Chapter II: An Epigramme (3)

On the proud banks of great Euphrates' flood, 1
There we sate, and there we wept:
Our harpes, that now no musick understood,
Nodding, on the willowes slept:
While unhappy captiv'd wee, 5
Lovely Sion, thought on thee.
They, they that snatcht us from our countrie's breast,
Would have a song carv'd to their eares
In Hebrew numbers, then (O cruell jest!)
When harpes and hearts were drown'd in teares: 10
Come, they cry'd, come sing and play
One of Sion's songs to-day.
Sing? play? to whom (ah!) shall we sing or play,
If not, Jerusalem, to thee?
Ah! thee Jerusalem! ah! sooner may 15
This hand forget the masterie
Of Musick's dainty touch, than I
The musick of thy memory.
Which when I lose, O may at once my tongue
Lose this same busie-speaking art, 20
Vnpearch't, her vocall arteries unstrung,
No more acquainted with my heart,
On my dry pallat's roof to rest
A wither'd leaf, an idle guest.
No, no, Thy good Sion, alone, must crowne 25
The head of all my hope-nurst joyes.
But Edom, cruell thou! thou cryd'st downe, downe
Sinke Sion, downe and never rise,
Her falling thou did'st urge and thrust,
And haste to dash her into dust: 30
Dost laugh? proud Babel's daughter! do, laugh on,
Till thy ruine teach thee teares,
Even such as these; laugh, till a venging throng
Of woes, too late, doe rouze thy feares:
Laugh, till thy children's bleeding bones 35
Weepe pretious teares upon the stones.

IN THE HOLY NATIVITY OF OVR LORD GOD:

A HYMN SVNG AS BY THE SHEPHEARDS.[36]

THE HYMN.

_Chorvs._

Come, we shepheards, whose blest sight 1
Hath mett Loue's noon in Nature's night;
Come, lift we vp our loftyer song
And wake the svn that lyes too long.

To all our world of well-stoln joy 5
He slept; and dreamt of no such thing.
While we found out Heaun's fairer ey
And kis't the cradle of our King.
Tell him He rises now, too late
To show vs ought worth looking at. 10

Tell him we now can show him more
Then he e're show'd to mortall sight;
Then he himselfe e're saw before,
Which to be seen needes not his light.
Tell him, Tityrus, where th' hast been, 15
Tell him Thyrsis, what th' hast seen.

TITYRUS.

Gloomy night embrac't the place
Where the noble Infant lay.
The Babe look't vp and shew'd His face;
In spite of darknes, it was day. 20
It was Thy day, Sweet! and did rise
Not from the East, but from Thine eyes.

_Chorus._ It was Thy day, Sweet.

THYRSIS.

Winter chidde aloud, and sent
The angry North to wage his warres. 25
The North forgott his feirce intent,
And left perfumes in stead of scarres.
By those sweet eyes' persuasiue powrs
Where he mean't frost, he scatter'd flowrs.

_Chorus._ By those sweet eyes. 30

BOTH.

We saw Thee in Thy baulmy-nest,
Young dawn of our aeternall Day!
We saw Thine eyes break from their East
And chase the trembling shades away.
We saw Thee; and we blest the sight, 35
We saw Thee by Thine Own sweet light.

TITYRUS.

Poor world (said I), what wilt thou doe
To entertain this starry Stranger?
Is this the best thou canst bestow?
A cold, and not too cleanly, manger? 40
Contend, the powres of Heau'n and Earth,
To fitt a bed for this huge birthe?

_Chorus._ Contend the powers.

THYRSIS.

Proud world, said I, cease your contest
And let the mighty Babe alone. 45
The phaenix builds the phaenix' nest,
Lov's architecture is his own.
The Babe whose birth embraues this morn,
Made His Own bed e're He was born.

_Chorus._ The Babe whose.... 50

TITYRUS.

I saw the curl'd drops, soft and slow,
Come houering o're the place's head;
Offring their whitest sheets of snow
To furnish the fair Infant's bed:
Forbear, said I; be not too bold, 55
Your fleece is white but 'tis too cold.

_Chorus._ Forbear, sayd I.

THYRSIS.

I saw the obsequious Seraphims
Their rosy fleece of fire bestow.
For well they now can spare their wing, 60
Since Heavn itself lyes here below.
Well done, said I; but are you sure
Your down so warm, will passe for pure?

_Chorus._ Well done, sayd I.

TITYRUS.

No, no! your King's not yet to seeke 65
Where to repose His royall head;
See, see! how soon His new-bloom'd cheek
Twixt's mother's brests is gone to bed.
Sweet choise, said we! no way but so
Not to ly cold, yet sleep in snow. 70

_Chorus._ Sweet choise, said we.

BOTH.

We saw Thee in Thy baulmy nest,
Bright dawn of our aeternall Day!
We saw Thine eyes break from their East
And chase the trembling shades away. 75
We saw Thee: and we blest the sight,
We saw Thee, by Thine Own sweet light.

_Chorus._ We saw Thee, &c.

FVLL CHORVS.

Wellcome, all wonders in one sight!
Aeternity shutt in a span! 80
Sommer in Winter, Day in Night!
Heauen in Earth, and God in man!
Great, little One! Whose all-embracing birth
Lifts Earth to Heauen, stoopes Heau'n to Earth.

Wellcome, though not to gold nor silk, 85
To more then Caesar's birth-right is;
Two sister-seas of virgin-milk,
With many a rarely-temper'd kisse,
That breathes at once both maid and mother,
Warmes in the one, cooles in the other. 90
Shee sings Thy tears asleep, and dips
Her kisses in Thy weeping eye;
She spreads the red leaves of Thy lips,
That in their buds yet blushing lye;
She 'gainst those mother-diamonds, tries 95
The points of her young eagle's eyes.
Wellcome, though not to those gay flyes,
Guilded i' th' beames of earthly kings;
Slippery soules in smiling eyes;
But to poor shepheards' home-spun things; 100
Whose wealth's their flock; whose witt, to be
Well-read in their simplicity.
Yet when young April's husband-showrs
Shall blesse the fruitfull Maja's bed,
We'l bring the first-born of her flowrs 105
To kisse Thy feet and crown Thy head.
To Thee, dread Lamb! Whose loue must keep
The shepheards, more then they the sheep.

To Thee, meek Majesty! soft King
Of simple Graces and sweet Loves: 110
Each of vs his lamb will bring,
Each his pair of sylver doues:
Till burnt at last in fire of Thy fair eyes,
Ourselues become our own best sacrifice.

NOTES AND ILLUSTRATIONS.

