Sivut kuvina

A stranger to it selfe. Those moneths that were Within, and all he saw was but the shrine.
But the last age, no newes of us did heare. But I here pay my vowes to the devine

What pompe is then in us? Who th’ other day Pure essence there inclos'd, which if it were
Were nothing; and in triumph pow, but clay. Not hid in a faire cloud, but might appeare

In its full lustre, would make Nature live
In a state equall to her primitive.

But sweetly that's obscur’d. Yet though our eye
TO THE MOMENT LAST PAST. Cannot the splendour of your soule descry

In true perfection, by a glimmering light, O whither dost thou flye? cannot my vow

Your language ycelds us, we can guesse how bright Intreat thee tarry? Thou wert here but now,

The Sunne within you shines, and curse th' unkind And thou art gone? like ships which plough the sea,

Eclipse, or else our selves for being blinde. And leave no print for man to tracke their way.

How hastily doth Nature build up man
O unseene wealth! who thee did husband, can

To leave him so imperfect? For he can
Out-vie the jewels of the ocean,
The mines of th' earth! One sigh well spent in thee So farre his sight he ne're discern'd a soule.

See nought beyond his sence; she doth controule Had beene a purchase for eternity!

For had yours beene the object of his eye;
We will not loose thee then. Castara, where

It had turn'd wonder to idolatry.
Shall we finde out his hidden sepulcher ;
And wee'le revive him. Not the cruell stealth
Of fate shall rob us, of so great a wealth;
Vndone in thrift! while we besought his stay,

Ten of his fellow moments filed away.

AMPHION, O thou holy shade!

Bring Orpheus up with thee:

That wonder may you both invade,

Hearing love's harmony.
You who are soule, not rudely made

Vp, with materiall eares,
Where sleepes the north-wind when the south in And fit to reach the musique of these spheares.
Life in the spring, and gathers into quires (spires Harke! when Castara's orbs doe move
The scatter'd nightingales ; whose subtle eares By my first moving eyes,
Heard first th' harmonious language of the

Ho great the symphony of love, spheares;

But 'tis the destinies Whence hath the stone, magneticke force t'allure

Will not so farre my prayer approve, Th’ enamourd iron; from a seed impure

To bring you hither, here
Or naturall did first the mandrake grow;

Lest you meete heaven, for Elizium there.
What pówre i'th' ocean makes it ebbe and low;
What strange materials is the azure skye

'Tis no dull sublunary fame Compacter of; of what it's brightest eye

Burnes in her heart and mine. The ever flaming Sunne; what people are

But some thing more, than hath a name. In th' unknowne world; what worlds in every star;

So subtle and divine, Let curions fancies at this secret rove;

We know not why, nor how it came. Castara, what we know, wee'le practise, lore. Which shall shine bright, till she

And the whole world of love, expire with me.




SHOULD the cold Muscovit, whose furre and stove
Can scarse prepare him heate enough for love,
But view the wonder of your presence, he
Would scorne his winter's sharpest injury:
And trace the naked grores, till he found bayse
To write the beautious triumphs of your prayse,
As a dull poet even he would say,
Th' unclouded Sun had never showne them day
Till that bright minute; that he now admires
No more why the coy Spring so soone retires
From their unhappy clyme; it doth pursue
The Sun, and he derives his light from you.
Hec'd tell you how the fetter'd Baltick sea
Is set at freedome, while the yce away
Doth melt at your approach ; how by so faire
Harmonious beauty, their ruile manners are
Reduc't to order; how to them you bring
The wcalthiest mines below, above the spring.
Thus would his wonder speake. For he would want
Religion to beleeve, there were a saint

You'd leave the silence in which safe we are,

To listen to the noyse of warre;
And walke those rugged paths, the factious tread,

Who by the number of the dead
Reckon their glories and thinke greatnesse stood

Vnsafe, till it was built on blood.
Secure i'th' wall our seas and ships provide

(Abhorring war's so barb'rous pride,
And honour bought with slaughter) in content

Let's breath, thongh humble, innocen:.
Folly and madnesse! Since 'tis ods we ne're

