human
Can you write a poem for me in the style of Richard Jefferies?
assistant
Sure, here's a poem in the style of Richard Jefferies:
  Henry More (1614-1687), the most interesting member of that group
In his argument for the soul’s immortality toward the end of
Platonissans_ first appeared separately, More appended it to
In introducing Cartesian thought into England, More emphasized
generally believes, that would preclude any need of its having a
A Circle whose circumference no where
Is circumscrib’d, whose Centre’s each where set,
But the low Cusp’s a figure circular,
Whose compasse is ybound, but centre’s every where. (st. 8)
discovered afresh in this latter age.
Triumphatus_ (London, 1681). I quote from the text as given in
Hereunto is annexed
together with
appertaining to the three last books of the
Ἀγαθὸς ἦν τὸ πᾶν τόδε ὁ συνιστὰς, ἀγαθῷ δὲ οὐδεὶς περὶ οὐδενὸς
οὐδέποτε ἐγγίνεται φθόνος. Τούτου δ’ ἐκτὸς ὢν πάντα ὁτι μάλιστα
ἐβουλήθη γενέσθαι παραπλήσια αὑτῷ. Plat.
_Pythagoras Terram Planetam quendam esse censuit qui circa solem
in centro mundi defixum converteretur, Pythagorans secuti sunt
Philolaus, Seleucus, Cleanthes, &c. imò PLATO jam senex, ut
narrat Theophrastus._ Libert. Fromond, de Orbe terræ immobili.
Printed by ROGER DANIEL, Printer to
disjoynted dust. As may be proved by the Principles of his own
That’s infinite implies a contradiction.
But thou who ere thou art that thus dost strive
With fierce assault my groundwork to subvert,
And boldly dost into Gods secrets dive,
Base fear my manly face note make m’ avert.
In that odde question which thou first didst stert,
I’ll plainly prove thine incapacitie,
And force thy feeble feet back to revert,
That cannot climb so high a mysterie,
I’le shew thee strange perplexed inconsistencie.
Why was this world from all infinitie
Not made? say’st thou: why? could it be so made
Say I. For well observe the sequencie:
If this Out-world continually hath wade
Through a long long-spun-time that never had
Beginning, then there as few circulings
Have been in the quick Moon as Saturn sad;
And still more plainly this clear truth to sing,
As many years as dayes or flitting houres have been.
For things that we conceive are infinite,
One th’ other no’te surpasse in quantitie.
So I have prov’d with clear convincing light,
This world could never from infinitie
Been made. Certain deficiencie
Doth alwayes follow evolution:
Nought’s infinite but tight eternitie
Close thrust into itself: extension
That’s infinite implies a contradiction.
So then for ought we know this world was made
So soon as such a Nature could exist;
And though that it continue, never fade,
Yet never will it be that that long twist
Of time prove infinite, though ner’e desist
From running still. But we may safely say
Time past compar’d with this long future list
Doth show as if the world but yesterday
Were made, and in due time Gods glory out may ray.
Then this short night and ignorant dull ages
Will quite be swallowed in oblivion;
And though this hope by many surly Sages
Be now derided, yet they’ll all be gone
In a short time, like Bats and Owls yflone
At dayes approch. This will hap certainly
At this worlds shining conflagration.
Fayes, Satyrs, Goblins the night merrily
May spend, but ruddy Sol shall make them all to flie.
The roaring Lions and drad beasts of prey
Rule in the dark with pitious crueltie;
But harmlesse Man is matter of the day,
Which doth his work in pure simplicitie.
God blesse his honest usefull industrie.
But pride and covetize, ambition,
Riot, revenge, self-love, hypocrisie,
Contempt of goodnesse, forc’d opinion;
These and such like do breed the worlds confusion.
But sooth to say though my triumphant Muse
Seemeth to vant as in got victorie,
And with puissant stroke the head to bruize
Of her stiff so, and daze his phantasie,
Captive his reason, dead each facultie:
Yet in her self so strong a force withstands
That of her self afraid, she’ll not aby,
Nor keep the field. She’ll fall by her own hand
As _Ajax_ once laid _Ajax_ dead upon the strand.
For thus her-self by her own self’s oppos’d;
The Heavens the Earth the universall Frame
Of living Nature God so soon disclos’d
As He could do, or she receive the same.
All times delay since that must turn to blame,
And what cannot He do that can be done?
And what might let but by th’ all-powerfull Name
More suddenly were made then mans swift thought can run?
Wherefore that Heavenly Power or is as young
As this Worlds date; or else some needlesse space
Of time was spent, before the Earth did clung
So close unto her-self and seas embrace
Her hollow breast, and if that time surpasse
A finite number then Infinitie
Of years before this Worlds Creation passe.
So that the durance of the Deitie
We must contract or strait his full Benignitie.
But for the cradle of the _Cretian Jove_,
And guardians of his vagient Infancie
What sober man but sagely will reprove?
Or drown the noise of the fond _Dactyli_
By laughter loud? Dated Divinitie
Certes is but the dream of a drie brain:
God maim’d in goodnesse, inconsistencie;
Wherefore my troubled mind is now in pain
Of a new birth, which this one Canto’ll not contain.
unfurnished._
metirentur. =The Lord Herbert in his De Causis Errorum.=_
magnificè de creatoris potentia sentire videamur._
_’Gainst boundlesse time th’ objections made,
And wast infinity
Of worlds, are with new reasons weigh’d,
Mens judgements are left free._
Hence, hence unhallowed ears and hearts more hard
Then Winter clods fast froze with Northern wind.
But most of all, foul tongue I thee discard
That blamest all that thy dark strait’ned mind,
Can not conceive: But that no blame thou find;
What e’re my pregnant Muse brings forth to light,
She’l not acknowledge to be of her kind,
Till Eagle-like she turn them to the sight
Of the eternall Word all deckt with glory bright.
Strange sights do straggle in my restlesse thoughts,
And lively forms with orient colours clad
Walk in my boundlesse mind, as men ybrought
Into some spacious room, who when they’ve had
A turn or two, go out, although unbad.
All these I see and know, but entertain
None to my friend but who’s most sober sad;
Although the time my roof doth them contain
Their pretence doth possesse me till they out again.
And thus possest in silver trump I found
Their guise, their shape, their gesture and array.
But as in silver trumpet nought is found
When once the piercing sound is past away,
(Though while the mighty blast therein did stay,
Its tearing noise so terribly did shrill,
That it the heavens did shake, and earth dismay)
As empty I of what my flowing quill
In heedlesse hast elswhere, or here, may hap to spill.
For ’tis of force and not of a set will.
Ne dare my wary mind afford assent
To what is plac’d above all mortall skill.
But yet our various thoughts to represent
Each gentle wight will deem of good intent.
Wherefore with leave th’ infinitie I’ll sing
Of time, Of Space: or without leave; I’m brent
With eagre rage, my heart for joy doth spring,
And all my spirits move with pleasant trembeling.
An inward triumph doth my soul up-heave
And spread abroad through endlesse ’spersed aire.
My nimble mind this clammie clod doth leave,
And lightly stepping on from starre to starre
Swifter then lightning, passeth wide and farre,
Measuring th’ unbounded Heavens and wastfull skie;
Ne ought she finds her passage to debarre,
For still the azure Orb as she draws nigh
Gives back, new starres appear, the worlds walls ’fore her flie.
For what can stand that is so badly staid?
Well may that fall whose ground-work is unsure.
And what hath wall’d the world but thoughts unweigh’d
In freer reason? That antiquate, secure,
And easie dull conceit of corporature;
Of matter; quantitie, and such like gear
Hath made this needlesse, thanklesse inclosure,
Which I in full disdain quite up will tear
And lay all ope, that as things are they may appear.
For other they appear from what they are
By reason that their Circulation
Cannot well represent entire from farre
Each portion of the _Cuspis_ of the Cone
(Whose nature is elsewhere more clearly shown)
I mean each globe, whether of glaring light
Or else opake, of which the earth is one.
