Yet when her warme redeeming hand, which is

A miracle; and made such to worke more,

Doth touch thee (saples leafe) thou grow'st by this

20Her creature; glorify'd more then before.

Then as a mother which delights to heare

Her early child mis-speake halfe uttered words,

Or, because majesty doth never feare

Ill or bold speech, she Audience affords.

25And then, cold speechlesse wretch, thou diest againe,

And wisely; what discourse is left for thee?

For, speech of ill, and her, thou must abstaine,

And is there any good which is not shee?

Yet maist thou praise her servants, though not her,

30And wit, and vertue,'and honour her attend,

And since they'are but her cloathes, thou shalt not erre,

If thou her shape and beauty'and grace commend.

Who knowes thy destiny? when thou hast done,

Perchance her Cabinet may harbour thee,

35Whither all noble ambitious wits doe runne,

A nest almost as full of Good as shee.

When thou art there, if any, whom wee know,

Were sav'd before, and did that heaven partake,

When she revolves his papers, marke what show

40Of favour, she alone, to them doth make.

Marke, if to get them, she o'r skip the rest,

Marke, if shee read them twice, or kisse the name;

Marke, if she doe the same that they protest,

Marke, if she marke whether her woman came.

45Marke, if slight things be'objected, and o'r blowne,

Marke, if her oathes against him be not still

Reserv'd, and that shee grieves she's not her owne,

And chides the doctrine that denies Freewill.

I bid thee not doe this to be my spie;

50Nor to make my selfe her familiar;

But so much I doe love her choyce, that I

Would faine love him that shall be lov'd of her.

HONOUR is so sublime perfection,

  And so refinde; that when God was alone

And creaturelesse at first, himselfe had none;

But as of the elements, these which wee tread,

  5Produce all things with which wee'are joy'd or fed,

And, those are barren both above our head:

So from low persons doth all honour flow;

Kings, whom they would have honoured, to us show,

And but direct our honour, not bestow.

10For when from herbs the pure part must be wonne

From grosse, by Stilling, this is better done

By despis'd dung, then by the fire or Sunne.

Care not then, Madame,'how low your praysers lye;

In labourers balads oft more piety

15God findes, then in Te Deums melodie.

And, ordinance rais'd on Towers, so many mile

Send not their voice, nor last so long a while

As fires from th'earths low vaults in Sicil Isle.

Should I say I liv'd darker then were true,

20Your radiation can all clouds subdue;

But one,'tis best light to contemplate you.

You, for whose body God made better clay,

Or tooke Soules stuffe such as shall late decay,

Or such as needs small change at the last day.

25This, as an Amber drop enwraps a Bee,

Covering discovers your quicke Soule; that we

May in your through-shine front your hearts thoughts see.

You teach (though wee learne not) a thing unknowne

To our late times, the use of specular stone,

30Through which all things within without were shown.

Of such were Temples; so and of such you are;

Beeing and seeming is your equall care,

And vertues whole summe is but know and dare.

But as our Soules of growth and Soules of sense

35Have birthright of our reasons Soule, yet hence

They fly not from that, nor seeke presidence:

Natures first lesson, so, discretion,

Must not grudge zeale a place, nor yet keepe none,

Not banish it selfe, nor religion.

40Discretion is a wisemans Soule, and so

Religion is a Christians, and you know

How these are one; her yea, is not her no.

Nor may we hope to sodder still and knit

These two, and dare to breake them; nor must wit

45Be colleague to religion, but be it.

In those poor types of God (round circles) so

Religions tipes the peeclesse centers flow,

And are in all the lines which all wayes goe.

If either ever wrought in you alone

50Or principally, then religion

Wrought your ends, and your wayes discretion.

Goe thither stil, goe the same way you went,

Who so would change, do covet or repent;

Neither can reach you, great and innocent.

THOUGH I be dead, and buried, yet I have

(Living in you,) Court enough in my grave,

As oft as there I thinke my selfe to bee,

So many resurrections waken mee.

  5That thankfullnesse your favours have begot

In mee, embalmes mee, that I doe not rot.

This season as 'tis Easter, as 'tis spring,

Must both to growth and to confession bring

My thoughts dispos'd unto your influence; so,

10These verses bud, so these confessions grow.

First I confesse I have to others lent

Your flock, and over prodigally spent

Your treasure, for since I had never knowne

Vertue or beautie, but as they are growne

15In you, I should not thinke or say they shine,

(So as I have) in any other Mine.

