The Complete Works of Richard Crashaw, Volume I

by Richard Crashaw

I.

THE DELIGHTS OF THE MUSES

(1646).

NOTE.

For the title-page of 'The Delights of the Muses' see Note immediately before the original Preface, and our Preface on the classification of the several poems. G.

MUSICK'S DUELL.[61]

Now Westward Sol had spent the richest beams1
Of Noon's high glory, when hard by the streams
Of Tiber, on the sceane of a greene plat,
Vnder protection of an oake, there sate
A sweet Lute's-master; in whose gentle aires5
He lost the daye's heat, and his owne hot cares.
Close in the covert of the leaves there stood
A Nightingale, come from the neighbouring wood:
(The sweet inhabitant of each glad tree,
Their Muse, their Syren—harmlesse Syren she!)10
There stood she listning, and did entertaine
The musick's soft report, and mold the same
In her owne murmures, that what ever mood
His curious fingers lent, her voyce made good:
The man perceiv'd his rivall, and her art;15
Dispos'd to give the light-foot lady sport,
Awakes his lute, and 'gainst the fight to come
Informes it in a sweet præludium
Of closer straines, and ere the warre begin,
He lightly skirmishes on every string,20
Charg'd with a flying touch: and streightway she
Carves out her dainty voyce as readily,
Into a thousand sweet distinguish'd tones,
And reckons up in soft divisions,
Quicke volumes of wild notes; to let him know25
By that shrill taste, she could do something too.
His nimble hands' instinct then taught each string
A capring cheerefullnesse; and made them sing
To their owne dance; now negligently rash
He throwes his arme, and with a long drawne dash30
Blends all together; then distinctly tripps
From this to that; then quicke returning skipps
And snatches this again, and pauses there.
Shee measures every measure, every where
Meets art with art; sometimes as if in doubt35
Not perfect yet, and fearing to be out,
Trayles her plaine ditty in one long-spun note,
Through the sleeke passage of her open throat,
A cleare unwrinckled song; then doth shee point it
With tender accents, and severely joynt it40
By short diminutives, that being rear'd
In controverting warbles evenly shar'd,
With her sweet selfe shee wrangles. Hee amazed
That from so small a channell should be rais'd
The torrent of a voyce, whose melody45
Could melt into such sweet variety,
Straines higher yet; that tickled with rare art
The tatling strings (each breathing in his part)
Most kindly doe fall out; the grumbling base
In surly groans disdaines the treble's grace;50
The high-perch't treble chirps at this, and chides,
Vntill his finger (Moderatour) hides
And closes the sweet quarrell, rowsing all,
Hoarce, shrill at once; as when the trumpets call
Hot Mars to th' harvest of Death's field, and woo55
Men's hearts into their hands: this lesson too
Shee gives him back, her supple brest thrills out
Sharpe aires, and staggers in a warbling doubt
Of dallying sweetnesse, hovers o're her skill,
And folds in wav'd notes with a trembling bill60
The plyant series of her slippery song;
Then starts shee suddenly into a throng
Of short, thicke sobs, whose thundring volleyes float
And roule themselves over her lubrick throat
In panting murmurs, 'still'd out of her breast,65
That ever-bubling spring; the sugred nest
Of her delicious soule, that there does lye
Bathing in streames of liquid melodie;
Musick's best seed-plot, whence in ripen'd aires
A golden-headed harvest fairely reares70
His honey-dropping tops, plow'd by her breath,
Which there reciprocally laboureth
In that sweet soyle; it seemes a holy quire
Founded to th' name of great Apollo's lyre,
Whose silver-roofe rings with the sprightly notes75
Of sweet-lipp'd angel-imps, that swill their throats
In creame of morning Helicon, and then
Preferre soft-anthems to the eares of men,
To woo them from their beds, still murmuring
That men can sleepe while they their mattens sing:80
(Most divine service) whose so early lay,
Prevents the eye-lidds of the blushing Day!
There you might heare her kindle her soft voyce,
In the close murmur of a sparkling noyse,
And lay the ground-worke of her hopefull song,85
Still keeping in the forward streame, so long,
Till a sweet whirle-wind (striving to get out)
Heaves her soft bosome, wanders round about,
And makes a pretty earthquake in her breast,
Till the fledg'd notes at length forsake their nest,90
Fluttering in wanton shoales, and to the sky
Wing'd with their owne wild ecchos, pratling fly.
Shee opes the floodgate, and lets loose a tide
Of streaming sweetnesse, which in state doth ride
On the wav'd backe of every swelling straine,95
Rising and falling in a pompous traine.
And while she thus discharges a shrill peale
Of flashing aires; she qualifies their zeale
With the coole epode of a graver noat,
Thus high, thus low, as if her silver throat100
Would reach the brazen voyce of War's hoarce bird;
Her little soule is ravisht: and so pour'd
Into loose extasies, that she is plac't
Above her selfe, Musick's Enthusiast.
Shame now and anger mixt a double staine105
In the Musitian's face; yet once againe
(Mistresse) I come; now reach a straine my lute
Above her mocke, or be for ever mute;
Or tune a song of victory to me,
Or to thy selfe, sing thine own obsequie:110
So said, his hands sprightly as fire, he flings
And with a quavering coynesse tasts the strings.
The sweet-lip't sisters, musically frighted,
Singing their feares, are fearefully delighted,
Trembling as when Appolo's golden haires115
Are fan'd and frizled, in the wanton ayres
Of his own breath: which marryed to his lyre
Doth tune the spheares, and make Heaven's selfe looke higher.
From this to that, from that to this he flyes.
Feeles Musick's pulse in all her arteryes;120
Caught in a net which there Apollo spreads,
His fingers struggle with the vocall threads.
Following those little rills, he sinkes into
A sea of Helicon; his hand does goe
Those pathes of sweetnesse which with nectar drop,125
Softer than that which pants in Hebe's cup.
The humourous strings expound his learnèd touch,
By various glosses; now they seeme to grutch,
And murmur in a buzzing dinne, then gingle
In shrill-tongu'd accents: striving to be single.130
Every smooth turne, every delicious stroake
Gives life to some new grace; thus doth h' invoke
Sweetnesse by all her names; thus, bravely thus
(Fraught with a fury so harmonious)
The lute's light genius now does proudly rise,135
Heav'd on the surges of swolne rapsodyes,
Whose flourish (meteor-like) doth curle the aire
With flash of high-borne fancyes: here and there
Dancing in lofty measures, and anon
Creeps on the soft touch of a tender tone;140
Whose trembling murmurs melting in wild aires
Runs to and fro, complaining his sweet cares,
Because those pretious mysteryes that dwell
In Musick's ravish't soule, he dares not tell,
But whisper to the world: thus doe they vary145
Each string his note, as if they meant to carry
Their Master's blest soule (snatcht out at his eares
By a strong extasy) through all the spheares
Of Musick's heaven; and seat it there on high
In th' empyræum of pure harmony.150
At length (after so long, so loud a strife
Of all the strings, still breathing the best life
Of blest variety, attending on
His fingers fairest revolution
In many a sweet rise, many as sweet a fall)155
A full-mouth'd diapason swallowes all.
This done, he lists what she would say to this,
And she, (although her breath's late exercise
Had dealt too roughly with her tender throate,)
Yet summons all her sweet powers for a noate.160
Alas! in vaine! for while (sweet soule!) she tryes
To measure all those wild diversities
Of chatt'ring strings, by the small size of one
Poore simple voyce, rais'd in a naturall tone;
She failes, and failing grieves, and grieving dyes.165
She dyes: and leaves her life the Victor's prise,
Falling upon his lute: O, fit to have
(That liv'd so sweetly) dead, so sweet a grave!

NOTES AND ILLUSTRATIONS.

In our Essay we give the original Latin of this very remarkable poem, that the student may see how Crashaw has ennobled and transfigured Strada. Still further to show how much we owe to our Poet, I print here (a) An anonymous translation, which I discovered at the British Museum in Additional mss. 19.268; never before printed. (b) Sir Francis Wortley's translation from his 'Characters and Elegies' (1646). In the former I have been obliged to leave one or two words unfilled-in as illegible in the ms.

(a) The Musicke Warre between y^e Fidler and the Nightingale.

Nowe had greate Sol y^e middle orbe forsooke
When as a fidler by a slidinge brooke
With shadie bowers was guarded from y^e aire
And on his fidle plaid away his care.
A nightingale hid in the leaues there stood
The muse and harmeles Syren of the wood;
Shee snatcht y^e soundes and with an echo prates:
What his hand playde her voice reiterates.
Perceavinge how y^e listninge bird did sit
Y^e fidler faine would make some sport with it,
And neately stroke y^e lute; then she began
And through those notes ran glib division;
Then with quicke hand he strikes y^e tremblinge strings,
Now with a skilfull negligence he flings
His carelesse armes, then softly playes his part:
Then shee begins and answers art with art,
And now as if vncertaine how to singe
Lengthens her notes and choisest art doth bringe,
And interminglinge softer notes with shrill
Daintily quavers through her trembling bill.
Y^e fidler wonders such melodious notes
Shold haue proceedinges from soe slender throats;
Tryes her againe, then loudly spoke y^e....
Sometimes graue were y^e tones, sometimes....
Then high, then lowe againe, yⁿ sweetly iarrs
Just like a trumpet callinge men to warrs.
Thus did y^e dainty Philomela doe
And with hoarse voice sange an alarme too.
The fidler blusht, and al in ragg [i.e. rage] he went
About to breake his conquerèd instrument,
But yet suspectinge lest ambitious shee
Shold to the woods warble her victory;
Strikes with inimitable blowes
And flies through all the strings, now these, now those,
Then tryes the notes, labours in each strayne
And then expects if shee replyed agayne.
The poore harmonious bird now almost dombe,
But impatient, to be overcome
Calls her sweet strength together all in vayne,
For while shee thinkes to imitate each strayne
In pure and natiue language, in this strife
And dayntie musicke warre shee left her life,
And yeldinge to the gladsome conquerour
Falls in his fidle: a fit sepulchere.

(b) From 'Characters and Elegies.' By Francis Wortley, knight and baronet: 1646 (p. 66). A Paraphrase upon the Verses which Famianus Strada made of the Lutanist and Philomell in Contestation.

'When past the middle orbe the parching sun
Had downward nearer our horizon run
A Lutenist neare Tiber's streames had found
Where the eccho did resound.
Under a holme a shady bower he made
To ease his cares, his severall phancies play'd;
The philomell no sooner did the musicke hear
But straight-wayes she drew neare.
The harmlesse Syren, musicke of the wood,
Hid in a leavy-bush, she hearking stood,
She ruminates upon the ayers he plaid,
And to him answers made.
With her shirl voyce doth all his paines requite
Lost not one note, but to his play sung right;
Well pleased to heare her skil, and envy, he
Tryes his variety.
And dares her with his severall notes, runs throw
Even all the strains his skill could reach unto:
A thousand wayes he tryes: she answers all,
And for new straynes dares call.
He could not touch a string in such a straine,
To which she warble and not sung it plaine;
His fingers could not reach to greater choice,
Then she did with her voyce.
The Lutenist admired her narrow throat
Could reach so high or fall to any note:
But that which he did thinke in her most strange,
She instantly could change.
Or sharpe or flat, or meane, or quicke, or slow,
What ere he plaid, she the like skill would show:
And if he inward did his notes recall,
She answer made to all.
Th' inraged Lutenist, he blusht for shame
That he could not this weake corrivall tame:
If thou canst answer this I'le breake my lute,
And yeild in the dispute.
He said no more, but aimes at such a height
Of skill, he thought she could not imitate:
He shows the utmost cunning of his hand
And all he could command.
He tryes his strength, his active fingers flye
To every string and stop, now low, now high,
And higher yet he multiplyes his skill,
Then doth his chorus fill.
Then he expecting stands to try if she
His envy late would yeeld the victory:
She would not yeeld, but summons all her force
Though tyrèd out and hoarse.
She strives with various strings the lute's bast chest
The spirit of man, one narrow throat and chest:
Unequal matches, yet she's pleased that she
Concludes victoriously.
Her spirit was such she would not live to heare
The Lutenist bestow on her a jeere,
But broken-hearted fall upon the tombe
She choose the sweet lute's wombe.
The warbling lutes doe yet their triumphs tell
(With mournfull accents) of the philomell,
And have usurpt the title ever since,
Of harmony the prince.
The morall this, by emulation wee
May much improve both art and industry,
Though she deserve the name of Philomell
Yet men must her excell.'

A third (anonymous) translation, with the Latin on the opposite pages, I came on in Lansdowne mss. 3910, Pl. lxvi. from which extracts will be found in our Essay.

In the Sancroft ms. the heading is 'Fidicinis et Philomelæ Bellum Musicum. R. Cr.' It reads in line 79 'whence' for 'where;' adopted: line 125, 'pathes' for 'parts;' adopted: other variations only orthographic, as is the case with the different editions. I note these: in 1670, line 83 reads 'might you:' line 99, 1646 misprints 'grave:' line 156, our text misprints 'full-mouth,' and so 1646; I adopt 'full-mouth'd' from 1670 and Sancroft ms. G.

THE PRAISE OF THE SPRING:

OUT OF VIRGIL.[62]

All trees, all leavy groves confesse the Spring1
Their gentlest friend; then, then the lands begin
To swell with forward pride, and feed desire
To generation; Heaven's Almighty Sire
Melts on the bosome of His love, and powres5
Himselfe into her lap in fruitfull showers.
And by a soft insinuation, mixt
With Earth's large masse, doth cherish and assist
Her weake conceptions. No lone shade but rings
With chatring birds' delicious murmurings;10
Then Venus' mild instinct (at set times) yields
The herds to kindly meetings, then the fields
(Quick with warme Zephyre's lively breath) lay forth
Their pregnant bosomes in a fragrant birth.
Each body's plump and jucy, all things full15
Of supple moisture: no coy twig but will
Trust his beloved blossome to the sun
(Growne lusty now): no vine so weake and young
That feares the foule-mouth'd Auster or those stormes
That the Southwest-wind hurries in his armes,20
But hasts her forward blossomes, and layes out
Freely layes out her leaves: nor doe I doubt
But when the world first out of chaos sprang
So smil'd the dayes, and so the tenor ran
Of their felicity. A Spring was there,25
An everlasting Spring, the jolly yeare
Led round in his great circle; no wind's breath
As then did smell of Winter or of Death.
When Life's sweet light first shone on beasts, and when
From their hard mother Earth, sprang hardy men,30
When beasts tooke up their lodging in the Wood,
Starres in their higher chambers: never cou'd
The tender growth of things endure the sence
Of such a change, but that the Heav'ns indulgence
Kindly supplyes sick Nature, and doth mold35
A sweetly-temper'd meane, nor hot nor cold.

---

WITH A PICTURE SENT TO A FRIEND.[63]

I paint so ill, my peece had need to be1
Painted againe by some good poesie.
I write so ill, my slender line is scarce
So much as th' picture of a well-lim'd verse:
Yet may the love I send be true, though I5
Send not true picture, nor true poesie.
Both which away, I should not need to feare,
My love, or feign'd or painted should appeare.

---

IN PRAISE OF LESSIUS'S RULE OF HEALTH.[64]

Goe now, with some dareing drugg,1
Baite thy disease, and while they tugg,
Thou, to maintaine their cruell strife
Spend the deare treasure of thy life:
Goe take physicke, doat upon5
Some big-nam'd composition,—
The oraculous doctors' mistick bills,
Certain hard words made into pills;
And what at length shalt get by these?
Onely a costlyer disease.10
Goe poore man, thinke what shall bee
Remedie 'gainst thy remedie.
That which makes us have no need
Of phisick, that's phisick indeed.
Heark hither, Reader: would'st thou see15
Nature her own physician be?
Would'st see a man all his own wealth,
His own musick, his own health?
A man, whose sober soul can tell
How to wear her garments well?20
Her garments, that upon her sit,
(As garments should do) close and fit?
A well-clothed soul, that's not opprest
Nor choked with what she should be drest?
Whose soul's sheath'd in a crystall shrine,25
Through which all her bright features shine?
As when a piece of wanton lawn,
A thin aërial vail is drawn,
O're Beauty's face; seeming to hide,
More sweetly shows the blushing bride:30
A soul, whose intellectuall beams
No mists do mask, no lazie steams?
A happie soul, that all the way
To Heav'n, hath a Summer's day?
Would'st see a man whose well-warm'd bloud35
Bathes him in a genuine floud?
A man, whose tunèd humours be
A set of rarest harmonie?
Would'st see blithe looks, fresh cheeks beguile
Age? Would'st see December smile?40
Would'st see a nest of roses grow
In a bed of reverend snow?
Warm thoughts, free spirits, flattering
Winter's self into a Spring?
In summe, would'st see a man that can45
Live to be old, and still a man?
Whose latest, and most leaden houres,
Fall with soft wings, stuck with soft flowres;
And when Life's sweet fable ends,
His soul and bodie part like friends:50
No quarrels, murmures, no delay:
A kisse, a sigh, and so away?
This rare one, Reader, would'st thou see,
Heark hither: and thyself be he.

NOTES AND ILLUSTRATIONS.

