The Anatomy of Melancholy

1824

WHEN I go musing all alone, Thinking of divers things foreknown,

When I build castles in the ayr, Void of sorrow and void of feare, Pleasing myself with phantasms sweet,

Methinks the time runs very fleet. All my joyes to this are folly, Naught so sweet as melancholy. When I lie waking all alone, Recounting what I have ill done, My thoughts on me then tyrannize, Feare and sorrow me surprise, Whether I tarry still or go, Methinks the time moves very slow. All my griefs to this are jolly, Naught so sad as melancholy. When to myself I act and smile, With pleasing thoughts the time beguile,

By a brook side or wood so green, Unheard, unsought for, or unseen, A thousand pleasures do me bless, And crown my soule with happiness.

All my joyes besides are folly, None so sweet as melancholy. When I lie, sit, or walk alone, I sigh, I grieve, making great

mone,

In a dark grove, or irksome den,
With discontents and Furies then,
A thousand miseries at once
Mine heavy heart and soule en-

sconce.

All my griefs to this are jolly, None so sour as melancholy. Me thinks I hear, me thinks I see, Sweet musick, wondrous melodie, Towns, palaces, and cities fine; Here now, then there; the world is mine.

Rare beauties, gallant ladies shine, What e'er is lovely or divine.

All other joyes to this are folly, None so sweet as melancholy. Methinks I hear, methinks I see Ghosts, goblins, fiends; my phantasie

Presents a thousand ugly shapes, Headless bears, black men, and apes, Doleful outcries, and fearful sights, My sad and dismall soule affrights. All my griefs to this are jolly, None so damn'd as melancholy.

move,

So may I ever be in love.

All my joyes to this are folly, Naught so sweet as melancholy. When I recount loves many frights, My sighs and tears, my waking nights,

My jealous fits; O mine hard fate
I now repent, but tis too late.
No torment is so bad as love,
So bitter to my soule can prove.

All my griefs to this are jolly, Naught so harsh as melancholy. Friends and companions get you gone,

'Tis my desire to be alone; Ne'er well but when my thoughts and I

Do domineer in privacie. No gemm, no treasure like to this, 'Tis my delight, my crown, my bliss.

All my joyes to this are folly, Naught so sweet as melancholy. 'Tis my sole plague to be alone, I am a beast, a monster grown, I will no light nor company, I finde it now my misery. The scean is turn'd, my joyes are gone, Feare, discontent, and sorrows come. All my griefs to this are jolly, Naught so fierce as melancholy. I'll not change life with any King, I ravisht am: can the world bring More joy, then still to laugh and smile, In pleasant toyes time to beguile? Do not, O do not trouble me, So sweet content I feel and see.

All my joyes to this are folly, None so divine as melancholy. I'll change my state with any wretch

Thou canst from gaole or dunghill fetch:

My pain's past cure, another hell,
I may not in this torment dwell,
Now desperate I hate my life,
Lend me a halter or a knife;

All my griefs to this are jolly,
Naught so damn'd as melancholy.

Democritus Junior ad Librum suum.

VADE liber, qualis, non ausim dicere, fœlix,
Te nisi fœlicem fecerit alma dies.
Vade tamen quocunque lubet, quascunque per oras,
Et Genium Domini fac imitere tui.
I blandas inter Charites, mystamque saluta
Musarum quemvis, si tibi lector erit.
Rura colas, urbem, subeasve palatia regum,
Submisse, placide, te sine dente geras.
Nobilis, aut si quis te forte inspexerit heros,
Da te morigerum, perlegat usque lubet.
Est quod Nobilitas, est quod desideret heros,
Gratior hæc forsan charta placere potest.
Si quis morosus Cato, tetricusque Senator
Hunc etiam librum forte videre velit,
Sive magistratus, tum te reverenter habeto ;
Sed nullus; muscas non capiunt aquila.
Non vacat his tempus fugitivum impendere nugis,
Nec tales cupio; par mihi lector erit.

