Chapter XI: Introduction: To Henry King (2)

And now, my fair Unkindness, thus to thee;
Mark how wise Passion and I agree:
Hear and be sorry for't. I will not die
To expiate thy crime of levity:
I walk (not cross-arm'd neither), eat, and live,
Yea live to pity thy neglect, not grieve 40
That thou art from thy faith and promise gone,
Nor envy him who by my loss hath won.
Thou shalt perceive thy changing Moon-like fits
Have not infected me, or turn'd my wits
To lunacy. I do not mean to weep
When I should eat, or sigh when I should sleep;
I will not fall upon my pointed quill,
Bleed ink and poems, or invention spill
To contrive ballads, or weave elegies
For nurses' wearing when the infant cries. 50
Nor like th' enamour'd Tristrams of the time,
Despair in prose and hang myself in rhyme.
Nor thither run upon my verses' feet,
Where I shall none but fools or madmen meet,
Who midst the silent shades, and myrtle walks,
Pule and do penance for their mistress' faults.
I'm none of those poetic malcontents
Born to make paper dear with my laments:
Or wild Orlando that will rail and vex,
And for thy sake fall out with all the sex. 60
No, I will love again, and seek a prize
That shall redeem me from thy poor despise.
I'll court my fortune now in such a shape
That will no faint dye, nor starv'd colour take.

Thus launch I off with triumph from thy shore,
To which my last farewell; for never more
Will I touch there. I put to sea again
Blown with the churlish wind of thy disdain.
Nor will I stop this course till I have found
A coast that yields safe harbour, and firm ground. 70

Smile, ye Love-Stars; wing'd with desire I fly,
To make my wishes' full discovery:
Nor doubt I but for one that proves like you,
I shall find ten as fair, and yet more true.

[_To his unconstant Friend._]

[Line: 7 I have thought it better to keep the form 'ban_e_',
which was not uncommon (and, if I am not mistaken, was sometimes
made to carry a pun with it), instead of the now usual, and even
then authoritative, 'ban_n_'.]

[Line: 11 laid] Orig. 'lad'--an evident misprint.]

[Line: 16 had perisht _Malone MS. 22._]

[Line: 57 Orig., as often, 'mal_e_contents'.

This piece is one of King's few attempts to play the 'dog'.
It is, as one would expect, not very happy, but it might be
worse.]

_Madam Gabrina, Or the Ill-favour'd Choice._

_Con mala Muger el remedio_
_Mucha Tierra por el medio._

I have oft wond'red why thou didst elect
Thy mistress of a stuff none could affect,
That wore his eyes in the right place. A thing
Made up, when Nature's powers lay slumbering.
One, where all pregnant imperfections met
To make her sex's scandal: Teeth of jet,
Hair dy'd in orp'ment, from whose fretful hue
Canidia her highest witchcrafts drew.
A lip most thin and pale, but such a mouth
Which like the poles is stretched North and South 10
A face so colour'd, and of such a form,
As might defiance bid unto a storm:
And the complexion of her sallow hide
Like a wrack'd body wash'd up by the tide:
Eyes small: a nose so to her vizard glued
As if 'twould take a Planet's altitude.
Last for her breath, 'tis somewhat like the smell
That does in Ember weeks on Fish-street dwell;
Or as a man should fasting scent the Rose
Which in the savoury Bear-garden grows. 20
If a Fox cures the paralytical,
Hadst thou ten palsies, she'd outstink them all.

But I have found thy plot: sure thou didst try
To put thyself past hope of jealousy:
And whilst unlearned fools the senses please,
Thou cur'st thy appetite by a disease;
As many use, to kill an itch withal,
Quicksilver or some biting mineral.

Dote upon handsome things each common man
With little study and less labour can; 30
But to make love to a deformity,
Only commends thy great ability,
Who from hard-favour'd objects draw'st content,
As estriches from iron nutriment.

Well, take her, and like mounted George, in bed
Boldly achieve thy Dragon's maiden-head:
Where (though scarce sleep) thou mayst rest confident
None dares beguile thee of thy punishment:
The sin were not more foul that he should commit,
Than is that She with whom he acted it. 40

Yet take this comfort: when old age shall raze,
Or sickness ruin many a good face,
Thy choice cannot impair; no cunning curse
Can mend that night-piece, that is, make her worse.

[_Madam Gabrina_]

[Line: 7 'Orp[i]ment' = yellow arsenic--then, and to some
extent still, used as a gold-dye.]

[Line: 39 Malone MS. 22 omits _that_.]

[Line: 41 It is curious that King, who has elsewhere followed
Spenser in the matter of eye-rhyme pretty closely, did not
spell 'raze', 'race', which was a very usual form and perhaps,
as in 'race-ship', the commoner pronunciation.--The whole poem
is one of his most disappointing. His Spanish distich--which
(adopting Mr. Browning's use of 'fix') might be paraphrased:

If a bad woman once has fix'd you,
Put many a mile of ground betwixt you--

says nothing about mere _ugliness_; while, on the other hand,
King does not utilize the prescription of absence as the only
cure for ill-placed love. He has at first sight simply added
(though, as one would expect, not in the most offensive form)
another to the far too numerous dull and loathsome imitations
of one of Horace's rare betrayals of the fact that he was not
a gentleman. But see on next.]

_The Defence._

_Piensan los Enamorados_
_Que tienen los otros los ojos quebrantados._

Why slightest thou what I approve?
Thou art no Peer to try my love,
Nor canst discern where her form lies,
Unless thou saw'st her with my eyes.

Say she were foul and blacker than
The Night, or sunburnt African,
If lik'd by me, 'tis I alone
Can make a beauty where was none;
For rated in my fancy, she
Is so as she appears to me. 10

But 'tis not feature, or a face,
That does my free election grace,
Nor is my liking only led
By a well-temper'd white and red;
Could I enamour'd grow on those,
The Lily and the blushing Rose
United in one stalk might be
As dear unto my thoughts as she.