Besides the reprint of 1646 as supra, this poem appeared in 1648 (pp. 8, 9), 1652 (pp. 126-8), where it is entitled 'Temperance. Of the Cheap Physitian, vpon the Translation of Lessivs (pp. 126-8):' and 1670 (pp. 108-9 and pp. 207-8, being inadvertently printed twice). These variations are noticeable:

Line 1, in 1648 and 1652, 'Goe now and with....'
" 2, in 1670, 'the' for 'thy;' and Turnbull, as usual, repeats the error.
Line 3, in 1648 'pretious' for 'cruel:' so 1670 in 2d copy.
" 9, ib. 'last' for 'length,' and 1670 'gaine' for 'get' in 2d copy.
Lines 11, 12, this couplet is inadvertently dropped in 1648. I adopt ''gainst' for 'against' from Sancroft ms. in line 12.
Line 15, ib. 'wilt' for 'wouldst.'
" 18, 'physick' in 1646, 1648 and 1670 (1st copy); but 'musick' is assuredly the finer reading, as in Hygiasticon and 1670 (in 2d copy). Cf. lines 19, 20, onward, which show that 'music' was intended.
Line 25, in all the three editions 'a' for 'whose:' in 1670 (2d copy) 'A soul sheath'd....'
Line 34, in 1646 'hath' for 'rides in,' and so in 1670 (1st copy): 'hath' seems the simpler and better.
Line 35, 1646 and 1670 misinsert 'thou' before 'see.'
" 38, 'set' for 'seat' in the three editions (1670, 1st copy); adopted.
Line 41, in 1648 'Would'st see nests of new roses grow:' so 1670 (2d copy).
Line 46, 1646 and 1670 end here.

Leonard Lessius was a learned Jesuit, born 1st October 1554, and died 15th January 1623-4. He was professor of theology in the University of Louvaine. His 'Hygiasticon, seu vera ratio valetudinis bonæ et vitæ' is still readable and quick. G.

---

THE BEGINNING OF HELIODORUS.[65]

The smiling Morne had newly wak't the Day,1
And tipt the mountaines with a tender ray:
When on a hill (whose high imperious brow
Lookes downe, and sees the humble Nile below
Licke his proud feet, and haste into the seas5
Through the great mouth that's nam'd from Hercules)
A band of men, rough as the armes they wore
Look't round, first to the sea, then to the shore.
The shore that shewed them, what the sea deny'd,
Hope of a prey. There to the maine-land ty'd10
A ship they saw; no men she had, yet prest
Appear'd with other lading, for her brest
Deep in the groaning waters wallowed
Vp to the third ring: o're the shore was spread
Death's purple triumph; on the blushing ground15
Life's late forsaken houses all lay drown'd
In their owne blood's deare deluge: some new dead;
Some panting in their yet warme ruines bled,
While their affrighted soules, now wing'd for flight
Lent them the last flash of her glimmering light.20
Those yet fresh streames which crawlèd every where
Shew'd that sterne Warre had newly bath'd him there.
Nor did the face of this disaster show
Markes of a fight alone, but feasting too:
A miserable and a monstruous feast,25
Where hungry Warre had made himself a guest:
And comming late had eat up guests and all,
Who prov'd the feast to their owne funerall &c.

CUPID'S CRYER:

OUT OF THE GREEKE.[66]

Love is lost, nor can his mother1
Her little fugitive discover:
She seekes, she sighes, but no where spyes him;
Love is lost: and thus shee cryes him.
O yes! if any happy eye,5
This roaving wanton shall descry;
Let the finder surely know
Mine is the wagge; 'tis I that owe
The wingèd wand'rer; and that none
May thinke his labour vainely gone,10
The glad descryer shall not misse,
To tast the nectar of a kisse
From Venus lipps. But as for him
That brings him to me, he shall swim
In riper joyes: more shall be his15
(Venus assures him) than a kisse.
But lest your eye discerning slide,
These markes may be your judgement's guide;
His skin as with a fiery blushing
High-colour'd is; his eyes still flushing20
With nimble flames; and though his mind
Be ne're so curst, his tongue is kind:
For never were his words in ought
Found the pure issue of his thought.
The working bees' soft melting gold,25
That which their waxen mines enfold,
Flow not so sweet as doe the tones
Of his tun'd accents; but if once
His anger kindle, presently
It boyles out into cruelty,30
And fraud: he makes poor mortalls' hurts
The objects of his cruell sports.
With dainty curles his froward face
Is crown'd about: But O what place,
What farthest nooke of lowest Hell35
Feeles not the strength, the reaching spell
Of his small hand? Yet not so small
As 'tis powerfull therewithall.
Though bare his skin, his mind he covers,
And like a saucy bird he hovers40
With wanton wing, now here, now there,
'Bout men and women, nor will spare
Till at length he perching rest,
In the closet of their brest.
His weapon is a little bow,45
Yet such a one as—Jove knows how—
Ne're suffred, yet his little arrow,
Of Heaven's high'st arches to fall narrow.
The gold that on his quiver smiles,
Deceives men's feares with flattering wiles.50
But O­—too well my wounds can tell—
With bitter shafts 'tis sauc't too well.
He is all cruell, cruell all,
His torch imperious though but small
Makes the sunne—of flames the sire—55
Worse than sun-burnt in his fire.
Wheresoe're you chance to find him
Ceaze him, bring him—but first bind him—
Pitty not him, but feare thy selfe
Though thou see the crafty elfe,60
Tell down his silver-drops unto thee:
They'r counterfeit, and will undoe thee.
With baited smiles if he display
His fawning cheeks, looke not that way.
If he offer sugred kisses,65
Start, and say, the serpent hisses.
Draw him, drag him, though he pray
Wooe, intreat, and crying say
Prethee, sweet, now let me go,
Here's my quiver, shafts and bow,70
I'le give thee all, take all; take heed
Lest his kindnesse make thee bleed.
What e're it be Loue offers, still presume
That though it shines, 'tis fire and will consume.

VPON BISHOP ANDREWS' PICTURE BEFORE HIS SERMONS.[67]

This reverend shadow cast that setting sun,1
Whose glorious course through our horrizon run,
Left the dimme face of this dull hemispheare,
All one great eye, all drown'd in one great teare.
Whose faire, illustrious soule, led his free thought5
Through Learning's vniverse, and (vainly) sought
Room for her spatious selfe, untill at length
Shee found the way home, with an holy strength;
Snatch't her self hence to Heaven: fill'd a bright place,
'Mongst those immortall fires, and on the face10
Of her great Maker fixt her flaming eye,
There still to read true, pure divinity.
And now that grave aspect hath deign'd to shrinke
Into this lesse appearance: If you thinke
'Tis but a dead face, Art doth here bequeath:15
Looke on the following leaves, and see him breath.

---

VPON THE DEATH OF A GENTLEMAN.[68]

Faithlesse and fond Mortality!1
Who will ever credit thee?
Fond, and faithlesse thing! that thus,
In our best hopes beguilest us.
What a reckoning hast thou made,5
Of the hopes in him we laid!
For life by volumes lengthenèd,
A line or two to speake him dead.
For the laurell in his verse,
crape The sullen cypresse o're his herse10
For soe many hopèd yeares
Of fruit, soe many fruitles teares:
For a silver-crownèd head
A durty pillow in Death's bed.
For so deare, so deep a trust,15
Sad requitall, thus much dust!
Now though the blow that snatch him hence,
Stopt the mouth of Eloquence:
Though shee be dumbe e're since his death,
Not us'd to speake but in his breath;20
Leaving his death vngarnishèd
Therefore, because hee is dead
Yet if at least shee not denyes,
The sad language of our eyes,
Wee are contented: for then this25
Language none more fluent is.
Nothing speakes our griefe so well
As to speak nothing. Come then tell
Thy mind in teares who e're thou be,
That ow'st a name to misery.30
Eyes are vocall, teares have tongues,
And there be words not made with lungs;
Sententious showres: O let them fall,
Their cadence is rhetoricall.
Here's a theame will drinke th' expence,35
Of all thy watry eloquence.
Weepe then! onely be exprest
Thus much, 'he's dead:' and weep the rest.

VPON THE DEATH OF MR. HERRYS.[69]

A plant of noble stemme, forward and faire,1
As ever whisper'd to the morning aire,
Thriv'd in these happie grounds; the Earth's just pride;
Whose rising glories made such haste to hide
His head in cloudes, as if in him alone5
Impatient Nature had taught motion
To start from Time, and cheerfully to fly
Before, and seize upon Maturity.
Thus grew this gratious tree, in whose sweet shade
The sunne himselfe oft wisht to sit, and made10
The morning Muses perch like birds, and sing
Among his branches: yea, and vow'd to bring
His owne delicious phœnix from the blest
Arabia, there to build her virgin nest,
To hatch her selfe in; 'mongst his leaves, the Day15
Fresh from the rosie East, rejoyc't to play;
To them shee gave the first and fairest beame
That waited on her birth: she gave to them
The purest pearles, that wept her evening death;
The balmy Zephirus got so sweet a breath20
By often kissing them. And now begun
Glad Time to ripen Expectation:
The timorous maiden-blossomes on each bough
Peept forth from their first blushes; so that now
A thousand ruddy hopes smil'd in each bud,25
And flatter'd every greedy eye that stood
Fixt in delight, as if already there
Those rare fruits dangled, whence the golden Yeare
His crowne expected: when, (O Fate! O Time!
That seldome lett'st a blushing youthfull prime30
Hide his hot beames in shade of silver age,
So rare is hoary Vertue) the dire rage
Of a mad storme these bloomy joyes all tore,
Ravisht the maiden blossoms, and downe bore
The trunke. Yet in this ground his pretious root35
Still lives, which when weake Time shall be pour'd out
Into Eternity, and circular joyes
Dance in an endlesse round, again shall rise
The faire son of an ever-youthfull Spring,
To be a shade for angels while they sing;40
Meane while who e're thou art that passest here,
O doe thou water it with one kind teare.

VPON THE DEATH OF THE MOST DESIRED MR. HERRYS.[70]

Death, what dost? O, hold thy blow,1
What thou dost thou dost not know.
Death, thou must not here be cruell,
This is Nature's choycest iewell:
This is hee, in whose rare frame5
Nature labour'd for a name:
And meant to leave his pretious feature
The patterne of a perfect creature.
Ioy of Goodnesse, love of Art,
Vertue weares him next her heart.10
Him the Muses love to follow,
Him they call their vice-Apollo.
Apollo, golden though thou bee,
Th' art not fairer than is hee,
Nor more lovely lift'st thy head15
(Blushing) from thine Easterne bed.
The glories of thy youth ne're knew
Brighter hopes than his can shew.
Why then should it e're be seen
That his should fade, while thine is green?20
And wilt thou (O, cruell boast!)
Put poore Nature to such cost?
O, twill undoe our common mother,
To be at charge of such another.
What? thinke me to no other end25
Gracious heavens do use to send
Earth her best perfection,
But to vanish, and be gone?
Therefore onely given to day
To-morrow to be snatch't away?30
I've seen indeed the hopefull bud
Of a ruddy rose that stood
Blushing, to behold the ray
Of the new-saluted Day:
(His tender toppe not fully spread)35
The sweet dash of a shower new shead,
Invited him, no more to hide
Within himselfe the purple pride
Of his forward flower; when lo,
While he sweetly 'gan to show
His swelling gloryes, Auster spide him,40
Cruell Auster thither hy'd him,
And with the rush of one rude blast,
Sham'd not, spitefully to wast
All his leaves, so fresh, so sweet,
And lay them trembling at his feet.45
I've seen the Morning's lovely ray
Hover o're the new-borne Day,
With rosie wings so richly bright,
As if she scorn'd to thinke of Night;
When a rugged storme, whose scowle50
Made heaven's radiant face looke foule
Call'd for an untimely night,
To blot the newly-blossom'd light.
But were the rose's blush so rare,
Were the Morning's smile so faire,55
As is he, nor cloud, nor wind,
But would be courteous, would be kind.
Spare him Death, ah! spare him then,
Spare the sweetest among men:
And let not Pitty, with her teares60
Keepe such distance from thine eares.
But O, thou wilt not, can'st not spare,
Haste hath never time to heare.
Therefore if he needs must go,
And the Fates will have it so;65
Softly may he be possest
Of his monumentall rest.
Safe, thou darke home of the dead,
Safe, O hide his lovèd head:
Keepe him close, close in thine armes,70
Seal'd vpp with a thousand charmes.
For Pittie's sake, O, hide him quite
From his mother Nature's sight;
Lest for griefe his losse may move
All her births abortive proue.75

NOTES AND ILLUSTRATIONS.

See our Essay for notice of 'Mr. Herrys.' In the Sancroft ms. the heading is 'An Elegie on Mr. Herris. R. Cr.' It offers these variations: lines 1 and 2, 'doest:' line 18, 'his' for 'he;' adopted: line 29, 'given' for 'give;' adopted: line 36, 'new' for 'now;' adopted from 1648: line 50, the ms. reads 'rugged' for 'ruddy;' adopted: line 58, 'ah' for 'O;' adopted: line 60, 'And let:' lines 70-71 added from the ms., where in the margin is written 'not printed.' G.

---

ANOTHER.[71]

If ever Pitty were acquainted1
With sterne Death; if e're he fainted,
Or forgot the cruell vigour
Of an adamantine rigour;
Here, O, here we should have knowne it,5
Here, or no where, hee'd have showne it.
For hee, whose pretious memory
Bathes in teares of every eye;
Hee, to whom our Sorrow brings
All the streames of all her springs;10
Was so rich in grace, and nature,
In all the gifts that blesse a creature;
The fresh hopes of his lovely youth
Flourish't in so faire a growth;
So sweet the temple was, that shrin'd15
The sacred sweetnesse of his mind;
That could the Fates know to relent,
Could they know what mercy meant,
Or had ever learnt to beare
The soft tincture of a teare;20
Teares would now have flow'd so deepe,
As might have taught Griefe how to weepe.
Now all their steely operation
Would quite have lost the cruell fashion.
Sicknesse would have gladly been25
Sick himselfe to have sav'd him;
And his feaver wish'd to prove,
Burning onely in his love.
Him when Wrath it selfe had seen,
Wrath it selfe had lost his spleen.30
Grim Destruction here amaz'd,
In stead of striking, would have gaz'd.
Even the iron-pointed pen,
That notes the tragick doomes of men,
Wet with teares, 'still'd from the eyes35
Of the flinty Destinies,
Would have learn't a softer style,
And have been asham'd to spoyle
His live's sweet story, by the hast
Of a cruell stop, ill plac't.40
In the darke volume of our fate,
Whence each lease of life hath date,
Where in sad particulars
The totall summe of man appeares,
And the short clause of mortall breath,45
Bound in the period of Death:
In all the booke if any where
Such a tearme as this, 'Spare here,'
Could been found, 'twould have been read,
Writ in white letters o're his head:50
Or close unto his name annext,
The faire glosse of a fairer text.
In briefe, if any one were free
Hee was that one, and onely hee.
But he, alas! even hee is dead,55
And our hope's faire harvest spread
In the dust. Pitty, now spend
All the teares that Griefe can lend.
Sad Mortality may hide
In his ashes all her pride;60
With this inscription o're his head,
'All hope of never dying here is dead.'

NOTES AND ILLUSTRATIONS

The Sancroft ms. furnishes these variations: line 1, 'was:' line 26, 't' have:' line 34, 'quotes' for 'notes:' l. 42, 'lease' for 'leafe;' adopted: line 49 omits rightly the first 'have' and spells 'bin;' the former adopted: line 50, 'wrote:' line 62, 'is' for 'lyes;' adopted: line 23, 'steely' = hard as steel, or, as we say, iron-hearted. The Sancroft ms. writes the two poems as one. G.

HIS EPITAPH.[72]

Passenger, who e're thou art1
Stay a while, and let thy heart
Take acquaintance of this stone,
Before thou passest further on.
This stone will tell thee, that beneath,5
Is entomb'd the crime of Death;
The ripe endowments of whose mind
Left his yeares so much behind,
That numbring of his vertues' praise,
Death lost the reckoning of his dayes;10
And believing what they told,
Imagin'd him exceeding old.
In him Perfection did set forth
The strength of her united worth.
Him his wisdome's pregnant growth15
Made so reverend, even in youth,
That in the center of his brest
(Sweet as is the phœnix' nest)
Every reconcilèd Grace
Had their generall meeting-place.20
In him Goodnesse joy'd to see
Learning learne Humility.
The splendor of his birth and blood
Was but the glosse of his owne good.
The flourish of his sober youth25
Was the pride of naked truth.
In composure of his face,
Liv'd a faire, but manly grace.
His mouth was Rhetorick's best mold,
His tongue the touchstone of her gold.30
What word so e're his breath kept warme,
Was no word now but a charme:
For all persuasive Graces thence
Suck't their sweetest influence.
His vertue that within had root,35
Could not chuse but shine without.
And th' heart-bred lustre of his worth,
At each corner peeping forth,
Pointed him out in all his wayes,
Circled round in his owne rayes:40
That to his sweetnesse, all men's eyes
Were vow'd Love's flaming sacrifice.
Him while fresh and fragrant Time
Cherisht in his golden prime;
E're Hebe's hand had overlaid45
His smooth cheekes with a downy shade;
The rush of Death's unruly wave,
Swept him off into his grave.
Enough, now (if thou canst) passe on,
For now (alas!) not in this stone50
(Passenger who e're thou art)
Is he entomb'd, but in thy heart.

