Chapter XIV: Epilogue: Gentlemen, (5)

Should I direct, and God subvert my tongue,
I worthy were of an unworthy name,
Unworthy of my right, not of my wrong,
Unworthy of my praise, not of my shame;
But seeing God directs my tongue from missing,
I rather look for clapping than for hissing.

He is the prompter of my tongue and me, 16
My tongue doth utter what his tongue applies;
He sets before my sight what I should see,
He breathes into my heart his verities;
He tells me what I think, or see, or hear;
His tongue a part, my tongue a part doth bear.

Our words he knows in telling of our hearts,
Our hearts he knows in telling of our words;
All in his hands, words, wisdom, works, and arts,
And every power which influence affords;
He knows what we will speak, what we will do,
And how our minds and actions will go.

The wisdom which I have is heaven’s gift, 17
The knowledge which I have is God’s reward;
Both presents my forewarnèd senses lift,
And of my preservation had regard:
This teaches me to know, this to be wise;
Knowledge is wit’s, and wit is knowledge’ guise.

Now know I how the world was first created, 18
How every motion of the air was fram’d,
How man was made, the devil’s pride abated,
How time’s beginning, midst, and end was nam’d;
Now know I time, time’s change, time’s date, time’s
show,
And when the seasons come, and when they go:

I know the changing courses of the years, 19
And the division of all differing climes,
The situation of the stars and spheres,
The flowing tides, and the flow-ebbing times;
I know that every year hath his four courses,
I know that every course hath several forces.

I know that nature is in every thing, 20
Beasts furious, winds rough, men wicked are,
Whose thoughts their scourge, whose deeds their
judgment’s sting,
Whose words and works their peril and their care;
I know that every plant hath difference,
I know that every root hath influence.

True knowledge have I got in knowing truth, 21
True wisdom purchasèd in wisest wit;
A knowledge fitting age, wit fitting youth,
Which makes me young, though old with gain of it:
True knowledge have I, and true wisdom’s store,
True hap, true hope; what wish, what would I more?

Known things I needs must know, sith[438] not unknown,
My care is knowledge, she doth hear for me;
All secrets know I more because not shewn;
My wisdom secret is, and her I see:
Knowledge hath taught me how to hear known causes,
Wisdom hath taught me secrecy’s applauses.

Knowledge and wisdom known in wisest things 22
Is reason’s mate, discretion’s sentinel;
More than a trine of joys from virtues springs,
More than one union, yet in union dwell:
One for to guide the spring, summer the other;
One harvest’s nurse, the other winter’s mother.

Four mounts and four high mounters, all four one, 23
One holy union, one begotten life,
One manifold affection, yet alone,
All one in peace’s rest, all none in strife;
Sure, stable, without care, having all power,
Not hurtful, doing good, as one all four.

This peaceful army of four-knitted souls 24
Is marching unto peace’s endless war,
Their weapons are discretion’s written rolls,
Their quarrel love, and amity their jar:
Wisdom director is, captain and guide;
All other take their places side by side.

Wisdom divides the conflict of her peace
Into four squadrons of four mutual loves;
Each bent to war, and never means to cease;
Her wings of shot her disputation moves:
She wars unseen, and pacifies unseen;
She is war’s victory, yet peace’s queen.

She is the martial trumpet of alarms, 25
And yet the quiet rest in peace’s night;
She guideth martial troops, she honours arms,
Yet joins she fight with peace, and peace with fight;
She is the breath of God’s and heaven’s power,
Yet peace’s nurse in being peace’s flower.

A flowing in of that which ebbeth out,
An ebbing out of that which floweth in;
Presumption she doth hate in being stout,
Humility, though poor, her favours win:
She is the influence of heaven’s flow;
No filth doth follow her where’er she go.

She is that spring which never hath an ebb, 26
That silver-colour’d brook which hath no mud,
That loom which weaves and never cuts the web,
That tree which grows and never leaves to bud:
She constant is, inconstancy her foe;
She doth not flow and ebb, nor come and go.

Phœbus doth weep when watery clouds approach,
She keeps her brightness everlastingly;
Phœbe, when Phœbus shines, forsakes night’s coach,
Her day is night and day immortally;
The undefilèd mirror of renown,
The image of God’s power, her virtue’s crown.

Discretion, knowledge, wit, and reason’s skill, 27
All four are places in one only grace;
They wisdom are, obedient to her will,
All four are one, one in all four’s place;
And wisdom being one, she can do all,
Sith[439] one hath four, all subject to one call.

Herself remaining self, the world renews, 28
Renewing ages with perpetual youth,
Entering into the souls which death pursues,
Making them God’s friends which were friends to truth:
If wisdom doth not harbour in thy mind,
God loves thee not, and that thy soul shall find.

For how canst thou be led without thy light? 29
How can thy eyeless soul direct her way,
If wanting her which guides thy steps aright,
Thy steps from night into a path of day?
More beautiful then is the eye of heaven,
Gilding herself with her self-changing steven.[440]

The stars are twinkling handmaids to the moon, 30
Both moon and stars handmaids to wisdom’s sun;
These shine at middest night, this at midnoon,
Each new-begins their light when each hath done;
Pale-mantled night follows red-mantled day,
Vice follows both, but to her own decay.

CHAP. VIII.

Who is the empress of the world’s confine, 1
The monarchess of the four-corner’d earth,
The princess of the seas, life without fine,
Commixer of delight with sorrow’s mirth?
What sovereign is she which ever reigns,
Which queen-like governs all, yet none constrains?

Wisdom; O fly, my spirit, with that word!
Wisdom; O lodge, my spirit, in that name!
Fly, soul, unto the mansion of her lord,
Although thy wings be singèd in her flame:
Tell her my blackness doth admire her beauty;
I’ll marry her in love, serve her in duty.

If marry her, God is my father God, 2
Christ is my brother, angels are my kin,
The earth my dowry, heaven my abode,
My rule the world, my life without my sin:
She is the daughter of immortal Jove;
My wife in heart, in thought, in soul, in love.

