MADAME,
Here where by All All Saints invoked are,
'Twere too much schisme to be singular,
And 'gainst a practise generall to warre.
Here where by All All Saints invoked are,
'Twere too much schisme to be singular,
And 'gainst a practise generall to warre.
Donne - 1
W.
_A18_, _A23_, _N_, _O'F_, _TCC_, _TCD_, _W:_ To
M. R. W. _1633-69:_ _no breaks_, _W:__ two stanzas of fourteen
lines and a quatrain_, _1633:_ _twenty-eight lines continuous
and a quatrain_, _1633-69_]
[3 brother _1633-69_, _A18_, _N_, _O'F_, _TC:_ brethren _W_]
[6 hand,] hands _O'F_, _TC_]
[21 in: _1650-69_, _W:_ in, _1633-39_]
[22 Oh, _A23_, _N_, _O'F_, _TC:_ Ah, _W:_ Our _1633-69_
sinne. _W:_ sinne; _1633-69_]
[23 businesse _1633_, _A18_, _N_, _TC:_ busnesses _W:_
businesses _1635-69_
done] donne _W_]
[27 all th'All _W:_ All th'All _1633-69_]
[31 men, this, _Ed:_ men, this _1633-69_]
[32 soules soule, is. _Chambers:_ soules soule is. _1633-69_]
To M^r _R. W. _
Kindly I envy thy songs perfection
Built of all th'elements as our bodyes are:
That Litle of earth that is in it, is a faire
Delicious garden where all sweetes are sowne.
In it is cherishing fyer which dryes in mee 5
Griefe which did drowne me: and halfe quench'd by it
Are satirique fyres which urg'd me to have writt
In skorne of all: for now I admyre thee.
And as Ayre doth fullfill the hollownes
Of rotten walls; so it myne emptines, 10
Where tost and mov'd it did beget this sound
Which as a lame Eccho of thyne doth rebound.
Oh, I was dead; but since thy song new Life did give,
I recreated, even by thy creature, live.
[To M^r R. W. _W:_ _published here for the first time_]
[6 which] w^{ch} _W_, _and so always_]
[10 emptines,] emptines. _W_]
[13-14 Oh, . . . give, . . . recreated, . . . creature,] _no
commas_, _W_]
To M^r _S. B. _
O Thou which to search out the secret parts
Of the India, or rather Paradise
Of knowledge, hast with courage and advise
Lately launch'd into the vast Sea of Arts,
Disdaine not in thy constant travailing 5
To doe as other Voyagers, and make
Some turnes into lesse Creekes, and wisely take
Fresh water at the Heliconian spring;
I sing not, Siren like, to tempt; for I
Am harsh; nor as those Scismatiques with you, 10
Which draw all wits of good hope to their crew;
But seeing in you bright sparkes of Poetry,
I, though I brought no fuell, had desire
With these Articulate blasts to blow the fire.
[To M^r S. B. _O'F:_ To M. S. B. _1633-69_, _A18_, _N_, _TCC_,
_TCD_, _W_]
[10 harsh; _1650-69:_ harsh, _1633-39_]
[12 seeing] seing _1633:_ seene _TCD_, _W:_ seeme _TCC_]
[13 I, though] I thought _1650-54_
had] but _1650-54_]
To M^r _I. L. _
Of that short Roll of friends writ in my heart
Which with thy name begins, since their depart,
Whether in the English Provinces they be,
Or drinke of Po, Sequan, or Danubie,
There's none that sometimes greets us not, and yet 5
Your Trent is Lethe; that past, us you forget.
You doe not duties of Societies,
If from the'embrace of a lov'd wife you rise,
View your fat Beasts, stretch'd Barnes, and labour'd fields,
Eate, play, ryde, take all joyes which all day yeelds, 10
And then againe to your embracements goe:
Some houres on us your frends, and some bestow
Upon your Muse, else both wee shall repent,
I that my love, she that her guifts on you are spent.
[To M^r I. L. _W:_ To M. I. L. _1633-69:_ To M. I. L. _A18_,
_N_, _TCC_, _TCD:_ To M^r T. L. _O'F_]
[5 sometimes] sometime _1635-39_, _Chambers_]
[6 Lethe; _W:_ Lethe', _1633-69_
forget. _1639-69_, _W:_ forget, _1633-35_]
[13 your] thy _W_]
[14 you] thee _W_
spent. ] spent _1633_]
To M^r _B. B. _
Is not thy sacred hunger of science
Yet satisfy'd? Is not thy braines rich hive
Fulfil'd with hony which thou dost derive
From the Arts spirits and their Quintessence?
Then weane thy selfe at last, and thee withdraw 5
From Cambridge thy old nurse, and, as the rest,
Here toughly chew, and sturdily digest
Th'immense vast volumes of our common law;
And begin soone, lest my griefe grieve thee too,
Which is, that that which I should have begun 10
In my youthes morning, now late must be done;
And I as Giddy Travellers must doe,
Which stray or sleepe all day, and having lost
Light and strength, darke and tir'd must then ride post.
If thou unto thy Muse be marryed, 15
Embrace her ever, ever multiply,
Be far from me that strange Adulterie
To tempt thee and procure her widowhed.
My Muse, (for I had one,) because I'am cold,
Divorc'd her selfe: the cause being in me, 20
That I can take no new in Bigamye,
Not my will only but power doth withhold.
Hence comes it, that these Rymes which never had
Mother, want matter, and they only have
A little forme, the which their Father gave; 25
They are prophane, imperfect, oh, too bad
To be counted Children of Poetry
Except confirm'd and Bishoped by thee.
[To M^r B. B. _O'F_, _W:_ To M. B. B. _1633-69_, _A18_, _N_,
_TCC_, _TCD_]
[12 I . . . Travellers _1650-69:_ I, . . . Travellers, _1633-39_]
[13 stray] stay _W:_ _compare_ Sat. III. 78]
[16 ever, ever multiply, _1633-69_, _A18_, _N_, _O'F_, _TC:_
still: encrease and multiply; _W_]
[18 widowhed. _W:_ widdowhood, _1633-39:_ widdowhood;
_1650-69_]
[19 Muse, _A18_, _N_, _O'F_, _TC_, _W:_ nurse, _1633-69_]
[20 selfe: _W:_ selfe, _1633-69_
in me, _1633-69:_ in me; _Grolier:_ in me. _Chambers_. _See
note_]
To M^r _I. L. _
Blest are your North parts, for all this long time
My Sun is with you, cold and darke'is our Clime:
Heavens Sun, which staid so long from us this yeare,
Staid in your North (I thinke) for she was there,
And hether by kinde nature drawne from thence, 5
Here rages, chafes, and threatens pestilence;
Yet I, as long as shee from hence doth staie,
Thinke this no South, no Sommer, nor no day.
With thee my kinde and unkinde heart is run,
There sacrifice it to that beauteous Sun: 10
And since thou art in Paradise and need'st crave
No joyes addition, helpe thy friend to save.
So may thy pastures with their flowery feasts,
As suddenly as Lard, fat thy leane beasts;
So may thy woods oft poll'd, yet ever weare 15
A greene, and when thee list, a golden haire;
So may all thy sheepe bring forth Twins; and so
In chace and race may thy horse all out goe;
So may thy love and courage ne'r be cold;
Thy Sonne ne'r Ward; Thy lov'd wife ne'r seem old;
But maist thou wish great things, and them attaine, 21
As thou telst her, and none but her, my paine.
[To M^r I. L. _Ed:_ To M. I. L. _A18_, _N_, _TCC_, _TCD_, _W:_
To M^r T. L. _O'F:_ To M. I. P. _1633-69_]
[6 rages, chafes, _Ed:_ rages chafes _1633-39:_ rages, chafes
_1650-69:_ rages, burnes, _W_]
[11-12 _these lines from W: they have not previously been
printed_]
[16 when thee list, _Ed:_ when thee list _1633_, _A18_, _N_,
_TC:_ (when she list) _1635-69_, _O'F:_ when thou wilt _W_]
[20 lov'd wife] fair wife _W_]
[22 her, . . . her, _Ed:_ her . . . her _1633:_ her, . . . her
_1635-69_]
To Sir _H. W. _ at his going Ambassador to _Venice_.
After those reverend papers, whose soule is
Our good and great Kings lov'd hand and fear'd name,
By which to you he derives much of his,
And (how he may) makes you almost the same,
A Taper of his Torch, a copie writ 5
From his Originall, and a faire beame
Of the same warme, and dazeling Sun, though it
Must in another Sphere his vertue streame:
After those learned papers which your hand
Hath stor'd with notes of use and pleasure too, 10
From which rich treasury you may command
Fit matter whether you will write or doe:
After those loving papers, where friends tend
With glad griefe, to your Sea-ward steps, farewel,
Which thicken on you now, as prayers ascend 15
To heaven in troupes at'a good mans passing bell:
Admit this honest paper, and allow
It such an audience as your selfe would aske;
What you must say at Venice this meanes now,
And hath for nature, what you have for taske: 20
To sweare much love, not to be chang'd before
Honour alone will to your fortune fit;
Nor shall I then honour your forture, more
Then I have done your honour wanting it.
But'tis an easier load (though both oppresse) 25
To want, then governe greatnesse, for wee are
In that, our owne and onely business,
In this, wee must for others vices care;
'Tis therefore well your spirits now are plac'd
In their last Furnace, in activity; 30
Which fits them (Schooles and Courts and Warres o'rpast)
To touch and test in any best degree.
For mee, (if there be such a thing as I)
Fortune (if there be such a thing as thee)
Spies that I beare so well her tyranny, 35
That she thinks nothing else so fit for mee;
But though she part us, to heare my oft prayers
For your increase, God is as neere mee here;
And to send you what I shall begge, his staires
In length and ease are alike every where. 40
[To Sir H. W. at his _&c. _ _1633-54:_ To Sir Henry Wotton, at
his _&c. _ _1669_, _A18_, _N_, _O'F_, _TCC_, _TCD:_ _printed in
Walton's_ Life of Sir Henry Wotton, 1670, _as a_ 'letter,
sent by him to Sir _Henry Wotton_, the morning before he left
_England_', _i. e. July 13 (O. S. ), 1604_]
[10 pleasure _1635-69_, _A18_, _N_, _O'F_, _TC_, _Walton:_
pleasures _1633_]
[13 where _1633_, _A18_, _N_, _TC:_ which _1635-69_, _O'F_,
_Walton_]
[16 in troupes] on troops _Walton_]
[19 must . . . meanes] would . . . sayes _Walton_]
[20 hath] has _Walton_
taske: _Ed:_ taske. _1633-69_]
[21 not] nor _Walton_]
[24 honour wanting it _1633:_ noble-wanting-wit. _1635-69_,
_O'F:_ honour-wanting-wit. _Walton:_ noble wanting it. _A18_,
_N_, _TCC_, _TCD_]
[31 Warres _Ed:_ warres _1633-69:_ tents _Burley MS. _]
[32 test] tast _1669 and Walton_]
[35 Spies] Finds _Walton_]
To M^rs _M. H. _
Mad paper stay, and grudge not here to burne
With all those sonnes whom my braine did create,
At lest lye hid with mee, till thou returne
To rags againe, which is thy native state.
What though thou have enough unworthinesse 5
To come unto great place as others doe,
That's much; emboldens, pulls, thrusts I confesse,
But'tis not all; Thou should'st be wicked too.
And, that thou canst not learne, or not of mee;
Yet thou wilt goe? Goe, since thou goest to her 10
Who lacks but faults to be a Prince, for shee,
Truth, whom they dare not pardon, dares preferre.
But when thou com'st to that perplexing eye
Which equally claimes _love_ and _reverence_,
Thou wilt not long dispute it, thou wilt die; 15
And, having little now, have then no sense.
Yet when her warme redeeming hand, which is
A miracle; and made such to worke more,
Doth touch thee (saples leafe) thou grow'st by this
Her creature; glorify'd more then before. 20
Then as a mother which delights to heare
Her early child mis-speake halfe uttered words,
Or, because majesty doth never feare
Ill or bold speech, she Audience affords.
And then, cold speechlesse wretch, thou diest againe, 25
And wisely; what discourse is left for thee?
For, speech of ill, and her, thou must abstaine,
And is there any good which is not shee?
Yet maist thou praise her servants, though not her,
And wit, and vertue,'and honour her attend, 30
And since they'are but her cloathes, thou shalt not erre,
If thou her shape and beauty'and grace commend.
Who knowes thy destiny? when thou hast done,
Perchance her Cabinet may harbour thee,
Whither all noble ambitious wits doe runne, 35
A nest almost as full of Good as shee.
When thou art there, if any, whom wee know,
Were sav'd before, and did that heaven partake,
When she revolves his papers, marke what show
Of favour, she alone, to them doth make. 40
Marke, if to get them, she o'r skip the rest,
Marke, if shee read them twice, or kisse the name;
Marke, if she doe the same that they protest,
Marke, if she marke whether her woman came.
Marke, if slight things be'objected, and o'r blowne, 45
Marke, if her oathes against him be not still
Reserv'd, and that shee grieves she's not her owne,
And chides the doctrine that denies Freewill.
I bid thee not doe this to be my spie;
Nor to make my selfe her familiar; 50
But so much I doe love her choyce, that I
Would faine love him that shall be lov'd of her.
[To M^rs M. H. _O'F:_ To M. M. H. _1633-69_, _A18_, _N_,
_TCC_, _TCD:_ _no title_, _A25_, _B_, _C_, _P:_ Elegie. _S96_]
[2 sonnes] Sunnes _B_, _S96_
my _1633:_ thy _1635-69:_ _Chambers attributes_ thy _to 1633_]
[3 returne] returne. _1633_]
[7 That's much; emboldens, _A18_, _N_, _TC:_ That's much,
emboldens, _1633-54:_ That's much emboldness, _1669:_ That's
much, it emboldens, _B_, _P_]
[8 all; Thou _A18_, _N_, _TC:_ all, thou _1633-69_]
[10 goe? Goe, _Ed:_ goe, Goe, _1633-69_]
[14 _reverence_, _Ed:_ _reverence_. _1633:_ _reverence:_
_1635-69_]
[22 mis-speake] mispeake _1633_]
[27 For, _1633:_ From _1635-69_, _and MSS_.
her, _Ed:_ her _1633-69_]
[31 erre, _1669:_ erre _1633-54_]
[40 she alone, _1633:_ she, alone, _1635-69_]
[41 get them, she o'r skip] get them, she do skip _A18_
(doth), _N_, _TC:_ get them, she skip oare _A25_, _C_, _O'F_
(skips): get to them, shee skipp _B_, _P_]
[44 whether _1633:_ whither _1635-69_]
[47 grieves _1633:_ grieve _1635-69_]
_To the Countesse of Bedford. _
Honour is so sublime perfection,
And so refinde; that when God was alone
And creaturelesse at first, himselfe had none;
But as of the elements, these which wee tread,
Produce all things with which wee'are joy'd or fed, 5
And, those are barren both above our head:
So from low persons doth all honour flow;
Kings, whom they would have honoured, to us show,
And but _direct_ our honour, not _bestow_.
