Bee posed with the maturest feares Man trembles at wee straight shall find Love knowes no nonage nor the mind T is love not yeares or Limbes that can Make the martyr or the man Love toucht her heart and loe it beats High and burnes with such brave heats Such thirst to dye as dare drinke up A thousand coled deaths in one cup. Good reason for shee breaths all fire Her weake breast heaves with strong desire Of what shee may with fruitlesse wishes Seeke for amongst her mothers kisses Since t is not to bee had at home Shee l travell to a martyrdome No home for her confesses shee But where shee may A martyr bee Shee l to the Moores and trade with them For this unvalued Diadem Shee offers them her dearest breath With Christs name â—nt in change for death Shee l bargain with them and will give Them God and teach them how to live In him or if they this denye For him shee l teach them how to dye So shall shee leave amongst them sowne Her Lords blood or at lest her owne Farewell then all the world adeiu Teresa is no more for you Farewell all pleasures sports and joyes Never till now esteemed toyes Farewell what ever deare may bee Mothers armes or fathers knee Farewell house and farwell home Shee s for the Moores and Martyrdome Sweet not so fast Loe thy faire spouse Whom thou seek'st with so swift vowes Calls thee back and biâ—s thee como T' embrace a milder Martyrdome Blest powers forbid thy tender life Should bleed upon a barbarous knife Or some base hand have power to race Thy Breasts chast cabinet and uncase A soule kept there so sweet O no Wise heaven will never have it so Thou art Loves victim and must dye A death more misticall and high Into Loves hand thou shalt let fall A still surviving funerall His is the dart must make the death Whose stroake shall taste thy hallowed breath A dart thrice dipt in that rich Hame Which writes thy spowses radiant name Vpon the roofe of heaven where ay It shines and with a soveraigne ray Beats bright upon the burning faces Of soules which in that names sweet graces Find everlasting smiles So rare So spirituall pure and faire Must be the immortall instrument Vpon whose choice point shall be spent A life so loved and that there bee Fit executioners for thee The fairest and the first borne Loves of fire Blest Seraphims shall leave their quire And turne Loves souldiers upon thee To exercise their Archerie O how oft shalt thou complaine Of a sweet and subtile paine Of intollerable joyes Of a death in which who dyes Loves his death and dyes againe And would for ever so be slaine And lives and dyes and knowes not why To live but that he still may dy How kindly will thy gentle heart Kisse the sweetly killing dart And close in his embraces keep Those delicious wounds that weep Balsome to heale themselves with thus When these thy deaths so numerous Shall all at last dye into one And melt thy soules sweet mansion Like a soft lumpe of Incense hasted By too hot a fire and wasted Into perfuming cloudes So fast Shalt thou exhale to heaven at last In a disolving sigh and then O what aske not the tongues of men Angells cannot tell suffice Thy selfe that feel thine owne full joyes And hold them fast for ever there So soone as thou shalt first appeare The moone of maiden starres thy white Mistresse attended by such bright Soules as thy shining selfe shall come And in her first rankes make thee roome Where mongst her snowy family Immortall wellcomes wait on thee O what delight when shee shall stand And teach thy Lipps heaven wâ—th her hand On which thou now maist to thy wishes Heap up thy consecrated kisses What joy shall seize thy soule when shee Bending her blessed eyes on thee Those second smiles of heaven shall dart Her mild rayes through thy melting heart Angeâ—ls thy old friends there shall greet thee Glad at their owne home now to meet thee All thy good workes which went before And waited for thee at the doore Shall owne thee there and all in one Weave a Constellation Of Crownes with which the King thy spouse Shall build up thy triumphant browes All thy old woes shall now smile on thee And thy pains set bright upon thee All thy sorrows here shall shine And thy sufferings bee devine Teares shall take comfort and turne Gems And wrongs repent to diadems Even thy deaths shall live and new Drosse the soule which late they slew Thy wounds shall blush to such bright scarres As keep account of the Lambes warres Those rare workes where thou shalt leave witt Loves noble history with witt Taught thee by none but him while here They feed our soules shall cloath thine there Each heavenly word by whose hid flame Our hard hearts shall strike fire the same Shall flourish on thy browes and bee Both fire to us and flame to thee Whose light shall live bright in thy face By glory in our hearts by grace Thou shalt looke round about and see Thousand of crownd soules throng to bee Themselves thy crowne sonnes of thy nowes The Virgin births with which thy spowse Made fruitfull thy faire soule Goe now And with them all about thee bow To him put on heel say put on My Rosy Love that thy rich Zone Sparkeling with the sacred Hames Of thousand soules whose happy names Heaven keeps upon thy score thy bright Life brought them first to kisse the light That kindled them to starres and so Thou with the Lambe thy Lord shall goe And where so e're hee sitts his white Steps walke with him those wayes of Light Which who in death would live to see Must learne in life to dye like thee An Apologie for the precedent Hymne THus have I back againe to thy bright name Faire sea of holy fires transfused the flame I tooke from reading thee 't is to thy wrong I know that in my weak and worthlesse song Thou here art set to shine where thy full day Scarce dawnes ô pardon if I dare to say Thine own deare books are guilty for from thence I learnt to know that Love is eloquence That heavenly maxim gave me heart to try If what to other tongues is tun'd so high Thy praise might not speak English too forbid by all thy mysteries that there lye hid Forbid it mighty Love let no fond hate Of names and words so farre prejudicate Soules are not Spaniards too one frendly flood Of Baptisme blends them all into one blood Christs Faith makes but one body of all soules And loves that bodies soule no Law controules Our free trafick for heaven we may maintaine Peace sure with piety though it dwell in Spaine What soule soever in any Language can Speake heaven like hers is my soules country-man O 't is not Spanish but 't is heaven she speakes 'T is heaven that lies in ambush there and