Happy for ever he that thought in heart,
Happy for ever he that heart in thought;
Happy the soul of both which bears both part,
Happy that love which thought, heart, soul hath
sought:
The name of love is happiest, for I love her;
Soul, heart, and thoughts, love’s agents are to prove
her.

Ye parents, that would have your children rul’d, 3
Here may they be instructed, rul’d, and taught;
Ye children, that would have your parents school’d,
Feeding their wanton thirst with folly’s draught,
See here the school of discipline erected!
See here how young and old are both corrected!

Children, this is the mistress of your bliss,
Your schoolmistress, reformer of your lives;
Parents, you that do speak, think, do amiss,
Here’s she which love’s and life’s direction gives;
She teacheth that which God knows to be true,
She chooseth that which God would choose for you.

What is our birth? poor, naked, needy, cold; 4
What is our life? poor as our birth hath been;
What is our age? forlorn in being old;
What is our end? as our beginning’s scene:
Our birth, our life, our age, our end is poor;
What birth, what life, what age, what end hath more?

Made rich it is with vanity’s vain show;
If wanting wisdom, it is folly’s game;
Or like a bended or unbended bow,
Ill fortune’s scoff it is, good fortune’s shame:
If wisdom be the riches of thy mind,
Then can thy fortune see, not seeing, blind.

Then if good fortune doth begin thy state, 5
Ill fortune cannot end what she begins;
Thy fate at first will still remain thy fate,
Thy conduct unto joys, not unto sins:
If thou the bridegroom art, wisdom the bride,
Ill fortune cannot swim against thy tide.

Thou marrying her dost marry more than she, 6
Thy portion is not faculties, but bliss;
Thou need’st not teaching, for she teacheth thee,
Nor no reformer, she thy mistress is;
The lesson which she gives thee for thy learning
Is every virtue’s love, and sin’s discerning.

Dost thou desire experience for to know? 7
Why, how can she be less than what she is?
The growth of knowledge doth from wisdom grow,
The growth of wisdom is in knowing this:
Wisdom can tell all things, what things are past,
What done, what undone, what are doing last:

Nay, more, what things are come, what are to come,
Or words, or works, or shews, or actions,
In her brain’s table-book[441] she hath the sum,
And knows dark sentences’ solutions;
She knows what signs and wonders will ensue,
And when success of seasons will be new.

Who would not be a bridegroom? who not wed? 8
Who would not have a bride so wise, so fair?
Who would not lie in such a peaceful bed,
Whose canopy is heaven, whose shade the air?
How can it be that any of the skies
Can there be missing, where heaven’s kingdom lies?

If care-sick, I am comforted with joy;
If surfeiting on joy, she bids me care;
She says that overmuch will soon annoy,
Too much of joy, too much of sorrow’s fare:
She always counsels me to keep a mean,
And not with joy too fat, with grief too lean.

Fain would the shrub grow by the highest tree, 9
Fain would the mushroom kiss the cedar’s bark,
Fain would the seely[442] worm a-sporting be,
Fain would the sparrow imitate the lark:
Though I a tender shrub, a mushroom be,
Yet covet I the honour of a tree.

And may I not? may not the blossoms bud?
Doth not the little seed make ears of corn?
Doth not a sprig, in time, bear greatest wood?
Do[443] not young evenings make an elder morn?
For wisdom’s sake, I know, though I be young,
I shall have praises from my elders’ tongue.

And as my growth doth rise, so shall my wit, 10
And as my wit doth rise, so shall my growth;
In wit I grow, both growths grow to be fit,
Both fitting in one growth be fittest both:
Experience follows age, and nature youth;
Some agèd be in wit, though young in ruth.

The wisdom which I have springs from above,
The wisdom from above is that I have;
Her I adore, I reverence, I love,
She’s my pure soul, lock’d in my body’s grave;
The judgment which I use from her proceeds,
Which makes me marvell’d at in all my deeds.

Although mute silence tie my judgment’s tongue, 11
Sad secretary of dumb action,
Yet shall they give me place, though I be young,
And stay my leisure’s satisfaction;
Even as a judge, which keeps his judgments mute,
When clients have no answer of their suit.

But if the closure of my mouth unmeets,
And dives within the freedom of my words,
They like petitioners’ tongues welcome greets,
And with attentive ear hears my accords;
But if my words into no limits go,
Their speech shall ebb, mine in their ebbing flow.

And what of this vain world, vain hope, vain shew, 12
Vain glory seated in a shade of praise,
Mortality’s descent and folly’s flow,
The badge of vanity, the hour of days;
What glory is it for to be a king,
When care is crown, and crown is fortune’s sling?

Wisdom is immortality’s alline,[444]
And immortality is wisdom’s gain,
By her the heaven’s lineage is mine,
By her I immortality obtain;
The earth is made immortal in my name,
The heavens are made immortal in my fame.

Two spacious orbs of two as spacious climes 13
Shall be the heritage which I possess;
My rule in heaven, directing earthly times,
My reign in earth, commencing earth’s redress;
One king made two, one crown a double crown,
One rule two rules, one fame a twice renown.

What heaven is this, which every thought contains? 14
Wisdom my heaven, my heaven is wisdom’s heaven;
What earth is this, wherein my body reigns?
Wisdom my earth, all rule from wisdom given;
Through her I rule, through her I do subdue,
Through her I reign, through her my empire grew.

A rule, not tyranny, a reign, not blood, 15
An empire, not a slaughter-house of lives,
A crown, not cruelty in fury’s mood,
A sceptre which restores, and not deprives;
All made to make a peace, and not a war,
By wisdom, concord’s queen and discord’s bar.

The coldest word oft cools the hottest threat,
The tyrant’s menaces the calms of peace;
Two colds augmenteth one, two heats one heat,
And makes both too extreme when both increase:
My peaceful reign shall conquer tyrants’ force,
Not arms, but words, not battle, but remorse.[445]

Yet mighty shall I be, though war in peace, 16
Strong, though ability hath left his clime,
And good, because my wars and battles cease,
Or, at the least, lie smother’d in their prime:
The fence once diggèd up with fear’s amaze,
Doth rage untam’d with folly’s fenceless gaze.