Next I confesse this my confession,

For, 'tis some fault thus much to touch upon

Your praise to you, where half rights seeme too much,

20And make your minds sincere complexion blush.

Next I confesse my'impenitence, for I

Can scarce repent my first fault, since thereby

Remote low Spirits, which shall ne'r read you,

May in lesse lessons finde enough to doe,

25By studying copies, not Originals,

Desunt cætera.

10Where, because Faith is in too low degree,

I thought it some Apostleship in mee

To speake things which by faith alone I see.

That is, of you, who are a firmament

Of virtues, where no one is growne, or spent,

15They'are your materials, not your ornament.

Others whom wee call vertuous, are not so

In their whole substance, but, their vertues grow

But in their humours, and at seasons show.

For when through tastlesse flat humilitie

20In dow bak'd men some harmelessenes we see,

'Tis but his flegme that's Vertuous, and not Hee:

Soe is the Blood sometimes; who ever ran

To danger unimportun'd, he was than

No better then a sanguine Vertuous man.

25So cloysterall men, who, in pretence of feare

All contributions to this life forbeare,

Have Vertue in Melancholy, and only there.

Spirituall Cholerique Crytiques, which in all

Religions find faults, and forgive no fall,

30Have, through this zeale, Vertue but in their Gall.

We'are thus but parcel guilt; to Gold we'are growne

When Vertue is our Soules complexion;

Who knowes his Vertues name or place, hath none.

Vertue'is but aguish, when 'tis severall,

35By occasion wak'd, and circumstantiall.

True vertue is Soule, Alwaies in all deeds All.

This Vertue thinking to give dignitie

To your soule, found there no infirmitie,

For, your soule was as good Vertue, as shee;

40Shee therefore wrought upon that part of you

Which is scarce lesse then soule, as she could do,

And so hath made your beauty, Vertue too.

Hence comes it, that your Beauty wounds not hearts,

As Others, with prophane and sensuall Darts,

45But as an influence, vertuous thoughts imparts.

But if such friends by the honor of your sight

Grow capable of this so great a light,

As to partake your vertues, and their might,

What must I thinke that influence must doe,

50Where it findes sympathie and matter too,

Vertue, and beauty of the same stuffe, as you?

Which is, your noble worthie sister, shee

Of whom, if what in this my Extasie

And revelation of you both I see,

55I should write here, as in short Galleries

The Master at the end large glasses ties,

So to present the roome twice to our eyes,

So I should give this letter length, and say

That which I said of you; there is no way

60From either, but by the other, not to stray.

May therefore this be enough to testifie

My true devotion, free from flattery;

He that beleeves himselfe, doth never lie.

FAIRE, great, and good, since seeing you, wee see

What Heaven can doe, and what any Earth can be:

Since now your beauty shines, now when the Sunne

Growne stale, is to so low a value runne,

  5That his disshevel'd beames and scattered fires

Serve but for Ladies Periwigs and Tyres

In lovers Sonnets: you come to repaire

Gods booke of creatures, teaching what is faire.

Since now, when all is withered, shrunke, and dri'd,

10All Vertues ebb'd out to a dead low tyde,

All the worlds frame being crumbled into sand,

Where every man thinks by himselfe to stand,

Integritie, friendship, and confidence,

(Ciments of greatnes) being vapor'd hence,

15And narrow man being fill'd with little shares,

Court, Citie, Church, are all shops of small-wares,

All having blowne to sparkes their noble fire,

And drawne their sound gold-ingot into wyre;

All trying by a love of littlenesse

20To make abridgments, and to draw to lesse,

Even that nothing, which at first we were;

Since in these times, your greatnesse doth appeare,

And that we learne by it, that man to get

Towards him that's infinite, must first be great.

25Since in an age so ill, as none is fit

So much as to accuse, much lesse mend it,

(For who can judge, or witnesse of those times

Where all alike are guiltie of the crimes?)

Where he that would be good, is thought by all

30A monster, or at best fantasticall;

Since now you durst be good, and that I doe

Discerne, by daring to contemplate you,

That there may be degrees of faire, great, good,

Through your light, largenesse, vertue understood:

35If in this sacrifice of mine, be showne

Any small sparke of these, call it your owne.

And if things like these, have been said by mee

Of others; call not that Idolatrie.