STEPS TO THE TEMPLE Sacred Poems With other Delights of the MUSES By RICHARD CRASHAW sometimes of Pembroke Hall and late Fellow of S. Peters Coll. in Cambridge Printed and Published according to Order LONDON Printed by T.W. for Humphrey Moseley and are to be sold at his shop at the Princes Armes in St. Pauls Church-yard 1646 The Preface to the Reader Learned Reader THe Authors friend will not usurpe much upon thy eye This is onely for those whom the name of our Divine Poet hath not yet seized into admiration I dare undertake that what Jamblicus in vita Pythagorae affirmeth of his Master at his Contemplations these Poems can viz. They shal lift thee Reader some yards above the ground and as in Pythagoras Schoole every temper was first tuned into a height by severall proportions of Musick and spiritualiz'd for one of his weighty Lectures Sâ— maist thou take a Poem hence and tune thy soule by it into a heavenly pitch and thus refined and borne up upon the wings of meditation In these Poems thou maist talke freely of God and of that other state Here 's Herbert's second but equall who hath retriv'd Poetry of late and return'd it up to its Primitive use Let it bound back to heaven gates whence it came Thinke yee St. Augustine would have steyned his graver Learning with a booke of Poetry had he fancied their dearest end to be the vanity of Love-Sonnets and Epithalamiums No no he thought with this our Poet that every foot in a high-borne verse might helpe to measure the soule into that better world Divine Poetry I dare hold it in position against Suarez on the subject to be the Language of the Angels it is the Quintessence of Phantasie and discourse center'd in Heaven 't is the very Out-goings of the soule 't is what alone our Author is able to tell you and that in his owne verse It were prophane but to mention here in the Preface those under-headed Poets Retainers to seven shares and a halfe Madrigall fellowes whose onely businesse in verse is to rime a poore six-penny soule a Subburd sinner into hell May such arrogant pretenders to Poetry vanish with their prodigious issue of tumorous heats and flashes of their adulterate braines and for ever after may this our Poet fill up the better roome of man Oh! when the generall arraignment of Poets shall be to give an accompt of their higher soules with what a triumphant brow shall our divine Poet sit above and looke downe upon poore Homer Virgil Horace Claudian c. who had amongst them the ill lucke to talke out a great part of their gallant Genius upon Bees Dung froggs and Gnats c. and not as himselfe here upon Scriptures divine Graces Martyrs and Angels Reader we stile his Sacred Poems Stepps to the Temple and aptly for in the Temple of God under his wing he led his life in St. Maries Church neere St. Peters Colledge There be lodged under Tertullian's roofe of Angels There he made his nest more gladly then David's Swallow neere the house of God where like a primitive Saint he offered more prayers in the night then others usually offer in the day There he penned these Poems Stepps for happy soules to â—limbe heaven by And those other of his pieces intituled The Delights of the Muses though of a more humane mixture are as sweet as they are innocent The praises that follow are but few of many that might be conferr'd on him hee was excellent in five Languages besides his Mother tongue vid. Hebrew Greek Latine Italian Spanish the two last whereof hee had little helpe in they were of his owne acquisition Amongst his other accomplishments in Accademick as well pious as harmlesse arts hee made his skill in Poetry Musicke Drawing Limming graving exercises of his curious invention and sudden fancy to bee but his subservient recreations for vacant houres not the grand businesse of his soule To the former Qualifications I might adde that which would crowne them all his rare moderation in diet almost Lessian temperance hee never created a Muse out of distâ—mpers nor with our Canary scribblers cast any strange mists of surfets before the Intelectuall beames of his mind or memory the latter of which hee was so much a master of that hee had there under locke and key in readinesse the richest treasures of the best Greeke and Latine Poets some of which Authors hee had more at his command and by heart then others that onely read their workes to retaine little and understand lesse Enough Reader I intend not a volume of praises larger then his booke nor need I longer transport thee to thinke over his vast perfections I will conclude all that I have impartially writ of this Learned young Gent. now dead to us as hee himselfe doth with the last line of his Poem upon Bishop Andrews Picture before his Sermons Verte paginas Look on his following leaves and see him breath The Authors Motto Live Jesus Live and let it bee My life to dye for love of thee REader there was a sudden mistake 't is too late to recover it thou wilt quickly find it out and I hope as soone passe it over some of the humane Poems are misplaced amongst the Divine The Weeper 1 HAile Sister Springs Parents of Silver-forded rills Ever bubling things Thawing Christall â— Snowy Hills Still spending never spent I meane Thy faire Eyes sweet Magdalene 2 Heavens thy faire Eyes bee Heavens of ever-falling stars T is seed-time still with thee And stars thou sow'st whose harvest dares Promise the earth to countershine What ever makes Heavens fore-head fine 3 But wee are deceived all Stars they are indeed too true For they but seeme to fall As Heavens other spangles doe It is not for our Earth and us To shine in things so pretious 4 Vpwards thou dost weepe Heavens bosome drinks the gentle streame Where th' milky rivers meet Thine Crawles above and is the Creame Heaven of such faire floods as this Heaven the Christall Ocean is 5 Every morne from hence A briske Cherub something sips Whose soft influence Adds sweetnesse to his sweetest lips Then to his Musicke and his song Tastes of this breakefast all day long â— When some new bright guest Takes up among the stars a roome And Heaven will make a feast Angels with their Bottles come And draw from these full Eyes of thine Their Masters water their owne Wine 7 The dew no more will weepe The Primroses pale cheeke to decke The deaw no more will sleepe Nuzzel'd in the Lillies necke Much rather would it tremble heere And leave them both to bee thy Teare 8 Not the soft Gold which Steales from the Amber-weeping Tree Makes sorrow halfe so Rich As the drops distil'd from thee Sorrowes best Iewels lye in these Caskets of which Heaven keeps the Keyes 9 When sorrow would be seene In her brightest Majesty For shee â—s a Queen Then is shee drest by none but thee Then and onely
