Poor narrow limits for so mighty pains,
That cannot promise any foreign vent!
And yet if here too all your wondrous veins
Were generally known, it might content.
But lo! how many reads not, or disdains
The labour of the chief and excellent?
How many thousands never heard the name
Of Sidney, or of Spencer; or their books?
And yet brave fellows, and presume of fame;
And seem to bear down all the world with looks:
What then shall they expect of meaner frame,
On whose endeavours few or none scarce looks?
Do you not see these pamphlets, libels, rhymes,
These strange confused tumults of the mind,
Are grown to be the sickness of these times,
The great disease inflicted on mankind?
Your virtues, by your follies made your crimes,
Have issue with your indiscretion join'd.
Schools, arts, professions, all in so great store,
Pass the proportion of the present state;
Where b'ing as great a number as before,
And fewer rooms them to accommodate;
It cannot be, but they must throng the more,
And kick and thrust, and shoulder with debate.
For when the greater wits cannot attain
This sweet-enchanting knowledge turns you clean
Out from the fields of natural delight,
And makes you hide, unwilling to be seen
In th' open concourse of a public sight:
This skill wherewith you have so cunning been,
Unsinews all your pow'rs, unmans you quite.
Public soci'ty, and commerce of men,
Require another grace, another port:
This eloquence, these rhymes, these phrases then,
Begot in shades, do serve us in no sort:
The unmaterial swelling of your pen
Touch not the spir't that action doth import.
A manly style fitted to manly ears,
Best 'grees with wit; not that which goes so gay,
And commonly the gaudy liv'ry wears
Of nice corruptions, which the times do sway;
And waits on th' humour of his pulse, that bears
His passions set to such a pleasing key.
Such dainties serve only for stomachs weak;
For men do foulest, when they finest speak.
Yet do I not dislike, that in some wise
Be sung the great heroical deserts
Of brave renowned spir'ts; whose exercise
Of worthy deeds may call up others' hearts,
And serve a model for posterities,
To fashion them fit for like glorious parts;
But so that all our spir'ts may tend hereto,
Th' expected good which they account their right, To make it not our grace to say, but do.
And yet perceive others to reap that gain
Of far inferior virtues in their sight;
They present, with the sharp of envy, strain
To wound them with reproaches and despite;
And for these cannot have as well as they,
They scorn their faith should deign to look that way.
Hence discontented sects and schisms arise;
Hence interwounding controversies spring,
That feed the simple, and offend the wise,
Who know the consequence of cavilling
Disgrace, that these to others do devise:
Contempt and scorn on all in th' end doth bring,
Like scolding wives, reck'ning each other's fault,
Make standers-by imagine both are naught.
For when to these rare dainties Time admits
All comers, all complexions, all that will;
Where nope should be let in but choicest wits,
Whose mild discretion could comport with skill:
For when the place their humour neither fits,
Nor they the place; who can expect but ill?
For b'ing unapt for what they took in hand,
And for ought else whereto they shall b' address'd,
They ev'n become th' encumbrance of the land,
As out of rank, disord'ing all the rest:
This grace of theirs to seem to understand,
Mars all their grace, to do without their rest.
Men find that action is another thing,
Than what they in discoursing papers read:
The world's affairs require in managing
More arts than those wherein you clerks procéed;
Whilst tim'rous Knowledge stands considering,
Audacious Ignorance hath done the deed.
For who knows most, the more he knows to doubt;
The least discourse is commonly most stout.
Much thou hast said, and willingly I hear,
As one that am not so possess'd with love
Of what I do; but that I rather bear
An ear to learn, than a tongue to disprove:
I know men must, as carry'd in their sphere,
According to their proper motions move.
And that course likes them best, which they are on;
Yet truth hath certain bounds, but falsehood none.
I do confess our limits are but small,
Compar'd with all the whole vast Earth beside;
All which again rated to that great all,
Is likewise as a point, scarcely descry'd:
So that in these respects we may this call
A point but of a point, where we abide.
But if we shall descend from that high stand
Of overlooking contemplation,
And cast our thoughts but to, and not beyond
This spacious circuit which we tread upon;
We then may estimate our mighty land
A world within a world, standing alone.
Where if our fame confin'd cannot get out,
What shall we imagine it is pen'd,
That hath so great a world to walk about;
Whose bounds with her reports have both one end?
Why shall we not rather esteem her stout,
That further than her own scorn to extend?
And eke to hear th' applause of things well done;
Where b'ing so large a room both to do well,
That further if men shall our virtues tell,
It doth not greater make that which is laud'ble,
We have more mouths, but not more merit won
The flame is bigger blown, the fire all one.
And for the few that only lend their ear,
That few is all the world; which with a few
Do ever live, and move, and work, and stir.
This is the heart doth feel, and only know
The rest of all that only bodies bear,
Roll up and down, and fill up but the row;
And serves as others' members, not their own,
The instruments of those that do direct.
Then what disgrace is this, not to be known
To those know not to give themselves respect?
And though they swell with pomp of folly blown,
They live ungrac'd, and die but in neglect.
And for my part, if only one allow
The care my lab'ring spirits take in this;
He is to me a the'tre large enow,
And his applause only sufficient is:
All my respect is bent but to his brow;
That is my all, and all I am is his.
And if some worthy spir'ts be pleased too,
It shall more comfort breed, but not more will.
But what if none? It cannot yet undo
The love I bear unto this holy skill.
This is the thing that I was born to do:
This is my scene; this part must I fulfil.
