ELEGY XI. Death. LANGUAGE! thou art too narrow and too weak To afe us now; great forrows cannot speak. If we could figh out accents and weep words, Grief wears and leffens that tear's breath affords. Sad hearts, the lefs they feem the more they are; (So guiltieft men stand muteft at the bar) Not that they know not, feel not, their estate, But extreme fense hath made them desperate. Sorrow, to whom we owe all that we be, Tyrant i' the fifth and greatest monarchy, Was 't that he did poffefs all hearts before Thou haft kill'd her, to make thy empire more? Knew'st thou fome would, that knew her not, law ment,
As in a deluge perish th' innocent?
Was 't not enough to have that palace won, But thou must raze it too, that was undone ? Had thou stay'd there, and look'd out at her eyes.
All had ador'd thee that now from thee flies; For they let out more light than they took in, They told not when, but did the day begin. She was too faphirine and clear for thee; Clay, flint, and jet, now thy fit dwellings be. Alas! fhe was too pure, but not too weak; Whoe'er faw crystal ordnance but would break? And if we be thy conquest, by her fall
Thou haft lost thy end, in her we perish all : Or if we live, we live but to rebel, That know her better now who knew her well. If we should vapour out, and pine and die, Since the first went, that were not mifery: She chang'd our world with her's; now fhe is gone,
Mirth and profperity's oppreffion : For of all moral virtues fhe was all That ethics speak of virtues Cardinal. Her foul was Paradife; the cherubim
Set to keep it was Grace, that kep: out Sin: She had no more than let in Death, for we All reap confumption from on fruitful tree. God took her hence, left fome of u- fhould love Her, like that plant, him and his laws above: And when we tears, he mercy thed in this, To raife our minds to heav'n, where now the is; Whom if her virtues would have let her stay, We had had a faint, have now a holiday.
Her heart was that range bush, where facred fire,
Religion, did not confume but inspire Sach piety, fo chafte ule of God' day, That what we turn'd to feaft fhe turn'd to pray, And did prefigure here, in devout tafte, The rest of her high Sabbath, which shall last. Angels did hand her up, who next God dwell; (For fhe was of that order whence mot fell) Her body's left with us, left fume had faid She could not die, except they faw her dead : For from lefs virtue and leis beauteousness The Gentiles fram'd them gods and goddeffes; The ravenous earth, that w woos her to be Farth too, will be Leminia; and the tree
That wraps that crystal in a wooden tomb, Shall be took up spruce, fill'd with diamond;. And we her fad glad friends all bear a part Of grief, for all would break a Stoic's heart.
Upon the lafs of his mistress's chain, for which be made fatisfaction.
NoT that in colour it was like thy hair, Armelets of that thou may'ft ftill let me wear; Nor that thy hand it oft embrac'd and kift, For fo it had that good which oft' I mist; Nor for that filly old morality,
That as thefe links were knit our loves fhould be, Mourn 1, that I thy fevenfold chain have loft; Nor for the luck's fake, but the bitter coft. O' fhall twelve righteous angels, which as yet No leaven of vile folder did admit; Nor yet by any way have ftray'd or gone From the first state of their creation; Angels which Heaven commanded to provide All things to me, and be my faithful guide; To gain new friends, t' appeafe old enemies, To comfort my foul when I lie or rife: Shall thefe twelve innocents, by thy fevere Sentence, (dread Judge) my fins great burden bear?
Shall they be damn'd, and in the furnace thrown, And punisht for offences not their own?