Si matrona gravis casu diverterit istuc,

Illustris domina, aut te Comitissa legat:
Est quod displiceat, placeat quod forsitan illis,
Ingerere his noli te modo, pande tamen.
At si virgo tuas dignabitur inclyta chartas
Tangere, sive schedis hæreat illa tuis:

Da modo te facilem, et quædam folia esse memento
Conveniant oculis quæ magis apta suis.

Si generosa ancilla tuos aut alma puella
Visura est ludos, annue, pande lubens.
Dic, Utinam nunc ipse meus (nam diligit istas)
In præsens esset conspiciendus herus.
Ignotus notusve mihi de gente togatâ
Sive aget in ludis, pulpita sive colet,
Sive in Lycæo, et nugas evolverit istas,
Si quasdam mendas viderit inspiciens,
Da veniam auctori, dices; nam plurima vellet
Expungi, quæ jam displicuisse sciat.

Sive Melancholicus quisquam, seu blandus Amator,
Aulicus aut Civis, seu bene comptus Eques
Huc appellat, age et tuto te crede legenti,
Multa istic forsan non male nata leget.
Quod fugiat, caveat, quodque amplexabitur, ista
Pagina fortassis promere multa potest.

* Hæc comice dicta, cave ne male capias.

At si quis Medicus coram te sistet, amice
Fac circumspecte, et te sine labe geras :
Inveniet namque ipse meis quoque plurima scriptis,
Non leve subsidium quæ sibi forsan erunt.
Si quis Causidicus chartas impingat in istas,
Nil mihi vobiscum, pessima turba vale:
Sit nisi vir bonus, et juris sine fraude peritus;
Tum legat, et forsan doctior inde siet.
Si quis cordatus, facilis, lectorque benignus
Huc oculos vertat, quæ velit ipse legat;
Candidus ignoscet, metuas nil, pande libenter,
Offensus mendis non erit ille tuis,

Laudabit nonnulla. Venit si Rhetor ineptus,
Limata et tersa, et qui bene cocta petit,
Claude citus librum; nulla hîc nisi ferrea verba,
Offendent stomachum quæ minus apta suum.
At si quis non eximius de plebe poëta,

Annue; namque istic plurima ficta leget.
Nos sumus e numero, nullus mihi spirat Apollo,
Grandiloquus Vates quilibet esse nequit.
Si Criticus Lector, tumidus Censorque molestus,
Zoilus et Momus, si rabiosa cohors:
Ringe, freme, et noli tum pandere, turba malignis
Si occurrat sannis invidiosa suis :

Fac fugias; si nulla tibi sit copia eundi,

Contemnes tacite scommata quæque feres.
Frendeat, allatret, vacuas gannitibus auras
Impleat, haud cures; his placuisse nefas.
Verum age si forsan divertat purior hospes,
Cuique sales, ludi, displiceantque joci,
Objiciatque tibi sordes, lascivaque: dices,
Lasciva est Domino et Musa jocosa tuo,
Nec lasciva tamen, si pensitet omne; sed esto;
Sit lasciva licet pagina, vita proba est.
Barbarus, indoctusque rudis spectator in istam
Si messem intrudat, fuste fugabis eum:
Fungum pelle procul (jubeo); nam quid mihi fungo?
Conveniunt stomacho non minus ista suo.

Sed nec pelle tamen ; læto omnes accipe vultu,
Quos, quas, vel quales, inde vel unde viros.
Gratus erit quicunque venit, gratissimus hospes
Quisquis erit, facilis difficilisque mihi.
Nam si culpârit, quædam culpâsse juvabit.
Culpando faciet me meliora sequi.
Sed si laudârit, neque laudibus efferar ullis,
Sit satis hisce malis opposuisse bonum.
Hæc sunt quæ nostro placuit mandare libello,
Et quæ dimittens discere jussit Herus.

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The Anatomy of Melancholy: What it Is, with All the Kinds, Causes, Symptomes ...