---

AN EPITAPH VPON A YOVNG MARRIED COVPLE

DEAD AND BVRYED TOGETHER.[73]

To these, whom Death again did wed,1
This grave's their second marriage-bed;
For though the hand of Fate could force
'Twixt sovl and body, a diuorce,
It could not sunder man and wife,5
'Cause they both liuèd but one life.
Peace, good Reader, Doe not weep.
Peace, the louers are asleep.
They, sweet turtles, folded ly
In the last knott that Loue could ty.10
And though they ly as they were dead,
Their pillow stone, their sheetes of lead;
(Pillow hard, and sheetes not warm)
Loue made the bed; they'l take no harm;
Let them sleep: let them sleep on,15
Till this stormy night be gone,
And the æternall morrow dawn;
Then the curtaines will be drawn
And they wake into a light,
Whose Day shall neuer sleepe in Night.20

NOTES AND ILLUSTRATIONS.

In the Sancroft ms. the heading is 'Epitaphium Conjugum vnà mortuor. et sepultor. R. Cr.' It was reprinted in 1648 'Delights' (p. 26), where it is entitled as supra, and 1670 (p. 95). Our text is that of 1648, which yields the five lines (11-14), and which Ellis in his 'Specimens' (iii. 208, 1845) introduced from a ms. copy, but as doubtful from not having appeared in any of the editions; a mistake on his part, as the lines appear in 1648 and 1652. His note is, nevertheless, 'The lines included in brackets are in no printed edition: they were found in a ms. copy, and are perhaps not Crashaw's.' As usual, Turnbull overlooked them. I add a few slight various readings from 1646.

Line 2, 'the.'
" 5, 'sever.'
" 6, 'Because they both liv'd but one life.'
" 10, I accept 'that' in 1646 and Sancroft ms. as it is confirmed by Harleian ms. 6917-18, as before.
Line 17, I adopt 'And' for 'Till' from 1648.
" 19, 'waken with that Light,' and so Sancroft ms.: 1648 reads 'And they wake into that Light:' Harleian ms. as before, 'And they waken with.'
Line 20, 'sleep' for 'dy,' which I adopt as agreeing with the 'wake,' and as being confirmed by Harleian ms. as before. G.

DEATH'S LECTVRE AND THE FVNERAL OF A YOVNG GENTLEMAN.[74]

Dear reliques of a dislodg'd sovl, whose lack1
Makes many a mourning paper put on black!
O stay a while, ere thou draw in thy head
And wind thy self vp close in thy cold bed.
Stay but a little while, vntill I call5
A summon's worthy of thy funerall.
Come then, Youth, Beavty, Blood! all ye soft powres,
Whose sylken flatteryes swell a few fond howres
Into a false æternity. Come man;
Hyperbolizèd nothing! know thy span;10
Take thine own measure here, down, down, and bow
Before thy self in thine idæa; thou
Huge emptynes! contract thy bulke; and shrinke
All thy wild circle to a point. O sink
Lower and lower yet; till thy leane size15
Call Heaun to look on thee with narrow eyes.
Lesser and lesser yet; till thou begin
To show a face, fitt to confesse thy kin,
Thy neighbourhood to Nothing!
Proud lookes, and lofty eyliddes, here putt on20
Your selues in your vnfaign'd reflexion;
Here, gallant ladyes! this vnpartiall glasse
(Through all your painting) showes you your true face.
These death-seal'd lippes are they dare giue the ly
To the lowd boasts of poor Mortality;25
These curtain'd windows, this retirèd eye
Outstares the liddes of larg-look't Tyranny.
This posture is the braue one, this that lyes
Thus low, stands vp (me thinkes) thus and defies
The World. All-daring dust and ashes! only you30
Of all interpreters read Nature true.

NOTES AND ILLUSTRATIONS.

These various readings are worthy of record:

Line 7 in our text (1652) is misprinted as two lines, the first ending with 'blood,' a repeated blunder of the Paris printer. It reads also 'the' for 'ye' of 1646. I adopt the latter. I have also cancelled 'and' before 'blood' as a misprint.
Line 8 in 1652 is misprinted 'svlken' for 'sylken.'
" 12, ib. 'thy self,' and so in 1648 and 1670: 'bulke' from 1646 is preferable, and so adopted.
Line 15, 1646 has 'small' for 'lean,' which is inferior.
" 16, our text (1652) misspells 'norrow.'
" 19, in 1646 the readings here are,

'Thy neighbourhood to nothing I here put on
Thy selfe in this unfeign'd reflection.'

1648 and our text as given. 'Nothing' is intended to rhyme with 'kin' and 'begin,' and so to form a triplet.
Line 23, our text (1652), 1648 and 1670 read 'Though ye be painted:' 1646 reads 'Through all your painting,' which is much more powerful, and therefore adopted by us. It reminds us (from line 22, 'gallant ladyes') of Hamlet's apostrophe to the skull of poor Yorick.
Line 25, 1646 reads poorly,

'To the proud hopes of poor Mortality.'

" 26, in 1646 reads curiously, 'this selfe-prison'd eye.' G.

---

AN EPITAPH VPON DOCTOR BROOKE.[75]

A Brooke, whose streame so great, so good,1
Was lov'd, was honour'd, as a flood:
Whose bankes the Muses dwelt upon,
More than their owne Helicon;
Here at length, hath gladly found5
A quiet passage under ground;
Meane while his lovèd bankes, now dry
The Muses with their teares supply.

ON A FOULE MORNING, BEING THEN TO TAKE A JOURNEY.[76]

Where art thou Sol, while thus the blind-fold Day1
Staggers out of the East, loses her way
Stumbling on Night? Rouze thee illustrious youth,
And let no dull mists choake thy Light's faire growth.
Point here thy beames: O glance on yonder flocks,5
And make their fleeces golden as thy locks.
Vnfold thy faire front, and there shall appeare
Full glory, flaming in her owne free spheare.
Gladnesse shall cloath the Earth, we will instile
The face of things, an universall smile.10
Say to the sullen Morne, thou com'st to court her;
And wilt command proud Zephirus to sport her
With wanton gales: his balmy breath shall licke
The tender drops which tremble on her cheeke;
Which rarified, and in a gentle raine15
On those delicious bankes distill'd againe,
Shall rise in a sweet Harvest, which discloses
Two ever-blushing bed of new-borne roses.
Hee'l fan her bright locks, teaching them to flow,
And friske in curl'd mæanders: hee will throw20
A fragrant breath suckt from the spicy nest
O' th' pretious phœnix, warme upon her breast.
Hee with a dainty and soft hand will trim
And brush her azure mantle, which shall swim
In silken volumes; wheresoe're shee'l tread,25
Bright clouds like golden fleeces shall be spread.
Rise then (faire blew-ey'd maid!) rise and discover
Thy silver brow, and meet thy golden lover.
See how hee runs, with what a hasty flight,
Into thy bosome, bath'd with liquid light.30
Fly, fly prophane fogs, farre hence fly away,
Taint not the pure streames of the springing Day,
With your dull influence; it is for you
To sit and scoule upon Night's heavy brow,
Not on the fresh cheekes of the virgin Morne,35
Where nought but smiles, and ruddy joyes are worne.
Fly then, and doe not thinke with her to stay;
Let it suffice, shee'l weare no maske to day.

NOTES AND ILLUSTRATIONS.

In the Sancroft ms. this is headed 'An Invitation to faire weather. In itinere adurgeretur matutinum cœlum tali carmine invitabatur serenitas. R. Cr.' In line 12 the ms. reads 'smooth' for 'proud' (Turnbull here, after 1670, as usual misreads 'demand' for 'command'): line 18 corrects the misreading of all the editions, which is 'To every blushing...:' line 23 reads 'soft and dainty:' line 36, 'is' for 'are:' other orthographic differences only.

The opening lines of this poem seem to be adapted from remembrance of the Friar's in Romeo and Juliet:

'The grey-eyed Morn smiles on the frowning Night
. . . . . .
And flecked Darkness like a drunkard reels
From forth Day's path and Titan's burning wheels.' (ii. 3.)

Line 4, in Harleian ms. 6917-18 reads, as I have adopted,
'thy' for 'the.'
Line 5, ib. 'on yond faire.'
" 7, ib. 'Unfold thy front and then....'
" 9, instile is = instill, used in Latinate sense of drop
into or upon: Harleian ms., as before, is 'enstile.'
Line 14, Harleian ms., as before, 'thy' for 'her.'
" 16, ib. 'these.'
" 17-18, ib.

. . . . . . . 'and disclose
. . . . . . the new-born rose.'

See our Essay for critical remarks. G.

---

TO THE MORNING:

SATISFACTION FOR SLEEPE.[77]

What succour can I hope my Muse shall send1
Whose drowsinesse hath wrong'd the Muses' friend?
What hope, Aurora, to propitiate thee,
Vnlesse the Muse sing my apologie?
O in that morning of my shame! when I5
Lay folded up in Sleepe's captivity,
How at the sight did'st thou draw back thine eyes,
Into thy modest veyle? how didst thou rise
Twice dy'd in thine owne blushes! and did'st run
To draw the curtaines, and awake the sun!10
Who, rowzing his illustrious tresses, came,
And seeing the loath'd object, hid for shame
His head in thy faire bosome, and still hides
Mee from his patronage; I pray, he chides:
And pointing to dull Morpheus, bids me take15
My owne Apollo, try if I can make
His Lethe be my Helicon: and see
If Morpheus have a Muse to wait on mee.
Hence 'tis, my humble fancie finds no wings,
No nimble rapture starts to Heaven, and brings20
Enthusiasticke flames, such as can give
Marrow to my plumpe genius, make it live
Drest in the glorious madnesse of a Muse,
Whose feet can walke the milky way, and chuse
Her starry throne; whose holy heats can warme25
The grave, and hold up an exalted arme
To lift me from my lazy vrne, to climbe
Vpon the stoopèd shoulders of old Time,
And trace Eternity—But all is dead,
All these delicious hopes are buried30
In the deepe wrinckles of his angry brow,
Where Mercy cannot find them: but O thou
Bright lady of the Morne! pitty doth lye
So warme in thy soft brest, it cannot dye.
Have mercy then, and when he next shall rise35
O meet the angry God, invade his eyes,
And stroake his radiant cheekes; one timely kisse
Will kill his anger, and revive my blisse.
So to the treasure of thy pearly deaw,
Thrice will I pay three teares, to show how true40
My griefe is; so my wakefull lay shall knocke
At th' orientall gates, and duly mocke
The early larkes' shrill orizons, to be
An anthem at the Daye's nativitie.
And the same rosie-finger'd hand of thine,45
That shuts Night's dying eyes, shall open mine.
But thou, faint God of Sleepe, forget that I
Was ever known to be thy votary.
No more my pillow shall thine altar be,
Nor will I offer any more to thee50
My selfe a melting sacrifice; I'me borne
Againe a fresh child of the buxome Morne,
Heire of the sun's first beames. Why threat'st thou so?
Why dost thou shake thy leaden scepter? goe,
Bestow thy poppy upon wakefull Woe,55
Sicknesse, and Sorrow, whose pale lidds ne're know
Thy downie finger; dwell upon their eyes,
Shut in their teares: shut out their miseries.

NOTES AND ILLUSTRATIONS.

In 1646, line 1, for 'shall' reads 'will:' ib. in Harleian ms. as before, 'my' for 'the Muse;' which I adopt here, but not in next line: line 9, ib. 'thy:' line 11, illustrious is = lustrous, radiant: Harleian ms. as before, line 19, 'this my humble:' line 20, 1646 misprints 'raptures:' line 27, 1670 has 'and climb:' line 28, 1646 has 'stooped' for 'stooping' of 1648; infinitely superior, and therefore adopted: 1670 misprints 'stopped:' the Sancroft ms. has 'stooping:' line 45, Harleian ms. as before, 'thy altar.' Further: in the Sancroft ms. this poem is headed 'Ad Auroram Somnolentiæ expiatio. R. Cr.,' and it supplies these various readings: line 1, 'will:' line 7, 'call back:' line 16, 'my' for 'mine;' line 20-21, 'winge' and 'bringe:' line 40, 'treasures:' other orthographic differences only. See Essay, as in last poem. G.

---

LOVE'S HOROSCOPE.[78]

Love, brave Vertue's younger brother,1
Erst hath made my heart a mother;
Shee consults the conscious spheares
To calculate her young son's yeares.
Shee askes, if sad, or saving powers,5
Gave omen to his infant howers;
Shee askes each starre that then stood by,
If poore Love shall live or dy.

Ah, my heart, is that the way?
Are these the beames that rule thy day?10
Thou know'st a face in whose each looke,
Beauty layes ope Love's fortune-booke;
On whose faire revolutions wait
The obsequious motions of man's fate:
Ah, my heart, her eyes, and shee,15
Have taught thee new astrologie.
How e're Love's native houres were set,
What ever starry synod met,
'Tis in the mercy of her eye,
If poore Love shall live or dye.20

If those sharpe rayes putting on
Points of death, bid Love be gon:
(Though the Heavens in counsell sate
To crowne an uncontroulèd fate,
Though their best aspects twin'd upon25
The kindest constellation,
Cast amorous glances on his birth,
And whisper'd the confederate Earth
To pave his pathes with all the good,
That warmes the bed of youth and blood)30
Love hath no plea against her eye:
Beauty frownes, and Love must dye.

But if her milder influence move,
And gild the hopes of humble Love:
(Though Heaven's inauspicious eye35
Lay blacke on Love's nativitie;
Though every diamond in Love's crowne
Fixt his forehead to a frowne:)
Her eye, a strong appeale can giue,
Beauty smiles, and Love shall live.40

O, if Love shall live, O, where
But in her eye, or in her eare,
In her brest, or in her breath,
Shall I hide poore Love from Death?
For in the life ought else can give,45
Love shall dye, although he live.

Or, if Love shall dye, O, where
But in her eye, or in her eare,
In her breath, or in her breast,
Shall I build his funerall nest?50
While Love shall thus entombèd lye,
Love shall live, although he dye.

NOTES AND ILLUSTRATIONS.

In line 16 the heavens are the planets. To 'crown' his fate is to invest it with regal power, and so place it beyond control. It is doubtful whether 'uncontrouled' expresses that state or result of crowning, or whether the clause is hyperbolical, and means to put further beyond control an already uncontrolled fate. 'Twin'd' seems a strange word to use, but refers, I presume, to the apparently irregular and winding-like motions of the planets through the constellations until they result in the favourable aspects mentioned. According to astrology, the beneficence or maleficence of the planetary aspects varies with the nature of the constellation in which they occur. Henry Vaughan, Silurist, uses 'wind' very much as Crashaw uses 'twin'd:' see s.v. in our edition.

In line 14 we have accepted the reading 'man's' for 'Loves' from the Sancroft ms.

A SONG:

OUT OF THE ITALIAN.[79]

To thy lover
Deere, discover
That sweet blush of thine that shameth
—When those roses
It discloses—
All the flowers that Nature nameth.

In free ayre,
Flow thy haire;
That no more Summer's best dresses,
Bee beholden
For their golden
Locks, to Phœbus' flaming tresses.

O deliver
Love his quiver;
From thy eyes he shoots his arrowes:
Where Apollo
Cannot follow:
Featherd with his mother's sparrowes.

O envy not
—That we dye not—
Those deere lips whose doore encloses
All the Graces
In their places,
Brother pearles, and sister roses.

From these treasures
Of ripe pleasures
One bright smile to cleere the weather.
Earth and Heaven
Thus made even,
Both will be good friends together.

The aire does wooe thee,
Winds cling to thee;
Might a word once fly from out thee,
Storme and thunder
Would sit under,
And keepe silence round about thee.

But if Nature's
Common creatures,
So deare glories dare not borrow:
Yet thy beauty
Owes a duty,
To my loving, lingring sorrow,

When to end mee
Death shall send mee
All his terrors to affright mee:
Thine eyes' Graces
Gild their faces,
And those terrors shall delight mee.

When my dying
Life is flying,
Those sweet aires that often slew mee
Shall revive mee,
Or reprive mee,
And to many deaths renew mee.

---

OUT OF THE ITALIAN.

Love now no fire hath left him,1
We two betwixt us have divided it.
Your eyes the light hath reft him,
The heat commanding in my heart doth sit.[80]
O that poore Love be not for ever spoyled,5
Let my heat to your light be reconciled.

So shall these flames, whose worth
Now all obscurèd lyes:
—Drest in those beames—start forth
And dance before your eyes.10

Or else partake my flames
(I care not whither)
And so in mutuall names
Of Love, burne both together.

---

OUT OF THE ITALIAN.

Would any one the true cause find1
How Love came nak't, a boy, and blind?
'Tis this: listning one day too long,
So th' Syrens in my mistris' song,
The extasie of a delight5
So much o're-mastring all his might,
To that one sense, made all else thrall,
And so he lost his clothes, eyes, heart and all.