But I look farther, and do find
A richer beauty in her mind; 20
Where something is so lasting fair,
As time or age cannot impair.
Hadst thou a perspective so clear,
Thou couldst behold my object there;
When thou her virtues shouldst espy,
They'd force thee to confess that I
Had cause to like her, and learn thence
To love by judgement, not by sense.

[_The Defence._] This is very much better, though we
need not have had to wade through the other poem to get to it.
It has neither the conciseness nor the finish of Ausonius's
triumphant confession to Crispa, but is good enough. The
Spanish heading here, which in the original has an unnecessary
comma at _otros_ and an unnecessary divorce of space between
_quebranta_ and _dos_, may be roughly rendered:

For it is still the lover's mind
That all, except himself, are blind.

The piece is also assigned to Rudyard. Mr. Thorn-Drury notes a
variant at ll. 23-8 of some interest from _Parnassus Biceps_,
where the title is 'A Lover to one dispraising his Mistress':

so clear
That thou couldst view my object there;
When thou her virtues didst espy,
Thou 'ldst wonder and confess that I
Had cause to like; and learn from hence
To love.
]

_To One demanding why Wine sparkles._

So diamonds sparkle, and thy mistress' eyes;
When 'tis not fire but light in either flies.
Beauty not thaw'd by lustful flames will show
Like a fair mountain of unmelted snow:
Nor can the tasted vine more danger bring
Than water taken from the crystal spring,
Whose end is to refresh and cool that heat
Which unallay'd becomes foul vice's seat:
Unless thy boiling veins, mad with desire
Of drink, convert the liquor into fire. 10
For then thou quaff'st down fevers, thy full bowls
Carouse the burning draughts of Portia's coals.

If it do leap and sparkle in the cup,
'Twill sink thy cares, and help invention up.
There never yet was Muse or Poet known
Not dipt or drenched in this Helicon.
But Tom! take heed thou use it with such care
As witches deal with their familiar.
For if thy virtue's circle not confine
And guard thee from the Furies rais'd by wine, 20
'Tis ten to one this dancing spirit may
A Devil prove to bear thy wits away;
And make thy glowing nose a map of Hell
Where Bacchus' purple fumes like meteors dwell.
Now think not these sage morals thee invite
To prove Carthusian or strict Rechabite;
Let fool's be mad, wise people may be free,
Though not to license turn their liberty.
He that drinks wine for health, not for excess,
Nor drowns his temper in a drunkenness, 30
Shall feel no more the grape's unruly fate,
Then if he took some chilling opiate.

[_To One demanding, &c._] If not exactly Poetry,
this is at least sense, as was once remarked (or in words to
that effect), with 'Latin' for 'Poetry', by the late Professor
Nettleship, with regard to a composition not in verse.

Malone MS. 22, fol. 24, has an earlier draft of this poem,
commencing:

We do not give the wine a sparkling name,
As if we meant those sparks implied a flame;
The flame lies in our blood: and 'tis desire
Fed by loose appetite sets us on fire,

and concluding with lines 29-32.]

_By occasion of the Young Prince his happy Birth._

[Charles II. Born May 29, 1630.]

At this glad triumph, when most poets use
Their quill, I did not bridle up my Muse
For sloth or less devotion. I am one
That can well keep my Holy-days at home;

That can the blessings of my King and State
Better in pray'r than poems gratulate;
And in their fortunes bear a loyal part,
Though I no bonfires light but in my heart.

Truth is, when I receiv'd the first report
Of a new star risen and seen at Court; 10
Though I felt joy enough to give a tongue
Unto a mute, yet duty strook me dumb:
And thus surpris'd by rumour, at first sight
I held it some allegiance not to write.

For howe'er children, unto those that look
Their pedigree in God's, not the Church book,
Fair pledges are of that eternity
Which Christians possess not till they die;
Yet they appear, view'd in that perspective
Through which we look on men long since alive, 20
Like succours in a Camp, sent to make good
Their place that last upon the watches stood.
So that in age, or fate, each following birth
Doth set the parent so much nearer earth:
And by this grammar we our heirs may call
The smiling Preface to our funeral.

This sadded my soft sense, to think that he
Who now makes laws, should by a bold decree
Be summon'd hence, to make another room,
And change his royal palace for a tomb. 30
For none ere truly lov'd the present light,
But griev'd to see it rivall'd by the night:
And if 't be sin to wish that light extinct,
Sorrow may make it treason but to think't.
I know each malcontent or giddy man,
In his religion, with the Persian
Adores the rising Sun; and his false view
Best likes, not what is best, but what is new.
O that we could these gangrenes so prevent
(For our own blessing, and their punishment), 40
That all such might, who for wild changes thirst,
Rack'd on a hopeless expectation, burst,

To see us fetter time, and by his stay
To a consistence fix the flying day;
And in a Solstice by our prayers made,
Rescue our Sun from death or envy's shade.

But here we dally with fate, and in this
Stern Destiny mocks and controls our wish;
Informing us, if fathers should remain
For ever here, children were born in vain; 50
And we in vain were Christians, should we
In this world dream of perpetuity.
Decay is Nature's Kalendar; nor can
It hurt the King to think he is a man;
Nor grieve, but comfort him, to hear us say
That his own children must his sceptre sway.
Why slack I then to contribute a vote,
Large as the kingdom's joy, free as my thought?
Long live the Prince! and in that title bear
The world long witness that the King is here: 60
May he grow up, till all that good he reach
Which we can wish, or his Great Father teach:
Let him shine long, a mark to land and main,
Like that bright spark plac'd nearest to Charles' Wain,
And, like him, lead succession's golden team,
Which may possess the British diadem.

But in the mean space, let his Royal Sire,
Who warms our hopes with true Promethean fire,
So long his course in time and glory run,
Till he estate his virtue on his son. 70
So in his father's days this happy One
Shall crowned be, yet not usurp the Throne;
And Charles reign still, since thus himself will be
Heir to himself, through all posterity.