If circulation could them well transmit
Numbers infinite of each would strike our ’stonishd sight;
All in just bignesse and right colours dight
But totall presence without all defect
’Longs onely to that Trinitie by right,
_Ahad_, _Æon_, _Psyche_ with all graces deckt,
Whose nature well this riddle will detect;
A Circle whose circumference no where
Is circumscrib’d, whose Centre’s each where set,
But the low Cusp’s a figure circular,
Whose compasse is ybound, but centre’s every where.
Wherefore who’ll judge the limits of the world
By what appears unto our failing sight
Appeals to sense, reason down headlong hurld
Out of her throne by giddie vulgar might.
But here base senses dictates they will dight
With specious title of Philosophie,
And stiffly will contend their cause is right
From rotten rolls of school antiquitie,
Who constantly denie corporall Infinitie.
But who can prove their corporalitie
Since matter which thereto’s essentiall
If rightly sifted ’s but a phantasie.
And quantitie who’s deem’d Originall
Is matter, must with matter likewise fall.
What ever is, is Life and Energie
From God, who is th’ Originall of all;
Who being everywhere doth multiplie
His own broad shade that endlesse throughout all doth lie.
He from the last projection of light
Ycleep’d _Shamajim_, which is liquid fire
(It _Æther_ eke and centrall _Tasis_ hight)
Hath made each shining globe and clumperd mire
Of dimmer Orbs. For Nature doth inspire
Spermatick life, but of a different kind.
Hence those congenit splendour doth attire
And lively heat, these darknesse dead doth bind,
And without borrowed rayes they be both cold and blind.
All these be knots of th’ universall stole
Of sacred _Psyche_; which at first was fine,
Pure, thin, and pervious till hid powers did pull
Together in severall points and did encline
The nearer parts in one clod to combine.
Those centrall spirits that the parts did draw
The measure of each globe did then define,
Made things impenetrable here below,
Gave colour, figure, motion, and each usuall law.
And what is done in this Terrestriall starre
The same is done in every Orb beside.
Each flaming Circle that we see from farre
Is but a knot in _Psyches_ garment tide.
From that lax shadow cast throughout the wide
And endlesse world, that low’st projection
Of universall life each thing’s deriv’d
What e’re appeareth in corporeall fashion;
For body’s but this spirit, fixt, grosse by conspissation.
And that which doth conspissate active is;
Wherefore not matter but some living sprite
Of nimble Nature which this lower mist
And immense field of Atoms doth excite,
And wake into such life as best doth fit
With his own self. As we change phantasies
The essence of our soul not chang’d a whit,
So do these Atoms change their energies
Themselves unchanged into new Centreïties.
And as our soul’s not superficially
Colourd by phantasms, nor doth them reflect
As doth a looking-glasse such imag’rie
As it to the beholder doth detect:
No more are these lightly or smear’d or deckt
With form or motion which in them we see,
But from their inmost Centre they project
Their vitall rayes, not merely passive be,
But by occasion wak’d rouze up themselves on high.
So that they’re life, form, sprite, not matter pure,
For matter pure is a pure nullitie,
What nought can act is nothing, I am sure;
And if all act, that is they’ll not denie
But all that is is form: so easily
By what is true, and by what they embrace
For truth, their feigned Corporalitie
Will vanish into smoke, but on I’ll passe,
More fully we have sung this in another place.
Wherefore more boldly now to represent
The nature of the world, how first things were
How now they are: This endlesse large Extent
Of lowest life (which I styled whileere
The _Cuspis_ of the _Cone_ that’s every where)
Was first all dark, till in this spacious Hall
Hideous through silent horrour torches clear
And lamping lights bright shining over all
Were set up in due distances proportionall.
Innumerable numbers of fair Lamps
Were rightly ranged in this hollow hole,
To warm the world and chace the shady damps
Of immense darknesse, rend her pitchie stole
Into short rags more dustie dimme then coal.
Which pieces then in severall were cast
(Abhorred reliques of that vesture foul)
Upon the Globes that round those torches trac’d,
Which still fast on them stick for all they run so fast.
Such an one is that which mortall men call Night,
A little shred of that unbounded shade.
And such a Globe is that which Earth is hight;
By witlesse Wizzards the sole centre made
Of all the world, and on strong pillars staid.
And such a lamp or light is this our Sun,
Whose firie beams the scortched Earth invade.
But infinite such as he, in heaven won,
And more then infinite Earths about those Suns do run;
And to speak out: though I detest the sect
Of _Epicurus_ for their manners vile,
Yet what is true I may not well reject.
Truth’s incorruptible, ne can the style
Of vitious pen her sacred worth defile.
If we no more of truth should deign t’ embrace
Then what unworthy mouths did never soyl,
No truths at all mongst men would finden place
But make them speedie wings and back to Heaven apace.
I will not say our world is infinite,
But that infinitie of worlds ther be.
The Centre of our world’s the lively light
Of the warm sunne, the visible Deitie
Of this externall Temple. _Mercurie_
Next plac’d and warm’d more throughly by his rayes,
Right nimbly ’bout his golden head doth flie:
Then _Venus_ nothing slow about him strayes,
And next our _Earth_ though seeming sad full spritely playes.
And after her _Mars_ rangeth in a round
With firie locks and angry flaming eye,
And next to him mild _Jupiter_ is found,
But Saturn cold wons in our utmost skie.
The skirts of his large Kingdome surely lie
Near to the confines of some other worlds
Whose Centres are the fixed starres on high,
’Bout which as their own proper Suns are hurld
_Joves_, _Earths_ and _Saturns_; round on their own axes twurld.
Little or nothing are those starres to us
Which in the azure Evening gay appear
(I mean for influence) but judicious
Nature and carefull Providence her dear
And matchlesse work did so contrive whileere,
That th’ Hearts or Centres in the wide world pight
Should such a distance each to other bear,
That the dull Planets with collated light
By neighbour suns might cheared be in dampish night.
And as the Planets in our world (of which
The sun’s the heart and kernell) do receive
Their nightly light from suns that do enrich
Their sable mantle with bright gemmes, and give
A goodly splendour, and sad men relieve
With their fair twinkling rayes, so our worlds sunne
Becomes a starre elsewhere, and doth derive
Joynt light with others, cheareth all that won
In those dim duskish Orbs round other suns that run.
This is the parergon of each noble fire
Of neighbour worlds to be the nightly starre,
But their main work is vitall heat t’ inspire
Into the frigid spheres that ’bout them fare,
Which of themselves quite dead and barren are.
But by the wakening warmth of kindly dayes,
And the sweet dewie nights they well declare
Their seminall virtue in due courses raise
Long hidden shapes and life, to their great Makers praise.
These with their suns I severall worlds do call,
Whereof the number I deem infinite:
Else infinite darknesse were in this great Hall
Of th’ endlesse Universe; For nothing finite
Could put that immense shadow unto flight.
But if that infinite Suns we shall admit,
Then infinite worlds follow in reason right.
For every Sun with Planets must be fit,
And have some mark for his farre-shining shafts to hit.
But if he shine all solitarie, alone,
What mark is left,? what aimed scope or end
Of his existence? wherefore every one
Hath a due number of dim Orbs that wend
Around their centrall fire. But wrath will rend
This strange composure back’d with reason stout
And rasher tongues right speedily will spend
Their forward censure, that my wits run out
On wool-gathering, through infinite spaces all about.
What sober man will dare once to avouch
An infinite number of dispersed starres?
This one absurdity will make him crouch
And eat his words; Division nought impairs
The former whole, nor he augments that spares.
Strike every tenth out, that which doth remain,
An equall number with the former shares,
And let the tenth alone, th’ whole nought doth gain,
For infinite to infinite is ever the same.
The tenth is infinite as the other nine,
Or else, nor they, nor all the ten entire
Are infinite. Thus one infinite doth adjoyn
Others unto it and still riseth higher.
And if those single lights hither aspire,
This strange prodigious inconsistencie
Groweth still stranger, if each fixed fire
(I mean each starre) prove Sunnes, and Planets flie
About their flaming heads amid the thronged skie.
For whatsoever that their number be
Whether by seavens, or eighths, or fives, or nines,
They round each fixed lamp; Infinity
Will be redoubled thus by many times.
Besides each greater Planet th’ attendance finds
Of lesser. Our _Earths_ handmaid is the Moon,
Which to her darkned side right duly shines,
And _Jove_ hath foure, as hath been said aboven,
And _Saturn_ more then foure if the plain truth were known.