---

VPON THE FRONTISPEECE OF MR. ISAACKSON'S CHRONOLOGIE.[81]

Let hoary Time's vast bowels be the grave1
To what his bowels' birth and being gave;
Let Nature die, (Phœnix-like) from death
Revivèd Nature takes a second breath;
If on Time's right hand, sit faire Historie,5
If from the seed of emptie Ruine, she
Can raise so faire an harvest; let her be
Ne're so farre distant, yet Chronologie
(Sharp-sighted as the eagle's eye, that can
Out-stare the broad-beam'd daye's meridian)10
Will have a perspicill to find her out,
And, through the night of error and dark doubt,
Discerne the dawne of Truth's eternall ray,
As when the rosie Morne budds into Day.
Now that Time's empire might be amply fill'd,15
Babel's bold artists strive (below) to build
Ruine a temple; on whose fruitfull fall
History reares her pyramids, more tall
Than were th' Aegyptian (by the life these give,
Th' Egyptian pyramids themselves must live):20
On these she lifts the world; and on their base
Showes the two termes, and limits of Time's race:
That, the creation is; the judgement, this;
That, the World's morning; this, her midnight is.

---

NOTE.

As explained in preceding Note, I add here the poem so long misassigned to Crashaw.

ON THE FRONTISPIECE OF ISAACSON'S CHRONOLOGIE EXPLAINED.

BY DR. EDWARD RAINBOW, BISHOP OF CARLISLE.

If with distinctive eye, and mind, you looke1
Vpon the Front, you see more than one Booke.
Creation is God's Booke, wherein He writ
Each creature, as a letter filling it.
History is Creation's Booke; which showes5
To what effects the Series of it goes.
Chronologie's the Booke of Historie, and beares
The just account of Dayes, Moneths, and Yeares.
But Resurrection, in a later Presse,
And New Edition, is the summe of these.10
The Language of these Bookes had all been one,
Had not th' aspiring Tower of Babylon
Confus'd the tongues, and in a distance hurl'd
As farre the speech, as men, o' th' new fill'd world.
Set then your eyes in method, and behold15
Time's embleme, Saturne; who, when store of gold
Coyn'd the first age, devour'd that birth, he fear'd;
Till History, Time's eldest child appear'd;
And Phœnix-like, in spight of Saturne's rage,
Forc'd from her ashes, heyres in every age.20
From th' Rising Sunne, obtaining by just suit,
A Spring's ingender, and an Autumne's fruit.
Who in those Volumes at her motion pend,
Vnto Creation's Alpha doth extend.
Againe ascend, and view Chronology,25
By optick skill, pulling farre History
Neerer; whose Hand the piercing Eagle's eye
Strengthens, to bring remotest objects nigh.
Vnder whose feet, you see the Setting Sunne,
From the darke Gnomon, o're her volumes runne,30
Drown'd in eternall night, never to rise,
Till Resurrection show it to the eyes
Of Earth-worne men; and her shrill trumpet's sound
Affright the Bones of mortals from the ground.
The Columnes both are crown'd with either Sphere,35
To show Chronology and History beare,
No other Culmen than the double Art,
Astronomy, Geography, impart.

AN EPITAPH VPON MR. ASHTON,

A CONFORMABLE CITIZEN.[82]

The modest front of this small floore,1
Beleeve me, Reader, can say more
Than many a braver marble can;
Here lyes a truly honest man.
One whose conscience was a thing,5
That troubled neither Church nor King.
One of those few that in this towne,
Honour all Preachers, heare their owne.
Sermons he heard, yet not so many
As left no time to practise any.10
He heard them reverendly, and then
His practice preach'd them o're agen.
His Parlour-Sermons rather were
Those to the eye, then to the eare.
His prayers took their price and strength,15
Not from the lowdnesse, nor the length.
He was a Protestant at home,
Not onely in despight of Rome.
He lov'd his Father; yet his zeale
Tore not off his Mother's veile.20
To th' Church he did allow her dresse,
True Beauty, to true Holinesse.
Peace, which he lov'd in life, did lend
Her hand to bring him to his end.
When Age and Death call'd for the score,25
No surfets were to reckon for.
Death tore not—therefore—but sans strife
Gently untwin'd his thread of life.
What remaines then, but that thou
Write these lines, Reader, in thy brow,30
And by his faire example's light,
Burne in thy imitation bright.
So while these lines can but bequeath
A life perhaps unto his death;
His better Epitaph shall bee,35
His life still kept alive in thee.

---

OUT OF CATULLUS.[83]

Come and let us live my deare,1
Let us love and never feare,
What the sowrest fathers say:
Brightest Sol that dyes to day
Lives againe as blith to morrow;5
But if we darke sons of sorrow
Set: O then how long a Night
Shuts the eyes of our short light!
Then let amorous kisses dwell
On our lips, begin and tell10
A thousand, and a hundred score,
An hundred and a thousand more,
Till another thousand smother
That, and that wipe of[f] another.
Thus at last when we have numbred15
Many a thousand, many a hundred,
Wee'l confound the reckoning quite,
And lose our selves in wild delight:
While our joyes so multiply,
As shall mocke the envious eye.20

---

WISHES.

TO HIS (SUPPOSED) MISTRESSE.[84]

1. Who ere she be,1
That not impossible she
That shall command my heart and me;

2. Where ere she lye,
Lock't up from mortall eye,5
In shady leaves of Destiny;

3. Till that ripe birth
Of studied Fate stand forth,
And teach her faire steps tread our Earth;

4. Till that divine10
Idæa, take a shrine
Of chrystall flesh, through which to shine;

5. Meet you her, my wishes,
Bespeake her to my blisses,
And be ye call'd, my absent kisses.15

6. I wish her, beauty
That owes not all its duty
To gaudy tire or glistring shoo-ty.

7. Something more than
Taffata or tissew can,20
Or rampant feather, or rich fan.

8. More than the spoyle
Of shop, or silkeworme's toyle,
Or a bought blush, or a set smile.

9. A face that's best25
By its owne beauty drest,
And can alone commend the rest.

10. A face made up,
Out of no other shop
Than what Nature's white hand sets ope.30

11. A cheeke where Youth,
And blood, with pen of Truth
Write, what their reader sweetly ru'th.

12. A cheeke where growes
More than a morning rose:35
Which to no boxe his being owes.

13. Lipps, where all day
A lover's kisse may play,
Yet carry nothing thence away.

14. Lookes that oppresse40
Their richest tires, but dresse
Themselves in simple nakednesse.

15. Eyes, that displace
The neighbour diamond, and out-face
That sunshine, by their own sweet grace.45

16. Tresses, that weare
Iewells, but to declare
How much themselves more pretious are.

17. Whose native ray,
Can tame the wanton day50
Of gems, that in their bright shades play.

18. Each ruby there,
Or pearle that dares appeare,
Be its own blush, be its own teare.

19. A well tam'd heart,55
For whose more noble smart,
Love may be long chusing a dart.

20. Eyes, that bestow
Full quivers on Love's bow;
Yet pay lesse arrowes than they owe.60

21. Smiles, that can warme
The blood, yet teach a charme,
That Chastity shall take no harme.

22. Blushes, that bin
The burnish of no sin,65
Nor flames of ought too hot within.

23. Ioyes, that confesse,
Vertue their mistresse,
And have no other head to dresse.

24. Feares, fond, and flight,70
As the coy bride's, when Night
First does the longing lover right.

25. Teares, quickly fled,
And vaine, as those are shed
For a dying maydenhead.75

26. Dayes, that need borrow,
No part of their good morrow,
From a fore-spent night of sorrow.

27. Dayes, that in spight
Of darknesse, by the light80
Of a cleere mind are day all night.

28. Nights, sweet as they,
Made short by lovers play,
Yet long by th' absence of the day.

29. Life, that dares send85
A challenge to his end,
And when it comes say, Welcome friend!

30. Sydnæan showers
Of sweet discourse, whose powers
Can crown old Winter's head with flowers.90

31. Soft silken hours;
Open sunnes; shady bowers;
'Bove all, nothing within that lowers.

32. What ere delight
Can make Daye's forehead bright,95
Or give downe to the wings of Night.

33. In her whole frame,
Haue Nature all the name,
Art and ornament the shame.

34. Her flattery,100
Picture and Poesy,
Her counsell her owne vertue be.

35. I wish her store
Of worth may leave her poore
Of wishes; and I wish——no more.105

36. Now if Time knowes
That her, whose radiant browes
Weave them a garland of my vowes;

37. Her whose just bayes,
My future hopes can raise,110
A trophie to her present praise.

38. Her that dares be,
What these lines wish to see:
I seeke no further: it is she.

39. 'Tis she, and here115
Lo I uncloath and cleare,
My wishes cloudy character.

40. May she enjoy it,
Whose merit dare apply it,
But Modesty dares still deny it.120

41. Such worth as this is
Shall fixe my flying wishes,
And determine them to kisses.

42. Let her full glory,
My fancyes, fly before ye,125
Be ye my fictions; but her story.

NOTES AND ILLUSTRATIONS.

The Harleian ms. 6917-18, as before, gives an admirable reading, corrective of all the editions in st. 3, line 3. Hitherto it has run, 'And teach her faire steps to our Earth:' the ms. as given by us 'tread' for 'to:' ib. st. 5, line 1, reads 'Meete her my wishes;' perhaps preferable: st. 6, I accept 'its' for 'his' from 1670 edition: st. 7, 'than'=then, and is spelled 'then' here and elsewhere in 1646 and 1670: st. 8, line 3, Harleian ms. reads 'Or a bowe, blush, or a set smile;' inferior: st. 9, ib. reads 'commend' for 'command;' adopted: st. 11, ib. 'their' for 'the;' adopted: st. 14, ib. spells 'tyers,' and line 3 reads as we print for 'And cloath their simplest nakednesse,' which is clumsy and poor: st. 15: Here, as in the poem, 'On the bleeding wounds of our crucified Lord' (st. 6), where we read 'The thorns that Thy blest brows encloses,' and elsewhere, we have an example of the Elizabethan use of 'that' as a singular (referring to and thus made a collective plural) taken as the governing nominative to the verb. So in this poem of 'Wishes' we have 'Eyes that bestow,' 'Joys that confess,' 'Tresses that wear.' But it must be stated that the Harleian ms., as before, reads not as in 1646 and 1648 'displaces,' 'out-faces' and 'graces,' but as printed by us on its authority; certainly the rhythm is improved thereby: st. 18, line 2, ib. 'dares' for 'dare;' adopted: st. 24, looking to 'tears quickly fled' of next stanza, I think 'flight' is correct, and not a misprint for 'slight.' Accordingly I have punctuated with a comma after fond, flight being = the shrinking-away of the bride, like the Horatian fair lady, a fugitive yet wishful of her lover's kiss: st. 31, Harleian ms. as before, 'Open sunn:' st. 42, line 3, 'be you my fictions, she my story.' G.

TO THE QUEEN:

AN APOLOGIE FOR THE LENGTH OF THE FOLLOWING PANEGYRICK.[85]

When you are mistresse of the song,1
Mighty queen, to thinke it long,
Were treason 'gainst that majesty
Your Vertue wears. Your modesty
Yet thinks it so. But ev'n that too5
—Infinite, since part of you—
New matter for our Muse supplies,
And so allowes what it denies.
Say then dread queen, how may we doe
To mediate 'twixt your self and you?10
That so our sweetly temper'd song
Nor be too sort, nor seeme to[o] long.
Needs must your noble prayses' strength
That made it long excuse the length.

TO THE QUEEN,

VPON HER NUMEROUS PROGENIE: A PANEGYRICK.[86]

Britain! the mighty Ocean's lovely bride!1
Now stretch thy self, fair isle, and grow: spread wide
Thy bosome, and make roome. Thou art opprest
With thine own glories, and art strangely blest
Beyond thy self: for (lo!) the gods, the gods5
Come fast upon thee; and those glorious ods
Swell thy full honours to a pitch so high
As sits above thy best capacitie.
Are they not ods? and glorious? that to thee
Those mighty genii throng, which well might be10
Each one an Age's labour? that thy dayes
Are gilded with the union of those rayes
Whose each divided beam would be a sunne
To glad the sphere of any Nation?
Sure, if for these thou mean'st to find a seat,15
Th' hast need, O Britain, to be truly Great.
And so thou art; their presence makes thee so:
They are thy greatnesse. Gods, where-e're they go,
Bring their Heav'n with them: their great footsteps place
An everlasting smile upon the face20
Of the glad Earth they tread on: while with thee
Those beames that ampliate mortalitie,
And teach it to expatiate and swell
To majestie and fulnesse, deign to dwell,
Thou by thy self maist sit, (blest Isle) and see25
How thy great mother Nature dotes on thee.
Thee therefore from the rest apart she hurl'd,
And seem'd to make an Isle, but made a World.

Time yet hath dropt few plumes since Hope turn'd Joy,
And took into his armes the princely boy,30
Whose birth last blest the bed of his sweet mother,
And bad us first salute our prince, a brother.

The Prince and Duke of York.

Bright Charles! thou sweet dawn of a glorious Day!
Centre of those thy grandsires (shall I say,
Henry and James? or, Mars and Phœbus rather?35
If this were Wisdome's god, that War's stern father;
'Tis but the same is said: Henry and James
Are Mars and Phœbus under diverse names):
O thou full mixture of those mighty souls
Whose vast intelligences tun'd the poles40
Of Peace and War; thou, for whose manly brow
Both lawrels twine into one wreath, and woo
To be thy garland: see (sweet prince), O see,
Thou, and the lovely hopes that smile in thee,
Art ta'n out and transcrib'd by thy great mother:45
See, see thy reall shadow; see thy brother,
Thy little self in lesse: trace in these eyne
The beams that dance in those full stars of thine.
From the same snowy alabaster rock
Those hands and thine were hewn; those cherries mock50
The corall of thy lips: thou wert of all
This well-wrought copie the fair principall.

Lady Mary.

Iustly, great Nature, didst thou brag, and tell
How ev'n th' hadst drawn that faithfull parallel,
And matcht thy master-piece. O then go on,55
Make such another sweet comparison.
Seest thou that Marie there? O teach her mother
To shew her to her self in such another.
Fellow this wonder too; nor let her shine
Alone; light such another star, and twine60
Their rosie beams, that so the Morn for one
Venus, may have a constellation.

Lady Elizabeth.

These words scarce waken'd Heaven, when—lo!—our vows
Sat crown'd upon the noble infant's brows.
Th' art pair'd, sweet princesse: in this well-writ book65
Read o're thy self; peruse each line, each look.
And when th' hast summ'd up all those blooming blisses,
Close up the book, and clasp it with thy kisses.
So have I seen (to dresse their mistresse May)
Two silken sister-flowers consult, and lay70
Their bashfull cheeks together: newly they
Peep't from their buds, show'd like the garden's eyes
Scarce wak't: like was the crimson of their joyes;
Like were the tears they wept, so like, that one
Seem'd but the other's kind reflexion.75

The new-borne Prince.

And now 'twere time to say, sweet queen, no more.
Fair source of princes, is thy pretious store
Not yet exhaust? O no! Heavens have no bound,
But in their infinite and endlesse round
Embrace themselves. Our measure is not their's;80
Nor may the pov'rtie of man's narrow prayers
Span their immensitie. More princes come:
Rebellion, stand thou by; Mischief, make room:
War, blood, and death—names all averse from Ioy—
Heare this, we have another bright-ey'd boy:85
That word's a warrant, by whose vertue I
Have full authority to bid you dy.
Dy, dy, foul misbegotten monsters! dy:
Make haste away, or e'r the World's bright eye
Blush to a cloud of bloud. O farre from men90
Fly hence, and in your Hyperborean den
Hide you for evermore, and murmure there
Where none but Hell may heare, nor our soft aire
Shrink at the hatefull sound. Mean while we bear
High as the brow of Heaven, the noble noise95
And name of these our just and righteous joyes,
Where Envie shall not reach them, nor those eares
Whose tune keeps time to ought below the spheres.
But thou, sweet supernumerary starre,
Shine forth; nor fear the threats of boyst'rous Warre.100
The face of things has therefore frown'd a while
On purpose, that to thee and thy pure smile
The World might ow an universall calm;
While thou, fair halcyon, on a sea of balm
Shalt flote; where while thou layst thy lovely head,105
The angry billows shall but make thy bed:
Storms, when they look on thee, shall straigt relent;
And tempests, when they tast thy breath, repent
To whispers, soft as thine own slumbers be,
Or souls of virgins which shall sigh for thee.110
Shine then, sweet supernumerary starre,
Nor feare the boysterous names of bloud and warre:
Thy birth-day is their death's nativitie;
They've here no other businesse but to die.

To the Queen.