They fave not me, they do not ease my pains, When in that hell they're burnt and ty'd in chains:
Were they but crowns of France, I cared not, For moit of them their natural country rot I think poffeffeth; they come here to us So pale, fo lame, fo lean, fo ruinous; And howfee'er French kings Most Christian be, Their crowns are circumcis'd mott Jewishly; Or were they Spanish ftamps, ftill travelling, That are become as catholic as their king, Thofe unlickt bear-whelps unfil'd pistolets, That (more than cannon-fhot) avai's or lets, Which, negligently left unrounded, look Like many angled figures in the book Of fome dread conjurer that would enforce Nature, as thefe do Juftice, from her courfe; Which, as the foul quickens head, feet, and heart, As ftreams like veins run through th' carth's ev'ry part,
Vifit all countries, and have flily made Gorgeous France ruin'd; ragged and decay'd Scotland, which knew no state, proud in one day, And mangled leventeen-headed Be gia: Or were it fach g'ld as that wherewithal Almighty chemics from each mineral, Having by fubtile fire a loul out-pull'd Are dirtily and defperately gull'd;
I would not fpit to quench the fire they're in,
For they are guilty of much heinous fin.
Bu fhall my harmlef as gels perish? shall
lofe my guard, my cale, my food, my ad
Much hope, which they fhould nourish, will be
Much of my able youth and luftyhead Will vanifh, if thou, Love, let them alone, For thou wilt love me lefs when they are gone; And be content that fome loud fqueaking crier, Well pleas'd with one lean thread-bare groat for hire,
May like a devil roar through every street, And gall the finder's confcience if they meet: Or let pie creep to fome dread conjurer, That with phantaftic fcenes fills full much paper; Which hath divided heaven in tenements, And with whores, thieves, and murd'rers, ftuft his rents
So full, that though he pass them all in fin, He leaves himself no room to enter in.
Bet if, when all his art and time is spent, He fay 't will ne'er be found, yet be content, Receive from him the doom ungrudgingly, Because he is the mouth of Destiny.
Thou fay'ft (alas!) the gold doth still remain, Though it be chang'd, and put into a Chain; So in the first fall'n angels refteth still Wisdom and knowledge, but 't is turn'd to ill: As these should do good works, and should pro- vide
Neceflities, but now muft nurfe thy pride; And they are ftill bad angels; mine are none; For form gives being, and their form is gone: Pity thefe angels yet; their dignities País Virtues, Powers, and Principalities. But thou art refolute; thy will be done; Yet with fuch anguish as her only fon The mother in the hungry grave doth lay, Unto the fire thefe martyrs I betray. Good fouls! (for you give life to every thing) Good angels (for good meffages you bring) Deftin'd you might have been to such an one As would have lov'd and worshipp'd you alone; One that would fuffer hunger, nakedness, Yea death, ere he would make your number lefs. But I am guilty of your fad decay: May your few fellows longer with me ftay.
But oh thou wretched finder, whom I hate So, that I almost pity thy eftate, Gold being the heaviest metal amongst all, May my moft heavy curfe upon thee fall: Here fetter'd manacled, and hang'd in chains, First may'st thou be; then chain'd to hellish pains; Or be with foreign gold brib'd to betray Thy country, and fail both of it and thy pay. May the next thing thou ftoop'ft to reach con- tain
Poifon, whofe nimble fume rot thy moist brain; Or libels, or fome interdicted thing, Which, negligently kept, thy ruin bring. Luft-bred diseases rot thee; and dwell with thee Itching defire, and no ability.