And if these globes be regions of life
And severall kinds of plants therein do grow,
Grasse, flowers, hearbs, trees, which the impartiall knife
Of all consuming Time still down doth mow,
And new again doth in succession show:
Which also ’s done in flies, birds, men and beasts;
Adde sand, pearls, pebbles, that the ground do strow
Leaves, quills, hairs, thorns, blooms, you may think the rest
Their kinds by mortall penne can not well be exprest:
And if their kinds no man may reckon well,
The summe of successive particulars
No mind conceive nor tongue can ever tell.
And yet this mist of numbers (as appears)
Belongs to one of these opacous sphears.
Suppose this _Earth_; what then will all those Rounds
Produce? No _Atlas_ such a load upbears.
In this huge endlesse heap o’rewhelmed, drownd,
Choak’d, stifled, lo! I lie, breathlesse, even quite confound.
Yet give me space a while but to respire,
And I my self shal fairly well out-wind;
Keep this position true, unhurt, entire,
That you no greater difficulty find
In this new old opinion here defin’d
Of infinite worlds, then one world doth imply.
For if we do with steddy patience mind
All is resolv’d int’ one absurdity,
The grant of something greater then infinitie.
That God is infinite all men confesse,
And that the Creature is some realty
Besides Gods self, though infinitely lesse.
Joyn now the world unto the Deity.
What? is there added no more entitie
By this conjunction, then there was before?
Is the broad breasted earth? the spacious skie
Spangled with silver light, and burning Ore?
And the wide bellowing seas, whose boyling billows roar,
Are all these nothing? But you will reply;
As is the question so we ought restrain
Our answer unto Corporeity.
But that the phantasie of the body’s vain
I did before unto you maken plain.
But that no man depart unsatisfi’d
A while this Universe here will we feigne
_Corporeall_, till we have gainly tride.
If ought that’s bodily may infinite abide.
What makes a body saving quantity?
What quantitie unlesse extension?
Extension if ’t admit infinity
Bodies admit boundlesse dimension.
That some extension forward on doth run
Withouten limits, endlesse, infinite
Is plane from Space, that ever paceth on
Unstop’d, unstaid, till it have filled quite
That immense infinite Orb where God himself doth sit.
But yet more sensibly this truth to show
If space be ended set upon that end
Some strong arm’d Archer with his Parthian bow,
That from that place with speedy force may send
His fleeter shafts, and so still forward wend.
Where? When shall he want room his strength to trie?
But here perversly subtill you’l contend
Nothing can move in mere vacuity,
And space is nought, so not extended properly.
To solve these knots I must call down from high
Some heavenly help, feather with angels wing
The sluggish arrow. If it will not flie,
Sent out from bow stiff-bent with even string,
Let angels on their backs it thither bring
Where your free mind appointed had before,
And then hold on, till in your travelling
You be well wearied, finding ever more
Free passage for their flight, and what they flying bore.
Now to that shift that sayes Vacuity
Is nought, and therefore not at all extent
We answer thus: There is a distancy
In empty space, though we be well content
To balk that question (for we never meant
Such needlesse niceties) whether that it be
A reall being; yet that there’s parts distent
One from another, no mans phantasie
Can e’re reject if well he weigh’t and warily.
For now conceive the aire and azure skie
All swept away from Saturn to the Sunne,
Which each is to be wrought by him on high.
Then in this place let all the Planets runne
(As erst they did before this feat was done)
If not by nature, yet by divine power,
Ne one hairs breadth their former circuits shun
And still for fuller proof, th’ Astronomer
Observe their hights as in the empty heavens they scoure.
Will then their Parallaxes prove all one
Or none, or different still as before?
If so, their distances by mortall men
Must be acknowledg’d such as were of yore,
Measur’d by leagues, miles, stades, nor lesse nor more
From circuit unto circuit shall be found
Then was before the sweeping of the floor.
That distance therefore hath most certain ground
In emptinesse we may conclude with reason sound.
If distance now so certainly attend
All emptinesse (as also mensuration
Attendeth distance) distance without end
Is wide disperst above imagination
(For emptinesse is void of limitation)
And this unbounded voidnesse doth admit
The least and greatest measures application;
The number thus of the greatest that doth fit
This infinite void space is likewise infinite.
But what so e’re that infinite number be,
A lesser number will a number give
So farre exceeding in infinity
That number as this measure we conceive
To fall short of the other. But I’ll leave
This present way and a new course will trie
Which at the same mark doth as fully drive
And with a great deal more facility.
Look on this endlesse Space as one whole quantity.
Which in your mind int’ equall parts divide,
Tens, hundreds, thousands or what pleaseth best.
Each part denominate doth still abide
An infinite portion, else nor all the rest
Makes one infinitude.
For if one thousandth part may be defin’d
By finite measures eas’ly well exprest,
A myriad suppose of miles assign’d
Then to a thousand myriads is the whole confin’d.
Wherefore this wide and wast Vacuity,
Which endlesse is outstretched thorough all,
And lies even equall with the Deity,
Nor is a thing meerly imaginall,
(For it doth farre mens phantasies forestall
Nothing beholden to our devicefull thought)
This inf’nite voidnesse as much our mind doth gall
And has as great perplexities ybrought
As if this empty space with bodies were yfraught.
Nor have we yet the face once to denie
But that it is although we mind it not;
For all once minded such perplexity
It doth create to puzzled reason, that
She sayes and unsayes, do’s she knows not what.
Why then should we the worlds infinity
Misdoubt, because when as we contemplate
Its nature, such strange inconsistency
And unexpected sequels, we therein descry?
Who dare gainsay but God is every where
Unbounded, measurelesse, all infinite;
Yet the same difficulties meet us here
Which erst us met and did so sore affright
With their strange vizards. This will follow right
Where ever we admit infinity
Every denominated part proves streight
A portion infinite, which if it be,
One infinite will into myriads multiply.
But with new argument to draw more near
Our purpos’d end. If God’s omnipotent
And this omnipotent God be every where,
Where e’re he is then can he eas’ly vent
His mighty virtue thorough all extent.
What then shall hinder but a roscid aire
With gentle heat each where be ’sperst and sprent.
Unlesse omnipotent power we will empair,
And say that empty space his working can debarre.
Where now this one supposed world is pight
Was not that space at first all vain and void?
Nor ought said; no, when he said, _Let ’t be light_.
Was this one space better then all beside,
And more obedient to what God decreed?
Or would not all that endlesse emptinesse
Gladly embrac’d (if he had ever tride)
His just command? and what might come to passe
Implies no contradictious inconsistentnesse.
Wherefore this precious sweet Ethereall dew
For ought we know God each where did distill,
And thorough all that hollow voidnesse threw
And the wide gaping drought therewith did fill,
His endlesse overflowing goodnesse spill
In every place; which streight he did contrive
Int’ infinite severall worlds, as his best skill
Did him direct and creatures could receive
For matter infinite needs infinite worlds must give.
The Centre of each severall world’s a sunne
With shining beams and kindly warming heat,
About whose radiant crown the Planets runne,
Like reeling moths around a candle light,
These all together, one world I conceit.
And that even infinite such worlds there be,
That inexhausted Good that God is bight
A full sufficient reason is to me,
Who simple Goodnesse make the highest Deity.
Als make himself the key of all his works
And eke the measure of his providence;
The piercing eye of truth to whom nought lurks
But lies wide ope unbar’d of all pretense.
But frozen hearts! away! flie farre from hence,
Unlesse you’l thaw at this celestiall fire
And melt into one minde and holy sense
With Him that doth all heavenly hearts inspire,
So may you with my soul in one assent conspire.
But what’s within, uneath is to convey
To narrow vessels that are full afore.
And yet this truth as wisely as I may
I will insinuate, from senses store
Borrowing a little aid. Tell me therefore
When you behold with your admiring eyes
Heavens Canopie all to bespangled o’re
With sprinkled starres, what can you well devize
Which causen may such carelesse order in the skies?
A peck of peasen rudely poured out
On plaister flore, from hasty heedlesse hond
Which lie all carelesse scattered about,
To sight do in as seemly order stond,
As those fair glistering lights in heaven are found.