If wisdom doth not harbour in delight,
It breaks the outward passage of the mind;
Therefore I place my war in wisdom’s might,
Whose heavy labours easy harbours find;
Her company is pleasure, mirth, and joy,
Not bitterness, not mourning, not annoy.

When every thought was balancèd by weight 17
Within the concave of my body’s scale,
My heart and soul did hold the balance straight,
To see what thought was joy, what thought was wail;
But when I saw that grief did weigh down pleasure,
I put in wisdom to augment her treasure:

Wisdom, the weight of immortality; 18
Wisdom, the balance of all happiness;
Wisdom, the weigher of felicity;
Wisdom, the paragon of blessedness;
When in her hands there lies such plenty’s store,
Needs must her heart have twice as much and more.

Her heart have I conjoinèd with her hand, 19
Her hand hath she conjoinèd with my heart,
Two souls one soul, two hearts one body’s band,
And two hands made of four, by amour’s art:
Was I not wise in choosing earthly life?
Nay, wise, thrice wise, in choosing such a wife?

Was I not good? good, then the sooner bad; 20
Bad, because earth is full of wickedness,
Because my body is with vices clad,
Anatomy of my sin’s heaviness:
As doth unseemly clothes make the skin foul,
So the sin-inkèd body blots the soul.

Thus lay my heart plung’d in destruction’s mire, 21
Thus lay my soul bespotted with my sin,
Thus lay myself consum’d in my desire,
Thus lay all parts ensnarèd in one gin;
At last my heart, mounting above the mud,
Lay between hope and death, mischief and good.

Thus panting, ignorant to live or die,
To rise or fall, to stand or else to sink,
I cast a fainting look unto the sky,
And saw the thought which my poor heart did think;
Wisdom my thought, at whose seen sight I pray’d,
And with my heart, my mind, my soul, I said:

CHAP. IX.

O God of fathers, Lord of heaven and earth, 1, 2
Mercy’s true sovereign, pity’s portraiture,
King of all kings, a birth surpassing birth,
A life immortal, essence ever pure,
Which with a breath ascending from thy thought,
Hast made the heavens of earth, the earth of nought!

Thou which hast made mortality for man, 3
Beginning life to make an end of woe,
Ending in him what in himself began,
His earth’s dominion through thy wisdom’s flow;
Made for to rule according to desert,
And execute revenge with upright heart;

Behold a crown, but yet a crown of care, 4
Behold a sceptre, yet a sorrow’s guise,
More than the balance of my head can bear,
More than my hands can hold, wherein it lies;
My crown doth want supportance for to bear,
My sceptre wanteth empire for to wear.

A legless body is my kingdom’s map,
Limping in folly, halting in distress;
Give me thy wisdom, Lord, my better hap,
Which may my folly cure, my grief redress;
O let me not fall in oblivion’s cave!
Let wisdom be my bail, for her I crave.

Behold thy servant pleading for his hire, 5
As an apprentice to thy gospel’s word!
Behold his poor estate, his hot-cold fire,
His weak-strong limbs, his merry woes’ record!
Born of a woman, woman-like in woe,
They weak, they feeble are, and I am so.

My time of life is as an hour of day,
’Tis as a day of months, a month of years;
It never comes again, but fades away,
As one morn’s sun about the hemispheres:
Little my memory, lesser my time,
But least of all my understanding’s prime.

Say that my memory should never die, 6
Say that my time should never lose a glide,
Say that myself had earthly majesty,
Seated in all the glory of my pride;
Yet if discretion did not rule my mind,
My reign would be like fortune’s, folly-blind:

My memory a pathway to my shame,
My time the looking-glass of my disgrace,
Myself resemblance of my scornèd name,
My pride the puffèd shadow of my face:
Thus should I be remember’d, not regarded;
Thus should my labours end, but not rewarded.

What were it to be shadow of a king? 7
A vanity; to wear a shadow’d crown?
A vanity; to love an outward thing?
A vanity; vain shadows of renown:
This king is king of shades, because a shade,
A king in show, though not in action made.

His shape have I, his cognizance[446] I wear,
A smoky vapour hemm’d with vanity;
Himself I am, his kingdom’s crown I bear,
Unless that wisdom change my livery:
A king I am, God hath inflamèd me,
And lesser than I am I cannot be.

When I command, the people do obey, 8
Submissive subjects to my votive will;
A prince I am, and do what princes may,
Decree, command, rule, judge, perform, fulfil;
Yet I myself am subject unto God,
As are all others to my judgment’s rod.

As do my subject[s] honour my command,
So I at his command a subject am;
I build a temple on mount Sion’s sand,
Erect an altar in thy city’s name;
Resemblances these are where thou dost dwell,
Made when thou framed’st heaven, earth, and hell.

All these three casements were contain’d in wit; 9
’Twas wisdom for to frame the heaven’s sky,
’Twas wisdom for to make the earth so fit,
And hell within the lowest orb to lie,
To make a heavenly clime, an earthly course,
And hell, although the name of it be worse.

Before the world was made wisdom was born,
Born of heaven’s God, conceivèd in his breast,
Which knew what works would be, what ages worn,
What labours life should have, what quiet rest,
What should displease and please, in vice, in good,
What should be clearest spring, what foulest mud.

O make my sinful body’s world anew, 10
Erect new elements, new airs, new skies!
The time I have is frail, the course untrue,
The globe unconstant, like ill fortune’s eyes:
First make the world, which doth my soul contain,
And next my wisdom, in whose power I reign.

Illumine earth with wisdom’s heavenly sight,
Make her ambassador to grace the earth;
O let her rest by day and lodge by night
Within the closure of my body’s hearth!
That in her sacred self I may perceive
What things are good to take, what ill to leave.

The body’s heat will flow into the face, 11
The outward index of an outward deed;
The inward sins do keep an inward place,
Eyes, face, mouth, tongue, and every function feed:
She is my face; if I do any ill,
I see my shame in her repugnant will.

