All trying by a love of littleness
To make abridgements, and to draw to less,
Even that nothing, which at first we were;
Since in these times, your greatness doth appear,
And that we learn by it, that man to get
Towards him that's infinite, must first be great.
Since in an age so ill, as none is fit
So much as to accuse, much less mend it,
(For who can judge, or witness of those times
Where all alike are guilty of the crimes?)
Where he that would be good, is thought by all
A monster, or at best fantastical:
Since now you durst be good, and that I do
Discern, by daring to contemplate you,
That there may be degrees of fair, great, good,
Through your light, largeness, virtue understood:
If in this sacrifice of mine, be shown
Any small spark of these, call it your own.
And if things like these, have been said by me
Of others; call not that idolatry.
For had God made man first, and man had seen
The third day's fruits, and flowers, and various green,
He might have said the best that he could say
Of those fair creatures, which were made that day;
And when next day he had admired the birth
Of sun, moon, stars, fairer than late-praised earth,
He 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 condemn a man,
If when he spoke them, they were both true then.
How fair a proof of this, in our soul grows?
We first have souls of growth, and sense, and those,
When our last soul, our soul immortal came,
Were swallowed into it, and have no name.
Nor doth he injure those souls, which doth cast
The power and praise of both them, on the last;
No more do I wrong any; I adore
The same things now, which I adored before,
The subject changed, and measure; the same thing
In a low constable, and in the king
I reverence; his power to work on me ;
So did I humbly reverence each degree
Of fair, great, good, but more, now I am come
From having found their walks, to find their home.
And as I owe my first soul's thanks, that they
For my last soul 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;
Which none, not reading others, first, could do.
Nor lack I light to read this book, though I
In a dark cave, yea, in a grave do lie;
For as your fellow-angels, so you do
Illustrate them who come to study you.
The first whom we in histories do find
To have professed all arts, was one born blind:
He lacked those eyes beasts have as well as we,
Not those, by which angels are seen and see;
So, though I am born without those eyes to live,
Which fortune, who hath none herself, doth give,
Which are fit means to see bright courts and you
Yet may I see you thus, as now I do;
I shall by that, all goodness have discerned,
And though I burn my library, be learned.
DRURY, THE FRAILTY AND THE DECAY OF THIS WHOLE WORLD
To the Praise of the Dead, and the Anatomy.
WELL died the world, that we might live to see
This world of wit, in his anatomy;
No evil wants his good; so wilder heirs
Bedew their father's tombs with forced tears,
Whose state requites their loss: whiles thus we gain,
Well may we walk in blacks, but not complain.
Yet how can I consent the world is dead
While this muse lives? which in his spirit's stead
Seems to inform a world; and bids it be,
In spite of loss or frail mortality;
And thou the subject of this well-born thought,
Thrice noble maid, could'st not have found nor sought
A fitter time to yield to thy sad fate,
Than whiles this spirit lives, that can relate
Thy worth so well to our last nephews'* eye,
That they shall wonder both at his and thine:
Admired match! where strives in mutual grace
The cunning pencil, and the comely face:
A task which thy fair goodness made too much
For the bold pride of vulgar pens to touch;
* i. e., Descendants.-ED.
Enough is us* to praise them that praise thee,
And say, That but enough those praises be,
Which had'st thou lived, had hid their fearful head
From the angry checkings of thy modest red:
Death bars reward and shame; when envy's gone,
And gain, 'tis safe to give the dead their own.
As then the wise Egyptians wont to lay
More on their tombs, than houses: these of clay,
But those of brass, or marble were so we
Give more unto thy ghost, than unto thee.
Yet what we give to thee, thou gav'st to us,
And may'st but thank thyself, for being thus:
Yet what thou gav'st, and wert, O happy maid,
Thy grace professed all due, where 'tis repaid.
So these high songs that to thee suited bin
Serve but to sound thy Maker's praise and thine,
Which thy dear soul as sweetly sings to him
Amid the choir of saints, and seraphim,
As any angel's tongue can sing of thee;
The subjects differ, though the skill agree:
For as by infant years men judge of age,
Thy early love, thy virtues did presage,
What high part thou bear'st in those best of songs,
Whereto no burden, nor no end belongs.
Sing on, thou virgin soul, whose lossful gain
Thy lovesick parents have bewailed in vain ;
Ne'er may thy name be in our songs forgot,
Till we shall sing thy ditty, and thy note.
AN ANATOMY OF THE WORLD.
THE FIRST ANNIVERSARY.
WHEN that rich soul which to her heaven is
Who all do celebrate, who know they have one,
(For who is sure he hath a soul, unless
It see, and judge, and follow worthiness,
And by deeds praise it? he who doth not this,
May lodge an inmate soul, but 'tis not his.)
* “Enough it is:" (Anderson.) But the phrase is similar to "Woe is me," "Well is thee."-Ep.
When that queen ended here her progress time,
And as to her standing-house, to heaven did climb,
Where, loth to make the saints attend her long,
She's now a part both of the choir, and song;
This world in that great earthquake languished;
For in a common bath of tears it bled,
Which drew the strongest vital spirits out:
But succoured then with a perplexed doubt,
Whether the world did lose, or gain in this,
(Because since now no other way there is,
But goodness, to see her, whom all would see,
All must endeavour to be good as she.)
This great consumption to a fever turned,
And so the world had fits; it joyed, it mourned;
And, as men think, that agues physic are,
And the ague being spent, give over care;
So thou sick world, mistake'st thyself to be
Well, when alas! thou'rt in a lethargy.
Her death did wound and tame thee then, and than
Thou might'st have better spared the sun, or man.
That wound was deep, but 'tis more misery,
That thou hast lost thy sense and memory.
'Twas heavy then to hear thy voice of moan,
But this is worse, that thou art speechless grown.
Thou hast forgot thy name thou hadst; thou wast
Nothing but she, and her thou hast o'erpast.
For as a child kept from the fount, until
A prince, expected long, come to fulfil
The ceremonies, thou unnamed had'st laid,
Had not her coming, thee her palace made:
Her name defined thee, gave thee form, and frame,
And thou forget'st to celebrate thy name.
Some months she hath been dead (but being dead,
Measures of times are all determined)
But long she'ath been away, long, long, yet none
Offers to tell us who it is that's gone.
But as in states doubtful of future heirs,
When sickness without remedy impairs
The present prince, they're loth it should be said,
The prince doth languish, or the prince is dead:
So mankind feeling now a general thaw,
A strong example gone, equal to law;
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