May all the evils that gold ever wrought, All mifchief that all devils ever thought, Want after plenty, poor and gouty age, The plague of travellers, love and marriage, Afia thee; and at thy life's last moment May thy fwoln fins themselves to thee present,
But I forgive; repent, thou honest man! Gold is restorative, reftore it then; But if that from it thou be'ft loth to part, Becaufe 'tis cordial, would 'twere at thy heart,·
COME, Fates! I fear you not all whom I owe Are paid but you; then reft me ere I go. But Chance from you all fovereignty hath got; Love wounded none but thofe whom Death dares not:
True if you were and juft in equity,
I fhould have vanquifh'd her as you did me, Elfe lovers fhould not brave Death's pains and live:
But 't is a rule, Death comes not to relieve: Or pale and wan Death's terrors, are they laid So deep in lovers they make Death afraid? Or (the leaft comfort) have I company? Or can the Fates love Death as well as me? Yes, Fates do filk unto her diftaff pay For ransom, which tax they on us do lay, Love gives her youth, which is the reason why Youths, for her fake, fome wither and fome die. Poor Death can nothing give; yet, for her fake Still in her turn he doth a lover take;
And if Death should prove falfe the fears him not;
Our Mufes to redeem her fhe hath got. That fatal night we laft kifs'd I thus pray'd, (Or rather thus despair'd, I should have faid) Kiffes, and yet defpair. The forbid tree Did promife (and deceive) no more than she: Like lambs that feed their teats and must cat hay, A food whofe tafte hath made me pine away. Dives, when thou faw'ft blifs, and crav'dst top touch
A drop of water, thy great pains were fuch. Here grief wants a fresh wit, for mine being
And my lighs weary, groans are all my rent. Unable longer to endure the pain,
They break like thunder, and do bring down rain. Thus till dry tears folder mine eyes, I weep, And then I dream how you fecurely fleep, And in your dreams do laugh at me. I hate, And pray Love all may; he pities my flate, But fays I therein no revenge fhall find; The fun would fhine though all the world were blind.
Yet, to try my hate, Loye fhew'd me your tear, And I had dy'd had not your smile been there. Your frown undoes me; your fmile is my wealth, And as you please to look I have my health. Methought Love pitying me, when he faw this, Gave nie your hands, the backs and palms to kifs: That cur'd me not, but to bear pain gave ftrength, And what is loft in force is took in length. I call'd on Love again, who fear'd you fo, That his compaffion ftill prov'd greater woe: For then I dream'd I was in bed with you, But durft not feel, for fear 't fhould not be true.
This merits not our anger, had it been; The queen of Chastity was naked feen: And in bed not to feel the pain I took Was more than for Acteon not to look; And that breaft, which lay ope, I did not know, But for the clearness, from a lump of fnow.
SINCE the must go and I must mourn, come,
Environ me with darkness whilst I write; Shadow that hell unto me which alone I am to fuffer when my love is gone. Alas! the darkest magic cannot do it, And that great hell to boot are fhadows to it. Should Cynthia quit thee, Venus! and each ftar, It would not form one thought dark as mine are! I could lend them obfcureness now, and fay Out of myself: there should be no more day : Such is already myself-want of fight, Did not the fire within me force a light. Oh, Love! that fire and darkness fhould be mixt, Or to thy triumphs fuch strange torments fixt! Is 't because thou thyself art blind, that we, Thy martyrs, muft no more each other fee? Or tak'ft thou pride to break us on thy wheel, And view old Chaos in the pains we feel? Or have we left undone fome mutual right, That thus with parting thou feek'st us to spite? No, no the fault is mine; impute it to me, Or rather to confpiring Destiny,
Which (fince I lov'd) for me before decreed That I fhould fuffer when I lov'd indeed; And therefore fooner now than I can fay I faw the golden fruit 't is wrapt away: Or as I had watch'd one drop in the vast stream, And I left wealthy only in a dream. Yet, Love thou'rt blinder than thyself in this, To vex my dove-like friend for my amiss, And where one fad truth may expiate Thy wrath, to make her fortune run my fate. So blinded Justice doth, when favourites fall, Strike them, their houfe, their friends, their fa- vourites all.
