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.