For had God made man first, and man had seene

40The third daies fruits, and flowers, and various greene,

He might have said the best that he could say

Of those faire creatures, which were made that day;

And when next day he had admir'd the birth

Of Sun, Moone, Stars, fairer then late-prais'd earth,

45Hee might have said the best that he could say,

And not be chid for praising yesterday;

So though some things are not together true,

As, that another is worthiest, and, that you:

Yet, to say so, doth not condemne a man,

50If when he spoke them, they were both true than.

How faire a proofe of this, in our soule growes?

Wee first have soules of growth, and sense, and those,

When our last soule, our soule immortall came,

Were swallowed into it, and have no name.

55Nor doth he injure those soules, which doth cast

The power and praise of both them, on the last;

No more doe I wrong any; I adore

The same things now, which I ador'd before,

The subject chang'd, and measure; the same thing

60In a low constable, and in the King

I reverence; His power to work on mee:

So did I humbly reverence each degree

Of faire, great, good; but more, now I am come

From having found their walkes, to find their home.

65And as I owe my first soules thankes, that they

For my last soule did fit and mould my clay,

So am I debtor unto them, whose worth,

Enabled me to profit, and take forth

This new great lesson, thus to study you;

70Which none, not reading others, first, could doe.

Nor lacke I light to read this booke, though I

In a darke Cave, yea in a Grave doe lie;

For as your fellow Angells, so you doe

Illustrate them who come to study you.

75The first whom we in Histories doe finde

To have profest all Arts, was one borne blinde:

He lackt those eyes beasts have as well as wee,

Not those, by which Angels are seene and see;

So, though I'am borne without those eyes to live,

80Which fortune, who hath none her selfe, doth give,

Which are, fit meanes to see bright courts and you,

Yet may I see you thus, as now I doe;

I shall by that, all goodnesse have discern'd,

And though I burne my librarie, be learn'd.

YOU that are she and you, that's double shee,

In her dead face, halfe of your selfe shall see;

Shee was the other part, for so they doe

Which build them friendships, become one of two;

  5So two, that but themselves no third can fit,

Which were to be so, when they were not yet;

Twinnes, though their birth Cusco, and Musco take,

As divers starres one Constellation make;

Pair'd like two eyes, have equall motion, so

10Both but one meanes to see, one way to goe.

Had you dy'd first, a carcasse shee had beene;

And wee your rich Tombe in her face had seene;

She like the Soule is gone, and you here stay,

Not a live friend; but th'other halfe of clay.

15And since you act that part, As men say, here

Lies such a Prince, when but one part is there,

And do all honour and devotion due

Unto the whole, so wee all reverence you;

For, such a friendship who would not adore

20In you, who are all what both were before,

Not all, as if some perished by this,

But so, as all in you contracted is.

As of this all, though many parts decay,

The pure which elemented them shall stay;

25And though diffus'd, and spread in infinite,

Shall recollect, and in one All unite:

So madame, as her Soule to heaven is fled,

Her flesh rests in the earth, as in the bed;

Her vertues do, as to their proper spheare,

30Returne to dwell with you, of whom they were:

As perfect motions are all circular,

So they to you, their sea, whence lesse streames are.

Shee was all spices, you all metalls; so

In you two wee did both rich Indies know.

35And as no fire, nor rust can spend or waste

One dramme of gold, but what was first shall last,

Though it bee forc'd in water, earth, salt, aire,

Expans'd in infinite, none will impaire;

So, to your selfe you may additions take,

40But nothing can you lesse, or changed make.

Seeke not in seeking new, to seeme to doubt,

That you can match her, or not be without;

But let some faithfull booke in her roome be,

Yet but of Iudith no such booke as shee.

WELL dy'd the World, that we might live to see

This world of wit, in his Anatomie:

No evill wants his good; so wilder heires

Bedew their Fathers Tombes, with forced teares,

  5Whose state requites their losse: whiles thus we gain,

Well may wee walke in blacks, but not complaine.

Yet how can I consent the world is dead

While this Muse lives? which in his spirits stead

Seemes to informe a World; and bids it bee,

10In spight of losse or fraile mortalitie?