She is my glass, my type, my form, my map,
The figure of my deed, shape of my thought,
My life’s charàcter, fortune to my hap,
Which understandeth all that heart hath wrought;
What works I take in hand she finisheth,
And all my vicious thoughts diminisheth.

My facts are written in her forehead’s book, 12
The volume of my thoughts, lines of my words;
The sins I have she murders with a look,
And what one cheek denies, th’ other affords;
As white and red, like battles and retreats,
One doth defend the blows, the other beats:

So is her furious mood commix’d with smile,
Her rod is profit, her correction mirth;
She makes me keep an acceptable style,
And govern every limit of the earth:
Through her the state of monarchy is known,
Through her I rule, and guide my father’s throne.

Mortality itself, without repair, 13
Is ever falling feebly on the ground;
Submissive body, heart above the air,
Which fain would know, when knowledge is not found;
Fain would it soar above the eagle’s eye,
Though it be made of lead, and cannot fly.

The soul and body are the wings of man;
The soul should mount, but that lies drown’d in sin,
With leaden spirit, but doth what it can,
Yet scarcely can it rise when it is in;
Then how can man so weak know God so strong?
What heart from thought, what thought from heart hath
sprung?

We think that every judgment is alike, 14
That every purpose hath one final end;
Our thoughts, alas! are fears, fears horrors strike,
Horrors our life’s uncertain course do spend;
Fear follows negligence, both death and hell;
Unconstant are the paths wherein we dwell.

The hollow concave of our body’s vaults 15
Once laden up with sin’s eternal graves,
Straight bursts into the soul the slime of faults,
And overfloweth like a sea of waves;
The earth, as neighbour to our privy thought,
Keeps fast the mansion which our cares have bought.

Say, can we see ourselves? are we so wise? 16
Or can we judge our own with our own hearts?
Alas, we cannot! folly blinds our eyes,
Mischief our minds, with her mischievous arts:
Folly reigns there where wisdom should bear sway,
And folly’s mischief bars discretion’s way.

O weak capacity of strongest wit!
O strong capacity of weaker sense!
To guide, to meditate, unapt, unfit,
Blind in perceiving earth’s circumfluence:
If labour doth consist in mortal skill,
’Tis greater labour to know heaven’s will.

The toiling spirit of a labouring man 17
Is toss’d in casualties of fortune’s seas;
He thinks it greater labour than he can,
To run his mortal course without an ease:
Then who can gain or find celestial things,
Unless their hope[447] a greater labour brings?

What volume of thy mind can then contain
Thoughts, words, and works, which God thinks, speaks,
and makes,
When heaven itself cannot such honour gain,
Nor angels know the counsel which God takes?
Yet if thy heart be wisdom’s mansion,
Thy soul shall gain thy heart’s made mention.

Who can in one day’s space make two day’s toil? 18
Or who in two days’ space will spend but one?
The one doth keep his mean in overbroil,
The other under mean, because alone:
Say, what is man without his spirit sways him?
Say, what’s the spirit if the man decays him?

An ill-reformèd breath, a life, a hell,
A going out worse than a coming in;
For wisdom is the body’s sentinel,
Set to guard life, which else would fall in sin;
She doth correct and love, sways and preserves,
Teaches and favours, rules and yet observes.

CHAP. X.

Correction follows love, love follows hate, 1
For love in hate is hate in too much love;
So chastisement is preservation’s mate,
Instructing and preserving those we prove:
So wisdom first corrects, then favoureth,
But fortune favours first, then wavereth.

First, the first father of this earthly world,
First man, first father call’d for after-time,
Unfashionèd and like a heap was hurl’d,
Form’d and reform’d by wisdom out of slime;
By nature ill reform’d, by wisdom purer,
She mortal life, she better life’s procurer.

Alas, what was he but a clod of clay? 2
What ever was he but an ashy cask?
By wisdom clothèd in his best array,
If better may be best to choose a task:
One gave him time to live, she power to reign,
Making two powers one, one power twain.

But, O malign, ill-boding wickedness, 3
Like bursting gulfs o’erwhelming virtue’s seed!
Too furious wrath, forsaking happiness,
Losing ten thousand joys with one dire deed:
Cain could see, but folly struck him blind,
To kill his brother in a raging mind.

O too unhappy stroke to end two lives! 4
Unhappy actor in death’s tragedy,
Murdering a brother whose name murder gives,
Whose slaying action slaughters butchery:
A weeping part had earth in that same play,
For she did weep herself to death that day.

Water distill’d from millions of her eyes,
Upon the long-dried carcass of her time;
Her watery conduits were the weeping skies,
Which made her womb an overflowing clime:
Wisdom preserv’d it, which preserves all good,
And taught it how to make an ark of wood.

O that one board should save so many lives, 5
Upon the world’s huge billow-tossing sea!
’Twas not the board, ’twas wisdom which survives,
Wisdom that ark, that board, that fence, that bay:
The world was made a water-rolling wave,
But wisdom better hope’s assurance gave.

And when pale malice did advance her flag
Upon the raging standard of despite,
Fiend’s sovereign, sin’s mistress, and hell’s hag,
Dun Pluto’s lady, empress of the night;
Wisdom, from whom immortal joy begun,
Preserv’d the righteous as her faultless son.

The wicked perishèd, but they surviv’d; 6
The wicked were ensnar’d, they were preserv’d;
One kept in joy, the one of joy depriv’d;
One feeding, fed, the other feeding, starv’d:
The food which wisdom gives is nourishment,
The food which malice gives is languishment.

One feeds, the other feeds, but choking feeds;
Two contraries in meat, two differing meats;
This brings forth hate, and this repentance’ seeds;
This war, this peace, this battles, this retreats:
And that example may be truly tried,
These liv’d in Sodom’s fire, the other died.

The land will bear me witness they are dead, 7
Which, for their sakes, bear/[s] nothing else but
death;
The witness of itself with vices fed,
A smoky testimony of sin’s breath:
This is my witness, my certificate,
And this is my sin-weeping sociate.