In the SANCROFT MS. the heading is simply 'A Hymne of the Nativitie sung by the Shepheards.' It furnishes these various readings, though it wants a good deal of our text (1652):

Lines 1 to 4,

'who haue seene
Daie's King deposed by night's Queene.
Come lift we up our lofty song,
To wake the sun that sleeps too long.'

" 5 to 7,

'Hee (in this our generall joy)
Slept ...
... the faire-ey'd boy.'

" 24, 'Winter chid the world ...'

" 32, 'Bright dawne ...'

" 58 to 63,

'I saw the officious angells bring
The downe that their soft breasts did strow:
For well they now can spare their wings,
When heauen itselfe lies here below.
Faire youth (said I) be not too rough,
Thy downe (though soft)'s not soft enough.'

'Officious' = ready to do good offices: 'obsequious' = obedient, eager to serve.

Lines 65 to 68,

'The Babe noe sooner 'gan to seeke
Where to lay His louely head;
But streight His eyes advis'd His cheeke
'Twixt's mother's breasts to goe to bed.'

" 79, 'Welcome to our wond'ring sight.'

" 83, 'glorious birth.'

" 85, 'not to gold' for 'nor to gold:' adopted.

" 96, 'points' = pupils (?).

Lines 101 to 103,

'But to poore shepheards' simple things,
That vse not varnish; noe oyl'd arts,
But lift cleane hands full of cleare hearts.'

" 108, '... while they feed the sheepe.'

" 114, 'Wee'l burne ...'

These variations agree with the text of 1646. See our Essay for critical remarks. G.

NEW YEAR'S DAY.[37]

Rise, thou best and brightest morning!
Rosy with a double red;
With thine own blush thy cheeks adorning,
And the dear drops this day were shed.

All the purple pride, that laces
The crimson curtains of thy bed,
Guilds thee not with so sweet graces,
Nor setts thee in so rich a red.

Of all the fair-cheek't flowrs that fill thee,
None so fair thy bosom strowes,
As this modest maiden lilly
Our sins haue sham'd into a rose.

Bid thy golden god, the sun,
Burnisht in his best beames rise,
Put all his red-ey'd rubies on;
These rubies shall putt out their eyes.

Let him make poor the purple East,
Search what the world's close cabinets keep,
Rob the rich births of each bright nest
That flaming in their fair beds sleep.

Let him embraue his own bright tresses
With a new morning made of gemmes;
And wear, in those his wealthy dresses,
Another day of diadems.

When he hath done all he may
To make himselfe rich in his rise,
All will be darknes to the day
That breakes from one of these bright eyes.

And soon this sweet truth shall appear,
Dear Babe, ere many dayes be done;
The Morn shall come to meet Thee here,
And leaue her own neglected sun.

Here are beautyes shall bereaue him
Of all his eastern paramours.
His Persian louers all shall leaue him,
And swear faith to Thy sweeter powres;
Nor while they leave him shall they lose the sun,
But in Thy fairest eyes find two for one.

NOTES AND ILLUSTRATIONS.

St. ii. line 1,

'All the purple pride that laces;'

the reference is to the empurpled lighter and lace- (or gauze-) like clouds of the morning. The heavier clouds are the 'crimson curtains,' the 'purple laces' the fleecy, lace-like, and empurpled streakings of the lighter and dissolving clouds, which the Poet likens to the lace that edged the coverlet, and possibly other parts of the bed and bedstead. SHAKESPEARE describes a similar appearance with the same word, but uses it in the sense of inter or cross lacing, when he makes Juliet say (iii. 5),

'look, love, what envious streaks
Do _lace_ the severing clouds in yonder East.'

So too in stanza v. 'each sparkling nest,' the flame-coloured clouds are intended. 'Nest,' like 'bud,' is a favourite word with CRASHAW, and he uses it freely. In 1648 edition, st. iii. line 2 reads 'showes;' stanza v. line 2, 'cabinets;' stanza viii. line 5, 'and meet;' stanza ix. 'paramours' = lovers, wooers, _not_ as now signifying loose love. G.

IN THE GLORIOVS EPIPHANIE OF OVR LORD GOD:

A HYMN SVNG AS BY THE THREE KINGS.[38]

_1 Kinge._ Bright Babe! Whose awfull beautyes make 1
The morn incurr a sweet mistake;

_2 Kinge._ For Whom the officious Heauns deuise
To disinheritt the sun's rise:

_3 Kinge._ Delicately to displace 5
The day, and plant it fairer in Thy face.

_1 Kinge._ O Thou born King of loues!

_2 Kinge._ Of lights!

_3 Kinge._ Of ioyes!

_Chorus._ Look vp, sweet Babe, look vp and see 10
For loue of Thee,
Thus farr from home
The East is come
To seek her self in Thy sweet eyes.

_1 Kinge._ We, who strangely went astray, 15
Lost in a bright
Meridian night.

_2 Kinge._ A darknes made of too much day.

_3 Kinge._ Becken'd from farr
By Thy fair starr, 20
Lo, at last haue found our way.

_Chorus._ To Thee, Thou Day of Night! Thou East of West!
Lo, we at last haue found the way
To Thee, the World's great vniuersal East,
The generall and indifferent Day. 25

_1 Kinge._ All-circling point! all-centring sphear!
The World's one, round, aeternall year:

_2 Kinge._ Whose full and all-vnwrinkled face
Nor sinks nor swells with time or place;

_3 Kinge._ But euery where and euery while 30
Is one consistent, solid smile:

_1 Kinge._ Not vext and tost

_2 Kinge._ 'Twixt Spring and frost;

_3 Kinge._ Nor by alternate shredds of light,
Sordidly shifting hands with shades and Night. 35

_Chorus._ O little all! in Thy embrace
The World lyes warm, and likes his place;
Nor does his full globe fail to be
Kist on both his cheeks by Thee.
Time is too narrow for Thy year, 40
Nor makes the whole World Thy half-sphear.

_1 Kinge._ To Thee, to Thee
From him we flee.

_2 Kinge._ From him, whom by a more illustrious ly,
The blindnes of the World did call the eye. 45

_3 Kinge._ To Him, Who by these mortall clouds hast made
Thyself our sun, though Thine Own shade.

_1 Kinge._ Farewell, the World's false light!
Farewell, the white
Aegypt; a long farewell to thee 50
Bright idol, black idolatry:
The dire face of inferior darknes, kis't
And courted in the pompus mask of a more specious mist.

_2 Kinge._ Farewell, farewell
The proud and misplac't gates of Hell, 55
Pertch't in the Morning's way _perched._
And double-guilded as the doores of Day:
The deep hypocrisy of Death and Night
More desperately dark, because more bright.

