« AnteriorContinuar »
How durst thou then thyself approach so near,
Sorrow flies far: see here be all the pleasures As to make this relation ?
That fancy can beget on youthful thoughts, Spi. Care and utmost shifts
When the fresh blood grows lively, and returns How to secure the lady from surprisal,
Brisk as the April buds in primrose season.
That flames and dances in his chrystal bounds, In every virtuous plant, and healing herb,
With sp'rits of balm and fragrant syrups mix'd, That spreads her verdant leaf to th' morning ray: Not that Nepenthes, which the wife of Thone, He lov'd me well, and oft would beg me sing, In Egypt gave to Jove-born Helena, Which when I did, he on the tender grass
Is of such power to stir up joy as this, Would sit, and hearken even to extasy,
To life so friendly, or so cool to thirst. And in requital ope his leathern scrip,
Why should you be so cruel to yourself, And shew me simples of a thousand names,
And to those dainty limbs which nature lent Telling their strange and vigorous faculties: For gentle usage and soft delicacy ? Among the rest a small unsightly root,
But you invert the covenants of her trust, But of divine effect, he cull'd me out ;
And harshly deal like an ill borrower
Scorning the unexempt condition
That have been tir'd all day without repast, And yet more med'cinal is it than that moly And timely rest have wanted; but, fair virgin, That Hermes once to wise Ulysses gave;
This will restore all soon. He call'd it hemony, and gave it me,
Lady. 'Twill not, false traitor ; And bade me keep it as of sov’reign use
'Twill not restore the truth and honesty 'Gainst all inchantments, mildew, blast, or damp, That thou hast banish'd from thy tongue with lies. Or ghastly furies' apparition.
Was this the cottage, and the safe abode I purs'd it up, but little reck’ning made,
Thou told'st me of? What grim aspects are these, Till now that this extremity compellid:
These ugly-headed monsters: Mercy guard me! But now I find it true; for by this means
Hence with thy brew'd inchantments, foul deceiver; I knew the foul enchanter, though disguis'd, Hast thou betray'd my credulous innocence Enter'd the very lime-twigs of his spells,
With visor'd falsehood, and base forgery? And yet came off: if you have this about you, And would'st thou seek again to trap me here (As I will give you when we go) you may
With liquorish baits fit to insnare a brute ? Boldly assault the necromancer's hall;
Were it a draught for Juno when she banquets Where if he be, with dauntless hardihood
I would not taste thy treasonous offer; none And brandish'd blade rush on him, break his glass But such as are good men can give good things, And shed the luscious liquor on the ground, And that which is not good is not delicious But seize his wand; though he and his curs'd crew To a well-govern'd and wise appetite. Fierce sign of battle make, and menace high,
Comus. O foolishness of men ! that lend their Or like the sons of Vulcan vomit smoke,
To those budge doctors of the Stoic fur, [ears Yet will they soon retire, if he but shrink.
And fetch their precepts from the Cynic tub, E. Bro. Thyrsis, lead on apace, I'll follow thee, Praising the lean and sallow abstinence. And some good angel bear a shield before us. Wherefore did nature pour her bounties forth
With such a full and unwithdrawing hand, The Scene changes to a stately palace, set out with all
Covering the earth with odours, fruits, and flocks, manner of deliciousness: soft music, tables spread Thronging the seas with spawn innumerable, with all dainties. Comus appears with his rabble,
But all to please and sate the curious taste? and the lady set in an inchanted chair, to whom he
And set to work millions of spinning worms, offers his glass, and which she puts by, and
goes That in their green shops weave the smooth-hair'd about to rise.
To deck her sons, and that no corner might (silk, Comus. Nay, lady, sit; if I but wave this wand, Be vacant of her plenty, in her own loins Your nerves are all chain'd up in alabaster,
She hutch'd th’all worship'd ore, and precious And you a statue, or as Daphne was
To store her children with : if all the world [gems Root-bound, that fled Apollo.
Should in a pet of temp’rance feed on pulse, Lady. Fool, do not boast.
Drink the clear stream, and nothing wear but frieze, Thou canst not touch the freedom of my mind, Th’All-giver would be unthank’d, would be unWith all thy charms, although this corporal rind prais'd; Thou hast immanacl'd, while Heav'n sees good.
Not half his riches known, and yet despis'd, Comus. Why are you vext, lady? Why do you
And we should serve him as a grudging master, frown?