My pen will scarce hold ink to write these woes,
These woes, the blotted inky lines of sin;
My paper wrinkles at my sorrow’s shows,
And like that land will bring no harvest in:
Had Lot’s unfaithful wife been without fault,
My fresh-ink’d pen had never call’d her salt.

But now my quill, the tell-tale of all moans, 8
Is savoury bent to aggravate salt tears,
And wets my paper with salt-water groans,
Making me stick in agonising fears:
My paper now is grown to billows’ might;
Sometimes I stay my pen, sometimes I write.

O foolish pilot I, blind-hearted guide,
Can I not see the clifts,[448] but rent my bark!
Must I needs hoist up sails ’gainst wind and tide,
And leave my soul behind, my wisdom’s ark?
Well may I be the glass of my disgrace,
And set my sin in other sinners’ place.

But why despair I? here comes wisdom’s grace, 9
Whose hope doth lead me unto better hap,
Whose presence doth direct my fore-run race,
Because I serve her as my beauty’s map:
Like Cain I shall be restor’d to heaven,
From shipwreck’s peril to a quiet haven.

When that by Cain’s hand Abel was slain, 10
His brother Abel, brother to his ire,
Then Cain fled, to fly destruction’s pain,
God’s heavy wrath, against his blood’s desire;
But being fetcht again by wisdom’s power,
Had pardon for his deed, love for his lour.

By his repentance he remission had, 11
And relaxation from the clog of sin;
His painful labour labour’s riches made,
His labouring pain did pleasure’s profit win:
’Twas wisdom, wisdom made him to repent,
And newly plac’d him in his old content.

His body, which was once destruction’s cave,
Black murder’s territory, mischief’s house,
By her these wicked sins were made his slave,
And she became his bride, his wife, his spouse;
Enriching him which was too rich before,
Too rich in vice, in happiness too poor.

Megæra, which did rule within his breast, 12
And kept foul Lerna’s fen within his mind,
Both now displease him which once pleas’d him best,
Now murdering murder with his being kind;
These which were once his friends are now his foes,
Whose practice he retorts with wisdom’s blows.

Yet still lie they in ambush for his soul,
But he, more wiser, keeps a wiser way;
They see him, and they bark, snarl, grin, and howl,
But wisdom guides his steps, he cannot stray;
By whom he conquers, and through whom he knows
The fear of God is stronger than his foes.

When man was clad in vice’s livery, 13
And sold as bondman unto sin’s command,
She, she forsook him not for infamy,
But freed him from his heart’s imprison’d band;
And when he lay in dungeon of despite,
She interlin’d his grief with her delight.

Though servile she with him, she was content; 14
The prison was her lodge as well as his,
Till she the sceptre of the world had lent,
To glad his fortune, to augment his bliss;
To punish false accusers of true deeds,
And raise in him immortal glory’s seeds.

Say, shall we call her wisdom, by her name, 15
Or new-invent a nominating style,
Reciting ancient worth to make new fame,
Or new-old hierarchy from honour’s file?
Say, shall we file out fame for virtue’s store,
And give a name not thought nor heard before?

Then should we make her two, where now but one,
Then should we make her common to each tongue:
Wisdom shall be her name, she wise alone;
If alter old for new, we do old wrong;
Call her still wisdom, mistress of our souls,
Our lives’ deliverer from our foes’ controls.

To make that better which is best of all, 16
Were to disarm the title of the power,
And think to make a raise, and make a fall,
Turn best to worst, a day unto an hour;
To give two sundry names unto one thing,
Makes it more commoner in echo’s sling.

She guides man’s soul, let her be call’d a queen;
She enters into man, call her a sprite;
She makes them godly which have never been;
Call her herself, the image of her might:
Those which for virtue plead, she prompts their tongue,
Whose suit no tyrant nor no king can wrong.

She stands as bar between their mouth and them; 17
She prompts their thoughts, their thoughts prompt[449]
speech’s sound;
Their tongue’s reward is honour’s diadem,
Their labour’s hire with duest merit crown’d:
She is as judge and witness of each heart,
Condemning falsehood, taking virtue’s part.

A shadow in the day, star in the night;
A shadow for to shade them from the sun,
A star in darkness for to give them light,
A shade in day, a star when day is done;
Keeping both courses true in being true,
A shade, a star, to shade and lighten you.

And had she not, the sun’s hot-burning fire 18
Had scorch’d the inward palace of your powers,
Your hot affection cool’d your hot desire;
Two heats once met make cool-distilling showers;
So likewise had not wisdom been your star,
You had been prisoner unto Phœbe’s car.

She made the Red Sea subject to your craves, 19
The surges calms, the billows smoothest ways;
She made rough winds sleep silent in their caves,
And Æol watch, whom all the winds obeys;
Their foes, pursuing them with death and doom,
Did make the sea their church, the waves their tomb.

They furrow’d up a grave to lie therein, 20
Burying themselves with their own handy deed;
Sin digg’d a pit itself to bury sin,
Seed ploughèd up the ground to scatter seed:
The righteous, seeing this same sudden fall,
Did praise the Lord, and seiz’d upon them all.

A glorious prize, though from inglorious hands,
A worthy spoil, though from unworthy hearts;
Toss’d with the ocean’s rage upon the sands,
Victorious gain, gainèd by wisdom’s arts,
Which makes the dumb to speak, the blind to see,
The deaf to hear, the babes have gravity.

CHAP. XI.

What he could have a heart, what heart a thought, 1
What thought a tongue, what tongue a shew of fears,
Having his ship ballass’d with such a fraught,
Which calms the ever-weeping ocean’s tears,
Which prospers every enterprise of war,
And leads their fortune by good fortune’s star?

A pilot on the seas, guide on the land, 2, 3
Through uncouth, desolate, untrodden way,
Through wilderness of woe, which in woes stand,
Pitching their tents where desolation lay;
In just revenge encountering with their foes,
Annexing wrath to wrath, and blows to blows.

