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.
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.
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.
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-wingèd 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.
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.
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-rebukèd 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.
The Heav'n-rebukèd 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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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, blessèd 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.
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, blessèd 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 enragèd 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.
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?
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.
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.
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?
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-wingèd 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.
Of stars that gild the Morne, in charge were given?
The nimblest of the lightning-wingèd 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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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 marchèd 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.
Stay of my strong hopes, you of whose brave worth,
The frighted stars tooke faint experience,
When 'gainst the Thunder's mouth we marchèd 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 cursèd 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.
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.
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.
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,
scythe Swinging a huge sith stands impartiall Death:
With endlesse businesse almost out of breath.
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,
scythe Swinging a huge sith stands impartiall Death:
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.
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 cursèd 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.
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 abhorrèd maids of honour,
Medæa, Jezabell, many a meager witch,
With Circe, Scylla, stand to wait upon her:
But her best huswife's are the Parcæ, 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.
Medæa, Jezabell, many a meager witch,
With Circe, Scylla, stand to wait upon her:
But her best huswife's are the Parcæ, 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.
hearsedThe house is hers'd about with a black wood,
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 timèd 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.
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 timèd 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 fearèd oakes.
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 fearèd 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.
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.
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.
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 Lethæan band.
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 Lethæan 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-breathèd torches brandishing:
Such to the frighted palace now she comes,
And with soft feet searches the silent roomes.
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-breathèd 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;
lineage Whose right by David's linage so long worne,
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.
The scepter, which of old great David swaid;
lineage Whose right by David's linage so long worne,
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 passèd she,
To where the king's proudly-reposèd 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.
To where the king's proudly-reposèd 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.
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.
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.
(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.
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?
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.
Where art thou man? what cowardly mistake
Of thy great selfe, hath stolne king Herod from thee?
O call thy selfe home to thy self, wake, wake,
And fence the hanging sword Heav'n throws upon thee.
Redeeme a worthy wrath, rouse thee, and shake
Thy selfe into a shape that may become thee.
Be Herod, and thou shalt not misse from mee
Immortall stings to thy great thoughts, and thee.
Of thy great selfe, hath stolne king Herod from thee?
O call thy selfe home to thy self, wake, wake,
And fence the hanging sword Heav'n throws upon thee.
Redeeme a worthy wrath, rouse thee, and shake
Thy selfe into a shape that may become thee.
Be Herod, and thou shalt not misse from mee
Immortall stings to thy great thoughts, and thee.
LIX.
So said, her richest snake, which to her wrist
For a beseeming bracelet she had ty'd
(A speciall worme it was as ever kist
The foamy lips of Cerberus) she apply'd
To the king's heart: the snake no sooner hist,
But Vertue heard it, and away she hy'd:
Dire flames diffuse themselves through every veine:
This done, home to her Hell she hy'd amaine.
For a beseeming bracelet she had ty'd
(A speciall worme it was as ever kist
The foamy lips of Cerberus) she apply'd
To the king's heart: the snake no sooner hist,
But Vertue heard it, and away she hy'd:
Dire flames diffuse themselves through every veine:
This done, home to her Hell she hy'd amaine.
LX.
He wakes, and with him (ne're to sleepe) new feares:
His sweat-bedewed bed hath now betraid him
To a vast field of thornes; ten thousand speares
All pointed in his heart seem'd to invade him:
So mighty were th' amazing characters
With which his feeling dreame had thus dismay'd him,
He his owne fancy-framèd foes defies:
In rage, My armes, give me my armes, he cryes.
His sweat-bedewed bed hath now betraid him
To a vast field of thornes; ten thousand speares
All pointed in his heart seem'd to invade him:
So mighty were th' amazing characters
With which his feeling dreame had thus dismay'd him,
He his owne fancy-framèd foes defies:
In rage, My armes, give me my armes, he cryes.
LXI.
As when a pile of food-preparing fire,
The breath of artificiall lungs embraves,
The caldron-prison'd waters streight conspire
And beat the hot brasse with rebellious waves;
He murmurs, and rebukes their bold desire;
Th' impatient liquor frets, and foames, and raves,
Till his o're-flowing pride suppresse the flame
Whence all his high spirits and hot courage came.
The breath of artificiall lungs embraves,
The caldron-prison'd waters streight conspire
And beat the hot brasse with rebellious waves;
He murmurs, and rebukes their bold desire;
Th' impatient liquor frets, and foames, and raves,
Till his o're-flowing pride suppresse the flame
Whence all his high spirits and hot courage came.