To the Infant Martyrs GOe smiling soules your new built Cages breake In Heav'n you 'l learne to sing ere here to speake Nor let the milky fonts that bath your thirst Bee your delay The place that calls you hence is at the worst Milke all the way On the Miracle of Loaves NOw Lord or never they 'l beleeve on thee Thou to their Teeth hast prov'd thy Deity Marke 4. Why are yee afraid O yee of little faith AS if the storme meant him Or 'cause Heavens face is dim His needs a cloud Was ever froward wind That could be so unkind Or wave so proud The Wind had need be angry and the Water black That to the mighty Neptune's self dare threaten wrack There is no storme but this Of your owne Cowardise That braves you out You are the storme that mocks Your selves you are the Rocks Of your owne doubt Besides this feare of danger there 's no danger here And he that here feares Danger does deserve his Feare On the Blessed Virgins bashfulnesse THat on her lap she casts her humble Eye 'T is the sweet pride of her Humility The faire starre is well fixt for where ô where Could she have fixt it on a fairer Spheare 'T is Heav'n 't is Heaven she sees Heavens God there lyes She can see heaven and ne're lift up her eyes This new Guest to her Eyes new Lawes hath given 'T was once looke up 't is now looke downe to Heaven Vpon Lazarus his Teares RIch Lazarus richer in those Gems thy Teares Then Dives in the Roabes he weares He scornes them now but ô they 'l sute full well With th' Purple he must weare in Hell Two went up into the Temple to pray TWo went to pray ô rather say One went to brag th' other to pray One stands up close and treads on high Where th' other dares not send his eye One neerer to Gods Altar trod The other to the Altars God Vpon the Asse that bore our Saviour HAth onely Anger an Omnipotence In Eloquence Within the lips of Love and Ioy doth dwell No miracle Why else had Baalams Asse a tongue to chide His Masters pride And thou Heaven-burthen'd Beast hast ne're a word To praise thy Lord That he should find a Tongue and vocall Thunder Was a great wonder But ô me thinkes 't is a farre greater one That thou find'st none Matthew 8. I am not worthy that thou should'st come under my roofe THy God was makâ—ng hast into thy roofe Thy humble faith and feare keepes him aloofe Hee 'l be thy Guest because he may not be Hee 'l come into thy house no into thee Vpon the Powder Day HOw fit our well-raâ—k'd Feasts doe follow All mischâ—efe comes after All Hallow I am the Doore ANd nowth'art set wide ope The Speare's sad Art Lo hath unlockt thee at the very Heart Hee to himselfe I feare the worst And hâ—s owne hope Hath shut these Doores of Heaven that durst Thus set them ope Matthew 10. The blind cured by the word of our Saviour THou speak'st the word thy word 's a Law Thou spak'st and streâ—ght the blind man saw To speake and make the blâ—nd man see Was never man Lord spakâ— lâ—ke Thee To speake thus was to speake say I Not to his Eare but to his Eye Matthew 27. And he answered them nothing O Mighty Nothing unto thee Nothing wee owe all things that bee God spake once when hee all things made Hee sav'd all when hee Nothing said The world was made of Nothing then 'T is made by Nothyng now againe To our Lord upon the Water made Wine THou water turn'st to Wine faire friend of Life Thy foe to crosse the sweet Arts of thy Reigne Distills from thence the Teares of wrath and strife And so turnes wine to Water backe againe Matthew 22. Neither durst any man from that Day aske him any more Questions Midst all the darke and knotty Snares Blacke wit or malice can or dares Thy glorious wisdome breakes the Nets And treads with uncontrouled steps Thy quel'd foes are not onely now Thy triumphes but thy Trophies tâ—o They both at once thy Conquests bee And thy Conquests memorye Stony amazement makes them stand Waiting on thy victorious hand Like statues fixed to the fame Of thy renoune and their owne shame As if they onely meant to breath To bee the Lâ—fe of their owne Death 'T was time to hold their Peace when they Had nere another word to say Yet is their silence unto thee The full sound of thy victory Their silence speakes aloud and is Thy well pronounc'd Panegyris While they speake nothing they speake all Their share in thy Memoriall While they speake nothing they proclaime Thee with the shrillest Trumpe of fame To hold their peace is all the waies These wretches have to speake thy praise Vpon our Saviours Tombe wherein never man was laid HOw Life and Death in Thee Agree Thou had'st a virgin Wombe And Tombe A Ioseph did betroth Them both It is better to go into Heaven with one eye c. ONe Eye a thousand rather and a Thousand more To fix those full-fac't Glories ô he 's poore Of Eyes that has but Argus store Yet if thou 'lt fill one poore Eye with thy Heaven and Thee O grant sweet Goodnesse that one Eye may be All and every whit of me Luk. 11. Vpon the dumbe Devill cast out and the slanderous Iewes put to silence TWo Devills at one blow thou hast laid flat A speaking Divell this a dumbe one that Wa' st thy full victories fairer increase That th' one spake or that th' other held his peace Luke 10. And a certaine Priest comming that way looked on him and passed by Why dost Thou wound my wounds ô Thou that passest by Handling turning them with an unwounded eye The calm that cools thine eye does shipwrack mine for ô Vnmov'd to see one wretched is to make him so Luke 11. Blessed be the paps which Thou hast sucked SVppose he had been Tabled at thy Teates Thy hunger feeles not what he eates Hee 'l have his Teat e're long a bloody one The Mother then must suck the Son To Pontius washing his blood-stained hands â—S murther no sin or a sin so cheape That thou need'st heape â— Rape upon 't till thy Adult'rous touch Taught her these sullied cheeks this blubber'd face She was a Nimph the meadowes knew none such Of honest Parentage of unstain'd Race The Daughter of a faire and well-fam'd Fountaine As ever Silver-tipt the side of shady mountaine See how she weeps and weeps that she appeares Nothing but Teares Each drop's a Teare that weeps for her own wast Harke how at every Touch she does complaine her Harke how she bids her frighted Drops make hast And with sad murmurs chides the Hands that stain her Leave leave for shame or else Good judge decree What water shal wash this when this hath washed thee Matthew 23. Yee build the Sepulchres of the Prophets THou trim'st a