But stay; what glimpse was that? why blusht the Day?115
Why ran the started aire trembling away?
Who's this that comes circled in rayes that scorn
Acquaintance with the sun? what second morn
At midday opes a presence which Heaven's eye
Stands off and points at? Is't some deity120
Stept from her throne of starres, deignes to be seen?
Is it some deity? or is't our queen?
'Tis she, 'tis she: her awfull beauties chase
The Day's abashèd glories, and in face
Of noon wear their own sunshine. O thou bright125
Mistresse of wonders! Cynthia's is the Night;
But thou at noon dost shine, and art all day
(Nor does thy sun deny't) our Cynthia.
Illustrious sweetnesse! in thy faithfull wombe,
That nest of heroes, all our hopes find room.130
Thou art the mother-phenix, and thy brest
Chast as that virgin honour of the East,
But much more fruitfull is; nor does, as she,
Deny to mighty Love, a deitie.
Then let the Eastern world brag and be proud135
Of one coy phenix, while we have a brood,
A brood of phenixes: while we have brother
And sister-phenixes, and still the mother.
And may we long! Long may'st thou live t'increase
The house and family of phenixes.140
Nor may the life that gives their eye-lids light
E're prove the dismall morning of thy night:
Ne're may a birth of thine be bought so dear
To make his costly cradle of thy beer.
O may'st thou thus make all the year thine own,145
And see such names of joy sit white upon
The brow of every month! and when th' hast done,
Mayst in a son of his find every son
Repeated, and that son still in another,
And so in each child, often prove a mother.150
Long may'st thou, laden with such clusters, lean
Vpon thy royall elm (fair vine!) and when
The Heav'ns will stay no longer, may thy glory
And name dwell sweet in some eternall story!

Pardon (bright Excellence,) an untun'd string,155
That in thy eares thus keeps a murmuring.
O speake a lowly Muse's pardon, speake
Her pardon, or her sentence; onely breake
Thy silence. Speake, and she shall take from thence
Numbers, and sweetnesse, and an influence160
Confessing thee. Or (if too long I stay,)
O speake thou, and my pipe hath nought to say:
For see Apollo all this while stands mute,
Expecting by thy voice to tune his lute.

But gods are gracious; and their altars make165
Pretious the offrings that their altars take.
Give then this rurall wreath fire from thine eyes,
This rurall wreath dares be thy sacrifice.

NOTES AND ILLUSTRATIONS.

This poem was originally entitled (as supra) 'Upon the Duke of York's Birth.' As new children were born additions were made to it and the title altered. Cf. the Latin poem in our vol. ii. ad Reginam.

The children celebrated were the following: Charles James, born May 13, 1628, died the same day; the Queen's first child: Charles II., born May 29, 1630: James, who is placed before his sister Mary, who was older than he; born Oct. 14, 1633; afterwards James II.: Princess Mary, born Nov. 4, 1631, afterwards mother of William III.: Princess Elizabeth, born Dec. 28, 1635; died of grief at her father's tragical end, Sept. 8, 1650; was buried in the church at Newport, Isle of Wight, where her remains were found in 1793. Vaughan the Silurist has a fine poem to her memory (our edition, vol. ii. pp. 115-17): Anne, born March 17, 1636-7; she died Dec. 8, 1640 (Crashaw from first to last keeps Death out of his poem): Henry, born July 8, 1640, afterwards Duke of Gloucester and Earl of Cambridge. Henrietta Anne, born June 16, 1644, is not named.

The title in 1646 is 'Vpon the Duke of Yorke his Birth: a Panegyricke;' and so in 1670, which throughout agrees with that very imperfect text, except in one deplorable blunder of its own left uncorrected by Turnbull, as noted below. The heading in the Sancroft ms. is 'A Panegyrick vpon the birth of the Duke of Yorke. R. Cr.'

Line 7, in 1646 'glories' for 'honours.' In the Sancroft ms. line 8 reads 'As sitts alone ....'
Line 15, ib. 'O' for 'Sure.'
" 16, ib. 'Th' art.'
" 29-32 restored from 1648. Not in Sancroft ms.
" 33. These headings here and onward omitted hitherto.
" 34, in 1646 'great' for 'bright.'
" 43, our text (1648) misprints 'owne' for 'one' of Voces Votivæ.
Line 50, 1646 oddly misprints 'these Cherrimock.'
Line 52, 1646, 'art' for 'wert.'
" 54, ib. 'may'st' for 'did'st.'
" 55, ib. 'th' art' for 'th' hadst.'
" 64-70 restored from 1648. Not in Sancroft ms.
" 74, 1646, 'pearls' for 'tears.' So the Sancroft ms.
" 78-118, all these lines—most characteristic­—restored from 1648. Turnbull overlooked them. Not in the Sancroft ms.
Line 140, 1670 drops a line here, and thus confuses,

'A brood of phenixes, and still the mother:
And may we long: long may'st thou live t' encrease
The house,' &c.

Peregrine Phillips in his selections from Crashaw (1785), following the text of 1670, says in a foot-note, 'A line seems wanting, but is so in the original copy.' Turnbull follows suit and says, 'Here a line seems deficient.' If either had consulted the 'original' editions, which both professed to know, it would have saved them from this and numerous kindred blunders.

Line 145, 1646, 'light' for 'life.'
" 151, ib. 'that's.'
" 170, ib. 'their' for 'the offerings.'

In line 27 'Thee therefore &c.' is a thought not unfrequent with the panegyrists of James. Ben Jonson makes use of it at least twice. In the Masque of Blackness we have,

'With that great name Britannia, this blest isle
Hath won her ancient dignity and style;
A world divided from a world, and tried
The abstract of it, in his general pride.'

Shakespeare used the same thought more nobly when he made it the theme of that glorious outburst of patriotism from the lips of the dying Gaunt. G.

VPON TWO GREENE APRICOCKES SENT TO COWLEY BY SIR CRASHAW.[87]

Take these, Time's tardy truants, sent by me1
To be chastis'd (sweet friend) and chide by thee.
Pale sons of our Pomona! whose wan cheekes
Have spent the patience of expecting weekes,
Yet are scarce ripe enough at best to show5
The redd, but of the blush to thee they ow.
By thy comparrison they shall put on
More Summer in their shame's reflection,
Than ere the fruitfull Phœbus' flaming kisses
Kindled on their cold lips. O had my wishes10
And the deare merits of your Muse, their due,
The yeare had found some fruit early as you;
Ripe as those rich composures Time computes
Blossoms, but our blest tast confesses fruits.
How does thy April-Autumne mocke these cold15
Progressions 'twixt whose termes poor Time grows old!
With thee alone he weares no beard, thy braine
Gives him the morning World's fresh gold againe.
'Twas only Paradice, 'tis onely thou,
Whose fruit and blossoms both blesse the same bough.20
Proud in the patterne of thy pretious youth,
Nature (methinks) might easily mend her growth.
Could she in all her births but coppie thee,
Into the publick yeares proficiencie,
No fruit should have the face to smile on thee25
(Young master of the World's maturitie)
But such whose sun-borne beauties what they borrow
Of beames to day, pay back again to morrow,
Nor need be double-gilt. How then must these
Poor fruites looke pale at thy Hesperides!30
Faine would I chide their slownesse, but in their
Defects I draw mine own dull character.
Take them, and me in them acknowledging,
How much my Summer waites upon thy Spring.

ALEXIAS:

THE COMPLAINT OF THE FORSAKEN WIFE OF SAINTE ALEXIS.[88]

---

The First Elegie.

I late the Roman youth's loud prayse and pride,1
Whom long none could obtain, though thousands try'd;
Lo, here am left (alas!) For my lost mate
T' embrace my teares, and kisse an vnkind fate.
Sure in my early woes starres were at strife,5
And try'd to make a widow ere a wife.
Nor can I tell (and this new teares doth breed)
In what strange path, my lord's fair footsteppes bleed.
O knew I where he wander'd, I should see
Some solace in my sorrow's certainty:10
I'd send my woes in words should weep for me,
(Who knowes how powerfull well-writt praires would be.)
Sending's too slow a word; myselfe would fly.
Who knowes my own heart's woes so well as I?
But how shall I steal hence? Alexis thou,15
Ah thou thy self, alas! hast taught me how.
Loue too that leads the way would lend the wings
To bear me harmlesse through the hardest things.
And where Loue lends the wing, and leads the way,
What dangers can there be dare say me nay?20
If I be shipwrack't, Loue shall teach to swimme:
If drown'd, sweet is the death indur'd for him:
The noted sea shall change his name with me,
I'mongst the blest starres, a new name shall be.
And sure where louers make their watry graues,25
The weeping mariner will augment the waues.
For who so hard, but passing by that way
Will take acquaintance of my woes, and say
Here 'twas the Roman maid found a hard fate,
While through the World she sought her wandring mate30
Here perish't she, poor heart; Heauns, be my vowes
As true to me, as she was to her spouse.
O liue, so rare a loue! liue! and in thee
The too frail life of femal constancy.
Farewell; and shine, fair soul, shine there aboue35
Firm in thy crown, as here fast in thy loue.
There thy lost fugitiue th' hast found at last:
Be happy; and for euer hold him fast.

The Second Elegie.

Though all the ioyes I had, fled hence with thee,1
Vnkind! yet are my teares still true to me:
I'm wedded o're again since thou art gone;
Nor couldst thou, cruell, leaue me quite alone.
Alexis' widdow now is Sorrow's wife,5
With him shall I weep out my weary life.
Wellcome, my sad-sweet mate! Now haue I gott
At last a constant Loue, that leaues me not:
Firm he, as thou art false; nor need my cryes
Thus vex the Earth and teare the beauteous skyes.10
For him, alas! n'ere shall I need to be
Troublesom to the world thus as for thee:
For thee I talk to trees; with silent groues
Expostulate my woes and much-wrong'd loues;
Hills and relentlesse rockes, or if there be15
Things that in hardnesse more allude to thee,
To these I talk in teares, and tell my pain,
And answer too for them in teares again.
How oft haue I wept out the weary sun!
My watry hour-glasse hath old Time's outrunne.20
O I am learnèd grown: poor Loue and I
Haue study'd ouer all Astrology;
I'm perfect in Heaun's state; with euery starr
My skillfull greife is grown familiar.
Rise, fairest of those fires; what'ere thou be25
Whose rosy beam shall point my sun to me.
Such as the sacred light that e'rst did bring
The Eastern princes to their infant King,
O rise, pure lamp! and lend thy golden ray
That weary Loue at last may find his way.30

The Third Elegie.

Rich, churlish Land! that hid'st so long in thee1
My treasures; rich, alas! by robbing mee.
Needs must my miseryes owe that man a spite
Who e're he be was the first wandring knight.
O had he nere been at that cruell cost5
Natvre's virginity had nere been lost;
Seas had not bin rebuk't by sawcy oares
But ly'n lockt vp safe in their sacred shores;
Men had not spurn'd at mountaines; nor made warrs
With rocks, nor bold hands struck the World's strong barres,10
Nor lost in too larg bounds, our little Rome
Full sweetly with it selfe had dwell't at home.
My poor Alexis, then, in peacefull life
Had vnder some low roofe lou'd his plain wife;
But now, ah me! from where he has no foes15
He flyes; and into willfull exile goes.
Cruell, return, O tell the reason why
Thy dearest parents have deseru'd to dy.
And I, what is my crime, I cannot tell,
Vnlesse it be a crime t' haue lou'd too well.20
If heates of holyer loue and high desire,
Make bigge thy fair brest with immortall fire,
What needes my virgin lord fly thus from me,
Who only wish his virgin wife to be?
Witnesse, chast Heauns! no happyer vowes I know25
Then to a virgin grave vntouch't to goe.
Loue's truest knott by Venus is not ty'd,
Nor doe embraces onely make a bride.
The queen of angels (and men chast as you)
Was maiden-wife and maiden-mother too.30
Cecilia, glory of her name and blood,
With happy gain her maiden-vowes made good:
The lusty bridegroom made approach; young man
Take heed (said she) take heed, Valerian!
My bosome's guard, a spirit great and strong,35
Stands arm'd, to sheild me from all wanton wrong;
My chastity is sacred; and my Sleep
Wakefull, her dear vowes vndefil'd to keep.
Pallas beares armes, forsooth; and should there be
No fortresse built for true Virginity?40
No gaping Gorgon, this: none, like the rest
Of your learn'd lyes. Here you'll find no such iest.
I'm your's: O were my God, my Christ so too,
I'd know no name of Loue on Earth but you.
He yeilds, and straight baptis'd, obtains the grace45
To gaze on the fair souldier's glorious face.
Both mixt at last their blood in one rich bed
Of rosy martyrdome, twice married.
O burn our Hymen bright in such high flame,
Thy torch, terrestriall Loue, haue here no name.50
How sweet the mutuall yoke of man and wife,
When holy fires maintain Loue's heaunly life!
But I (so help me Heaun my hopes to see)
When thousands sought my loue, lou'd none but thee.
Still, as their vain teares my firm vowes did try,55
Alexis, he alone is mine (said I).
Half true, alas! half false, proues that poor line,
Alexis is alone; but is not mine.

NOTES AND ILLUSTRATIONS.

The heading in 1648 omits 'Sainte.' These variations from 1648 are interesting:

1st Elegy: Line 9, 'would' for 'should.'
Line 17, our text (1652) drops 'way' inadvertently. Turnbull tinkers it by reading 'thee' for 'the,' instead of collating the texts.
Line 23, 'its' for 'his.'
" 25, 'when' for 'where.'
" 37, I have adopted 'th'' for 'thou' of our text (1652).
2d Elegy: Line 1, our text (1652) misspells 'fleed.'
Line 3, ib. misprints 'I' am.'
" 10, ib. drops 'beauteous' inadvertently. Turnbull, for a wonder, wakes up here to notice a deficient word; but again, instead of collating his texts, inserts without authority 'lofty.' Had he turned to 1648 edition, he would have found 'beauteous.'
Line 20, I have adopted 'Time's' for 'Time.'
" 23, as in line 17 in 1st Elegy.
" 30, a reference to the 'Love will find out the way,' in the old song 'Over the mountain.' 'Weary' is misprinted 'Wary' in 1670.
3d Elegy: Line 7, 'with' for 'by.'
Line 17, our text (1652) misprints 'Or' for 'O.'
" 20, I accept 't'' for 'to.'
" 29, 'The Blessed Virgin' for 'The queen of angels.'
" 41, 'facing' for 'gaping.'
" 43, as in line 17 in 1st Elegy.
" 50, 'hath' for 'haue.'
" 51, 'sweet's' for 'sweet.'
" 54, our text (1652) misprints 'thousand.' G.

Secular Poetry.

II.

AIRELLES.

NOTE.

See Note on page 184 for reference on the title here and elsewhere of 'Airelles.' G.

UPON THE KING'S CORONATION.[89]

Sound forth, cœlestiall organs, let heauen's quire
Ravish the dancing orbes, make them mount higher
With nimble capers, & force Atlas tread
Vpon his tiptoes, e're his siluer head
Shall kisse his golden curthen. Thou glad Isle,
That swim'st as deepe in joy, as seas, now smile;
Lett not thy weighty glories, this full tide
Of blisse, debase thee; but with a just pride
Swell: swell to such an height, that thou maist vye
With heauen itselfe for stately majesty.
Doe not deceiue mee, eyes: doe I not see
In this blest earth heauen's bright epitome,
Circled with pure refinèd glory? heere
I view a rising sunne in this our sphere,
Whose blazing beames, maugre the blackest night,
And mists of greife, dare force a joyfull light.
The gold, in w^ch he flames, does well præsage
A precious season, & a golden age.
Doe I not see joy keepe his revels now,
And sitt triumphing in each cheerfull brow?
Vnmixt felicity with siluer wings
Broodeth this sacred place: hither Peace brings
The choicest of her oliue-crownes, & praies
To haue them guilded with his courteous raies.
Doe I not see a Cynthia, who may
Abash the purest beauties of the day?
To whom heauen's lampes often in silent night
Steale from their stations to repaire their light.
Doe I not see a constellation,
Each little beame of w^ch would make a sunne?
I meane those three great starres, who well may scorn
Acquaintance with the vsher of the morne.
To gaze vpon such starres each humble eye
Would be ambitious of astronomie
Who would not be a phœnix, & aspire
To sacrifice himselfe in such sweet fire?
Shine forth, ye flaming sparkes of Deity,
Yee perfect emblemes of divinity.
Fixt in your spheres of glory, shed from thence,
The treasures of our liues, your influence,
For if you sett, who may not justly feare,
The world will be one ocean, one great teare.

---

UPON THE KING'S CORONATION.

Strange metamorphosis! It was but now
The sullen heauen had vail'd its mournfull brow
With a black maske: the clouds with child by Greife
Traueld th' Olympian plaines to find releife.
But at the last (having not soe much power
As to refraine) brought forth a costly shower
Of pearly drops, & sent her numerous birth
(As tokens of her greife) vnto the Earth.
Alas, the Earth, quick drunke with teares, had reel'd
From of her center, had not Ioue vpheld
The staggering lumpe: each eye spent all its store,
As if heereafter they would weepe noe more:
Streight from this sea of teares there does appeare
Full glory naming in her owne free sphere.
Amazèd Sol throwes of his mournfull weeds,
Speedily harnessing his fiery steeds,
Vp to Olympus' stately topp he hies,
From whence his glorious rivall hee espies.
Then wondring starts, & had the curteous night
Withheld her vaile, h' had forfeited his sight.
The joy full sphæres with a delicious sound
Afright th' amazèd aire, and dance a round
To their owne musick, nor (untill they see
This glorious Phœbus sett) will quiet bee.
Each aery Siren now hath gott her song,
To whom the merry lambes doe tripp along
The laughing meades, as joy full to behold
Their winter coates couer'd with naming gold.
Such was the brightnesse of this Northerne starre,
It made the virgin phœnix come from farre
To be repair'd: hither she did resort,
Thinking her father had remou'd his Court.
The lustre of his face did shine soe bright,
That Rome's bold egles now were blinded quite;
The radiant darts shott from his sparkling eyes,
Made euery mortall gladly sacrifice
A heart burning in loue; all did adore
This rising sunne; their faces nothing wore,
But smiles, and ruddy joyes, and at this day
All melancholy clouds vanisht away.