_3 Kinge._ Welcome, the World's sure way! 60
Heavn's wholsom ray.

_Chorus._ Wellcome to vs; and we
(Sweet!) to our selues, in Thee.

_1 Kinge._ The deathles Heir of all Thy Father's day!

_2 Kinge._ Decently born! 65
Embosom'd in a much more rosy Morn:
The blushes of Thy all-vnblemisht mother.

_3 Kinge._ No more that other
Aurora shall sett ope
Her ruby casements, or hereafter hope 70
From mortall eyes
To meet religious welcomes at her rise.

_Chorus._ We (pretious ones!) in you haue won
A gentler Morn, a iuster sun.

_1 Kinge._ His superficiall beames sun-burn't our skin; 75

_2 Kinge._ But left within

_3 Kinge._ The Night and Winter still of Death and Sin.

_Chorus._ Thy softer yet more certaine darts
Spare our eyes, but peirce our harts:

_1 Kinge._ Therfore with his proud Persian spoiles 80

_2 Kinge._ We court Thy more concerning smiles.

_3 Kinge._ Therfore with his disgrace
We guild the humble cheek of this chast place;

_Chorus._ And at Thy feet powr forth his face.

_1 Kinge._ The doating Nations now no more 85
Shall any day but Thine adore.

_2 Kinge._ Nor--much lesse--shall they leaue these eyes
For cheap Aegyptian deityes.

_3 Kinge._ In whatsoe're more sacred shape
Of ram, he-goat, or reuerend ape; 90
Those beauteous rauishers opprest so sore
The too-hard-tempted nations.

_1 Kinge._ Neuer more
By wanton heyfer shall be worn

_2 Kinge._ A garland, or a guilded horn: 95
The altar-stall'd ox, fatt Osyris now
With his fair sister cow

_3 Kinge._ Shall kick the clouds no more; but lean and tame,

_Chorus._ See His horn'd face, and dy for shame:
And Mithra now shall be no name. 100

_1 Kinge._ No longer shall the immodest lust
Of adulterous godles dust

_2 Kinge._ Fly in the face of Heau'n; as if it were
The poor World's fault that He is fair. 105

_3 Kinge._ Nor with peruerse loues and religious rapes
Reuenge Thy bountyes in their beauteous shapes;
And punish best things worst; because they stood
Guilty of being much for them too good.

_1 Kinge._ Proud sons of Death! that durst compell 110
Heau'n it self to find them Hell:

_2 Kinge._ And by strange witt of madnes wrest
From this World's East the other's West.

_3 Kinge._ All-idolizing wormes! that thus could crowd
And vrge their sun into Thy cloud; 115
Forcing His sometimes eclips'd face to be
A long deliquium to the light of Thee.

_Chorus._ Alas! with how much heauyer shade
The shamefac't lamp hung down his head
For that one eclipse he made, 120
Then all those he suffered!

_1 Kinge._ For this he look't so bigg; and euery morn
With a red face confes't his scorn.
Or hiding his vex't cheeks in a hir'd mist
Kept them from being so vnkindly kis't. 125

_2 Kinge._ It was for this the Day did rise
So oft with blubber'd eyes:
For this the Evening wept; and we ne're knew
But call'd it deaw.

_3 Kinge._ This dayly wrong 130
Silenc't the morning-sons, and damp't their song:

_Chorus._ Nor was't our deafnes, but our sins, that thus
Long made th' harmonious orbes all mute to vs.

_1 Kinge._ Time has a day in store
When this so proudly poor 135
And self-oppressed spark, that has so long
By the loue-sick World bin made
Not so much their sun as shade:
Weary of this glorious wrong
From them and from himself shall flee 140
For shelter to the shadow of Thy tree:

_Chorus._ Proud to haue gain'd this pretious losse
And chang'd his false crown for Thy crosse.

_2 Kinge._ That dark Day's clear doom shall define
Whose is the master Fire, which sun should shine: 145
That sable judgment-seat shall by new lawes
Decide and settle the great cause
Of controuerted light:

_Chorus._ And Natur's wrongs rejoyce to doe Thee right.

_3 Kinge._ That forfeiture of Noon to Night shall pay 150
All the idolatrous thefts done by this Night of Day;
And the great Penitent presse his own pale lipps
With an elaborate loue-eclipse:
To which the low World's lawes
Shall lend no cause, 155

_Chorus._ Saue those domestick which He borrowes
From our sins and His Own sorrowes.

_1 Kinge._ Three sad hours' sackcloth then shall show to vs
His penance, as our fault, conspicuous:

_2 Kinge._ And He more needfully and nobly proue 160
The Nations' terror now then erst their loue.

_3 Kinge._ Their hated loues changd into wholsom feares:

_Chorus._ The shutting of His eye shall open their's.

_1 Kinge._ As by a fair-ey'd fallacy of Day
Miss-ledde, before, they lost their way; 165
So shall they, by the seasonable fright
Of an vnseasonable Night,
Loosing it once again, stumble on true Light:

_2 Kinge._ And as before His too-bright eye
Was their more blind idolatry; 170
So his officious blindnes now shall be
Their black, but faithfull perspectiue of Thee:

_3 Kinge._ His new prodigious Night,
Their new and admirable light,
The supernaturall dawn of Thy pure Day; 175
While wondring they
(The happy conuerts now of Him
Whom they compell'd before to be their sin)
Shall henceforth see
To kisse him only as their rod, 180
Whom they so long courted as God.

_Chorus._ And their best vse of him they worship't, be
To learn of him at last, to worship Thee.

_1 Kinge._ It was their weaknes woo'd his beauty;
But it shall be 185
Their wisdome now, as well as duty,
To injoy his blott; and as a large black letter
Vse it to spell Thy beautyes better;
And make the Night it self their torch to Thee.

_2 Kinge._ By the oblique ambush of this close night 190
Couch't in that conscious shade
The right-ey'd Areopagite
Shall with a vigorous guesse inuade
And catch Thy quick reflex; and sharply see
On this dark ground 195
To descant Thee.