For when from herbs the pure part must be wonne 10
From grosse, by Stilling, this is better done
By despis'd dung, then by the fire or Sunne.
Care not then, Madame,'how low your praysers lye;
In labourers balads oft more piety
God findes, then in _Te Deums_ melodie. 15
And, ordinance rais'd on Towers, so many mile
Send not their voice, nor last so long a while
As fires from th'earths low vaults in _Sicil_ Isle.
Should I say I liv'd darker then were true,
Your radiation can all clouds subdue; 20
But one,'tis best light to contemplate you.
You, for whose body God made better clay,
Or tooke Soules stuffe such as shall late decay,
Or such as needs small change at the last day.
This, as an Amber drop enwraps a Bee, 25
Covering discovers your quicke Soule; that we
May in your through-shine front your hearts thoughts see.
You teach (though wee learne not) a thing unknowne
To our late times, the use of specular stone,
Through which all things within without were shown. 30
Of such were Temples; so and of such you are;
_Beeing_ and _seeming_ is your equall care,
And _vertues_ whole _summe_ is but _know_ and _dare_.
But as our Soules of growth and Soules of sense
Have birthright of our reasons Soule, yet hence 35
They fly not from that, nor seeke presidence:
Natures first lesson, so, discretion,
Must not grudge zeale a place, nor yet keepe none,
Not banish it selfe, nor religion.
Discretion is a wisemans Soule, and so 40
Religion is a Christians, and you know
How these are one; her _yea_, is not her _no_.
Nor may we hope to sodder still and knit
These two, and dare to breake them; nor must wit
Be colleague to religion, but be it. 45
In those poor types of God (round circles) so
Religions tipes the peeclesse centers flow,
And are in all the lines which all wayes goe.
If either ever wrought in you alone
Or principally, then religion 50
Wrought your ends, and your wayes discretion.
Goe thither stil, goe the same way you went,
Who so would change, do covet or repent;
Neither can reach you, great and innocent.
[To the Countesse of Bedford. _1633-69_, _B_, _O'F_, _S96:_ To
the Countess of B. _N_, _TCD_]
[10 part] parts _N_, _O'F_, _TCD_]
[12 or Sunne. _1633_, _B_, _N_, _O'F_, _S96_, _TCD:_ or Sun:
_1669:_ of Sunne: _1635-54_, _Chambers_]
[13 praysers _N_, _O'F_, _TCD:_ prayers _S96:_ prayses
_1633-69_]
[16 Towers,] Towers _1633_]
[20-1 subdue; But one, _Ed:_ subdue; But One _Chambers:_
subdue, But one, _1633-69:_ subdue But one; _Grolier and
Grosart_. _See note_]
[26 Covering discovers] Coverings discover _1669_]
[27 your hearts thoughts _B_, _N_, _O'F_, _S96_, _TCD:_ our
hearts thoughts _1633-69_. _See note_]
[31 so and of such _N_, _TCD:_ so and such _1633-69_, _B_,
_O'F_, _S96_]
[33 is but to know and dare. _N_]
[36-7
They fly not from that, nor seeke presidence:
Natures first lesson, so, discretion, _&c. _
_1633-69_ (presidence. _1633_; precedence: _1669_)
They fly not from that, nor seek precedence,
Natures first lesson; so discretion _&c. _
_Chambers and Grolier_ (discretion, _Grolier_). _See note_]
[40-2] _These lines precede_ 34-9 _in_ _1635-69_, _B_, _N_,
_S96_, _TCD:_ _om. O'F_]
[42 one; _Ed:_ one, _1633-69_ _yea, . . . no_] _ital. Ed. _]
[48 all wayes _1719:_ alwayes _1633-69_]
[50-1
'twas Religion,
Yet you neglected not Discretion.
_S96_]
[53 do covet] doth covet _1669_, _O'F_, _S96_]
_To the Countesse of_ Bedford.
_Begun in France but never perfected. _
Though I be _dead_, and buried, yet I have
(Living in you,) Court enough in my grave,
As oft as there I thinke my selfe to bee,
So many resurrections waken mee.
That thankfullnesse your favours have begot 5
In mee, embalmes mee, that I doe not rot.
This season as 'tis Easter, as 'tis spring,
Must both to growth and to confession bring
My thoughts dispos'd unto your influence; so,
These verses bud, so these confessions grow. 10
First I confesse I have to others lent
Your flock, and over prodigally spent
Your treasure, for since I had never knowne
Vertue or beautie, but as they are growne
In you, I should not thinke or say they shine, 15
(So as I have) in any other Mine.
Next I confesse this my confession,
For, 'tis some fault thus much to touch upon
Your praise to you, where half rights seeme too much,
And make your minds sincere complexion blush. 20
Next I confesse my'impenitence, for I
Can scarce repent my first fault, since thereby
Remote low Spirits, which shall ne'r read you,
May in lesse lessons finde enough to doe,
By studying copies, not Originals, 25
_Desunt cætera. _
[To the Countesse _&c. _ _1633-69_ (_following in 1635-69_ That
unripe side _&c. _, _p. _ 417, _and_ If her disdaine _&c. _, _p. _
430), _O'F_]
[5 begot] forgot _1633 some copies_]
[6 embalmes mee, _Ed_: embalmes mee; _1633-69_
rot. _Ed_: rot; _1633-69_]
[9 influence; _Ed_: influence, _1633-69_]
[10 grow. _Ed_: grow; _1633-69_]
[14 or _1633-39_: and _1650-69_]
[16 Mine. _Ed:_ Mine; _1633-69_]
[18 upon _Ed:_ upon, _1633-69_]
_A Letter to the Lady_ Carey, _and M^rs_ Essex Riche, _From_ Amyens.
MADAME,
Here where by All All Saints invoked are,
'Twere too much schisme to be singular,
And 'gainst a practise generall to warre.
Yet turning to Saincts, should my'humility
To other Sainct then you directed bee, 5
That were to make my schisme, heresie.
Nor would I be a Convertite so cold,
As not to tell it; If this be too bold,
Pardons are in this market cheaply sold.
Where, because Faith is in too low degree, 10
I thought it some Apostleship in mee
To speake things which by faith alone I see.
That is, of you, who are a firmament
Of virtues, where no one is growne, or spent,
They'are your materials, not your ornament. 15
Others whom wee call vertuous, are not so
In their whole substance, but, their vertues grow
But in their humours, and at seasons show.
For when through tastlesse flat humilitie
In dow bak'd men some harmelessenes we see, 20
'Tis but his _flegme_ that's _Vertuous_, and not Hee:
Soe is the Blood sometimes; who ever ran
To danger unimportun'd, he was than
No better then a _sanguine_ Vertuous man.
So cloysterall men, who, in pretence of feare 25
All contributions to this life forbeare,
Have Vertue in _Melancholy_, and only there.
Spirituall _Cholerique_ Crytiques, which in all
Religions find faults, and forgive no fall,
Have, through this zeale, Vertue but in their Gall. 30
We'are thus but parcel guilt; to Gold we'are growne
When Vertue is our Soules complexion;
Who knowes his Vertues name or place, hath none.
Vertue'is but aguish, when 'tis severall,
By occasion wak'd, and circumstantiall. 35
True vertue is _Soule_, Alwaies in all deeds _All_.
This Vertue thinking to give dignitie
To your soule, found there no infirmitie,
For, your soule was as good Vertue, as shee;
Shee therefore wrought upon that part of you 40
Which is scarce lesse then soule, as she could do,
And so hath made your beauty, Vertue too.
Hence comes it, that your Beauty wounds not hearts,
As Others, with prophane and sensuall Darts,
But as an influence, vertuous thoughts imparts. 45
But if such friends by the honor of your sight
Grow capable of this so great a light,
As to partake your vertues, and their might,
What must I thinke that influence must doe,
Where it findes sympathie and matter too, 50
Vertue, and beauty of the same stuffe, as you?
Which is, your noble worthie sister, shee
Of whom, if what in this my Extasie
And revelation of you both I see,
I should write here, as in short Galleries 55
The Master at the end large glasses ties,
So to present the roome twice to our eyes,
So I should give this letter length, and say
That which I said of you; there is no way
From either, but by the other, not to stray. 60
May therefore this be enough to testifie
My true devotion, free from flattery;
He that beleeves himselfe, doth never lie.
[A Letter to _&c. _ _1633-69_, _D_, _H49_, _Lec:_ To the Lady
Carey and her Sister M^rs Essex Rich. From Amiens. _O'F:_
To the Lady Co: of C. _N_, _TCD:_ To the Ladie Carey. _or_ A
Letter to the Ladie Carey. _B_, _Cy_, _S96:_ _no title_, _P:_
To M^rs Essex Rich and her sister frô Amiens. _M_]
[13 who are] who is _1633_]
[19 humilitie _1633-54_, _B_, _Cy_, _D_, _H49_, _Lec_, _M_,
_N_, _O'F_, _P_, _S96_, _TCD:_ humidity _1669_, _Chambers_]
[26 contributions] contribution _B_, _D_, _N_, _TCD_]
[30 this zeale, _1635-69_, _B_, _Cy_, _D_, _H49_, _N_, _O'F_,
_P_, _S96_, _TCD:_ their zeale, _1633_, _Lec_]
[31 Gold] Golds _1633 some copies_]
[33 aguish,] anguish, _1650-54_]
[57 our eyes,] your eyes, _Cy_, _D_, _H49_, _Lec_, _P_]
[60 by the] to the _1669_
other, _1669:_ other _1633-54_]
_To the Countesse of Salisbury. _ August. 1614.
Faire, great, and good, since seeing you, wee see
What Heaven can doe, and what any Earth can be:
Since now your beauty shines, now when the Sunne
Growne stale, is to so low a value runne,
That his disshevel'd beames and scattered fires 5
Serve but for Ladies Periwigs and Tyres
In lovers Sonnets: you come to repaire
Gods booke of creatures, teaching what is faire.
Since now, when all is withered, shrunke, and dri'd,
All Vertues ebb'd out to a dead low tyde, 10
All the worlds frame being crumbled into sand,
Where every man thinks by himselfe to stand,
Integritie, friendship, and confidence,
(Ciments of greatnes) being vapor'd hence,
And narrow man being fill'd with little shares, 15
Court, Citie, Church, are all shops of small-wares,
All having blowne to sparkes their noble fire,
And drawne their sound gold-ingot into wyre;
All trying by a love of littlenesse
To make abridgments, and to draw to lesse, 20
Even that nothing, which at first we were;
Since in these times, your greatnesse doth appeare,
And that we learne by it, that man to get
Towards him that's infinite, must first be great.
Since in an age so ill, as none is fit 25
So much as to accuse, much lesse mend it,
(For who can judge, or witnesse of those times
Where all alike are guiltie of the crimes? )
Where he that would be good, is thought by all
A monster, or at best fantasticall; 30
Since now you durst be good, and that I doe
Discerne, by daring to contemplate you,
That there may be degrees of faire, great, good,
Through your light, largenesse, vertue understood:
If in this sacrifice of mine, be showne 35
Any small sparke of these, call it your owne.
And if things like these, have been said by mee
Of others; call not that Idolatrie.
For had God made man first, and man had seene
The third daies fruits, and flowers, and various greene, 40
He might have said the best that he could say
Of those faire creatures, which were made that day;
And when next day he had admir'd the birth
Of Sun, Moone, Stars, fairer then late-prais'd earth,
Hee might have said the best that he could say, 45
And not be chid for praising yesterday;
So though some things are not together true,
As, that another is worthiest, and, that you:
Yet, to say so, doth not condemne a man,
If when he spoke them, they were both true than. 50
How faire a proofe of this, in our soule growes?
Wee first have soules of growth, and sense, and those,
When our last soule, our soule immortall came,
Were swallowed into it, and have no name.
Nor doth he injure those soules, which doth cast 55
The power and praise of both them, on the last;
No more doe I wrong any; I adore
The same things now, which I ador'd before,
The subject chang'd, and measure; the same thing
In a low constable, and in the King 60
I reverence; His power to work on mee:
So did I humbly reverence each degree
Of faire, great, good; but more, now I am come
From having found their _walkes_, to find their _home_.
And as I owe my first soules thankes, that they 65
For my last soule did fit and mould my clay,
So am I debtor unto them, whose worth,
Enabled me to profit, and take forth
This new great lesson, thus to study you;
Which none, not reading others, first, could doe. 70
Nor lacke I light to read this booke, though I
In a darke Cave, yea in a Grave doe lie;
For as your fellow Angells, so you doe
Illustrate them who come to study you.
The first whom we in Histories doe finde 75
To have profest all Arts, was one borne blinde:
He lackt those eyes beasts have as well as wee,
Not those, by which Angels are seene and see;
So, though I'am borne without those eyes to live,
Which fortune, who hath none her selfe, doth give, 80
Which are, fit meanes to see bright courts and you,
Yet may I see you thus, as now I doe;
I shall by that, all goodnesse have discern'd,
And though I burne my librarie, be learn'd.