[_By occasion, &c._]

[Line: 8 Orig. 'bon_e_-fires', as often, the spelling being
accepted by recent authorities as etymological. But bones do
not make good fires: 'ba_n_e-fire', the acknowledged Northern
form, which has been held to support this origin, is a very
likely variant of' ba_l_e-fire', and the obvious '_bon_-fire'
in the holiday sense is by no means so absurd as it has been
represented to be.]

[Line: 10 This 'new star' occurs again and again in courtly
verse throughout Charles's life and at his death, but the
accounts of it are uncomfortably conflicting. Some say that
Venus was visible all day long--a phenomenon of obvious
application; others make it Mercury--whereto also an
application, at which the person concerned would have laughed
very genially, is possible. But neither is a '_new_ star';
and the miracle is perhaps more judiciously put as that of _a_
star, no matter what, shining brightly at noonday.]

[Line: 22 that] _MS._ 'who'.]

[Line: 27 'sadded' has some interest.]

[Line: 47 'But here we with fate dally' _Malone MS. 22._]

[Line: 50 were born] _MS._ 'would live'--not so well.]

[Line: 57 vote] In the sense of _votum_ = 'wish'.]

[Line: 60 long] _MS._ 'glad'.]

[Line: 63 long] _MS._ 'forth'.]

[Line: 70 _MS._ 'virtues'.]

_Upon the King's happy return from Scotland._

So breaks the day, when the returning Sun
Hath newly through his winter tropic run,
As You (Great Sir!) in this regress come forth
From the remoter climate of the North.

To tell You now what cares, what fears we past,
What clouds of sorrow did the land o'er-cast,
Were lost, but unto such as have been there,
Where the absented Sun benights the year:
Or have those countries travel'd, which ne'er feel
The warmth and virtue of his flaming wheel. 10

How happy yet were we! that when You went,
You left within Your Kingdom's firmament
A Partner-light, whose lustre may despise
The nightly glimm'ring tapers of the skies,
Your peerless Queen; and at each hand a Star,
Whose hopeful beams from You enkindled are.
Though (to say truth) the light, which they could bring,
Serv'd but to lengthen out our evening.

Heaven's greater lamps illumine it; each spark
Adds only this, to make the sky less dark. 20
Nay, She, who is the glory of her sex,
Did sadly droop for lack of Your reflex:
Oft did She her fair brow in loneness shroud,
And dimly shone, like Venus in a cloud.

Now are those gloomy mists dry'd up by You,
As the world's eye scatters the ev'ning dew:
And You bring home that blessing to the land,
Which absence made us rightly understand.

Here may You henceforth stay! there need no charms
To hold You, but the circle of her arms, 30
Whose fruitful love yields You a rich increase,
Seals of Your joy, and of the kingdom's peace.
O may those precious pledges fix You here,
And You grow old within that crystal sphere!

Pardon this bold detention. Else our love
Will merely an officious trouble prove.
Each busy minute tells us, as it flies,
That there are better objects for Your eyes.
To them let us leave You, whilst we go pray,
Raising this triumph to a Holy-day. 40

And may that soul the Church's blessing want,
May his content be short, his comforts scant,
Whose bosom-altar does no incense burn,
In thankful sacrifice for Your return.

[_Upon the King's happy return, &c._] Hannah notes
that this appears with variants, but signed, in MS. Ashm.
38, fol. 51. I have not thought it necessary to collate this
version from a work described by good authorities as 'a bad
MS.'. The piece itself, however, with others of King's, may
well have been in Dryden's mind when he composed his own batch
of Restoration welcome-poems to Charles II and Clarendon,
within three or four years of the publication of these. There
is no plagiarism: Heaven forbid that I should take part in
plagiarism-hunting. But there is a sort of resemblance in
form and tone (especially in the use of 'You' and 'Your'
as pivots), and (though with great improvement) in
versification.--The capital Y's here are almost complete in
the original, and I have completed them.]

_To the Queen at Oxford._

Great Lady! that thus, quite against our use,
We speak your welcome by an English Muse,
And in a vulgar tongue our zeals contrive,
Is to confess your large prerogative,
Who have the pow'rful freedom to dispense
With our strict Rules, or Custom's difference.

'Tis fit, when such a Star deigns to appear,
And shine within the academic sphere,
That ev'ry college, grac'd by your resort,
Should only speak the language of your Court; 10
As if Apollo's learned quire, but You,
No other Queen of the Ascendent knew.

Let those that list invoke the Delphian name,
To light their verse, and quench their doting flame;
In Helicon it were high treason now,
Did any to a feign'd Minerva bow;
When You are present, whose chaste virtues stain
The vaunted glories of her maiden brain.

I would not flatter. May that diet feed
Deform'd and vicious souls; they only need 20
Such physic, who, grown sick of their decays,
Are only cur'd with surfeits of false praise;
Like those, who, fall'n from youth or beauty's grace,
Lay colours on, which more belie the face.

Be You still what You are; a glorious theme
For Truth to crown. So when that diadem
Which circles Your fair brow drops off, and time
Shall lift You to that pitch our prayers climb;
Posterity will plait a nobler wreath,
To crown Your fame and memory in death. 30
This is sad truth and plain, which I might fear
Would scarce prove welcome to a Prince's ear;
And hardly may you think that writer wise,
Who preaches there where he should poetize;
Yet where so rich a bank of goodness is,
Triumphs and Feasts admit such thoughts as this,
Nor will your virtue from her client turn,
Although he bring his tribute in an urn.

Enough of this: who knows not when to end
Needs must, by tedious diligence, offend. 40
Tis not a poet's office to advance
The precious value of allegiance.
And least of all the rest do I affect
To word my duty in this dialect.