If onely for this world they were intended,
Nature would have adorn’d this azure round
With better art, and easily have mended
This harsh disord’red order, and more beauty lended.
But though these lights do seem so rudely thrown
And scattered throughout the spacious skie,
Yet each most seemly sits in his own Throne
In distance due and comely Majesty;
And round their lordly seats their servants hie
Keeping a well-proportionated space
One from another, doing chearfully
Their dayly task. No blemmish may deface
The worlds in severall deckt with all art and grace.
But the appearance of the nightly starres
Is but the by-work of each neighbour sun;
Wherefore lesse marvell if it lightly shares
Of neater Art; and what proportion
Were fittest for to distance one from one
(Each world I mean from other) is not clear.
Wherefore it must remain as yet unknown
Why such perplexed distances appear
Mongst the dispersed lights in Heaven thrown here & there.
Again, that eminent similitude
Betwixt the starres and Phœbus fixed light,
They being both with steddinesse indu’d,
No whit removing whence they first were pight,
No serious man will count a reason slight
To prove them both, both fixed suns and starres
And Centres all of severall worlds by right,
For right it is that none a sun debarre
Of Planets which his just and due retinue are.
If starres be merely starres not centrall lights
Why swell they into so huge bignesses?
For many (as Astronomers do write)
Our sun in bignesse many times surpasse.
If both their number and their bulks were lesse
Yet lower placed, light and influence
Would flow as powerfully, and the bosome presse
Of the impregned Earth, that fruit from hence
As fully would arise, and lordly affluence.
Wherefore these fixed Fires mainly attend
Their proper charge in their own Universe,
And onely by the by of court’sie lend
Light to our world, as our world doth reverse
His thankfull rayes so farre as he can pierce
Back unto other worlds. But farre aboven
Further then furthest thought of man can traverse,
Still are new worlds aboven and still aboven.
In the endlesse hollow Heaven, and each world hath his sun.
An hint of this we have in winter-nights,
When reason may see clearer then our eye,
Small subtil starres appear unto our sights
As thick as pin-dust scattered in the skie.
Here we accuse our seeing facultie
Of weaknesse, and our sense of foul deceit,
We do accuse and yet we know not why.
But the plain truth is, from a vaster hight
The numerous upper worlds amaze our dazzled sight.
Now sith so farre as sense can ever trie
We find new worlds, that still new worlds there be,
And round about in infinite numbers lie,
Further then reach of mans weak phantasie
(Without suspition of temeritie)
We may conclude; as well as men conclude
That there is aire farre ’bove the mountains high,
Or that th’ Earth a sad substance doth include
Even to the Centre with like qualities indu’d.
For who did ever the Earths Centre pierce,
At such a depth? what Histories rehearse
That ever wight did dare for to invade
Her bowels but one mile in dampish shade?
Yet I’ll be bold to say that few or none
But deem this globe even to the bottome made
Of solid earth, and that her nature’s one
Throughout, though plain experience hath it never shown.
But sith sad earth so farre as they have gone
They still descrie, eas’ly they do inferre
Without all check of reason, were they down
Never so deep, like substance would appear,
Ne dream of any hollow horrour there.
My mind with like uncurb’d facilitie
Concludes from what by sight is seen so clear
That ther’s no barren wast vacuitie
Above the worlds we see, but still new worlds there lie,
And still and still even to infinitie.
Which point since I so fitly have propos’d,
Abating well the inconsistencie
Of harsh infinitude therein supposd
And prov’d by reasons never to be loos’d
That infinite space and infinite worlds there be;
This load laid down, I’m freely now dispos’d
Awhile to sing of times infinitie,
May infinite Time afford me but his smallest fee.
For smallest fee of time will serve my turn
This part for to dispatch, sith endlesse space
(Whose perplext nature well mans brains might turn,
And weary wits disorder and misplace)
I have already passed: for like case
Is in them both. He that can well untie
The knots that in those infinite worlds found place,
May easily answer each perplexitie
Of these worlds infinite matters endlesse durancie.
Were both at once dispersed every where;
But the pure _Basis_ that is God alone:
Else would remotest sights as bigge appear
Unto our eyes as if we stood them near.
And if an Harper harped in the Moon,
His silver sound would touch our tickled eare:
Or if one hollowed from highest Heaven aboven,
In sweet still Evening-tide, his voice would hither roam.
This all would be if the _Cuspe_ of the _Cone_
Were very God. Wherefore I rightly ’t deem
Onely a Creaturall projection,
Which flowing yet from God hath ever been,
Fill’d the vast empty space with its large streem.
But yet it is not totall every where
As was even now by reason rightly seen:
Wherefore not God, whose nature doth appear
Entirely omnipresent, weigh’d with judgement clear,
A reall infinite matter, distinct
And yet proceeding from the Deitie
Although with different form as then untinct
Has ever been from all Eternitie.
Now what delay can we suppose to be,
Since matter alway was at hand prepar’d
Before the filling of the boundlesse skie
With framed Worlds; for nought at all debar’d,
Nor was His strength ungrown, nor was His strength empair’d.
How long would God be forming of a flie?
Or the small wandring moats that play i’ th’ sun?
Least moment well will serve none can denie,
His _Fiat_ spoke and streight the thing is done.
And cannot He make all the World as soon?
For in each Atom of the matter wide
The totall Deitie doth entirely won,
His infinite presence doth therein reside,
And in this presence infinite powers do ever abide.
Wherefore at once from all eternitie
The infinite number of these Worlds He made,
And will conserve to all infinitie,
And still drive on their ever-moving trade,
And steddy hold what ever must be staid;
Ne must one mite be minish’d of the summe,
Ne must the smallest atom ever fade,
But still remain though it may change its room;
This truth abideth strong from everlasting doom.
Ne fear I what hard sequel after-wit
Will draw upon me; that the number’s one
Of years, moneths, dayes, houres, and of minutes fleet
Which from eternitie have still run on.
I plainly did confesse awhile agone
That be it what it will that’s infinite
More infinites will follow thereupon,
But that all infinites do justly fit
And equall be, my reason did not yet admit.
But as my emboldened mind, I know not how,
In empty Space and pregnant Deitie
Endlesse infinitude dares to allow,
Though it begets the like perplexitie:
So now my soul drunk with Divinitie,
And born away above her usuall bounds
With confidence concludes infinitie
Of Time of Worlds, of firie flaming Rounds;
Which sight in sober mood my spirits quite confounds.
And now I do awhile but interspire
A torrent of objections ’gainst me beat,
My boldnesse to represse and strength to tire.
But I will wipe them off like summer sweat,
And make their streams streight back again retreat.
If that these worlds, say they, were ever made
From infinite time, how comes ’t to passe that yet
Art is not perfected, nor metalls fade,
Nor mines of grimie coal low-hid in griesly shade.
But the remembrance of the ancient Floud
With ease will wash such arguments away.
Wherefore with greater might I am withstood.
The strongest stroke wherewith they can assay
To vanquish me is this; The Date or Day
Of the created World, which all admit;
Nor may my modest Muse this truth gainsay
In holy Oracles so plainly writ.
Wherefore the Worlds continuance is not infinite.
Now lend me, _Origen_! a little wit
This sturdy stroke right fairly to avoid,
Lest that my rasher rymes, while they ill fit
With _Moses_ pen, men justly may deride
And well accuse of ignorance or pride.
But thou, O holy Sage! with piercing sight
Who readst those sacred rolls, and hast well tride
With searching eye thereto what fitteth right
Thy self of former Worlds right learnedly dost write:
To weet that long ago these Earths have been
Peopled with men and beasts before this Earth,
And after this shall others be again
And other beasts and other humane birth.
Which once admit, no strength that reason bear’th
Of this worlds Date and Adams efformation,
Another Adam once received breath
And still another in endlesse repedation,
And this must perish once by finall conflagration.
Witnesse ye Heavens if what I say’s not true,
Ye flaming Comets wandering on high,
And new fixt starres found in that Circle blue,
The one espide in glittering _Cassiopie_,
The other near to _Ophiuchus_ thigh.