Was 't not enough that thou didst dart thy fires Into our bloods, enflaming our defires, And mad'st us figh, and blow, and pant, and burn, And then thyfelf into our flames didft turn? Was't not enough that thou didst hazard us To paths in love fo dark and dangerous, And those fo ambush'd round with household fpies, And over all thy husband's tow'ring eyes Inflam'd with th' ugly fweat of jealousy, Yet went we not still on in conftancy? Have we for thi kept guards, like spy o'er spy? Had correfpondence whilft the foe flood by? Stola (more to sweeten them) our many bliffes Of meetings, conference, embracements, kiffes? Shadow'd with negligence our beft refpects? Varied our language through all dialects
Of becks, winks, looks, and often under boards Spoke dialogues with our feet far from our words Have we prov'd all the fecrets of our art, Yea, thy pale inwards and thy panting heart? And after all this paffed Purgatory,
Muft fad divorce make us the vulgar story? First let our eyes be riveted quite through Our turning brains, and both our lips grow to: Let our arms clafp like ivy, and our fear Freeze us together, that we may stick here; Till Fortune, that would ruin us with the deed, Strain his eyes open, and yet make them bleed. For Love it cannot be, whom hitherto
I have accus'd, fhould fuch a mischief do. Oh, Fortune! thou'rt not worth my least exclain And plague enough thou haft in thy own name Do thy great worft, my friends and I have arms, Though not against thy ftrokes, against thy harm Rend us in funder, thou canst not divide Our bodies fo, but that our fouls are ty'd, And we can love by letters ftill and gifts, And thoughts, and dreams: Love never wantet fhifts.
I will not look upon the quick'ning fun, But ftraight her beauty to my fense shall run; The air fhall note her foft, the fire most pure, Waters fuggeft her clear, and the earth fure; Time thall not lofe our paffages; the spring How fresh our love was in the beginning; The fummer, how it enripened the year; And autumn what our golden harvests were: The winter I'll not think on to fpite thee, But count it a loft feafon, fo fhall fhe. And, dearest Friend! fince we must part, drow With hope of day; burdens well borne are ligh The cold and darkness longer hang somewhere, Yet Phœbus equally lights all the sphere; And what we cannot in like portion pay, The world enjoys in mafs, and fo we may. Be ever then yourself, and let no woe Win on your health, your youth, your beauty fo Declare yourself bafe Fortune's enemy; No lefs be your contempt than her inconftancy; That I may grow enamour'd on your mind, When my own thoughts I here neglected find. And this, to th' comfort of my dear I vow, My deeds fhall ftill be what my deeds are now; The poles fhall move to teach me ere I start, And when I change my love I'll change my heart Nay, if I wax but cold in my defire,
Think heav'n hath motion loft, and the work
Is her continual practice, does her beit, To tear opinion ev'n out of the breaft Of dearest friends, and (which is worse than vile) Sticks jealousy in wedlock. Her own child 'Scapes not the show'rs of envy. To repeat The monftrous fafhions, how, were alive to eat Dear reputation. Would to God the were But half fo loth to act vice as to hear My mild reproof! Liv'd Mantuan now again, That female maflix to limn with his pen, This fhe Chimera, that hath eyes of fire, Burning with anger, (anger feeds defire) Tongu'd like the night-crow, whofe ill-boding
Give out for nothing but new injuries, Her breath like to the juice in enarus,
That blasts the springs, though ne'er fo profper
Her hands, I know not how, us'd more to fpill The food of others than herself to fill.
But, oh! her mind, that Orcus, which includes Legions of mischief, countless multitudes Of former curfes, projects unmade-up, Abuses yet unfashion'd, thoughts corrupt, Mishapen cavils, palpable untruths, Inevitable errors, felf-accufing lothes: Thefe, like thofe atoms fwarming in the fun, Throng in her bofom for creation. I blush to give her half her due, yet fay No poison's half so bad as Julia.
A Tale of a Citizen and bis Wife.
