comely face;

Nothing but she, and her thou hast o'erpast. A task, which thy fair goodness made too much For as a child kept from the fount, until For the bold pride of vulgar pens to touch: A prince, expected long, come to fulfil Enough it is to praise them that praise thee, The ceremonies, thou unnam'd hadst laid, And say, that but enough those praises be, Had not her coming thee her palace made; Which, hadst thou liv’d, had hid their fearful head Her name defin'd thee, gave thee form and frame, From th' angry checkings of thy modest red : And thou forget'st to celebrate thy name. Death bars reward and shame; when envy's gone, Some months she hath been dead, (but being dead, And gain, 't is safe to give the dead their own. Measures of time are all determined) As then the wise Egyptians wont to lay

But long sh' hath been away, long, long; yet none More on their tombs than houses; these of clay, Offers to tell us, who it is that 's gone. But those of brass or marble were: so we

But as in states doubtful of future heirs, Give more unto thy ghost than unto thee.

When sickness without remedy impairs Yet what we give to thee, thou gav'st to us, The present prince, they 're loath it should be said, And may'st but thank thyself, for being thus: The prince doth languish, or the prioce is dead : Yet what thou gav'st and wert, О happy maid, So mankind, feeling now a general thaw, Thy grace profess'd all due, where 't is repaid. A strong example gone, equal to law,

The cement, which did faithfully compact Two or three hundred years to see 't again, And give all virtues, now resolv'd and slack’d, And then make up his observation plain; Thought it sonie blasphemy to say sh' was dead, When as the age was long, the size was great; Or that our weakness was discovered

Man's growth confess'd and recompens'd the meat; In that confession; therefore spoke no more, So spacious and large, that every soul Than tongues, the spul being gone, the loss deplore. Did a fair kingdom and large realm control; But though it be too late to succour thee,

And when the very stature thus erect Sick world, vea dead, yea putrified, since she, Did that soul a good way towards Heav'n direct: Thy intrinsi. balm and thy preservative,

Where is this mankind now?. who lives to age, Can never be renew'd, thou never live;

'Pit to be made Methusalem his page? I (since no man can make thee live) will try Alas! we scarce live long enough to try What we may gain by thy anatomy.

Whether a true made clock run right or lie. Her death hatb taught us dearly, that thou art Old grandsires talk of yesterday with sorrow : Corrupt and mortal in thy purest part.

And for our children we reserve to morrow, Let no man say, the world itself being dead, So short is life, that every peasant strives, T is labour lost to have discovered

In a torn house, or field, to have three lives. The world's infirmities, since there is none And as in lasting, so in length, is man, Alive to study this dissection;

Contracted to an inch, who was a span; For there's a kind of world remaining still; For had a man at first in forests stray'd Though she, which did inanimate and fill

Or shipwreck'd in the sea, one would have laid
The world, be gone, yet in this last long night A wager, that an elephant or whale,
Her ghost doth walk, that is, a glimmering light, That met him, would not hastily assail
A faint weak love of virtue, and of good

A thing so equal to him: now, alas!
Reflects from her on them, which understood The fairies and the pygmies well may pass
Her worth; and though she bave shut in all day, As credible; mankind decays so soon,
The twilight of her memory doth stay;

We 're scarce our father's shadows cast at ndon :
Which, from the carcass of the old world free, Only death adds t' our length: nor are we grown
Creates a new world, and new crcatures be In stature to be men, till we are none.
Produc'd: the matter and the stuff of this But this were light, did our less volume bold ***
Her virtue, and the form our practice is:

All the old text; or had we chang'd to gold And though to be thus elemented arm

Their silver, or dispos’d into less glass These creatures from home-born intrinsic harm, Spirits of virtue, which then scatter'd was: (For all assum'd unto this dignity,

But 't is not so: we're not retir'd, but damp'd ; So many weedless paradises be,

And as our bodies, so our minds are cramp'd : Which of themselves produce no venomous sin, ''T is shrinking, not close weaving, that hath thuc Except some foreign serpent bring it in)

In mind and body both bedwarfed us. Yet because outward storms the strongest break, We seem ambitious God's whole work t undo; And strength itself by confidence grows weak, Of nothing he made us, and we strive too This new world may be safer, being told

To bring ourselves to nothing back; and we The dangers and diseases of the old:

Do what we can, to do 't as soon as he: For with dae temper men do then forego

With new diseases on ourselves we war, Or covet things, when they their true worth know. And with new physic, a worse engine far. There is no health ; physicians say that we This man, this world's vice-emperor, in whom At best enjoy but a neutrality,

All faculties, all graces are at home; And can there be worse sickness than to know, And if in other creatures they appear, That we are never well, nor can be so?

They 're but man's ministers and legats there, We are born ruinous : poor mothers cry,

To work on their rebellions, and reduce That children come not right nor orderly,

Them to civility and to man's use: Except they headlong come and fall upou This man, whom God did woo, and, loth t' attend An ominous precipitation.

Till man came up, did down to man descend : How witty's ruin, how importunate

This man so great, that all that is, is his,
Upon mankind! it labour'd to frustrate

Oh what a trifle and poor thing he is !
Even God's purpose ; and made woman, sent If man were any thing, he's nothing now;
For man's relief, cause of his languishment; Help, or at least some time to waste allow
They were to good ends, and they are so still, This other wants, yet when he did depart
But accessary, and principal in ill;

With her, whom we lament, he lost his heart. For that first marriage was our funeral:

She, of whom th' ancients seem'd to prophesy, One woman at one blow then kill'd us all,

When they call'd virtues by the name of she; And singly one by one they kill us now,

She, in whom virtue was so much refin'd, And we delightfully ourselves allow

That for allay unto so pure a mind To that consumption; and, profusely blind, She took the weaker sex: she, that could drive We kill ourselves to propagate our kind;

The poisonous tincture and the stain of Eve And yet we do not that; we are not men:

Out of her thoughts and deeds, and purify There is not now that mankind, which was then, All by a true religious alchymy; When as the Sun and man did seem to strive, She, she is dead; she's dead: when thou know'st this, (Joint-tenants of the world) who should survive; Thou know'st how poor a triling thing man is, When stag and raven, and the long-liv'd tree, And learn'st thus much by our anatomny, Compar'd with man, dy'd in minority;

The heart being perish'd, no part can be free, When, if a slow-pac'd star had stol'n away And that except thou feed (not banquet) on From the observer's marking, he might stay The supernatural food, religion, VOL V.


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Thy better growth grows withered and scant; And in these constellations then arise
Be more than man, or thou 'rt less than an ant. New stars, and old do vanish from our eyes: [var,
Then as mankind, so is the world's whole frame As though Heav'n suffered earthquakes, peace or
Quite out of joint, almost created lame :

When new tow'rs rise, and old demolish'd are. For before God had made up all the rest,

They have impal'd within a zodiac Corruption eater'd and deprav'd the best:

The free-born Sun, and keep twelve sigas awake It seiz'd the angels, and then first of all

To watch his steps; the Goat and Crab control The world did in her cradle take a fall,

And fright him back, who else to either pole
And turn'd her brains, and took a general maim, (Did not these tropics fetter him) might run:
Wronging each joint of th' universal frame. For his course is not round, nor can the Sun
The noblest part, man, felt it first; and then Perfect a circle, or maintain his way
Both beasts, and plants, curs'd in the curse of man; One iuch direct, but where he rose to day
So did the world from the first hour decay,- He comes no more, but with a cozening line,
That evening was beginning of the day;

Steals by that point, and so is serpentine:
And now the springs and summers, which we see, And seeming weary of his reeling thus,
Like sons of women after fifty be.

He means to sleep, being now fall'n nearer us And new philosophy calls all in doubt,

So of the stars, which boast that they do run The element of fire is quite pat out:

In circle still, none ends where he begun : The Sun is lost, and th: Earth; and no man's wit All their proportion's lame, it sinks, it swells ; Can well direct him where to look for it.

For of meridians and parallels, And freely men confess that this world's spent, Man hath weav'd out a net, and this set thrown When in the planets and the firmament

Upon the Heav'ns; and now they are his own. They seek so many new; they see that this Loth to go up the bill, or labour thus Is crumbled out again to his atomies.

To go to Heav'n, we make Hear'n come to us. 'T is all in pieces, all coherence gone,

We spur, we rein the stars, and in their race All just sapply, and all relation:

They're diversly content t'obey our pace. Prince, subject, father, son, are things forgot, But keeps the Earth her round proportion still? For every man alone thinks he hath got

Doth not a Teparos or higher hill To be a phenix, and that then can be

Rise so high like a rock, that one might think None of that kind, of which he is, but he.

The floating Moon would shipwreck there and sink? This is the world's condition now, and now Seas are so deep, that whales being struck to day, She, that should all parts to reunion bow ; Perchance to morrow scarce at middle way She, that had all magnetic force alone

Of their wish'd journey's end, the bottom, die: To draw and fasten sunder'd parts in one; And men, to sound depths, so much line untie, She, whom wise Nature had invented then, As one might justly think, that there would rise When she observ'd that every sort of men

At end thereof one of th' antipodes :
Did in their voyage, in this world's sea, stray, If under all a vault infernal be,
And needed a new compass for their way; (Which sure is spacious, except that we
She, that was best and first original

Invent another torment, that there must
Of all fair copies, and the general

Millions into a strait hot room be thrust) Steward to Fate ; she, whose rich eyes and breast Then solidness and roundness have no place: Gilt the West Indies, and perfum'd the East, Are these but warts and pockholes in the face Whose having breath'd in this world did bestow Of th’Earth 7 think so: but yet confess, in this Spice on those isles, aut bad them still smell so; The world's proportion disfigur'd is; And that rich India, which doth gold inter, That those two legs, whereon it doth rely, Is but as single money coin'd from her:

Reward and punishment, are bent awry : She, to whom this world must itself refer,

And, oh! it can no more be questioned,
As suburbs, or the microcosm of ber;

That beauty's best proportion is dead,
She, she is dead; she's dead's when thou know'st this Since even grief itself, which now alone
Thou know'st bow lame a'cripple this world is, Is left us, is without proportion.
And learn'st thus much by our anatomy,

She, by whose lines proportion should be
That this world's general sickness doth not lie Examin'd, measure of all symmetry, {made
In any humour, or one certain part;

Whom had that ancient seen, who thought souls But as thou saw'st it rotten at the heart,

Of harmony, he would at next have said
Thou seest a hectic fever hath got hold

That Harmony was she, and thence infer
Of the whole substance not to be controld; That souls were but resultances from her,
And that thou bast but one way not t admit And did from her into our bodies go,
The world's infection, to be none of it.

As to our eyes the forms from objects flow:
For the world's subtl'st immaterial parts

She, who, if those great doctors truly said,
Peel this consuming wound, and age's darts. That th’ark to man's proportion was made,
For the world's beauty is decay'd or gone, Had been a type for that, as that might be
Beauty, that's colour and proportion.

A type of her in this, that contrary
We think the Heav'ns enjoy their spherical, Both elements and passions lir'd at peace
Their round proportion embracing all,

In bier, who cans'd all civil war to cease:
But yet their various and perplexed course, She, after whom what form soe'er we see,
Observ'd in divers ages, doth enforce

Is discord and rude incongruity; Men to find out so many eccentric parts,

She, she is dead, she's dead! when thou know'st this, . Such divers down-right lines, such overthwarts, Thou know'st how ugly a monster this world is; As disproportion that pure form: it tears

And learn'st thus much by our anatomy, The firmament in eight and forty shares, That here is nothing to enamour thee:

And that not only faults in inward parts,

If this commerce 'twixt Heav'n and Earth were not Corruptions in our brains, or in our hearts,

Embarrd, and all this traffic quite forgot, Poisoning the fountains, whence our actions spring, She, for whose loss we have lamented thus, Endanger us; but that if every thing

Would work more fully and pow'rfully on us : Be not done ftly and in proportion,

Since herbs and roots by dying lose not all, To satisfy wise and good lookers on,

But they, yea ashes too, 're med cinal, Since most men be such as most think they be, Death conld not quench her virtue so, but that They 're loathsome too by this deformity. It would be (if not follow'd) wonder'd at: For guod and well must in our actions meet; And all the world would be one dying swan, Wicked is not much worse than indiscreet. To sing her funeral praise, and vanish then. But beauty's other second element,

But as some serpent's poison hurteth uot, Colour and lustre, now is as near spent.

Except it be from the live serpeut shot; And had the world his just proportion,

So doth her virtue need her here, to fit
Were it a ring still, yet the stone is gone;

Tbat unto us; she working more than it.
As a compassionate turcoise, which doth tell, But she, in whom to such maturity
By looking pale, the wearer is not well:

Virtue was grown past growth, that it must die;
As gold falls sick being stung with mercury, She, from whose influence all impression came,
All the world's parts of such complexion be. But by receiver's impotences lame;
When Nature was most busy, the first week Who, though she could not transubstantiate
Swadling the new-born Earth, God seem'd to like All states to gold, yet gilded every state,
That she should sport herself sometimes and play, So that some princes have some temperance;
To mingle and vary colours every day:

Some counsellors some purpose to advance And then, as though she could not make enow, The common profit; and some people have Himself his various rainbow did allow.

Some stay, no more than kings should give, to crave; Sight is the noblest sense of any one,

Some women have some taciturnity, Yet sight hath only colour to feed on,

Some nunneries some grains of chastity. And colour is decay'd: Summer's robe grows She, that did thus much, and much more could do, Dusky, and like an oft-dy'd garment shows. But that our age was iron, and rusty too; Our blushing red, which usd in cheeks to spread, She, she is dead; she's dead! when thou know'st this, Is inward sunk, and only our souls are red. Thou know'st how dry a cinder this world is: Perchance the world might have recovered, And learn'st thus much by our anatomy, If she, wbom we lament, had not been dead : That 't is in vain to dew or mollify Bat she, in whom all wbite, and red, and blue It with thy tears, or sweat, or blood: nothing (Beauty's ingredients) voluntary grew,

Is worth our travail, grief, or perishing, As in an unver'd Paradise, from whom

But those rich joys, which did possess her heart, Did all things' verdure and their lustre come, Of which she 's now partaker, and a part. Whose composition was miraculous,

But as in cutting up a man that's dead, Being all colour, all diaphanous,

The body will not last out, to have read (Por air and fire but thick gross bodies were, On every part, and therefore men direct And liveliest stones but drowsy and pale to her) Their speech to parts, that are of most effect; She, she is dead; she's dead: whenthou know'st this, So the world's carcass would not last, if I Thou know'st how wan a ghost this our world is: Were punctual in this anatomy; And learn'st thus mach by our anatomy,

Nor smells it well to hearers, if one tell (well. That it should more affright than pleasure thee: Them their disease, who fain would think they 're And that, since all fair colour then did sink, Here therefore be the end; and, blessed maid, 'T is now but wicked vanity to think

Of wbom is meant whatever hath been said, To colour vicious deeds with good pretence, Or shall be spoken well by any tongue, [song, Or with bought colours to illude men's sense. Whose name refines coarse lines, and makes prose Nor in aught more this world's decay appears, Accept this tribute, and his first year's rent, Than that her influence the Heav'n forbears, Who, till his dark short taper's end be spent, Or that the elements do not feel this,

As oft as thy feast sees this widow'd Earth, The father or the mother barren is.

Will yearly celebrate thy second birth;.. The clouds conceive not rain, or do not pour, That is thy death; for though the soul of man In the due birth-time, down the balmy shower; Be got when man is made, 't is born but then, Th' air doth not motherly sit on the earth, When man doth die; our body 's as the womb, To hatch her seasons, and give all things birth; And, as a midwife, Death directs it home; Spring-times were common cradles, but are tombs; And you her creatures whom she works upon, And false conceptions fill the general wombs; And have your last and best concoction Th' air shows such meteors, as none can see, From her example and her virtue, if you Not only what they mean, but what they be. In reverence to her do think it due, Earth sach new worms, as would have troubled much That no one should her praises thus rehearse; Th' Egyptian magi to have made more such. As matter fit for chronicle, not verse: What artist now dares boast that he can bring Vouchsafe to call to mind that God did make Heav'n hither, or constellate any thing,

A last, and lasting'st piece, a song. He spake So as tbe influence of those stars may be

To Moses to deliver unto all Imprison'd in a herb, or charm, or tree,

That song, because he knew they would let fall And do by touch all which those stars could do? The law, the prophets, and the history, The art is lost, and correspondence too;

But keep the song still in their memory : For Heav'n gives little, and the Earth takes less, Such an opinion, in due measure, made And man least knows their trade and purposes. Me this great office boldly to invade:

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