And makes one blot of all the air,
Stay thy cloudy ebon chair,
Wherein thou ridest with Hecat', and befriend
Us thy vow'd priests, till utmost end
Of all thy dues be done, and none left out;
Ere the blabbing eastern scout,
The nice Morn on the Indian steep
From her cabin'd loophole peep,
And to the tell-tale Sun descry
Our conceal'd solemnity.
Come, knit hands, and beat the ground
In a light fantastic round.
FROM BRITAIN'S REMEMBRANCER.
KNOW there be occasions, times, and causes, Which do require soft words and lowly phrases: And then, like other men, I teach my Muse To speak such language as my neighbours use. But there are also times which will require That we should with our numbers mingle fire: And then I vent bold words that you and they Who come to hear them, take occasion may To ask or to examine, what's the matter, My verse speaks tartly when most writers flatter. For, by that means, you may experienced grow In many things which else you should not know. My lines are loyal, though they bold appear; And though at first they make some readers fear
I want good manners, yet, when they are weigh'd,
It will be found that I have nothing said,
In manner or in matter, worthy blame,
If they alone shall judge me for the same
Who know true virtue's language; and how free
From glozing terms her servants use to be.
I count not each man valiant who dares die,
Or venture on a mischief desperately,
When either heat of youth, or wine, or passion,
Shall whet him on before consideration;
Nor will I any man a coward call,
Although I see him tremble and look pale
In dangerous attempts, unless he slack
His just resolves by basely stepping back.
Give me the man that with a quaking arm
Walks with a steadfast mind through greatest harm;
And, though his flesh doth tremble, makes it stand
To execute what reason doth command.
Give me the soul that knowingly descries
All dangers, and all possibilities
Of outward perils, and yet doth persèvere every lawful action howsoever.
Give me that heart which in itself doth war
With many frailties (who like traitors are
In some besieged fort), and hath to do
With outward foes and inward terrors too;
Yet of himself and them a conquest makes,
And still proceeds in what he undertakes.
My prince and country, though perhaps I be
Not much to them, are both most dear to me.
And may I perish if, to save my life,
I would betwixt that couple nourish strife.
I may, perchance, in what I best intend,
Have neither king nor people to my friend;
Yet will I speak my mind to profit them,
Though both should, for my labour, me condemn.
Although we heed not, or else will not see
Those maladies which daily growing be,
I find (and I do much compassionate
What I behold) a rupture in the State
Of this great body.
Thou art this body, England, and thy head
Is our dread Sov'reign. The distemper bred
Betwixt you two, from one of you doth flow,
And which it is I purpose here to show.
If in thy King, O Britain, aught amiss
Appears to be, 'twixt God and him it is.
Of Him he shall be judged. What to thee
Pertaineth it his censurer to be?
Thy general voice but newly did confess
In him much virtue and much hopefulness;
And he so late assumed his diadem,
That there hath scarce been time enough for him
Those evils to perform that may infer
A general mischief. Neither do I hear
Of ought, as yet, which thou to him canst lay
But that he doth to thee thy will deny,
Or, with a gentle stoutness, claim and strive
For what he thinks his just prerogative.
And why, I prithee, may not all this flow
From some corruptions which in thee do grow
Without his fault? Why may not, for thy crimes,
Some instrument of Satan, in these times,
Be suffer'd to obscure from him a while
The truth of things, and his belief beguile
With virtuous shows, discreet and good pretences,
To plague and punish thee for thy offences?
Why may not God (and justly too) permit
Some sycophant, or cunning hypocrite,
For thy hypocrisies, to steal away
His heart from thee? And goodly colours lay
On projects which may cause him to undo thee,
And think that he no wrong hath done unto thee?
Nay, wherefore may not some thy king advise,
To that which seems to wrong thy liberties,
Yet in themselves be honest men and just,
Who have abused been by those they trust?
Thy wickedness deserves it; and that he,
Who in himself is good, should bring to thee
No profit by his goodness, but augment
Thy sorrows till thy follies thou repent?
For what is in itself from evil free,
Is evil made to those that evil be.
Go cast yourselves before him with submission ;
Present him with petition on petition.
With one accord, and with a fearless face,
Inform him how much hindrance or disgrace,
Or danger to the land there may accrue,
If he your loyal counsel shall eschew.
For God, because his laws we disobey,
Us at our sovereign's feet doth mean to lay,
To humble us awhile. If we repent,
To all our loyal suits he will assent.
If otherwise, God will give up this land,
Our lives and freedoms all into his hand.
O make a final conquest of all me,
Love did compose so sweet an enemy,
In whom both beauties to my death agree,
Joining themselves in fatal harmony,
That, while she with her eyes my heart does bind,
She with her voice might captivate my mind.
I could have fled from one but singly fair;
My disentangled soul itself might save,
Breaking the curlèd trammels of her hair;
But how should I avoid to be her slave,
Whose subtle art invisibly can wreath
My fetters of the very air I breathe ?
It had been easy fighting in some plain,
Where victory might hang in equal choice;
But all resistance against her is vain,
Who has the advantage both of eyes and voice; And all my forces needs must be undone,
She having gainèd both the wind and sun.
OW the bright Morning-Star, Day's harbinger, Comes dancing from the east, and leads with her The flowery May, who from her green lap throws The yellow cowslip and the pale primrose. Hail, bounteous May, that dost inspire Mirth, and youth, and warm desire!
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