shall the Morning see Night hangs yet heavy on the lids of Day But all his Counsellours must summon'd bee To meet their troubled Lord without delay Heralds and Messengers immediately Are sent about who poasting every way To th' heads and Officers of every band Declare who sends and what is his command 65. Why art thou troubled Herod what vaine feare Thy blood-revolving Brest to rage doth move Heavens King who doffs himselfe weake flesh to weare Comes not to rule in wrath but serve in love Nor would he this thy fear'd Crown from thee Teare But give thee a better with himselfe above Poore jealousie why should he wish to prey Vpon thy Crowne who gives his owne away 66 Make to thy reason man and mocke thy doubts Looke how below thy feares their causes are Thou art a Souldier Herod send thy Scouts See how hee 's furnish't for so fear'd a warre What armour does he weare A few thin clouts His Trumpets tender cryes his men to dare So much rude Shepheards What his steeds alas Poore Beasts a slow Oxe and a simple Asse Il fine del libro primo On a prayer booke sent to Mrs. M. R. LOe here a little volume but large booke Feare it not sweet It is not hipocrit Much larger in it selfe then in its looke It is in one rich handfull heaven and all Heavens royall Hoasts incampt thus small To prove that true schooles use to tell A thousand Angells in one point can dwell It is loves great Artillery Which here contracts it selfe and comes to lye Close coucht in your white bosome and from thence As from a snowy fortresse of defence Against the ghostly foe to take your part And fortifie the hold of your chast heart It is the Armory of light Let constant use but keep it bright You l find it yeelds To holy hand and humble hearts More swords and sheilds Then sinne hath snares or hell hath darts Onely bee sure The hands bee pure That hold these weapons and the eyes Those of turtles chast and true Wakefull and wise Here is a friend shall fight for you Hold but this booke before your heart Let prayer alone to play his part But o' the heart That studyes this high art Must bee a sure house keeper And yet no sleeper Deare soule bee strong Mercy will come ere long And bring her bosome full of blessings Flowers of never fading graces To make immortall dressings For worthy souls whose wise embraces Store up themselves for him who is alone The spouse of Virgins and the Virgins son But if the noble Bridegrome when hee comes Shall find the wandring heart from home Leaving her chast abode To gad abroad Amongst the gay mates of the god of flyes To take her pleasures and to play And keep the divells holy day To dance in the Sunneshine of some smiling but beguiling Spheare of sweet and sugred lies Some slippery paire Of false perhaps as faire Flattering but forswearing eyes Doubtles some other heart Will git the start And stepping in before Will take possession of the sacred store Of hidden sweets and holy joyes Words which are not heard with eares These tumultous shops of noise Effeactuall whispers whose stâ—â—l voyce The soule it selfe more feeles then heares Amorous Languishments Luminous trances Sights which are not seen with eyes Spirituall and soule peircing glances Whose pure and subtle lightning â—lies Home to the heart and setts the house on fire And melts it downe in sweet desire Yet doth not stay To aske the windowes leave to passe that way Delicious deaths soft exhalations Of soule deare and divine annihilations A thousand unknowne rites Of joyes and rarifyed delights An hundred thousand loves and graces And many a misticke thing Which the divine embraces Of the deare spowse of spirits with them will bring For which it is no shame That dull mortality must not know a name Of all this hidden store Of blessing and ten thousand more If when hee come Hee find the heart from home Doubtles hee will unload Himselfe some other where And powre abroad His precious sweets On the faire soule whom first hee meets O faire ô fortunate ô rich ô deare O happy and thrice happy shee Deare silver breasted dove Who ere shee bee Whose early Love With winged vowes Makes haste to meet her morning spowse And close with his immortall kisses Happy soule who never misses To improve that precious houre And every day Seize her sweet prey All fresh and fragrant as hee rises Dropping with a balmy showre A delicious dew of spices O let that happy soule hold fast Her heavenly armefull shee shall tast At once ten thousand paradises Shee shall have power To rifle and deflower The rich and rosâ—all spring of those rare sweets Which with a swelling bosome there shee meets Boundlesse and infinite bottomlesse treasures Of pure inebriating pleasures Happy soule shee shall discover What joy what blisse How many heavens at once it is To have a God become her lover On Mr. G. Herberts booke intituled the Temple of Sacred Poem sent to a Gentlewoman KNow you faire on what you looke Divinest love lyes in this booke Expecting fire from your eyes To kindle this his sacrifice When your hands unty these strings Thinke you have an Angell by th' wings One that gladly will bee nigh To wait upon each morning figh To flutter in the balmy aire Of your well prefumed prayer These white plumes of his heele lend you Which every day to heaven will send you To take acquaintance of the spheare And all the smooth faced kindred there And though Herberts name doe owe These devotions fairest know That while I lay them on the shrine Of your white hand they are mine In memory of the Vertuous and Learned Lady Madre de Teresa that sought an early Martyrdome LOve thou art absolute sole Lord Of life and death To prove the word Wee need to goe to none of all Those thy old souldiers stout and tall Ripe and full growne that could reach downe With strong armes their triumphant crowne Such as could with lusty breath Speake lowd unto the face of death Their great Lords glorious name to none Of those whose large breasts built a throne For love their Lord glorious and great Wee ll see him take a private seat And make his mansion in the milde And milky soule of a soft childe Scarce had shee learnt to lisp a name Of Martyr yet shee thinkes it shame Life should so long play with that breath Which spent can buy so brave a death Shee never undertooke to know What death with love should have to doe Nor hath shee ere yet understood Why to show love shee should shed blood Yet though shee cannot tell you why Shee can love and shee can dye Scarce had shee blood enough to make A guilty sword blush for her sake Yet has shee a heart dares hope to prove How much lesse strong is death then love Bee love but there let poore sixe yeares