[To the Countesse _&c. _ _1633-69_, _D_, _H49_, _Lec:_ To
the Countess of Salisbury. _O'F:_ To the Countess of S. _N_,
_TCD_]
[2 and what _1633_, _1669_, _D_, _H49_, _Lec:_ what _1635-54_,
_N_, _O'F_, _TCD_]
[16 Court,] Courts, _1669_]
[17 noble fire,] nobler fire, _O'F_]
[24 him] him, _1633_
that's _1650-69:_ thats _1633-39_]
[29-30 _Chambers includes in parenthesis_]
[30 fantasticall; _Ed:_ fantasticall: _1633-69_]
[34 light, largenesse,] lights largeness, _1669_]
[38 Idolatrie. ] Adulterie: _N_, _TCD_]
[40 greene,] greene _1633_]
[42 day; _Ed:_ day: _1633-69_]
[46 yesterday; _Ed:_ yesterday: _1633-69_]
[54 name. _1633-39:_ name _1654-69_]
[57 any; I adore _1633_, _D_, _Lec_, _N_, _TCD:_ any, if I
adore _1635-69_, _O'F_ (if _being inserted_)]
[61 mee: _D_, _N_, _TCD:_ mee; _1633-69_]
[63 good; _Ed:_ good, _1633-69_]
[77-8 _om. _ _D_, _H49_, _Lec_]
_To the Lady Bedford. _
You that are she and you, that's double shee,
In her dead face, halfe of your selfe shall see;
Shee was the other part, for so they doe
Which build them friendships, become one of two;
So two, that but themselves no third can fit, 5
Which were to be so, when they were not yet;
Twinnes, though their birth _Cusco_, and _Musco_ take,
As divers starres one Constellation make;
Pair'd like two eyes, have equall motion, so
Both but one meanes to see, one way to goe. 10
Had you dy'd first, a carcasse shee had beene;
And wee your rich Tombe in her face had seene;
She like the Soule is gone, and you here stay,
Not a live friend; but th'other halfe of clay.
And since you act that part, As men say, here 15
Lies such a Prince, when but one part is there,
And do all honour and devotion due
Unto the whole, so wee all reverence you;
For, such a friendship who would not adore
In you, who are all what both were before, 20
Not all, as if some perished by this,
But so, as all in you contracted is.
As of this all, though many parts decay,
The pure which elemented them shall stay;
And though diffus'd, and spread in infinite, 25
Shall recollect, and in one All unite:
So madame, as her Soule to heaven is fled,
Her flesh rests in the earth, as in the bed;
Her vertues do, as to their proper spheare,
Returne to dwell with you, of whom they were: 30
As perfect motions are all circular,
So they to you, their sea, whence lesse streames are.
Shee was all spices, you all metalls; so
In you two wee did both rich Indies know.
And as no fire, nor rust can spend or waste 35
One dramme of gold, but what was first shall last,
Though it bee forc'd in water, earth, salt, aire,
Expans'd in infinite, none will impaire;
So, to your selfe you may additions take,
But nothing can you lesse, or changed make. 40
Seeke not in seeking new, to seeme to doubt,
That you can match her, or not be without;
But let some faithfull booke in her roome be,
Yet but of _Iudith_ no such booke as shee.
[To the _&c. _ _1635-69_, _O'F:_ Elegie to the Lady Bedford.
_1633_, _Cy_, _H40_, _L74_, _N_, _P_, _TCD:_ Elegia Sexta.
_S:_ _In 1633, Cy, H40, N, TCD it follows, in P precedes, the
Funerall Elegy_ Death (_p. _ 284), _to which it is apparently
a covering letter:_ _In L74 it follows the_ Elegy on the Lady
Marckham: _O'F places it among the_ Letters, _S among the_
Elegies]
[1 she and you,] she, and you _1633-69_, _Chambers_. _See
note_]
[4 two;] the two; _1669_]
[6 yet; _Ed:_ yet _1633-39:_ yet. _1650-69_]
[8 make; _Ed:_ make, _1633-69_]
[10 goe. _Ed:_ goe; _1633-69_]
[13 stay,] stay _1633-35_
th'other] thother _1633_
clay. _Ed:_ clay; _1633-69_]
[16 there, _Ed:_ there; _1633-69_]
[17 honour] honour: _1633_
due] due; _1633_]
[20 were] was _1633_]
[22 as all in you] as in you all _O'F:_ that in you all _Cy_,
_H40_, _L74_, _N_, _S_
is. _Ed:_ is; _1633-69_]
[28 the bed;] a bed; _Cy_, _H40_, _L74_, _N_, _O'F_, _S:_ her
bed; _P_]
[30 were:] were; _1633_]
[32 are. ] are; _1633_]
[34 know. ] know; _1633_]
[41 doubt, _1633:_ doubt; _1635-69_]
[42 can] _twice in 1633_]
AN ANATOMIE OF THE WORLD.
_Wherein_,
By occasion of the untimely death of
Mistris ELIZABETH DRVRY,
the frailty and the decay of this
whole World is represented.
* * * * *
The first Anniversary.
* * * * *
_To the praise of the dead_,
_and the_ ANATOMIE.
Well dy'd the World, that we might live to see
This world of wit, in his Anatomie:
No evill wants his good; so wilder heires
Bedew their Fathers Tombes, with forced teares,
Whose state requites their losse: whiles thus we gain, 5
Well may wee walke in blacks, but not complaine.
Yet how can I consent the world is dead
While this Muse lives? which in his spirits stead
Seemes to informe a World; and bids it bee,
In spight of losse or fraile mortalitie? 10
And thou the subject of this welborne thought,
Thrice noble maid, couldst not have found nor sought
A fitter time to yeeld to thy sad Fate,
Then whiles this spirit lives, that can relate
Thy worth so well to our last Nephews eyne, 15
That they shall wonder both at his and thine:
Admired match! where strives in mutuall grace
The cunning pencill, and the comely face:
A taske which thy faire goodnesse made too much
For the bold pride of vulgar pens to touch; 20
Enough is us to praise them that praise thee,
And say, that but enough those prayses bee,
Which hadst thou liv'd, had hid their fearfull head
From th'angry checkings of thy modest red:
Death barres reward and shame: when envy's gone, 25
And gaine, 'tis safe to give the dead their owne.
As then the wise Egyptians wont to lay
More on their Tombes, then houses: these of clay,
But those of brasse, or marble were: so wee
Give more unto thy Ghost, then unto thee. 30
Yet what wee give to thee, thou gav'st to us,
And may'st but thanke thy selfe, for being thus:
Yet what thou gav'st, and wert, O happy maid,
Thy grace profest all due, where 'tis repayd.
So these high songs that to thee suited bin 35
Serve but to sound thy Makers praise, in thine,
Which thy deare soule as sweetly sings to him
Amid the Quire of Saints, and Seraphim,
As any Angels tongue can sing of thee;
The subjects differ, though the skill agree: 40
For as by infant-yeares men judge of age,
Thy early love, thy vertues, did presage
What an high part thou bear'st in those best songs,
Whereto no burden, nor no end belongs.
Sing on thou virgin Soule, whose lossfull gaine 45
Thy lovesick parents have bewail'd in vaine;
Never may thy Name be in our songs forgot,
Till wee shall sing thy ditty and thy note.
[An Anatomie _&c. _ _1611-33:_ Anatomie _&c. _ _1635-69_
The first Anniversary. _1612-69:_ _om. 1611_. _See note_
To the praise of the dead _&c. _ _1611-69_ (Dead _1611_)]
[8 While] Whiles _1639-69_]
[21 is] it is _1699_]
[25 shame: _1611_, _1612-25:_ shame, _1633-69_]
[26 gaine, _1633-69:_ gaine; _1612-25_]
[34 where] were _1621-25_]
[35 bin _1633-39:_ bine _1611:_ bine, _1612-21:_ bine. _1625:_
bin, _1650-69_]
[36 praise, in thine, _1611_, _1612-25:_ praise and thine,
_1633-69_]
[38 Quire _1611_, _1612-25:_ quire _1633-69_]
[39 tongue _1611_, _1612-39:_ tongues _1650-69_]
[41 infant-yeares _1611_, _1621-25:_ infant yeares _1633-69_]
[42 vertues, _1611_, _1612-25:_ vertues _1633-69_
presage _1612-25:_ presage, _1633-69_]
[43 What an hie . . . best songs, _1611-12:_ What hie . . . best
songs _1621-25:_ What high . . . best of songs, _1633-69_]
[47 our _1611_, _1612-54:_ _om. 1669_
forgot,] forgot. _1621-25_]
An Anatomy of the World.
_The first Anniversary. _
[Sidenote: _The entrie into the worke. _]
When that rich Soule which to her heaven is gone,
Whom all do celebrate, who know they have one,
(For who is sure he hath a Soule, unlesse
It see, and judge, and follow worthinesse,
And by Deedes praise it? hee who doth not this, 5
May lodge an In-mate soule, but 'tis not his. )
When that Queene ended here her progresse time,
And, as t'her standing house to heaven did climbe,
Where loath to make the Saints attend her long,
She's now a part both of the Quire, and Song, 10
This World, in that great earthquake languished;
For in a common bath of teares it bled,
Which drew the strongest vitall spirits out:
But succour'd then with a perplexed doubt,
Whether the world did lose, or gaine in this, 15
(Because since now no other way there is,
But goodnesse, to see her, whom all would see,
All must endeavour to be good as shee,)
This great consumption to a fever turn'd,
And so the world had fits; it joy'd, it mourn'd; 20
And, as men thinke, that Agues physick are,
And th'Ague being spent, give over care,
So thou sicke World, mistak'st thy selfe to bee
Well, when alas, thou'rt in a Lethargie.
Her death did wound and tame thee than, and than 25
Thou might'st have better spar'd the Sunne, or Man.
That wound was deep, but 'tis more misery,
That thou hast lost thy sense and memory.
'Twas heavy then to heare thy voyce of mone,
But this is worse, that thou art speechlesse growne. 30
Thou hast forgot thy name, thou hadst; thou wast
Nothing but shee, and her thou hast o'rpast.
For as a child kept from the Font, untill
A prince, expected long, come to fulfill
The ceremonies, thou unnam'd had'st laid, 35
Had not her comming, thee her Palace made:
Her name defin'd thee, gave thee forme, and frame,
And thou forgett'st to celebrate thy name.
Some moneths she hath beene dead (but being dead,
Measures of times are all determined) 40
But long she'ath beene away, long, long, yet none
Offers to tell us who it is that's gone.
But as in states doubtfull of future heires,
When sicknesse without remedie empaires
The present Prince, they're loth it should be said, 45
The Prince doth languish, or the Prince is dead:
So mankinde feeling now a generall thaw,
A strong example gone, equall to law,
The Cyment which did faithfully compact,
And glue all vertues, now resolv'd, and slack'd, 50
Thought it some blasphemy to say sh'was dead,
Or that our weaknesse was discovered
In that confession; therefore spoke no more
Then tongues, the Soule being gone, the losse deplore.
But though it be too late to succour thee, 55
Sicke World, yea, dead, yea putrified, since shee
Thy'intrinsique balme, and thy preservative,
Can never be renew'd, thou never live,
I (since no man can make thee live) will try,
What wee may gaine by thy Anatomy. 60
Her death hath taught us dearely, that thou art
Corrupt and mortall in thy purest part.
Let no man say, the world it selfe being dead,
'Tis labour lost to have discovered
The worlds infirmities, since there is none 65
Alive to study this dissection;
[Sidenote: _What life the world hath stil. _]
For there's a kinde of World remaining still,
Though shee which did inanimate and fill
The world, be gone, yet in this last long night,
Her Ghost doth walke; that is, a glimmering light, 70
A faint weake love of vertue, and of good,
Reflects from her, on them which understood
Her worth; and though she have shut in all day,
The twilight of her memory doth stay;
Which, from the carcasse of the old world, free, 75
Creates a new world, and new creatures bee
Produc'd: the matter and the stuffe of this,
Her vertue, and the forme our practice is:
And though to be thus elemented, arme
These creatures, from home-borne intrinsique harme, 80
(For all assum'd unto this dignitie,
So many weedlesse Paradises bee,
Which of themselves produce no venemous sinne,
Except some forraine Serpent bring it in)
Yet, because outward stormes the strongest breake, 85
And strength it selfe by confidence growes weake,
This new world may be safer, being told
[Sidenote: _The sicknesses of the World. _]
The dangers and diseases of the old:
For with due temper men doe then forgoe,
Or covet things, when they their true worth know. 90
[Sidenote: _Impossibility of health. _]
There is no health; Physitians say that wee,
At best, enjoy but a neutralitie.
And can there bee worse sicknesse, then to know
That we are never well, nor can be so?
Wee are borne ruinous: poore mothers cry, 95
That children come not right, nor orderly;
Except they headlong come and fall upon
An ominous precipitation.
How witty's ruine! how importunate
Upon mankinde! it labour'd to frustrate 100
Even Gods purpose; and made woman, sent
For mans reliefe, cause of his languishment.
They were to good ends, and they are so still,
But accessory, and principall in ill;
For that first marriage was our funerall: 105
One woman at one blow, then kill'd us all,
And singly, one by one, they kill us now.
We doe delightfully our selves allow
To that consumption; and profusely blinde,
Wee kill our selves to propagate our kinde. 110
And yet we do not that; we are not men:
There is not now that mankinde, which was then,
When as, the Sunne and man did seeme to strive,
[Sidenote: _Shortnesse of life. _]
(Joynt tenants of the world) who should survive;
When, Stagge, and Raven, and the long-liv'd tree, 115
Compar'd with man, dy'd in minoritie;
When, if a slow pac'd starre had stolne away
From the observers marking, he might stay
Two or three hundred yeares to see't againe,
And then make up his observation plaine; 120
When, as the age was long, the sise was great;
Mans growth confess'd, and recompenc'd the meat;
So spacious and large, that every Soule
Did a faire Kingdome, and large Realme controule:
And when the very stature, thus erect, 125
Did that soule a good way towards heaven direct.
Where is this mankinde now? who lives to age,
Fit to be made _Methusalem_ his page?
Alas, we scarce live long enough to try
Whether a true made clocke run right, or lie. 130
Old Grandsires talke of yesterday with sorrow,
And for our children wee reserve to morrow.
So short is life, that every peasant strives,
In a torne house, or field, to have three lives.
And as in lasting, so in length is man 135
[Sidenote: _Smalnesse of stature. _]
Contracted to an inch, who was a spanne;
For had a man at first in forrests stray'd,
Or shipwrack'd in the Sea, one would have laid
A wager, that an Elephant, or Whale,
That met him, would not hastily assaile 140
A thing so equall to him: now alas,
The Fairies, and the Pigmies well may passe
As credible; mankinde decayes so soone,
We'are scarce our Fathers shadowes cast at noone:
Onely death addes t'our length: nor are wee growne 145
In stature to be men, till we are none.
