Classic Poem

[CANT. II.]

Thou blacker Muse, whose rude uncombed hairs
With fatal eugh and cypresse still are shaded;
Bring hither all thy sighs, hither thy teares:
As sweet a plant, as fair a flower is faded,
As ever in the Muses garden bladed;
While th' owner (haplesse owner) sits lamenting,
And but in discontent & grief, findes no contenting.

2

The sweet (now sad) Elisa weeping lies,
While fair Alicia's words in vain relieve her;
In vain those wells of grief she often dries:
What her so long, now doubled sorrows give her,
What both their loves (which doubly double grieve her)
She carelesse spends without or end or measure;
Yet as it spends, it grows: poor grief can tell his treasure.

3

All as a turtle on a bared bough
(A widow turtle) joy and life despises,
Whose trustie mate (to pay his holy vow)
Some watchfull eye late in his roost surprises,
And to his God for errour sacrifices;
She joylesse bird sits mourning all alone,
And being one when two, would now be two, or none:

4

So sat she gentle Lady weeping sore,
Her desert self and now cold lord lamenting;
So sat she carelesse on the dusty floor,
As if her tears were all her souls contenting:
So sat she, as when speechlesse griefs tormenting
Locks up the heart, the captive tongue enchaining:
So sat she joylesse down in wordlesse grief complaining.

5

Her chearfull eye (which once the crystall was,
Where Love and Beautie dress'd their fairest faces,
And fairer seem'd by looking in that glasse)
Had now in tears drown'd all their former graces:
Her snow-white arms, whose warm & sweet embraces
Could quicken death, their now dead lord infold,
And seem'd as cold and dead as was the flesh they hold.

6

The roses in her cheek grow pale and wan;
As if his pale cheeks livery they affected:
Her head, like fainting flowers opprest with rain,
On her left shoulder lean'd his weight neglected:
Her dark-gold locks hung loosly unrespected;
As if those fairs, which he alone deserv'd,
With him had lost their use, and now for nothing serv'd.

7

Her Lady sister sat close by her side,
Alicia , in whose face Love proudly lorded;
Where Beauties self and Mildnesse sweet reside,
Where every Grace her naked sight afforded,
And Majestie with Love sat well accorded:
A little map of heav'n, sweet influence giving;
More perfect yet in this, it was a heaven living.

8

Yet now this heav'n with melting clouds was stain'd:
Her starry eyes with sister grief infected
Might seem the Pleiades , so fast they rain'd:
And though her tongue to comfort she directed,
Sighs waiting on each word like grief detected;
That in her face you now might plainly see
Sorrow to sit for Love, Pitie for Majestie.

9

At length when now those storms she had allay'd,
A league with grief for some short time indenting;
She 'gan to speak, and sister onely said:
The sad Elisa soon her words preventing,
In vain you think to ease my hearts tormenting;
Words, comforts, hope, all med'cine is in vain:
My heart most hates his cure, & loves his pleasing pain.

10

As vain to weep, since fate cannot reprieve.
Teares are most due, when there is no reprieving.
When doom is past, weak hearts that fondly grieve.
A helplesse griefs sole joy is joylesse grieving.
To losses old new losse is no relieving:
You lose your teares. El . When that I onely fear
For ever now is lost, poore losse to lose a teare.

11

Nature can teach, that who is born must die.
And Nature teaches teares in griefs tormenting.
Passions are slaves to Reasons monarchie.
Reason best shews her reason in lamenting.
Religion blames impatient discontenting.
Not passion, but excesse Religion branded;
Nor ever countermands what Natures self commanded.

12

That hand which gave him first into your hand,
To his own hand doth now again receive him:
Impious and fond, to grudge at his command,
Who once by death from death doth ever reave him!
He lives by leaving life, which soon would leave him:
Thus God and him you wrong by too much crying.
Who living dy'd to life, much better lives by dying.