_3 Kinge._ O prize of the rich Spirit! with what feirce chase
Of his strong soul, shall he
Leap at thy lofty face,
And seize the swift flash, in rebound 200
From this obsequious cloud,
Once call'd a sun,
Till dearly thus vndone;

_Chorus._ Till thus triumphantly tam'd (O ye two
Twinne svnnes!) and taught now to negotiate you. 205

_1 Kinge._ Thus shall that reuerend child of Light,

_2 Kinge._ By being scholler first of that new Night,
Come forth great master of the mystick Day;

_3 Kinge._ And teach obscure mankind a more close way
By the frugall negatiue light 210
Of a most wise and well-abused Night
To read more legible Thine originall ray;

_Chorus._ And make our darknes serue Thy Day:
Maintaining 'twixt Thy World and oures
A commerce of contrary powres, 215
A mutuall trade
'Twixt sun and shade,
By confederat black and white
Borrowing Day and lending Night. 219

_1 Kinge._ Thus we, who when with all the noble powres
That (at Thy cost) are call'd, not vainly, ours:
We vow to make braue way
Vpwards, and presse on for the pure intelligentiall prey;
_2 Kinge._ At least to play
The amorous spyes 225
And peep and proffer at Thy sparkling throne;

_3 Kinge._ In stead of bringing in the blissfull prize
And fastening on Thine eyes:
Forfeit our own
And nothing gain 230
But more ambitious losse at last, of brain;

_Chorus._ Now by abased liddes shall learn to be
Eagles; and shutt our eyes that we may see.

_The Close._

[_Chorus._] Therfore to Thee and Thine auspitious ray
(Dread Sweet!) lo thus 236
At last by vs,
The delegated eye of Day
Does first his scepter, then himself, in solemne tribute pay.
Thus he vndresses 240
His sacred vnshorn tresses;
At Thy adored feet, thus he layes down

_1 Kinge._ His gorgeous tire
Of flame and fire,

_2 Kinge._ His glittering robe. _3 Kinge._ His sparkling crown; 245

_1 Kinge._ His gold: _2 Kinge._ His mirrh: _3 Kinge._ His frankincense.

_Chorus._ To which he now has no pretence:
For being show'd by this Day's light, how farr
He is from sun enough to make Thy starr,
His best ambition now is but to be 250
Somthing a brighter shadow, Sweet, of Thee.
Or on Heaun's azure forhead high to stand
Thy golden index; with a duteous hand
Pointing vs home to our own sun
The World's and his Hyperion. 255

NOTES AND ILLUSTRATIONS.

The title in 1648 edition is simply 'A Hymne for the Epiphanie. Sung as by the three Kings.' Except the usual slight changes of orthography, the following are all the variations between the two texts necessary to record: and I give with them certain corrective and explanatory notes:

line 25, 'indifferent' is = impartial, not as now 'unconcerned.'

Line 52, 1648 edition misprints 'his't' for 'kis't.' In the 51st line the 'bright idol' is the sun.

Line 83, ib. reads 'thy' for 'this.'

" 95, 'a guilded horn.' Cf. Juvenal, Satire x.

" 99, ib. is given to 3d King. Throughout we have corrected
a number of slips of the Paris printer in his figures.

Line 108, ib. spells 'to' for 'too.'

" 117, '_deliquium_' = swoon, faint. In chemistry = melting.

" 122, 1648 edition reads 'his' for 'this;' and I have
adopted it.

Line 143, ib. reads 'deere:' a misprint.

" 155, ib. reads 'domesticks.'

" 180, ib. reads 'the' for 'their.'

" 186, ib. drops 'it.'

" 195, ib. reads 'what' for 'that,' and in next line 'his'
for 'this,' of 1652: both adopted.

Line 212, 'legible' is = legibly.

" 224 and onward, in 1648 is printed 'least,' in our text
(1652) 'lest.' Except in line 224 it is plainly = last, and so I
read it in 231st and 237th.

See our Essay for Miltonic parallels with lines in this remarkable composition. Line 46, 'these mortal clouds,' _i.e._ of infant flesh. Cf. Sosp. d' Herode, stanza xxiii.

'That He whom the sun serves should faintly peep
Through _clouds of infant flesh_.'

Line 114, 'And urge their sun into Thy cloud,' _i.e._ into becoming Thy cloud, forcing him to become 'a long deliquium to the light of thee.' Line 189, our text (1652) misprints 'in self.' Line 190, 'By the oblique ambush,' &c. The Kings continuing in the spirit of prophecy, and with words not to be understood till their fulfilment, pass on from the dimming of the sun at the Crucifixion to a second dimming, but this time through the splendour of a brighter light, at the conversion of him who was taken to preach to the Gentiles in the court of the Areopagites. The speaker, or rather CRASHAW, takes the view which at first sight may seem to be implied in the gospel narrative, that the light brighter than midday shone round about SAUL and his companions but not on them, they being couched in the conscious shade of the daylight. Throughout, there is a double allusion to this second dimming of the sun as manifesting Christ to St. Paul and the Gentiles, and to the dimming of the eyes, and the walking in darkness for a time of him who as a light on Earth was to manifest the True Light to the world. Throughout, too, there is a kind of parallelism indicated between the two lesser lights. Both rebellions were to be dimmed and brought into subjection, and then to shine forth 'right-eyed' in renewed and purified splendour as evidences of the Sun of Righteousness. Hence at the close, the chorus calls them 'ye twin-suns,'--and the words, 'Till thus triumphantly tamed' refer equally to both. The punctuation to make this clear should be '... sun, ... undone; ...' 'To negotiate you' (both word and metaphor being rather unhappily chosen) means, to pass you current as the true-stamped image of the Deity. 'O price of the rich Spirit' (line 197) may be made to refer to 'thee [O Christ], price of the rich spirit' of Paul, but 'may be' is almost too strong to apply to such an interpretation. It is far more consonant to the structure and tenor of the whole passage, to read it as an epithet applied to St. Paul: 'O prize of the rich Spirit of grace.' I have also without hesitation changed 'of this strong soul' into 'of _his_ strong soul.' 'Oblique ambush' may refer to the oblique rays of the sun now rays of darkness, but the primary reference is to the indirect manner and 'vigorous guess,' by which St. Paul, mentally glancing from one to the other light, learned through the dimming of the sun to believe in the Deity of Him who spake from out the dimming brightness. The same thought, though with a strained and less successful effort of expression, appears in the song of the third King, 'with that fierce chase,' &c.

Line 251. 'Somthing a brighter shadow (Sweet) of Thee.' Apparently a remembrance of a passage which THOMAS HEYWOOD, in his 'Hierarchie of the Angels,' gives from a Latin translation of PLATO, 'Lumen est umbra Dei et Deus est Lumen Luminis.' On which see our Essay. Perhaps the same gave rise to the thought that the sun eclipsed God, or shut Him out as a cloud or shade, or made night, _e.g._

'And urge their sun ...
... eclipse he made:' (lines 115-120).
'Not so much their sun as shade
... by this night of day:' (lines 138-151). G.