through all the sphaeares Of Musicks heaven and seat it there on high In th' Empyraeum of pure Harmony At length after so long so loud a strife Of all the strings still breathing the best life Of blest variety attending on His fingers fairest revolution In many a sweet rise many as sweet a fall A full-mouth Diapason swallowes all This done hee lists what shee would say to this And shee although her Breath's late exercise Had dealt too roughly with her tender throate Yet summons all her sweet powers for a Noate Alas in vaine for while sweet soule shee tryes To measure all those wild diversities Of chatt'ring stringes by the small size of one Poore simple voyce rais'd in a Naturall Tone Shee failes and failing grieves and grieving dyes Shee dyes and leaves her life the Victous prise Falling upon his Lute ô fit to have That liv'd so sweetly dead so sweet a Grave Principi recèns natae omen maternae indolis CResce ô dulcibus imputanda Divis O cresce propera puella a Princeps In matris propera a venire partes Et cùm par breve fulminum minorum Illinâ— Carolus Iucobus indè In patris faciles subire famam Ducent fata furoribus decoris Cùm terror sacer AnglicÃque magnum Murmur nominis increpabit omnem Latè Bosperon Ottomanicásque Non picto quatiet tremore Lunas Te tunc altera nec timenda paci Poscent praelia Tu potens pudici Vibratrix ocuci pios in hostes Laté dulcia fata dissipabis O cùm flostenet ille qui recenti Pressus sidere jam sub or a ludit Olim fortior omne cuspidatos Evolvet latus aureum per ignes QuÃque imbellis adhuc adultus olim Puris expatiabitur genarum Campis imperiosior Cupido O quà m certa superbiore pennâ Ibunt spicula melleaeque morâ—es Exultantibus hinc indè turmis Quoquò jusseris impigrè volabunt O quot corda calentium deorum De te vulnera delicata discent O quot pectora Principum magistris Fient molle negotium sagittis Nam quae non poteris per arma ferri Cui matris sinus atque utrumque sidus Magnorum patet officina Amorum Hinc sumas licet ô puella Princeps Quantacunque opus est tibi pharetnâ Centum sume Cupidines ab uno Matris lumine Gratiásque ceutum Et centum Veneres adhuc manebunt Centum mille Cupidines manebunt Ter centum Venerésque Gratiaeque Puro fonte superstites per aevum Out of Virgil In the praise of the Spring ALL Trees all leavy Groves confesse the Spring Their gentlest friend then then the lands begin To swell with forward pride and seed desire To generation Heavens Almighty Sire Melts on the Bosome of his Love and powres Himselfe into her lap in fruitfull showers And by a soft insinuation mixt With earths laâ—ge Masse doth cherish and assist Her weake conceptions No loane shade but rings With chatting Birds delicious murmurings Then Venus mild instinct at set times yeilds The Herds to kindly meetings then the fields Quick with warme Zephires lively breath lay forth Their pregnant Bosomes in a fragrant Birth Each body 's plump and jucy all things full Of supple moisture no coy twig but will Trust his beloved bosome to the Sun Growne lusty now No Vine so weake and young That feares the foule-mouth'd Auster or those stormes That the Southwest-wind hurries in his Armes But hasts her forward Blossomes and layes out Freely layes out her leaves Nor doe I doubt But when the world first out of Chaos sprang So smil'd the Dayes and so the tenor ran Of their felicity A spring was there An everlasting spring the jolly yeare Led round in his great circle No winds Breath As then did smell of Winter or of Death When Lifes sweet Light first shone on Beasts and when From their hard Mother Earth sprang hardy men When Beasts tooke up their lodging in the Wood Starres in their higher Chambers never cou'd The tender growth of things endure the sence Of such a change but that the Heav'ns Indulgence Kindly supplies sick Nature and doth mold A sweetly temper'd meane nor hot nor cold With a Picture sent to a Friend I Paint so ill my peece had need to bee Painted againe by some good Poesie I write so ill my slender Line is scarce So much as th'Picture of a well-lim'd verse Yet may the love I send be true though I Send nor true Picture nor true Poesie Both which away I should not need to feare My Love or Feign'd or painted should appeare In praise of Lessius his rule of health GOe now with some dareing drugg Baite thy disease and while they tugg Thou to maintaine their cruell strife Spend the deare treasure of thy life Goe take phisicke doat upon Some bigg-named composition The oraculous doctors mistick bills Certain hard words made into pills And what at length shalt get by these Onely a costlyer disease Goe poore man thinke what shall bee Remedie against thy remedie That which makes us have no need Of Phisick that 's Phisick indeed Harke hether Reader wouldst thou see Nature her owne Physitian bee Wouldst see a man all his owne wealth His owne Physick his owne health A man whose sober soule can tell How to weare her garments well Her garments that upon her sit As garments should doe close and fit A well cloathed soule that 's not opprest Nor choakt with what shee should bee drest A soule shearhed in a christall shrine Through which all her bright features shine As when a peece of wanton lawne A thinne aiereall vaile is drawne O're beauties face seeming to hide More sweetly showes the blush'ng bride A soule whose intelectuall beames No mistes doe maske no lazy steames A happy soule that all the way To heaven hath a summers day Would'st thou see a man whose well warmed blood Bathes him in a genuine flood A man whose tuned humours bee A set of rarest harmony Wouldst see blith lookes fresh cheeks beguile Age wouldst see December smile Wouldst see a nest of Roses grow In a bed of reverend snow Warme thoughts free spirits flattering Winters selfe into a spring In summe wouldst see a man that can Live to bee old and still a man The beginning of Helidorus THe smiling Morne had newly wak't the Day And tipt the Mountaines in a tender ray When on a hill whose high Imperious brow Lookes downe and sees the humble Nile below Licke his proud feet and hast into the seas Through the great mouth that 's nam'd from Hercules A band of men rough as the Armes thy wore Look't round first to the sea then to the shore The shore that shewed them what the sea deny'd Hope of a prey There to the maine land ty'd A ship they saw no men shee had yet prest Appear'd with other lading for her brest Deep in the groaning waters wallowed Vp to the third Ring o're the shore was spread Death's purple triumph on the
fruitlesse fires assay One face more fugitive then all they True Hope 's a glorious Huntresse and her chase The God of Nature in the field of Grace THE DELIGHTS OF THE MUSES OR Other Poems written on severall occasions By Richard Crashaw sometimes of Pembroke Hall and late Fellow of St. Pâ—ters Colledge in Cambridge Mart. Dic mihi quid melius desidiosus agas LONDON Printed by T. W. for H. Moseley at the Princes Armes in S. Pauls Churchyard 1646. Musicks Duell NOw Westward Sol had spent the richest Beames Of Noons high Glory when hard by the streams Of Tiber on the sceane of a greene plat Vnder protection of an Oake there sate A sweet Lutes-master in whose gentle aires Hee lost the Dayes heat and his owne hot cares Close in the covert of the leaves there stood A Nightingale come from the neighbouring wood The sweet inhabitant of each glad Tree Their Muse their Syren harmlesse Syren shee There stood she listning and did entertaine The Musicks soft report and mold the same In her owne murmures that what ever mood His curious fingers lent her voyce made good The man perceiv'd his Rivall and her Art Dispos'd to give the light-foot Lady sport Awakes his Lute and â—gainst the fight to come Informes it in a sweet Praeludium Of closer straines and ere the warre begin Hee lightly skirmishes on every string Charg'd with a flying touch and streightway shee Carves out her dainty voyce as readily Into a thousand sweet distinguish'd Tones And reckons up in soft divisions Quicke volumes of wild Notes to let him know By that shrill taste shee could doe something too His nimble hands instinct then taught each string A capring cheerefullnesse and made them sing To their owne dance now negligently rash Hee throwes his Arme and with a long drawne dash Blends all together then distinctly tripps From this to that then quicke returning skipps And snatches this againe and pauses there Shee measures every measure every where Meets art with art sometimes as if in doubt Not perfect yet and fearing to bee out Trayles her playne Ditty in one long-spun note Through the sleeke passage of her open throat A cleare unwrinckled song then doth shee point it With tender accents and severely joynt it By short diminutives that being rear'd In controverting warbles evenly shar'd With her sweet selfe shee wrangles Hee amazed That from so small a channell should be rais'd The torrent of a voyce whose melody Could melt into such sweet variety Straines higher yet that tickled with rare art The tatling strings each breathing in his part Most kindly doe fall out the grumbling Base In surly groanes disdaines the Trebles Grace The high-perch't treble chirps at this and chides Vntill his finger Moderatour hides And closes the sweet quarrell rowsing all Hoarce shrill at once as when the Trumpets call Hot Mars to th' Harvest of Deaths field and woo Mens hearts into their hands this lesson too Shee gives him backe her supple Brest thrills out Sharpe Aires and staggers in a warbling doubt Of dallying sweetnesse hovers ore her skill And folds in wav'd notes with a trembling bill The plyant Series of her slippery song Then starts shee suddenly into a Throng Of short thicke sobs whose thundring volleyes float And roule themselves over her lubricke throat In panting murmurs still'd out of her Breast That ever-bubling spring the sugred Nest Of her delicious soule that there does lye Bathing in streames of liquid Melodie Musicks best seed-plot when in ripend Aires A Golden-headed-Harvest fairely reares His Honey-dropping â—cops plow'd by her breath Which there reciprocally laboureth In that sweet soyle it seemes a holy quire Founded to th' Name of great Apollo's lyre Whose sylver-roofe rings with the sprightly notes Of sweet-lipp'd Angell-Imps that swill their throats In creame of Morning Helicon and then Preferre soft Anthems to the Eares of men To woo them from their Beds still murmuring That men can sleepe while they their Mattenâ— sing Most divine service whose so earlyâ— lay Prevents the Eye-lidds of the blushing day There might you heare her kindle her soft voyce In the close murmur of a sparkling noyse And lay the ground-worke of her hopefull song Still keeping in the forward streame so longâ— Till a sweet whirle-wind striving to gett oâ—t Heaves her soft Bosome wanâ—ers round about And makes a pretty Earthquake in her Breast Till the fledg'd Notes at length forsake their Nect Fluttering in wanton shoales and to the Sky Wing'd with their owne wild Eccho's praâ—ling fly Shee opes the floodgate and le ts loosâ— a Tide Of streaming sweetnesse which in state doth ridâ— On the wav'd backe of every swelling straine Rising and falling in a pompous traâ—ne And while shee thus discharges a shrill peale Of flashing Aires shee qualifiâ—s their zeale With the coole Epode of a grave Noat Thus high thus low as if her silver throat Would reach the brasen voyce of warr's hoarce Bird Her little soule is ravisht and so pour'd Into loose extasies that shee is plac't Above her selfe Musicks Enthusiast Shame now and anger mixt a double staine In the Musitians face yet once againe Mistresse I come now reach a straine my Luâ—e Above her mocke or bee for ever mute Or tune a song of victory to mee Or to thy selfe sing thine owne Obsequie So said his hands sprightly as fire hee â—lings And with a quavering coynesse tasts the strings The sweet-lip't sisters musically frighted Singing their feares are fearfully delighted Trembling as when Appollo's golden haires Are fan'd and frizled in the wanton ayres Of his owne breath which marryed to his lyre Doth tune the Spbaeares and make Heavens selfe looke higher From this to that from that to this hee flyes Feeles Musicks pulse in all her Arteryes Caught in a net which theâ—e Appollo spreads His fingers struggle with the vocall threads Following those little rills hee sinkes into A Sea of Helicon his hand does goe Those parts of sweetnesse which with Nectar drop Softer then that which pants in Hebe's cup. The humourous strings expound his learned touch By various Glosses now they seeme to grutch And murmur in a buzzing dinne then gâ—ngle In shrill tongu'd accents striving to bee singleâ— Every smooth turne every delicious stroake Gives life to some new Grace thus doth h'invoke Sweetnesse by all her Names thus bravely thus Fraught with a fury so harmonious The Lutes light Genius now does proudly rise Heav'd on the surges of swolne Rapsodyes Whose flourish Meteor-like doth curle the aire With flash of high-borne fancyes here and there Dancing in lofty measures and anon Creeps on the soft touch of a tender tone Whose trembling murmurs melting in wild aires Runs to and fro complaining his sweet cares Because those pretious mysteryes that dwell In musick 's ravish't soule hee dare not tell But whisper to the world thus doe they vary Each string his Note as if they meant to carry Their Masters blest soule snatcht out at his Eares By a strong Extasy
blushing ground Lifes late forsaken houses all lay drown'd In their owne bloods deare deluge some new dead Some panting in their yet warme ruines bled While their affrighted soules now wing'd for flight Lent them the last flash of her glimmering light Those yet fresh streames which crawled every where Shew'd that sterne warre had newly bath'd him there Nor did the face of this disaster show Markes of a fight alone but feasting too A miserable and a monstrous feast Where hungry warre had made himself a Guest And comming late had eat up Guests and all Who prov'd the feast to their owne funerall c. Out of the Greeke Cupid's Cryer LOve is lost nor can his Mother Her little fugitive discover Shee seekes shee sighs but no where spyes him Love is lost and thus shee cryes him O yes if any happy eye This roaving wanton shall descry Let the finder surely know Mine is the wagge T is I that owe The winged wand'rer and that none May thinke his labour vainely gone The glad descryer shall not misse To tast the Nectar of a kisse From Venus lipps But as for him That brings him to mee hee shall swim In riper joyes more shall bee his Venus assures him then a kisse But least your eye discerning slide These markes may bee your judgements guide His skin as with a fiery blushing High-colour'd is His eyes still flushing With nimble flames and though his mind Be ne're so curst his Tongue is kind For never were his words in ought Found the pure issue of his thought The working Bees soft melting Gold That which their waxen Mines enfold Flow not so sweet as doe the Tones Of his tun'd accents but if once His anger kindle presently It boyles out into cruelty And fraud Hee makes poore mortalls hurts The objects of his cruell sports With dainty curles his froward face Is crown'd about But ô what place What farthest nooke of lowest Hell Feeles not the strength the reaching spell Of his small hand Yet not so small As 't is powerfull therewithall Though bare his skin his mind hee covers And like a saucy Bird he hovers With wanton wing now here now there 'Bout men and women nor will spare Till at length he perching rest In the closet of their brest His weapon is a little Bow Yet such a one as Iove knowes how Ne're suffred yet his little Arrow Of Heavens high'st Arches to fall narrow The Gold that on his Quiver smiles Deceives mens feares with flattering wiles But ô too well my wounds can tell With bitter shafts 't is sauc't too well Hee is all cruell cruell all His Torch Imperious though but small Makes the Sunne of flames the fire Worse then Sun-burnt in his fire Wheresoe're you chance to find him Cease him bring him but first bind him Pitty not him but feare thy selfe Though thou see the crafty Else Tell down his Silver-drops unto thee They 'r counterfeit and will undoe thee With baited smiles if he display His â—awning cheeks looke not that way If hee offer sugred kisses Start and say The Serpent hisses Draw him drag him though hee pray Wooe intreat and crying say Prethee sweet now let me goe Here 's my Quiver Shafts and Bow I 'le give thee all take all take heed Lest his kindnesse make thee bleed What e're it be Love offers still presume That though it shines 't is fire and will consume HIgh mounted on an Ant Nanus the tall Was throwne alas and got a deadly fall Vnder th' unruly Beasts proud feet he lies All torne with much adoe yet ere he dyes Hee straines thesâ— words Base Envy doe laugh on Thus did I fall and thus fell Phaethon Vpon Venus putting on Mars his Armes WHat Mars his sword faire Cytherea say Why art thou arm'd so desperately to day Mars thou hast beaten naked and ô then What need'st thou put on armes against poore men Vpon the same PAllas saw Venus arm'd and streight she cry'd Come if thou dar'st thus thus let us be try'd Why foole saies Venus thus provok'st thou mee That being nak't thou know'st could conquer thee In Senerissimae Reginae partum hyemalem SErta puer quis nunc flores non praebeat hortus â—exe mihi facili pollice serta puer Quid tu nescio quos narras mihi stulte Decembres Quid mihi cum nivibus damihi serta puer Nix byems non est nostras quid tale per oras Non est vel si sit non tamen esse potest Ver agitur quaecunque trucem dat larva Decembrem Quid fera cunque fremant frigora ver agitur Nónne vides quali se palmite regia vitis Prodit in sacris quae sedet uvajugis Tam laetis quae bruma solet ridere racemis Quas hyemis pingit purpura tanta genas O Maria O divûm soboles genitrixque Deorum Siccine nostra tuus tempora ludus erunt Siccine tu cum vere tuo nihil horrida brumae Sydera nil madidos sola morare notos Siccine sub mediâ— poterunt tua surgere brumâ— Atque suas solùm lilia nosse nives Ergò vel invitis nivibus frendentibus Austris Nostra novis poterunt regna tumere rosis O bona turbatrix anni quae limite noto Tempora sub signis non sinis ire suis O pia praedatrix hyemis quae tristia mundi Murmura tam dulci sub ditione tenes Perge precor nostris vim pulchram ferre Calendis Perge precor menses sic numerare tuos Perge intempestiva utque importuna videri Inque uteri titulos sic rape cuncta tui Sit nobis sit saepe hyemes sic cernere nostras Exhaeredatas floribus ire tuis Saepe sit has vernas hyemes Maiosque Decembres Has per te roseas saepe videre nives Altera gens varium per sydera computet annum Atque suos ducant per â—aga signa dies Nos deceat nimiis tantum permittere nimbis Tempora tam tetricas ferre Britanna vices Quin nosirum tibi nos omnem donabimus annum In partus omnem expende Maria tuos Sit tuus ille uterus nostri bonus arbiter anni Tempus in titulos transeat omne tuos Namquae alia indueret tam dulcia nomina mensis Aut qua tam posset candidus ire toga Hanc laurum Ianus sibi vertice vellet utroque Hanc sibi vel tota Chloride Majus emet Tota suam vere expulso respublica florum Reginam cuperent te sobolemve tuam O bona sors anni cum cuncti ex ordine menses Hic mihi Carolides hic Marianus erit Vpon Bishop Andrewes his Picture before his Sermons THis reverend shadow cast that setting Sun Whose glorious course through our Horrizon run Left the dimme face of this dull Hemisphaeare All one great eye all drown'd in one great Teare Whose faire illustrious soule led his free thought Through Learnings Vniverse and vainely sought Roome for her spatious selfe untill at length Shee found the way
home with an holy strength Snathc't her self hence to Heaven fill'd a bright place Mongst those immortall fires and on the face Of her great maker fixt her flaming eye There still to read true pure divinity And now that grave aspect hath deign'd to shrinke Into this lesse appearance If you thinke T is but a dead face art doth here bequeath Looke on the following leaves and see him breath Ad Reginam ET verò jam tempus erat tibi maxima Mater Dulcibus his oculis accelerare diem Tempus erat ne qua tibi basia blanda vacarent Sarcina ne collo sit minùs apta tuo Scilicet ille tuus timor spes ille suorum Quo primumes felix pignore facta parens Ille ferox iras jam nunc meditatur enses Iam patris magis est jam magis ille suus Indolis O stimulos Vix dum illi transiit infans Iamque sibi impatiens arripit ille virum Improbus ille suis adeò negat ire sub annis Iam nondum puer est major est puero Si quis in aulaeis pictas animatus in iras Stat leo quem docta cuspide lusit acus Hostis io est neque enim ille alium dignabitur hostem Nempe decet tantus non minor ira manus Tunc hasta gravis adversum furit hasta bacillum est Mox falsum vero vulnere pectus hiat Stat leo ceu stupeat tali bene fixus ab hoste Ceu quid in his oculis vel timeat vel amet Tam torvum tam dulce micane nescire â—atetur Márs ne sub his oculis esset an esset Amor. Quippe illîc Mars est sed qui bene possit amari Est Amor certe sed metuendus Amor Talis Amor talis Mars est ibi cernere qualis Seu puer hic esset sive vir ille deus Hic tibi jam scitus succedit in oscula fratris Res ecce in lusus non operosa tuos Basia jam veniant tua quatacunque caterva Iam quocunque tuus murmure ludat amor En Tibi materies tenera tractabilis hic est Hic ad blanditias est tibi cera satis Salve infans tot basiolis molle argumentum Maternis labiis dulce negotiolum O salve Nam te nato puer aurâ—e natus Et Carolo Mariae Tertius est oculus Out of Martiall FOure Teeth thou had'st that ranck'd in goodly state Kept thy Mouthes Gate The first blast of thy cough left two alone The second none This last cough Aelia cought out all thy feare Th' hast left the third cough now no businesse here Out of the Italian A Song To thy Lover Deere discover That sweet blush of thine that shameth When those Roses It discloses All the flowers that Nature nameth In free Ayre Flow thy Haire That no more Summers best dresses Bee beholden For their Golden Lockes to Phoebus flaming Tresses O deliver Love his Quiver From thy Eyes he shoots his Arrowes Where Apollo Cannot follow Featherd with his Mothers Sparrowes O envy not That we dye not Those deere lips whose doore encloses All the Graces In their places Brother Pearles and sister Roses From these treasures Of ripe pleasures One bright smile to cleâ—re the weather Earth and Heaven Thus made even Both will he good friends together The aire does wooe thee Winds cling to thee Might a word once flye from out thee Storme and Thunder Would sit under And keepe silence round about Thee But if Natures Common Creatures So deare Glories dare not borrow Yet thy Beauty Owes a Duty To my loving lingring sorrow When to end mee Death shall send mee All his Terrors to affright mee Thine eyes Graces Guild their faces And those Terrors shall delight mee When my dying Life is flying Those sweet Aires that often slew mee Shall revive mee Or reprive mee And to many Deaths renew mee Out of the Italian LOve now no fire hath left him We two betwixt us have divided it Your Eyes the Light hath râ—st him The heat commanding in my Heart doth sit O! that poore Love be not for ever spoyled Let my Heat to your Light be reconciled So shall these flames whose worth Now all obscured lyes Drest in those Beames start forth And dance before your eyes Or else partake my flames I care not whither And so in mutuall Names Of Love burne both together Out of the Italian WOuld any one the true cause find How Love came nak't a Boy and blind 'T is this listning one day too long To th' Syrens in my Mistresse Song The extasie of a delight So much o're-mastring all his might To that one Sense made all else thrall And so he lost his Clothes eyes heart and all In faciem Augustiff Regis à morbillis integram MVsaredt vocat alma parens Academia Noster Enredit ore suo noster Apollo redit Vultus adhuc suus vultu sua purpura tantum Vivit admixtas pergit amare nives Tune illas violare genas tune illa profanis Morbe ferox tantas ire per or a notis Tu Phoebi faciem tentas vanissime Nostra Nee Phoebe maculas novit habere suas Ipsa sui vindex facies morbum indignatur Ipsa sedet radiis ô bene tuta suis Quippe illic deus est coelûmque sanctius astrum Quippe sub his totus ridet Apollo genis Quòd facie Rex tutus erat quòd caetera tactus Hinc hominem Rex est fassus inde deum On the Frontispiece of Isaacsons Chronologie explained IF with dictinctive Eye and Mind you looke Vpon the Front you see more then one Booke Creation is Gods Booke wherein he writ Each Creature as a Letter filling it History is Creations Booke which showes To what effects the Series of it goes Chronologie's the Booke of Historie and beares The just account of Dayes Moneths and Yeares But Resurrection in a Later Presse And New Edition is the summe of these The Language of these Bookes had all been one Had not th' Aspiring Tower of Babylon Confus'd the Tongues and in a distance hurl'd As farre the speech as men o th' new fill'd world Set then your eyes in method and behold Times embleme Saturne who when store of Gold Coyn'd the first age Devour'd that Birth he fear'd Till History Times eldest Child appear'd And Phoenix-like in spight of Saturnes rage Forc'd from her Ashes Heyres in every age From th' rising Sunne obtaining by just Suit A Springs Ingender and an Autumnes Fruit. Who in those Volumes at her motion pen'd Vnto Creations Alpha doth extend Againe ascend and view Chronology By Optick Skill pulling farre History Neerer whose Hand the piercing Eagles Eye Strengthens to bring remotest Objects nigh Vnder whose Feet you see the Setting Sunne From the darke Gnomon o're her Volumes runne Drown'd in eternall Night never to rise Till Resurrection show it to the eyes Of Earth-worne men and her shrill Trumpets sound Affright the Bones of Mortals