13

Not him I plain, ill would it fit our loves,
In his best state to shew my hearts repining;
To mourn at others good, fond envy proves:
I know his soul is now more brightly shining
Then all the stars their light in one combining:
No, dearest soul: (so lifting up her eyes,
Which shew'd like watry suns quench't in the moister skies)

14

My deare, my dearest Irby , (at that name,
As at a well-known watch-word, forth there pressed
Whole flouds of teares, and straight a suddain quame
Seizing her heart, her tongue with weight oppressed,
And lockt her grief within her soul distressed;
There all in vain he close and hidden lies:
Silence is sorrows speech; his tongue speaks in her eyes:

15

Till grief new mounted on uneven wings
Of loud-breath'd sighs, his leaden weight up sending,
Back to the tongue his heavie presence brings,
His usher teares, deep grones behinde attending,
And in his name her breath most gladly spending,
As if he gone, his name were all her joying)
Irby , I never grudg'd thee heav'n, and heav'ns enjoying.

16

'Tis not thy happinesse that breeds my smart,
It is my losse, and cause that made me lose thee;
Which hatching first this tempest in my heart,
Thus justly rages; he that lately chose thee
To live with him, where thou might'st safe repose thee,
Hath found some cause out of my little caring,
By spoiling thine to spare, and spoil my life by sparing.

17

Whither, ah whither shall I turn my head,
Since thou my God so sore my heart hast beaten?
Thy rods yet with my bloud are warm and red:
Thy scourge my soul hath drunk, my flesh hath eaten.
Who helps, when thou my Father so dost threaten?
Thou hid'st thy eyes; or if thou dost not hide them,
So dost thou frown, that best I hidden may abide them.

18

I weeping grant, what ever may be dreaded,
All ill thou canst inflict, I have deserved;
Thy mercy I, I mercie onely pleaded.
Most wretched men, if all that from thee swerved,
By merit onely in just weight were served!
If nought thou giv'st, but what desert doth get me,
Oh give me nothing then; for nothing I intreat thee.

19

Ah wherefore are thy mercies infinite,
If thou dost hourd them up, and never spend them?
Mercy's no mercy hid in envious night:
The rich mans goods, while in his chest he penn'd them,
Were then no goods; much better to misspend them.
Why mak'st thou such a rod? so fierce dost threat me?
Thy frowns to me were rods; thy forehead would have beat me.

20

Thou seiz'd my joy; ah he is dead and gone,
That might have dress'd my wounds, when thus they smarted:
To all my griefs I now am left alone;
Comfort's in vain to hopelesse grief imparted:
Hope, comfort, joy with him are all departed.
Comfort, hope, joy, lifes flatterers, most I flie you,
And would not deigne to name, but naming to defie you.

21

Sister, too farre your passions violent heat
And griefs too headlong in your plaint convay you:
You feel your stripes, but mark not who does beat;
'Tis he that takes away, who can repay you:
This grief to other rods doth open lay you:
He bindes your grief to patience, not dejection.
Who bears the first not well, provokes a new correctio.

22

I know 'tis true; but sorrows blubber'd eye
Fain would not see, and cannot well behold it:
My heart surround with grief is swoll'n so high,
It will not sink, till I alone unfold it;
But grows more strong, the more you do withhold it:
Leave me a while alone; griefs tide grows low,
And ebs, when private tears the eye-banks overflow.

23

She quickly rose, and readie now to go,
Remember measure in your griefs complaining;
His last, his dying words command you so:
So left her; and Elisa sole remaining,
Now every grief more boldly entertaining,
They flock about her round; so one was gone,
And twentie fresh arriv'd. 'Lone grief is least alone.

24

Thus as she sat with fixt and setled eye,
Thousand fond thoughts their wandring shapes depainted:
Now seem'd she mounted to the crystall skie,
And one with him, and with him fellow-sainted;
Straight pull'd from heav'n: & then again she fainted:
Thus while their numerous thoughts each fancie brought,
The minde all idle sat: much thinking lost her thought.

25

And fancy, finding now the dulled sight
Idle with businesse, to her soul presented
(While th' heavy minde obscur'd his shaded light)
Her wofull body from her head absented;
And suddain starting, with that thought tormented,
A thing impossible too true she found:
The head was gone, and yet the headlesse body sound.