But this were light, did our lesse volume hold
All the old Text; or had wee chang'd to gold
Their silver; or dispos'd into lesse glasse
Spirits of vertue, which then scatter'd was. 150
But 'tis not so: w'are not retir'd, but dampt;
And as our bodies, so our mindes are crampt:
'Tis shrinking, not close weaving that hath thus,
In minde, and body both bedwarfed us.
Wee seeme ambitious, Gods whole worke t'undoe; 155
Of nothing hee made us, and we strive too,
To bring our selves to nothing backe; and wee
Doe what wee can, to do't so soone as hee.
With new diseases on our selves we warre,
And with new Physicke, a worse Engin farre. 160
Thus man, this worlds Vice-Emperour, in whom
All faculties, all graces are at home;
And if in other creatures they appeare,
They're but mans Ministers, and Legats there,
To worke on their rebellions, and reduce 165
Them to Civility, and to mans use:
This man, whom God did wooe, and loth t'attend
Till man came up, did downe to man descend,
This man, so great, that all that is, is his,
Oh what a trifle, and poore thing he is! 170
If man were any thing, he's nothing now:
Helpe, or at least some time to wast, allow
T'his other wants, yet when he did depart
With her whom we lament, hee lost his heart.
She, of whom th'Ancients seem'd to prophesie, 175
When they call'd vertues by the name of _shee_;
Shee in whom vertue was so much refin'd,
That for Allay unto so pure a minde
Shee tooke the weaker Sex; shee that could drive
The poysonous tincture, and the staine of _Eve_, 180
Out of her thoughts, and deeds; and purifie
All, by a true religious Alchymie;
Shee, shee is dead; shee's dead: when thou knowest this,
Thou knowest how poore a trifling thing man is.
And learn'st thus much by our Anatomie, 185
The heart being perish'd, no part can be free.
And that except thou feed (not banquet) on
The supernaturall food, Religion,
Thy better Growth growes withered, and scant;
Be more then man, or thou'rt lesse then an Ant. 190
Then, as mankinde, so is the worlds whole frame
Quite out of joynt, almost created lame:
For, before God had made up all the rest,
Corruption entred, and deprav'd the best:
It seis'd the Angels, and then first of all 195
The world did in her cradle take a fall,
And turn'd her braines, and tooke a generall maime,
Wronging each joynt of th'universall frame.
The noblest part, man, felt it first; and than
Both beasts and plants, curst in the curse of man. 200
[Sidenote: _Decay of nature in other parts. _]
So did the world from the first houre decay,
That evening was beginning of the day,
And now the Springs and Sommers which we see,
Like sonnes of women after fiftie bee.
And new Philosophy calls all in doubt, 205
The Element of fire is quite put out;
The Sun is lost, and th'earth, and no mans wit
Can well direct him where to looke for it.
And freely men confesse that this world's spent,
When in the Planets, and the Firmament 210
They seeke so many new; they see that this
Is crumbled out againe to his Atomies.
'Tis all in peeces, all cohaerence gone;
All just supply, and all Relation:
Prince, Subject, Father, Sonne, are things forgot, 215
For every man alone thinkes he hath got
To be a Phœnix, and that then can bee
None of that kinde, of which he is, but hee.
This is the worlds condition now, and now
She that should all parts to reunion bow, 220
She that had all Magnetique force alone,
To draw, and fasten sundred parts in one;
She whom wise nature had invented then
When she observ'd that every sort of men
Did in their voyage in this worlds Sea stray, 225
And needed a new compasse for their way;
She that was best, and first originall
Of all faire copies, and the generall
Steward to Fate; she whose rich eyes, and brest
Guilt the West Indies, and perfum'd the East; 230
Whose having breath'd in this world, did bestow
Spice on those Iles, and bad them still smell so,
And that rich Indie which doth gold interre,
Is but as single money, coyn'd from her:
She to whom this world must it selfe refer, 235
As Suburbs, or the Microcosme of her,
Shee, shee is dead; shee's dead: when thou knowst this,
Thou knowst how lame a cripple this world is.
And learn'st thus much by our Anatomy,
That this worlds generall sickenesse doth not lie 240
In any humour, or one certaine part;
But as thou sawest it rotten at the heart,
Thou seest a Hectique feaver hath got hold
Of the whole substance, not to be contrould,
And that thou hast but one way, not t'admit 245
The worlds infection, to be none of it.
For the worlds subtilst immateriall parts
Feele this consuming wound, and ages darts.
For the worlds beauty is decai'd, or gone,
[Sidenote: _Disformity of parts. _]
Beauty, that's colour, and proportion. 250
We thinke the heavens enjoy their Sphericall,
Their round proportion embracing all.
But yet their various and perplexed course,
Observ'd in divers ages, doth enforce
Men to finde out so many Eccentrique parts, 255
Such divers downe-right lines, such overthwarts,
As disproportion that pure forme: It teares
The Firmament in eight and forty sheires,
And in these Constellations then arise
New starres, and old doe vanish from our eyes: 260
As though heav'n suffered earthquakes, peace or war,
When new Towers rise, and old demolish't are.
They have impal'd within a Zodiake
The free-borne Sun, and keepe twelve Signes awake
To watch his steps; the Goat and Crab controule, 265
And fright him backe, who else to either Pole
(Did not these Tropiques fetter him) might runne:
For his course is not round; nor can the Sunne
Perfit a Circle, or maintaine his way
One inch direct; but where he rose to-day 270
He comes no more, but with a couzening line,
Steales by that point, and so is Serpentine:
And seeming weary with his reeling thus,
He meanes to sleepe, being now falne nearer us.
So, of the Starres which boast that they doe runne 275
In Circle still, none ends where he begun.
All their proportion's lame, it sinkes, it swels.
For of Meridians, and Parallels,
Man hath weav'd out a net, and this net throwne
Upon the Heavens, and now they are his owne. 280
Loth to goe up the hill, or labour thus
To goe to heaven, we make heaven come to us.
We spur, we reine the starres, and in their race
They're diversly content t'obey our pace.
But keepes the earth her round proportion still? 285
Doth not a Tenarif, or higher Hill
Rise so high like a Rocke, that one might thinke
The floating Moone would shipwracke there, and sinke?
Seas are so deepe, that Whales being strooke to day,
Perchance to morrow, scarse at middle way 290
Of their wish'd journies end, the bottome, die.
And men, to sound depths, so much line untie,
As one might justly thinke, that there would rise
At end thereof, one of th'Antipodies:
If under all, a Vault infernall bee, 295
(Which sure is spacious, except that we
Invent another torment, that there must
Millions into a straight hot roome be thrust)
Then solidnesse, and roundnesse have no place.
Are these but warts, and pock-holes in the face 300
Of th'earth? Thinke so: but yet confesse, in this
The worlds proportion disfigured is;
[Sidenote: _Disorder in the world. _]
That those two legges whereon it doth rely,
Reward and punishment are bent awry.
And, Oh, it can no more be questioned, 305
That beauties best, proportion, is dead,
Since even griefe it selfe, which now alone
Is left us, is without proportion.
Shee by whose lines proportion should bee
Examin'd, measure of all Symmetree, 310
Whom had that Ancient seen, who thought soules made
Of Harmony, he would at next have said
That Harmony was shee, and thence infer,
That soules were but Resultances from her,
And did from her into our bodies goe, 315
As to our eyes, the formes from objects flow:
Shee, who if those great Doctors truly said
That the Arke to mans proportions was made,
Had been a type for that, as that might be
A type of her in this, that contrary 320
Both Elements, and Passions liv'd at peace
In her, who caus'd all Civill war to cease.
Shee, after whom, what forme so'er we see,
Is discord, and rude incongruitie;
Shee, shee is dead, shee's dead; when thou knowst this 325
Thou knowst how ugly a monster this world is:
And learn'st thus much by our Anatomie,
That here is nothing to enamour thee:
And that, not only faults in inward parts,
Corruptions in our braines, or in our hearts, 330
Poysoning the fountaines, whence our actions spring,
Endanger us: but that if every thing
Be not done fitly'and in proportion,
To satisfie wise, and good lookers on,
(Since most men be such as most thinke they bee) 335
They're lothsome too, by this Deformitee.
For good, and well, must in our actions meete;
Wicked is not much worse than indiscreet.
But beauties other second Element,
Colour, and lustre now, is as neere spent. 340
And had the world his just proportion,
Were it a ring still, yet the stone is gone.
As a compassionate Turcoyse which doth tell
By looking pale, the wearer is not well,
As gold falls sicke being stung with Mercury, 345
All the worlds parts of such complexion bee.
When nature was most busie, the first weeke,
Swadling the new borne earth, God seem'd to like
That she should sport her selfe sometimes, and play,
To mingle, and vary colours every day: 350
And then, as though shee could not make inow,
Himselfe his various Rainbow did allow.
Sight is the noblest sense of any one,
Yet sight hath only colour to feed on,
And colour is decai'd: summers robe growes 355
Duskie, and like an oft dyed garment showes.
Our blushing red, which us'd in cheekes to spred,
Is inward sunke, and only our soules are red.
Perchance the world might have recovered,
If she whom we lament had not beene dead: 360
But shee, in whom all white, and red, and blew
(Beauties ingredients) voluntary grew,
As in an unvext Paradise; from whom
Did all things verdure, and their lustre come,
Whose composition was miraculous, 365
Being all colour, all Diaphanous,
(For Ayre, and Fire but thick grosse bodies were,
And liveliest stones but drowsie, and pale to her,)
Shee, shee, is dead; shee's dead: when thou know'st this,
Thou knowst how wan a Ghost this our world is: 370
And learn'st thus much by our Anatomie,
That it should more affright, then pleasure thee.
And that, since all faire colour then did sinke,
'Tis now but wicked vanitie, to thinke
[Sidenote: _Weaknesse in the want of correspondence of heaven and
earth. _]
To colour vicious deeds with good pretence, 375
Or with bought colors to illude mens sense.
Nor in ought more this worlds decay appeares,
Then that her influence the heav'n forbeares,
Or that the Elements doe not feele this,
The father, or the mother barren is. 380
The cloudes conceive not raine, or doe not powre,
In the due birth time, downe the balmy showre;
Th'Ayre doth not motherly sit on the earth,
To hatch her seasons, and give all things birth;
Spring-times were common cradles, but are tombes; 385
And false-conceptions fill the generall wombes;
Th'Ayre showes such Meteors, as none can see,
Not only what they meane, but what they bee;
Earth such new wormes, as would have troubled much
Th'Ægyptian _Mages_ to have made more such. 390
What Artist now dares boast that he can bring
Heaven hither, or constellate any thing,
So as the influence of those starres may bee
Imprison'd in an Hearbe, or Charme, or Tree,
And doe by touch, all which those stars could doe? 395
The art is lost, and correspondence too.
For heaven gives little, and the earth takes lesse,
And man least knowes their trade and purposes.
If this commerce twixt heaven and earth were not
Embarr'd, and all this traffique quite forgot, 400
She, for whose losse we have lamented thus,
Would worke more fully, and pow'rfully on us:
Since herbes, and roots, by dying lose not all,
But they, yea Ashes too, are medicinall,
Death could not quench her vertue so, but that 405
It would be (if not follow'd) wondred at:
And all the world would be one dying Swan,
To sing her funerall praise, and vanish than.
But as some Serpents poyson hurteth not,
Except it be from the live Serpent shot, 410
So doth her vertue need her here, to fit
That unto us; shee working more then it.
But shee, in whom to such maturity
Vertue was growne, past growth, that it must die;
She, from whose influence all Impressions came, 415
But, by Receivers impotencies, lame,
Who, though she could not transubstantiate
All states to gold, yet guilded every state,
So that some Princes have some temperance;
Some Counsellers some purpose to advance 420
The common profit; and some people have
Some stay, no more then Kings should give, to crave;
Some women have some taciturnity,
Some nunneries some graines of chastitie.
She that did thus much, and much more could doe, 425
But that our age was Iron, and rustie too,
Shee, shee is dead; shee's dead; when thou knowst this,
Thou knowst how drie a Cinder this world is.
And learn'st thus much by our Anatomy,
That 'tis in vaine to dew, or mollifie 430
It with thy teares, or sweat, or blood: nothing
Is worth our travaile, griefe, or perishing,
But those rich joyes, which did possesse her heart,
Of which she's now partaker, and a part.
[Sidenote: _Conclusion. _]
But as in cutting up a man that's dead, 435
The body will not last out, to have read
On every part, and therefore men direct
Their speech to parts, that are of most effect;
So the worlds carcasse would not last, if I
Were punctuall in this Anatomy; 440
Nor smels it well to hearers, if one tell
Them their disease, who faine would think they're well.
Here therefore be the end: And, blessed maid,
Of whom is meant what ever hath been said,
Or shall be spoken well by any tongue, 445
Whose name refines course lines, and makes prose song,
Accept this tribute, and his first yeares rent,
Who till his darke short tapers end be spent,
As oft as thy feast sees this widowed earth,
Will yearely celebrate thy second birth, 450
That is, thy death; for though the soule of man
Be got when man is made, 'tis borne but than
When man doth die; our body's as the wombe,
And, as a Mid-wife, death directs it home.
And you her creatures, whom she workes upon, 455
And have your last, and best concoction
From her example, and her vertue, if you
In reverence to her, do thinke it due,
That no one should her praises thus rehearse,
As matter fit for Chronicle, not verse; 460
Vouchsafe to call to minde that God did make
A last, and lasting'st peece, a song. He spake
To _Moses_ to deliver unto all,
That song, because hee knew they would let fall
The Law, the Prophets, and the History, 465
But keepe the song still in their memory:
Such an opinion (in due measure) made
Me this great Office boldly to invade:
Nor could incomprehensiblenesse deterre
Mee, from thus trying to emprison her, 470
Which when I saw that a strict grave could doe,
I saw not why verse might not do so too.
Verse hath a middle nature: heaven keepes Soules,
The Grave keepes bodies, Verse the Fame enroules.