Both bigger then the biggest starres that are,
And yet as farre remov’d from mortall eye
As are the furthest, so those Arts declare
Unto whose reaching sight Heavens mysteries lie bare.
Wherefore these new-seen lights were greater once
By many thousand times then this our sphear
Wherein we live, ’twixt good and evil chance.
Which to my musing mind doth strange appear
If those large bodies then first shaped were.
For should so goodly things so soon decay?
Neither did last the full space of two year.
Wherefore I cannot deem that their first day
Of being, when to us they sent out shining ray.
But that they were created both of old,
And each in his due time did fair display
Themselves in radiant locks more bright then gold,
Or silver sheen purg’d from all drossie clay.
But how they could themselves in this array
Expose to humane sight, who did before
Lie hid, is that which well amazen may
The wisest man and puzzle evermore:
Yet my unwearied thoughts this search could not give o’re.
Which when I’d exercis’d in long pursuit
To finden out what might the best agree
With warie reason, at last I did conclude
That there’s no better probabilitie
Can be produc’d of that strange prodigie,
But that some mighty Planet that doth run
About some fixed starre in _Cassiopie_
As _Saturn_ paceth round about our Sun,
Unusuall light and bignesse by strange fate had wonne.
Which I conceive no gainer way is done
Then by the siezing of devouring fire
On that dark Orb, which ’fore but dimly shone
With borrowed light, not lightened entire,
But halfed like the Moon.
And while the busie flame did sieze throughout,
And search the bowels of the lowest mire
Of that _Saturnian_ Earth; a mist broke out,
And immense mounting smoke arose all round about.
Which being gilded with the piercing rayes
Of its own sun and every neighbour starre,
It soon appear’d with shining silver blaze,
And then gan first be seen of men from farre.
Besides that firie flame that was so narre
The Planets self, which greedily did eat
The wastning mold, did contribute a share
Unto this brightnesse; and what I conceit
Of this starre doth with that of _Ophiuchus_ sit.
And like I would adventure to pronounce
Of all the Comets that above the Moon,
Amidst the higher Planets rudely dance
In course perplex, but that from this rash doom
I’m bett off by their beards and tails farre strown
Along the skie, pointing still opposite
Unto the sun, however they may roam;
Wherefore a cluster of small starres unite
These meteors some do deem, perhaps with judgement right.
And that these tayls are streams of the suns light
Breaking through their near bodies as through clouds.
Besides the Optick glasse has shown to sight
The dissolution of these starrie crouds.
Which thing if ’t once be granted and allow’d,
I think without all contradiction
They may conclude these Meteors are routs
Of wandring starres, which though they one by one
Cannot be seen, yet joyn’d, cause this strange vision.
And yet methinks, in my devicefull mind
Some reasons that may happily represse
These arguments it’s not uneath to find.
For how can the suns rayes that be transmisse
Through these loose knots in Comets, well expresse
Their beards or curld tayls utmost incurvation?
Beside, the conflux and congeries
Of lesser lights a double augmentation
Implies, and ’twixt them both a lessening coarctation.
For when as once these starres are come so nigh
As to seem one, the Comet must appear
In biggest show, because more loose they lie
Somewhat spread out, but as they draw more near
The compasse of his head away must wear,
Till he be brought to his least magnitude;
And then they passing crosse, he doth repair
Himself, and still from his last losse renew’d
Grows till he reach the measure which we first had view’d.
And then farre distanc’d they bid quite adiew,
Each holding on in solitude his way.
Ne any footsteps in the empty Blew
Is to be found of that farre-shining ray.
Which processe sith no man did yet bewray,
It seems unlikely that the Comets be
Synods of starres that in wide Heaven stray.
Their smallnesse eke and numerositie
Encreaseth doubt and lessens probabilitie.
A cluster of them makes not half a Moon,
What should such tennis-balls do in the skie?
And few ’ll not figure out the fashion
Of those round firie meteors on high.
Ne ought their beards much move us, that do lie
Ever cast forward from the Morning sunne,
Nor back cast tayls turn’d to our Evening-eye,
That fair appear when as the day is done.
This matter may lie hid in the starres shadowed Cone.
For in these Planets conflagration,
Although the smoke mount up exactly round,
Yet by the suns irradiation
Made thin and subtil no where else its found
By sight, save in the dim and duskish bound
Of the projected Pyramid opake,
Opake with darknesse, smoke and mists unsound.
Yet gilded like a foggie cloud doth make
Reflection of fair light that doth our senses take.
This is the reason of that constant site
Of Comets tayls and beards: And that their show’s
Not pure Pyramidall, nor their ends seem streight
But bow’d like brooms, is from the winds that blow,
I mean Ethereall winds, such as below
Men finden under th’ Equinoctiall line.
Their widend beards this aire so broad doth strow
Incurvate, and or more or lesse decline:
If not, let sharper wits more subtly here divine.
But that experiment of the Optick glasse
The greatest argument of all I deem,
Ne can I well encounter nor let passe
So strong a reason if I may esteem
The feat withouten fallacie to been,
Nor judge these little sparks and subtile lights
Some auncient fixed starres though now first seen,
That near the ruin’d Comets place were pight,
On which that Optic instrument by chance did light.
Nor finally an uncouth after-sport
Of th’ immense vapours that the searching fire
Had boyled out, which now themselves consort
In severall parts and closely do conspire,
Clumper’d in balls of clouds and globes entire
Of crudled smoke and heavy clunging mists;
Which when they’ve staid awhile at last expire;
But while they stay any may see that lists
So be that Optick Art his naturall sight assists.
If none of these wayes I may well decline
The urging weight of this hard argument,
Worst is but parting stakes and thus define:
Some Comets be but single Planets brent,
Others a synod joyn’d in due consent:
And that no new found Meteors they are:
Ne further may my wary mind assent
From one single experience solitaire,
Till all-discovering Time shall further truth declare.
But for the new fixt starres there’s no pretence,
Nor beard nor tail to take occasion by,
To bring in that unluckie inference
Which weaken might this new built mysterie.
Certes in raging fire they both did frie.
A signe whereof you rightly may aread
Their colours changeable varietie
First clear and white, then yellow, after red,
Then blewly pale, then duller still, till perfect dead.
And as the order of these colours went,
So still decreas’d that Cassiopean starre,
Till at the length to sight it was quite spent:
Which observations strong reasons are,
Consuming fire its body did empare
And turn to ashes. And the like will be
In all the darksome Planets wide and farre.
Ne can our Earth from this state standen free
A Planet as the rest, and Planets fate must trie.
Ne let the tender heart too harshly deem
Of this rude sentence: for what rigour more
Is in consuming fire then drowning stream
Of Noahs floud which all creaturs choak’d of yore,
Saving those few that were kept safe in store
In that well builded ship? All else beside
Men, birds, and beasts, the lion, buck, and bore
Dogs, kine, sheep, horses all that did abide
Upon the spacious earth, perish’d in waters wide.
Nor let the slow and misbelieving wight
Doubt how the fire on the hard earth may seize;
No more then how those waters erst did light
Upon the sinfull world. For as the seas
Boyling with swelling waves aloft did rise,
And met with mighty showers and pouring rain
From Heavens spouts; so the broad flashing skies
Thickned with brimstone and clouds of fiery bain
Shall meet with raging Etna’s and Vesuvius flame.
The burning bowels of this wasting ball
Shall gullup up great flakes of rolling fire,
And belch out pitchie flames, till over all
Having long rag’d, Vulcan himself shall tire
And (th’ earth an ashheap made) shall then expire:
Here Nature laid asleep in her own Urn
With gentle rest right easly will respire,
Till to her pristine task she do return
As fresh as Phenix young under th’ Arabian Morn.
O happy they that then the first are born,
While yet the world is in her vernall pride:
For old corruption quite away is worn
As metall pure so is her mold well tride.
Sweet dews, cool-breathing airs, and spaces wide
Of precious spicery wafted with soft wind:
Fair comely bodies goodly beautifi’d
Snow-limb’d, rose-cheek’d, ruby-lip’d, pearl-ted, star eyn’d
Their parts each fair in fit proportion all conbin’d.