1 SING no harm, good footh, to any wight, To lord, to fool, cuckold, beggar, or knight, To peace-teaching lawyer, proctor, or brave, Reformed or reduced captain, knave, Officer, jugler, or justice of peace,
Juror or judge; I touch no fat fow's grease; I am no libeller, nor will be any,
But (like a true man) fay there are too many: I fear not Ore tenus, for my tale
Nor count, nor counsellor, will red or pale. A Citizen and his Wife the other day, Both riding on one horse, upon the way I overtook; the wench a pretty peat, And (by her eye) well fitting for the feat: I faw the lech'rous Citizen turn back His head, and on his Wife's lip fteal a smack; Whence apprehending that the man was kind, Riding before to kifs his Wife behind, To get acquaintance with him I began, And fort difcourfe fit for fo fine a man. I afk'd the number of the Plaguy Bill, Afk'd if the custom-farmers held out ftill? Of the Virginian plot, and whether Ward The traffic of the midland feas had marr'd? Whether the Britain Burfe did fill apace, And likely were to give th' Exchange difgrace? Of new-built Aldgate and the Moorfield croffes, Of flore of bankrupts and poor merchant's loffes,
I urged him to fpeak; but he (as mute As an old courtier worn to his last fuit) Replies with only Yeas and Nays. At laft (To fit his clement) my theme I cast On tradefmen's gains: that fet his tongue an going.
Alas! good Sir, (quoth he) there is no doing In court nor city now. She fmil'd, and I, And (in my conscience) both gave him the lie In one met thought. But he went on apace, And at the prefent times with fuch a face He rail'd as fray'd me; for he gave no praife To any but my Lord of Effex's days; Call'd thofe the Age of Action. True, (quoth he) There's now as great an itch of bravery, And heat of taking up, but cold lay down, For put to push of pay away they run: Our only city-trades of hope now are Bawds, tavern-keepers, whore, and fcrivener; The much of privileg'd kinfmen, and the store Of fresh protections make the rest all poor : In the first state of their creation
Though many floutly stand, yet proves not one A righteous pay-mafter. Thus ran he on In a continued rage: fo void of reafon Seem'd his harfh talk, I fweat for fear of treason. And troth (how) could I lefs? when in the prayer For the protection of the wife Lord Mayor And his wife brethren's worships, when one prayeth, He fwore that none could fay Amen with faith. To get him off from what I glow'd to hear, (In happy time) an Angel did appear, The bright fign of a lov'd and well-try'd inn, Where many citizens with their wives had been Well us'd and often: here I pray'd him stay To take fome duc refreshment by the way. Look how he look'd that hid his gold, his hope, And at his return found nothing but a rope; So he on me: refus'd, and made away, Though willing the pleaded a weary day:
I found my mifs, ftruck hands, and pray'd him tell (To hold acquaintance ftill) where he did dwell; He barely nam'd the street, promis'd the wine; But his kind wife gave me the very sign.
To make the doubt clear, that no woman's true Was it my fate to prove it strong in you? Thought I, but one had breathed pureft air, And muft fhe needs be falfe because she's fair? Is it your beauty's mark, or of your youth, Or your perfection, not to study truth? Or think you Heav'n is deaf, or hath no eyes, Or those it hath fmile at your perjuries? Are vows fo cheap with women, or the matter Whereof they're made, that they are writ in water, And blown away with wind? or doth their breath (Both hot and cold) at once make life and death? Who could have thought fo many accents sweet, Form'd into words, fo many fighs fhould meet.