[An Anatomy _&c. _ _1611-69_ The first Anniversary. _1612-69_
(First _1612-25_): _om. 1611_]
[_The entrie &c. _ _1612-21:_ _om.
M. R. W. _1633-69:_ _no breaks_, _W:__ two stanzas of fourteen
lines and a quatrain_, _1633:_ _twenty-eight lines continuous
and a quatrain_, _1633-69_]
[3 brother _1633-69_, _A18_, _N_, _O'F_, _TC:_ brethren _W_]
[6 hand,] hands _O'F_, _TC_]
[21 in: _1650-69_, _W:_ in, _1633-39_]
[22 Oh, _A23_, _N_, _O'F_, _TC:_ Ah, _W:_ Our _1633-69_
sinne. _W:_ sinne; _1633-69_]
[23 businesse _1633_, _A18_, _N_, _TC:_ busnesses _W:_
businesses _1635-69_
done] donne _W_]
[27 all th'All _W:_ All th'All _1633-69_]
[31 men, this, _Ed:_ men, this _1633-69_]
[32 soules soule, is. _Chambers:_ soules soule is. _1633-69_]
To M^r _R. W. _
Kindly I envy thy songs perfection
Built of all th'elements as our bodyes are:
That Litle of earth that is in it, is a faire
Delicious garden where all sweetes are sowne.
In it is cherishing fyer which dryes in mee 5
Griefe which did drowne me: and halfe quench'd by it
Are satirique fyres which urg'd me to have writt
In skorne of all: for now I admyre thee.
And as Ayre doth fullfill the hollownes
Of rotten walls; so it myne emptines, 10
Where tost and mov'd it did beget this sound
Which as a lame Eccho of thyne doth rebound.
Oh, I was dead; but since thy song new Life did give,
I recreated, even by thy creature, live.
[To M^r R. W. _W:_ _published here for the first time_]
[6 which] w^{ch} _W_, _and so always_]
[10 emptines,] emptines. _W_]
[13-14 Oh, . . . give, . . . recreated, . . . creature,] _no
commas_, _W_]
To M^r _S. B. _
O Thou which to search out the secret parts
Of the India, or rather Paradise
Of knowledge, hast with courage and advise
Lately launch'd into the vast Sea of Arts,
Disdaine not in thy constant travailing 5
To doe as other Voyagers, and make
Some turnes into lesse Creekes, and wisely take
Fresh water at the Heliconian spring;
I sing not, Siren like, to tempt; for I
Am harsh; nor as those Scismatiques with you, 10
Which draw all wits of good hope to their crew;
But seeing in you bright sparkes of Poetry,
I, though I brought no fuell, had desire
With these Articulate blasts to blow the fire.
[To M^r S. B. _O'F:_ To M. S. B. _1633-69_, _A18_, _N_, _TCC_,
_TCD_, _W_]
[10 harsh; _1650-69:_ harsh, _1633-39_]
[12 seeing] seing _1633:_ seene _TCD_, _W:_ seeme _TCC_]
[13 I, though] I thought _1650-54_
had] but _1650-54_]
To M^r _I. L. _
Of that short Roll of friends writ in my heart
Which with thy name begins, since their depart,
Whether in the English Provinces they be,
Or drinke of Po, Sequan, or Danubie,
There's none that sometimes greets us not, and yet 5
Your Trent is Lethe; that past, us you forget.
You doe not duties of Societies,
If from the'embrace of a lov'd wife you rise,
View your fat Beasts, stretch'd Barnes, and labour'd fields,
Eate, play, ryde, take all joyes which all day yeelds, 10
And then againe to your embracements goe:
Some houres on us your frends, and some bestow
Upon your Muse, else both wee shall repent,
I that my love, she that her guifts on you are spent.
[To M^r I. L. _W:_ To M. I. L. _1633-69:_ To M. I. L. _A18_,
_N_, _TCC_, _TCD:_ To M^r T. L. _O'F_]
[5 sometimes] sometime _1635-39_, _Chambers_]
[6 Lethe; _W:_ Lethe', _1633-69_
forget. _1639-69_, _W:_ forget, _1633-35_]
[13 your] thy _W_]
[14 you] thee _W_
spent. ] spent _1633_]
To M^r _B. B. _
Is not thy sacred hunger of science
Yet satisfy'd? Is not thy braines rich hive
Fulfil'd with hony which thou dost derive
From the Arts spirits and their Quintessence?
Then weane thy selfe at last, and thee withdraw 5
From Cambridge thy old nurse, and, as the rest,
Here toughly chew, and sturdily digest
Th'immense vast volumes of our common law;
And begin soone, lest my griefe grieve thee too,
Which is, that that which I should have begun 10
In my youthes morning, now late must be done;
And I as Giddy Travellers must doe,
Which stray or sleepe all day, and having lost
Light and strength, darke and tir'd must then ride post.
If thou unto thy Muse be marryed, 15
Embrace her ever, ever multiply,
Be far from me that strange Adulterie
To tempt thee and procure her widowhed.
My Muse, (for I had one,) because I'am cold,
Divorc'd her selfe: the cause being in me, 20
That I can take no new in Bigamye,
Not my will only but power doth withhold.
Hence comes it, that these Rymes which never had
Mother, want matter, and they only have
A little forme, the which their Father gave; 25
They are prophane, imperfect, oh, too bad
To be counted Children of Poetry
Except confirm'd and Bishoped by thee.
[To M^r B. B. _O'F_, _W:_ To M. B. B. _1633-69_, _A18_, _N_,
_TCC_, _TCD_]
[12 I . . . Travellers _1650-69:_ I, . . . Travellers, _1633-39_]
[13 stray] stay _W:_ _compare_ Sat. III. 78]
[16 ever, ever multiply, _1633-69_, _A18_, _N_, _O'F_, _TC:_
still: encrease and multiply; _W_]
[18 widowhed. _W:_ widdowhood, _1633-39:_ widdowhood;
_1650-69_]
[19 Muse, _A18_, _N_, _O'F_, _TC_, _W:_ nurse, _1633-69_]
[20 selfe: _W:_ selfe, _1633-69_
in me, _1633-69:_ in me; _Grolier:_ in me. _Chambers_. _See
note_]
To M^r _I. L. _
Blest are your North parts, for all this long time
My Sun is with you, cold and darke'is our Clime:
Heavens Sun, which staid so long from us this yeare,
Staid in your North (I thinke) for she was there,
And hether by kinde nature drawne from thence, 5
Here rages, chafes, and threatens pestilence;
Yet I, as long as shee from hence doth staie,
Thinke this no South, no Sommer, nor no day.
With thee my kinde and unkinde heart is run,
There sacrifice it to that beauteous Sun: 10
And since thou art in Paradise and need'st crave
No joyes addition, helpe thy friend to save.
So may thy pastures with their flowery feasts,
As suddenly as Lard, fat thy leane beasts;
So may thy woods oft poll'd, yet ever weare 15
A greene, and when thee list, a golden haire;
So may all thy sheepe bring forth Twins; and so
In chace and race may thy horse all out goe;
So may thy love and courage ne'r be cold;
Thy Sonne ne'r Ward; Thy lov'd wife ne'r seem old;
But maist thou wish great things, and them attaine, 21
As thou telst her, and none but her, my paine.
[To M^r I. L. _Ed:_ To M. I. L. _A18_, _N_, _TCC_, _TCD_, _W:_
To M^r T. L. _O'F:_ To M. I. P. _1633-69_]
[6 rages, chafes, _Ed:_ rages chafes _1633-39:_ rages, chafes
_1650-69:_ rages, burnes, _W_]
[11-12 _these lines from W: they have not previously been
printed_]
[16 when thee list, _Ed:_ when thee list _1633_, _A18_, _N_,
_TC:_ (when she list) _1635-69_, _O'F:_ when thou wilt _W_]
[20 lov'd wife] fair wife _W_]
[22 her, . . . her, _Ed:_ her . . . her _1633:_ her, . . . her
_1635-69_]
To Sir _H. W. _ at his going Ambassador to _Venice_.
After those reverend papers, whose soule is
Our good and great Kings lov'd hand and fear'd name,
By which to you he derives much of his,
And (how he may) makes you almost the same,
A Taper of his Torch, a copie writ 5
From his Originall, and a faire beame
Of the same warme, and dazeling Sun, though it
Must in another Sphere his vertue streame:
After those learned papers which your hand
Hath stor'd with notes of use and pleasure too, 10
From which rich treasury you may command
Fit matter whether you will write or doe:
After those loving papers, where friends tend
With glad griefe, to your Sea-ward steps, farewel,
Which thicken on you now, as prayers ascend 15
To heaven in troupes at'a good mans passing bell:
Admit this honest paper, and allow
It such an audience as your selfe would aske;
What you must say at Venice this meanes now,
And hath for nature, what you have for taske: 20
To sweare much love, not to be chang'd before
Honour alone will to your fortune fit;
Nor shall I then honour your forture, more
Then I have done your honour wanting it.
But'tis an easier load (though both oppresse) 25
To want, then governe greatnesse, for wee are
In that, our owne and onely business,
In this, wee must for others vices care;
'Tis therefore well your spirits now are plac'd
In their last Furnace, in activity; 30
Which fits them (Schooles and Courts and Warres o'rpast)
To touch and test in any best degree.
For mee, (if there be such a thing as I)
Fortune (if there be such a thing as thee)
Spies that I beare so well her tyranny, 35
That she thinks nothing else so fit for mee;
But though she part us, to heare my oft prayers
For your increase, God is as neere mee here;
And to send you what I shall begge, his staires
In length and ease are alike every where. 40
[To Sir H. W. at his _&c. _ _1633-54:_ To Sir Henry Wotton, at
his _&c. _ _1669_, _A18_, _N_, _O'F_, _TCC_, _TCD:_ _printed in
Walton's_ Life of Sir Henry Wotton, 1670, _as a_ 'letter,
sent by him to Sir _Henry Wotton_, the morning before he left
_England_', _i. e. July 13 (O. S. ), 1604_]
[10 pleasure _1635-69_, _A18_, _N_, _O'F_, _TC_, _Walton:_
pleasures _1633_]
[13 where _1633_, _A18_, _N_, _TC:_ which _1635-69_, _O'F_,
_Walton_]
[16 in troupes] on troops _Walton_]
[19 must . . . meanes] would . . . sayes _Walton_]
[20 hath] has _Walton_
taske: _Ed:_ taske. _1633-69_]
[21 not] nor _Walton_]
[24 honour wanting it _1633:_ noble-wanting-wit. _1635-69_,
_O'F:_ honour-wanting-wit. _Walton:_ noble wanting it. _A18_,
_N_, _TCC_, _TCD_]
[31 Warres _Ed:_ warres _1633-69:_ tents _Burley MS. _]
[32 test] tast _1669 and Walton_]
[35 Spies] Finds _Walton_]
To M^rs _M. H. _
Mad paper stay, and grudge not here to burne
With all those sonnes whom my braine did create,
At lest lye hid with mee, till thou returne
To rags againe, which is thy native state.
What though thou have enough unworthinesse 5
To come unto great place as others doe,
That's much; emboldens, pulls, thrusts I confesse,
But'tis not all; Thou should'st be wicked too.
And, that thou canst not learne, or not of mee;
Yet thou wilt goe? Goe, since thou goest to her 10
Who lacks but faults to be a Prince, for shee,
Truth, whom they dare not pardon, dares preferre.
But when thou com'st to that perplexing eye
Which equally claimes _love_ and _reverence_,
Thou wilt not long dispute it, thou wilt die; 15
And, having little now, have then no sense.
Yet when her warme redeeming hand, which is
A miracle; and made such to worke more,
Doth touch thee (saples leafe) thou grow'st by this
Her creature; glorify'd more then before. 20
Then as a mother which delights to heare
Her early child mis-speake halfe uttered words,
Or, because majesty doth never feare
Ill or bold speech, she Audience affords.
And then, cold speechlesse wretch, thou diest againe, 25
And wisely; what discourse is left for thee?
For, speech of ill, and her, thou must abstaine,
And is there any good which is not shee?
Yet maist thou praise her servants, though not her,
And wit, and vertue,'and honour her attend, 30
And since they'are but her cloathes, thou shalt not erre,
If thou her shape and beauty'and grace commend.
Who knowes thy destiny? when thou hast done,
Perchance her Cabinet may harbour thee,
Whither all noble ambitious wits doe runne, 35
A nest almost as full of Good as shee.
When thou art there, if any, whom wee know,
Were sav'd before, and did that heaven partake,
When she revolves his papers, marke what show
Of favour, she alone, to them doth make. 40
Marke, if to get them, she o'r skip the rest,
Marke, if shee read them twice, or kisse the name;
Marke, if she doe the same that they protest,
Marke, if she marke whether her woman came.
Marke, if slight things be'objected, and o'r blowne, 45
Marke, if her oathes against him be not still
Reserv'd, and that shee grieves she's not her owne,
And chides the doctrine that denies Freewill.
I bid thee not doe this to be my spie;
Nor to make my selfe her familiar; 50
But so much I doe love her choyce, that I
Would faine love him that shall be lov'd of her.
[To M^rs M. H. _O'F:_ To M. M. H. _1633-69_, _A18_, _N_,
_TCC_, _TCD:_ _no title_, _A25_, _B_, _C_, _P:_ Elegie. _S96_]
[2 sonnes] Sunnes _B_, _S96_
my _1633:_ thy _1635-69:_ _Chambers attributes_ thy _to 1633_]
[3 returne] returne. _1633_]
[7 That's much; emboldens, _A18_, _N_, _TC:_ That's much,
emboldens, _1633-54:_ That's much emboldness, _1669:_ That's
much, it emboldens, _B_, _P_]
[8 all; Thou _A18_, _N_, _TC:_ all, thou _1633-69_]
[10 goe? Goe, _Ed:_ goe, Goe, _1633-69_]
[14 _reverence_, _Ed:_ _reverence_. _1633:_ _reverence:_
_1635-69_]
[22 mis-speake] mispeake _1633_]
[27 For, _1633:_ From _1635-69_, _and MSS_.
her, _Ed:_ her _1633-69_]
[31 erre, _1669:_ erre _1633-54_]
[40 she alone, _1633:_ she, alone, _1635-69_]
[41 get them, she o'r skip] get them, she do skip _A18_
(doth), _N_, _TC:_ get them, she skip oare _A25_, _C_, _O'F_
(skips): get to them, shee skipp _B_, _P_]
[44 whether _1633:_ whither _1635-69_]
[47 grieves _1633:_ grieve _1635-69_]
_To the Countesse of Bedford. _
Honour is so sublime perfection,
And so refinde; that when God was alone
And creaturelesse at first, himselfe had none;
But as of the elements, these which wee tread,
Produce all things with which wee'are joy'd or fed, 5
And, those are barren both above our head:
So from low persons doth all honour flow;
Kings, whom they would have honoured, to us show,
And but _direct_ our honour, not _bestow_.