But when the heat of overmuch alarms 4
Had made their bodies subject unto thirst,
And broil’d their hearts in wrath-[450]allaying harms,
With fiery surges which from body burst,
That time had made the total sum of life,
Had not affection strove to end the strife.

Wisdom, affectionating power of zeal,
Did cool the passion of tormenting heat
With water from a rock, which did reveal
Her dear, dear love, plac’d in affection’s seat;
She was their mother twice, she nurs’d them twice,
Mingling their heat with cold, their fire with ice.

From whence receiv’d they life, from a dead stone? 5
From whence receiv’d they speech, from a mute rock?
As if all pleasure did proceed from moan,
Or all discretion from a senseless block;
For what was each but silent, dead, and mute?
As if a thorny thistle should bear fruit.

’Tis strange how that should cure which erst did kill,
Give life in whom destruction is enshrin’d;
Alas, the stone is dead, and hath no skill!
Wisdom gave life and love, ’twas wisdom’s mind;
She made the store which poisonèd her foes,
Give life, give cure, give remedy to those.

Blood-quaffing Mars, which wash’d himself in gore, 6
Reign’d in her foes’ thirst slaughter-drinking hearts;
Their heads the bloody store-house of blood’s store,
Their minds made bloody streams disburs’d in parts:
What was it else but butchery and hate,
To prize young infants’ blood at murder’s rate?

But let them surfeit on their bloody cup, 7
Carousing to their own destruction’s health,
We drink the silver-streamèd water up,
Which unexpected flow’d from wisdom’s wealth;
Declaring, by the thirst of our dry souls,
How all our foes did swim in murder’s bowls.

What greater ill than famine? or what ill 8
Can be comparèd to the fire of thirst?
One be as both, for both the body kill,
And first brings torments in tormenting first:
Famine is death itself, and thirst no less,
If bread and water do not yield redress.

Yet this affliction is but virtue’s trial,
Proceeding from the mercy of God’s ire;
To see if it can find his truth’s denial,
His judgment’s breach, attempts contempt’s desire:
But O, the wicked sleeping in misdeed,
Had death on whom they fed, on whom they feed!

Adjudg’d, condemn’d, and punish’d in one breath, 9
Arraign’d, tormented, tortur’d in one law;
Adjudg’d like captives with destruction’s wreath,
Arraign’d like thieves before the bar of awe;
Condemn’d, tormented, tortur’d, punishèd,
Like captives bold, thieves unastonishèd.

Say God did suffer famine for to reign,
And thirst to rule amongst the choicest heart,
Yet, father-like, he eas’d them of their pain,
And prov’d them how they could endure a smart;
But, as a righteous king, condemn’d the others,
As wicked sons unto as wicked mothers.

For where the devil reigns, there, sure, is hell; 10
Because the tabernacle of his name,
His mansion-house, the place where he doth dwell,
The coal-black visage of his nigrum[451] fame;
So, if the wicked live upon the earth,
Earth is their hell, from good to worser birth.

If present, they are present to their tears;
If absent, they are present to their woes;
Like as the snail, which shews all that she bears,
Making her back the mountain of her shews:
Present to their death, not absent to their care,
Their punishment alike where’er they are.

Why, say they mourn’d, lamented, griev’d, and wail’d,
11
And fed lament with care, care with lament;
Say, how can sorrow be with sorrow bail’d,
When tears consumeth that which smiles hath lent?
This makes a double prison, double chain,
A double mourning, and a double pain.

Captivity, hoping for freedom’s hap,
At length doth pay the ransom of her hope,
Yet frees her thought from any clogging clap,
Though back be almost burst[452] with iron’s cope;
So they endur’d the more, because they knew
That never till the spring the flowers grew;

And that by patience cometh heart’s delight, 12
Long-sought-for bliss, long-far-fet[453] happiness;
Content they were to die for virtue’s right,
Sith[454] joy should be the pledge of heaviness:
When unexpected things were brought to pass,
They were amaz’d, and wonder’d where God was.

He whom they did deny, now they extol;
He whom they do extol, they did deny;
He whom they did deride, they do enroll
In register of heavenly majesty:
Their thirst was ever thirst, repentance stopt it;
Their life was ever dead, repentance propt it.

And had it not, their thirst had burn’d their 13
hearts,
Their hearts had cried out for their tongues’ reply,
Their tongues had raisèd all their bodies’ parts,
Their bodies, once in arms, had made all die:
Their foolish practices had made them wise,
Wise in their hearts, though foolish in their eyes.

But they, alas! were dead, to worship death,
Senseless in worshipping all shadow’d shows,
Breathless in wasting of so vain a breath,
Dumb in performance of their tongues’ suppose:
They in adoring death, in death’s behests,
Were punishèd with life and living beasts.

Thus for a shew of beasts they substance have, 14
The thing itself against the shadow’s will,
Which makes the shadows, sad woes in life’s grave,
As nought impossible in heaven’s skill:
God sent sad Ohs for shadows of lament,
Lions and bears in multitudes he sent:

Newly created beasts, which sight ne’er saw, 15
Unknown, which neither eye nor ear did know,
To breathe out blasts of fire against their law,
And cast out smoke with a tempestuous blow;
Making their eyes the chambers of their fears,
Darting forth fire as lightning from the spheres.

Thus marching one by one, and side by side, 16
By the profane, ill-limn’d, pale spectacles,
Making both fire and fear to be their guide,
Pull’d down their vain-adoring chronicles;
Then staring in their faces, spit forth fire,
Which heats and cools their frosty-hot desire:

Frosty in fear, unfrosty in their shame,
Cool in lament, hot in their power’s disgraces;
Like lukewarm coals, half kindled with the flame,
Sate white and red mustering within their faces:
The beasts themselves did not so much dismay them,
As did their ugly eyes’ aspècts decay them.

Yet what are beasts, but subjects unto man, 17
By the decree of heaven, degree of earth?
They have more strength than he, yet more he can,
He having reason’s store, they reason’s dearth;
But these were made to break subjection’s rod,
And shew the stubbornness of man to God.