My service lies a better way, whose tone
Is spirited by full devotion.
Thus, whilst I mention _You_, _Your Royal Mate_,
And _Those_ which your blest line perpetuate,
I shall such votes of happiness rehearse,
Whose softest accents will out-tongue my verse. 50

[_To the Queen at Oxford._] This poem was omitted
in Hannah's MS., and it is in no way clear to what visit it
refers. The absence of any reference to politics shows that
it cannot have been Henrietta's residence at Merton during the
Rebellion.]

[Line: 29 plait] Orig 'plat'.]

_A Salutation of His Majesty's ship The Sovereign._

Move on, thou floating trophy built to Fame!
And bid her trump spread thy majestic name;
That the blue Tritons, and those petty Gods
Which sport themselves upon the dancing floods,
May bow, as to their Neptune, when they feel
The awful pressure of thy potent keel.

Great wonder of the time! whose form unites
In one aspect two warring opposites,
Delight and horror; and in them portends
Diff'ring events both to thy foes and friends; 10
To these thy radiant brow, Peace's bright shrine,
Doth like that golden constellation shine,
Which guides the seaman with auspicious beams,
Safe and unshipwrack'd through the troubled streams.
But, as a blazing meteor, to those
It doth ostents of blood and death disclose.
For thy rich decks lighten like Heaven's fires,
To usher forth the thunder of thy tires.

O never may cross wind, or swelling wave,
Conspire to make the treach'rous sands thy grave: 20
Nor envious rocks, in their white foamy laugh,
Rejoice to wear thy loss's Epitaph.
But may the smoothest, most successful gales
Distend thy sheet, and wing thy flying sails:
That all designs which must on thee embark,
May be securely plac'd, as in the Ark.
May'st thou, where'er thy streamers shall display,
Enforce the bold disputers to obey:
That they, whose pens are sharper than their swords,
May yield in fact, what they denied in words. 30
Thus when th' amazed world our seas shall see
Shut from usurpers, to their own Lord free,
Thou may'st, returning from the conquered main,
With thine own triumphs be crown'd _Sovereign_.

[_A Salutation, &c._] The _Sovereign_, _Sovereign of
the Seas_, or _Royal Sovereign_ (I am not sure what name she
bore during the Rebellion) is one of the famous _literary_
ships of the English Navy. She was built in 1637 at Woolwich
by Phineas and Peter Pett out of a whole year's ship-money;
and if the means for raising her cost (£80,000) were
unpopular, a great deal of pride was taken in the ship
herself. Thomas Heywood wrote an account of her which has
been frequently quoted. See, for instance, Mr. David Hannay's
_Short History of the Royal Navy_, i. 172, 173. She was of
1637 tons burthen; was pierced for 98 great guns with many
smaller murdering-pieces and chasers; and was most elaborately
decorated, with carved stern, galleries, black and gold
angels, trophies and emblems of all sorts--besides a baker's
dozen of allegorical, mythological, and historical statues
of personages from Cupid to King Edgar on horseback, as
figureheads and elsewhere. She fought all through the
Dutch wars; escaped the disgraceful disaster in the Medway;
distinguished herself at La Hogue, where a great part is
assigned to her by some accounts in chasing Tourville's
_Soleil Royal_ ashore; and was burnt by accident, not long
after, at Chatham in 1696--her sixtieth year.]

[Line: 11 The 'radiant brow' is of course the gilded
figurehead group. There was no actual 'Peace' among the
allegories, but the Cupid, a 'child bridling a lion', might
perhaps stand for her.]

[Line: 18 'Tire' is of course 'tier': the _Sovereign_ was a
three-decker. Professor Skeat approves the spelling, which
occurs in Milton and elsewhere. But some would have a special
word 'tire', not for the _row_ but the actual 'fire' or
'shooting' (_tir_) of the guns--which would do well enough
here.]

[Lines: 19-22 King's own age would, after the event, have
instanced this as an example of Fate granting prayers to the
letter yet evading them in the spirit. The _Sovereign_ did
escape wind and wave, sand and rock, as well as the enemy, but
only to perish otherwise.]

[Line: 24 'Sheets' in plural in Hannah's MS. Another in
the Ashmolean collection 'clo[a]th[e]s'--a good naval
technicality.]

[Lines: 27-34 Referring to the _Mare Clausum_ dispute and the
English insistence on the lowering of foreign flags.]

_An Epitaph on his most honoured friend, Richard, Earl of Dorset._

[Died March 28, 1624.]

Let no profane ignoble foot tread near
This hallow'd piece of earth: _Dorset lies here_.
A small sad relique of a noble spirit,
Free as the air, and ample as his merit;
Whose least perfection was large, and great
Enough to make a common man complete.
A soul refin'd and cull'd from many men,
That reconcil'd the sword unto the pen,
Using both well. No proud forgetting Lord,
But mindful of mean names, and of his word. 10
One that did love for honour, not for ends,
And had the noblest way of making friends
By loving first. One that did know the Court,
Yet understood it better by report
Than practice, for he nothing took from thence
But the king's favour for his recompense.

One for religion, or his country's good,
That valu'd not his fortune, nor his blood.
One high in fair opinion, rich in praise,
And full of all we could have wish'd, but days. 20

He that is warn'd of this, and shall forbear
To vent a sigh for him, or lend a tear;
May he live long and scorn'd, unpitied fall,
And want a mourner at his funeral.

[_An Epitaph._] This Dorset was the third earl,
Richard. As a very young man he married the famous Lady Anne
Clifford, whose ill-luck in husbands may have been partly
caused, but must have been somewhat compensated, by her
masterful temper. Dorset, who died young, was both a libertine
and a spendthrift; but King seems to have thought well enough
of him not only to write this epitaph, but to lend him, or
guarantee for him, a thousand pounds (quite £3,000 to-day),
which he had at any rate not got back thirty years afterwards.
The present piece appears, with variants, in Corbet's _Poems_,
but King seems to have the better claim. Hannah gives a
considerable body of various readings from the Corbet version
and one in the Ashmole MS. 38, but it hardly seems worth while
to burden the page-foot with them, for the epitaph is mere
'common-form' and of no special interest.]