And thou the subject of this welborne thought,

Thrice noble maid, couldst not have found nor sought

A fitter time to yeeld to thy sad Fate,

Then whiles this spirit lives, that can relate

15Thy worth so well to our last Nephews eyne,

That they shall wonder both at his and thine:

Admired match! where strives in mutuall grace

The cunning pencill, and the comely face:

A taske which thy faire goodnesse made too much

20For the bold pride of vulgar pens to touch;

Enough is us to praise them that praise thee,

And say, that but enough those prayses bee,

Which hadst thou liv'd, had hid their fearfull head

From th'angry checkings of thy modest red:

25Death barres reward and shame: when envy's gone,

And gaine, 'tis safe to give the dead their owne.

As then the wise Egyptians wont to lay

More on their Tombes, then houses: these of clay,

But those of brasse, or marble were: so wee

30Give more unto thy Ghost, then unto thee.

Yet what wee give to thee, thou gav'st to us,

And may'st but thanke thy selfe, for being thus:

Yet what thou gav'st, and wert, O happy maid,

Thy grace profest all due, where 'tis repayd.

35So these high songs that to thee suited bin

Serve but to sound thy Makers praise, in thine,

Which thy deare soule as sweetly sings to him

Amid the Quire of Saints, and Seraphim,

As any Angels tongue can sing of thee;

40The subjects differ, though the skill agree:

For as by infant-yeares men judge of age,

Thy early love, thy vertues, did presage

What an high part thou bear'st in those best songs,

Whereto no burden, nor no end belongs.

45Sing on thou virgin Soule, whose lossfull gaine

Thy lovesick parents have bewail'd in vaine;

Never may thy Name be in our songs forgot,

Till wee shall sing thy ditty and thy note.

The entrie into the worke.

WHEN that rich Soule which to her heaven is gone,

Whom all do celebrate, who know they have one,

(For who is sure he hath a Soule, unlesse

It see, and judge, and follow worthinesse,

  5And by Deedes praise it? hee who doth not this,

May lodge an In-mate soule, but 'tis not his.)

When that Queene ended here her progresse time,

And, as t'her standing house to heaven did climbe,

Where loath to make the Saints attend her long,

10She's now a part both of the Quire, and Song,

This World, in that great earthquake languished;

For in a common bath of teares it bled,

Which drew the strongest vitall spirits out:

But succour'd then with a perplexed doubt,

15Whether the world did lose, or gaine in this,

(Because since now no other way there is,

But goodnesse, to see her, whom all would see,

All must endeavour to be good as shee,)

This great consumption to a fever turn'd,

20And so the world had fits; it joy'd, it mourn'd;

And, as men thinke, that Agues physick are,

And th'Ague being spent, give over care,

So thou sicke World, mistak'st thy selfe to bee

Well, when alas, thou'rt in a Lethargie.

25Her death did wound and tame thee than, and than

Thou might'st have better spar'd the Sunne, or Man.

That wound was deep, but 'tis more misery,

That thou hast lost thy sense and memory.

'Twas heavy then to heare thy voyce of mone,

30But this is worse, that thou art speechlesse growne.

Thou hast forgot thy name, thou hadst; thou wast

Nothing but shee, and her thou hast o'rpast.

For as a child kept from the Font, untill

A prince, expected long, come to fulfill

35The ceremonies, thou unnam'd had'st laid,

Had not her comming, thee her Palace made:

Her name defin'd thee, gave thee forme, and frame,

And thou forgett'st to celebrate thy name.

Some moneths she hath beene dead (but being dead,

40Measures of times are all determined)

But long she'ath beene away, long, long, yet none

Offers to tell us who it is that's gone.

But as in states doubtfull of future heires,

When sicknesse without remedie empaires

45The present Prince, they're loth it should be said,

The Prince doth languish, or the Prince is dead:

So mankinde feeling now a generall thaw,

A strong example gone, equall to law,

The Cyment which did faithfully compact,

50And glue all vertues, now resolv'd, and slack'd,

Thought it some blasphemy to say sh'was dead,

Or that our weaknesse was discovered

In that confession; therefore spoke no more

Then tongues, the Soule being gone, the losse deplore.

55But though it be too late to succour thee,

Sicke World, yea, dead, yea putrified, since shee

Thy'intrinsique balme, and thy preservative,

Can never be renew'd, thou never live,

I (since no man can make thee live) will try,

60What wee may gaine by thy Anatomy.

Her death hath taught us dearely, that thou art

Corrupt and mortall in thy purest part.