For all the while her purged ashes rest
These rellicks dry suck in the heavenly dew,
And roscid Manna rains upon her breast,
And fills with sacred milk sweet fresh and new,
Where all take life and doth the world renew;
And then renew’d with pleasure be yfed.
A green soft mantle doth her bosome strew
With fragrant herbs and flowers embellished,
Where without fault or shame all living creatures bed.
Ne ought we doubt how Nature may recover
In her own ashes long time buried,
For nought can ever consume that centrall power
Of hid spermatick life, which lies not dead
In that rude heap, but safely covered;
And doth by secret force suck from above
Sweet heavenly juice, and therewith nourished
Till her just bulk, she doth her life emprove,
Made mother of much children that about her move.
Witnesse that uncouth bird of Arabie
Which out of her own ruines doth revive
With all th’ exploits of skillfull Chymistrie,
Such as no vulgar wit can well believe.
Let universall Nature witnesse give
That what I sing ’s no feigned forgerie.
A needlesse task new fables to contrive,
But what I sing is seemly verity
Well suting with right reason and Philosophie.
But the fit time of this mutation
No man can finden out with all his pains.
For the small sphears of humane reason run
Too swift within his narrow compast brains.
But that vast Orb of Providence contains
A wider period; turneth still and slow.
Yet at the last his aimed end he gains.
And sure at last a fire will overflow
The aged Earth, and all must into ashes go.
Then all the stately works and monuments
Built on this bottome shall to ruine fall.
And all those goodly statues shall be brent
Which were erect to the memoriall
Of Kings Kæsars, ne may better ’fall
The boastfull works of brave Poetick pride
That promise life and fame perpetuall;
Ne better fate may these poor lines abide.
Betide what will to what may live no lenger tide!
This is the course that never-dying Nature
Might ever hold from all Eternitie,
Renuing still the faint decayed creature
Which would grow stark and drie as aged tree,
Unlesse by wise preventing Destinie
She were at certain periods of years
Reduced back unto her Infancie,
Which well fram’d argument (as plain appears)
My ship from those hard rocks and shelves right safely stears.
Lo! now my faithfull muse hath represented
Both frames of Providence to open view,
And hath each point in orient colours painted
Not to deceive the sight with seeming shew
But earnest to give either part their due;
Now urging th’ uncouth strange perplexitie
Of infinite worlds and Time, then of a new
Softening that harsher inconsistencie
To fit the immense goodnesse of the Deity.
And here by curious men ’t may be expected
That I this knot with judgement grave decide,
And then proceed to what else was objected.
But, ah! What mortall wit may dare t’ areed
Heavens counsels in eternall horrour hid?
And Cynthius pulls me by my tender ear
Such signes I must observe with wary heed:
Wherefore my restlesse Muse at length forbear.
Thy silver sounded Lute hang up in silence here.
_Cl._ _Mela_ my dear! why been thy looks so sad
As if thy gentle heart were sunk with care?
Impart thy case; for be it good or bad
Friendship in either will bear equall share.
My self must bleed afresh by wounding thee.
But what it is, my slow, uncertain wit
Cannot well judge. But thou shalt sentence give
How manfully of late my self I quit,
When with that lordly lad by chance I strive:
_Cl._ Of friendship _Mela_! let’s that story hear.
_Mel._ Sit down _Cleanthes_ then, and lend thine ear.
Upon a day as best did please my mind
Walking abroad amidst the verdant field
Scattering my carefull thoughts i’ th’ wanton wind
The pleasure of my path so farre had till’d
My feeble feet that without timely rest
Uneath it were to reach my wonted nest.
In secret shade farre moved from mortals sight
In lowly dale my wandring limbs I laid
On the cool grasse where Natures pregnant wit
A goodly bower of thickest trees had made.
Amongst the leaves the chearfull birds did fare
And sweetly carrol’d to the echoing air.
Hard at my feet ran down a crystall spring
Which did the cumbrous pebbles hoarsly chide
For standing in the way. Though murmuring
The broken stream his course did rightly guide
And strongly pressing forward with disdain
The grassie flore divided into twain.
The place a while did feed my foolish eye
As being new, and eke mine idle ear
Did listen oft to that wild harmonie
And oft my curious phansie would compare
How well agreed the Brooks low muttering Base,
With the birds trebbles pearch’d on higher place.
But senses objects soon do glut the soul,
Or rather weary with their emptinesse;
So I, all heedlesse how the waters roll
And mindlesse of the mirth the birds expresse,
Into my self ’gin softly to retire
After hid heavenly pleasures to enquire.
While I this enterprize do entertain;
Lo! on the other side in thickest bushes
A mighty noise! with that a naked swain
With blew and purple wings streight rudely rushes.
He leaps down light upon the flowry green,
Like sight before mine eyes had never seen.
At’s snowy back the boy a quiver wore
Right fairly wrought and gilded all with gold.
A silver bow in his left hand he bore,
And in his right a ready shaft did hold.
Thus armed stood he and betwixt us tway
The labouring brook did break his toilsome way.
The wanton lad whose sport is others pain
Did charge his bended bow with deadly dart,
And drawing to the head with might and main,
With fell intent he aim’d to hit my heart.
But ever as he shot his arrows still
In their mid course dropt down into the rill.
Of wondrous virtues that in waters been
Is needlesse to rehearse, all books do ring
Of those strange rarities. But ne’re was seen
Such virtue as resided in this spring.
The novelty did make me much admire
But stirr’d the hasty youth to ragefull ire.
As heedlesse fowls that take their per’lous flight
Over that bane of birds, _Averno lake_,
Do drop down dead: so dead his shafts did light
Amid this stream, which presently did slake
Their fiery points, and all their feathers wet
Which made the youngster Godling inly fret.
Thus lustfull Love (this was that love I ween)
Was wholly changed to consuming ire.
And eath it was, sith they’re so near a kin
They be both born of one rebellious sire.
But he supprest his wrath and by and by
For feathered darts, he winged words let flie:
Vain man! said he, and would thou wer’st not vain
That hid’st thy self in solitary shade
And spil’st thy precious youth in sad disdain
Hating this lifes delight! Hath god thee made
Part of this world, and wilt not thou partake
Of this worlds pleasure for its makers sake?
Unthankfull wretch! Gods gifts thus to reject
And maken nought of Natures goodly dower
That milders still away through thy neglect
And dying fades like unregarded flower.
This life is good, what’s good thou must improve,
The highest improvement of this life is love.
Had I (but O that envious Destinie,
Or Stygian vow, or thrice accursed charm
Should in this place free passage thus denie
Unto my shafts as messengers of harm!
Had I but once transfixt thy froward breast,
How would’st thou then----I staid not for the rest;
But thus half angry to the boy replide:
How would’st thou then my soul of sense bereave!
I blinded, thee more blind should choose my guide!
How would’st thou then my muddied mind deceive
With fading shows, that in my errour vile,
Base lust; I love should tearm, vice, virtue stile.
How should my wicked rymes then idolize
Thy wretched power, and with impious wit
Impute thy base born passions to the skies
And my souls sicknesse count an heavenly fit,
My weaknesse strength, my wisdome to be caught
My bane my blisse, mine ease to be o’rewraught.
How often through my fondly feigning mind
And frantick phansie, in my Mistris eye
Should I a thousand fluttering Cupids find
Bathing their busie wings? How oft espie
Under the shadow of her eye-brows fair
Ten thousand Graces sit all naked bare?
Thus haunted should I be with such feat fiends:
A pretty madnesse were my portion due.
Foolish my self I would not hear my friends.
Should deem the true for false, the false for true.
My way all dark more slippery then ice
My attendents, anger, pride, and jealousies.
Unthankfull then to God I should neglect
All the whole world for one poor sorry wight,
Whose pestilent eye into my heart project
Would burn like poysonous Comet in my spright.
Aye me! how dismall then would prove that day
Whose onely light sprang from so fatall ray.
Who seeks for pleasure in this mortall life
By diving deep into the body base
Shall loose true pleasure: But who gainly strive
Their sinking soul above this bulk to place
Enlarg’d delight they certainly shall find
Unbounded joyes to fill their boundlesse mind.
When I my self from mine own self do quit
And each thing else; then an all-spreaden love
To the vast Universe my soul doth sit
Makes me half equall to all-seeing Jove.
