Shall they be damned and in the furnace thrown,
And punished for offences not their own?
They save not me, they do not ease my pains,
When in that hell they are burnt and tied in chains.
Were they but crowns of France, I cared not,
For most of these their country's natural rot,1
I think, possesseth; they come here to us
So pale, so lame, so lean, so ruinous;
(And howsoe'er French kings most Christian be,
Their crowns are circumcised most Jewishly ;)
Or were they Spanish stamps still travelling,
That are become as catholic as their king,
Those unlicked bear-whelps, unfiled pistolets,
That (more than cannon-shot) avails or lets,
Which, negligently left unrounded, look
Like many-angled figures in the book
Of some great conjurer that would enforce
Nature, as these do justice, from her course;
Which, as the soul quickens head, feet, and heart, As streams like veins run through th' earth's
Visit all countries, and have slyly made
Gorgeous France ruined, ragged and decayed,
Scotland, which knew no state, proud in one day,
And mangled seventeen-headed Belgia ;
Or were it such gold as that wherewithal
Almighty chymics, from each mineral
Having by subtle fire a soul out-pulled,
Are dirtily and desperately gulled,
1 them, their natural country rot, 1669. 2 dread, ibid.
I would not spit to quench the fire they are in,
For they are guilty of much heinous sin.
But shall my harmless angels perish? Shall
I lose my guard, my ease, my food, my all?
Much hope which they should nourish will be dead,
Much of my able youth and lusty-head
Will vanish if thou, Love, let them alone;
For thou wilt love me less when they are gone,
And be content that some loud squeaking cryer,
Well-pleased with one lean threadbare groat for hire,
May like a devil roar through every street
And gall the finder's conscience, if he1 meet.
Or let me creep to some dread conjurer,
That with fantastic scenes fills full much paper,
Which hath divided heaven in tenements,
And with whores, thieves, and murderers stuffed
his rents
So full, that, though he pass them all in sin,
He leaves himself no room to enter in.
But if, when all his art and time is spent,
He say 't will ne'er be found, yet be content;
Receive from him that 2 doom ungrudgingly,
Because he is the mouth of Destiny.
Thou say'st, (alas!) the gold doth still remain,
Though it be changed and put into a chain;
So in the first fallen Angels resteth still
Wisdom and knowledge, but 't is turned to ill,
As these should do good works and should provide
Necessities, but now must nurse thy pride:
1 they, 1669. 2 the, ibid.
And they are still bad angels; mine are none;
For form gives being, and their form is gone :
Pity these angels yet: their dignities
Pass Virtues, Powers, and Principalities.
But thou art resolute; thy will be done ;
Yet with such anguish, as her only son
The mother in the hungry grave doth lay,
Unto the fire these martyrs I betray.
Good souls, (for you give life to everything,)
Good angels, (for good messages you bring,)
Destined you might have been to such an one
As would have loved and worshipped you alone,
One that would suffer hunger, nakedness,
Yea, death, ere he would make your number less ;
But I am guilty of your sad decay:
May your few fellows longer with me stay!
But oh, thou wretched finder, whom I hate
So that I almost pity thy estate,
Gold being the heaviest metal amongst all,1
May my most heavy curse upon thee fall!
Here fettered, manacled, and hanged in chains
First may'st thou be, then chained to hellish pains;
Or be with foreign gold bribed to betray
Thy country, and fail both of it and thy pay;2
May the next thing thou stoop'st to reach, contain
Poison whose nimble fume rot thy moist brain,
Or libels, or some interdicted thing,
Which, negligently kept, thy ruin bring;
1 heaviest amongst metals all, 1669. 2 and pay, ibid.
Lust-bred diseases rot thee; and dwell with thee
Itching desire and no ability;
May all the evils that gold ever wrought,
All mischief that all devils ever thought,
Want after plenty, poor and gouty age,
The plagues of travellers, love, marriage
Afflict thee; and at thy life's last moment
May thy swollen sins themselves to thee present !
But I forgive: repent thee, honest 3 man :
Gold is restorative, restore it, than:
But if from it thou be'st loath to depart 4
Because 't is cordial, would 't were at thy heart.
COME, Fates; I fear you not.
Are paid but you. Then rest me ere I go.
But Chance from you all sovereignty hath got,
Love woundeth none but those whom Death dares not:
Else 5 if you were, and just in equity,
I should have vanquished her as you did me;
Else lovers should 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?
1 plague, 1669. 2 love and marriage, ibid. 3 repent thou honest, ibid. 4 But if that from it thou be'est loath to part, ibid. 5 True, ibid.
Or (the least comfort) have I company?
Or can the Fates love Death as well as me?
Yes, Fates do silk unto her distaff pay
For ransom, which tax they on us do lay.
Love gives her youth, which is the reason why
Youths, for her sake, some wither and some die.
Poor Death can nothing give; yet for her sake,
Still in her turn, he doth a lover take.
And if Death should prove false, she fears him not;
Our Muses to redeem her she hath got.
That fatal night we last kissed, I thus prayed,
(Or rather thus despaired, I should have said,)
Kisses, and yet despair! The forbid tree
Did promise and deceive no more than she.
Like lambs that see their teats, and must eat hay,
A food, whose taste hath made me pine away.
Dives, when thou saw'st bliss and crav'dst to touch
A drop of water, thy great pains were such.
Here grief wants a fresh wit, for mine being spent,
And my sighs 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 solder mine eyes, I weep;
And then I dream how you securely sleep,
And in your dreams do laugh at me. I hate,
And pray Love all may. He pities my state,
But says I therein no revenge shall find ;
The sun would shine, though all the world were blind.
Yet, to try my hate, Love showed me your tear,
And I had died, had not your smile been there.
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