26

Nor yet awake she cries; ah this is wrong,
To part what Natures hand so neare hath tied;
Stay oh my head, and take thy trunk along:
But then her minde (recall'd) her errour spied;
And sigh'd to see how true the fancy lied,
Which made the eye his instrument to see
That true, which being true it self must nothing be.

27

Vile trunk (saies she) thy head is ever gone;
Vile headlesse trunk, why art thou not engraved?
One wast thou once with him, now art thou none;
Or if thou art, or wert, how art thou saved?
And livest still, when he to death is slaved?
But (ah) when well I think, I plainly see,
That death to him was life, and life is death to me.

28

Vile trunk, if yet he live; ah then again
Why seek'st thou not with him to be combined?
But oh since he in heav'n doth living reigne,
Death wer't to him in such knots to be twined;
And life to me with him to be confined:
So while I better think, I eas'ly see
My life to him were death, his death were life to me.

29

Then die with him, vile trunk, and dying live;
Or rather with him live, his life applying;
Where thou shalt never die, nor ever grieve:
But ah, though death thou feel'st within thee lying,
Thou ne're art dead, though still in sorrow dying:
Most wretched soul, which hast thy seat and being,
Where life with death is one, & death with life agreeing!

30

He lives and joyes; death life to him hath bred:
Why is he living then in earth enwombed?
But I, a walking coarse, in life am dead:
'Tis I, my friends, 'tis I must be entombed;
Whose joy with grief, whose life with death's benummed:
Thou coffin art not his, nor he is thine;
Mine art thou: thou the dead, & not the livings shrine.

31

You few thinne boards, how in so scanted room
So quiet such great enemies contain ye?
All joy, all grief lies in this narrow tombe:
You contraries, how thus in peace remain ye,
That one small cabin so should entertain ye?
But joy is dead, and here entomb'd doth lie,
While grief is come to moan his dead-lov'd enemie.

32

How many vertues in this little space
(This little little space) lie buried ever!
In him they liv'd, and with them every grace:
In him they liv'd, and di'd, and rise will never.
Fond men! go now, in vertues steps persever;
Go sweat, and toil; thus you inglorious lie:
In this old frozen age vertue it self can die.

33

Those petty Northern starres do never fall;
The unwasht Beare the Ocean wave despises;
Ever unmov'd it moves, and ever shall:
The Sun, which oft his head in night disguises,
So often as he falls, so often rises;
And stealing backward by some hidden way,
With self same light begins an ends the yeare & day.

34

The flowers, which in the absence of the Sunne
Sleep in their winter-houses all disarm'd,
And backward to their mothers wombe do runne;
Soon as the earth by Taurus horns is warm'd,
Muster their colour'd troups; and freshly arm'd,
Spreading their braving colours to the skie,
Winter and winters spight, bold little elves, defie.

35

But Vertues heav'nly and more glorious light,
Though seeming ever sure, yet oft dismounteth;
And sinking low, sleeps in eternall night,
Nor ever more his broken spheare remounteth:
Her sweetest flower, which other flowers surmounteth
As farre as roses nettles, soonest fadeth:
Down falls her glorious leaf, & never more it bladeth.

36

And as that dainty flower, the maiden rose,
Her swelling bosome to the Sunne discloses;
Soon as her lover hot and fiery grows,
Straight all her sweets unto his heat exposes,
Then soon disrob'd her sweet and beautie loses;
While hurtfull weeds, hemlocks, & nettles stinking
Soon from the earth ascend, late to their graves are sinking.
37

All so the vertuous bud in blooming falls,
While vice long flourishing late sees her ending:
Vertue once dead no gentle spring recalls;
But vice springs of it self; and soon ascending,
Long views the day, late to his night descending.
Vain men, that in this life set up your rest,
Which to the ill is long, and short unto the best!