Let no man say, the world it selfe being dead,

'Tis labour lost to have discovered

65The worlds infirmities, since there is none

Alive to study this dissection;

What life the world hath stil.

For there's a kinde of World remaining still,

Though shee which did inanimate and fill

The world, be gone, yet in this last long night,

70Her Ghost doth walke; that is, a glimmering light,

A faint weake love of vertue, and of good,

Reflects from her, on them which understood

Her worth; and though she have shut in all day,

The twilight of her memory doth stay;

75Which, from the carcasse of the old world, free,

Creates a new world, and new creatures bee

Produc'd: the matter and the stuffe of this,

Her vertue, and the forme our practice is:

And though to be thus elemented, arme

80These creatures, from home-borne intrinsique harme,

(For all assum'd unto this dignitie,

So many weedlesse Paradises bee,

Which of themselves produce no venemous sinne,

Except some forraine Serpent bring it in)

85Yet, because outward stormes the strongest breake,

And strength it selfe by confidence growes weake,

This new world may be safer, being told

The sicknesses of the World.

The dangers and diseases of the old:

For with due temper men doe then forgoe,

90Or covet things, when they their true worth know.

Impossibility of health.

There is no health; Physitians say that wee,

At best, enjoy but a neutralitie.

And can there bee worse sicknesse, then to know

That we are never well, nor can be so?

95Wee are borne ruinous: poore mothers cry,

That children come not right, nor orderly;

Except they headlong come and fall upon

An ominous precipitation.

How witty's ruine! how importunate

100Upon mankinde! it labour'd to frustrate

Even Gods purpose; and made woman, sent

For mans reliefe, cause of his languishment.

They were to good ends, and they are so still,

But accessory, and principall in ill;

105For that first marriage was our funerall:

One woman at one blow, then kill'd us all,

And singly, one by one, they kill us now.

We doe delightfully our selves allow

To that consumption; and profusely blinde,

110Wee kill our selves to propagate our kinde.

And yet we do not that; we are not men:

There is not now that mankinde, which was then,

When as, the Sunne and man did seeme to strive,

Shortnesse of life.

(Joynt tenants of the world) who should survive;

115When, Stagge, and Raven, and the long-liv'd tree,

Compar'd with man, dy'd in minoritie;

When, if a slow pac'd starre had stolne away

From the observers marking, he might stay

Two or three hundred yeares to see't againe,

120And then make up his observation plaine;

When, as the age was long, the sise was great;

Mans growth confess'd, and recompenc'd the meat;

So spacious and large, that every Soule

Did a faire Kingdome, and large Realme controule:

125And when the very stature, thus erect,

Did that soule a good way towards heaven direct.

Where is this mankinde now? who lives to age,

Fit to be made Methusalem his page?

Alas, we scarce live long enough to try

130Whether a true made clocke run right, or lie.

Old Grandsires talke of yesterday with sorrow,

And for our children wee reserve to morrow.

So short is life, that every peasant strives,

In a torne house, or field, to have three lives.

135And as in lasting, so in length is man

Smalnesse of stature.

Contracted to an inch, who was a spanne;

For had a man at first in forrests stray'd,

Or shipwrack'd in the Sea, one would have laid

A wager, that an Elephant, or Whale,

140That met him, would not hastily assaile

A thing so equall to him: now alas,

The Fairies, and the Pigmies well may passe

As credible; mankinde decayes so soone,

We'are scarce our Fathers shadowes cast at noone:

145Onely death addes t'our length: nor are wee growne

In stature to be men, till we are none.

But this were light, did our lesse volume hold

All the old Text; or had wee chang'd to gold

Their silver; or dispos'd into lesse glasse

150Spirits of vertue, which then scatter'd was.

But 'tis not so: w'are not retir'd, but dampt;

And as our bodies, so our mindes are crampt:

'Tis shrinking, not close weaving that hath thus,

In minde, and body both bedwarfed us.

155Wee seeme ambitious, Gods whole worke t'undoe;

Of nothing hee made us, and we strive too,

To bring our selves to nothing backe; and wee

Doe what wee can, to do't so soone as hee.

With new diseases on our selves we warre,

160And with new Physicke, a worse Engin farre.

Thus man, this worlds Vice-Emperour, in whom

All faculties, all graces are at home;

And if in other creatures they appeare,

They're but mans Ministers, and Legats there,

165To worke on their rebellions, and reduce

Them to Civility, and to mans use:

This man, whom God did wooe, and loth t'attend

Till man came up, did downe to man descend,

This man, so great, that all that is, is his,

170Oh what a trifle, and poore thing he is!