My mighty wings high stretch’d then clapping light
I brush the starres and make them shine more bright.
Then all the works of God with close embrace
I dearly hug in my enlarged arms
All the hid paths of heavenly Love I trace
And boldly listen to his secret charms.
Then clearly view I where true light doth rise,
And where eternall Night low-pressed lies.
Thus lose I not by leaving small delight
But gain more joy, while I my self suspend
From this and that; for then with all unite
I all enjoy, and love that love commends.
That all is more then loves the partiall soul
Whose petty loves th’ impartiall fates controll.
Ah son! said he, (and laughed very loud)
That trickst thy tongue with uncouth strange disguize,
Extolling highly that with speeches proud
To mortall men that humane state denies,
And rashly blaming what thou never knew
Let men experienc’d speak, if they’ll speak true.
Had I once lanc’d thy froward flinty heart
And cruddled bloud had thawn with living fire
And prickt thy drousie sprite with gentle smart
How wouldst thou wake to kindly sweet desire,
Thy soul fill’d up with overflowing pleasures
Would dew thy lips with hony-dropping measures.
Then wouldst thou caroll loud and sweetly sing
In honour of my sacred Deity
That all the woods and hollow hills would ring
Reechoing thy heavenly harmonie.
And eke the hardy rocks with full rebounds
Would faithfully return thy silver sounds.
Next unto me would be thy Mistresse fair,
Whom thou might setten out with goodly skill
Her peerlesse beauty and her virtues rare,
That all would wonder at thy gracefull quill.
And lastly in us both thy self shouldst raise
And crown thy temples with immortall bayes.
But now thy riddles all men do neglect,
Thy rugged lines of all do lie forlorn.
Unwelcome rymes that rudely do detect
The Readers ignorance. Men holden scorn
To be so often non-plusd or to spell,
And on one stanza a whole age to dwell.
Besides this harsh and hard obscuritie
Of the hid sense, thy words are barbarous
And strangely new, and yet too frequently
Return, as usuall plain and obvious,
So that the show of the new thick-set patch
Marres all the old with which it ill doth match.
But if thy haughty mind, forsooth, would deign
To stoop so low to hearken to my lore,
Then wouldst thou with trim lovers not disdeign
To adorn the outside, set the best before.
Nor rub nor wrinkle would thy verses spoil
Thy rymes should run as glib and smooth as oyl.
If that be all, said I, thy reasons slight
Can never move my well establishd mind.
Full well I wote alwayes the present sprite,
Or life that doth possesse the soul, doth blind,
Shutting the windows ’gainst broad open day
Lest fairer sights its uglinesse bewray.
The soul then loves that disposition best
Because no better comes unto her view.
The drunkard drunkennesse, the sluggard rest,
Th’ Ambitious honour and obeisance due.
So all the rest do love their vices base
’Cause virtues beauty comes not into place.
And looser love ’gainst Chastitie divine
Would shut the door that he might sit alone.
Then wholly should my mind to him incline:
And woxen strait, (since larger love was gone)
That paultrie sprite of low contracting lust
Would fit my soul as if ’t were made for ’t just.
Then should I with my fellow bird or brute
So strangely metamorphis’d, either ney
Or bellow loud: or if ’t may better sute
Chirp out my joy pearch’d upon higher spray.
My passions fond with impudence rehearse,
Immortalize my madnesse in a verse.
This is the summe of thy deceiving boast
That I vain ludenesse highly should admire,
When I the sense of better things have lost
And chang’d my heavenly heat for hellish fire,
Passion is blind, but virtues piercing eye
Approching danger can from farre espie.
And what thou dost Pedantickly object
Concerning my rude rugged uncouth style,
As childish toy I manfully neglect,
And at thy hidden snares do inly smile.
How ill alas! with wisdome it accords
To sell my living sense for livelesse words.
My thought ’s the fittest measure of my tongue,
Wherefore I’ll use what’s most significant,
And rather then my inward meaning wrong
Or my full-shining notion trimly scant,
I’ll conjure up old words out of their grave,
Or call fresh forrein force in if need crave.
And these attending on my moving mind
Shall duly usher in the fitting sense.
As oft as meet occasion I find.
Unusuall words oft used give lesse offence;
Nor will the old contexture dim or marre,
For often us’d they’re next to old, thred-bare.
And if the old seem in too rustie hew,
Then frequent rubbing makes them shine like gold,
And glister all with colour gayly new.
Wherefore to use them both we will be bold.
Thus lists me fondly with fond folk to toy,
And answer fools with equall foolerie.
The meaner mind works with more nicetie,
As spiders wont to weave their idle web,
But braver spirits do all things gallantly
Of lesser failings nought at all affred:
So Natures carelesse pencill dipt in light
With sprinkled starres hath spattered the Night.
And if my notions clear though rudely thrown
And loosely scattered in my poesie,
May lend men light till the dead Night be gone,
And Morning fresh with roses strew the skie:
It is enough, I meant no trimmer frame
Or by nice needle-work to seek a name.
Vain man! that seekest name mongst earthly men
Devoid of God and all good virtuous lere;
Who groping in the dark do nothing ken
But mad; with griping care their souls do tear,
Or burst with hatred or with envie pine
Or burn with rage or melt out at their eyne.
Thrice happy he whose name is writ above,
And doeth good though gaining infamie;
Requiteth evil turns with hearty love,
And recks not what befalls him outwardly:
Whose worth is in himself, and onely blisse
In his pure conscience that doth nought amisse.
Who placeth pleasure in his purged soul
And virtuous life his treasure doth esteem;
Who can his passions master and controll,
And that true lordly manlinesse doth deem,
Who from this world himself hath clearly quit
Counts nought his own but what lives in his sprite.
So when his sprite from this vain world shall flit
It bears all with it whatsoever was dear
Unto it self, passing in easie fit,
As kindly ripen’d corn comes out of th’ eare.
Thus mindlesse of what idle men will say
He takes his own and stilly goes his way.
But the retinue of proud Lucifer,
Those blustering Poets that flie after fame
And deck themselves like the bright Morning-starre.
Alas! it is but all a crackling flame.
For death will strip them of that glorious plume
That airie blisse will vanish into fume.
For can their carefull ghosts from Limbo take
Return, or listen from the bowed skie
To heare how well their learned lines do take?
Or if they could; is Heavens felicitie
So small as by mans praise to be encreas’d,
Hells pain no greater then hence to be eas’d?
Therefore once dead in vain shall I transmit
My shadow to gazing Posteritie;
Cast farre behind me I shall never see’t,
On Heavens fair Sunne having fast fixt mine eye.
Nor while I live, heed I what man doth praise
Or underprize mine unaffected layes.
What moves thee then, said he, to take the pains
And spenden time if thou contemn’st the fruit?
Sweet fruit of fame, that fills the Poets brains
With high conceit and feeds his fainting wit.
How pleasant ’tis in honour here to live
And dead, thy name for ever to survive!
Or is thy abject mind so basely bent
As of thy Muse to maken Merchandize?
(And well I wote this is no strange intent.)
The hopefull glimps of gold from chattering Pies,
From Daws and Crows, and Parots oft hath wrung
An unexpected Pegaseian song.
Foul shame on him, quoth I, that shamefull thought
Doth entertain within his dunghill breast,
Both God and Nature hath my spirits wrought
To better temper and of old hath blest
My loftie soul with more divine aspires
Then to be touchd with such vile low desires.
I hate and highly scorn that Kestrell kind
The precious choice induements of the mind
To wealth or worldly good. Adulterate
And cursed brood! Your wit and will are born
Of th’ earth and circling thither do return.
Profit and honour be those measures scant
Of your slight studies and endeavours vain,
And when you once have got what you did want
You leave your learning to enjoy your gain.
Your brains grow low, your bellies swell up high,
Foul sluggish fat ditts up your dulled eye.
Thus what the earth did breed, to th’ earth is gone,
Like fading hearb or feebly drooping flower,
By feet of men and beast quite trodden down,
The muck-sprung learning cannot long endure.
Back she returns lost in her filthy source,
Drown’d, chok’d or slocken by her cruell nurse.