---

VPON THE BIRTH OF THE PRINCESSE ELIZABETH.[90]

Bright starre of Majesty, oh shedd on mee,
A precious influence, as sweet as thee.
That with each word, my loaden pen letts fall,
The fragrant Spring may be perfum'd withall.
That Sol from them may suck an honied shower,
To glutt the stomack of his darling flower.
With such a sugred livery made fine,
They shall proclaime to all, that they are thine.
Lett none dare speake of thee, but such as thence
Extracted haue a balmy eloquence.
But then, alas, my heart! oh how shall I
Cure thee of thy delightfull tympanie?
I cannot hold; such a spring-tide of joy
Must haue a passage, or 'twill force a way.
Yet shall my loyall tongue keepe this com̄and:
But giue me leaue to ease it with my hand.
And though these humble lines soare not soe high,
As is thy birth; yet from thy flaming eye
Drop downe one sparke of glory, & they'l proue
A præsent worthy of Apollo's loue.
My quill to thee may not præsume to sing:
Lett th' hallowed plume of a seraphick wing
Bee consecrated to this worke, while I
Chant to my selfe with rustick melodie.
Rich, liberall heauen, what hath yo^r treasure store
Of such bright angells, that you giue vs more?
Had you, like our great sunne, stampèd but one
For earth, t' had beene an ample portion.
Had you but drawne one liuely coppy forth,
That might interpret our faire Cynthia's worth,
Y' had done enough to make the lazy ground
Dance, like the nimble spheres, a joyfull round.
But such is the cœlestiall excellence,
That in the princely patterne shines, from whence
The rest pourtraicted are, that 'tis noe paine
To ravish heauen to limbe them o're againe.
Wittnesse this mapp of beauty; euery part
Of w^ch doth show the quintessence of art.
See! nothing's vulgar, every atome heere
Speakes the great wisdome of th' artificer.
Poore Earth hath not enough perfection,
To shaddow forth th' admirèd paragon.
Those sparkling twinnes of light should I now stile
Rich diamonds, sett in a pure siluer foyle;
Or call her cheeke a bed of new-blowne roses;
And say that ivory her front composes;
Or should I say, that with a scarlet waue
Those plumpe soft rubies had bin drest soe braue;
Or that the dying lilly did bestow
Vpon her neck the whitest of his snow;
Or that the purple violets did lace
That hand of milky downe; all these are base;
Her glories I should dimme with things soe grosse,
And foule the cleare text with a muddy glosse.
Goe on then, Heauen, & limbe forth such another,
Draw to this sister miracle a brother;
Compile a first glorious epitome
Of heauen, & Earth, & of all raritie;
And sett it forth in the same happy place,
And I'le not blurre it with my paraphrase.

---

VPON A GNATT BURNT IN A CANDLE.

Little, buzzing, wanton elfe
Perish there, and thanke thy selfe.
Thou deseru'st thy life to loose,
For distracting such a Muse.
Was it thy ambitious aime
By thy death to purchase fame?
Didst thou hope he would in pitty
Haue bestow'd a funerall ditty
On thy ghoast? and thou in that
To haue outliuèd Virgill's gnatt?
No! The treason thou hast wrought
Might forbid thee such a thought.
If that Night's worke doe miscarry,
Or a syllable but vary;
A greater foe thou shalt me find,
The destruction of thy kind.
Phœbus, to revenge thy fault,
In a fiery trapp thee caught;
That thy wingèd mates might know it,
And not dare disturbe a poet.
Deare and wretched was thy sport,
Since thyselfe was crushèd for't;
Scarcely had that life a breath,
Yet it found a double death;
Playing in the golden flames,
Thou fell'st into an inky Thames;
Scorch'd and drown'd. That petty sunne
A pretty Icarus hath vndone.

FROM PETRONIUS.[91]

Ales Phasiacis petita Colchis, &c.

The bird that's fetch't from Phasis floud,
Or choicest hennes of Africk-brood;
These please our palates; and why these?
'Cause they can but seldome please.
Whil'st the goose soe goodly white,
And the drake, yeeld noe delight,
Though his wings' conceited hewe
Paint each feather, as if new.
These for vulgar stomacks be,
And rellish not of rarity.
But the dainty Scarus, sought
In farthest clime; what e're is bought
With shipwrack's toile, oh, that is sweet,
'Cause the quicksands hansell'd it.
The pretious barbill, now growne rife,
Is cloying meat. How stale is wife?
Deare wife hath ne're a handsome letter,
Sweet mistris sounds a great deale better.
Rose quakes at name of cinnamon.
Unlesse't be rare, what's thought vpon?

FROM HORACE.

Ille et ne fasto te posuit die, &c.

Shame of thy mother soyle! ill-nurtur'd tree!
Sett, to the mischeife of posteritie!
That hand (what e're it wer) that was thy nurse,
Was sacrilegious (sure) or somewhat worse.
Black, as the day was dismall, in whose sight
Thy rising topp first stain'd the bashfull light.
That man-­-I thinke—wrested the feeble life
From his old father, that man's barbarous knife
Conspir'd with darknes 'gainst the strangers throate;
(Whereof the blushing walles tooke bloody note)
Huge high-floune poysons, eu'n of Colchos breed,
And whatsoe're wild sinnes black thoughts doe feed,
His hands haue padled in; his hands, that found
Thy traiterous root a dwelling in my ground.
Perfidious totterer! longing for the staines
Of thy kind Master's well-deseruing braines.
Man's daintiest care, & caution cannot spy
The subtile point of his coy destiny,
W^ch way it threats. With feare the merchant's mind
Is plough'd as deepe, as is the sea with wind,
(Rowz'd in an angry tempest), Oh the sea!
Oh! that's his feare; there flotes his destiny:
While from another (vnseene) corner blowes
The storme of fate, to w^ch his life he owes;
By Parthians bow the soldier lookes to die,
(Whose hands are fighting, while their feet doe flie.)
The Parthian starts at Rome's imperiall name,
Fledg'd with her eagle's wing; the very chaine
Of his captivity rings in his eares.
Thus, ô thus fondly doe wee pitch our feares
Farre distant from our fates, our fates, that mocke
Our giddy feares with an vnlook't for shocke.
A little more, & I had surely seene
Thy greisly Majesty, Hell's blackest Queene;
And Œacus on his tribunall too,
Sifting the soules of guilt; & you, (oh you!)
You euer-blushing meads, where doe the blest
Farre from darke horrors home appeale to rest.
There amorous Sappho plaines vpon her lute
Her loue's crosse fortune, that the sad dispute
Runnes murmuring on the strings. Alcæus there
In high-built numbers wakes his golden lyre
To tell the world, how hard the matter went,
How hard by sea, by warre, by banishment.
There these braue soules deale to each wondring eare
Such words, soe precious, as they may not weare
Without religious silence; aboue all
Warre's ratling tumults, or some tyrant's fall.
The thronging clotted multitude doth feast:
What wonder? when the hundred-headed beast
ears Hangs his black lugges, stroakt with those heavenly lines;
The Furies' curl'd snakes meet in gentle twines,
And stretch their cold limbes in a pleasing fire.
Prometheus selfe, and Pelops stervèd sire
Are cheated of their paines; Orion thinkes
Of lions now noe more, or spotted linx.

---

EX EUPHORMIONE.

O Dea, siderei seu tu stirpe alma tonantis, &c.

Bright goddesse (whether Joue thy father be,
Or Jove a father will be made by thee)
Oh crowne these praiers (mov'd in a happy bower)
But with one cordiall smile for Cloe. That power
Of Loue's all-daring hand, that makes me burne,
Makes me confess't. Oh, doe not thou with scorne,
Great nymph, o'relooke my lownesse. Heau'n you know
And all their fellow-deities will bow
Eu'n to the naked'st vowes. Thou art my fate;
To thee the Parcæ haue given vp of late
My threds of life: if then I shall not live
By thee, by thee yet lett me die; this giue,
High Beautie's soveraigne, that my funerall flames
May draw their first breath from thy starry beames.
The phœnix' selfe shall not more proudly burne,
That fetcheth fresh life from her fruitfull vrne.

AN ELEGY VPON THE DEATH OF MR. STANNINOW,

FELLOW OF QUEENE'S COLLEDGE.[92]

Hath aged winter, fledg'd with feathered raine,
To frozen Caucasus his flight now tane?
Doth hee in downy snow there closely shrowd
His bedrid limmes, wrapt in a fleecy clowd?
Is th' Earth disrobèd of her apron white,
Kind Winter's guift, & in a greene one dight?
Doth she beginne to dandle in her lappe
Her painted infants, fedd with pleasant pappe,
W^ch their bright father in a pretious showre
From heaven's sweet milky streame doth gently poure
Doth blith Apollo cloath the heavens with joye,
And with a golden waue wash cleane away
Those durty smutches, w^ch their faire fronts wore,
And make them laugh, w^ch frown'd, & wept before?
If heaven hath now forgot to weepe; ô then
What meane these shoures of teares amongst vs men?
These cataracts of griefe, that dare eu'n vie
With th' richest clowds their pearly treasurie?
If Winters gone, whence this vntimely cold,
That on these snowy limmes hath laid such hold?
What more than winter hath that dire art found,
These purple currents hedg'd with violets round.
To corrallize, w^ch softly wont to slide
In crimson waueletts, & in scarlet tide?
If Flora's darlings now awake from sleepe,
And out of their greene mantletts dare to peepe
O tell me then, what rude outragious blast
Forc't this prime flowre of youth to make such hast?
To hide his blooming glories, & bequeath
His balmy treasure to the bedd of death?
'Twas not the frozen zone; one sparke of fire,
Shott from his flaming eye, had thaw'd its ire,
And made it burne in loue: 'twas not the rage,
And too vngentle nippe of frosty age:
'Twas not the chast, & purer snow, whose nest
Was in the mōdest nunnery of his brest:
Noe, none of these ravish't those virgin roses,
The Muses, & the Graces fragrant posies.
W^ch, while they smiling sate vpon his face,
They often kist, & in the sugred place
Left many a starry teare, to thinke how soone
The golden harvest of our joyes, the noone
Of all our glorious hopes should fade,
And be eclipsèd with an envious shade.
Noe 'twas old doting Death, who stealing by,
Dragging his crooked burthen, look't awry,
And streight his amorous syth (greedy of blisse)
Murdred the Earth's just pride with a rude kisse.
A wingèd herald, gladd of soe sweet a prey,
Snatch't vpp the falling starre, soe richly gay,
And plants it in a precious perfum'd bedd,
Amongst those lillies, w^ch his bosome bredd.
Where round about hovers with siluer wing
A golden Summer, an æternall Spring.
Now that his root such fruit againe may beare,
Let each eye water't with a courteous teare.

---

UPON THE DEATH OF A FREIND.

Hee's dead! Oh what harsh musick's there
Vnto a choyce, and curious eare!
Wee must that Discord surely call,
Since sighs doe rise and teares doe fall.
Teares fall too low, sighes rise too high,
How then can there be harmony?
But who is he? him may wee know
That jarres and spoiles sweet consort soe?
O Death, 'tis thou: you false time keepe,
And stretch'st thy dismall voice too deepe.
Long time to quavering Age you giue,
But to large Youth, short time to liue.
You take vpon you too too much,
In striking where you should not touch.
How out of tune the world now lies,
Since youth must fall, when it should rise!
Gone be all consort, since alone
He that once bore the best part's gone.
Whose whole life, musick was; wherein
Each vertue for a part came in.
And though that musick of his life be still,
The musick of his name yett soundeth shrill.

---

AN ELEGIE ON THE DEATH OF DR. PORTER.[93]

Stay, silver-footed Came, striue not to wed
Thy maiden streames soe soone to Neptune's bed;
Fixe heere thy wat'ry eyes upon these towers,
Vnto whose feet in reuerence of the powers,
That there inhabite, thou on euery day
With trembling lippes an humble kisse do'st pay.
See all in mourning now; the walles are jett,
With pearly papers carelesly besett.
Whose snowy cheekes, least joy should be exprest,
The weeping pen with sable teares hath drest.
Their wrongèd beauties speake a tragœdy,
Somewhat more horrid than an elegy.
Pure, & vnmixèd cruelty they tell,
W^ch poseth Mischeife's selfe to parallel.
Justice hath lost her hand, the law her head;
Peace is an orphan now; her father's dead.
Honestie's nurse, Vertue's blest guardian,
That heauenly mortall, that seraphick man.
Enough is said, now, if thou canst crowd on
Thy lazy crawling streames, pri'thee be gone,
And murmur forth thy woes to euery flower,
That on thy bankes sitts in a uerdant bower,
And is instructed by thy glassy waue
To paint its perfum'd face w^th colours braue.
In vailes of dust their silken heads they'le hide,
As if the oft-departing sunne had dy'd.
Goe learne that fatall quire, soe sprucely dight
In downy surplisses, & vestments white,
To sing their saddest dirges, such as may
Make their scar'd soules take wing, & fly away.
Lett thy swolne breast discharge thy strugling groanes
To th' churlish rocks; & teach the stubborne stones
To melt in gentle drops, lett them be heard
Of all proud Neptune's siluer-sheilded guard;
That greife may crack that string, & now vntie
Their shackled tongues to chant an elegie.
Whisper thy plaints to th' Ocean's curteous eares,
Then weepe thyselfe into a sea of teares.
A thousand Helicons the Muses send
In a bright christall tide, to thee they send,
Leaving those mines of nectar, their sweet fountaines,
They force a lilly path through rosy mountaines.
Feare not to dy with greife; all bubling eyes
Are teeming now with store of fresh supplies.

VERSE-LETTER
TO
THE COUNTESS OF DENBIGH

(1652).

NOTE.

To the volume of 1652 ('Carmen Deo Nostro' &c.) was prefixed a Verse-letter to the Countess of Denbigh, illustrated with an engraving of a 'locked heart,' as reproduced in our quarto edition. In 1653 ('Sept. 23, 1653'), as appears from a contemporary marking in the unique copy in the British Museum, the following was printed: 'A Letter from Mr. Crashaw to the Countess of Denbigh. Against Irresolution and Delay in matters of Religion. London, n.d.'(4to). Collation: title-page and 3 pages, page 1st on reverse of title-page (British Museum E. 220. 2.). The Paris copy is very imperfect from some unexplained reason (68 as against 90 lines), and it would seem that some friend of the deceased poet, dissatisfied with it, and having in his (or her) possession a fuller ms., printed, if not published it. We give the enlarged text—never before noticed, having been only named, without taking the trouble to consult and compare it, by Turnbull; and for the student add the abbreviated form from 1652 'Carmen,' as it, in turn, has lines and words not in the other. See our Essay for more on this most characteristic poem, and relative to the Countess of Denbigh. G.

AGAINST IRRESOLUTION AND DELAY IN MATTERS OF RELIGION.

What Heav'n-besiegèd heart is this1
Stands trembling at the Gate of Blisse:
Holds fast the door, yet dares not venture
Fairly to open and to enter?
Whose definition is, A Doubt5
'Twixt life and death, 'twixt In and Out.
Ah! linger not, lov'd soul: a slow
And late consent was a long No.
Who grants at last, a great while try'de
And did his best, to have deny'de10
What magick-bolts, what mystick barrs
Maintain the Will in these strange warrs?
What fatall, yet fantastick, bands
Keep the free heart from his own hands?
Say, lingring Fair, why comes the birth15
Of your brave soul so slowly forth?
Plead your pretences (O you strong
In weaknesse!) why you chuse so long
In labour of your self to ly,
Not daring quite to live nor die.20
So when the Year takes cold we see
Poor waters their own prisoners be:
Fetter'd and lock'd up fast they lie
In a cold self-captivity.
Th' astonish'd Nymphs their Floud's strange fate deplore,25
find themselves their own severer shoar.
Love, that lends haste to heaviest things,
In you alone hath lost his wings.
Look round and reade the World's wide face,
The field of Nature or of Grace;30
Where can you fix, to find excuse
Or pattern for the pace you use?
Mark with what faith fruits answer flowers,
And know the call of Heav'n's kind showers:
Each mindfull plant hasts to make good35
The hope and promise of his bud.
Seed-time's not all; there should be harvest too.
Alas! and has the Year no Spring for you?
Both winds and waters urge their way,
And murmure if they meet a stay.40
Mark how the curl'd waves work and wind,
All hating to be left behind.
Each bigge with businesse thrusts the other,
And seems to say, Make haste, my brother.
pure The aiery nation of neat doves, 45
That draw the chariot of chast Loves,
Chide your delay: yea those dull things,
Whose wayes have least to doe with wings,
Make wings at least of their own weight,
And by their love controll their Fate.50
So lumpish steel, untaught to move,
Learn'd first his lightnesse by his love.
What e're Love's matter be, he moves
By th' even wings of his own doves,
Lives by his own laws, and does hold55
In grossest metalls his own gold.
All things swear friends to Fair and Good
Yea suitours; man alone is wo'ed,
Tediously wo'ed, and hardly wone:
Only not slow to be undone.60
As if the bargain had been driven
So hardly betwixt Earth and Heaven;
Our God would thrive too fast, and be
Too much a gainer by't, should we
Our purchas'd selves too soon bestow65
On Him, who has not lov'd us so.
When love of us call'd Him to see
If wee'd vouchsafe His company,
He left His Father's Court, and came
Lightly as a lambent flame,70
Leaping upon the hills, to be
The humble king of you and me.
Nor can the cares of His whole crown
(When one poor sigh sends for Him down)
Detain Him, but He leaves behind75
The late wings of the lazy wind,
Spurns the tame laws of Time and Place,
And breaks through all ten heav'ns to our embrace.
Yield to His siege, wise soul, and see
Your triumph in His victory.80
Disband dull feares, give Faith the day:
To save your life, kill your Delay.
'Tis cowardise that keeps this field;
And want of courage not to yield.
Yield then, O yield, that Love may win85
The Fort at last, and let Life in.
Yield quickly, lest perhaps you prove
Death's prey, before the prize of Love.
This fort of your fair self if't be not wone,
He is repuls'd indeed, but you'r undone.90

FINIS.