If man were any thing, he's nothing now:

Helpe, or at least some time to wast, allow

T'his other wants, yet when he did depart

With her whom we lament, hee lost his heart.

175She, of whom th'Ancients seem'd to prophesie,

When they call'd vertues by the name of shee;

Shee in whom vertue was so much refin'd,

That for Allay unto so pure a minde

Shee tooke the weaker Sex; shee that could drive

180The poysonous tincture, and the staine of Eve,

Out of her thoughts, and deeds; and purifie

All, by a true religious Alchymie;

Shee, shee is dead; shee's dead: when thou knowest this,

Thou knowest how poore a trifling thing man is.

185And learn'st thus much by our Anatomie,

The heart being perish'd, no part can be free.

And that except thou feed (not banquet) on

The supernaturall food, Religion,

Thy better Growth growes withered, and scant;

190Be more then man, or thou'rt lesse then an Ant.

Then, as mankinde, so is the worlds whole frame

Quite out of joynt, almost created lame:

For, before God had made up all the rest,

Corruption entred, and deprav'd the best:

195It seis'd the Angels, and then first of all

The world did in her cradle take a fall,

And turn'd her braines, and tooke a generall maime,

Wronging each joynt of th'universall frame.

The noblest part, man, felt it first; and than

200Both beasts and plants, curst in the curse of man.

Decay of nature in other parts.

So did the world from the first houre decay,

That evening was beginning of the day,

And now the Springs and Sommers which we see,

Like sonnes of women after fiftie bee.

205And new Philosophy calls all in doubt,

The Element of fire is quite put out;

The Sun is lost, and th'earth, and no mans wit

Can well direct him where to looke for it.

And freely men confesse that this world's spent,

210When in the Planets, and the Firmament

They seeke so many new; they see that this

Is crumbled out againe to his Atomies.

'Tis all in peeces, all cohaerence gone;

All just supply, and all Relation:

215Prince, Subject, Father, Sonne, are things forgot,

For every man alone thinkes he hath got

To be a Phœnix, and that then can bee

None of that kinde, of which he is, but hee.

This is the worlds condition now, and now

220She that should all parts to reunion bow,

She that had all Magnetique force alone,

To draw, and fasten sundred parts in one;

She whom wise nature had invented then

When she observ'd that every sort of men

225Did in their voyage in this worlds Sea stray,

And needed a new compasse for their way;

She that was best, and first originall

Of all faire copies, and the generall

Steward to Fate; she whose rich eyes, and brest

230Guilt the West Indies, and perfum'd the East;

Whose having breath'd in this world, did bestow

Spice on those Iles, and bad them still smell so,

And that rich Indie which doth gold interre,

Is but as single money, coyn'd from her:

235She to whom this world must it selfe refer,

As Suburbs, or the Microcosme of her,

Shee, shee is dead; shee's dead: when thou knowst this,

Thou knowst how lame a cripple this world is.

And learn'st thus much by our Anatomy,

240That this worlds generall sickenesse doth not lie

In any humour, or one certaine part;

But as thou sawest it rotten at the heart,

Thou seest a Hectique feaver hath got hold

Of the whole substance, not to be contrould,

245And that thou hast but one way, not t'admit

The worlds infection, to be none of it.

For the worlds subtilst immateriall parts

Feele this consuming wound, and ages darts.

For the worlds beauty is decai'd, or gone,

Disformity of parts.

250Beauty, that's colour, and proportion.

We thinke the heavens enjoy their Sphericall,

Their round proportion embracing all.

But yet their various and perplexed course,

Observ'd in divers ages, doth enforce

255Men to finde out so many Eccentrique parts,

Such divers downe-right lines, such overthwarts,

As disproportion that pure forme: It teares

The Firmament in eight and forty sheires,

And in these Constellations then arise

260New starres, and old doe vanish from our eyes:

As though heav'n suffered earthquakes, peace or war,

When new Towers rise, and old demolish't are.

They have impal'd within a Zodiake

The free-borne Sun, and keepe twelve Signes awake

265To watch his steps; the Goat and Crab controule,

And fright him backe, who else to either Pole

(Did not these Tropiques fetter him) might runne:

For his course is not round; nor can the Sunne

Perfit a Circle, or maintaine his way

270One inch direct; but where he rose to-day

He comes no more, but with a couzening line,

Steales by that point, and so is Serpentine:

And seeming weary with his reeling thus,

He meanes to sleepe, being now falne nearer us.