LXII.
So boyles the firèd Herod's blood-swolne brest,
Not to be slak't but by a sea of blood:
His faithlesse crowne he feeles loose on his crest,
Which a false tyrant's head ne're firmely stood.
The worme of jealous envy and unrest
To which his gnaw'd heart is the growing food,
Makes him, impatient of the lingring light,
Hate the sweet peace of all-composing Night.
Not to be slak't but by a sea of blood:
His faithlesse crowne he feeles loose on his crest,
Which a false tyrant's head ne're firmely stood.
The worme of jealous envy and unrest
To which his gnaw'd heart is the growing food,
Makes him, impatient of the lingring light,
Hate the sweet peace of all-composing Night.
LXIII.
A thousand prophecies that talke strange things
Had sowne of old these doubts in his deepe brest.
And now of late came tributary kings,
Bringing him nothing but new feares from th' East,
More deepe suspicions, and more deadly stings,
With which his feav'rous cares their cold increast.
And now his dream (Hel's fireband) still more bright,
Shew'd him his feares, and kill'd him with the sight.
Had sowne of old these doubts in his deepe brest.
And now of late came tributary kings,
Bringing him nothing but new feares from th' East,
More deepe suspicions, and more deadly stings,
With which his feav'rous cares their cold increast.
And now his dream (Hel's fireband) still more bright,
Shew'd him his feares, and kill'd him with the sight.
LXIV.
No sooner therefore shall the Morning see
(Night hangs yet heavy on the lids of Day)
But all the counsellours must summon'd bee,
To meet their troubled lord: without delay
Heralds and messengers immediately
Are sent about, who poasting every way
To th' heads and officers of every band,
Declare who sends, and what is his command.
(Night hangs yet heavy on the lids of Day)
But all the counsellours must summon'd bee,
To meet their troubled lord: without delay
Heralds and messengers immediately
Are sent about, who poasting every way
To th' heads and officers of every band,
Declare who sends, and what is his command.
LXV.
Why art thou troubled, Herod? what vaine feare
Thy blood-revolving brest to rage doth move?
Heaven's King, Who doffs Himselfe weak flesh to weare,
Comes not to rule in wrath, but serve in love.
Nor would He this thy fear'd crown from thee teare,
But give thee a better with Himselfe above.
Poor jealousie! why should He wish to prey
Vpon thy crowne, Who gives His owne away?
Thy blood-revolving brest to rage doth move?
Heaven's King, Who doffs Himselfe weak flesh to weare,
Comes not to rule in wrath, but serve in love.
Nor would He this thy fear'd crown from thee teare,
But give thee a better with Himselfe above.
Poor jealousie! why should He wish to prey
Vpon thy crowne, Who gives His owne away?
LXVI.
Make to thy reason, man, and mock thy doubts,
Looke how below thy feares their causes are;
Thou art a souldier, Herod; send thy scouts,
See how Hee's furnish't for so fear'd a warre?
What armour does He weare? A few thin clouts.
His trumpets? tender cries; His men to dare
So much? rude shepheards: what His steeds? alas
Poore beasts! a slow oxe and a simple asse.
Looke how below thy feares their causes are;
Thou art a souldier, Herod; send thy scouts,
See how Hee's furnish't for so fear'd a warre?
What armour does He weare? A few thin clouts.
His trumpets? tender cries; His men to dare
So much? rude shepheards: what His steeds? alas
Poore beasts! a slow oxe and a simple asse.
Il fine del primo Libro.
NOTES AND ILLUSTRATIONS.
See our Essay for critical remarks on the original and Crashaw's interpretation. These things may be recorded:
St. viii. line 6. '(His shop of flames) he fries himself.' This verb 'fries,' like 'stick' and some others, had not in Elizabethan times and later, that colloquial, and therefore in such a context ludicrous, sound that it has to us. In Marlowe's or Jonson's translation of Ovid's fifteenth elegy (book i.) the two lines which originally ran thus,
'Lofty Lucretius shall live that hour
That Nature shall dissolve this earthly bower,'
That Nature shall dissolve this earthly bower,'
were afterwards altered by Jonson himself to,
'Then shall Lucretius' lofty numbers die,
When earth and seas in fire and flame shall frie.'
When earth and seas in fire and flame shall frie.'