Had they not been ordain’d to such intent,
God’s word was able to supplant their powers,
And root out them which were to mischief bent,
With wrath and vengeance, minutes in death’s hours;
But God doth keep a full, direct, true course,
And measures pity’s love with mercy’s force.

The wicked think[455] God hath no might at all, 18
Because he makes no show of what he is,
When God is loath to give their pride a fall,
Or cloud the day wherein they do amiss;
But should his strength be shewn, his anger rise,
Who could withstand the sun-caves of his eyes?

Alas, what is the world against his ire! 19
As snowy mountains ’gainst the golden sun,
Forc’d for to melt and thaw with frosty fire,
Fire hid in frost, though frost of cold begun:
As dew-distilling drops fall from the morn,
So n[e]w destruction’s claps fall from his scorn.

But his revenge lies smother’d in his smiles, 20
His wrath lies sleeping in his mercy’s joy,
Which very seldom rise at mischief’s coils,
And will not wake for every sinner’s toy:
Boundless his mercies are, like heaven’s grounds,
They have no limits they, nor heaven no bounds.

The promontory-top of his true love
Is like the end of never-ending streams,
Like Nilus’ water-springs, which inward move,
And have no outward shew of shadows’ beams:
God sees, and will not see, the sins of men,
Because they should amend: amend! O when?

The mother loves the issues of her womb, 21
As doth the father his begotten son;
She makes her lap their quiet-sleeping tomb,
He seeks to care for life which new begun:
What care hath He, think, then, that cares for all,
For agèd and for young, for great and small!

Is not that father careful, fill’d with care,
Loving, long-suffering, merciful, and kind,
Which made with love all things that in love are,
Unmerciful to none, to none unkind?
Had man been hateful, man had never been,
But perish’d in the spring-time of his green.

But how can hate abide where love remains? 22
Or how can anger follow mercy’s path?
How can unkindness hinder kindness’ gains?
Or how can murder bathe in pity’s bath?
Love, mercy, kindness, pity, either’s mate,
Do[456] scorn unkindness, anger, murder, hate.

Had it not been thy will to make the earth, 23
It still had been a chaos unto time;
But ’twas thy will that man should have a birth,
And be preserv’d by good, condemn’d by crime:
Yet pity reigns within thy mercies’ store,
Thou spar’st and lov’st us all; what would we more?

CHAP. XII.

When all the elements of mortal life 1
Were placèd in the mansion of their skin,
Each having daily motion to be rife,[457]
Clos’d in that body which doth close them in,
God sent his holy Spirit unto man,
Which did begin when first the world began:

So that the body, which was king of all, 2
Is subject unto that which now is king,
Which chasteneth those whom mischief doth exhale,
Unto misdeeds from whence destructions spring:
Yet merciful it is, though it be chief,
Converting vice to good, sin to belief.

Old time is often lost in being bald, 3
Bald, because old, old, because living long;
It is rejected oft when it is call’d;
And wears out age with age, still being young:
Twice children we, twice feeble, and once strong;
But being old, we sin, and do youth wrong.

The more we grow in age, the more in vice,
A house-room long unswept will gather dust;
Our long-unthawèd souls will freeze to ice,
And wear the badge of long-imprison’d rust;
So those inhabitants in youth twice born,
Were old in sin, more old in heaven’s scorn.

Committing works as inky spots of fame, 4
Commencing words like foaming vice’s waves,
Committing and commencing mischief’s name,
With works and words sworn to be vice’s slaves:
As sorcery, witchcraft, mischievous deeds,
And sacrifice, which wicked fancies feeds.

Well may I call that wicked which is more, 5
I rather would be low than be too high;
O wondrous practisers, cloth’d all in gore,
To end that life which their own lives did buy!
More than swine-like eating man’s bowels up,
Their banquet’s dish, their blood their banquet’s cup.

Butchers unnatural, worse by their trade, 6
Whose house the bloody shambles of decay,
More than a slaughter-house which butchers made,
More than an Eschip,[458] seely[459] bodies prey:
Thorough whose hearts a bloody shambles runs;
They do not butcher beasts, but their own sons.

Chief murderers of their souls, which their souls 7
bought;
Extinguishers of light, which their lives gave;
More than knife-butchers they, butchers in thought,
Sextons to dig their own-begotten grave;
Making their habitations old in sin,
Which God doth reconcile, and new begin.

That murdering place was turn’d into delight, 8
That bloody slaughter-house to peace’s breast,
That lawless palace to a place of right,
That slaughtering shambles to a living rest;
Made meet for justice, fit for happiness,
Unmeet for sin, unfit for wickedness.

Yet the inhabitants, though mischief’s slaves, 9
Were not dead-drench’d in their destruction’s flood;
God hop’d to raise repentance from sins’ graves,
And hop’d that pain’s delay would make them good;
Not that he was unable to subdue them,
But that their sins’ repentance should renew them.

Delay is took for virtue and for vice; 10
Delay is good, and yet delay is bad;
’Tis virtue when it thaws repentance’ ice,
’Tis vice to put off things we have or had:
But here it followeth repentance’ way,
Therefore it is not sin’s nor mischief’s prey.

Delay in punishment is double pain,
And every pain makes a twice-double thought,
Doubling the way to our lives’ better gain,
Doubling repentance, which is single bought;
For fruitless grafts, when they are too much lopt,
More fruitless are, for why their fruits are stopt.

So fares it with the wicked plants of sin, 11
The roots of mischief, tops of villany;
They worser are with too much punishing,
Because by nature prone to injury;
For ’tis but folly to supplant his thought
Whose heart is wholly given to be naught.

These seeded were in seed, O cursed plant!
Seeded with other seed, O cursed root!
Too much of good doth turn unto good’s want,
As too much seed doth turn to too much soot:
Bitter in taste, presuming of their height,
Like misty vapours in black-colour’d night.