For when from herbs the pure part must be wonne 10
From grosse, by Stilling, this is better done
By despis'd dung, then by the fire or Sunne.
Care not then, Madame,'how low your praysers lye;
In labourers balads oft more piety
God findes, then in _Te Deums_ melodie. 15
And, ordinance rais'd on Towers, so many mile
Send not their voice, nor last so long a while
As fires from th'earths low vaults in _Sicil_ Isle.
Should I say I liv'd darker then were true,
Your radiation can all clouds subdue; 20
But one,'tis best light to contemplate you.
You, for whose body God made better clay,
Or tooke Soules stuffe such as shall late decay,
Or such as needs small change at the last day.
This, as an Amber drop enwraps a Bee, 25
Covering discovers your quicke Soule; that we
May in your through-shine front your hearts thoughts see.
You teach (though wee learne not) a thing unknowne
To our late times, the use of specular stone,
Through which all things within without were shown. 30
Of such were Temples; so and of such you are;
_Beeing_ and _seeming_ is your equall care,
And _vertues_ whole _summe_ is but _know_ and _dare_.
But as our Soules of growth and Soules of sense
Have birthright of our reasons Soule, yet hence 35
They fly not from that, nor seeke presidence:
Natures first lesson, so, discretion,
Must not grudge zeale a place, nor yet keepe none,
Not banish it selfe, nor religion.
Discretion is a wisemans Soule, and so 40
Religion is a Christians, and you know
How these are one; her _yea_, is not her _no_.
Nor may we hope to sodder still and knit
These two, and dare to breake them; nor must wit
Be colleague to religion, but be it. 45
In those poor types of God (round circles) so
Religions tipes the peeclesse centers flow,
And are in all the lines which all wayes goe.
If either ever wrought in you alone
Or principally, then religion 50
Wrought your ends, and your wayes discretion.
Goe thither stil, goe the same way you went,
Who so would change, do covet or repent;
Neither can reach you, great and innocent.
[To the Countesse of Bedford. _1633-69_, _B_, _O'F_, _S96:_ To
the Countess of B. _N_, _TCD_]
[10 part] parts _N_, _O'F_, _TCD_]
[12 or Sunne. _1633_, _B_, _N_, _O'F_, _S96_, _TCD:_ or Sun:
_1669:_ of Sunne: _1635-54_, _Chambers_]
[13 praysers _N_, _O'F_, _TCD:_ prayers _S96:_ prayses
_1633-69_]
[16 Towers,] Towers _1633_]
[20-1 subdue; But one, _Ed:_ subdue; But One _Chambers:_
subdue, But one, _1633-69:_ subdue But one; _Grolier and
Grosart_. _See note_]
[26 Covering discovers] Coverings discover _1669_]
[27 your hearts thoughts _B_, _N_, _O'F_, _S96_, _TCD:_ our
hearts thoughts _1633-69_. _See note_]
[31 so and of such _N_, _TCD:_ so and such _1633-69_, _B_,
_O'F_, _S96_]
[33 is but to know and dare. _N_]
[36-7
They fly not from that, nor seeke presidence:
Natures first lesson, so, discretion, _&c. _
_1633-69_ (presidence. _1633_; precedence: _1669_)
They fly not from that, nor seek precedence,
Natures first lesson; so discretion _&c. _
_Chambers and Grolier_ (discretion, _Grolier_). _See note_]
[40-2] _These lines precede_ 34-9 _in_ _1635-69_, _B_, _N_,
_S96_, _TCD:_ _om. O'F_]
[42 one; _Ed:_ one, _1633-69_ _yea, . . . no_] _ital. Ed. _]
[48 all wayes _1719:_ alwayes _1633-69_]
[50-1
'twas Religion,
Yet you neglected not Discretion.
_S96_]
[53 do covet] doth covet _1669_, _O'F_, _S96_]
_To the Countesse of_ Bedford.
_Begun in France but never perfected. _
Though I be _dead_, and buried, yet I have
(Living in you,) Court enough in my grave,
As oft as there I thinke my selfe to bee,
So many resurrections waken mee.
That thankfullnesse your favours have begot 5
In mee, embalmes mee, that I doe not rot.
This season as 'tis Easter, as 'tis spring,
Must both to growth and to confession bring
My thoughts dispos'd unto your influence; so,
These verses bud, so these confessions grow. 10
First I confesse I have to others lent
Your flock, and over prodigally spent
Your treasure, for since I had never knowne
Vertue or beautie, but as they are growne
In you, I should not thinke or say they shine, 15
(So as I have) in any other Mine.
Next I confesse this my confession,
For, 'tis some fault thus much to touch upon
Your praise to you, where half rights seeme too much,
And make your minds sincere complexion blush. 20
Next I confesse my'impenitence, for I
Can scarce repent my first fault, since thereby
Remote low Spirits, which shall ne'r read you,
May in lesse lessons finde enough to doe,
By studying copies, not Originals, 25
_Desunt cætera. _
[To the Countesse _&c. _ _1633-69_ (_following in 1635-69_ That
unripe side _&c. _, _p. _ 417, _and_ If her disdaine _&c. _, _p. _
430), _O'F_]
[5 begot] forgot _1633 some copies_]
[6 embalmes mee, _Ed_: embalmes mee; _1633-69_
rot. _Ed_: rot; _1633-69_]
[9 influence; _Ed_: influence, _1633-69_]
[10 grow. _Ed_: grow; _1633-69_]
[14 or _1633-39_: and _1650-69_]
[16 Mine. _Ed:_ Mine; _1633-69_]
[18 upon _Ed:_ upon, _1633-69_]
_A Letter to the Lady_ Carey, _and M^rs_ Essex Riche, _From_ Amyens.
MADAME,
Here where by All All Saints invoked are,
'Twere too much schisme to be singular,
And 'gainst a practise generall to warre.
Yet turning to Saincts, should my'humility
To other Sainct then you directed bee, 5
That were to make my schisme, heresie.
Nor would I be a Convertite so cold,
As not to tell it; If this be too bold,
Pardons are in this market cheaply sold.
Where, because Faith is in too low degree, 10
I thought it some Apostleship in mee
To speake things which by faith alone I see.
That is, of you, who are a firmament
Of virtues, where no one is growne, or spent,
They'are your materials, not your ornament. 15
Others whom wee call vertuous, are not so
In their whole substance, but, their vertues grow
But in their humours, and at seasons show.
For when through tastlesse flat humilitie
In dow bak'd men some harmelessenes we see, 20
'Tis but his _flegme_ that's _Vertuous_, and not Hee:
Soe is the Blood sometimes; who ever ran
To danger unimportun'd, he was than
No better then a _sanguine_ Vertuous man.
So cloysterall men, who, in pretence of feare 25
All contributions to this life forbeare,
Have Vertue in _Melancholy_, and only there.
Spirituall _Cholerique_ Crytiques, which in all
Religions find faults, and forgive no fall,
Have, through this zeale, Vertue but in their Gall. 30
We'are thus but parcel guilt; to Gold we'are growne
When Vertue is our Soules complexion;
Who knowes his Vertues name or place, hath none.
Vertue'is but aguish, when 'tis severall,
By occasion wak'd, and circumstantiall. 35
True vertue is _Soule_, Alwaies in all deeds _All_.
This Vertue thinking to give dignitie
To your soule, found there no infirmitie,
For, your soule was as good Vertue, as shee;
Shee therefore wrought upon that part of you 40
Which is scarce lesse then soule, as she could do,
And so hath made your beauty, Vertue too.
Hence comes it, that your Beauty wounds not hearts,
As Others, with prophane and sensuall Darts,
But as an influence, vertuous thoughts imparts. 45
But if such friends by the honor of your sight
Grow capable of this so great a light,
As to partake your vertues, and their might,
What must I thinke that influence must doe,
Where it findes sympathie and matter too, 50
Vertue, and beauty of the same stuffe, as you?
Which is, your noble worthie sister, shee
Of whom, if what in this my Extasie
And revelation of you both I see,
I should write here, as in short Galleries 55
The Master at the end large glasses ties,
So to present the roome twice to our eyes,
So I should give this letter length, and say
That which I said of you; there is no way
From either, but by the other, not to stray. 60
May therefore this be enough to testifie
My true devotion, free from flattery;
He that beleeves himselfe, doth never lie.
[A Letter to _&c. _ _1633-69_, _D_, _H49_, _Lec:_ To the Lady
Carey and her Sister M^rs Essex Rich. From Amiens. _O'F:_
To the Lady Co: of C. _N_, _TCD:_ To the Ladie Carey. _or_ A
Letter to the Ladie Carey. _B_, _Cy_, _S96:_ _no title_, _P:_
To M^rs Essex Rich and her sister frô Amiens. _M_]
[13 who are] who is _1633_]
[19 humilitie _1633-54_, _B_, _Cy_, _D_, _H49_, _Lec_, _M_,
_N_, _O'F_, _P_, _S96_, _TCD:_ humidity _1669_, _Chambers_]
[26 contributions] contribution _B_, _D_, _N_, _TCD_]
[30 this zeale, _1635-69_, _B_, _Cy_, _D_, _H49_, _N_, _O'F_,
_P_, _S96_, _TCD:_ their zeale, _1633_, _Lec_]
[31 Gold] Golds _1633 some copies_]
[33 aguish,] anguish, _1650-54_]
[57 our eyes,] your eyes, _Cy_, _D_, _H49_, _Lec_, _P_]
[60 by the] to the _1669_
other, _1669:_ other _1633-54_]
_To the Countesse of Salisbury. _ August. 1614.
Faire, great, and good, since seeing you, wee see
What Heaven can doe, and what any Earth can be:
Since now your beauty shines, now when the Sunne
Growne stale, is to so low a value runne,
That his disshevel'd beames and scattered fires 5
Serve but for Ladies Periwigs and Tyres
In lovers Sonnets: you come to repaire
Gods booke of creatures, teaching what is faire.
Since now, when all is withered, shrunke, and dri'd,
All Vertues ebb'd out to a dead low tyde, 10
All the worlds frame being crumbled into sand,
Where every man thinks by himselfe to stand,
Integritie, friendship, and confidence,
(Ciments of greatnes) being vapor'd hence,
And narrow man being fill'd with little shares, 15
Court, Citie, Church, are all shops of small-wares,
All having blowne to sparkes their noble fire,
And drawne their sound gold-ingot into wyre;
All trying by a love of littlenesse
To make abridgments, and to draw to lesse, 20
Even that nothing, which at first we were;
Since in these times, your greatnesse doth appeare,
And that we learne by it, that man to get
Towards him that's infinite, must first be great.
Since in an age so ill, as none is fit 25
So much as to accuse, much lesse mend it,
(For who can judge, or witnesse of those times
Where all alike are guiltie of the crimes? )
Where he that would be good, is thought by all
A monster, or at best fantasticall; 30
Since now you durst be good, and that I doe
Discerne, by daring to contemplate you,
That there may be degrees of faire, great, good,
Through your light, largenesse, vertue understood:
If in this sacrifice of mine, be showne 35
Any small sparke of these, call it your owne.
And if things like these, have been said by mee
Of others; call not that Idolatrie.
For had God made man first, and man had seene
The third daies fruits, and flowers, and various greene, 40
He might have said the best that he could say
Of those faire creatures, which were made that day;
And when next day he had admir'd the birth
Of Sun, Moone, Stars, fairer then late-prais'd earth,
Hee might have said the best that he could say, 45
And not be chid for praising yesterday;
So though some things are not together true,
As, that another is worthiest, and, that you:
Yet, to say so, doth not condemne a man,
If when he spoke them, they were both true than. 50
How faire a proofe of this, in our soule growes?
Wee first have soules of growth, and sense, and those,
When our last soule, our soule immortall came,
Were swallowed into it, and have no name.
Nor doth he injure those soules, which doth cast 55
The power and praise of both them, on the last;
No more doe I wrong any; I adore
The same things now, which I ador'd before,
The subject chang'd, and measure; the same thing
In a low constable, and in the King 60
I reverence; His power to work on mee:
So did I humbly reverence each degree
Of faire, great, good; but more, now I am come
From having found their _walkes_, to find their _home_.
And as I owe my first soules thankes, that they 65
For my last soule did fit and mould my clay,
So am I debtor unto them, whose worth,
Enabled me to profit, and take forth
This new great lesson, thus to study you;
Which none, not reading others, first, could doe. 70
Nor lacke I light to read this booke, though I
In a darke Cave, yea in a Grave doe lie;
For as your fellow Angells, so you doe
Illustrate them who come to study you.
The first whom we in Histories doe finde 75
To have profest all Arts, was one borne blinde:
He lackt those eyes beasts have as well as wee,
Not those, by which Angels are seene and see;
So, though I'am borne without those eyes to live,
Which fortune, who hath none her selfe, doth give, 80
Which are, fit meanes to see bright courts and you,
Yet may I see you thus, as now I doe;
I shall by that, all goodnesse have discern'd,
And though I burne my librarie, be learn'd.