TO THE QVEEN'S MAIESTY.[39]

MADAME, 1
'Mongst those long rowes of crownes that guild your race,
These royall sages sue for decent place:
The day-break of the Nations; their first ray,
When the dark World dawn'd into Christian Day, 5
And smil'd i' th' Babe's bright face; the purpling bud
And rosy dawn of the right royall blood;
Fair first-fruits of the Lamb! sure kings in this,
They took a kingdom while they gaue a kisse.
But the World's homage, scarse in these well blown, 10
We read in you (rare queen) ripe and full-grown.
For from this day's rich seed of diadems
Does rise a radiant croppe of royalle stemms,
A golden haruest of crown'd heads, that meet
And crowd for kisses from the Lamb's white feet: 15
In this illustrious throng, your lofty floud
Swells high, fair confluence of all high-born bloud:
With your bright head, whole groues of scepters bend
Their wealthy tops, and for these feet contend.
So swore the Lamb's dread Sire: and so we see't, 20
Crownes, and the heads they kisse, must court these feet.
Fix here, fair majesty! May your heart ne're misse
To reap new crownes and kingdoms from that kisse;
Nor may we misse the ioy to meet in you
The aged honors of this day still new. 25
May the great time, in you, still greater be,
While all the year is your epiphany;
While your each day's deuotion duly brings
Three kingdomes to supply this day's three kings.

NOTES AND ILLUSTRATIONS.

In 1648 the title is 'To the Queene's Majestie upon his dedicating to her the foregoing Hymne, viz. "A Hymne for the Epiphanie,"' which there precedes, but in 1652 follows, the dedicatory lines to the Queen. 1648 furnishes these variations: line 7 misprints 'down' for 'dawn:' line 11 reads 'deare' for 'rare:' line 14 'royall' for 'golden:' line 18 corrects our text's misprint of 'whose' for 'whole,' which I have accepted: line 20 reads 'great' for 'dread.'

In line 3 we read

'Those royall sages sue for decent place.'

We know that the King on Twelfth-day presented gold, frankincense and myrrh, and so perhaps did the Queen. But these gifts were not presented to the magi-kings, and CRASHAW seems to sue on behalf of 'these royall sages.' The explanation doubtless is that this was a verse-letter to the Queen, enclosing as a gift his Epiphany Hymn 'sung as by the three Kings.'

In line 5 'the purpling bud,' &c. requires study. Led by the (erroneous) punctuation (face,) I supposed this clause to refer to the 'Babe.' But would our Poet have said that the 'dawn of the world smiled on the Babe's face,' and in the same breath have called the face a 'rosy dawn'? Looking to this, and his rather profuse employment of 'bud,' I now believe the clause to be another description of the kings, and punctuate (face;). The rhythm of the passage is certainly improved thereby and made more like that of CRASHAW, and the words 'right royall blood,' which may be thought to become difficult, can be thus explained. The races of the heathen kings were not 'royal,' their authority being usurped and falsely derived from false gods, and the kingly blood first became truly royal when the kings recognised the supreme sovereignty of the King of kings and the derivation of their authority from Him, and when they were in turn recognised by Him. Hence the use of the epithet 'purpling,' the Christian or Christ-accepting kings being the first who were truly 'born in the purple,' or '_right_ royall blood.'

In lines 15-18, as punctuated in preceding editions, the Poet is made to arrange his words after a fashion hardly to be called English, and to jumble his metaphors like a poetaster or 4th of July orator in America. But both sense and poetry are restored by taking the (!) after 'blood' as at least equal to (:), and by replacing 'whose' by 'whole,' as in 1648. This seems to us restoration, not change. Even thus read, however, the passage is somewhat cloudy; but the construction is--the groves of sceptres of your high-born ancestors bend with you their wealthy tops, when you bow down your head. Our Poet is fond of inversions, and they are sometimes more obscure than they ought to be. Line 20 = Psalm i., and cf. Philip. ii. 11. G.

VPON EASTER DAY.[40]

Rise heire of fresh Eternity 1
From thy virgin tombe!
Rise mighty Man of wonders, and Thy World with Thee!
Thy tombe the uniuersall East,
Nature's new wombe, 5
Thy tombe, fair Immortalitie's perfumed nest.

Of all the glories make Noone gay,
This is the Morne;
This Rock buds forth the fountaine of the streames of Day;
In Joye's white annalls live this howre 10
When Life was borne;
No cloud scoule on His radiant lids, no tempest lower.

Life, by this Light's nativity
All creatures have;
Death onely by this Daye's just doome is forc't to dye, 15
Nor is Death forc't; for may he ly
Thron'd in Thy grave,
Death will on this condition be content to dye.

SOSPETTO D' HERODE.

LIBRO PRIMO.[41]

ARGOMENTO.

_Casting the times with their strong signes,
Death's master his owne death divines:
Strugling for helpe, his best hope is
Herod's suspition may heale his.
Therefore he sends a fiend to wake
The sleeping tyrant's fond mistake; _foolish_
Who feares (in vaine) that He Whose birth
Meanes Heav'n, should meddle with his Earth._

I.

Muse, now the servant of soft loves no more,
Hate is thy theame, and Herod, whose unblest
Hand (O what dares not jealous greatnesse?) tore
A thousand sweet babes from their mothers' brest:
The bloomes of martyrdome. O be a dore
Of language to my infant lips, yee best
Of confessours: whose throates answering his swords,
Gave forth your blood for breath, spoke soules for words.

II.

Great Anthony! Spain's well-beseeming pride,
Thou mighty branch of emperours and kings;
The beauties of whose dawne what eye may bide?
Which with the sun himselfe weigh's equall wings;
Mappe of heroick worth! whom farre and wide
To the beleeving world, Fame boldly sings:
Deigne thou to weare this humble wreath, that bowes
To be the sacred honour of thy browes.

III.

Nor needs my Muse a blush, or these bright flowers
Other than what their owne blest beauties bring:
They were the smiling sons of those sweet bowers
That drink the deaw of life, whose deathlesse spring,
Nor Sirian flame nor Borean frost deflowers:
From whence heav'n-labouring bees with busie wing,
Suck hidden sweets, which well-digested proves
Immortall hony for the hive of loves.

IV.

Thou, whose strong hand with so transcendent worth,
Holds high the reine of faire Parthenope,
That neither Rome nor Athens can bring forth
A name in noble deeds rivall to thee!
Thy fame's full noise, makes proud the patient Earth,
Farre more then, matter for my Muse and mee.
The Tyrrhene Seas and shores sound all the same
And in their murmurs keepe thy mighty name.

V.