275So, of the Starres which boast that they doe runne

In Circle still, none ends where he begun.

All their proportion's lame, it sinkes, it swels.

For of Meridians, and Parallels,

Man hath weav'd out a net, and this net throwne

280Upon the Heavens, and now they are his owne.

Loth to goe up the hill, or labour thus

To goe to heaven, we make heaven come to us.

We spur, we reine the starres, and in their race

They're diversly content t'obey our pace.

285But keepes the earth her round proportion still?

Doth not a Tenarif, or higher Hill

Rise so high like a Rocke, that one might thinke

The floating Moone would shipwracke there, and sinke?

Seas are so deepe, that Whales being strooke to day,

290Perchance to morrow, scarse at middle way

Of their wish'd journies end, the bottome, die.

And men, to sound depths, so much line untie,

As one might justly thinke, that there would rise

At end thereof, one of th'Antipodies:

295If under all, a Vault infernall bee,

(Which sure is spacious, except that we

Invent another torment, that there must

Millions into a straight hot roome be thrust)

Then solidnesse, and roundnesse have no place.

300Are these but warts, and pock-holes in the face

Of th'earth? Thinke so: but yet confesse, in this

The worlds proportion disfigured is;

Disorder in the world.

That those two legges whereon it doth rely,

Reward and punishment are bent awry.

305And, Oh, it can no more be questioned,

That beauties best, proportion, is dead,

Since even griefe it selfe, which now alone

Is left us, is without proportion.

Shee by whose lines proportion should bee

310Examin'd, measure of all Symmetree,

Whom had that Ancient seen, who thought soules made

Of Harmony, he would at next have said

That Harmony was shee, and thence infer,

That soules were but Resultances from her,

315And did from her into our bodies goe,

As to our eyes, the formes from objects flow:

Shee, who if those great Doctors truly said

That the Arke to mans proportions was made,

Had been a type for that, as that might be

320A type of her in this, that contrary

Both Elements, and Passions liv'd at peace

In her, who caus'd all Civill war to cease.

Shee, after whom, what forme so'er we see,

Is discord, and rude incongruitie;

325Shee, shee is dead, shee's dead; when thou knowst this

Thou knowst how ugly a monster this world is:

And learn'st thus much by our Anatomie,

That here is nothing to enamour thee:

And that, not only faults in inward parts,

330Corruptions in our braines, or in our hearts,

Poysoning the fountaines, whence our actions spring,

Endanger us: but that if every thing

Be not done fitly'and in proportion,

To satisfie wise, and good lookers on,

335(Since most men be such as most thinke they bee)

They're lothsome too, by this Deformitee.

For good, and well, must in our actions meete;

Wicked is not much worse than indiscreet.

But beauties other second Element,

340Colour, and lustre now, is as neere spent.

And had the world his just proportion,

Were it a ring still, yet the stone is gone.

As a compassionate Turcoyse which doth tell

By looking pale, the wearer is not well,

345As gold falls sicke being stung with Mercury,

All the worlds parts of such complexion bee.

When nature was most busie, the first weeke,

Swadling the new borne earth, God seem'd to like

That she should sport her selfe sometimes, and play,

350To mingle, and vary colours every day:

And then, as though shee could not make inow,

Himselfe his various Rainbow did allow.

Sight is the noblest sense of any one,

Yet sight hath only colour to feed on,

355And colour is decai'd: summers robe growes

Duskie, and like an oft dyed garment showes.

Our blushing red, which us'd in cheekes to spred,

Is inward sunke, and only our soules are red.

Perchance the world might have recovered,

360If she whom we lament had not beene dead:

But shee, in whom all white, and red, and blew

(Beauties ingredients) voluntary grew,

As in an unvext Paradise; from whom

Did all things verdure, and their lustre come,

365Whose composition was miraculous,

Being all colour, all Diaphanous,

(For Ayre, and Fire but thick grosse bodies were,

And liveliest stones but drowsie, and pale to her,)

Shee, shee, is dead; shee's dead: when thou know'st this,

370Thou knowst how wan a Ghost this our world is:

And learn'st thus much by our Anatomie,

That it should more affright, then pleasure thee.