[To the Countesse _&c. _ _1633-69_, _D_, _H49_, _Lec:_ To
the Countess of Salisbury. _O'F:_ To the Countess of S. _N_,
_TCD_]
[2 and what _1633_, _1669_, _D_, _H49_, _Lec:_ what _1635-54_,
_N_, _O'F_, _TCD_]
[16 Court,] Courts, _1669_]
[17 noble fire,] nobler fire, _O'F_]
[24 him] him, _1633_
that's _1650-69:_ thats _1633-39_]
[29-30 _Chambers includes in parenthesis_]
[30 fantasticall; _Ed:_ fantasticall: _1633-69_]
[34 light, largenesse,] lights largeness, _1669_]
[38 Idolatrie. ] Adulterie: _N_, _TCD_]
[40 greene,] greene _1633_]
[42 day; _Ed:_ day: _1633-69_]
[46 yesterday; _Ed:_ yesterday: _1633-69_]
[54 name. _1633-39:_ name _1654-69_]
[57 any; I adore _1633_, _D_, _Lec_, _N_, _TCD:_ any, if I
adore _1635-69_, _O'F_ (if _being inserted_)]
[61 mee: _D_, _N_, _TCD:_ mee; _1633-69_]
[63 good; _Ed:_ good, _1633-69_]
[77-8 _om. _ _D_, _H49_, _Lec_]
_To the Lady Bedford. _
You that are she and you, that's double shee,
In her dead face, halfe of your selfe shall see;
Shee was the other part, for so they doe
Which build them friendships, become one of two;
So two, that but themselves no third can fit, 5
Which were to be so, when they were not yet;
Twinnes, though their birth _Cusco_, and _Musco_ take,
As divers starres one Constellation make;
Pair'd like two eyes, have equall motion, so
Both but one meanes to see, one way to goe. 10
Had you dy'd first, a carcasse shee had beene;
And wee your rich Tombe in her face had seene;
She like the Soule is gone, and you here stay,
Not a live friend; but th'other halfe of clay.
And since you act that part, As men say, here 15
Lies such a Prince, when but one part is there,
And do all honour and devotion due
Unto the whole, so wee all reverence you;
For, such a friendship who would not adore
In you, who are all what both were before, 20
Not all, as if some perished by this,
But so, as all in you contracted is.
As of this all, though many parts decay,
The pure which elemented them shall stay;
And though diffus'd, and spread in infinite, 25
Shall recollect, and in one All unite:
So madame, as her Soule to heaven is fled,
Her flesh rests in the earth, as in the bed;
Her vertues do, as to their proper spheare,
Returne to dwell with you, of whom they were: 30
As perfect motions are all circular,
So they to you, their sea, whence lesse streames are.
Shee was all spices, you all metalls; so
In you two wee did both rich Indies know.
And as no fire, nor rust can spend or waste 35
One dramme of gold, but what was first shall last,
Though it bee forc'd in water, earth, salt, aire,
Expans'd in infinite, none will impaire;
So, to your selfe you may additions take,
But nothing can you lesse, or changed make. 40
Seeke not in seeking new, to seeme to doubt,
That you can match her, or not be without;
But let some faithfull booke in her roome be,
Yet but of _Iudith_ no such booke as shee.
[To the _&c. _ _1635-69_, _O'F:_ Elegie to the Lady Bedford.
_1633_, _Cy_, _H40_, _L74_, _N_, _P_, _TCD:_ Elegia Sexta.
_S:_ _In 1633, Cy, H40, N, TCD it follows, in P precedes, the
Funerall Elegy_ Death (_p. _ 284), _to which it is apparently
a covering letter:_ _In L74 it follows the_ Elegy on the Lady
Marckham: _O'F places it among the_ Letters, _S among the_
Elegies]
[1 she and you,] she, and you _1633-69_, _Chambers_. _See
note_]
[4 two;] the two; _1669_]
[6 yet; _Ed:_ yet _1633-39:_ yet. _1650-69_]
[8 make; _Ed:_ make, _1633-69_]
[10 goe. _Ed:_ goe; _1633-69_]
[13 stay,] stay _1633-35_
th'other] thother _1633_
clay. _Ed:_ clay; _1633-69_]
[16 there, _Ed:_ there; _1633-69_]
[17 honour] honour: _1633_
due] due; _1633_]
[20 were] was _1633_]
[22 as all in you] as in you all _O'F:_ that in you all _Cy_,
_H40_, _L74_, _N_, _S_
is. _Ed:_ is; _1633-69_]
[28 the bed;] a bed; _Cy_, _H40_, _L74_, _N_, _O'F_, _S:_ her
bed; _P_]
[30 were:] were; _1633_]
[32 are. ] are; _1633_]
[34 know. ] know; _1633_]
[41 doubt, _1633:_ doubt; _1635-69_]
[42 can] _twice in 1633_]
AN ANATOMIE OF THE WORLD.
_Wherein_,
By occasion of the untimely death of
Mistris ELIZABETH DRVRY,
the frailty and the decay of this
whole World is represented.
* * * * *
The first Anniversary.
* * * * *
_To the praise of the dead_,
_and the_ ANATOMIE.
Well dy'd the World, that we might live to see
This world of wit, in his Anatomie:
No evill wants his good; so wilder heires
Bedew their Fathers Tombes, with forced teares,
Whose state requites their losse: whiles thus we gain, 5
Well may wee walke in blacks, but not complaine.
Yet how can I consent the world is dead
While this Muse lives? which in his spirits stead
Seemes to informe a World; and bids it bee,
In spight of losse or fraile mortalitie? 10
And thou the subject of this welborne thought,
Thrice noble maid, couldst not have found nor sought
A fitter time to yeeld to thy sad Fate,
Then whiles this spirit lives, that can relate
Thy worth so well to our last Nephews eyne, 15
That they shall wonder both at his and thine:
Admired match! where strives in mutuall grace
The cunning pencill, and the comely face:
A taske which thy faire goodnesse made too much
For the bold pride of vulgar pens to touch; 20
Enough is us to praise them that praise thee,
And say, that but enough those prayses bee,
Which hadst thou liv'd, had hid their fearfull head
From th'angry checkings of thy modest red:
Death barres reward and shame: when envy's gone, 25
And gaine, 'tis safe to give the dead their owne.
As then the wise Egyptians wont to lay
More on their Tombes, then houses: these of clay,
But those of brasse, or marble were: so wee
Give more unto thy Ghost, then unto thee. 30
Yet what wee give to thee, thou gav'st to us,
And may'st but thanke thy selfe, for being thus:
Yet what thou gav'st, and wert, O happy maid,
Thy grace profest all due, where 'tis repayd.
So these high songs that to thee suited bin 35
Serve but to sound thy Makers praise, in thine,
Which thy deare soule as sweetly sings to him
Amid the Quire of Saints, and Seraphim,
As any Angels tongue can sing of thee;
The subjects differ, though the skill agree: 40
For as by infant-yeares men judge of age,
Thy early love, thy vertues, did presage
What an high part thou bear'st in those best songs,
Whereto no burden, nor no end belongs.
Sing on thou virgin Soule, whose lossfull gaine 45
Thy lovesick parents have bewail'd in vaine;
Never may thy Name be in our songs forgot,
Till wee shall sing thy ditty and thy note.
[An Anatomie _&c. _ _1611-33:_ Anatomie _&c. _ _1635-69_
The first Anniversary. _1612-69:_ _om. 1611_. _See note_
To the praise of the dead _&c. _ _1611-69_ (Dead _1611_)]
[8 While] Whiles _1639-69_]
[21 is] it is _1699_]
[25 shame: _1611_, _1612-25:_ shame, _1633-69_]
[26 gaine, _1633-69:_ gaine; _1612-25_]
[34 where] were _1621-25_]
[35 bin _1633-39:_ bine _1611:_ bine, _1612-21:_ bine. _1625:_
bin, _1650-69_]
[36 praise, in thine, _1611_, _1612-25:_ praise and thine,
_1633-69_]
[38 Quire _1611_, _1612-25:_ quire _1633-69_]
[39 tongue _1611_, _1612-39:_ tongues _1650-69_]
[41 infant-yeares _1611_, _1621-25:_ infant yeares _1633-69_]
[42 vertues, _1611_, _1612-25:_ vertues _1633-69_
presage _1612-25:_ presage, _1633-69_]
[43 What an hie . . . best songs, _1611-12:_ What hie . . . best
songs _1621-25:_ What high . . . best of songs, _1633-69_]
[47 our _1611_, _1612-54:_ _om. 1669_
forgot,] forgot. _1621-25_]
An Anatomy of the World.
_The first Anniversary. _
[Sidenote: _The entrie into the worke. _]
When that rich Soule which to her heaven is gone,
Whom all do celebrate, who know they have one,
(For who is sure he hath a Soule, unlesse
It see, and judge, and follow worthinesse,
And by Deedes praise it? hee who doth not this, 5
May lodge an In-mate soule, but 'tis not his. )
When that Queene ended here her progresse time,
And, as t'her standing house to heaven did climbe,
Where loath to make the Saints attend her long,
She's now a part both of the Quire, and Song, 10
This World, in that great earthquake languished;
For in a common bath of teares it bled,
Which drew the strongest vitall spirits out:
But succour'd then with a perplexed doubt,
Whether the world did lose, or gaine in this, 15
(Because since now no other way there is,
But goodnesse, to see her, whom all would see,
All must endeavour to be good as shee,)
This great consumption to a fever turn'd,
And so the world had fits; it joy'd, it mourn'd; 20
And, as men thinke, that Agues physick are,
And th'Ague being spent, give over care,
So thou sicke World, mistak'st thy selfe to bee
Well, when alas, thou'rt in a Lethargie.
Her death did wound and tame thee than, and than 25
Thou might'st have better spar'd the Sunne, or Man.
That wound was deep, but 'tis more misery,
That thou hast lost thy sense and memory.
'Twas heavy then to heare thy voyce of mone,
But this is worse, that thou art speechlesse growne. 30
Thou hast forgot thy name, thou hadst; thou wast
Nothing but shee, and her thou hast o'rpast.
For as a child kept from the Font, untill
A prince, expected long, come to fulfill
The ceremonies, thou unnam'd had'st laid, 35
Had not her comming, thee her Palace made:
Her name defin'd thee, gave thee forme, and frame,
And thou forgett'st to celebrate thy name.
Some moneths she hath beene dead (but being dead,
Measures of times are all determined) 40
But long she'ath beene away, long, long, yet none
Offers to tell us who it is that's gone.
But as in states doubtfull of future heires,
When sicknesse without remedie empaires
The present Prince, they're loth it should be said, 45
The Prince doth languish, or the Prince is dead:
So mankinde feeling now a generall thaw,
A strong example gone, equall to law,
The Cyment which did faithfully compact,
And glue all vertues, now resolv'd, and slack'd, 50
Thought it some blasphemy to say sh'was dead,
Or that our weaknesse was discovered
In that confession; therefore spoke no more
Then tongues, the Soule being gone, the losse deplore.
But though it be too late to succour thee, 55
Sicke World, yea, dead, yea putrified, since shee
Thy'intrinsique balme, and thy preservative,
Can never be renew'd, thou never live,
I (since no man can make thee live) will try,
What wee may gaine by thy Anatomy. 60
Her death hath taught us dearely, that thou art
Corrupt and mortall in thy purest part.
Let no man say, the world it selfe being dead,
'Tis labour lost to have discovered
The worlds infirmities, since there is none 65
Alive to study this dissection;
[Sidenote: _What life the world hath stil. _]
For there's a kinde of World remaining still,
Though shee which did inanimate and fill
The world, be gone, yet in this last long night,
Her Ghost doth walke; that is, a glimmering light, 70
A faint weake love of vertue, and of good,
Reflects from her, on them which understood
Her worth; and though she have shut in all day,
The twilight of her memory doth stay;
Which, from the carcasse of the old world, free, 75
Creates a new world, and new creatures bee
Produc'd: the matter and the stuffe of this,
Her vertue, and the forme our practice is:
And though to be thus elemented, arme
These creatures, from home-borne intrinsique harme, 80
(For all assum'd unto this dignitie,
So many weedlesse Paradises bee,
Which of themselves produce no venemous sinne,
Except some forraine Serpent bring it in)
Yet, because outward stormes the strongest breake, 85
And strength it selfe by confidence growes weake,
This new world may be safer, being told
[Sidenote: _The sicknesses of the World. _]
The dangers and diseases of the old:
For with due temper men doe then forgoe,
Or covet things, when they their true worth know. 90
[Sidenote: _Impossibility of health. _]
There is no health; Physitians say that wee,
At best, enjoy but a neutralitie.
And can there bee worse sicknesse, then to know
That we are never well, nor can be so?
Wee are borne ruinous: poore mothers cry, 95
That children come not right, nor orderly;
Except they headlong come and fall upon
An ominous precipitation.
How witty's ruine! how importunate
Upon mankinde! it labour'd to frustrate 100
Even Gods purpose; and made woman, sent
For mans reliefe, cause of his languishment.
They were to good ends, and they are so still,
But accessory, and principall in ill;
For that first marriage was our funerall: 105
One woman at one blow, then kill'd us all,
And singly, one by one, they kill us now.
We doe delightfully our selves allow
To that consumption; and profusely blinde,
Wee kill our selves to propagate our kinde. 110
And yet we do not that; we are not men:
There is not now that mankinde, which was then,
When as, the Sunne and man did seeme to strive,
[Sidenote: _Shortnesse of life. _]
(Joynt tenants of the world) who should survive;
When, Stagge, and Raven, and the long-liv'd tree, 115
Compar'd with man, dy'd in minoritie;
When, if a slow pac'd starre had stolne away
From the observers marking, he might stay
Two or three hundred yeares to see't againe,
And then make up his observation plaine; 120
When, as the age was long, the sise was great;
Mans growth confess'd, and recompenc'd the meat;
So spacious and large, that every Soule
Did a faire Kingdome, and large Realme controule:
And when the very stature, thus erect, 125
Did that soule a good way towards heaven direct.
Where is this mankinde now? who lives to age,
Fit to be made _Methusalem_ his page?
Alas, we scarce live long enough to try
Whether a true made clocke run right, or lie. 130
Old Grandsires talke of yesterday with sorrow,
And for our children wee reserve to morrow.
So short is life, that every peasant strives,
In a torne house, or field, to have three lives.
And as in lasting, so in length is man 135
[Sidenote: _Smalnesse of stature. _]
Contracted to an inch, who was a spanne;
For had a man at first in forrests stray'd,
Or shipwrack'd in the Sea, one would have laid
A wager, that an Elephant, or Whale,
That met him, would not hastily assaile 140
A thing so equall to him: now alas,
The Fairies, and the Pigmies well may passe
As credible; mankinde decayes so soone,
We'are scarce our Fathers shadowes cast at noone:
Onely death addes t'our length: nor are wee growne 145
In stature to be men, till we are none.