From 'Carmen Deo Nostro' (1652).

Non vi.

''Tis not the work of force but skill
To find the way into man's will.
'Tis loue alone can hearts unlock;
Who knowes the Word, he needs not knock.'

To the noblest and best of Ladyes, the Countesse of Denbigh, perswading her to Resolution in Religion, and to render her selfe without further delay into the Communion of the Catholick Church.

What heau'n-intreated heart is this1
Stands trembling at the gate of blisse?
Holds fast the door, yet dares not venture
Fairly to open it, and enter.
Whose definition is a doubt5
'Twixt life and death, 'twixt in and out.
Say, lingring Fair! why comes the birth
Of your brave soul so slowly forth?
Plead your pretences (O you strong
In weaknes!) why you choose so long10
In labor of your selfe to ly,
Nor daring quite to liue nor dy?
Ah! linger not, lou'd soul! a slow
And late consent was a long no;
Who grants at last, long time try'd15
And did his best to haue deny'd:
What magick bolts, what mystick barres
Maintain the will in these strange warres?
What fatall yet fantastick, bands
Keep the free heart from its own hands?20
So when the year takes cold, we see
Poor waters their own prisoners be:
Fetter'd and lockt vp they ly
In a sad selfe-captivity.
The astonisht nymphs their flood's strange fate deplore,25
To see themselues their own seuerer shore.
Thou that alone canst thaw this cold,
And fetch the heart from its strong-hold;
Allmighty Love! end this long warr,
And of a meteor make a starr.30
O fix this fair Indefinite!
And 'mongst Thy shafts of soueraign light
Choose out that sure decisiue dart
Which has the key of this close heart,
Knowes all the corners of't, and can controul35
The self-shutt cabinet of an vnsearcht soul.
O let it be at last, Loue's hour!
Raise this tall trophee of Thy powre;
Come once the conquering way; not to confute
But kill this rebell-word 'irresolute,'40
That so, in spite of all this peeuish strength
Of weaknes, she may write 'resolv'd' at length.
Vnfold at length, vnfold fair flowre
And vse the season of Loue's showre!
Meet His well-meaning wounds, wise heart,45
And hast to drink the wholsome dart.
That healing shaft, which Heaun till now
Hath in Loue's quiuer hid for you.
O dart of Loue! arrow of light!
O happy you, if it hitt right!50
It must not fall in vain, it must
Not mark the dry, regardless dust.
Fair one, it is your fate; and brings
Æternal worlds upon its wings.
Meet it with wide-spread armes, and see55
Its seat your soul's iust center be.
Disband dull feares; giue faith the day;
To saue your life, kill your delay.
It is Loue's seege, and sure to be
Your triumph, though His victory.60
'Tis cowardise that keeps this feild
And want of courage not to yeild.
Yeild then, O yeild, that Loue may win
The fort at last, and let life in.
Yeild quickly, lest perhaps you proue65
Death's prey, before the prize of Loue.
This fort of your faire selfe, if't be not won,
He is repulst indeed; but you are vndone.

END OF VOL. I.

---

LONDON: ROBSON AND SONS, PRINTERS, PANCRAS ROAD, N.W.

FOOTNOTES:

[1] Turnbull in line 19 misprints 'Diseased his ...' making nonsense. Disease is = dis-ease, discompose, as used by Phineas Fletcher: cf. vol. iii. p. 194 et alibi.

[2] Turnbull again misprints in line 3 'But' for 'Best,' once more making nonsense.

[3] Edition of 1834, p. 295; of 1839, vol. i. p. 301. Turnbull adds not one iota to our knowledge, and repeats all Willmott's erroneous dates, &c.

[4] The present eminent Head of 'Charterhouse,' Dr. Haig-Brown, strove to find earlier documents in vain for me.

[5] As before, vol. ii. p. 302.

[6] I feel disposed to think that it must have been some other Richard Crashaw, albeit attendance at both Universities was not uncommon. Wood's words are, that he was 'incorporated' in 1641 at Oxford; and his authority 'the private observation of a certain Master of Arts, that was this year living in the University;' and he adds, 'afterwards he was Master of Arts, in which degree it is probable he was incorporated' (Fasti, s. n.).

[7] I owe very hearty thanks to my good friend Mr. W. Aldis Wright, M.A., Trinity College, Cambridge, and to the Masters and other authorities of Pembroke and Peterhouse, for unfailing attention to my inquiries and the most zealous aid throughout.

[8] My 'document' was an extract from an old Register of the Church. I lent it to the late Mr. Robert Bell (who intended to include Crashaw in his 'Poets'), and somehow it got astray. My priest-correspondent at Loretto was dead when I applied for another copy, and the Register has disappeared. Of the fact, however, that Crashaw died in 1650 there can be no doubt.

[9] Life of Cowley, in Lives of the Poets.

[10] Works, vol. i. (1707) pp. 44-7. Line 3 by a strange oversight is misprinted in all the editions I have seen 'The hard, and rarest....' I accept Willmott's correction.

[11] Query, the legal term 'seized' = taken possession of? So Vaughan, Silurist,

'O give it ful obedience, that so seiz'd
Of all I have, I may not move thy wrath' (i. 154),

and

'Thou so long seiz'd of my heart' (ib. p. 289). G.

[12] = Iamblichus, the celebrated Neo-Platonic philosopher, author of [Greek: περὶ Πυθαγόρου αἱρέσευς], concerning the Philosophy of Pythagoras. G.

[13] Cf. poem on Lessius, lines 18 and 38. G.

[14] See our Memorial-Introduction and Essay, for remarks on Herbert's relation to Crashaw. G.

[15] 'Seven shares and a halfe.' The same phrase occurs in Ben Jonson's Poetaster. The player whom Captain Tucca bullied and fleeced, was one of Henslowe's company, as shown by Tucca's stinging taunt that they had 'fortune and the good year on their side;' the facts being that the Fortune theatre had just been built, and that the year had been an exceptionally bad one with the hitherto prosperous players. To call attention tacitly to the allusion 'fortune' is, in the original editions, printed in italics. Various other players having been mimicked, ridiculed, and reviled, Tucca then bids farewell to his new acquaintance with—'commend me to seven shares and a half;' a remark which by its position seems to point to the chief men of the company. But a great part of the office of a manager like Henslowe was, as exhibited in Henslowe's own Diary, just such as is depreciatingly described in our text. He had various dramatic authors, poetasters, and others in his pay and debt. Hence as the Poetaster was written in 1601, and this preface in 1646, it may be concluded, that 'seven shares and a half' was the established proportion taken by, and therefore a theatrical cant name for, the Manager. It follows also that as the Player was one of Henslowe's company, the seven shares and a half alluded to by Jonson was Henslowe himself, from whom he had seceded, and with whom he had probably quarrelled. The question, however, yet remains open, whether seven shares and a half was the proportion received by a manager, or that taken by a proprietor-manager, such as Henslowe was. Malone has conjectured that Henslowe drew fifteen shares; if so, the other seven and a half may have been as rent, and out of one of the two halves may have come the general expenses of the house. G.

[16] 'Sixpenny soule, a suburb sinner.' This was the ordinary town courtesan, who, eschewing the penny and twopenny rabble of the pit and gallery, frequented the cheapest of the better-class seats, or main body of the house. G.

[17] = swollen. G.

[18] = as taught by Lessius, whose praise Crashaw sang. See the Poem in its place in the 'Delights.' G.

[19] = drinkers of Canary (wine)? G.

[20] On the authorship of this Preface see our Preface. G.

[21] This couplet appeared first in 1648 edition of the 'Steps to the Temple;' but it properly belongs to the engraving in 'Carmen Deo Nostro' of 1652, which is reproduced in our illustrated 4to edition. G.

[22] 'The Weeper' appeared originally in the 'Steps' of 1646 (pp. 1-5): was reprinted in editions of 1648 (pp. 1-6), 1652 (pp. 85-92), 1670 (pp. 1-5). For reasons stated in our Preface, our text follows that of 1652; but see Notes and Illustrations at close of the poem for details of various readings, &c. &c., and our Essay for critical remarks on it from Pope to Dr. George Macdonald. G.

[23] Appeared originally in 'Steps' of 1648 (pp. 7-9): reprinted in 1652 and 1670. As before, our text is that of 1652 (pp. 55-61); but see Notes and Illustrations at close. The illustration, engraved by Mesager, is reproduced in our illustrated quarto edition. G.

[24] Appeared originally in 'Steps' of 1646 (pp. 6-7): reprinted in 1648 (pp. 9-11) and 1670 editions. As it does not appear in 'Carmen Deo Nostro,' &c. (1652), our text follows that of 1648; but see Notes and Illustrations at close of the poem. G.

[25] Most of 'The Office of the Holy Crosse' appeared in the 'Steps' of 1648, but in a fragmentary form. First came a piece 'Upon our B. Saviour's Passion,' which included all the Hymns. Then 'the Antiphona,' which was the last so called here; then 'the Recommendation of the precedent Hymn;' then 'a Prayer;' and lastly, 'Christ's Victory,' including three other of the verses, called 'the Antiphona.' Our text is from 'Carmen Deo Nostro' &c. of 1652, as before (pp. 31-48)—the engraving in which is reproduced in our illustrated quarto edition. See Notes and Illustrations at close of this composition. G.

[26]

Mors et vita duello
Conflixero mirando:
Dux vitæ mortuus, regnat vivus.

Latin Sequence 12th-13th century: Vict. Pasch. G.

[27] The engraving of our text (1652) here, is reproduced in our illustrated quarto edition. For the Latin 'Expostulatio' belonging thereto, see our vol. ii. G.

[28] Appeared originally in 'Steps' of 1648 (pp. 30-1): reprinted in 1652 (pp. 49-51) and 1670 (pp. 174-6). Our text is that of 1652, as before. See Notes and Illustrations at close of the poem. G.

[29] Originally appeared in 'Steps' of 1646 (p. 15): was reprinted in editions 1648 (pp. 21-2) and 1670 (p. 15). Our text is that of 1648: but there are only slight orthographic differences in the others. G.

[30] Appeared originally in the 'Steps' of 1646 (p. 21): was reprinted in 1648 (p. 29) and 1670 (p. 22). Our text is that of 1648, but the others are the same except in the usual changes of orthography. The Sancroft ms. in line 7 reads 'Then shall He drink;' line 9, 'My paines are in their nonage: my young feares;' line 10 I have adopted, instead of 'Are yet both in their hopes, not come to yeares,' which isn't English; line 12, 'are tender;' line 14, 'a towardnesse.' I have arranged these poems in numbered couplets as in the Sancroft ms. I insert 'd,' dropped by misprint in 1648, but found in 1646 (line 13). G.

[31] Appeared originally in 'Steps' of 1646 (pp. 21, 22): was reprinted in editions of 1648 (pp. 29, 30) and 1670 (pp. 22, 23). Our text is that of 1648; but all agree save in usual orthographic slight changes. In 1646 stanza ii. line 2 spells 'too' as 'two.' The Sancroft ms. varies only, as usual, in the orthography. G.

[32] Appeared originally in the 'Steps' of 1646 (pp. 23, 24): was reprinted in editions of 1648 (pp. 32, 33), 1652 (pp. 61-63) and 1670 (pp. 24, 25). Our text is that of 1652, as before, but with an entire stanza from 1646 overlooked. See Notes and Illustrations at close of the poem. G.

[33] Appeared originally in 'Steps' of 1648 (pp. 33-40); was reprinted in 1652 (pp. 1-9) and 1670 (pp. 146-153). Our text is that of 1652, as before, and its engraving here is reproduced in our illustrated 4to edition. See Notes and Illustrations at close of the poem. G.

[34] Appeared originally in the 'Steps' of 1646 (pp. 25-27): was reprinted in editions of 1648 (pp. 40-42) and 1670 (pp. 26-28). Our text is that of 1648: but see Notes and Illustrations at close of the poem. G.

[35] Appeared originally in 'Steps' of 1646 (pp. 27, 28): reprinted in editions of 1648 (pp. 42, 43) and 1670 (pp. 28, 29). Our text is that of 1648, with which the others agree, except in usual slight changes of orthography, and the following adopted from the Sancroft ms.: line 7, a second 'they' inserted; line 17, 'than' for 'then;' line 21 'vnpearch't' = without perch or support. G.

[36] Appeared originally in the 'Steps' of 1646 (pp. 28-31): reprinted in editions of 1648 (pp. 43-47), 1652 (pp. 10-16) and 1670 (pp. 29-32). Our text is that of 1652, as before, and its engraving here, is reproduced in our illustrated quarto edition. See Notes and Illustrations at close of this composition. G.

[37] Appeared originally in the 'Steps' of 1646 (pp. 94, 95), where it is headed 'An Himne for the Circumcision day of our Lord:' reprinted in edition of 1648 (pp. 47, 48) with 'A' for 'An' in heading, and in the 'Carmen &c.' of 1652 (pp. 17, 18), being there entitled simply 'New Year's Day,' and in the edition of 1670 (pp. 72-74). Our text is that of 1652, as before, but there are only slight differences besides the usual orthographical ones, in any. See Notes and Illustrations at close of the poem. G.

[38] Appeared originally in the 'Steps' of 1648 (pp. 48-55), reprinted in 'Carmen' &c. of 1652 (pp. 19-28) and in 1670 (pp. 153-161). Our text is that of 1652, as before: but see close for Notes and Illustrations. In our illustrated quarto edition we reproduce the engraving here of 1652. G.

[39] Appeared originally in 'Steps' of 1648 (pp. 55, 56): reprinted in editions of 1652 (pp. 29, 30) and 1670 (pp. 161, 162). Our text is that of 1652, as before: but see Notes at close of the poem. G.

[40] Appeared originally in 'Steps' of 1646 (pp. 22, 23): reprinted in 1648 (pp. 56, 57) and in 1670 (pp. 23, 24). Our text is that of 1648, with the exception of reading in line 10, 'live' for 'lives,' from 1646 (and so in 1670). Other slight differences are simply in orthography, and not noted. In the Sancroft ms. the heading is 'Vpon Christ's Resurrection.' G.

[41] For critical remarks on the present very striking expansion and interpretation rather than translation of Marino, the Reader is referred to our Essay. The Sancroft ms. must have contained this poem, for it is inserted in the index; but unfortunately the pages of the ms. containing it have disappeared. It was first published in the 'Steps' of 1646 (pp. 51-73), and was reprinted in the editions of 1648 and 1670: and separately, with a brief introduction, a few years since. Our text is that of 1648 (pp. 57-74); but it differs from the edition of 1646 only in slight changes of spelling, e.g. 'hee' for 'he,' 'guild' for 'gild,' and the like—not calling for record. The edition of 1670, in st. i. line 3, misprints 'so what' for 'O what,' and Turnbull repeats the error, and of himself misreads in st. xxii. 'Who thunders on a throne of stars above' for 'Who in a throne of stars thunders above,' and in like manner in st. xxiv. line 8 substitutes 'getting' for 'finding,' and in st. xxvi. line 3 'serve' for 'serves.' Again in st. li. first line of which is left partially blank, from (probably) the illegibility of Crashaw's ms., Turnbull tacitly fills in, 'By proud usurping Herod now was borne,' and in line 3 misprints 'lineage' for 'image'—fetching it from the 'linage' of 1670—a plausible reading, yet scarcely in keeping with the verb 'worn.' So too, besides lesser orthographic alterations, in st. xxxvi. line 2 he does not detect the stupid misprint 'whose' for 'my,' nor that of 'fight' for 'sight' in st. xlvii. line 8, while in st. lxi. he drops 'all,' which even the 1670 edition does not do, any more than is it responsible for a tithe of Turnbull's mistakes here and throughout. G.

[42] Appeared first in 'Steps' of 1648 (pp. 74-75): was reprinted in 1652 (pp. 66-69) and 1670 (pp. 185-187). Our text is that of 1652: but see Notes and Illustrations at close of the poem, and our Essay for critical remarks. The engraving of 1652 is reproduced in our illustrated quarto edition. G.