As a penurious niggard of his wealth,
Who would be quite surcharg'd with her own And thou art worthy that thou shouldst not know
That hast so well been taught her dazzling fence,
Of this pure cause would kindle my rapt spirits Would so imblaze the forehead of the deep,, To such a flame of sacred vehemence, And so bestud with stars, that they below
That dumb things would be mov'd to sympathize, Would grow inur'd to light, and come at last And the brute earth would lend her nerves, and To gaze upon the sun with shameless brows,
shake, List, lady, be not coy, and be not cozen'd
'Till all thy magic structures, rear'd so high, With that same vaunted name virginity.
Were shattered into heaps o'er thy false head. Beauty is nature's coin, must not be hoarded,
Comus. She fables not; I feel that I do fear But must be current, and the good thereof
Her words set off by some superior power; Consists in mutual and partaken bliss,
And though not mortal, yet a cold shudd'ring dew L'nsavoury in th' enjoyment of itself;
Dips me all o'er, as when the wrath of Jove
Speaks thunder, and the chains of Erebus
And try her yet more strongly. Come, no more, In courts, in feasts, and high solemnities,
This is mere moral babble, and direct
I must not suffer this, 'tis but the lees
Beyond the bliss of dreams. Be wise, and taste.
The Brothers rush in with swords drawn, wrest his Think what, and be advis’d, you are but young yet.
glass out of his hand, and break it against the Lady. I had not thought to have unlock'd my lip
ground; his rout make sign of resistance, but are In this unhallow'd air, but that this juggler
all driven in; the attendant Spirit comes in. Would think to charm my judgment, as mine eyes, Spirit. What, have you let the false inchanter Obtruding false rules, prankt in reason's garb.
scape! I hate, when vice can bolt her arguments,
Oye mistook, ye should have snatch'd his wand, And virtue has no tongue to check her pride. And bound him fast; without his rod revers’d, Impostor, do not charge most innocent nature,
And backward mutters of dissevering power, • As if she would her children should be riotous We cannot free the lady that sits here, With her abundance; she, good cateress,
In stony fetters fix'd, and motionless: Means her provision only to the good,
Yet stay, be not disturb’d; now I bethink me, That live according to her sober laws,
Some other means I have, which may be us'd, And holy dictate of spare temperance:
Which once of Melibæus old I learnt, If every just man that now pines with want, The soothest shepherd that e'er pip'd on plains. Had but a moderate and beseeming share
There is a gentle nymph not far from hence, Of that which lewdly-pamper'd luxury
That with moist curb sways the smooth Severn Now heaps upon some few with vast excess,
Sabrina is her name, a virgin pure; (stream, Nature's full blessings would be well dispens'd Whilome she was the daughter of Locrine, In unsuperfluous even proportion,
That had the sceptre from his father Brute. And she no whit encumber'd with her store; She, guiltless damsel, flying the mad pursuit And then the giver would be better thank’d, Of her enraged stepdame Guendolen, His praise due paid; for swinish gluttony
Commended her fair innocence to the flood, Ne'er looks to Heav'n amidst his gorgeous feast, That stay'd her flight with his cross-flowing course. But with besotted base ingratitude
The water-nymphs that in the bottom play'd, Crams, and blasphemes his feeder. Shall I go on? Held up their pearled wrists, and took her in, Or have I said enough? To him that dares
Bearing her strait to aged Nereus' hall, Arm his profane tongue with contemptuous words, Who, piteous of her woes, rear'd her lank head, Against the sun-clad pow'r of chastity,
And gave her to his daughters to imbathe Fain would I something say, yet to what end? In nectar'd lavers strow'd with asphodil, Thou hast nor ear nor soul to apprehend
And through the porch and inlet of each sense The sublime notion, and high mystery,
Dropt in ambrosial oils, till she reviv'd That must be utter'd to unfold the sage
And underwent a quick immortal change, And serious doctrine of virginity,
Made Goddess of the river ; still she retains
Her maiden gentleness, and oft at eve
That bends not as I tread; Visits the herds along the twilight meadows,
Gentle swain, at thy request, Helping all urchin blast, and ill-luck signs
I am here.
Spi. Goddess dear,
To undo the charmed band
Of true virgin here distrest,
Of unblest inchanter vile.
Sab. Shepherd, 'tis my office best
Brightest lady, look on me;
Thus I sprinkle on thy breast To aid a virgin, such as was herself,
Drops that from my fountain pure In hard-besetting need; this will I try,
I have kept of precious cure,
Thrice upon thy finger's tip,
Smear'd with gums of glutinous heat,
I touch with chaste palms moist and cold:
Now the spell hath lost his hold;
And I must haste ere morning hour
To wait on Amphitrite's bower.