But this were light, did our lesse volume hold
All the old Text; or had wee chang'd to gold
Their silver; or dispos'd into lesse glasse
Spirits of vertue, which then scatter'd was. 150
But 'tis not so: w'are not retir'd, but dampt;
And as our bodies, so our mindes are crampt:
'Tis shrinking, not close weaving that hath thus,
In minde, and body both bedwarfed us.
Wee seeme ambitious, Gods whole worke t'undoe; 155
Of nothing hee made us, and we strive too,
To bring our selves to nothing backe; and wee
Doe what wee can, to do't so soone as hee.
With new diseases on our selves we warre,
And with new Physicke, a worse Engin farre. 160
Thus man, this worlds Vice-Emperour, in whom
All faculties, all graces are at home;
And if in other creatures they appeare,
They're but mans Ministers, and Legats there,
To worke on their rebellions, and reduce 165
Them to Civility, and to mans use:
This man, whom God did wooe, and loth t'attend
Till man came up, did downe to man descend,
This man, so great, that all that is, is his,
Oh what a trifle, and poore thing he is! 170
If man were any thing, he's nothing now:
Helpe, or at least some time to wast, allow
T'his other wants, yet when he did depart
With her whom we lament, hee lost his heart.
She, of whom th'Ancients seem'd to prophesie, 175
When they call'd vertues by the name of _shee_;
Shee in whom vertue was so much refin'd,
That for Allay unto so pure a minde
Shee tooke the weaker Sex; shee that could drive
The poysonous tincture, and the staine of _Eve_, 180
Out of her thoughts, and deeds; and purifie
All, by a true religious Alchymie;
Shee, shee is dead; shee's dead: when thou knowest this,
Thou knowest how poore a trifling thing man is.
And learn'st thus much by our Anatomie, 185
The heart being perish'd, no part can be free.
And that except thou feed (not banquet) on
The supernaturall food, Religion,
Thy better Growth growes withered, and scant;
Be more then man, or thou'rt lesse then an Ant. 190
Then, as mankinde, so is the worlds whole frame
Quite out of joynt, almost created lame:
For, before God had made up all the rest,
Corruption entred, and deprav'd the best:
It seis'd the Angels, and then first of all 195
The world did in her cradle take a fall,
And turn'd her braines, and tooke a generall maime,
Wronging each joynt of th'universall frame.
The noblest part, man, felt it first; and than
Both beasts and plants, curst in the curse of man. 200
[Sidenote: _Decay of nature in other parts. _]
So did the world from the first houre decay,
That evening was beginning of the day,
And now the Springs and Sommers which we see,
Like sonnes of women after fiftie bee.
And new Philosophy calls all in doubt, 205
The Element of fire is quite put out;
The Sun is lost, and th'earth, and no mans wit
Can well direct him where to looke for it.
And freely men confesse that this world's spent,
When in the Planets, and the Firmament 210
They seeke so many new; they see that this
Is crumbled out againe to his Atomies.
'Tis all in peeces, all cohaerence gone;
All just supply, and all Relation:
Prince, Subject, Father, Sonne, are things forgot, 215
For every man alone thinkes he hath got
To be a Phœnix, and that then can bee
None of that kinde, of which he is, but hee.
This is the worlds condition now, and now
She that should all parts to reunion bow, 220
She that had all Magnetique force alone,
To draw, and fasten sundred parts in one;
She whom wise nature had invented then
When she observ'd that every sort of men
Did in their voyage in this worlds Sea stray, 225
And needed a new compasse for their way;
She that was best, and first originall
Of all faire copies, and the generall
Steward to Fate; she whose rich eyes, and brest
Guilt the West Indies, and perfum'd the East; 230
Whose having breath'd in this world, did bestow
Spice on those Iles, and bad them still smell so,
And that rich Indie which doth gold interre,
Is but as single money, coyn'd from her:
She to whom this world must it selfe refer, 235
As Suburbs, or the Microcosme of her,
Shee, shee is dead; shee's dead: when thou knowst this,
Thou knowst how lame a cripple this world is.
And learn'st thus much by our Anatomy,
That this worlds generall sickenesse doth not lie 240
In any humour, or one certaine part;
But as thou sawest it rotten at the heart,
Thou seest a Hectique feaver hath got hold
Of the whole substance, not to be contrould,
And that thou hast but one way, not t'admit 245
The worlds infection, to be none of it.
For the worlds subtilst immateriall parts
Feele this consuming wound, and ages darts.
For the worlds beauty is decai'd, or gone,
[Sidenote: _Disformity of parts. _]
Beauty, that's colour, and proportion. 250
We thinke the heavens enjoy their Sphericall,
Their round proportion embracing all.
But yet their various and perplexed course,
Observ'd in divers ages, doth enforce
Men to finde out so many Eccentrique parts, 255
Such divers downe-right lines, such overthwarts,
As disproportion that pure forme: It teares
The Firmament in eight and forty sheires,
And in these Constellations then arise
New starres, and old doe vanish from our eyes: 260
As though heav'n suffered earthquakes, peace or war,
When new Towers rise, and old demolish't are.
They have impal'd within a Zodiake
The free-borne Sun, and keepe twelve Signes awake
To watch his steps; the Goat and Crab controule, 265
And fright him backe, who else to either Pole
(Did not these Tropiques fetter him) might runne:
For his course is not round; nor can the Sunne
Perfit a Circle, or maintaine his way
One inch direct; but where he rose to-day 270
He comes no more, but with a couzening line,
Steales by that point, and so is Serpentine:
And seeming weary with his reeling thus,
He meanes to sleepe, being now falne nearer us.
So, of the Starres which boast that they doe runne 275
In Circle still, none ends where he begun.
All their proportion's lame, it sinkes, it swels.
For of Meridians, and Parallels,
Man hath weav'd out a net, and this net throwne
Upon the Heavens, and now they are his owne. 280
Loth to goe up the hill, or labour thus
To goe to heaven, we make heaven come to us.
We spur, we reine the starres, and in their race
They're diversly content t'obey our pace.
But keepes the earth her round proportion still? 285
Doth not a Tenarif, or higher Hill
Rise so high like a Rocke, that one might thinke
The floating Moone would shipwracke there, and sinke?
Seas are so deepe, that Whales being strooke to day,
Perchance to morrow, scarse at middle way 290
Of their wish'd journies end, the bottome, die.
And men, to sound depths, so much line untie,
As one might justly thinke, that there would rise
At end thereof, one of th'Antipodies:
If under all, a Vault infernall bee, 295
(Which sure is spacious, except that we
Invent another torment, that there must
Millions into a straight hot roome be thrust)
Then solidnesse, and roundnesse have no place.
Are these but warts, and pock-holes in the face 300
Of th'earth? Thinke so: but yet confesse, in this
The worlds proportion disfigured is;
[Sidenote: _Disorder in the world. _]
That those two legges whereon it doth rely,
Reward and punishment are bent awry.
And, Oh, it can no more be questioned, 305
That beauties best, proportion, is dead,
Since even griefe it selfe, which now alone
Is left us, is without proportion.
Shee by whose lines proportion should bee
Examin'd, measure of all Symmetree, 310
Whom had that Ancient seen, who thought soules made
Of Harmony, he would at next have said
That Harmony was shee, and thence infer,
That soules were but Resultances from her,
And did from her into our bodies goe, 315
As to our eyes, the formes from objects flow:
Shee, who if those great Doctors truly said
That the Arke to mans proportions was made,
Had been a type for that, as that might be
A type of her in this, that contrary 320
Both Elements, and Passions liv'd at peace
In her, who caus'd all Civill war to cease.
Shee, after whom, what forme so'er we see,
Is discord, and rude incongruitie;
Shee, shee is dead, shee's dead; when thou knowst this 325
Thou knowst how ugly a monster this world is:
And learn'st thus much by our Anatomie,
That here is nothing to enamour thee:
And that, not only faults in inward parts,
Corruptions in our braines, or in our hearts, 330
Poysoning the fountaines, whence our actions spring,
Endanger us: but that if every thing
Be not done fitly'and in proportion,
To satisfie wise, and good lookers on,
(Since most men be such as most thinke they bee) 335
They're lothsome too, by this Deformitee.
For good, and well, must in our actions meete;
Wicked is not much worse than indiscreet.
But beauties other second Element,
Colour, and lustre now, is as neere spent. 340
And had the world his just proportion,
Were it a ring still, yet the stone is gone.
As a compassionate Turcoyse which doth tell
By looking pale, the wearer is not well,
As gold falls sicke being stung with Mercury, 345
All the worlds parts of such complexion bee.
When nature was most busie, the first weeke,
Swadling the new borne earth, God seem'd to like
That she should sport her selfe sometimes, and play,
To mingle, and vary colours every day: 350
And then, as though shee could not make inow,
Himselfe his various Rainbow did allow.
Sight is the noblest sense of any one,
Yet sight hath only colour to feed on,
And colour is decai'd: summers robe growes 355
Duskie, and like an oft dyed garment showes.
Our blushing red, which us'd in cheekes to spred,
Is inward sunke, and only our soules are red.
Perchance the world might have recovered,
If she whom we lament had not beene dead: 360
But shee, in whom all white, and red, and blew
(Beauties ingredients) voluntary grew,
As in an unvext Paradise; from whom
Did all things verdure, and their lustre come,
Whose composition was miraculous, 365
Being all colour, all Diaphanous,
(For Ayre, and Fire but thick grosse bodies were,
And liveliest stones but drowsie, and pale to her,)
Shee, shee, is dead; shee's dead: when thou know'st this,
Thou knowst how wan a Ghost this our world is: 370
And learn'st thus much by our Anatomie,
That it should more affright, then pleasure thee.
And that, since all faire colour then did sinke,
'Tis now but wicked vanitie, to thinke
[Sidenote: _Weaknesse in the want of correspondence of heaven and
earth. _]
To colour vicious deeds with good pretence, 375
Or with bought colors to illude mens sense.
Nor in ought more this worlds decay appeares,
Then that her influence the heav'n forbeares,
Or that the Elements doe not feele this,
The father, or the mother barren is. 380
The cloudes conceive not raine, or doe not powre,
In the due birth time, downe the balmy showre;
Th'Ayre doth not motherly sit on the earth,
To hatch her seasons, and give all things birth;
Spring-times were common cradles, but are tombes; 385
And false-conceptions fill the generall wombes;
Th'Ayre showes such Meteors, as none can see,
Not only what they meane, but what they bee;
Earth such new wormes, as would have troubled much
Th'Ægyptian _Mages_ to have made more such. 390
What Artist now dares boast that he can bring
Heaven hither, or constellate any thing,
So as the influence of those starres may bee
Imprison'd in an Hearbe, or Charme, or Tree,
And doe by touch, all which those stars could doe? 395
The art is lost, and correspondence too.
For heaven gives little, and the earth takes lesse,
And man least knowes their trade and purposes.
If this commerce twixt heaven and earth were not
Embarr'd, and all this traffique quite forgot, 400
She, for whose losse we have lamented thus,
Would worke more fully, and pow'rfully on us:
Since herbes, and roots, by dying lose not all,
But they, yea Ashes too, are medicinall,
Death could not quench her vertue so, but that 405
It would be (if not follow'd) wondred at:
And all the world would be one dying Swan,
To sing her funerall praise, and vanish than.
But as some Serpents poyson hurteth not,
Except it be from the live Serpent shot, 410
So doth her vertue need her here, to fit
That unto us; shee working more then it.
But shee, in whom to such maturity
Vertue was growne, past growth, that it must die;
She, from whose influence all Impressions came, 415
But, by Receivers impotencies, lame,
Who, though she could not transubstantiate
All states to gold, yet guilded every state,
So that some Princes have some temperance;
Some Counsellers some purpose to advance 420
The common profit; and some people have
Some stay, no more then Kings should give, to crave;
Some women have some taciturnity,
Some nunneries some graines of chastitie.
She that did thus much, and much more could doe, 425
But that our age was Iron, and rustie too,
Shee, shee is dead; shee's dead; when thou knowst this,
Thou knowst how drie a Cinder this world is.
And learn'st thus much by our Anatomy,
That 'tis in vaine to dew, or mollifie 430
It with thy teares, or sweat, or blood: nothing
Is worth our travaile, griefe, or perishing,
But those rich joyes, which did possesse her heart,
Of which she's now partaker, and a part.
[Sidenote: _Conclusion. _]
But as in cutting up a man that's dead, 435
The body will not last out, to have read
On every part, and therefore men direct
Their speech to parts, that are of most effect;
So the worlds carcasse would not last, if I
Were punctuall in this Anatomy; 440
Nor smels it well to hearers, if one tell
Them their disease, who faine would think they're well.
Here therefore be the end: And, blessed maid,
Of whom is meant what ever hath been said,
Or shall be spoken well by any tongue, 445
Whose name refines course lines, and makes prose song,
Accept this tribute, and his first yeares rent,
Who till his darke short tapers end be spent,
As oft as thy feast sees this widowed earth,
Will yearely celebrate thy second birth, 450
That is, thy death; for though the soule of man
Be got when man is made, 'tis borne but than
When man doth die; our body's as the wombe,
And, as a Mid-wife, death directs it home.
And you her creatures, whom she workes upon, 455
And have your last, and best concoction
From her example, and her vertue, if you
In reverence to her, do thinke it due,
That no one should her praises thus rehearse,
As matter fit for Chronicle, not verse; 460
Vouchsafe to call to minde that God did make
A last, and lasting'st peece, a song. He spake
To _Moses_ to deliver unto all,
That song, because hee knew they would let fall
The Law, the Prophets, and the History, 465
But keepe the song still in their memory:
Such an opinion (in due measure) made
Me this great Office boldly to invade:
Nor could incomprehensiblenesse deterre
Mee, from thus trying to emprison her, 470
Which when I saw that a strict grave could doe,
I saw not why verse might not do so too.
Verse hath a middle nature: heaven keepes Soules,
The Grave keepes bodies, Verse the Fame enroules.
[An Anatomy _&c. _ _1611-69_ The first Anniversary. _1612-69_
(First _1612-25_): _om. 1611_]
[_The entrie &c. _ _1612-21:_ _om.