Below the bottome of the great Abysse,
There where one center reconciles all things:
The World's profound heart pants; there placed is
Mischiefe's old master. Close about him clings
A curl'd knot of embracing snakes, that kisse
His correspondent cheekes: these loathsome strings
Hold the perverse prince in eternall ties
Fast bound, since first he forfeited the skies.

VI.

The judge of torments and the king of teares,
He fills a burnisht throne of quenchlesse fire:
And for his old faire roabes of light, he weares
A gloomy mantle of darke flames; the tire
That crownes his hated head on high appeares:
Where seav'n tall hornes (his empire's pride) aspire.
And to make up Hell's majesty, each horne
Seav'n crested Hydras, horribly adorne.

VII.

His eyes, the sullen dens of Death and Night,
Startle the dull ayre with a dismall red:
Such his fell glances, as the fatall light
Of staring comets, that looke kingdomes dead.
From his black nostrills, and blew lips, in spight
Of Hell's owne stinke, a worser stench is spread.
His breath Hell's lightning is: and each deepe groane
Disdaines to think that Heav'n thunders alone.

VIII.

His flaming eyes' dire exhalation,
Vnto a dreadfull pile gives fiery breath;
Whose unconsum'd consumption preys upon
The never-dying life of a long death.
In this sad house of slow destruction,
(His shop of flames) hee fryes himself, beneath
A masse of woes; his teeth for torment gnash,
While his steele sides sound with his tayle's strong lash.

IX.

Three rigourous virgins waiting still behind,
Assist the throne of th' iron-sceptred king.
With whips of thornes and knotty vipers twin'd
They rouse him, when his ranke thoughts need a sting.
Their lockes are beds of uncomb'd snakes that wind
About their shady browes in wanton rings.
Thus reignes the wrathfull king, and while he reignes,
His scepter and himselfe both he disdaines.

X.

Disdainefull wretch! how hath one bold sinne cost
Thee all the beauties of thy once bright eyes!
How hath one black eclipse cancell'd, and crost
The glories that did gild thee in thy rise!
Proud morning of a perverse day! how lost
Art thou unto thy selfe, thou too selfe-wise
Narcissus! foolish Phaeton! who for all
Thy high-aym'd hopes, gaind'st but a flaming fall.

XI.

From Death's sad shades to the life-breathing ayre,
This mortall enemy to mankind's good,
Lifts his malignant eyes, wasted with care,
To become beautifull in humane blood.
Where Iordan melts his chrystall, to make faire
The fields of Palestine, with so pure a flood,
There does he fixe his eyes: and there detect
New matter, to make good his great suspect.

XII.

He calls to mind th' old quarrell, and what sparke
Set the contending sons of Heav'n on fire:
Oft in his deepe thought he revolves the darke
Sibill's divining leaves: he does enquire
Into th' old prophesies, trembling to marke
How many present prodigies conspire,
To crowne their past predictions, both he layes
Together, in his pondrous mind both weighs.

XIII.

Heaven's golden-winged herald, late he saw
To a poore Galilean virgin sent:
How low the bright youth bow'd, and with what awe
Immortall flowers to her faire hand present.
He saw th' old Hebrewe's wombe, neglect the law
Of age and barrennesse, and her babe prevent _anticipate_
His birth by his devotion, who began
Betimes to be a saint, before a man.

XIV.

He saw rich nectar-thawes, release the rigour
Of th' icy North; from frost-bound Atlas hands,
His adamantine fetters fall: green vigour
Gladding the Scythian rocks and Libian sands.
He saw a vernall smile, sweetly disfigure
Winter's sad face, and through the flowry lands
Of faire Engaddi, hony-sweating fountaines
With manna, milk, and balm, new-broach the mountaines.

XV.

He saw how in that blest Day-bearing Night,
The Heav'n-rebuked shades made hast away;
How bright a dawne of angels with new light
Amaz'd the midnight world, and made a Day
Of which the Morning knew not. Mad with spight
He markt how the poore shepheards ran to pay
Their simple tribute to the Babe, Whose birth
Was the great businesse both of Heav'n and Earth.

XVI.

He saw a threefold Sun, with rich encrease
Make proud the ruby portalls of the East.
He saw the Temple sacred to sweet Peace,
Adore her Prince's birth, flat on her brest.
He saw the falling idolls, all confesse
A comming Deity: He saw the nest
Of pois'nous and unnaturall loves, Earth-nurst,
Toucht with the World's true antidote, to burst.

XVII.

He saw Heav'n blossome with a new-borne light,
On which, as on a glorious stranger gaz'd
The golden eyes of Night: whose beame made bright
The way to Beth'lem and as boldly blaz'd,
(Nor askt leave of the sun) by day as night.
By whom (as Heav'ns illustrious hand-maid) rais'd,
Three kings (or what is more) three wise men went
Westward to find the World's true orient.

XVIII.

Strucke with these great concurrences of things,
Symptomes so deadly unto Death and him;
Faine would he have forgot what fatall strings
Eternally bind each rebellious limbe.
He shooke himselfe, and spread his spatious wings:
Which like two bosom'd sailes, embrace the dimme
Aire, with a dismall shade; but all in vaine:
Of sturdy adamant is his strong chaine.

XIX.

While thus Heav'n's highest counsails, by the low
Footsteps of their effects, he trac'd too well,
He tost his troubled eyes: embers that glow
Now with new rage, and wax too hot for Hell:
With his foule clawes he fenc'd his furrowed brow,
And gave a gastly shreeke, whose horrid yell
Ran trembling through the hollow vaults of Night,
The while his twisted tayle he gnaw'd for spight.

XX.

Yet on the other side, faine would he start
Above his feares, and thinke it cannot be.
He studies Scripture, strives to sound the heart
And feele the pulse of every prophecy;
He knows (but knowes not how, or by what art)
The Heav'n-expecting ages hope to see
A mighty Babe, Whose pure, unspotted birth
From a chast virgin wombe, should blesse the Earth.

XXI.

But these vast mysteries his senses smother,
And reason (for what's faith to him?) devoure.
How she that is a maid should prove a mother,
Yet keepe inviolate her virgin flower;
How God's eternall Sonne should be Man's brother,
Poseth his proudest intellectuall power.
How a pure Spirit should incarnate bee,
And Life it selfe weare Death's fraile livery.

XXII.

That the great angell-blinding Light should shrinke
His blaze, to shine in a poore shepherd's eye:
That the unmeasur'd God so low should sinke,
As pris'ner in a few poore rags to lye:
That from His mother's brest He milke should drinke,
Who feeds with nectar Heav'n's faire family:
That a vile manger His low bed should prove,
Who in a throne of stars thunders above.