Sabrina descends, and the Lady rises out of her seat.
Spi. Virgin, daughter of Locrine, appear to us, In name of great Oceanus;
Sprung from old Anchises' line, By th' earth-shaking Neptune's mace
May thy brimmed waves for this
Their full tribute never miss And Tethys' grave majestic pace;
From a thousand petty rills, By hoary Nereus' wrinkled look,
That tumble down the snowy bills: And the Carpathian wizard's hook;
Summer drouth, or singed air, By scaly Triton's winding shell,
Never scorch thy tresses fair,
Nor wet October's torrent flood
Thy molten chrystal fill with mud;
May thy billows roll ashore
The beryl, and the golden ore;
May thy lofty head be crown'd
With many a tower and terras round,
And here and there thy banks upon Wherewith she sits on diamond rocks
With groves of myrrhe, and cinnamon. Sleeking her soft alluring locks;
Come, lady, while Heav'n lends us grace, By all the Nymphs that nightly dance
Let us fly this cursed place, Upon thy streams, with wily glance;
Lest the sorcerer us entice Rise, rise, and heave thy rosy head
With some other new device. From thy coral-paven bed,
Not a waste, or needless sound,
Till we come to holier ground;
I shall be your faithful guide
Through this gloomy covert wide, Sabrina rises, attended by Water-nymphs, and
And not many furlongs thence
Is your father's residence,
Where this night are met in state
Many a friend to gratulate
All the swains that near abide,
We shall catch them at their sport,
And our sudden coming there
Will double at their mirth and cheer.
Come let us haste, the stars grow high,
But night sits monarch yet in the mid sky!
The scene changes, presenting Ludlow toxon and the And from her fair unspotted side president's castle; then come in country dancers,
Two blissful twins are to be born, after them attendant Spirit, with the two Brothers, Youth and Joy; so Jove hath sworn. and the Lady.
But now my task is smoothly done,
Quickly to the green earth's end,
And from thence can soar as soon
To the corners of the moon. Other trippings to be trod
Mortals that would follow me, Of lighter toes, and such court guise
Love virtue, she alone is free, As Mercury did first devise
She can teach you how to climb With the mincing Dryades
Higher than the sphery chime; On the lawns, and on the leas.
Or if virtue feeble were,
Heav'n itself would stoop to her. This second song presents them to their father and
mother. Noble lord, and lady bright,
ON SHAKESPEAR, 1630. I have brought you new delight,
What needs my Shakespear for his honour'd bones Here behold so goodly grown
The labour of an age in piled stones, Three fair branches of your own;
Or that his hallow'd reliques should be hid Heav'n hath timely tried their youth,
Under a star-ypointing pyramid? Their faith, their patience, and their truth,
Dear son of memory, great heir of fame, And sent them here through hard assays
What need’st thou such weak witness of thy name? With a crown of deathless praise,
Thou in our wonder and astonishment To triumph in victorious dance
Hast built thyself a live-long monument. O'er sensual folly and intemperance.
For whilst to the shame of slow endeavouring art
Thy easy numbers flow, and that each heart
Hath from the leaves of thy unvalued book
Those Delphic lines with deep impression took ; And those happy climes that lie
Then thou our fancy of itself bereaving, Where day never shuts his eye,
Dost make us marble with too much conceiving; Up in the broad fields of the sky:
And so sepulcher'd, in such pomp dost lie, There I suck the liquid air,
That kings for such a tomb would wish to die.
To the Nightingale.
O nightingale, that on yon blos'my spray The Graces, and the rosy-bosom's Hours,
Warblest at eve, when all the woods are still, Thither all their bounties bring ;
Thou with fresh hope the lover's heart dost fill, That there eternal summer dwells,
While the jolly hours lead on propitious May. And west-winds with musky wing
Thy liquid notes that close the eye of day, About the cedarn alleys fling
First heard before the shallow cuckoo's bill, Nard and cassia's balmy smells.
Portend success in love; O if Jove's will Iris there with humid bow
Have link'd that amorous power to thy soft lay, Waters the odorous banks, that blow
Now timely sing, ere the rude bird of hate Flowers of more mingled hue
Foretell my hopeless doom in some grove nigh ; Than her purfled scarf can shew,
As thou from year to year hast sung too late And drenches with Elysian dew
For my relief, yet hadst no reason why: (List mortals, if your ears be true)
Whether the Muse, or Love call thee his mate, Beds of hyacinths and roses,
Both them I serve, and of their train am I.