As from our hearts; fo many oaths, and tears Sprinkled among, (all fweeten'd by our fears) And the divine impreffion of ftol'n kiffes, That feal'd the reft, fhould now prove empty bliffes? Did you draw but ds to forfeit? fign to break? Or niuft we read you quite from what you fpeak, And find the truth out the wrong way? or must He first defire you falfe who 'ld wifh you just? O! I profane: though most of women be This kind of beast, my thoughts fhall except thee, My dearest Love! though froward jealousy With circumstance might urge thy inconftancy, Sooner I'll think the fun will cease to cheer 'I he teeming earth, and that forget to bear; Sooner that rivers will run back, or Thames With ribs of ice in June will bind his ftreams; Or Nature, by whofe ftrength the world endures, Would change her courfe, before you alter yours. But, oh! that treacherous breaft, to whom weak you Did truft our counfels, and we both may rue, Having his falfehood found too late, 't was he 'That made me caft you guilty, and you me; Whilft he (black wretch!) betray'deach fimple word We fpake unto the cunning of a third. Curft may he be that fo our love hath flain, And wander on the earth wretched as Cain! Wretched as he, and not deferve least pity; In plaguing him let Mifery be witty! Let all eyes fhun him, and he fhun each eye, Till he be noisome as his infamy! May he without remorfe deny God thrice, And not be trufted more on his foul's price; And after all felf-torment, when he dies May wolves tear out his heart, vultures his eyes, Swine cat his bowels, and his falfer tongue, That utter'd all, be to fome raven flung; And let his carrion-corfe be a longer feast To the king's dogs than any other beast! Now I have curft, let us our love revive; In me the flame was never more alive: I could begin again to court and praise, And in that pleafure lengthen the short days Of my life's leafe: like painters, that do take Delight not in made works, but whilft they make. I could renew thofe times when firit I faw Love in your eyes, that gave my tongue the law To like what you lik'd, and at masks and plays Commend the felf-fame actors the fame ways; Afk how you did, and often, with intent Of being officious, be impertinent : All which were fuch foft paftimes, as in thefe Love was as fubtilely catch'd as a difeafe; But being got, it is a treafure fweet, Which to defend is harder than to get, And ought not be profan'd on either part, For though 't is got by chance 't is kept by art.
WHOEVER loves, if he do not propose The right true end of love, he's one that goes To fea for nothing but to make him fick. Love is a bear-whelp born; if we o'er-lick
Our love, and force it new ftrong fhapes to take We err, and of a lump a monfter make. Were not a calf a monfter, that were grown Fac'd like a man, though better than his own? Perfection is in unity: prefer
One woman firft, and then one thing in her. I, when I value gold, may think upon The ductilnefs, the application, The wholfomnefs, the ingenuity, From ruft, from foil, from fire, ever free: But if I love it, 'tis becaufe 'tis made By our new nature (use) the fond of trade.
All thefe in women we might think upon (If women had them) and yet love but one. Can men more injure women than to fay They love them for that by which they're n they?
Makes virtue woman? muft I cool my blood Till I both be and find one wife and good? May barren angels love fo: but if we Make love to woman, virtue is not the: As beauties, no, nor wealth. He that ftrays thu From her to her's is more adulterous Than if he took her maid. Search every sphere And firmament, our Cupid is not there: He's an infernal god, and under ground With Pluto dwells, where gold and fire abound Men to fuch gods their facrificing coals Did not on altars lay, but pits and holes. Although we fee celeftial bodies move Above the earth, the earth we till and love: So we her airs contemplate, words, and heart, And virtues; but we love the centric part.
Nor is the foul more worthy or more fit For love than this, as infinite as it. But in attaining this defired place, How much they cir that fet out at the face? The hair a foreft is of ambushes,
Of fprings, and fiares, fetters, and manacles: The brow becalms us when 'tis fmooth and pla And when 'tis wrinkled shipwrecks us again. Smooth 'tis à paradife, where we would have Immortal stay, but wrinkled 'tis a grave. The nofe (like to the fweet meridian) runs Not 'twixt an eat and weft, but 'twixt two fur It leaves a cheek a rofy hemifphere
On either fide, and then dire&s us where Upon the lands Fortunate we fall, Not faint Canaries, but Ambrofial. Unto her fwelling lips when we are come, We anchor there, and think ourselves at home, For they feem all: there Syrens fongs, and ther Wife Delphic oracles, do fill the ear; Then in a creck, where chofen pearls do fwell The remora, her cleaving tongue doth dwell. Thefe and (the glorious promontory) her chin, Being past the Straits of Hellefpont, between The Seftos and Abydos of her breasts, (Not of two lovers but two Loves the nests) Succeeds a boundless fea; but yet thine eye Some ifland moles may fcatter'd there deicry; And failing towards her India, in that way Shall at her fair Atlantic navel ftay: Though there the current be the pilot made, Yet ere thou be where thou shouldnt be embay
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