But God, whose powerful arms one strength doth 12
hold,
Scorning to stain his force upon their faces,
Will send his messengers, both hot and cold,
To make them shadows of their own disgraces:
His hot ambassador is fire, his cold
Is wind, which two scorn for to be controll’d.

For who dares say unto the King of kings,
What hast thou done, which ought to be undone?
Or who dares stand against thy judgment’s stings?
Or dare accuse thee for the nation’s moan?
Or who dare say, Revenge this ill for me?
Or stand against the Lord with villany?

What he hath done he knows; what he will do 13
He weigheth with the balance of his eyes;
What judgment he pronounceth must be so,
And those which he oppresseth cannot rise:
Revenge lies in his hands when he doth please;
He can revenge and love, punish and ease.

The carvèd spectacle which workmen make
Is subject unto them, not they to it;
They which from God a lively form do take,
Should much more yield unto their Maker’s wit;
Sith[460] there is none but he which hath his thought,
Caring for that which he hath made of nought.

The clay is subject to the potter’s hands, 14
Which with a new device makes a new moul;[461]
And what are we, I pray, but clayey bands,
With ashy body, join’d to cleaner soul?
Yet we, once made, scorn to be made again,
But live in sin, like clayey lumps of pain.

Yet if hot anger smother cool delight,
He’ll mould our bodies in destruction’s form,
And make ourselves as subjects to his might,
In the least fuel of his anger’s storm:
Not king nor tyrant dare ask or demand,
What punishment is this thou hast in hand?

We all are captives to thy regal throne; 15
Our prison is the earth, our bands our sins,
And our accuser our own body’s groan,
Press’d down with vice’s weights and mischief’s gins:
Before the bar of heaven we plead for favour,
To cleanse our sin-bespotted body’s savour.

Thou righteous art, our pleading, then, is right;
Thou merciful, we hope for mercy’s grace;
Thou orderest every thing with look-on sight,
Behold us, prisoners in earth’s wandering race;
We know thy pity is without a bound,
And sparest them which in some faults be found.

Thy power is as thyself, without an end, 16
Beginning all to end, yet ending none;
Son unto virtue’s son, and wisdom’s friend,
Original of bliss to virtue shewn;
Beginning good, which never ends in vice;
Beginning flames, which never end in ice.

For righteousness is good in such a name;
It righteous is, ’tis good in such a deed;
A lamp it is, fed with discretion’s flame;
Begins in seed, but never ends in seed:
By this we know the Lord is just and wise,
Which causeth him to spare us when he tries:

Just, because justice weighs what wisdom thinks; 17
Wise, because wisdom thinks what justice weighs;
One virtue maketh two, and two more links;
Wisdom is just, and justice never strays:
The help of one doth make the other better,
As is the want of one the other’s letter.

But wisdom hath two properties in wit,
As justice hath two contraries in force;
Heat added unto heat augmenteth it,
As too much water bursts a water-course:
God’s wisdom too much prov’d doth breed God’s hate,
God’s justice too much mov’d breeds God’s debate.

Although the ashy prison of fire-durst[462] 18
Doth keep the flaming heat imprison’d in,
Yet sometime will it burn, when flame it must,
And burst the ashy cave where it hath bin:[463]
So if God’s mercy pass the bounds of mirth,
It is not mercy then, but mercy’s dearth.

Yet how can love breed hate without hate’s love?
God doth not hate to love, nor love to hate;
His equity doth every action prove,
Smothering with love that spiteful envy’s fate;
For should the team[464] of anger trace his brow,
The very puffs of rage would drive the plough.

But God did end his toil when world begun; 19
Now like a lover studies how to please,
And win their hearts again whom mischief won,
Lodg’d in the mansion of their sin’s disease:
He made each mortal man two ears, two eyes,
To hear and see; yet he must make them wise.

If imitation should direct man’s life,
’Tis life to imitate a living corse;
The thing’s example makes the thing more rife;[465]
God loving is, why do we want remorse?[466]
He put repentance into sinful hearts,
And fed their fruitless souls with fruitful arts.

If such a boundless ocean of good deeds 20
Should have such influence from mercy’s stream,
Kissing both good and ill, flowers and weeds,
As doth the sunny flame of Titan’s beam;
A greater Tethys then should mercy be,
In flowing unto them which loveth thee.

The sun, which shines in heaven, doth light the 21
earth,
The earth, which shines in sin, doth spite the heaven;
Sin is earth’s sun, the sun of heaven sin’s dearth,
Both odd in light, being of height not even:
God’s mercy then, which spares both good and ill,
Doth care for both, though not alike in will.

Can vice be virtue’s mate or virtue’s meat? 22
Her company is bad, her food more worse;
She shames to sit upon her betters’ seat,
As subject beasts wanting the lion’s force;
Mercy is virtue’s badge, foe to disdain;
Virtue is vice’s stop and mercy’s gain.

Yet God is merciful to mischief-flows,
More merciful in sin’s and sinners’ want;
God chasteneth us, and punisheth our foes,
Like sluggish drones amongst a labouring ant:
We hope for mercy at our bodies’ doom;
We hope for heaven, the bail of earthly tomb.

What hope they for, what hope have they of heaven? 23
They hope for vice, and they have hope of hell,
From whence their souls’ eternity is given,
But such eternity which pains can tell:
They live; but better were it for to die,
Immortal in their pain and misery.

Hath hell such freedom to devour souls?
Are souls so bold to rush in such a place?
God gives hell power of vice, which hell controls;
Vice makes her followers bold with armèd face;
God tortures both, the mistress and the man,
And ends in pain that which in vice began.

A bad beginning makes a worser end, 24
Without repentance meet the middle way,
Making a mediocrity their friend,
Which else would be their foe, because they stray:
But if repentance miss the middle line,
The sun of virtue ends in west’s decline.

So did it fare with these, which stray’d too far,
Beyond the measure of the mid-day’s eye,
In error’s ways, led without virtue’s star,
Esteeming beast-like powers for deity;
Whose heart no thought of understanding meant,
Whose tongue no word of understanding sent: