Part 16

42. Let her full glory, My fancyes, fly before ye, 125 Be ye my fictions; but her story.

NOTES AND ILLUSTRATIONS.

The HARLEIAN MS. 6917-18, as before, gives an admirable reading, corrective of all the editions in st. 3, line 3. Hitherto it has run, 'And teach her faire steps to our Earth:' the MS. as given by us 'tread' for 'to:' ib. st. 5, line 1, reads 'Meete her my wishes;' perhaps preferable: st. 6, I accept 'its' for 'his' from 1670 edition: st. 7, 'than'=then, and is spelled 'then' here and elsewhere in 1646 and 1670: st. 8, line 3, HARLEIAN MS. reads 'Or a bowe, blush, or a set smile;' inferior: st. 9, ib. reads 'commend' for 'command;' adopted: st. 11, ib. 'their' for 'the;' adopted: st. 14, ib. spells 'tyers,' and line 3 reads as we print for 'And cloath their simplest nakednesse,' which is clumsy and poor: st. 15: Here, as in the poem, 'On the bleeding wounds of our crucified Lord' (st. 6), where we read 'The thorns that Thy blest brows encloses,' and elsewhere, we have an example of the Elizabethan use of 'that' as a singular (referring to and thus made a collective plural) taken as the governing nominative to the verb. So in this poem of 'Wishes' we have 'Eyes that bestow,' 'Joys that confess,' 'Tresses that wear.' But it must be stated that the HARLEIAN MS., as before, reads not as in 1646 and 1648 'displaces,' 'out-faces' and 'graces,' but as printed by us on its authority; certainly the rhythm is improved thereby: st. 18, line 2, ib. 'dares' for 'dare;' adopted: st. 24, looking to 'tears quickly fled' of next stanza, I think 'flight' is correct, and not a misprint for 'slight.' Accordingly I have punctuated with a comma after fond, flight being = the shrinking-away of the bride, like the Horatian fair lady, a fugitive yet wishful of her lover's kiss: st. 31, HARLEIAN MS. as before, 'Open sunn:' st. 42, line 3, 'be you my fictions, she my story.' G.

TO THE QUEEN:

AN APOLOGIE FOR THE LENGTH OF THE FOLLOWING PANEGYRICK.[85]

When you are mistresse of the song, 1 Mighty queen, to thinke it long, Were treason 'gainst that majesty Your Vertue wears. Your modesty Yet thinks it so. But ev'n that too 5 --Infinite, since part of you-- New matter for our Muse supplies, And so allowes what it denies. Say then dread queen, how may we doe To mediate 'twixt your self and you? 10 That so our sweetly temper'd song Nor be too sort, nor seeme to[o] long. Needs must your noble prayses' strength That made it long excuse the length.

TO THE QUEEN,

VPON HER NUMEROUS PROGENIE: A PANEGYRICK.[86]

Britain! the mighty Ocean's lovely bride! 1 Now stretch thy self, fair isle, and grow: spread wide Thy bosome, and make roome. Thou art opprest With thine own glories, and art strangely blest Beyond thy self: for (lo!) the gods, the gods 5 Come fast upon thee; and those glorious ods Swell thy full honours to a pitch so high As sits above thy best capacitie. Are they not ods? and glorious? that to thee Those mighty genii throng, which well might be 10 Each one an Age's labour? that thy dayes Are gilded with the union of those rayes Whose each divided beam would be a sunne To glad the sphere of any Nation? Sure, if for these thou mean'st to find a seat, 15 Th' hast need, O Britain, to be truly Great. And so thou art; their presence makes thee so: They are thy greatnesse. Gods, where-e're they go, Bring their Heav'n with them: their great footsteps place An everlasting smile upon the face 20 Of the glad Earth they tread on: while with thee Those beames that ampliate mortalitie, And teach it to expatiate and swell To majestie and fulnesse, deign to dwell, Thou by thy self maist sit, (blest Isle) and see 25 How thy great mother Nature dotes on thee. Thee therefore from the rest apart she hurl'd, And seem'd to make an Isle, but made a World.

Time yet hath dropt few plumes since Hope turn'd Joy, And took into his armes the princely boy, 30 Whose birth last blest the bed of his sweet mother, And bad us first salute our prince, a brother.

_The Prince and Duke of York._

Bright Charles! thou sweet dawn of a glorious Day! Centre of those thy grandsires (shall I say, Henry and James? or, Mars and Phoebus rather? 35 If this were Wisdome's god, that War's stern father; 'Tis but the same is said: Henry and James Are Mars and Phoebus under diverse names): O thou full mixture of those mighty souls Whose vast intelligences tun'd the poles 40 Of Peace and War; thou, for whose manly brow Both lawrels twine into one wreath, and woo To be thy garland: see (sweet prince), O see, Thou, and the lovely hopes that smile in thee, Art ta'n out and transcrib'd by thy great mother: 45 See, see thy reall shadow; see thy brother, Thy little self in lesse: trace in these eyne The beams that dance in those full stars of thine. From the same snowy alabaster rock Those hands and thine were hewn; those cherries mock 50 The corall of thy lips: thou wert of all This well-wrought copie the fair principall.

_Lady Mary._

Iustly, great Nature, didst thou brag, and tell How ev'n th' hadst drawn that faithfull parallel, And matcht thy master-piece. O then go on, 55 Make such another sweet comparison. Seest thou that Marie there? O teach her mother To shew her to her self in such another. Fellow this wonder too; nor let her shine Alone; light such another star, and twine 60 Their rosie beams, that so the Morn for one Venus, may have a constellation.

_Lady Elizabeth._

These words scarce waken'd Heaven, when--lo!--our vows Sat crown'd upon the noble infant's brows. Th' art pair'd, sweet princesse: in this well-writ book 65 Read o're thy self; peruse each line, each look. And when th' hast summ'd up all those blooming blisses, Close up the book, and clasp it with thy kisses. So have I seen (to dresse their mistresse May) Two silken sister-flowers consult, and lay 70 Their bashfull cheeks together: newly they Peep't from their buds, show'd like the garden's eyes Scarce wak't: like was the crimson of their joyes; Like were the tears they wept, so like, that one Seem'd but the other's kind reflexion. 75

_The new-borne Prince._

And now 'twere time to say, sweet queen, no more. Fair source of princes, is thy pretious store Not yet exhaust? O no! Heavens have no bound, But in their infinite and endlesse round Embrace themselves. Our measure is not their's; 80 Nor may the pov'rtie of man's narrow prayers Span their immensitie. More princes come: Rebellion, stand thou by; Mischief, make room: War, blood, and death--names all averse from Ioy-- Heare this, we have another bright-ey'd boy: 85 That word's a warrant, by whose vertue I Have full authority to bid you dy. Dy, dy, foul misbegotten monsters! dy: Make haste away, or e'r the World's bright eye Blush to a cloud of bloud. O farre from men 90 Fly hence, and in your Hyperborean den Hide you for evermore, and murmure there Where none but Hell may heare, nor our soft aire Shrink at the hatefull sound. Mean while we bear High as the brow of Heaven, the noble noise 95 And name of these our just and righteous joyes, Where Envie shall not reach them, nor those eares Whose tune keeps time to ought below the spheres. But thou, sweet supernumerary starre, Shine forth; nor fear the threats of boyst'rous Warre. 100 The face of things has therefore frown'd a while On purpose, that to thee and thy pure smile The World might ow an universall calm; While thou, fair halcyon, on a sea of balm Shalt flote; where while thou layst thy lovely head, 105 The angry billows shall but make thy bed: Storms, when they look on thee, shall straigt relent; And tempests, when they tast thy breath, repent To whispers, soft as thine own slumbers be, Or souls of virgins which shall sigh for thee. 110 Shine then, sweet supernumerary starre, Nor feare the boysterous names of bloud and warre: Thy birth-day is their death's nativitie; They've here no other businesse but to die.

_To the Queen._

But stay; what glimpse was that? why blusht the Day? 115 Why ran the started aire trembling away? Who's this that comes circled in rayes that scorn Acquaintance with the sun? what second morn At midday opes a presence which Heaven's eye Stands off and points at? Is't some deity 120 Stept from her throne of starres, deignes to be seen? Is it some deity? or is't our queen? 'Tis she, 'tis she: her awfull beauties chase The Day's abashèd glories, and in face Of noon wear their own sunshine. O thou bright 125 Mistresse of wonders! Cynthia's is the Night; But thou at noon dost shine, and art all day (Nor does thy sun deny't) our Cynthia. Illustrious sweetnesse! in thy faithfull wombe, That nest of heroes, all our hopes find room. 130 Thou art the mother-phenix, and thy brest Chast as that virgin honour of the East, But much more fruitfull is; nor does, as she, Deny to mighty Love, a deitie. Then let the Eastern world brag and be proud 135 Of one coy phenix, while we have a brood, A brood of phenixes: while we have brother And sister-phenixes, and still the mother. And may we long! Long may'st thou live t'increase The house and family of phenixes. 140 Nor may the life that gives their eye-lids light E're prove the dismall morning of thy night: Ne're may a birth of thine be bought so dear To make his costly cradle of thy beer. O may'st thou thus make all the year thine own, 145 And see such names of joy sit white upon The brow of every month! and when th' hast done, Mayst in a son of his find every son Repeated, and that son still in another, And so in each child, often prove a mother. 150 Long may'st thou, laden with such clusters, lean Vpon thy royall elm (fair vine!) and when The Heav'ns will stay no longer, may thy glory And name dwell sweet in some eternall story!

Pardon (bright Excellence,) an untun'd string, 155 That in thy eares thus keeps a murmuring. O speake a lowly Muse's pardon, speake Her pardon, or her sentence; onely breake Thy silence. Speake, and she shall take from thence Numbers, and sweetnesse, and an influence 160 Confessing thee. Or (if too long I stay,) O speake thou, and my pipe hath nought to say: For see Apollo all this while stands mute, Expecting by thy voice to tune his lute.

But gods are gracious; and their altars make 165 Pretious the offrings that their altars take. Give then this rurall wreath fire from thine eyes, This rurall wreath dares be thy sacrifice.

NOTES AND ILLUSTRATIONS.

This poem was originally entitled (as _supra_) 'Upon the Duke of York's Birth.' As new children were born additions were made to it and the title altered. Cf. the Latin poem in our vol. ii. _ad Reginam_.

The children celebrated were the following: Charles James, born May 13, 1628, died the same day; the Queen's first child: Charles II., born May 29, 1630: James, who is placed before his sister Mary, who was older than he; born Oct. 14, 1633; afterwards James II.: Princess Mary, born Nov. 4, 1631, afterwards mother of William III.: Princess Elizabeth, born Dec. 28, 1635; died of grief at her father's tragical end, Sept. 8, 1650; was buried in the church at Newport, Isle of Wight, where her remains were found in 1793. Vaughan the Silurist has a fine poem to her memory (our edition, vol. ii. pp. 115-17): Anne, born March 17, 1636-7; she died Dec. 8, 1640 (Crashaw from first to last keeps Death out of his poem): Henry, born July 8, 1640, afterwards Duke of Gloucester and Earl of Cambridge. Henrietta Anne, born June 16, 1644, is not named.

The title in 1646 is 'Vpon the Duke of Yorke his Birth: a Panegyricke;' and so in 1670, which throughout agrees with that very imperfect text, except in one deplorable blunder of its own left uncorrected by TURNBULL, as noted below. The heading in the SANCROFT MS. is 'A Panegyrick vpon the birth of the Duke of Yorke. R. CR.'

Line 7, in 1646 'glories' for 'honours.' In the SANCROFT MS. line 8 reads 'As sitts alone ....'

Line 15, ib. 'O' for 'Sure.'

" 16, ib. 'Th' art.'

" 29-32 restored from 1648. Not in SANCROFT MS.

" 33. These headings here and onward omitted hitherto.

" 34, in 1646 'great' for 'bright.'

" 43, our text (1648) misprints 'owne' for 'one' of Voces Votivæ.

Line 50, 1646 oddly misprints 'these Cherrimock.'

Line 52, 1646, 'art' for 'wert.'

" 54, ib. 'may'st' for 'did'st.'

" 55, ib. 'th' art' for 'th' hadst.'

" 64-70 restored from 1648. Not in SANCROFT MS.

" 74, 1646, 'pearls' for 'tears.' So the SANCROFT MS.

" 78-118, all these lines--most characteristic­--restored from 1648. TURNBULL overlooked them. Not in the SANCROFT MS.

Line 140, 1670 drops a line here, and thus confuses,

'A brood of phenixes, and still the mother: And may we long: long may'st thou live t' encrease The house,' &c.

PEREGRINE PHILLIPS in his selections from CRASHAW (1785), following the text of 1670, says in a foot-note, 'A line seems wanting, but is so in the original copy.' TURNBULL follows suit and says, 'Here a line seems deficient.' If either had consulted the 'original' editions, which both professed to know, it would have saved them from this and numerous kindred blunders.

line 145, 1646, 'light' for 'life.'

" 151, ib. 'that's.'

" 170, ib. 'their' for 'the offerings.'

In line 27 'Thee therefore &c.' is a thought not unfrequent with the panegyrists of James. BEN JONSON makes use of it at least twice. In the Masque of Blackness we have,

'With that great name Britannia, this blest isle Hath won her ancient dignity and style; A world divided from a world, and tried The abstract of it, in his general pride.'

SHAKESPEARE used the same thought more nobly when he made it the theme of that glorious outburst of patriotism from the lips of the dying Gaunt. G.

VPON TWO GREENE APRICOCKES SENT TO COWLEY BY SIR CRASHAW.[87]

Take these, Time's tardy truants, sent by me 1 To be chastis'd (sweet friend) and chide by thee. Pale sons of our Pomona! whose wan cheekes Have spent the patience of expecting weekes, Yet are scarce ripe enough at best to show 5 The redd, but of the blush to thee they ow. By thy comparrison they shall put on More Summer in their shame's reflection, Than ere the fruitfull Phoebus' flaming kisses Kindled on their cold lips. O had my wishes 10 And the deare merits of your Muse, their due, The yeare had found some fruit early as you; Ripe as those rich composures Time computes Blossoms, but our blest tast confesses fruits. How does thy April-Autumne mocke these cold 15 Progressions 'twixt whose termes poor Time grows old! With thee alone he weares no beard, thy braine Gives him the morning World's fresh gold againe. 'Twas only Paradice, 'tis onely thou, Whose fruit and blossoms both blesse the same bough. 20 Proud in the patterne of thy pretious youth, Nature (methinks) might easily mend her growth. Could she in all her births but coppie thee, Into the publick yeares proficiencie, No fruit should have the face to smile on thee 25 (Young master of the World's maturitie) But such whose sun-borne beauties what they borrow Of beames to day, pay back again to morrow, Nor need be double-gilt. How then must these Poor fruites looke pale at thy Hesperides! 30 Faine would I chide their slownesse, but in their Defects I draw mine own dull character. Take them, and me in them acknowledging, How much my Summer waites upon thy Spring.

ALEXIAS:

THE COMPLAINT OF THE FORSAKEN WIFE OF SAINTE ALEXIS.[88]

THE FIRST ELEGIE.

I late the Roman youth's loud prayse and pride, 1 Whom long none could obtain, though thousands try'd; Lo, here am left (alas!) For my lost mate T' embrace my teares, and kisse an vnkind fate. Sure in my early woes starres were at strife, 5 And try'd to make a widow ere a wife. Nor can I tell (and this new teares doth breed) In what strange path, my lord's fair footsteppes bleed. O knew I where he wander'd, I should see Some solace in my sorrow's certainty: 10 I'd send my woes in words should weep for me, (Who knowes how powerfull well-writt praires would be.) Sending's too slow a word; myselfe would fly. Who knowes my own heart's woes so well as I? But how shall I steal hence? Alexis thou, 15 Ah thou thy self, alas! hast taught me how. Loue too that leads the way would lend the wings To bear me harmlesse through the hardest things. And where Loue lends the wing, and leads the way, What dangers can there be dare say me nay? 20 If I be shipwrack't, Loue shall teach to swimme: If drown'd, sweet is the death indur'd for him: The noted sea shall change his name with me, I'mongst the blest starres, a new name shall be. And sure where louers make their watry graues, 25 The weeping mariner will augment the waues. For who so hard, but passing by that way Will take acquaintance of my woes, and say Here 'twas the Roman maid found a hard fate, While through the World she sought her wandring mate 30 Here perish't she, poor heart; Heauns, be my vowes As true to me, as she was to her spouse. O liue, so rare a loue! liue! and in thee The too frail life of femal constancy. Farewell; and shine, fair soul, shine there aboue 35 Firm in thy crown, as here fast in thy loue. There thy lost fugitiue th' hast found at last: Be happy; and for euer hold him fast.

THE SECOND ELEGIE.

Though all the ioyes I had, fled hence with thee, 1 Vnkind! yet are my teares still true to me: I'm wedded o're again since thou art gone; Nor couldst thou, cruell, leaue me quite alone. Alexis' widdow now is Sorrow's wife, 5 With him shall I weep out my weary life. Wellcome, my sad-sweet mate! Now haue I gott At last a constant Loue, that leaues me not: Firm he, as thou art false; nor need my cryes Thus vex the Earth and teare the beauteous skyes. 10 For him, alas! n'ere shall I need to be Troublesom to the world thus as for thee: For thee I talk to trees; with silent groues Expostulate my woes and much-wrong'd loues; Hills and relentlesse rockes, or if there be 15 Things that in hardnesse more allude to thee, To these I talk in teares, and tell my pain, And answer too for them in teares again. How oft haue I wept out the weary sun! My watry hour-glasse hath old Time's outrunne. 20 O I am learnèd grown: poor Loue and I Haue study'd ouer all Astrology; I'm perfect in Heaun's state; with euery starr My skillfull greife is grown familiar. Rise, fairest of those fires; what'ere thou be 25 Whose rosy beam shall point my sun to me. Such as the sacred light that e'rst did bring The Eastern princes to their infant King, O rise, pure lamp! and lend thy golden ray That weary Loue at last may find his way. 30

THE THIRD ELEGIE.

Rich, churlish Land! that hid'st so long in thee 1 My treasures; rich, alas! by robbing mee. Needs must my miseryes owe that man a spite Who e're he be was the first wandring knight. O had he nere been at that cruell cost 5 Natvre's virginity had nere been lost; Seas had not bin rebuk't by sawcy oares But ly'n lockt vp safe in their sacred shores; Men had not spurn'd at mountaines; nor made warrs With rocks, nor bold hands struck the World's strong barres, 10 Nor lost in too larg bounds, our little Rome Full sweetly with it selfe had dwell't at home. My poor Alexis, then, in peacefull life Had vnder some low roofe lou'd his plain wife; But now, ah me! from where he has no foes 15 He flyes; and into willfull exile goes. Cruell, return, O tell the reason why Thy dearest parents have deseru'd to dy. And I, what is my crime, I cannot tell, Vnlesse it be a crime t' haue lou'd too well. 20 If heates of holyer loue and high desire, Make bigge thy fair brest with immortall fire, What needes my virgin lord fly thus from me, Who only wish his virgin wife to be? Witnesse, chast Heauns! no happyer vowes I know 25 Then to a virgin grave vntouch't to goe. Loue's truest knott by Venus is not ty'd, Nor doe embraces onely make a bride. The queen of angels (and men chast as you) Was maiden-wife and maiden-mother too. 30 Cecilia, glory of her name and blood, With happy gain her maiden-vowes made good: The lusty bridegroom made approach; young man Take heed (said she) take heed, Valerian! My bosome's guard, a spirit great and strong, 35 Stands arm'd, to sheild me from all wanton wrong; My chastity is sacred; and my Sleep Wakefull, her dear vowes vndefil'd to keep. Pallas beares armes, forsooth; and should there be No fortresse built for true Virginity? 40 No gaping Gorgon, this: none, like the rest Of your learn'd lyes. Here you'll find no such iest. I'm your's: O were my God, my Christ so too, I'd know no name of Loue on Earth but you. He yeilds, and straight baptis'd, obtains the grace 45 To gaze on the fair souldier's glorious face. Both mixt at last their blood in one rich bed Of rosy martyrdome, twice married. O burn our Hymen bright in such high flame, Thy torch, terrestriall Loue, haue here no name. 50 How sweet the mutuall yoke of man and wife, When holy fires maintain Loue's heaunly life! But I (so help me Heaun my hopes to see) When thousands sought my loue, lou'd none but thee. Still, as their vain teares my firm vowes did try, 55 Alexis, he alone is mine (said I). Half true, alas! half false, proues that poor line, Alexis is alone; but is not mine.

NOTES AND ILLUSTRATIONS.

The heading in 1648 omits 'Sainte.' These variations from 1648 are interesting:

1st Elegy: Line 9, 'would' for 'should.'

Line 17, our text (1652) drops 'way' inadvertently. TURNBULL tinkers it by reading 'thee' for 'the,' instead of collating the texts.

Line 23, 'its' for 'his.'

" 25, 'when' for 'where.'

" 37, I have adopted 'th'' for 'thou' of our text (1652). 2d Elegy: Line 1, our text (1652) misspells 'fleed.' Line 3, ib. misprints 'I' am.'