[43] Appeared originally in 'Steps' of 1648 (pp. 76-78), where the title is 'A Hymne on the B. Sacrament:' reprinted in 1652 (pp. 70­-73) and 1670 (pp. 187-190). Our text is that of 1652; but see Notes at close of the poem. G.

[44] Appeared originally in 'Steps' of 1646 (pp. 74-78), where it is headed 'On a prayer booke sent to Mrs. M.R.:' was reprinted in 1648 (pp. 78-82), where the title differs from that of 1652 (pp. 108-112) in leaving out 'Prayer' and 'little,' and in 1670 as in 1646. Our text is that of 1652; but see Notes and Illustrations at close and on M.R. in our Essay. G.

[45] Appeared originally in 'Steps' of 1648 (pp. 82-84), and was reprinted in 1670 (pp. 198-200). Our text is that of 1648; but see Notes and Illustrations at close of the poem. G.

[46] Appeared originally in 'Steps' of 1648 (pp. 84-5): reprinted in 1652 (pp. 121-2) and 1670 (pp. 204-5). Out text is that of 1652, as before; but see Notes at close of the poem. G.

[47] Appeared originally in 'Steps' of 1646 (p. 78): reprinted in editions of 1648 (pp. 88-9) and 1670 (p. 60). Our text is that of 1648, with a few adopted readings as noted onward. See our Essay on Crashaw's relation to Herbert. In the Sancroft ms. the heading is 'Vpon Herbert's Temple, sent to a Gentlewoman. R. Cr.' Line 3 in the ms. spells 'fire,' and has 'faire' before 'eyes;' adopted: line 5th, books were used to be tied with strings: line 6th, 1646, 'you have ... th':' line 7th, ms. reads 'would' for 'will;' adopted: line 8th, 'to waite on your chast.' G.

[48] Appeared originally in 'Steps' of 1646 (pp. 79-84): reprinted in editions of 1648 (pp. 89-94), 1652 (pp. 93-100), and 1670 (pp. 61-67). Our text is that of 1652, as before, and its engraving of the Saint's portrait, and French lines here, are reproduced in our illustrated quarto edition. See Notes and Illustrations at close of the poem, and our Essay on Teresa and Crashaw. G.

[49] Appeared originally in the 'Steps' of 1646 (pp. 85-6): reprinted in editions of 1648 (pp. 97-8) and 1670 (pp. 67-8). Our text is that of 1648. See our Essay for the biographic interest of this poem, and also Notes at its close. G.

[50] Appeared originally in 1648 'Steps' (pp. 94-6): reprinted in editions of 1652 (pp. 103-107) and 1670 (pp. 194-7). Our text is that of 1652, as before. G.

[51] Appeared originally in 'Steps' of 1648 (p. 98): reprinted in 1652 (p. 107) and 1670 (pp. 197-8). Our text is that of 1652, as before; but the only difference in the others is (except the usual slight changes in orthography), that in 1648, 2d part, line 5 reads 'longing' for 'louing,' which I have adopted, as pointing back to the 'longing' of the 1st part, line 2. The title I take from 1648, as in 1652 it is simply 'A Song.' G.

[52] Appeared originally in the 'Steps' of 1646 (pp. 90-1): reprinted in 1648 (pp. 99-101), 1652 (pp. 81-3), 1670 (pp. 70-2). Our text is that of 1652, as before; but see Notes and Illustrations at close of the poem. G.

[53] From 'Five Piovs and Learned Discourses:

1. A Sermon shewing how we ought to behave our selves in God's house.

2. A Sermon preferring holy Charity before Faith, Hope and Knowledge.

3. A Treatise shewing that God's Law now qualified by the Gospel of Christ, is possible, and ought to be fulfilled of us in this life.

4. A Treatise of the Divine attributes.

5. A Treatise shewing the Antichrist not to be yet come.

By Robert Shelford, of Ringsfield in Suffolk, Priest. Printed by the printers to the Universitie of Cambridge. 1635 [quarto].' See Note at close of the poem, and our Essay, for more on Shelford. G.

[54] Appeared originally in 'Steps' of 1648 (pp. 106-7), where it is headed 'A Hymne in Meditation of the Day of Judgement:' reprinted 1652 (pp. 74-78), 1670 (pp. 191-4). Our text is that of 1652, and its engraving here is reproduced in our illustrated quarto edition. See our Essay for critical remarks on this great version of a supreme hymn. G.

[55] Appeared originally in 'Steps' of 1648 (pp. 107-9): reprinted 1652 (pp. 52-54) and 1670 (pp. 176-8). Our text is that of 1652, as before. In 1648 lines 1 and 2 read 'you' for 'thee;' and line 33 'Thou' for 'you,' the latter adopted. G.

[56] Appeared originally in 'Steps' of 1648 (pp. 109-110): reprinted 1652 (pp. 79-80) and 1670 (pp. 194-5). Our text is that of 1652, as before, and its engraving here is reproduced in our illustrated quarto edition in two forms (one hitherto unknown) from the Bodleian copy. G.

[57] Appeared first in 'Steps' of 1646 (pp. 96-9): reprinted in 1648 (pp. 111-113), 1652 (pp. 128-131), and 1670 (pp. 74-77). Our text is that of 1652, as before; with the exception of better readings from 1646, as noted below. See our Memorial Introduction and Essay for notices of the friendship of Cowley and Crashaw. G.

[58] As with Cowley's lines: see foot-note ante. G.

[59] See our Essay for critical remarks on this and related poems. G.

[60] May be 'kings;' but the ms. doubtful. G.

[61] Appeared originally in 'Delights' of 1646 (pp. 103-7): was reprinted in 1648 (pp. 1-5), and 1670 (pp. 81-6). Our text is that of 1648, as before; but all agree. See Notes and Illustrations at close of this poem for other two earlier translations, and our Essay for the original Latin, with critical remarks. In our illustrated quarto edition will be found a pathetic and daintily-rendered illustration, done expressly for us by Mrs. Blackburn of Glasgow, and engraved by W.J. Linton, Esq. G.

[62] Appeared originally in the 'Delights' of 1646 (pp. 110-1), and was reprinted in editions 1648 (pp. 7-8) and 1670 (pp. 106-7). Our text is that of 1648, as before, with the exception of 'gentlest' for 'gentle' from 1646 edition (line 2d), which is confirmed by the Sancroft ms. The ms. in line 10 reads 'chatting:' line 16, I have corrected the usual reading of 'bosome' by 'blosome,' from the Sancroft ms. The heading of the ms. is 'E Virg. Georg. particula. In laudem Veris. R. Cr.' i.e. Georg. ii. 323-345. G.

[63] Appeared originally in the 'Delights' of 1646 (pp. 111): was reprinted in 1648 (p. 8) and 1670 (p. 107). Our text is that of 1648, as before; but all agree. G.

[64] Our text is from the 'Hygiasticon' of Lessius in the English translation of 1636, the title-page of which is as follows: 'Hygiasticon: or the right course of preserving Life and Health unto extream old Age: Together with soundnesse and integritie of the Senses, Iudgement, and Memorie. Written in Latine by Leonard Lessius, and now done into English. The third Edition. Cambridge, 1636.' [42mo.] It is there entitled 'To the Reader, upon the Book's intent,' and begins at line 15; these opening lines being taken from the 'Delights' of 1646 (pp. 112-3). See our Essay for remarks on this poem, and at close Notes and various readings. G.

[65] Appeared originally in 'Delights' of 1646 (p. 114): was reprinted in 1648 (p. 10) and 1670 (pp. 109-110). Our text is that of 1648; but all agree. Our Poet has turned the prose of the original into verse (Æthiopica, lib. i. cap. 1). There was an early English translation of the whole, as follows: 'Heliodorus, his Æthiopian History: Done out of Greeke, and compared with other Translations. 1622' [quarto]. In line 2, 1646 and 1670 read 'in' for 'with:' line 7, 1646 misprints 'thy' for 'they.' The heading in the Sancroft ms. is 'The faire Æthiopian, R. Cr.' Turnbull perpetuates 1670's misprint of 'in' for 'with' in line 2, and adds one of his own in line 26, by misprinting 'guest' for 'guests.' G.

[66] Appeared originally in the 'Delights' of 1646 (pp. 115-117): was reprinted 1648 (pp. 11-13) and 1670 (pp. 110-112). Our text is that of 1648; but all agree, save as follows: 1646 misprints 'cease' for 'ceaze' = seize, in line 17 from end; and 1670, line 8 from beginning, misprints 'own' for 'owe;' the latter perpetuated by Turnbull. The poem is an interpretation of the first Idyll of Moschus. Line 5, 'O yes' = the legal oyiez: line 8, 'owe' = own. G.

[67] The first edition of Bishop Andrewes' Sermons was published in 1629. Its title was 'XCVI Sermons by the Right Honourable and Reverend Father in God, Launcelot Andrewes, late Lord Bishop of Winchester.' It is dedicated to the King by Laud and Buckeridge, Bishop of Ely, the latter adding a funeral sermon. It has no frontispiece. Lowndes, as other bibliographers, does not seem to have known the edition of 1629. He calls that of 1631 the first, while it was the second; and he says it had a frontispiece, which is incorrect, if I may judge from a number of copies personally examined. The third edition (1635) I have not seen: but in the quarto (1641) appears a frontispiece-portrait, having the lines above, but no name or initials. Line 8 Turnbull misprints 'and, with holy.' G.

[68] Appeared originally in 'Steps' of 1646 (pp. 31-2): was reprinted in 1648 'Delights' (pp. 18-19) and 1670 (pp. 86-7). Our text is that of 1648; but all agree. The Sancroft ms. gives us the name of the 'gentleman' celebrated, being thus headed, 'In obitum desideratissimi M^ri Chambers, Coll. Reginal. Socij. R. Cr.;' and in the margin in the archbishop's hand, 'The title and Name not in y^e print.' The same ms. supplies us with lines 11-12 and 21-22, never before printed. This ms. in line 23 reads 'If yet at least he' ... and in line 32, 'are' for 'be.' Only other slight orthographic differences. G.

[69] Appeared originally in the 'Steps' of 1646 (pp. 32-3): was reprinted in 1648 'Delights' (pp. 19-20) and 1670 (pp. 87-9). Our text is that of 1648; but all agree. See our Essay, as before, for notice of Herrys or Harris. In the Sancroft ms. the heading is 'In ejusdem præmatur. obitu. Allegoricum. R. Cr.;' and line 9 reads 'tree' for 'plant;' adopted. For a short Latin poem added here, see our vol. ii. G.

[70] Appeared originally in 'Steps' of 1646 (pp. 33-5): was reprinted in 1648 'Delights' (pp. 20-2) and 1670 (pp. 89-91). Our text is that of 1648, as before; but see Notes and Illustrations at close of the poem. G.

[71] Appeared originally in 'Steps' of 1646 (pp. 36-7): was reprinted in 1648 'Delights' (pp. 23-4) and 1670 (pp. 91-3). Our text is that of 1648; but see Notes and Illustrations at close of the poem. G.

[72] Appeared originally in 'Steps' of 1646 (pp. 38-9): was reprinted in 1648 'Delights' (pp. 24-6) and 1670 (93-4). Our text is that of 1648; but all agree. The Sancroft ms. is headed 'Epitaphium in eundem R. Cr.' Line 31, Turnbull misprints 'breast' for 'breath.' G.

[73] Appeared originally in 'Steps' of 1646 (pp. 39-40), where it is headed 'An Epitaph vpon Husband and Wife, which died and were buried together.' G.

[74] Appeared originally in 'Steps' of 1646 (pp. 40-1), where it is headed 'Vpon Mr. Staninough's Death:' was reprinted in the 'Delights' of 1648 (p. 27), with the simple inscription, 'At the Funerall of a young Gentleman,' and in 1652 (pp. 24-5), as 'Death's Lectvre and the Fvneral of a yovng Gentleman,' and in 1670 (bis), viz. p. 96 and pp. 206-7. Our text is that of 1652, as before; but see Notes at close of the poem. G.

[75] Appeared originally in 'Steps' of 1646 (p. 40): was reprinted in 1648 'Delights' (p. 28) and 1670 (p. 95). Our text is that of 1648; but all agree. In the Sancroft ms. the heading is 'In obitum D^ris Brooke. R. Cr.' It reads 'banck' for 'bankes' in line 7. See our Essay for notice of Dr. Brooke. G.

[76] Appeared originally in 'Steps' of 1646 (pp. 45-6): was reprinted in 'Delights' of 1648 (pp. 28-9) and 1670 (pp. 101-2). Our text is that of 1648, as before; but see Notes and Illustrations at close of the poem. G.

[77] Appeared originally in 'Steps' of 1646 (pp. 47-8): was reprinted in 1648 'Delights' (pp. 30-1) and 1670 (pp. 102-4). Our text is that of 1648, as before; but see Notes and Illustrations at close of the poem. G.

[78] Appeared originally in 'Steps' of 1646 (pp. 49-50): was reprinted in 'Delights' of 1648 (pp. 32-3) and 1670 (pp. 104-6). Our text is that of 1648, as before; but see Notes and Illustrations at close of the poem. G.

[79] Appeared originally in the 'Delights' of 1646 (pp. 123-4), along with the other two (pp. 125-6): reprinted in 1648 (pp. 35-7) and 1670 (pp. 117-19). Our text is that of 1648; but all agree. G.

[80] Turnbull glaringly misprints 'The heart commanding in my heart,' and in line 15, 'O love;' the latter after 1670 as usual, the former his own. G.

[81] Appeared originally, without signature, in the work celebrated, which is a great folio. It was preceded by another, which, having been inserted in the 'Steps' of 1646 and the other editions (1652 excepted), has been continued to be reprinted as Crashaw's. It really belonged to Dr. Edward Rainbow, Bishop of Carlisle, for whom, so late as 1688, it was first claimed by his biographer, Banks. This was pointed out in Notes and Queries by Rev. J.E.B. Mayor, M.A. of St. John's College, Cambridge (2d s. vol. iv. p. 286). One is thankful to have the claim confirmed by the non-presence of the poem in the Sancroft ms., where only the above shorter one appears as by Crashaw. Lines 5-8 of Rainbow's poem it was simply impossible for our singer to have written. I add the other at close of Crashaw's, as some may be curious to read it: but as the details of the grotesque 'Frontispiece' are celebrated by Rainbow, not Crashaw, I have departed from my intention of reproducing it in our illustrated quarto edition, the more readily in that I have much increased otherwise therein the reproductions announced. Rainbow contributed to the University Collections along with Crashaw, More, Beaumont, E. King, &c. &c. See our Essay on Life and Poetry. G.

[82] Appeared originally in 'Delights' of 1646 (pp. 130-1): was reprinted in 1648 (pp. 40-1) and 1670 (pp. 122-3). Our text is that of 1648, as before; but all agree. G.

[83] Appeared originally in 'Delights' of 1646 (pp. 132-3), and was reprinted in 1648 (p. 42); but not in 1670. Our text is that of 1648; but all agree. The original is found in Carm. v. = 2. The Sancroft m.s. reads line 4 'Blithest:' line 9 'numerous:' line 12 'A:' line 17 'our.' G.

[84] Appeared originally in 'Delights' of 1646 (pp. 134-8): was reprinted in 1648 (pp. 43-7) and 1670 (pp. 124-8). Our text is that of 1648, as before; but see Notes and Illustrations at close of the poem. G.

[85] Appeared originally in 'Voces Votivæ ab Academicis Cantabrigiensibus pro novissimo Carolo et Mariæ principe filio emissæ. Cantabrigiæ: apud Rogerum Daniel. MDCXL.' This poem did not appear in the edition of 1646; but it did in that of 1648 (p. 48). Not having been reprinted in 1670, it was overlooked by Turnbull. Our text is from 1648; but the only variation from the original in 'Voces Votivæ' is in line 7, 'to' instead of 'for.' G.

[86] Appeared as in last piece: 1648 (pp. 49-53), 1670 (pp. 97-100). Our text is that of 1648, as before, which corrects Turnbull in many places as well in errors of commission as of omission; the latter extending to no fewer than forty-nine entire lines, in addition to the 'Apologie' of fourteen lines. See Notes and Illustrations at close of the poem. G.

[87] Appeared originally in 1648 'Delights;' but is not given in 1670 edition. Line 14 is an exquisitely-turned allusion to Cowley's title-page of his juvenile Poems, 'Poetical Blossoms,' 1633. 'Apricocks' = apricots. So Herrick in the 'Maiden Blush,'

'So cherries blush, and kathern peares,
And apricocks, in youthfull yeares.'

(Works, by Hazlitt, vol. ii. p. 287.) G.

[88] Appeared originally in the 'Delights' of 1648 (pp. 67-8): was reprinted in 1652 (pp. 115-120) and 1670 (pp. 200-4). Our text is that of 1652, as before; but see various readings at close of the poems. See also our Essay for critical remarks. Our poet translates from the Latin of Francis Remond. G.

[89] Charles I. See our Essay on this and kindred poems, and their relation to the Latin royal poems. G.

[90] See our Notes to Panegyric on the Queen's 'numerous progenie.' G.

[91] Petronius, Satyricon, cap. 93. G.

[92] See notice of Staninough in our Essay, as before. G.

[93] See our Essay, as before, for notice of Porter. G.

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