XXIII.

That He Whom the sun serves, should faintly peepe
Through clouds of infant flesh: that He the old
Eternall Word should be a child, and weepe:
That He Who made the fire, should feare the cold:
That Heav'n's high Majesty His court should keepe
In a clay-cottage, by each blast control'd:
That Glorie's Self should serve our griefs and feares,
And free Eternity, submit to yeares.

XXIV.

And further, that the Lawe's eternall Giver
Should bleed in His Owne Lawe's obedience:
And to the circumcising knife deliver
Himselfe, the forfet of His slave's offence:
That the unblemisht Lambe, blessed for ever,
Should take the marke of sin, and paine of sence.
These are the knotty riddles, whose darke doubt
Intangles his lost thoughts, past getting out.

XXV.

While new thoughts boyl'd in his enraged brest,
His gloomy bosome's darkest character
Was in his shady forehead seen exprest:
The forehead's shade in Griefe's expression there,
Is what in signe of joy among the blest
The face's lightning, or a smile is here.
Those stings of care that his strong heart opprest,
A desperate, Oh mee! drew from his deepe brest.

XXVI.

Oh mee! (thus bellow'd he) Oh mee! what great
Portents before mine eyes their powers advance?
And serves my purer sight, onely to beat
Downe my proud thought, and leave it in a trance?
Frowne I: and can great Nature keep her seat?
And the gay starrs lead on their golden dance?
Can His attempts above still prosp'rous be,
Auspicious still, in spight of Hell and me?

XXVII.

Hee has my Heaven (what would He more?) whose bright
And radiant scepter this bold hand should beare:
And for the never-fading fields of light,
My faire inheritance, He confines me here
To this darke house of shades, horrour and night,
To draw a long-liv'd death, where all my cheere
Is the solemnity my sorrow weares,
That mankind's torment waits upon my teares.

XXVIII.

Darke, dusky Man, He needs would single forth,
To make the partner of His Owne pure ray:
And should we powers of Heav'n, spirits of worth,
Bow our bright heads before a king of clay?
It shall not be, said I, and clombe the North,
Where never wing of angell yet made way:
What though I mist my blow? yet I strooke high,
And to dare something, is some victory.

XXIX.

Is He not satisfied? meanes He to wrest
Hell from me too, and sack my territories?
Vile humane nature means He not t' invest
(O my despight!) with His divinest glories?
And rising with rich spoiles upon His brest
With His faire triumphs fill all future stories?
Must the bright armes of Heav'n, rebuke these eyes?
Mocke me, and dazle my darke mysteries?

XXX.

Art thou not Lucifer? he to whom the droves
Of stars that gild the Morne, in charge were given?
The nimblest of the lightning-winged loves,
The fairest, and the first-borne smile of Heav'n?
Looke in what pompe the mistrisse planet moves
Rev'rently circled by the lesser seaven:
Such, and so rich, the flames that from thine eyes,
Opprest the common-people of the skyes.

XXXI.

Ah wretch! what bootes thee to cast back thy eyes,
Where dawning hope no beame of comfort showes?
While the reflection of thy forepast joyes,
Renders thee double to thy present woes:
Rather make up to thy new miseries,
And meet the mischiefe that upon thee growes.
If Hell must mourne, Heav'n sure shall sympathize,
What force cannot effect, fraud shall devise.

XXXII.

And yet whose force feare I? have I so lost
My selfe? my strength too with my innocence?
Come try who dares, Heav'n, Earth, what ere doth boast
A borrowed being, make thy bold defence.
Come thy Creator too: What though it cost
Me yet a second fall? wee'd try our strengths:
Heav'n saw us struggle once; as brave a fight
Earth now should see, and tremble at the sight.

XXXIII.

Thus spoke th' impatient prince, and made a pause:
His foule hags rais'd their heads, and clapt their hands,
And all the powers of Hell in full applause
Flourisht their snakes, and tost their flaming brands.
We (said the horrid sisters) wait thy lawes,
Th' obsequious handmaids of thy high commands:
Be it thy part, Hell's mighty lord, to lay
On us thy dread command, our's to obey.

XXXIV.

What thy Alecto, what these hands can doe,
Thou mad'st bold proofe upon the brow of Heav'n,
Nor should'st thou bate in pride, because that now
To these thy sooty kingdomes thou art driven.
Let Heav'n's Lord chide above lowder than thou
In language of His thunder, thou art even
With Him below: here thou art lord alone,
Boundlesse and absolute: Hell is thine owne.

XXXV.

If usuall wit, and strength will doe no good,
Vertues of stones, nor herbes: use stronger charmes,
Anger and love, best hookes of humane blood.
If all faile, wee'l put on our proudest armes,
And pouring on Heav'n's face the Sea's huge flood
Quench His curl'd fires: wee'l wake with our alarmes
Ruine, where e're she sleepes at Nature's feet:
And crush the World till His wide corners meet.

XXXVI.

Reply'd the proud king, O my crowne's defence,
Stay of my strong hopes, you of whose brave worth,
The frighted stars tooke faint experience,
When 'gainst the Thunder's mouth we marched forth:
Still you are prodigall of your Love's expence
In our great projects, both 'gainst Heav'n and Earth:
I thanke you all, but one must single out:
Cruelty, she alone shall cure my doubt.

XXXVII.

Fourth of the cursed knot of hags is shee,
Or rather all the other three in one;
Hell's shop of slaughter shee do's oversee,
And still assist the execution.
But chiefly there do's she delight to be,
Where Hell's capacious cauldron is set on:
And while the black soules boile in their own gore,
To hold them down, and looke that none seeth o're.

XXXVIII.

Thrice howl'd the caves of Night, and thrice the sound,
Thundring upon the bankes of those black lakes,
Rung through the hollow vaults of Hell profound:
At last her listning eares the noise o're takes,
She lifts her sooty lampes, and looking round,
A gen'rall hisse from the whole tire of snakes
Rebounding, through Hell's inmost cavernes came,
In answer to her formidable name.

XXXIX.

'Mongst all the palaces in Hell's command,
No one so mercilesse as this of her's.
The adamantine doors, for ever stand
Impenetrable, both to prai'rs and teares;
The walls inexorable steele, no hand
Of Time, or teeth of hungry Ruine feares.
Their ugly ornaments are the bloody staines
Of ragged limbs, torne sculls, and dasht-out braines.

XL.