In another way one of our most ludicrous-serious experiences of printers' errors was in a paper contributed by us to an American religious periodical. The subject was Affliction, and we remarked that God still, as of old with the 'three children' (so-called) permits His people to be put into the furnace of 'fiery trials,' wherein He tries them whether they be ore or dross. To our horror we found the t changed into f, and so read sensationally 'fries'—all the worse that some might think it the author's own word.
St. xxviii. and xxx. The star Lucifer or Phosporos, to whom 'the droves of stars that guild the morn, in charge were given,' can never climb the North or reach the zenith, being conquered by the effulgence of the sun of day. When did the fable of the angel Lucifer, founded on an astronomical appearance, mingle itself as it has done here, and grandly in Milton, and in the popular mind generally, with the biblical history of Satan?
St. xxxvi. line 2. Turnbull perpetuates the misprint of 'whose' for 'my' from 1670.
St. li. line 3, 'linage' = 'lineage.' For once 1670 is correct in reading 'linage' for the misprint 'image' of 1646 and 1648. The original is literally as follows:
'Herod the liege of Augustus, a man now agèd,
Then ruled over the royal courts of David:
Not of the royal line ...'
Then ruled over the royal courts of David:
Not of the royal line ...'
St. lix. line 3, 'a special worm:' so Shakespeare (Ant. and Cleopatra, v. 2), 'the pretty worm' and 'the worm.'
St. lx. Every one will be reminded of the tent-scene in Richard III.
At end of this translation Peregrine Phillips adds 'cetera desunt—heu! heu!'
Marino and Crashaw have left proper names in the poem unannotated. They are mostly trite; but these may be noticed: st. xlii. l. 4, Erisichton (see Ovid, Met. viii. 814 &c.); he offended Ceres, and was by her punished with continual hunger, so that he devoured his own limbs: line 5, Tantalus the fabled son of Zeus and Pluto, whose doom in the 'lower world,' has been celebrated from Homer (Od. xi. 582) onward: ib. Atreus, grandson of Tantalus, immortalised in infamy with his brother Thyestes: ib. Progne = Procne, wife of Tereus, who was metamorphosed into a swallow (Apollod. iii. 14, 8): l. 6, Lycaon, like Tantalus, with his sons changed by Zeus into wolves (Ovid; Paus. viii. 3, § 1): st. xliii. line 2, Medea, most famous of the mythical sorcerers: ib. Jezebel, 2 Kings ix. 10, 36: line 3, Circe, another mythical sorceress: Scylla, daughter of Typho and rival of Circe, who transformed her (Ovid, Met. xiv. 1-74); cf. Paradise Lost: line 4, the Paræ = the Fates, ever spinning: st. xliv. lines 7-8, all classic monsters: st. xlv. line 1, 'Diomed's horses' = the fabled 'mares' fed on human flesh (Apollod. ii. 5, § 8): 'Phereus' dogs,' or Fereus of mythical celebrity: line 2, Therodamas or Theromedon, king of Scythia, who fed lions with human blood (Ovid, Ibis 385, Pont. i. 2, 121): line 3, Busiris, associated with Osiris of Egypt; but Herodotus denies that the Egyptians ever offered human sacrifices: line 4, Sylla = Sulla: line 5, Lestrigonians, ancient inhabitants of Sicily who fed on human flesh (Ovid, Met. xiv. 233, &c.): line 6, Procrustes, i.e. the Stretcher, being a surname of the famous robber Damastes (Ovid, Met. vii. 438): line 7, Scyron, or Sciron (Ovid, Met. vii. 444-447), who threw his captives from the rocks: line 8, Schinis, more accurately Sinis or Sinnis, a celebrated robber, his name being connected with [Greek: σίνομαι], expressing the manner in which he tore his victims to pieces by tying them to branches of two trees, which he bent together and then let go (Ovid, Met. vii. 440); according to some he was surnamed Procrustes, but Marino and Crashaw distinguish the two: st. xlvi. line 2, Mezentius, a mythical king of the Etruscans (Virgil, Æneid, viii. 480, &c.); he put men to death by tying them to a corpse: ib. Geryon, a fabulous king of Hesperia (Apollod. ii. 5, § 10); under this name the very reverend Dr. J.H. Newman has composed one of his most remarkable poems: line 3, Phalaris, the tyrant of Sicily, whose 'brazen bull' of torture gave point to Cicero's words concerning him, as 'crudelissimus omnium tyrannorum' (in Verr. iv. 33): ib. Ochus = Artaxerxes III. a merciless king of Persia: ib. Ezelinus or Ezzelinus, another wicked tyrant.