_The Exequy._

Accept, thou Shrine of my dead Saint,
Instead of dirges this complaint;
And for sweet flowers to crown thy hearse,
Receive a strew of weeping verse
From thy griev'd friend, whom thou might'st see
Quite melted into tears for thee.

Dear loss! since thy untimely fate,
My task hath been to meditate
On thee, on thee: thou art the book,
The library, whereon I look, 10
Though almost blind. For thee (lov'd clay)
I languish out, not live, the day,
Using no other exercise
But what I practise with mine eyes:
By which wet glasses, I find out
How lazily time creeps about
To one that mourns; this, only this,
My exercise and bus'ness is:
So I compute the weary hours
With sighs dissolved into showers. 20

Nor wonder, if my time go thus
Backward and most preposterous;
Thou hast benighted me; thy set
This eve of blackness did beget,
Who wast my day (though overcast,
Before thou hadst thy noon-tide past),
And I remember must in tears,
Thou scarce hadst seen so many years
As day tells hours. By thy clear Sun,
My love and fortune first did run; 30
But thou wilt never more appear
Folded within my hemisphere,
Since both thy light and motion
Like a fled star is fall'n and gone,
And 'twixt me and my soul's dear wish
The earth now interposed is,
Which such a strange eclipse doth make,
As ne'er was read in almanac.

I could allow thee, for a time,
To darken me and my sad clime, 40
Were it a month, a year, or ten,
I would thy exile live till then;
And all that space my mirth adjourn,
So thou wouldst promise to return;
And putting off thy ashy shroud,
At length disperse this sorrow's cloud.

But woe is me! the longest date
Too narrow is to calculate
These empty hopes: never shall I
Be so much blest as to descry 50
A glimpse of thee, till that day come,
Which shall the earth to cinders doom,
And a fierce fever must calcine
The body of this world, like thine,
My Little World! That fit of fire
Once off, our bodies shall aspire
To our souls' bliss: then we shall rise,
And view ourselves with clearer eyes
In that calm region, where no night
Can hide us from each other's sight. 60

Meantime, thou hast her, Earth; much good
May my harm do thee. Since it stood
With Heaven's will, I might not call
Her longer mine, I give thee all
My short-liv'd right and interest
In her, whom living I lov'd best:
With a most free and bounteous grief,
I give thee, what I could not keep.
Be kind to her, and prithee look
Thou write into thy Dooms-day book 70
Each parcel of this rarity,
Which in thy casket shrin'd doth lie:
See that thou make thy reck'ning straight,
And yield her back again by weight;
For thou must audit on thy trust
Each grain and atom of this dust,
As thou wilt answer _Him_ that lent,
Not gave thee, my dear monument.

So close the ground, and 'bout her shade
Black curtains draw;--my Bride is laid. 80

Sleep on, my Love, in thy cold bed,
Never to be disquieted!
My last good night! Thou wilt not wake,
Till I thy fate shall overtake:
Till age, or grief, or sickness, must
Marry my body to that dust
It so much loves; and fill the room
My heart keeps empty in thy tomb.
Stay for me there; I will not fail
To meet thee in that hollow vale: 90
And think not much of my delay;
I am already on the way,
And follow thee with all the speed
Desire can make, or sorrows breed.
Each minute is a short degree,
And ev'ry hour a step towards thee.
At night, when I betake to rest,
Next morn I rise nearer my West
Of life, almost by eight hours' sail
Than when sleep breath'd his drowsy gale. 100

Thus from the Sun my bottom steers,
And my day's compass downward bears:
Nor labour I to stem the tide,
Through which to _Thee_ I swiftly glide.

'Tis true, with shame and grief I yield,
Thou, like the van, first took'st the field,
And gotten hast the victory,
In thus adventuring to die
Before me, whose more years might crave
A just precedence in the grave. 110
But heark! My pulse, like a soft drum,
Beats my approach, tells _Thee_ I come;
And slow howe'er my marches be,
I shall at last sit down by _Thee_.

The thought of this bids me go on,
And wait my dissolution
With hope and comfort. Dear (forgive
The crime), I am content to live
Divided, with but half a heart,
Till we shall meet and never part. 120

[_The Exequy._] This beautiful poem (which bore in
Hannah's MS. the sub-title, itself not unmemorable, 'To his
Matchless never-to-be forgotten Friend') makes, with 'Tell
me no more', King's chief claim to poetic rank. It is not--he
never is--splendid, or strange, or soul-shaking; but for
simplicity, sincerity, tenderness, and grace--nay, as the time
went, nature--it has, in its modest way, not many superiors.

Versions are found in Ashmole MS. 36, fol. 253, and Rawlinson
Poet. MS. 160. fol. 41 verso.]

[Line: 36 The] All three MSS. read 'An', which, considering
the obvious double meaning of 'earth', is perhaps better.]

[Lines: 67-8 Assonance, though not elsewhere unknown, is not
common in King.]

[Line: 81 seq. If the last paragraph has seemed to any to
approach 'False Wit' this ought to make amends. And so with
the conclusion.]

_The Anniverse. An Elegy._

So soon grown old! hast thou been six years dead?
Poor earth, once by my Love inhabited!
And must I live to calculate the time
To which thy blooming youth could never climb,
But fell in the ascent! yet have not I
Studied enough thy loss's history.

How happy were mankind, if Death's strict laws
Consum'd our lamentations like the cause!
Or that our grief, turning to dust, might end
With the dissolved body of a friend! 10

But sacred Heaven! O, how just thou art
In stamping death's impression on that heart,
Which through thy favours would grow insolent,
Were it not physic'd by sharp discontent.
If, then, it stand resolv'd in thy decree,
That still I must doom'd to a desert be,
Sprung out of my lone thoughts, which know no path
But what my own misfortune beaten hath;--
If thou wilt bind me living to a corse,
And I must slowly waste; I then of force 20
Stoop to thy great appointment, and obey
That will which nought avails me to gainsay.