There has the purple Vengeance a proud seat
Whose ever-brandisht sword is sheath'd in blood:
About her Hate, Wrath, Warre and Slaughter sweat;
Bathing their hot limbs in life's pretious flood:
There rude impetuous Rage do's storme and fret,
And there as master of this murd'ring brood,
Swinging a huge sith stands impartiall Death: _scythe_
With endlesse businesse almost out of breath.

XLI.

For hangings and for curtaines, all along
The walls (abominable ornaments!)
Are tooles of wrath, anvills of torments hung;
Fell executioners of foule intents,
Nailes, hammers, hatchets sharpe, and halters strong,
Swords, speares, with all the fatall instruments
Of Sin and Death, twice dipt in the dire staines
Of brothers' mutuall blood, and fathers' braines.

XLII.

The tables furnisht with a cursed feast
Which Harpyes, with leane Famine feed upon,
Vnfill'd for ever. Here among the rest,
Inhumane Erisicthon too makes one;
Tantalus, Atreus, Progne, here are guests:
Wolvish Lycaon here a place hath won.
The cup they drinke in is Medusa's scull,
Which mixt with gall and blood they quaffe brim-full.

XLIII.

The foule queen's most abhorred maids of honour,
Medaea, Jezabell, many a meager witch,
With Circe, Scylla, stand to wait upon her:
But her best huswife's are the Parcae, which
Still worke for her, and have their wages from her:
They prick a bleeding heart at every stitch.
Her cruell cloathes of costly threds they weave,
Which short-cut lives of murdred infants leave.

XLIV.

The house is hers'd about with a black wood, _hearsed_
Which nods with many a heavy-headed tree:
Each flowers a pregnant poyson, try'd and good,
Each herbe a plague. The wind's sighes timed bee
By a black fount, which weeps into a flood.
Through the thick shades obscurely might you see
Minotaures, Cyclopses, with a darke drove
Of Dragons, Hydraes, Sphinxes, fill the grove.

XLV.

Here Diomed's horses, Phereus' dogs appeare,
With the fierce lyons of Therodamas.
Busiris has his bloody altar here:
Here Sylla his severest prison has:
The Lestrigonians here their table reare:
Here strong Procrustes plants his bed of brasse:
Here cruell Scyron boasts his bloody rockes
And hatefull Schinis his so feared oakes.

XLVI.

What ever schemes of blood, fantastick Frames
Of death, Mezentius or Geryon drew;
Phalaris, Ochus, Ezelinus: names
Mighty in mischiefe; with dread Nero too;
Here are they all, here all the swords or flames
Assyrian tyrants or Egyptian knew.
Such was the house, so furnisht was the hall,
Whence the fourth Fury answer'd Pluto's call.

XLVII.

Scarce to this monster could the shady king
The horrid summe of his intentions tell;
But shee (swift as the momentary wing
Of lightning, or the words he spoke) left Hell.
She rose, and with her to our World did bring
Pale proofe of her fell presence; th' aire too well
With a chang'd countenance witnest the sight,
And poore fowles intercepted in their flight.

XLVIII.

Heav'n saw her rise, and saw Hell in the sight:
The fields' faire eyes saw her, and saw no more,
But shut their flowry lids for ever: Night
And Winter strow her way: yea, such a sore
Is she to Nature, that a generall fright,
An universal palsie spreading o're
The face of things, from her dire eyes had run,
Had not her thick snakes hid them from the sun.

XLIX.

Now had the Night's companion from her dew,
Where all the busie day she close doth ly,
With her soft wing wipt from the browes of men
Day's sweat; and by a gentle tyranny
And sweet oppression, kindly cheating them
Of all their cares, tam'd the rebellious eye
Of Sorrow, with a soft and downy hand,
Sealing all brests in a Lethaean band.

L.

When the Erinnys her black pineons spread,
And came to Bethlem, where the cruell king
Had now retyr'd himselfe, and borrowed
His brest a while from Care's unquiet sting;
Such as at Thebes' dire feast she shew'd her head,
Her sulphur-breathed torches brandishing:
Such to the frighted palace now she comes,
And with soft feet searches the silent roomes.

LI.

By Herod___________________now was borne
The scepter, which of old great David swaid;
Whose right by David's linage so long worne, _lineage_
Himselfe a stranger to, his owne had made;
And from the head of Judah's house quite torne
The crowne, for which upon their necks he laid
A sad yoake, under which they sigh'd in vaine,
And looking on their lost state sigh'd againe.

LII.

Vp, through the spatious pallace passed she,
To where the king's proudly-reposed head
(If any can be soft to Tyranny
And selfe-tormenting sin) had a soft bed.
She thinkes not fit, such, he her face should see,
As it is seene in Hell, and seen with dread.
To change her face's stile she doth devise,
And in a pale ghost's shape to spare his eyes.

LIII.

Her selfe a while she layes aside, and makes
Ready to personate a mortall part.
Ioseph, the king's dead brother's shape, she takes:
What he by nature was, is she by art.
She comes to th' king, and with her cold hand slakes
His spirits (the sparkes of life) and chills his heart,
Life's forge; fain'd is her voice, and false too, be
Her words: 'sleep'st thou, fond man? sleep'st thou?' said she.

LIV.

So sleeps a pilot, whose poore barke is prest
With many a mercylesse o're-mastring wave;
For whom (as dead) the wrathfull winds contest
Which of them deep'st shall digge her watry grave.
Why dost thou let thy brave soule lye supprest
In death-like slumbers, while thy dangers crave
A waking eye and hand? looke vp and see
The Fates ripe, in their great conspiracy.

LV.

Know'st thou not how of th' Hebrewes' royall stemme
(That old dry stocke) a despair'd branch is sprung:
A most strange Babe! Who here conceal'd by them
In a neglected stable lies, among
Beasts and base straw: Already is the streame
Quite turn'd: th' ingratefull rebells, this their young
Master (with voyce free as the trumpe of Fame)
Their new King, and thy Successour proclame.

LVI.

What busy motions, what wild engines stand
On tiptoe in their giddy braynes! th' have fire
Already in their bosomes, and their hand
Already reaches at a sword; they hire
Poysons to speed thee; yet through all the Land
What one comes to reveale what they conspire?
Goe now, make much of these; wage still their wars
And bring home on thy brest, more thanklesse scarrs.

LVII.

Why did I spend my life, and spill my blood,
That thy firme hand for ever might sustaine
A well-pois'd scepter? does it now seeme good
Thy brother's blood be spilt, life spent in vaine?
'Gainst thy owne sons and brothers thou hast stood
In armes, when lesser cause was to complaine:
And now crosse Fates a watch about thee keepe,
Can'st thou be carelesse now? now can'st thou sleep?

LVIII.