On his being arriv'd at the Age of Twenty-three. In slumber soft, and on the ground
How soon hath time, the subtle thief of youth, Sadly sits th’ Assyrian queen ;
Stol'n on his wing my three and twentieth year! But far above in spangled sheen
My hasting days fly on with full career, Celestial Cupid her fam'd sou advanc'd,
But my late spring no bud or blossom shew'th. Holds his dear Psyché sweet intranc'd,
Perhaps my semblance might deceive the truth, After her wand'ring labours long,
That I to manhood am arriv'd so near, Till free consent the gods among
And inward-ripeness doth much less appear, Make her his eternal bride,
That some more timely happy spirits indu'th.
Yet be it less or more, or soon or slow,
The drift of hollow states hard to be spellid, It shall be still in strictest measure even
Then to advise how War may best upheld
Move by her two main nerves, iron and gold,
Both spiritual power and civil, what each means, As ever in my great task-master's eye.
What severs each, thou'st learn'd, which few have
done: To Mr. H. Lawes, on his Airs.
The bounds of either sword to thee we owe; Harry, whose tuneful and well-measur'd song
Therefore on thy firm hand Religion leans First taught our English music how to span In peace, and reckons thee her eldest son.
Words with just note and accent, not to scan With Midas' ears, committing short and long;
On the late Massacre in Piemont. Thy worth and skill exempts thee from the throng, Avenge, O Lord, thy slaughter'd saints, whose bones With praise enough for envy to look wan;
Lie scatter'd on the Alpine mountains cold; To after-age thou shalt be writ the man (tongue. Ev’n them who kept thy truth so pure of old, That with smooth air could'st humour best our
When all our fathers worship'd stocks and stones, Thou honour'st verse, and verse must lend her Forget not; in thy book record their groans wing
Who were thy sheep, and in their ancient fold To honour thee, the priest of Phæbus' quire, Slain by the bloody Piemontese that rollid That tun'st their happiest lines in hymn or story. Mother with infant down the rocks. Their moans Dante shall give fame leave to set thee higher The vales redoubled to the hills, and they
Than his Casella, whom he woo'd to sing To Heav'n. Their martyr'd blood and ashes sow Met in the milder shades of purgatory.
O’er all th' Italian fields, where still doth sway
The triple tyrant; that from these may grow
A hundred fold, who having learn'd thy way, Fairfax, whose name in arms through Europe rings, Early may fly the Babylonian woe.
Filling each mouth with envy or with praise,
On his Blindness.
Ere half my days in this dark world and wide, Victory home, though new rebellions raise
And that one talent which is death to hide, Their hydra heads, and the false North displays Lodg’d with me useless, though my soul more bent Her broken league to imp their serpent wings. To serve therewith my Maker, and present O yet a nobler task awaits thy hand,
My true account, lest he returning chide ; (For what can war, but endless war still breed ?) Doth God exact day labour, light denied, Till truth and right from violence be freed,
I fondly ask? but patience to prevent And public faith clear'd from the shameful brand
That murmur, soon replies, God doth not need Of public fraud. In vain doth Valour bleed, Either man's work or his own gifts; who best While Avarice and Rapine share the land.
Bear his mild yoke, they serve him best: his state
Is kingly; thousands at his bidding speed,
And post o'er land and ocean without rest;
They also serve who only stand and wait. Not of war only, but detractions rude, Guided by faith, and matchless fortitude,
To Mr. Lawrence. To peace and truth thy glorious way last plough'd,
of virtuous father virtuous son, And on the neck of crowned Fortune proud
Now that the fields are dank, and ways are mire, Hast rear'd God's trophies, and his work pursued, Where shall we sometimes meet, and by the fire While Darwen stream with blood of Scots imbrued, Help waste a sullen day, what may be won, And Dunbar field resounds thy praises loud,
From the hard season gaining? Time will run And Worcester's laureat wreath. Yet much remains On smoother, till Favanius re-inspire To conquer still; Peace hath her victories
The frozen ocean,
and clothe in fresh attire No less renown'd than war: new foes arise The lily and rose, that neither sow'd nor spun. Threat'ning to bind our souls with secular chains :
What neat repast shall feast us, light and choice
Warble immortal notes and Tuscan air:
He who of those delights can judge, and spare Vane, young in years, but in sage counsel old, To interpose them oft, is not unwise.
Than whom a better senator ne'er held
To Cyriac Skinner.
Cyriac, whose grandsire on the royal bench Whether to settle peace, or to unfold
Of British Themis, with no mean applause