38

And as a dream, where th' idle fancie playes,
One thinks that fortune high his head advances;
Another spends in woe his weary dayes;
A third seems sport in love, and courtly dances;
A fourth to finde some glitt'ring treasure chances;
Soon as they wake, they see their thoughts were vain,
And either quite forget, or laugh their idle brain:

39

Such is the world, and such lifes quick-spent play:
This base, and scorn'd; that great, in high esteeming;
This poore, and patched seems; that rich, and gay;
This sick, that sound; yet all is but a seeming
So like that waking oft we fear w' are dreaming;
And think we wake oft, when we dreaming play.
Dreams are as living nights; life as a dreaming day.

40

Go then, vain life; for I will trust no more
Thy flattering dreams: death, to thy resting take me:
Thou sleep without all dreams, lifes quiet shore,
When wilt thou come? when wilt thou overtake me?
Enough I now have liv'd; loath'd life forsake me:
Thou good mens endlesse fight, thou ill mens feast;
That at the best art bad, and worst art to the best.

41

Thus as in teares she drowns her swollen eyes,
A suddain noise recalls them; backward bending
Her weary head, there all in black she spies
Six mournfull bearers, the sad hearse attending,
Their feet and hands to that last dutie lending:
All silent stood she, trembling, pale, and wan;
The first grief left his stage, a new his part began.

42

And now the coffin in their arms they take,
While she with weight of grief sat still amazed;
As do sear leaves in March, so did she quake,
And with intented eyes upon them gazed:
But when from ground the doleful hearse they raised,
Down on the beer half dead she carelesse fell;
While teares did talk apace, and sighs her sorrows tell.

43

At last, Fond men (said she) you are deceiv'd;
It is not he, 'tis I must be interred:
Not he, but I of life and soul bereav'd;
He lives in heav'n, among the saints referred:
This trunk, this headlesse body must be buried.
But while by force some hold her, up they reare him,
And weeping at her tears, away they softly beare him.

44

But then impatient grief all passion proves,
She prayes & weeps; with teares she doth intreat them:
But when this onely fellow passion moves,
She storms and raves, and now as fast doth threat them;
And as she onely could, with words doth beat them;
Ah cruell men, ah men most cruell, stay:
It is my heart, my life, my soul, you beare away.

45

And now no sooner was he out of sight,
As if she would make good what she had spoken,
First from her hearts deep centre deep she sigh'd;
Then, (as if heart, and life, and soul were broken)
Down dead she fell; and once again awoken,
Fell once again; so to her bed they bore her:
While friends (no friends) hard love to life and grief restore her.

46

Unfriendly friends, (saith she) why do ye strive
To barre wisht death from his so just ingression?
Your pitie kills me; 'tis my death to live,
And life to die: it is as great oppression
To force out death, as life from due possession;
'Tis much more great: better that quickly spills
A loathed life, then he that with long torture kills.

47

And then, as if her guiltlesse bed offended;
Thou trait'rous bed, when first thou didst receive me,
Not single to thy rest I then ascended:
Double I came, why should I single leave thee?
Why of my better part dost thou bereave me?
Two prest thee first: why should but one depart?
Restore, thou trait'rous bed, restore that better part.

48

Thus while one grief anothers place inherits,
And one yet hardly spent, a new complained:
Griefs leaden vapour dulls the heavy spirits,
And sleep too long from so wisht seat restrained,
Now of her eyes un'wares possession gained;
And that she might him better welcome give,
Her lord he new presents, and makes him fresh to live.

49

She thinks he lives, and with her goes along;
And oft she kiss'd his cheek, and oft embraced;
And sweetly askt him where he staid so long,
While he again her in his arms enlaced;
Till strong delight her dream and joy defaced:
But then she willing sleeps; sleep glad receives her;
And she as glad of sleep, that with such shapes deceives her.

50

Sleep widow'd eyes, and cease so fierce lamenting;
Sleep grieved heart, and now a little rest thee:
Sleep sighing words, stop all your discontenting;
Sleep beaten breast; no blows shall now molest thee:
Sleep happy lips; in mutuall kisses nest ye:
Sleep weary Muse, and do not now disease her;
Fancie, do thou with dreams and his sweet presence please her.