For whilst in sorrow's maze I wander on,
I do but follow life's vocation.
Sure we were made to grieve: at our first birth,
With cries we took possession of the earth;
And though the lucky man reputed be
Fortune's adopted son, yet only he
Is Nature's true-born child, who sums his years
(Like me) with no arithmetic but tears. 30

[_The Anniverse._] Not quite so good as _The
Exequy_, but not bad. The Hannah-Pickering MS. had a few
variants, not worth entering here in most cases.]

[Line: 19 corse] This word had odd luck in a well-printed
book, and a generally well-written MS., for it shows in the
one as 'coarse', in the other as 'course'--both errors not
infrequent at the time.]

[Line: 22 avails] This is the MS. reading: the book has
'avail'.]

[Line: 26 took] _MS._ 'take'.]

_On Two Children, dying of one disease, and buried in one grave._

Brought forth in sorrow, and bred up in care,
Two tender children here entombed are:
One place, one sire, one womb their being gave,
They had one mortal sickness, and one grave.
And though they cannot number many years
In their account, yet with their parent's tears
This comfort mingles; Though their days were few,
They scarcely sin, but never sorrow knew;
So that they well might boast, they carried hence
What riper ages lose, their innocence. 10

You pretty losses, that revive the fate,
Which, in your mother, death did antedate,
O let my high-swoln grief distil on you
The saddest drops of a parental dew:
You ask no other dower than what my eyes
Lay out on your untimely exequies:
When once I have discharg'd that mournful score,
Heav'n hath decreed you ne'er shall cost me more,
Since you release and quit my borrow'd trust,
By taking this inheritance of dust. 20

[_On Two Children, &c._] The number of King's
children is uncertain, but as the eldest certainly died
_before_ the mother, and his sons lived, one nearly as long as
the Bishop, the other a little longer, Hannah seems justified
in arguing from this piece that there were five.]

_A Letter._

I ne'er was dress'd in forms; nor can I bend
My pen to flatter any, nor commend,
Unless desert or honour do present
Unto my verse a worthy argument.

You are my friend, and in that word to me
Stand blazon'd in your noblest heraldry;
That style presents you full, and does relate
The bounty of your love, and my own fate,
Both which conspir'd to make me yours. A choice,
Which needs must, in the giddy people's voice, 10
That only judge the outside, and, like apes,
Play with our names, and comment on our shapes,
Appear too light: but it lies you upon,
To justify the disproportion.

Truth be my record, I durst not presume
To seek to you, 'twas you that did assume
Me to your bosom. Wherein you subdu'd
One that can serve you, though ne'er could intrude
Upon great titles; nor knows how t' invade
Acquaintance: Like such as are only paid 20
With great men's smiles; if that the passant Lord
Let fall a forc'd salute, or but afford
The nod regardant. It was test enough
For me, you ne'er did find such servile stuff
Couch'd in my temper; I can freely say,
I do not love you in that common way
For which Great Ones are lov'd in this false time:
I have no wish to gain, nor will to climb;
I cannot pawn my freedom, nor outlive
My liberty, for all that you can give. 30
And sure you may retain good cheap such friends,
Who not your fortune make, but you, their ends.
I speak not this to vaunt in my own story,
All these additions are unto your glory;
Who, counter to the world, use to elect,
Not to take up on trust, what you affect.
Indeed 'tis seldom seen that such as you
Adopt a friend, or for acquaintance sue;
Yet you did this vouchsafe, you did descend
Below yourself to raise an humble friend, 40
And fix him in your love: where I will stand
The constant subject of your free command.
Had I no airy thoughts, sure you would teach
Me higher than my own dull sphere to reach:
And, by reflex, instruct me to appear
Something (though coarse and plain) fit for your wear.

Know, best of friends, however wild report
May justly say, I am unapt to sort
With your opinion or society
(Which truth would shame me, did I it deny), 50
There 's something in me says, I dare make good,
When honour calls me, all I want in blood.

Put off your giant titles, then I can
Stand in your judgement's blank an equal man.
Though hills advanced are above the plain,
They are but higher earth, nor must disdain
Alliance with the vale: we see a spade
Can level them, and make a mount a glade.
Howe'er we differ in the Heralds' book,
He that mankind's extraction shall look 60
In Nature's rolls, must grant we all agree
In our best part's immortal pedigree:
You must by that perspective only view
My service, else 'twill ne'er show worthy you.

You see I court you bluntly, like a friend,
Not like a mistress; my Muse is not penn'd
For smooth and oily flights: and I indent
To use more honesty than compliment.

But I have done; in lieu of all you give,
Receive his thankful tribute, who must live 70
Your vow'd observer, and devotes a heart
Which will in death seal the bold counterpart.

[_A Letter._] I do not know any clue to the object
of this epistle. King, like most churchmen of distinction
at the time, was on familiar terms with divers 'persons of
quality'. But it _might_ be a mere literary exercise--a 'copy
of verses'.]

[Line: 23 'Nod regardant' is good. It shows, with 'passant'
just before that his own reference to heraldry was still
floating in King's mind.]

[Line: 54 Either of two of the numerous senses of 'blank'
would come in here. One is _tabula rasa_, the judgement
being obscured by no prepossession; the other 'bull's-eye' or
'target'.]

[Line: 59 Orig. as usual, 'Heralds', with no apostrophe to
make case or number. If anybody prefers 'herald's' I have no
objection.]

[Line: 67 indent] In the sense of 'contract', 'engage'.]

_An Acknowledgement._

My best of friends! what needs a chain to tie
One by your merit bound a votary?
Think you I have some plot upon my peace,
I would this bondage change for a release?
Since 'twas my fate your prisoner to be,
Heav'n knows I nothing fear, but liberty.

Yet you do well, that study to prevent,
After so rich a stock of favour spent
On one so worthless, lest my memory
Should let so dear an obligation die 10
Without record. This made my precious Friend
Her token, as an antidote, to send,
Against forgetful poisons; That as they
Who Vespers late, and early Mattins say
Upon their beads, so on this linked score
In golden numbers I might reckon o'er
Your virtues and my debt, which does surmount
The trivial laws of popular account:
For that, within this emblematic knot,
Your beauteous mind, and my own fate, is wrote. 20

The sparkling constellation which combines
The lock, is your dear self, whose worth outshines
Most of your sex; so solid and so clear
You like a perfect diamond appear;
Casting, from your example, fuller light
Than those dim sparks which glaze the brow of night,
And gladding all your friends, as doth the ray
Of that East-star which wakes the cheerful day.

But the black map of death and discontent
Behind that adamantine firmament, 30
That luckless figure, which, like Calvary,
Stands strew'd and copied out in skulls, is I:
Whose life your absence clouds, and makes my time
Move blindfold in the dark ecliptic line.

Then wonder not, if my removed Sun
So low within the western tropic run;
My eyes no day in this horizon see,
Since where You are not, all is night to me.

Lastly, the anchor which enfast'ned lies
Upon a pair of deaths, sadly applies 40
That Monument of Rest, which harbour must
Our ship-wrackt fortunes in a road of dust.

So then, how late soe'er my joyless life
Be tired out in this affection's strife:
Though my tempestuous fancy, like the sky,
Travail with storms, and through my wat'ry eye,
Sorrow's high-going waves spring many a leak;
Though sighs blow loud, till my heart's cordage break;
Though Faith, and all my wishes prove untrue,
Yet Death shall fix and anchor Me with You. 50
'Tis some poor comfort, that this mortal scope
Will period, though never crown, my Hope.

[_An Acknowledgement._] This is evidently of the
same class as the last poem, if not as evidently addressed
to the same person. The recipient of the _Letter_ might be of
either sex, for 'mistress' in l. 66 (_v. sup._) is not quite
decisive in the context. This 'precious Friend' is definitely
feminine. Nineteenth--I do not know about twentieth--century
man would have been a little uncomfortable about receiving
from a lady a gold chain with a grouped diamond pendant,
welcome as the enclosed 'lock' might be. But, as Scott and
others have long ago remarked, there was none of this false
pride in the seventeenth, and you might even take money from
the beloved. The combination of death's heads, equally of the
time, is more of all time.]

_The Acquittance._

Not knowing who should my acquittance take,
I know as little what discharge to make.
The favour is so great, that it outgoes
All forms of thankfulness I can propose.
Those grateful levies which my pen would raise,
Are stricken dumb, or buried in amaze.
Therefore, as once in Athens there was shown
An Altar built unto the God Unknown,
My ignorant devotions must by guess
This blind return of gratitude address, 10
Till you vouchsafe to show me where and how
I may to this revealed Goddess bow.

[_The Acquittance._] This group of poems is so
obviously a group that Hannah's principles of selection in
rejecting the present piece and admitting the others may seem
unreasonably 'undulating and diverse'. I suppose he thought
it rather profane for a bishop even _in futuro_, and perhaps
rather ambiguous in other ways. But though King became a
bishop there is no chance of my becoming an archdeacon, and I
think the piece rather pretty.]

_The Forfeiture._

My Dearest, To let you or the world know
What debt of service I do truly owe
To your unpattern'd self, were to require
A language only form'd in the desire
Of him that writes. It is the common fate
Of greatest duties, to evaporate
In silent meaning, as we often see
Fires by their too much fuel smother'd be:
Small obligations may find vent, and speak,
When greater the unable debtor break. 10
And such are mine to you, whose favour's store
Hath made me poorer then I was before;
For I want words and language to declare
How strict my bond, or large your bounties are.

Since nothing in my desp'rate fortune found,
Can payment make, nor yet the sum compound;
You must lose all, or else of force accept
The body of a bankrupt for your debt.
Then, Love, your bond to execution sue,
And take myself, as forfeited to you. 20

[_The Forfeiture._] This piece, which Hannah did
not find in his MS., is almost certainly connected with the
preceding, and, I think, with _An Acknowledgement_ and
_The Departure_, if not also with _A Letter_. The suggested
unreality in this _Letter_ disappears to a large extent in
them, which is not unnatural.]

[Lines: 9-10 An ingenious adaptation of _Curae leves_, &c.]

_The Departure. An Elegy._

Were I to leave no more than a good friend,
Or but to hear the summons to my end,
(Which I have long'd for) I could then with ease
Attire my grief in words, and so appease
That passion in my bosom, which outgrows
The language of strict verse or largest prose.
But here I am quite lost; writing to you,
All that I pen or think is forc'd and new.
My faculties run cross, and prove as weak
T' indite this melancholy task, as speak: 10
Indeed all words are vain; well might I spare
This rend'ring of my tortur'd thoughts in air,
Or sighing paper. My infectious grief
Strikes inward, and affords me no relief,
But still a deeper wound, to lose a sight
More lov'd than health, and dearer than the light.
But all of us were not at the same time
Brought forth, nor are we billeted in one clime.
Nature hath pitch'd mankind at several rates,
Making our places diverse as our fates. 20
Unto that universal law I bow,
Though with unwilling knee, and do allow
Her cruel justice, which dispos'd us so
That we must counter to our wishes go.
'Twas part of man's first curse, which order'd well,
We should not alway with our likings dwell.
'Tis only the Triumphant Church where we
Shall in unsever'd neighbourhood agree.

Go then, best soul, and, where You must appear,
Restore the day to that dull hemisphere. 30
Ne'er may the hapless night You leave behind
Darken the comforts of Your purer mind.
May all the blessings wishes can invent
Enrich your days, and crown them with content.
And though You travel down into the West,
May Your life's Sun stand fixed in the East,
Far from the weeping set; nor may my ear
Take in that killing whisper, _You once were._

Thus kiss I Your fair hands, taking my leave,
As prisoners at the bar their doom receive. 40
All joys go with You: let sweet peace attend
You on the way, and wait Your journey's end.
But let Your discontents and sourer fate
Remain with me, borne off in my retrait.
Might all your crosses, in that sheet of lead
Which folds my heavy heart, lie buried:
'Tis the last service I would do You, and the best
My wishes ever meant, or tongue profest.
Once more I take my leave. And once for all,
Our parting shows so like a funeral, 50
It strikes my soul, which hath most right to be
Chief Mourner at this sad solemnity.

And think not, Dearest, 'cause this parting knell
Is rung in verses, that at Your farewell
I only mourn in poetry and ink:
No, my pen's melancholy plummets sink
So low, they dive where th' hid affections sit,
Blotting that paper where my mirth was writ.

Believe 't, that sorrow truest is, which lies
Deep in the breast, not floating in the eyes: 60
And he with saddest circumstance doth part,
Who seals his farewell with a bleeding heart.

[_The Departure._] The special title of this poem
was not in Hannah's MS.]

[Line: 6 largest] _MS._ 'larg_er_'.]

[Line: 47 An irregular line of this kind (for it is
practically an Alexandrine) is so very rare in King that one
suspects an error, but Hannah notes no MS. variant. Many,
perhaps most, contemporary poets would not have hesitated at
'serv'ce', which with 'I'd' adjusts the thing; but our Bishop
is seldom rough and still seldomer licentious.]

[Line: 53 this] _MS._ 'the'.]

[Line: 56 Orig. 'plommets'.]

_Paradox._

_That it is best for a Young Maid to marry an Old Man._

Fair one, why cannot you an old man love?
He may as useful, and more constant prove.
Experience shows you that maturer years
Are a security against those fears
Youth will expose you to; whose wild desire
As it is hot, so 'tis as rash as fire.
Mark how the blaze extinct in ashes lies,
Leaving no brand nor embers when it dies
Which might the flame renew: thus soon consumes
Youth's wand'ring heat, and vanishes in fumes. 10
When age's riper love unapt to stray
Through loose and giddy change of objects, may
In your warm bosom like a cinder lie,
Quick'ned and kindled by your sparkling eye.
'Tis not deni'd, there are extremes in both
Which may the fancy move to like or loathe:
Yet of the two you better shall endure
To marry with the cramp than calenture.
Who would in wisdom choose the Torrid Zone
Therein to settle a plantation? 20
Merchants can tell you, those hot climes were made
But at the longest for a three years' trade:
And though the Indies cast the sweeter smell,
Yet health and plenty do more Northward dwell;
For where the raging sunbeams burn the earth,
Her scorched mantle withers into dearth;
Yet when that drought becomes the harvest's curse,
Snow doth the tender corn most kindly nurse:
Why now then woo you not some snowy head
To take you in mere pity to his bed? 30
I doubt the harder task were to persuade
Him to love you: for if what I have said
In virgins as in vegetals holds true,
He'll prove the better nurse to cherish you.
Some men we know renown'd for wisdom grown
By old records and antique medals shown;
Why ought not women then be held most wise
Who can produce living antiquities?
Besides if care of that main happiness
Your sex triumphs in, doth your thoughts possess, 40
I mean your beauty from decay to keep;
No wash nor mask is like an old man's sleep.
Young wives need never to be sunburnt fear,
Who their old husbands for umbrellas wear:
How russet looks an orchard on the hill
To one that 's water'd by some neighb'ring drill?
Are not the floated meadows ever seen
To flourish soonest, and hold longest green?
You may be sure no moist'ning lacks that bride,
Who lies with winter thawing by her side. 50
She should be fruitful too as fields that join
Unto the melting waste of Apennine.
Whilst the cold morning-drops bedew the rose,
It doth nor leaf, nor smell, nor colour lose;
Then doubt not, Sweet! Age hath supplies of wet
To keep You like that flower in water set.
Dripping catarrhs and fontinells are things
Will make You think You grew betwixt two springs.
And should You not think so, You scarce allow
The force or merit of Your marriage-vow; 60
Where maids a new creed learn, and must from thence
Believe against their own or others' sense.
Else love will nothing differ from neglect,
Which turns not to a virtue each defect.
I'll say no more but this; you women make
Your children's reck'ning by the almanac.
I like it well, so you contented are,
To choose their fathers by that kalendar.
Turn then, old _Erra Pater_, and there see
According to life's posture and degree, 70
What age or what complexion is most fit
To make an English maid happy by it;
And You shall find, if You will choose a man,
Set justly for Your own meridian,
Though You perhaps let _One and Twenty_ woo,
Your elevation is for _Fifty-Two_.

[_Paradox. That it is best, &c._] After Hannah's
omission of _The Acquittance_ it is not surprising that he
did not give this or the next--though a greater excess of
prudishness appears in the exclusion of _The Change_, and one
begins to think that something more than accident, indolence,
or business prevented the appearance of the promised second
volume. But if there is some nastiness there is very little
naughtiness in them.]

[Line: 33 Some have thought 'vegetal', which was not uncommon
in the seventeenth century, a better form than 'vegetable',
though this latter has prevailed. It is the French word,
and though in Latin there is no 'vegetalis' and there is
'vegetabilis', yet this latter has quite a different sense.]

[Line: 44 Orig. has 'umbrell_ae_s', not 'umbrell_o_s' (or
-oes), which seems to be the older form.]

[Line: 46 It would be pardonable to suppose 'drill' an error
for 'rill'. But the word is unquestionably used in the sense
by Sandys and Jeremy Taylor, and seems to be the same as the
slightly older 'trill' in the sense of 'trickle'.]

_Paradox._

_That Fruition destroys Love._

Love is our Reason's Paradox, which still
Against the judgement doth maintain the will:
And governs by such arbitrary laws,
It only makes the act our liking's cause:
We have no brave revenge, but to forgo
Our full desires, and starve the tyrant so.