'Thine empty cloud, the eye it selfe deceives.'
There can be no question that 'thinne' not 'thine' was the poet's word. Cf. Crashaw's reference in his Answer. Turnbull perpetuates the error.
Line 30, 'not' for 'for.'
" 33, 'shield' in all the editions save 1652 by mistake.
" 34, 'blows' and 'chymicks' for 'chymick;' the latter adopted.
Line 37, as in line 19.
" 38, spelled 'laborinths.'
In our Essay see critical remarks showing that Cowley and Crashaw revised their respective portions. It seems to have escaped notice that Cowley himself wrote another poem 'For Hope,' as his former was 'Against Hope.' See it in our Study of Crashaw's Life and Poetry. G.
M. CRASHAW'S ANSWER FOR HOPE.[58]
Dear Hope! Earth's dowry, and Heaun's debt!1
The entity of things that are not yet.
Subtlest, but surest beeing! thou by whom
Our nothing has a definition!
Substantiall shade! whose sweet allay5
Blends both the noones of Night and Day:
Fates cannot find out a capacity
Of hurting thee.
From thee their lean dilemma, with blunt horn,
Shrinkes, as the sick moon from the wholsome morn.10
Rich hope! Loue's legacy, vnder lock
Of Faith! still spending, and still growing stock!
Our crown-land lyes aboue, yet each meal brings
A seemly portion for the sonnes of kings.
Nor will the virgin ioyes we wed15
Come lesse vnbroken to our bed,
Because that from the bridall cheek of Blisse
Thou steal'st vs down a distant kisse.
Hope's chast stealth harmes no more Ioye's maidenhead
Then spousal rites preiudge the marriage bed.20
Fair hope! Our earlyer Heau'n! by thee
Young Time is taster to Eternity:
Thy generous wine with age growes strong, not sowre,
Nor does it kill thy fruit, to smell thy flowre.
Thy golden, growing head neuer hangs down25
Till in the lappe of Loue's full noone
It falls; and dyes! O no, it melts away
As doth the dawn into the Day:
As lumpes of sugar loose themselues, and twine
Their subtile essence with the soul of wine.30
Fortune? alas, aboue the World's low warres
Hope walks; and kickes the curld heads of conspiring starres.
Her keel cutts not the waues where these winds stirr,
Fortune's whole lottery is one blank to her.
Her shafts and shee, fly farre above,35
And forage in the fields of light and love.
Sweet Hope! kind cheat! fair fallacy! by thee
We are not where nor what we be,
But what and where we would be. Thus art thou
Our absent presence, and our future now.40