True virtue to her self’s the best reward,
Rich with her own and full of lively spirit,
Nothing cast down for want of due regard.
Or ’cause rude men acknowledge not her merit.
She knows her worth and stock from whence she sprung,
Spreads fair without the warmth of earthly dung,
Dew’d with the drops of Heaven shall flourish long;
As long as day and night do share the skie,
And though that day and night should fail yet strong
And steddie, fixed on Eternitie
Shall bloom for ever. So the foul shall speed
That loveth virtue for no worldly meed.
Though sooth to sayn, the worldly meed is due
To her more then to all the world beside.
Men ought do homage with affections true
And offer gifts for God doth there reside.
The wise and virtuous soul is his own seat
To such what’s given God himself doth get.
But earthly minds whose sight’s seal’d up with mud
Discern not this flesh-clouded Deity,
Ne do acknowledge any other good
Then what their mole-warp hands can feel and trie
By groping touch; thus (worth of them unseen)
Of nothing worthy that true worth they ween.
Wherefore the prudent Law-givers of old
Even in all Nations, with right sage foresight
Discovering from farre how clums and cold
The vulgar wight would be to yield what’s right
To virtuous learning, did by law designe
Great wealth and honour to that worth divine.
But nought’s by law to Poesie due said he,
Ne doth the solemn Statesmans head take care
Of those that such impertinent pieces be
Of common-weals. Thou’d better then to spare
Thy uselesse vein. Or tell else, what may move
Thy busie use such fruitlesse pains to prove.
No pains but pleasure to do the dictates dear
Of inward living nature. What doth move
The Nightingall to sing so sweet and clear
The Thrush, or Lark that mounting high above
Chants her shrill notes to heedlesse ears of corn
Heavily hanging in the dewy morn.
When life can speak, it can not well withhold
T’ expresse its own impressions and hid life.
Or joy or grief that smoothered lie untold
Do vex the heart and wring with restlesse strife.
Then are my labours no true pains but ease
My souls unrest they gently do appease.
Besides, that is not fruitlesse that no gains
Brings to my self. I others profit deem
Mine own: and if at these my heavenly flames
Others receiven light, right well I ween
My time’s not lost. Art thou now satisfide
Said I: to which the scoffing boy replide.
Great hope indeed thy rymes should men enlight,
That be with clouds and darknesse all o’recast,
Harsh style and harder sense void of delight
The Readers wearied eye in vain do wast.
And when men win thy meaning with much pain,
Thy uncouth sense they coldly entertain.
For wotst thou not that all the world is dead
Unto that Genius that moves in thy vein
Of poetrie! But like by like is fed.
Sing of my Trophees in triumphant strein,
Then correspondent life, thy powerfull verse
Shall strongly strike and with quick passion pierce.
The tender frie of lads and lasses young
With thirstie eare thee compassing about,
Thy Nectar-dropping Muse, thy sugar’d song
Will swallow down with eagre hearty draught;
Relishing truly what thy rymes convey,
And highly praising thy soul-smiting lay.
The mincing maid her mind will then bewray,
Her heart-bloud flaming up into her face,
Grave matrons will wex wanton and betray
Their unresolv’dnesse in their wonted grace;
Young boyes and girls would feel a forward spring,
And former youth to eld thou back wouldst bring.
Would listen to thee with attentive ear,
And eas’ly moved with thy sweet perswasions,
Thy pipe would follow with full merry chear.
While thou thy lively voice didst loud advance
Their tickled bloud for joy would inly dance.
But now, alas! poore solitarie man!
In lonesome desert thou dost wander wide
To seek and serve thy disappearing Pan,
Whom no man living in the world hath eyde:
For Pan is dead but I am still alive,
And live in men who honour to me give:
They honour also those that honour me
With sacred songs. But thou now singst to trees
To rocks to Hills, to Caves that senselesse be
And mindlesse quite of thy hid mysteries,
In the void aire thy idle voice is spread,
Thy Muse is musick to the deaf or dead.
Now out alas! said I, and wele-away
The tale thou tellest I confesse too true.
Fond man so doteth on this living clay
His carcase dear, and doth its joyes pursue,
That of his precious soul he takes no keep
Heavens love and reasons light lie fast asleep.
This bodies life vain shadow of the soul
With full desire they closely do embrace,
In fleshly mud like swine they wallow and roll,
The loftiest mind is proud but of the face
Or outward person; if men but adore
That walking sepulchre, cares for no more.
This is the measure of mans industry
To wexen some body and getten grace
To ’s outward presence; though true majestie
Crown’d with that heavenly light and lively rayes
Of holy wesdome and Seraphick love,
From his deformed soul he farre remove.
Slight knowledge and lesse virtue serves his turn
For this designe. If he hath trod the ring
Of pedling arts; in usuall pack-horse form
Keeping the rode; O! then ’t’s a learned thing.
If any chanc’d to write or speak what he
Conceives not ’t were a foul discourtesie.
To cleanse the soul from sinne, and still diffide
Whether our reasons eye be clear enough
To intromit true light, that fain would glide
Into purg’d hearts, this way ’s too harsh and rough:
Therefore the clearest truths may well seem dark
When sloathfull men have eyes so dimme and stark.
These be our times. But if my minds presage
Bear any moment, they can ne’re last long,
A three branch’d Flame will soon sweep clean the stage
Of this old dirty drosse and all wex young.
My words into this frozen air I throw
Will then grow vocall at that generall thaw.
Nay, now thou ’rt perfect mad, said he, with scorn,
And full of foul derision quit the place.
The skie did rattle with his wings ytorn
Like to rent silk. But I in the mean space
Sent after him this message by the wind
Be ’t so I ’m mad, yet sure I am thou ’rt blind.
By this the out-stretch’d shadows of the trees
Pointed me home-ward, and with one consent
Foretold the dayes descent. So straight I rise
Gathering my limbs from off the green pavement
Behind me leaving then the slooping Light.
_Cl._ And now let’s up, _Vesper_ brings on the Night.
_A Particular Interpretation appertaining to
the three last books of the Platonick
_Chronicall_, } See interpret· Gen.
_Memory._ _Mundane memory._ Is that memory that is seated in the
_Rhomboides._ See Interpr. general.
_Reason._ I understand by Reason, the deduction of one thing from
_Rayes._ The rayes of an essence is its energie. See _Energie_.
_Self-reduplicative._ See _Reduplicative_.
Sing aloud his praise rehearse
Who hath made the Universe.
He the boundlesse Heavens has spread
All the vitall Orbs has kned;
He that on _Olympus_ high
Tends his flocks with watchfull eye,
And this eye has multiplide
Midst each flock for so reside.
Thus as round about they stray
Toucheth each with out-stretch’d ray,
Nimbly they hold on their way,
Shaping out their Night and Day.
Never slack they; none respires,
Dancing round their Centrall fires.
In due order as they move
Echo’s sweet be gently drove
Thorough Heavens vast Hollownesse,
Which unto all corners presse:
Musick that the heart of _Jove_
Moves to joy and sportfull love;
Fills the listning saylers eares
Riding on the wandering Sphears.
Where their voice is not transmisse.
Witnesse all the creature-throng,
Is confess’d by every Tongue.
All things back from whence they sprong,
As the thankfull Rivers pay
What they borrowed of the Sea.
Now my self I do resigne,
Take me whole I all am thine.
Save me, God! from Self-desire,
Deaths pit, dark Hells raging fire,
Let not Lust my soul bemire.
Quit from these thy praise I’ll sing,
Loudly sweep the trembling string.
Bear a part, O Wisdomes sonnes!
Free’d from vain Relligions.
Lo! from farre I you salute,
Sweetly warbling on my Lute.
_Carmel_-tracts, and _Lebanon_
from whence muddie _Nile_ doth runne,
Or whereever else you won;
Breathing in one vitall aire,
One we are though distant farre.
Rise at once lett’s sacrifice
Odours sweet perfume the skies.
See how Heavenly lightning fires
Hearts inflam’d with high aspires!
All the substance of our souls
Up in clouds of Incense rolls.
Leave we nothing to our selves
Save a voice, what need we els!
Or an hand to wear and tire
On the thankfull Lute or Lyre.
Sing aloud his praise rehearse
Who hath made the Universe.