Classic Poem

What work of honour and eternal name
For all the world t' envy, and us t' achieve,
Fills me with fury, and gives armed hands
To my heart's peace, that else would gladly turn
My limbs and every sense into my thoughts
Rapt with the thirsted action of my mind?
O Clio, Honour's Muse, sing in my voice;
Tell the attempt, and prophesy th' exploit
Of his Eliza-consecrated sword,
That in this peaceful charm of England's sleep
Opens most tenderly her aged throat,
Offering to pour fresh youth through all her veins,
That flesh of brass and ribs of steel retains.
Riches, and conquest, and renown I sing,
Riches with honour, conquest without blood,
Enough to seat the monarchy of earth,
Like to Jove's eagle, on Eliza's hand.
Guiana, whose rich feet are mines of gold,
Whose forehead knocks against the roof of stars,
Stands on her tip-toes at fair England looking,
Kissing her hand, bowing her mighty breast,
And every sign of all submission making,
To be her sister, and the daughter both
Of our most sacred Maid; whose barrenness
Is the true fruit of virtue, that may get,
Bear and bring forth anew in all perfection,
What heretofore savage corruption held
In barbarous Chaos; and in this affair
Become her father, mother, and her heir.
Then most admired sovereign, let your breath
Go forth upon the waters, and create
A golden world in this our iron age,
And be the prosperous forewind to a fleet,
That, seconding your last, may go before it,
In all success of profit and renown.
Doubt not but your election was divine,
As well by fate as your high judgement order'd,
To raise him with choice bounties, that could add
Height to his height; and like a liberal vine,
Not only bear his virtuous fruit aloft,
Free from the press of squint-eyed Envy's feet,
But deck his gracious prop with golden bunches,
And shroud it with broad leaves of rule o'er-grown
From all black tempests of invasion.
Those conquests that like general earthquakes shook
The solid world, and made it fall before them,
Built all their brave attempts on weaker grounds
And less persuasive likelihoods than this;
Nor was there ever princely fount so long
Pour'd forth a sea of rule with so free course,
And such ascending majesty as you.
Then be not like a rough and violent wind,
That in the morning rends the forests down,
Shoves up the seas to heaven, makes earth to tremble,
And tombs his wasteful bravery in the even.
But as a river from a mountain running,
The further he extends, the greater grows,
And by his thrifty race strengthens his stream,
Even to join battle with th'imperious sea,
Disdaining his repulse, and in despight
Of his proud fury, mixeth with his main,
Taking on him his title and commands:
So let thy sovereign Empire be increased,
And with Iberian Neptune part the stake,
Whose trident he the triple world would make.
You then that would be wise in wisdom's spite,
Directing with discredit of direction,
And hunt for honour, hunting him to death,
With whom before you will inherit gold,
You will lose gold, for which you lose your souls;
You that choose nought for right, but certainty,
And fear that valour will get only blows,
Placing your faith in Incredulity;
Sit till you see a wonder, Virtue rich;
Till Honour, having gold, rob gold of honour;
Till, as men hate desert that getteth nought,
They loathe all getting that deserveth nought,
And use you gold-made men as dregs of men;
And till your poison'd souls, like spiders lurking
In sluttish chinks, in mists of cobwebs hide
Your foggy bodies, and your dunghill pride.
O Incredulity! the wit of fools,
That slovenly will spit on all things fair,
The coward's castle, and the sluggard's cradle,
How easy 'tis to be an infidel!
But you patrician spirits that refine
Your flesh to fire, and issue like a flame
On brave endeavours, knowing that in them
The tract of heaven in morn-like glory opens;
That know you cannot be the kings of earth,
Claiming the rights of your creation,
And let the mines of earth be kings of you;
That are so far from doubting likely drifts,
That in things hardest y' are most confident;
You that know death lives where power lives unused,
Joying to shine in waves that bury you,
And so make way for life even through your graves;
That will not be content like horse to hold
A thread-bare beaten way to home affairs,
But where the sea, in envy of your reign,
Closeth her womb as fast as 'tis disclosed,
That she like Avarice might swallow all,
And let none find right passage through her rage,
There your wise souls, as swift as Eurus, lead
Your bodies through, to profit and renown,
And scorn to let your bodies choke your souls
In the rude breath and prison'd life of beasts;
You that herein renounce the course of earth,
And lift your eyes for guidance to the stars;
That live not for yourselves, but to possess
Your honour'd country of a general store,
In pity of the spoil rude self-love makes
Of them whose lives and yours one air doth feed,
One soil doth nourish, and one strength combine;
You that are blest with sense of all things noble:--
In this attempt your complete worths redouble.
But how is Nature at her heart corrupted,
(I mean even in her most ennobled birth)
How in excess of sense is sense bereft her!
That her most lightning-like effects of lust
Wound through her flesh, her soul, her flesh unwounded,
And she must need incitements to her good,
Even from that part she hurts. O! how most like
Art thou, heroic author of this act,
To this wrong'd soul of nature; that sustain'st
Pain, charge, and peril for thy country's good,
And she, much like a body numb'd with surfeits,
Feels not thy gentle applications
For the health, use, and honour of her powers.
Yet shall my verse through all her ease-lock'd ears
Trumpet the noblesse of thy high intent,
And if it cannot into act proceed,
The fault and bitter penance of the fault
Make red some other's eyes with penitence,
For thine are clear; and what more nimble spirits,
Apter to bite at such unhooked baits,
Gain by our loss, that must we needs confess
Thy princely valour would have purchased us,
Which shall be fame eternal to thy name,
Though thy contentment, in thy grave desires
Of our advancement, fail deserved effect.
O! how I fear thy glory which I love,
Lest it should dearly grow by our decrease.
Natures, that stick in golden-gravell'd springs,
In muck-pits cannot 'scape their swallowings.
But we shall forth, I know; gold is our fate,
Which all our acts doth fashion and create.
Then in the Thespiad's bright prophetic fount,
Methinks I see our Liege rise from her throne,
Her ears and thoughts in steep amaze erected
At the most rare endeavour of her power.
And now she blesseth with her wonted graces
Th'industrious knight, the soul of this exploit,
Dismissing him to convoy of his stars.
And now for love and honour of his worth,
Our twice-born nobles bring him, bridegroom-like,
That is espoused for virtue to his love,
With feasts and music, ravishing the air,
To his Argolian fleet, where round about
His bating colours English valour swarms,
In haste, as if Guianian Orenoque
With his fell waters fell upon our shore.
And now a wind, as forward as their spirits,
Sets their glad feet on smooth Guiana's breast,
Where, as if each man were an Orpheus,
A world of savages fall tame before them,
Storing their theft-free treasuries with gold;
And there doth plenty crown their wealthy fields,
There learning eats no more his thriftless books,
Nor valour, estridge-like, his iron arms.
There beauty is no strumpet for her wants,
Nor Gallic humours putrefy her blood;
But all our youth take Hymen's lights in hand,
And fill each roof with honour'd progeny.
There makes society adamantine chains,
And joins their hearts with wealth whom wealth disjoin'd.
There healthful recreations strew their meads,
And make their mansions dance with neighbourhood,
That here were drown'd in churlish avarice.
And there do palaces and temples rise
Out of the earth, and kiss the enamour'd skies,
Where new Britannia humbly kneels to heaven,
The world to her, and both at her blest feet,
In whom the circles of all Empire meet.