Chapter V: Introduction (4)

The Soul, in all, hath one intelligence,
Though too much moisture in an infant's brain,
And too much dryness in an old man's sense
Cannot the prints of outward things retain.

Then doth the Soul want work, and idle sit:
And this we Childishness and Dotage call:
Yet hath She then a quick and active Wit,
If She had stuff and tools to work withal.

For, give her organs fit, and objects fair,
Give but the aged man, the young man's sense:
Let but MEDEA, ÆSON'S youth repair,
And straight She shews her wonted excellence.

As a good harper, stricken far in years,
Into whose cunning hands, the gout is fall:
All his old crotchets, in his brain he bears,
But on his harp, plays ill, or not at all.

But if APOLLO take his gout away,
That he, his nimble fingers may apply;
APOLLO'S self will envy at his play,
And all the world applaud his minstrelsy!

Then Dotage is no weakness of the Mind,
But of the Sense; for if the Mind did waste;
In _all_ old men, we should this wasting find,
When they some certain term of years had past.

But most of them, even to their dying hour,
Retain a Mind more lively, quick, and strong,
And better use their Understanding Power,
Than when their brains were warm, and limbs were young.

For though the body wasted be and weak,
And though the leaden form of earth it bears;
Yet when we hear that half-dead body speak,
We oft are ravished to the heavenly spheres.

[Sidenote: 2. Objection.]

Yet say these men, "If all her organs die,
Then hath the Soul no power, her Powers to use!
So in a sort her Powers extinct do lie,
When into Act She cannot them reduce."

"And if her Powers be dead, then what is She?
For since from everything, some Powers do spring,
And from those Powers some Acts proceeding be:
Then kill both Power and Act, and kill the Thing."

[Sidenote: Answer.]

Doubtless the Body's death, when once it dies,
The Instruments of Sense and Life doth kill;
So that She cannot use those faculties,
Although their root rest in her substance still.

But as, the Body living, Wit and Will
Can judge and choose without the Body's aid,
Though on such objects, they are working still,
As through the Body's organs are conveyed:

So, when the Body serves her turn no more,
And all her Senses are extinct and gone,
She can discourse of what She learned before,
In heavenly contemplations all alone.

So if one man well on the lute doth play,
And have good horsemanship, and learning's skill:
Though both his lute and horse we take away;
Doth he not keep his former learning still?

He keeps it doubtless! and can use it too!
And doth both th'other skills, in power retain!
And can of both the proper actions do,
If with his Lute, or Horse he meet again.

So, though the instruments by which we live
And view the world, the Body's death doth kill:
Yet with the Body, they shall all revive;
And all their wonted offices fulfil.

[Sidenote: 3. Objection.]

"But _how_, till then, shall She herself employ?
Her spies are dead; which brought home news before:
What she hath got and keeps, she may enjoy;
But She hath means to understand no more."

"Then what do those poor Souls which nothing get?
Or what do those which get and nothing keep,
Like buckets bottomless, which all out let?
Those Souls, for want of exercise, must sleep."

[Sidenote: Answer.]

See _how_ Man's Soul, against itself doth strive:
Why should we not have other means to know?
As children, while within the womb they live,
Feed by the navel; Here, they feed not so.

These children (if they had some use of Sense,
And should by chance their mothers talking, hear;
That, in short time, they shall come forth from thence)
Would fear their birth, more than our death we fear.

They would cry out, "If we, this place shall leave,
Then shall we break our tender navel strings:
How shall we then our nourishment receive,
Since our sweet food, no other conduit brings?"

And if a man should, to these babes reply,
That "Into this fair world they shall be brought,
Where they shall see the earth, the sea, the sky,
The glorious sun, and all that GOD hath wrought:

That there ten thousand dainties they shall meet,
Which by their mouths they shall with pleasure take;
Which shall be cordial too, as well as sweet,
And of their little limbs, tall bodies make!"

This, would they think a fable! even as we
Do think the story of the Golden Age;
Or as some sensual spirits amongst us be,
Which hold the World to Come, "a feigned Stage."

Yet shall these infants, after, find all true;
Though, then, thereof, they nothing could conceive.
As soon as they are born, the world they view,
And with their mouths, the nurse's milk receive.

So when the Soul is born (for Death is nought
But the Soul's Birth, and so we should it call!)
Ten thousand things She sees, beyond her thought;
And, in an unknown manner, knows them all.

Then doth She see by spectacles no more,
She hears not by report of double spies,
Herself, in instants, doth all things explore,
For each thing present, and before her lies.

[Sidenote: 4. Objection.]

But still this Crew, with questions me pursues;
"If Souls deceased," say they, "still living be",
Why do they not return to bring us news
Of that strange world, where they such wonders see?

[Sidenote: Answer.]

Fond men! if we believe that men do live
Under the zenith of both frozen poles;
Though none come thence, advertisement to give;
Why bear we not the like faith of our Souls?

The Soul hath, here on earth, no more to do,
Than we have business in our mother's womb;
What child doth covet to return thereto?
Although all children, first from thence do come!

But as Noah's pigeon which returned no more,
Did shew she footing found, for all the flood;
So when good Souls, departed through death's door,
Come not again; it shews their dwelling good.

And doubtless such a Soul as up doth mount,
And doth appear before her Maker's face,
Holds this vile world in such a base account,
As She looks down and scorns this wretched place.

But such as are detruded down to hell;
Either for shame, they still themselves retire,
Or tied in chains, they in close prison dwell,
And cannot come, although they much desire.

[Sidenote: 5. Objection.]

"Well, well," say these vain spirits, "though vain it is
To think our Souls to heaven or hell do go;
Politic men have thought it not amiss,
To spread this _lie_, to make men virtuous so!"

[Sidenote: Answer.]

Do _you_, then, think this moral Virtue, good?
I think you do! even for your private gain;
For commonwealths by Virtue ever stood;
And common good, the private doth contain.

If then this Virtue, you do love so well,
Have you no means, her practice to maintain?
But you this lie must to the people tell,
"That good Souls live in joy, and ill in pain."

Must Virtue be preservèd by a lie?
Virtue and Truth do ever best agree.
By this, it seems to be a verity,
Since the effects so good and virtuous be.

For as the Devil, father is of lies,
So Vice and Mischief do his lies ensue.
Then this good doctrine did he not devise,
But made this Lie which saith, "It is not true!"

[Sidenote: The General Consent of all.]

For how can that be false, which every tongue,
Of every mortal man, affirms for true;
Which truth hath, in all ages, been so strong,
As loadstone-like, all hearts it ever drew.

For not the Christian or the Jew alone;
The Persian, or the Turk acknowledge this:
This mystery to the wild Indian known,
And to the Cannibal and Tartar, is.

This rich Assyrian drug grows everywhere,
As common in the North, as in the East!
This doctrine doth not enter by the ear,
But, of itself, is native in the breast!

None that acknowledge GOD, or Providence,
Their Soul's eternity did ever doubt;
For all religion takes her root from hence,
Which no poor naked nation lives without.

For since the world for Man created was,
(For only Man, the use thereof doth know)
If Man do perish like a withered grass,
How doth GOD's wisdom order things below?

And if that wisdom still wise ends propound,
Why made He Man, of other creatures king?
When (if he perish here!) there is not found,
In all the world so poor and vile a thing?

If Death do quench us quite; we have great wrong;
Since for our service, all things else were wrought:
That daws, and trees, and rocks should last so long,
When we must in an instant pass to nought.

But, blest be that Great Power! that hath us blest
With longer life, than heaven or earth can have
Which hath infused into one mortal breast,
Immortal Powers, not subject to the grave.

For though the Soul do seem her grave to bear,
And in this world is almost buried quick;
We have no cause the Body's death to fear,
"For when the shell is broke, out comes a chick."

[Sidenote: Three kinds of Life answerable to the three powers of the Soul.]

For as the Soul's _essential_ Powers are three,
The Quick'ning Power, the Power of Sense, and Reason;
Three kinds of Life to her designèd be,
Which perfect these three Powers, in their due season.

The first Life in the mother's womb is spent,
Where She her Nursing Power doth only use;
Where, when She finds defect of nourishment,
Sh' expels her body, and this world She views.

This, we call Birth! but if the child could speak,
He, Death would call it! and of Nature, 'plain
That She should thrust him out naked and weak;
And in his passage, pinch him with such pain.

Yet, out he comes! and in this world is placed,
Where all his Senses in perfection be;
Where he finds flowers to smell, and fruits to taste,
And sounds to hear, and sundry forms to see.

When he hath passed some time upon this Stage,
His Reason, then, a little seems to wake,
Which though She spring, when Sense doth fade with age,
Yet can She here, no perfect practice make.

Then doth th' aspiring Soul, the Body leave,
Which we call Death. But were it known to all,
What Life our Souls do, by this death, receive;
Men would it, Birth! or Gaol Delivery! call.

In this third Life, Reason will be so bright,
As that her Spark will like the sunbeams shine;
And shall, of GOD enjoy the real sight,
Being still increased by influence divine.

[Sidenote: An acclamation!]

O ignorant poor Man! what dost thou bear,
Locked up within the casket of thy breast;
What jewels, and what riches hast thou there.
What heavenly treasure in so weak a chest!

Look in thy Soul! and thou shall beauties find,
Like those which drowned NARCISSUS in the flood;
Honour and Pleasure both are in thy Mind,
And all that in the world is counted Good.

Think of her worth! and think that GOD did mean
This worthy Mind should worthy things embrace!
Blot not her beauties, with thy thoughts unclean;
Nor her, dishonour with thy Passions base.

Kill not her Quick'ning Power with surfeitings!
Mar not her Sense with sensualities!
Cast not her serious Wit on idle things!
Make not her free Will slave to vanities!

And when thou thinkest of her Eternity;
Think not that Death against her nature is;
Think it a Birth! and, when thou goest to die,
Sing like a swan, as if thou wentst to bliss!

And if thou, like a child, didst fear before,
Being in the dark, when thou didst nothing see;
Now I have brought thee Torch-light, fear no more.
Now, when thou diest; thou canst not hoodwinked be.

And thou, my Soul! which turn'st thy curious eye,
To view the beams of thine own form divine;
Know, that thou canst know nothing perfectly,
While thou are _clouded_ with this flesh of mine.

Take heed of _overweening_! and compare
Thy peacock's feet, with thy gay peacock's train;
Study the _best_ and _highest_ things that are;
But of thyself, an humble thought retain!

Cast down thyself! and only strive to raise
The glory of thy Maker's sacred name!
Use all thy powers, that Blessed Power to praise,
Which gives thee power to Be, and Use the same.

FINIS.

HYMNS OF

ASTRÆA, IN

ACROSTIC

VERSE.

_LONDON:_
Printed for I. S.
1599.

[_Hymns of ASTRÆA._]

HYMN I.

_Of ASTRÆA._

E ARLY, before the day doth spring,
L et us awake, my Muse! and sing!
I t is no time to slumber!
S o many joys this Time doth bring,
A s time will fail to number.

B ut, whereto shall we bend our Lays?
E ven up to heaven, again to raise
T he Maid! which, thence descended,
H ath brought again the Golden Days
A nd all the world amended.

R udeness itself, She doth refine!
E ven like an Alchemist divine,
G ross Times of Iron turning
I nto the purest form of Gold;
N ot to corrupt, till heaven wax old
A nd be refined with burning.

HYMN II.

_To ASTRÆA._

E TERNAL Virgin! Goddess true!
L et me presume to sing to you!
I OVE, even great JOVE hath leisure
S ometimes, to hear the vulgar crew,
A nd hears them, oft, with pleasure.

B lessed ASTRÆ! I, in part,
E njoy the blessings you impart!
T he Peace! the milk and honey!
H umanity! and civil Art!
A richer dower than money.

R ight glad am I, that now I live,
E ven in these days, whereto you give
G reat happiness and glory!
I f after you, I should be born;
N o doubt, I should my birthday scorn,
A dmiring your sweet Story.

HYMN III.

_To the Spring._

E ARTH now is green, and heaven is blue!
L ively Spring, which makes all new.
I olly Spring doth enter.
S weet young sunbeams do subdue
A ngry, agèd Winter.

B lasts are mild, and seas are calm!
E very meadow flows with balm!
T he earth wears all her riches!
H armonious birds sing such a psalm
A s ear and heart bewitches!

R eserve, sweet Spring! this Nymph of ours,
E ternal garlands of thy flowers!
G reen garlands never wasting!
I n her shall last our State's fair Spring,
N ow and for ever flourishing,
A s long as heaven is lasting.

HYMN IV.

_To the month of May._

E ACH day of thine, sweet month of May!
L ove makes a solemn Holy Day.
I will perform like duty!
S ince thou resemblest, every way,
A STRÆA, Queen of Beauty.

B oth you, fresh beauties do partake!
E ither's aspect, doth Summer make,
T houghts of young Love awaking!
H earts you both, do cause to ache;
A nd yet be pleased with aching.

R ight dear art thou! and so is She!
E ven like attractive sympathy
G ains unto both, like dearness.
I ween this made Antiquity
N ame thee, Sweet May of Majesty!
A s being both like in clearness.

HYMN V.

_To the Lark._

E ARLY, cheerful, mounting Lark!
L ight's gentle Usher! Morning's Clerk!
I n merry notes delighting;
S tint awhile thy song, and hark,
A nd learn my new inditing!

B ear up this Hymn! to heaven, it bear!
E ven up to heaven, and sing it there!
T o heaven, each morning bear it!
H ave it set to some sweet sphere,
A nd let the angels hear it!

R enowned ASTRÆA, that great name!
(E xceeding great in worth and fame,
G reat worth hath so renowned it)
I t is ASTRÆA's name, I praise!
N ow then, sweet Lark! do thou it raise;
A nd in high heaven resound it!

HYMN VI.

_To the Nightingale._

E VERY night, from even till morn,
L ove's Chorister amid the thorn,
I s now so sweet a singer!
S o sweet, as for her Song, I scorn
A POLLO'S voice and finger.

B ut, Nightingale! sith you delight
E ver to watch the starry night,
T ell all the stars of heaven!
H eaven never had a star so bright
A s now to earth is given!

R oyal ASTRÆA makes our day
E ternal, with her beams! nor may
G ross darkness overcome her!
I now perceive, why some do write,
"N o country hath so short a night
A s England hath in summer."

HYMN VII.

_To the Rose._

E YE of the garden! Queen of Flowers!
L OVE's cup, wherein he nectar pours!
I ngendered first of nectar.
S weet nurse-child of the Spring's young Hours!
A nd Beauty's fair Character!

B est jewel that the earth doth wear!
E ven when the brave young sun draws near,
T o her hot love pretending;
H imself likewise, like form doth bear,
A t rising and descending.

R ose, of the Queen of Love beloved!
E ngland's great Kings (divinely moved)
G ave Roses in their banner:
I t shewed, that Beauty's Rose indeed,
N ow in this Age should them succeed,
A nd reign in more sweet manner.

HYMN VIII.

_To all the Princes of Europe._

E UROPE! the Earth's sweet Paradise!
L et all thy Kings (that would be wise
I n Politic Devotion)
S ail hither, to observe her eyes,
A nd mark her heavenly motion!

B rave Princes of this civil Age!
E nter into this pilgrimage!
T his Saint's tongue is an Oracle!
H er eye hath made a Prince a page;
A nd works, each day, a miracle!

R aise but your looks to her, and see
E ven the true beams of Majesty!
G reat Princes, mark her duly!
I f all the world you do survey,
N o forehead spreads so bright a ray;
A nd notes a Prince, so truly!

HYMN IX.

_To FLORA._

E MPRESS of Flowers! Tell, where away
L ies your sweet Court, this merry May?
I n Greenwich garden alleys!
S ince there the Heavenly Powers do play,
A nd haunt no other valleys.

B EAUTY, VIRTUE, MAJESTY,
E loquent MUSES, three times three,
T he new fresh HOURS and GRACES
H ave pleasure in this place to be,
A bove all other places.

R oses and lilies did them draw,
E re they, divine ASTRÆA saw:
G ay flowers, they sought for pleasure.
I nstead of gathering Crowns of Flowers,
N ow, gather they ASTRÆA's dowers,
A nd bear to heaven, that treasure.

HYMN X.

_To the Month of September._

E ACH month hath praise in some degree,
L et May to others seem to be
I n Sense, the sweetest season;
S eptember! thou are best to me!
A nd best doth please my Reason.

B ut neither for their corn, nor wine;
E xtol I, those mild days of thine!
T hough corn and wine might praise thee;
H eaven gives thee honour more divine
A nd higher fortunes raise thee!

R enowned art thou, sweet Month! for this.
E mong thy days, her birthday is!
G race, Plenty, Peace, and Honour
I n one fair hour with her were born!
N ow since, they still her crown adorn,
A nd still attend upon her.

HYMN XI.

_To the Sun._

E YE of the world! Fountain of light!
L ife of day, and death of night!
I humbly seek thy kindness!
S weet! dazzle not my feeble sight,
A nd strike me not with blindness!

B ehold me mildly from that face
E ven where thou now dost run thy race,
T he sphere where now thou turnest,
H aving, like PHÆTON changed thy place,
A nd yet hearts only burnest.

R ed in her right cheek, thou dost rise
E xalted after, in her eyes;
G reat glory, there, thou shewest!
I n th'other cheek, when thou descendest,
N ew redness unto it thou lendest!
A nd so thy Round, thou goest!

HYMN XII.

_To her Picture._

E XTREME was his audacity,
L ittle his skill, that finished thee!
I am ashamed and sorry,
S o dull her counterfeit should be;
A nd She, so full of glory!

B ut here are colours, red and white;
E ach line, and each proportion right:
T hese lines, this red and whiteness,
H ave wanting yet a life and light,
A majesty and brightness.

R ude counterfeit! I then did err;
E ven now, when I would needs infer
G reat boldness in thy maker!
I did mistake! He was not bold,
N or durst his eyes, her eyes behold:
A nd this made him mistake her.

HYMN XIII.

_Of her Mind._

E ARTH, now adieu! My ravished thought
L ifted to heaven, sets thee at nought!
I nfinite is my longing,
S ecrets of angels to be taught,
A nd things to heaven belonging!

B rought down from heaven, of angels' kind,
E ven now, do I admire her Mind!
T his is my contemplation!
H er clear sweet Spirit, which is refined
A bove humane creation!

R ich sunbeam of th' Eternal Light!
E xcellent Soul! How shall I write?
G ood angels make me able!
I cannot see but by your eye;
N or but by your tongue, signify
A thing so admirable.

HYMN XIV.

_Of the Sunbeams of her Mind._

E XCEEDING glorious is this Star!
L et us behold her beams afar
I n a side line reflected!
S ight bears them not, when near they are
A nd in right lines directed.

B ehold her in her virtue's beams,
E xtending sun-like to all realms!
T he sun none views too nearly.
H er well of goodness, in these streams,
A ppears right well and clearly.

R adiant virtues! if your light
E nfeeble the best judgement's sight;
G reat splendour above measure
I s in the Mind, from whence you flow!
N o wit may have access to know
A nd view so bright a treasure.

HYMN XV.

_Of her Wit._

E YE of that Mind most quick and clear,
L ike heaven's Eye, which from his sphere,
I nto all things pryeth;
S ees through all things everywhere,
A nd all their natures trieth.

B right image of an angel's wit,
E xceeding sharp and swift like it,
T hings instantly discerning;
H aving a nature infinite,
A nd yet increased by learning.

R ebound upon thyself thy light!
E njoy thine own sweet precious sight!
G ive us but some reflection!
I t is enough for us if we,
N ow in her speech, now policy;
A dmire thine high perfection!

HYMN XVI.

_Of her Will._

E VER well affected Will,
L oving goodness, loathing ill!
I nestimable treasure!
S ince such a power hath power to spill,
A nd save us, at her pleasure.

B e thou our law, sweet Will! and say
E ven what thou wilt, we will obey!
T his law, if I could read it.
H erein would I spend night and day,
A nd study still to plead it.

R oyal Free Will, and only free!
E ach other will is slave to thee!
G lad is each will to serve thee!
I n thee such princely power is seen;
N o spirit but takes thee, for her Queen!
A nd thinks she must observe thee!

HYMN XVII.

_Of her Memory._

E XCELLENT jewels would you see?
L ovely ladies! Come with me!
I will (for love I owe you)
S hew you as rich a treasury
A s East or West can shew you!

B ehold! (if you can judge of it)
E ven that great Storehouse of her Wit!
T hat beautiful large table,
H er Memory! wherein is writ
A ll knowledge admirable.

R ead this fair book, and you shall learn
E xquisite skill, if you discern;
G ain heaven, by this discerning!
I n such a memory divine,
N ature did form the Muses nine,
A nd PALLAS, Queen of Learning.

HYMN XVIII.

_Of her Phantasy._

E XQUISITE curiosity!
L ook on thyself, with judging eye!
I f ought be faulty, leave it!
S o delicate a Phantasy
A s this, will straight perceive it

B ecause her temper is so fine,
E ndued with harmonies divine;
T herefore if discord strike it,
H er true proportions do repine,
A nd sadly do mislike it.

R ight otherwise, a pleasure sweet,
E ver she takes in actions meet,
G racing with smiles such meetness:
I n her fair forehead beams appear,
N o Summer's day is half so clear!
A dorned with half that sweetness!

HYMN XIX.

_Of the Organs of her Mind._

E CLIPSED She is, and her bright rays
L ie under veils; yet many ways
I s her fair form revealed!
S he diversely herself conveys,
A nd cannot be concealed.

B y instruments, her powers appear
E xceedingly well tuned and clear!
T his Lute is still in measure,
H olds still in tune, even like a sphere,
A nd yields the world sweet pleasure!

R esolve me, Muse! how this thing is?
E ver a body like to this,
G ave heaven to earthly creature?
I am but fond this doubt to make!
N o doubt, the angels, bodies take
A bove our common nature!

HYMN XX.

_Of the Passions of her Heart._

E XAMINE not th' inscrutable Heart,
L ight Muse! of Her, though She in part
I mpart it to the subject!
S earch not! although from heaven thou art!
A nd this a heavenly object.

B ut since She hath a heart, we know
E ver some Passions thence do flow,
T hough ever ruled with honour.
H er judgement reigns! They wait below,
A nd fix their eyes upon her!

R ectified so, they, in their kind,
E ncrease each virtue of her Mind,
G overned with mild tranquility.
I n all the regions under heaven,
N o State doth bear itself so even,
A nd with so sweet facility.

HYMN XXI.

_Of the innumerable Virtues of her Mind._

E RE thou proceed in these sweet pains,
L earn Muse! how many drops it rains
I n cold and moist December!
S um up May flowers! and August's grains!
A nd grapes of mild September!

B ear the sea's sand in Memory!
E arth's grasses! and the stars in sky!
T he little moats, which mounted
H ang in the beams of PHŒBUS' eye,
A nd never can be counted!

R ecount these numbers, numberless,
E re thou, her virtue canst express!
G reat wits, this count will cumber!
I nstruct thyself in numbering schools!
N ow Courtiers use to beg for fools;
A ll such as cannot number.

HYMN XXII.

_Of her Wisdom._

E AGLE-eyed Wisdom! Life's loadstar!
L ooking near, on things afar!
I OVE's best beloved daughter!
S hews to her spirit all that are!
A s JOVE himself hath taught her.

B y this straight rule, She rectifies
E ach thought, that in her heart doth rise;
T his is her clear true Mirror!
H er Looking Glass, wherein She spies
A ll forms of Truth and Error.

R ight Princely virtue, fit to reign!
E nthronised in her spirit remain,
G uiding our fortunes ever!
I f we this Star once cease to see;
N o doubt our State will shipwrecked be,
A nd torn and sunk for ever.

HYMN XXIII.

_Of her Justice._

E XILED ASTRÆA is come again!
L o here She doth all things maintain
I n number, weight, and measure!
S he rules us, with delightful pain,
A nd we obey with pleasure!

B y Love, She rules more than by Law!
E ven her great Mercy breedeth awe;
T his is her sword and sceptre!
H erewith She hearts did ever draw,
A nd this guard ever kept her.

R eward doth sit in her right hand!
E ach Virtue, thence takes her garland,
G athered in Honour's garden!
I n her left hand (wherein should be
N ought but the sword) sits Clemency!
A nd conquers Vice with pardon.

HYMN XXIV.

_Of her Magnanimity._

E VEN as her State, so is her Mind
L ifted above the vulgar kind!
I t treads proud Fortune under!
S unlike, it sits above the wind;
A bove the storms, and thunder.

B rave Spirit! Large Heart! admiring nought!
E steeming each thing, as it ought!
T hat swelleth not, nor shrinketh!
H onour is always in her thought;
A nd of great things, She thinketh!

R ocks, pillars, and heaven's axletree
E xemplify her Constancy!
G reat changes never change her!
I n her sex, fears are wont to rise;
N ature permits, Virtue denies,
A nd scorns the face of danger!

HYMN XXV.

_Of her Moderation._

E MPRESS of Kingdoms, though She be;
L arger is her Sovereignty,
I f She herself do govern!
S ubject unto herself is She;
A nd of herself, true Sovereign!

B eauty's Crown, though She do wear;
E xalted into Fortune's Chair;
T hroned like the Queen of Pleasure:
H er virtues still possess her ear,
A nd counsel her to Measure!

R eason (if She incarnate were)
E ven Reason's self could never bear
G reatness with Moderation!
I n her, one temper still is seen.
N o liberty claims She as Queen!
A nd shows no alteration!

HYMN XXVI.

E NVY, go weep! My Muse and I
L augh thee to scorn! Thy feeble eye
I s dazzled with the glory
S hining in this gay Poesy,
A nd little golden Story!

B ehold, how my proud quill doth shed
E ternal nectar on her head!
T he pomp of Coronation
H ath not such power, her fame to spread,
A s this my admiration!

R espect my pen, as free and frank;
E xpecting nor reward, nor thank!
G reat wonder only moves it!
I never made it mercenary!
N or should my Muse, this burden carry
A s hired; but that she loves it!

_FINIS._

SIX IDILLIA,

THAT IS,

SIX SMALL, OR PETTY, POEMS,
OR ÆGLOGUES,

chosen out of the right famous Sicilian Poet

THEOCRITUS,

And translated into English verse.

_Dum defluat amnis._

PRINTED

At Oxford by IOSEPH BARNES.

1588.

E. D.

Libenter hic, et omnis exantlabitur
Labor, in tuæ spem gratiæ.
[HORACE, _Epodes_ i. 23-24.]

SIX IDILLIA

chosen out of the famous Sicilian Poet

THEOCRITUS,

and translated into English verse.

THE EIGHTH IDILLION.

Argument.

MENALCAS a Shepherd and DAPHNIS a Neatherd, two Sicilian Lads,
contending who should sing best, pawn their Whistles; and choose
a Goatherd to be their Judge: who giveth sentence on DAPHNIS his
side. The thing is imagined to be done in the Isle of Sicily,
by the sea-shore. Of whose singing, this Idillion is called
_Bucoliastæ_, that is, "Singers of a Neatherd's Song."

_BUCOLIASTÆ_.

DAPHNIS, MENALCAS, Goatherd.

With lovely Neatherd DAPHNIS on the hills, they say,
Shepherd MENALCAS met upon a summer's day:
Both youthful striplings, both had yellow heads of hair;
In whistling both, and both in singing skilful were.

MENALCAS first, beholding DAPHNIS, thus bespake:

MENALCAS.

"Wilt thou in singing, Neatherd DAPHNIS, undertake
To strive with me? For I affirm that, at my will,
I can thee pass!" Thus DAPHNIS answered on the hill.

DAPHNIS.

"Whistler MENALCAS, thou shalt never me excel
In singing, though to death with singing thou should'st swell!"

MENALCAS.

"Then wilt thou see, and something for the victor wage?"

DAPHNIS.

"I will both see, and something for the victor gage!"

MENALCAS.

"What therefore shall we pawn, that for us may be fit?"

DAPHNIS.

"I'll pawn a calf; a wennell lamb lay thou to it!"

MENALCAS.

"I'll pawn no lamb: for both my Sire and Mother fell
Are very hard; and all my sheep at e'en they tell."

DAPHNIS.

"What then? What shall he gain that wins the victory?"

MENALCAS.

"A gallant Whistle which I made with notes thrice three,
Joined with white wax, both e'en below and e'en above;
This will I lay! My father's things I will not move!"

DAPHNIS.

"And I a Whistle have with notes thrice three a row,
Joined with white wax, both e'en below and e'en above.
I lately framed it: for this finger yet doth ache
With pricking, which a splinter of the reed did make.
But who shall be our Judge, and give us audience?"

MENALCAS.

"What if we call this Goatherd here, not far from hence,
Whose dog doth bark hard by the kids?" The lusty boys
Did call him, and the Goatherd came to hear their toys.
The lusty boys did sing, the Goatherd judgment gave.
MENALCAS first, by lot, unto his Whistle brave,
Did sing a Neatherd's Song; and Neatherd DAPHNIS then
Did sing, by course: but first MENALCAS thus began:

MENALCAS.

"Ye Groves and Brooks divine, if on his reed
MENALCAS ever sang a pleasant Lay;
Fat me these lambs! If DAPHNIS here will feed
His calves, let him have pasture too I pray!"

DAPHNIS.

"Ye pleasant Springs and Plants, would DAPHNIS had
As sweet a voice as have the nightingales!
Feed me this herd! and if the Shepherd's lad
MENALCAS comes, let him have all the dales!"

MENALCAS.

"'Tis ever Spring; there meads are ever gay;
There strout the bags; there sheep are fatly fed,
When DAPHNE comes! Go she away;
Then both the Shepherd there, and grass are dead."

DAPHNIS.

"There both the ewes, and goats, bring forth their twins;
There bees do fill their hives; there oaks are high;
Where MILO treads! When he away begins
To go, both Neatherd and the neat wax dry."

MENALCAS.

"O husband of the goats! O wood so high!
O kids! come to this brook, for he is there!
Thou with the broken horns tell MILO shy,
That PROTEUS kept sea-calves, though god he were."

DAPHNIS.

"Nor PELOPS' kingdom may I crave, nor gold;
Nor to outrun the winds upon a lea:
But in this cave I'll sing, with thee in hold,
Both looking on my sheep, and on the sea."

MENALCAS.

"A tempest marreth trees; and drought, a spring:
Snares unto fowls, to beasts nets, are a smart;
Love spoils a man. O JOVE, alone his sting
I have not felt; for thou a lover art!"

Thus sang these boys, by course, with voices strong;
MENALCAS then began a latter song:

MENALCAS.

"Wolf, spare my kids! and spare my fruitful sheep!
And hurt me not! though but a lad, these flocks I guide.
Lampur my dog, art thou indeed so sound asleep?
Thou should'st not sleep while thou art by thy master's side!
My sheep, fear not to eat the tender grass at will!
Nor when it springeth up again, see that you fail!
Go to, and feed apace, and all your bellies fill!
That part your lambs may have; and part, my milking pail."

Then DAPHNIS in his turn sweetly began to sing:

DAPHNIS.

"And me, not long ago, fair DAPHNE whistly eyed
As I drove by; and said, I was a paragon:
Nor then indeed to her I churlishly replied;
But, looking on the ground, my way still held I on.
Sweet is a cow-calf's voice, and sweet her breath doth smell;
A bull calf, and a cow, do low full pleasantly.
'Tis sweet in summer by a spring abroad to dwell!
Acorns become the oak; apples, the apple-tree;
And calves, the kine; and kine, the Neatherd much set out."

Thus sung these youths. The Goatherd thus did end the doubt:

Goatherd.

"O DAPHNIS, what a dulcet mouth and voice thou hast!
'Tis sweeter thee to hear than honey-combs to taste!
Take thee these Pipes, for thou in singing dost excel!
If me, a Goatherd, thou wilt teach to sing so well;
This broken-hornèd goat, on thee bestow I will!
Which to the very brim, the pail doth ever fill."

So then was DAPHNIS glad, and lept and clapt his hands;
And danced as doth a fawn, when by the dam he stands.
MENALCAS grieved, the thing his mind did much dismay:
And sad as Bride he was, upon the marriage day.

Since then among the Shepherds, DAPHNIS chief was had!
And took a Nymph to wife when he was but a lad.

DAPHNIS his Emblem.

_Me tamen urit Amor._

MENALCAS his Emblem.

_At hæc DAPHNE forsan probet._

Goatherd's Emblem.

_Est minor nemo nisi comparatus_

THE ELEVENTH IDILLION.

Argument.

THEOCRITUS wrote this Idillion to NICIAS a learned Physician:
wherein he sheweth--by the example of POLYPHEMUS a giant in Sicily,
of the race of the CYCLOPS, who loved the Water Nymph GALATEA--that
there is no medicine so sovereign against Love as is Poetry. Of
whose Love Song, as this Idillion, is termed CYCLOPS; so he was
called CYCLOPS, because he had but one eye, that stood like a
circle in the midst of his forehead.

_CYCLOPS_.

O Nicias, there is no other remedy for Love,
With ointing, or with sprinkling on, that ever I could prove,
Beside the Muses nine! This pleasant medicine of the mind
Grows among men; and seems but light, yet very hard to find:
As well I wote you know; who are in physic such a Leech,
And of the Muses so beloved. The cause of this my speech
A CYCLOPS is, who lived here with us right wealthily;
That ancient POLYPHEM, when first he loved GALATE
(When, with a bristled beard, his chin and cheeks first clothed were):
He loved her not with roses, apples, or with curlèd hair;
But with the Furies' rage. All other things he little plied.
Full often to their fold, from pastures green, without a guide,
His sheep returnèd home: when all the while he singing lay
In honour of his Love, and on the shore consumed away
From morning until night; sick of the wound, fast by the heart,
Which mighty VENUS gave, and in his liver stuck the dart.
For which, this remedy he found, that sitting oftentimes
Upon a rock and looking on the sea, he sang these rhymes:

"O GALATEA fair, why dost thou shun thy lover true?
More tender than a lamb, more white than cheese when it is new,
More wanton than a calf, more sharp than grapes unripe, I find.
You use to come when pleasant sleep, my senses all do bind:
But you are gone again when pleasant sleep doth leave mine eye;
And as a sheep you run, that on the plain a wolf doth spy.

"I then began to love thee, GALATE, when first of all
You, with my mother, came to gather leaves of crowtoe [_hyacinth_]
small
Upon our hill; when I, as Usher, squired you all the way.
Nor when I saw thee first, nor afterwards, nor at this day,
Since then could I refrain: but you, by Jove! nought set thereby!

"But well I know, fair Nymph, the very cause why thus you fly.
Because upon my front, one only brow, with bristles strong
From one ear to the other ear is stretchèd all along:
'Neath which, one eye; and on my lips, a hugy nose, there stands.
Yet I, this such a one, a thousand sheep feed on these lands;
And pleasant milk I drink, which from the strouting bags is presst.
Nor want I cheese in summer, nor in autumn of the best,
Nor yet in winter time. My cheese racks ever laden are;
And better can I pipe than any CYCLOPS may compare.
O apple sweet! of thee, and of myself I use to sing,
And that at midnight oft. For thee! eleven fawns up I bring,
All great with young: and four bears' whelps, I nourish up for thee!
But come thou hither first, and thou shall have them all of me.
And let the bluish coloured sea beat on the shore so nigh,
The night with me in cave, thou shalt consume more pleasantly!
There are the shady bays, and there tall cypress trees do sprout:
And there is ivy black, and fertile vines are all about.
Cool water there I have, distilled of the whitest snow,
A drink divine, which out of woody Etna mount doth flow.
In these respects, who in the sea and waves would rather be?

"But if I seem as yet too rough and savage unto thee,
Great store of oaken wood I have, and never-quenchèd fire;
And I can well endure my soul to burn with thy desire,
With this my only eye, than which I nothing think more trim:
Now woe is me, my mother bore me not with fins to swim!
That I might dive to thee; that I thy dainty hand might kiss,
If lips thou wouldst not let. Then would I lilies bring iwis,
And tender poppy-toe that bears a top like rattles red,
And these in summer time: but others are in winter bred,
So that I cannot bring them all at once. Now certainly
I'll learn to swim of some or other stranger passing by,
That I may know what pleasure 'tis in waters deep to dwell.

"Come forth, fair GALATE! and once got out, forget thee well
(As I do, sitting on this rock) home to return again! }
But feed my sheep with me, and for to milk them take the pain! }
And cheese to press, and in the milk the rennet sharp to strain! }
My mother only wrongeth me; and her I blame, for she
Spake never yet to thee one good, or lovely, word of me:
And that, although she daily sees how I away do pine.
But I will say, 'My head and feet do ache,' that she may whine,
And sorrow at the heart: because my heart with grief is swoll'n.

"O CYCLOPS, CYCLOPS! whither is thy wit and reason flown?
If thou would'st baskets make; and cut down brouzing from the tree,
And bring it to thy lambs, a great deal wiser thou should'st be!
Go, coy some present Nymph! Why dost thou follow flying wind?
Perhaps another GALATE, and fairer, thou shalt find!
For many Maidens in the evening tide with me will play, }
And all do sweetly laugh, when I stand heark'ning what they say: }
And I somebody seem, and in the earth do bear a sway." }

Thus POLYPHEMUS singing, fed his raging love of old;
Wherein he sweeter did, than had he sent her sums of gold.

POLYPHEM's Emblem.

_Ubi Dictamum inventiam?_

THE SIXTEENTH IDILLION.

Argument.

The style of this Poem is more lofty than any of the rest, and
THEOCRITUS wrote it to HIERO, King of Syracuse in Sicily. Wherein
he reproveth the nigardise of Princes and Great Men towards the
Learned, and namely [_especially_] Poets: in whose power it is to
make men famous to all posterity. Towards the end, he praiseth
HIERO; and prayeth that Sicily may be delivered by his prowess from
the invasions of the Carthaginians. This Idillion is named HIERO in
respect of the person to whom it was written; or _Charites_, that
is, "Graces," in respect of the matter whereof it treateth.

_CHARITES, or HIERO_

Poets have still this care, and still the Muses have this care;
To magnify the gods with Songs, and men that worthy are.
The Muses they are goddesses, and gods with praise they crown;
But we are mortal men, and mortal men let us renown!
But who, of all the men under the cope of heaven that dwell,
By opening of his doors, our Graces entertains so well
That unrewarded quite he doth not send them back again?
They in a chafe, all barefoot, home to me return with pain:
And me they greatly blame, and that they went for nought they grudge;
And all too weary, in the bottom of an empty hutch,
Laying their heads upon their knees full cold, they still remain:
Where they do poorly dwell, because they home returned in vain.

Of all that living are, who loves a man that speaketh well?
I know not one. For now a days for deeds that do excel
Men care not to be praised: but all are overcome with gain. }
For every man looks round, with hand in bosom, whence amain }
Coin he may get: whose rust rubbed off, he will not give again. }
But straightway thus he says, "The leg is further than the knee,
Let me have gold enough; the gods to Poets pay their fee!"
Who would another hear, "Enough for all, one HOMER is;
Of poets he is Prince: yet gets he nought of me iwis!"

Madmen, what gain is this, to hoard up bags of gold within?
This is not money's use, nor hath to wise men ever been!
But part is due unto ourselves, part to the Poet's pen;
And many kinsfolk must be pleasured, and many men:
And often to the gods thou must do solemn sacrifice.
Nor must thou keep a sparing house: but when, in friendly wise,
Thou hast receivèd strangers at thy board; when they will thence,
Let them depart! But chiefly Poets must thou reverence!
That after thou art hidden in thy grave, thou mayest hear well!
Nor basely mayest thou mourn when thou in Acheron dost dwell!
Like to some ditcher vile, whose hands with work are hard and dry;
Who from his parents poor, bewails his life in beggary.

In King ANTIOCHUS his Court, and King ALEVAS' too
To distribute the monthly bread a many had to do.
The Scopedans had many droves of calves, which in their stalls
'Mong oxen lowed; and shepherds kept, in the Cranonian dales,
Infinite flocks to bear the hospital [_hospitable_] CREONDAN's
charge. }
No pleasure should these men enjoy of their expenses large, }
When once their souls they had embarked in the Infernal Barge; }
But leaving all this wealth behind, in wretched misery
Among the dead, without renown, for ever they should lie:
Had not SIMONIDES the Chian Poet, with his pen
And with his lute of many strings so famous made these men
To all posterity. The very horses were renowned;
Which, from their races swift returned, with olive garlands crowned.
Whoever should have known the Lycian Princes and their race,
Or them of Troy, of CIGNUS [_CYCNUS_] with his woman's coloured face:
Had not the Poets sung the famous Wars of them of old?
Nor yet ULYSSES (who, for ten years space on seas was rolled,
By sundry sorts of men; and who at last went down to Hell
As yet alive; and from the CYCLOPS' den escapèd well)
Had got such lasting fame: and drowned should lie in silence deep
Swineherd EUMÆUS, and PHILÆTUS who had to keep
A herd of neat; LAERTES eke himself had been unknown--
If far and wide their names, great HOMER's verses had not blown.

Immortal fame to mortal men, the Muses nine do give:
But dead men's wealth is spent and quite consumed of them that live.
But all one pain[s] it is, to number waves upon the banks,
Whereof great store, the wind from sea doth blow to land in ranks;
Or for to wash a brick with water clear till it be white:
As for to move a man whom avarice doth once delight.
Therefore "Adieu!" to such a one for me! and let him have
Huge silver heaps at will, and more and more still let him crave!
But I, Goodwill of Men, and Honour, will prefer before
A many mules of price, or many horses kept in store.
Therefore I ask, To whom shall I be welcome with my train
Of Muses nine? whose ways are hard, if JOVE guides not the rein.

The heavens yet have not left to roll both months and years on reels;
And many horses yet shall turn about the Chariot's wheels:
The man shall rise that shall have need of me to set him out;
Doing such deeds of arms as AJAX, or ACHILLES stout,
Did in the field of Simois, where ILUS' bones do rest
And now the Carthaginians, inhabiting the West,
Who in the utmost end of Liby' dwell, in arms are prest:
And now the Syracuseans their spears do carry in the rest;
Whose left arms laden are with targets made of willow tree.
'Mongst whom King HIERO, the ancient Worthies' match, I see
In armour shine; whose plume doth overshade his helmet bright.

O JUPITER, and thou MINERVA fierce in fight,
And thou PROSERPINA (who, with thy mother, has renown
By Lysimelia streams, in Ephyra that wealthy town),
Out of our island drive our enemies, our bitter fate,
Along the Sardine sea! that death of friends they may relate
Unto their children and their wives! and that the town opprest
By enemies, of th' old inhabitants may be possesst!
That they may till the fields! and sheep upon the downs may bleat
By thousands infinite, and fat! and that the herds of neat
As to their stalls they go, may press the ling'ring traveller!
Let grounds be broken up for seed, what time the grasshopper
Watching the shepherds by their flocks, in boughs close singing lies!
And let the spiders spread their slender webs in armories;
So that of War, the very name may not be heard again!

But let the Poets strive, King HIERO's glory for to strain
Beyond the Scythean sea; and far beyond those places where
SEMIRAMIS did build those stately walls, and rule did bear.
'Mongst whom, I will be one: for many other men beside,
JOVE's daughters love; whose study still shall be, both far and wide,
Sicilian Arethusa, with the people, to advance;
And warlike HIERO. Ye Graces! (who keep resiance [_residence_]
In the Thessalian Mount Orchomenus; to Thebes of old
So hateful, though of you beloved) to stay I will be bold,
Where I am bid to come: and I with them will still remain,
That shall invite me to their house, with all my Muses' train.
Nor you, will I forsake! For what to men can lovely be
Without your company? The Graces always be with me!

Emblem.

_Si nihil attuleris, ibis HOMERE foras._

THE EIGHTEENTH IDILLION.

Argument.

Twelve noble Spartan Virgins are brought in singing, in the
evening, at the chamber door of MENELAUS and HELENA on their
Wedding Day. And first they prettily jest with the Bridegroom, then
they praise HELENA, last they wish them both joy of their marriage.
Therefore this Idillion is entitled _HELEN's Epithalamion_ that is
"HELEN's Wedding Song."

_HELEN's Epithalamion_.

In Sparta, long ago, where MENELAUS wore the crown,
Twelve noble Virgins, daughters to the greatest in the town,
All dight upon their hair in crowtoe [_hyacinth_] garlands fresh
and green,
Danced at the chamber door of HELENA the Queen:
What time this MENELAUS, the younger son of ATREUS,
Did marry with this lovely daughter of Prince TYNDARUS;
And therewithal, at eve, a Wedding Song they jointly sang,
With such a shuffling of their feet that all the palace rang.

"Fair Bridegroom, do you sleep? Hath slumber all your limbs
possesst? }
What, are you drowsy? or hath wine your body so oppresst }
That you are gone to bed? For if you needs would take your rest, }
You should have ta'en a season meet. Mean time, till it be day
Suffer the Bride with us, and with her mother dear, to play!
For, MENELAUS, She, at evening and at morning tide.
From day to day, and year to year, shall be thy loving Bride.

"O happy Bridegroom, sure some honest man did sneeze to thee,
When thou to Sparta came, to meet with such a one as She!
Among the demi-gods thou only art accounted meet }
To be the Son-in-law to JOVE! for underneath one sheet }
His daughter lies with thee! Of all that tread on ground with feet }
There is not such a one in Greece! Now sure some goodly thing
She will thee bear; if it be like the mother that she bring.

For we, her peers in age, whose course of life is e'en the same;
Who, at Eurotas' streams, like men, are oilèd to the game:
And four times sixty Maids, of all the women youth we are;
Of these none wants a fault, if her with HELEN we compare.
Like as the rising morn shews a grateful lightening,
When sacred night is past; and Winter now lets loose the Spring:
So glittering HELEN shined among her Maids, lusty and tall.
As is the furrow in a field that far outstretcheth all;
Or in a garden is a cypress tree; or in a trace,
A steed of Thessaly; so She to Sparta was a grace.
No damsel with such works as She, her baskets used to fill;
Nor in a divers coloured web, a woof of greater skill
Doth cut off from the loom; nor any hath such Songs and Lays
Unto her dainty harp, in DIAN's and MINERVA's praise,
As HELEN hath: in whose bright eyes all Loves and Graces be.