And that, since all faire colour then did sinke,

'Tis now but wicked vanitie, to thinke

Weaknesse in the want of correspondence of heaven and earth.

375To colour vicious deeds with good pretence,

Or with bought colors to illude mens sense.

Nor in ought more this worlds decay appeares,

Then that her influence the heav'n forbeares,

Or that the Elements doe not feele this,

380The father, or the mother barren is.

The cloudes conceive not raine, or doe not powre,

In the due birth time, downe the balmy showre;

Th'Ayre doth not motherly sit on the earth,

To hatch her seasons, and give all things birth;

385Spring-times were common cradles, but are tombes;

And false-conceptions fill the generall wombes;

Th'Ayre showes such Meteors, as none can see,

Not only what they meane, but what they bee;

Earth such new wormes, as would have troubled much

390Th'Ægyptian Mages to have made more such.

What Artist now dares boast that he can bring

Heaven hither, or constellate any thing,

So as the influence of those starres may bee

Imprison'd in an Hearbe, or Charme, or Tree,

395And doe by touch, all which those stars could doe?

The art is lost, and correspondence too.

For heaven gives little, and the earth takes lesse,

And man least knowes their trade and purposes.

If this commerce twixt heaven and earth were not

400Embarr'd, and all this traffique quite forgot,

She, for whose losse we have lamented thus,

Would worke more fully, and pow'rfully on us:

Since herbes, and roots, by dying lose not all,

But they, yea Ashes too, are medicinall,

405Death could not quench her vertue so, but that

It would be (if not follow'd) wondred at:

And all the world would be one dying Swan,

To sing her funerall praise, and vanish than.

But as some Serpents poyson hurteth not,

410Except it be from the live Serpent shot,

So doth her vertue need her here, to fit

That unto us; shee working more then it.

But shee, in whom to such maturity

Vertue was growne, past growth, that it must die;

415She, from whose influence all Impressions came,

But, by Receivers impotencies, lame,

Who, though she could not transubstantiate

All states to gold, yet guilded every state,

So that some Princes have some temperance;

420Some Counsellers some purpose to advance

The common profit; and some people have

Some stay, no more then Kings should give, to crave;

Some women have some taciturnity,

Some nunneries some graines of chastitie.

425She that did thus much, and much more could doe,

But that our age was Iron, and rustie too,

Shee, shee is dead; shee's dead; when thou knowst this,

Thou knowst how drie a Cinder this world is.

And learn'st thus much by our Anatomy,

430That 'tis in vaine to dew, or mollifie

It with thy teares, or sweat, or blood: nothing

Is worth our travaile, griefe, or perishing,

But those rich joyes, which did possesse her heart,

Of which she's now partaker, and a part.

Conclusion.

435But as in cutting up a man that's dead,

The body will not last out, to have read

On every part, and therefore men direct

Their speech to parts, that are of most effect;

So the worlds carcasse would not last, if I

440Were punctuall in this Anatomy;

Nor smels it well to hearers, if one tell

Them their disease, who faine would think they're well.

Here therefore be the end: And, blessed maid,

Of whom is meant what ever hath been said,

445Or shall be spoken well by any tongue,

Whose name refines course lines, and makes prose song,

Accept this tribute, and his first yeares rent,

Who till his darke short tapers end be spent,

As oft as thy feast sees this widowed earth,

450Will yearely celebrate thy second birth,

That is, thy death; for though the soule of man

Be got when man is made, 'tis borne but than

When man doth die; our body's as the wombe,

And, as a Mid-wife, death directs it home.

455And you her creatures, whom she workes upon,

And have your last, and best concoction

From her example, and her vertue, if you

In reverence to her, do thinke it due,

That no one should her praises thus rehearse,

460As matter fit for Chronicle, not verse;

Vouchsafe to call to minde that God did make

A last, and lasting'st peece, a song. He spake

To Moses to deliver unto all,

That song, because hee knew they would let fall

465The Law, the Prophets, and the History,

But keepe the song still in their memory:

Such an opinion (in due measure) made

Me this great Office boldly to invade:

Nor could incomprehensiblenesse deterre

470Mee, from thus trying to emprison her,

Which when I saw that a strict grave could doe,

I saw not why verse might not do so too.

Verse hath a middle nature: heaven keepes Soules,

The Grave keepes bodies, Verse the Fame enroules.