See the fresh youth of the next yeare.
Perhaps not ihe chast morne, her selfe disclose

Againe, tout-blush th'æmulous rose,
Why doth ainbicion so the inind distresse

To make us scorne wliat we possesse?
And looke so farre before us: Since all we

Can hope, is varied misery?
Goe find some whispering sbade neare Arne or Poe,

And gently 'mong their violets throw

Your weary'd limbs, and see if all those faire Be curious in pursuite of eyes

Enchantments can charme griefe or care? To procreate new loves with thine;
Our sorrowes still pursue us, and when you Satiety makes sence despise
The ruin'd capitoll shall view

What superstition thought divine.
And statues, a disorder'd heape; you can

Quicke fancy, mockes delight? Not cure yet the disease of mar,

As we conceive, things are not such, And banish your owne thoughts. Goe travaile

The glow-worme is as warme as bright, Another Sun and starres appeare,


Till the deceitfull dame we touch. And land not toucht by any covetous fleet,

And yet even there your selfe youle meete. When I have sold my heart to lust
Stay here then, and while curious exiles find And bought repentance with a kisse
New toyes for a fantastique mind;

I find the malice of my dust,
Enjoy at home what's reall: here the Spring That told me Hell contain'd a blisse.
By her aeriall quires doth sing

The rose yeelds her sweete blandishment
As sweetly to you as if you were laid

Lost in the fold of lovers' wreathes, Vnder the learn'd Thessalian shade.

The violet enchants the sent
Direct your eye-sight inward, and you'le find

When carely in the spring she breaths.
A thousand regions in your mind
Yet undiscover'd. Travell them, and be

But winter comes and makes each flowre
Expert in home cosmograv hie.

Shrinke from the pillow where it growes,
This you may doe safe both from rocke and shelfe: Or an intruding cold hath powre
Man's a whole world within himselfe.

To scorne the perfume of the rose.
Our sences like false glasses show

Smooth beauty where bruwes wrinkled are,

And makes the cosen'd fancy glow.

Chaste vertue's onely true and faire.
Give me a heart where no impure

Disorder'd passions rage,
Which jealousie doth not obscure,
Nor vanity t'expence ingage,

Nor wooed to madnesse by qneint oathes,
Or the five rhetoricke of cloathes,

Which not the softnesse of the age

SIR, To vice or folly doth decline;

Tuate the countrie's dort and manners, yet Give me that heart (Castara) for 'tis thine,

I love the silence; I etsbrace the wit

And courtsbip, flowing here in a full tide. Take thou a heart where no new looke

But loathe the expence, the vanity and pride. Provokes new appetite: With no fresh charine of beauty tooke,

No place each way is happy. Here I hold

Commerce with some, who to my eare unfold Or wanton stratagem of wit ;

(After a due oath niinistred) the height Not idly wandring here and there, Led by an am'rous eye or eare,

And greatnesse of each star shines in the state,

The brightnesse, the eclypse, the influence. Aiming each beautious marke to bit;

With others I commune, who tell me whence Which vertue doth to one confine:

The torrent doth of forraigue discord flow : Take thou that heart, Castara, for 'tis mine.

Relate each skirmislı, battle, overthrow, And now my heart is lodg'd with thee,

Soone as they happen; and by rote can tell Observe but how it still

Those Germane townes, even puzzle me to spell. Doth listen how thine doth with me;

The crosse or prosperous fate of princes, they And guard it well, for else it will

Ascribe to rashnesse, cunning or delay : Runne hither backe; not to be where

And on each action comment, with more skill I am, but 'cause thy heart is here.

Than upon Livy, did old Matchavill,
But without discipline, or skill.

O busie folly: Why doe I my braine
Our hearts shall freely 'tweene us move; [love. Perplex with the doll pollicies of Spaine,
Should thou or I want hearts, wee'd breath by

Or quicke designes of France? Why not repaire
To the pure innocence o'th' country ayre: (give
And neighbour thee, deare friend? Who so dost

Thy thoughts to worth and vertue, that to live

Blest, is to trace thy wayes. There might not we
Arme against passion with pbilosophic;
And by the aide of leisure, so controule,

What-ere is earth in us, to grow all soule?
Why doth the eare so tempt the voyce,

Knowledge doth ignorance ingender when That cunningly divides the ayre?

We study misteries of other men Why doth the pallate buy the choyce

And forraigne plots. Doe but in thy owne shade Delights o'th' sea, to enrich her fare?

(Thy head upon some flowry pillow laide, As soone as I my eare obey,

Kind Nature's huswifery) contemplate all The eccho's lost even with the breath.

His stratagems who labours to inthral And when the sewer takes away

The world to his great master, and youle finde Ime left with no more taste, than death.

Ambition mocks it selfe, and grasps the wind.


That musicke to the angels, this to fame,
I here commit. That when their holy fame,
True lorers to pure beauties would rehearse,
They may invoke the genius of my verse.


Not conquest makes us great. Blood is to deare
A price for glory: Honour doth appeare
To statesmen like a vision in the night,
And jugler-like workes o'th' deluded sight.
Th’unbusied onely wise : for no respect
Indangers them to errour; they affect
Trath in her naked beauty, and behold
Man with an equall eve, nor bright in gold
Or tall in title; so much him they weigh
As vertne rajseth him above his clay.
Thus let us value things: and since we find
Time bends us toward death, let's in our mind
Create new youth: and arme against the rude
Assaults of age; that no dull solitude
O'th' country dead our thoughts, nor busie care
O'th' towne make us not thinke, where now we are
And whether we are bound. Time nere forgot
His journey, though his step we numbred not.




I WONDER when w'are dead, what men will say;

Will not poore orphan lovers weepe,

The parents of their loves decay ; And envy death the treasure of our sleepe? Will not each trembling virgin bring her feares

To th' holy silence of my rrne?

And chide the marble with her teares, 'Cause she so soone faith's obsequie must mourne. For had Fate spard but Araphill (she'le say)

He had the great example stood,

And fore't unconstaut man obey
The law of lore's religion, not of blood.
And youth hy female perjury betraid,

Will 10 Castara's shrine deplore
His injuries, and death obrayd,
That woman lives more guilty, than before.
For while thy breathing purified the ayre

Thy sex (heele say) did onely move

By the chaste influence of a faire,
Whose vertue shin'd in the bright orbe of love.
Now woman like a meteor vapour'd forth

From donghills, doth amaze our eyes;

Not shining with a reall worth,
But subtile her blacke errours to disguise.
This will they talke, Castara, while our dust

In one darke vault shall mingled be.

The world will fall a prey to lust, When love is dead, which hath one fate with me.

Is a man. For the free and open discovery of

thoughts to woman can not passe without an over licentious familiarity, or a justly occasion'd sispition; and friendship can veither stand with vice or infamie. He is vertuous, for love begot in sin is a mishapen monster, and seldome out-lives his birth. lle is noble, and inherits the vertues of all his progenitors; though happily unskilfuli to blazon his paternall coate; so little should nobility serve for story, but when it encourageth to action. He is so valiant, feare could never be listned to, when she whis. pered danger; and get fights not, unlesse religion confirmes the quarrel lawfull. He submits his actions to the government of vertue, not to the wilde decrees of popular opinion; and when his conscience is fully satisfied, he cares not how mistake and ignorance interpret bim. He hath so much foriitude he can forgive an injurie; and when hee hath overthrowne his opposer, not insult upon his weakenesse. Hee is an absolute governor; no destroyer of his passions, which he employes to the noble in. crease of vertue. He is wise, for who hopes to reape a harvest from the sands, may expect the perfect offices of friendship from a foole. He hath by a liberall education beene softened to civility; for that rugged honesty some rude men professe, is an indigested chaos; which may containe the seedcs of goodnesse, but it wants

forme and order. He is no flatterer; but when he findes his friend

any way imperfect, he freely but gently in: formes him, nor yet shall some few errours cancell the bond of friendship; because he remembers no endeavours can raise man above bis frailety. He is as s'ow to enter into tbat title, as he is to forsake it; a monstrous vice must disobliege, because an extraordinary ver. tue did first unite; and.when he parts, he doth it without a duell. He is neither effeminate, nor a cominon courtier; the first is so pas. sionate a doater upon himselfe, hee cannot spare love enough to bee justly named friendship: the latter hath his love so diffusive among the beauties, that man is not considerable. He is not accustomed to any sordid way of gaine, for who is any way mechanicke, will sell his friend upon more profitable termes. He is bountifull, and thinkes no treasure of fortune equall to the preservation of him he loves; yet not so lavish, as to buy friendship and perhaps after. ward finde himselfs overseene in the purchase. He is not exceptious, fo: jealousie proceedes from weakenesse, and his vertues quit him from suspitions. He freely gives advice, but so little peremptory is his opinion that he ingenuously submits it to an abler judgement. He is open in expression of his thoughts and easeth his melancholy by inlarging it; and no sanctuary preserves so safely, as he his friend afflicted.

TO HIS MUSE. Here virgin fix thy pillars, and command They sacred may to after ages stand In witnesse of love's triumph. Yet will we, Castara, find new worlds in poetry, And conquer them. Not dully following those Tame lovers, who dare cloth their thoughts in prose. But we will henceforth more religious prove, Concealing the high mysteries of love From the prophane. Harmonious like the spheares, Our soules shall move, not reacht by humanc eares.


He makes use of po engines of his friendship to | These vowes to thee! for since great Talbot's gone
extort a secret; but if committed to his charge, Downe to thy silence, I commerce with none
his heart receives it, and that and it come both But thy pale people; and in that confute
to light together. lo life he is the most amia- Mistaking man, that dead men are not mute.
ble object to the soule, in death the most Delicious beauty, lend thy flatter'd eare

Accustom'd to warme whispers, and thou'lt heare
How their cold language tels thee, that thy skin

Is but a beautious shrine, in which black sin

Is idoliz'd; thy eyes but spheares where lust

Hath its loose motion; and thy end is dust.

Great Atlas of the state, descend with me.

But hither, and this vault shall furnish thee
With more avisos, than thy costly spyes,
And show how false are all those in ysteries

Thy sect receives, and though thy pallace swell "Twere malice to thy fame, to weepe alone :

With envied pride, 'tis here that ihou must dwell. And not enforce an universall groane

It will instruct you, courtier, that your art From ruinous man, and make the world complaine: But cheates your selfe, and all those subtill wayes

Of outward smoothnesse and a ragged heart Yet I'le forbid my griefe to be prophane

You tread to greatnesse, is a fatall maze (breath In mention of thy prayse; l'le speake but truth Yet write more honour than ere shiu'd in youth.

Where you your selfe shall loose, for though you I can relate thy businesse here on Earth,

Vpward to pride, your center is beneath.

And 'twill thy rhetorick false flesh confound; Thy mystery of life, thy noblest birth

Which flatters my fraile thoughts, no time can Out-shin'd by nobler vertue: but how farre

This unarm'd frame, here is true eloquence (sound Th' bast tane thy journey 'bove the highest star,

Will teach my soule to triumph over sence,
I cannot speake, nor whether thou art in

Which hath its period in a grave, and there
Commission with a throne, or cherubin.
Passe on triumphant in thy glorious way,

Showes what are all our pompous surfets here. Till thou hast reacht the place assign'd: we may

Great orator! deare Talbot! Still, to thee

May I an auditor attentive be:
Without disturbing the harmonious spheares,
Bathe bere below thy memory in our teares.

And piously maintaine the same commerce

We held in life! and if in my rude verse
Ten dayes are past, since a dull wonder seis'd

I to the world may thy sad precepts read;
My active soule: loud stormes of sighes are rais'd
By empty griefes; they who can utter it,

I will on Earth interpret for the dead.
Due not vent forth their sorrow, but their wit,
I stood like Niobe without a groane,
Congeal'd into that monumentall stone

Let me contemplate thee (faire soule) and though That doth lye over thee: I had no roome

I cannot tracke the way, which thou didst goe For witty griefe, fit onely for thy tombe.

In thy celestiall journey, and my heart And friendship's monument, thus had I stood;

Expanssion wants, to thivke what now thou art, But that the flame, I beare thee, warm'd my

How bright and wide thy glories ; yet I may With a new life. I'le like a funerall Gire


Remember thee, as thou wert in thy clay.
But burne a while to thee, and then expire.

Best object to my heart! what vertues be
Inherent even to the least thought of thee! (feare
Death which to th' vig'rous heate of youth brings

In its leane looke; doth like a prince appeare,
TALBOT is dead. Like lightning which no part Now glorious to my eye, since it possest
O'th' body touches, but first strikes the heart, The wealthy empyre of that happie chest
This word batlı murder'd me. 'Ther's not in al Which harbours thy rich dust; for how can he
'The stocke of sorrow, any charme can call

Be thought a bank'rout that embraces thee?
Death sooner up. For musique's in the breath Sad midnight whispers with a greedy eare
Of thunder, and a sweetnesse even i'th' death I catch from lonely graves, in hope to heare
That brings with it, if you with this compare Newes from the dead, nor can pale visions fright
All the loude noyses, which torment the ayre. His eye, who since thy death feeles no delight
They cure (physitians say) the element

In man's acquaintance, Mem'ry of thy fate
Sicke with Jull vapours,' and w banishment Doth in me a sublimer soule create.
Confine infections; but this fatali shreeke,

And now my sorrow followes thee, I tread
Without the least redress, is utter'd like

"The milkie way, and see the snowie head The last daye's summons, when Farth’s trophies lye Of Atlas, farre below, while all the high A scatter'd heape, and time it selfe must dye. Swolpe buildings seeme but atoms to my eyes What now hath life to boast of? Can I have' I'me heighten'd by my ruine; and while I A thought lesse darke than th' horrour of the grave Weepe ore the vault where thy sad ashes lye, Now thou dost dwell below? Wert not a fault My soule with thine doth hold commerce abore; Past pardon, to raise fancie 'bove thy vault? Where we discerne the stratagems, which love, Hayle sacred house in which bis reliques sleep! iate, and ambition, use, to cozen man; Blest marble give me leave t'approach and weepe, So iraile that every blast of honour can

Swell Sim above himselfe, each adverse gust, Probably one of the three younger sons of John Him and his glories shiver into dust. Talbot of LongfordSee Collins' Peerage, vol. 3. How small seemes greatnesse here! How not a span

His empire, who commands the Ocean.



P. 27. C.

Both that, which boasts so much it's mighty ore,

Nor ever showes her beauty, but to some And th' other, which with pearle, hath pav'd its Carthusian, who even by his vow, is dumbe ! shore.

So 'mid the yce of the farre northren sea, Nor can it greater seeme, when this great All

A starre about the articke circle, may For which men quarrell so, is but a ball

Than ours yeeld clearer light; yet that but shall Cast downe into the ayre to sport the starres.

Serve at the frozen pilot's funerall.
And all our generall ruines, mortall warres, Thou (brightest constellation) to this maine
Depopulated states, caus'd by their sway;

Which all we sinners traffique on, didst daigne And man's so reverend wiaedome but their play. The bounty of thy fire, which with so cleare From thee, deare Talbot, living I did learne And constant beames did our frayle vessels steere, The arts of life, and by thy light discerne

That safely we, what storm so e're bore sway, The truth which men dispute. But by thee dead Past o're the rugged Alpes of th' angry sea. I'me taught, upon the world's gay pride to tread: But now we sayle at randomd. Every rocke And that way sooner master it, than he

The folly doth of our ambition mocke To whom both th' Indies tributary be.

And splits our hopes : to every syren's breath

We listen and even court the face of death,

If printed o're by pleasure : every wave

Ir't hath delight wembrace though't prove a grave My name, deare friend, even thy expiring breath

So ruinous is the defect of thee, Did call upon : affirming that thy death

To th' undone world in gen'rall. But to me Would wound my poor sad heart. Sad it must be

Who liv'd one life with thine, drew but one breath, Indeed, lost to all thoughts of mirth in thec.

Possest with th'same mind and thoughts, 'twas My lord, if I with licence of your teares, [weares And now hy fate, I but my selfe survive, (death. (Which your great brother's hearse as dianionds

To keepe his mem'ry, and my griefes alive. l' enrich death's glory) may but speake my owne: Where shall I then begin to weepe? No grove I'le prove it, that no sorrow e're was knowne

Silent and darke, but is prophan'd by love: Reall as mine. All other mourners kcepe

With his warme whispers, and faint idle feares, In griefe a inethod : without forme 1 weepe.

His busie hopes, loud sighes, and caselesse teares The sonne (rich in his father's fate) hath eyes

Each care is so enchanted ; that no breath Wet just as long as are the obsequies.

Is list'ned to, wbich mockes report of death. The widow formerly a yeare doth spend

I'le turne my griefe then inward and deplore In her so courtly blackes. But for a friend

My ruine to my selfe, repeating ore
We werpe an age, and more than th’anchorit, have the story of his virtues ; until I
Our very thoughts confin'd within a grave.

Not write, but am my selfe his elegie.
Chast love who hadst thy tryumph in my flame
And thou Castara who had hadst a name,
Dut for this sorrow glorious: Now my verse
Is lost to you, and onely on Talbot's herse Goe stop the swift-wing'd moments in their fight
Sadly attends. And till Time's fatal hand To their yet unknowne coast, goe hinder night
Ruines, what's left of churches, there shall stand. From its approach on day, aud force day rise
There to thy selfe, deare Talbot, I'le repeate

From the faire east of some bright beutie's eyes : 'Thy owne brave story; tell thy selfe how great Else vaunt not the proud miracle of verse. Thou wert iu thy minde's empire, and how all It hath no power. For mine from his blacke herse Who out-live thee, see but the funerall

Redeemes not Talbot, who cold as the breath Of glory: and if yet some vertuous be,

Of winter, coffin'd lyes; silent as death, They but weake apparitions are of thee.

Stealing on th’anch'rit, who even wants an eare So settled were thy thoughts, each action so

To breathe into his soft expiring prayer. Discretely ordered, that nor ebbe por flow

For bad thy life beene by thy vertues spun Was e're perceiv'd in thee, each word mature Out to a length, thou hadst out-liv'd the Sunne And every sceane of life from sinne so pure

and clos'd the world's great eye: or were not all That scarce in its whole history, we can

Our wonders fiction, from thy funerall Finde vice enough, to say thou wert but man,

Thou hadst received new life, and liv'd to be Horrour to say thou wert! Curst that we must The conqueror o're death, inspir’d by me. Addresse our language to a little dust,

But all we poets glory in, is vaine
And seeke for Talbot there Injurious fate, And empty triumph: Art cannot regaine
To lay my life's ambition desolate,

One poore houre lost, nor reskew a small flye
Yet thus much comfort hava I, that I know By a foole's finger destinate to dye.
Not how it can give such another blow.

Live then in thy true life (great soule) for set
At liberty by leath thou ovest no debt
T''exacting Nature: live, freed from the sport

Of time and fortune in yand' starry court
Chast as the nun's first row, as fairely bright A glorious potentate, while we below
As when by death her soul shines in full light But fashion wayes to mitigate our woe.
Freed from th’eclipse of Earth, each word that came We follow campes, and to our hopes proposa
From thee (deare Talbot) did beget a flame Th'insulting victor; not remembr'ing those
Tenkindle vertue : which so faire by thee Dismembred trunkes who gave him victory
Became, man that blind mole her face did see. By a loath'd fate : we covetous merchants be
But now to our eye she's lost, and if she dwell Ind to our ayınıs pretend treasure and sway,
Yet on the Earth; she's con Gind in the cell Forgetfull of the treasons of the sea,
Of some cold hermit, whoso keeps her there, Che shootings of a wounded conscience
As if of her the old man jealous were.

We patiently sustaine to serve our sence



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