Let those that know not breath esteem of wind,
And set t' a vulgar air their servile song;
Rating their goodness by the praise they find,
Making their worth on others' fits belong;
As Virtue were the hireling of the mind,
And could not live if Fame had ne'er a tongue :
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And undeceived with the paralax
Of a mistaking eye of passion, know
By these mask'd outsides what the inward lace; Meas'ring man by himself, not by his show: Wond'ring not at their rich and golden backs, That have poor minds, and little else to show.
Nor taking that for them, which well they see
Is not of them, but rather is their load:
The lies of fortune, wherewithal men be
Deemed within, when they be all abroad;
Whose ground, whose grass, whose earth have cap
and knee,
Which they suppose is on themselves bestow'd;
And think (like Isis' ass) all honours are
Giv'n unto them alone; the which are done
Unto the painted idol which they bear,
That only makes them to be gazed on.
For take away their pack, and show them bare,
And see what beast this honour rides upon.
Hath knowledge lent to her's the privy key,
To let them in unto the highest stage
Of causes, secrets, counsels; to survey
The wits of men, their heats, their colds, their rage;
That build, destroy, praise, hate, say and gain-sy,
Believe and unbelieve, all in one age?
And shall we trust goodness, as it proceeds
From that unconstant mouth; which with one breath
Will make it bad again, unless it feeds
The present humour that it favoureth?
Shall we esteem, and reckon how it heeds
Our works, that his own vows unhalloweth?
Then whereto serves it to have been enlarg'd
With this free manumission of the mind,
If for all that we still continue charg'd
With those discover'd errours which we find?
As if our knowledge only were discharg'd,
Yet we ourselves stay'd in a servile kind.
That Virtue must be out of countenance,
If this gross spir't, or that weak shallow brain,
Or this nice wit, or that distemperance,
Neglect, distaste, uncomprehend, disdain :
When such sick eyes can never cast a glance,
But through the colours of their proper stain.
Though I must needs confess, the small respect
That these great seeming-best of men do give,
(Whose brow begets th' inferior sort's neglect)
Might move the wreak irresolute to grieve;
But stronger see how justly this defect
Hath overtook the times wherein we live.
That learning needs must run the common fate
Of all things else, thrust on by her own weight;
Comporting not herself in her estate,
Under this burthen of a self-conceit:
Our own dissentious hands op'ning the gate
Unto contempt, that on our quarrels wait,
Discover'd have our inward government;
And let in hard opinion to disgrace
The general, for some weak impotent,
That bear out their disease with a stol'n face;
Who (silly souls!) the more wit they have spent,
The less they show'd, not bett'ring their bad case.
And, see how soon this rolling world can take
Advantage for her dissolution!
Fain to get loose from this withholding stake
Of civil science and discretion;
How glad it would ran wild, that it might make
One formless form of one confusion!
Like tyrant Ottomans blindfolded state,
Which must know nothing more, but to obey:
For this seeks greedy ignorance t'abate
Our number, order, living, form and sway:
For this it practises to dissipate
Th' unshelter'd troops, till all be made away.
For since our fathers' sins pull'd first to ground
The pale of this dissever'd dignity,
And overthrew that holy rev'rend bound,
That parted learning and the laity,
And laid all flat in common; to confound
The honour and respect of piety.
It did so much invile the estimate
Of th' open'd and invulgar'd mysteries,
Which now reduc'd unto the basest rate,
Must wait upon the Norman subtleties;
Who being mounted up into their state,
Do best with wrangling rudeness sympathize.
And yet, though now set quite behind the train
Of vulgar sway, (and light of pow'r weigh'd light)
Yet would this giddy innovation fain
Down with it lower, to abase it quite :
And those poor remnants that do yet remain
The spoiled marks of their divided right,
They wholly would deface, to leave no face
Of reverend distinction and degree;
As if they weigh'd no diff'rence in this case,
Betwixt Religion's age and infancy:
Where th'one must creep, th' other stand with grace,
Lest turn'd t'a child, it overturned be.
Though to pull back th' on-running state of things,
(Gath'ring corruption, as it gathers days)
Unto the form of their first orderings,
Is the best means that dissolution stays;
And to go forward, backward right men brings,
T'observe the line from whence they took their
ways.
Yet being once gone wide, and the right way
Not level to the time's condition;
To alter course may bring men more astray:
And leaving what was known, to light on none:
Since ev'ry change, the rev'rence doth decay
Of that which alway should continue one.
For this is that close-kept palladium,
Which once remov'd, brings ruin evermore:
This stirr'd, makes men fore-settled, to become
Curious to know what was believ'd before:
Whilst Faith disputes, that used to be dumb;
And more men strive to talk, than to adore.
For never head-strong Reformation will
Rest, till to the extreme opposite it run,
And overrun the mean distrusted still;
As b'ing too near of kin to that men shun:
For good and bad, and all must be one ill,
When once there is another truth begun.
So hard it is an even hand to bear,
In temp'ring with such maladies as these;
Lest that our forward passions lanch too near,
And make the cure prove worse than the disease:
For with the worst we will not spare the best,
Because it grows with that which doth displease.
And faults are easier look'd in, than redress'd:
Men running with such eager violence,
At the first view of errours fresh in quest;
As they, to rid an inconvenience,
Stick not to raise a mischief in the stead,
Which after mocks their weak improvidence.
And therefore do make not your own sides bleed,
To prick at others: you that would amend,
By pulling down; and think you can proceed,
By going back unto the farther end:
Let stand that little covert left behind,
Whereon your succours and respects depend;
And bring not down the prizes of the mind,
With under-rating of yourselves so base:
You that the mightie's doors do crouching find,
To sell yourselves to buy a little grace;
Or wait whole months to out-bid simony,
For that which being got, is not your place.
What was your due? Your thirsting shows your
For if it were, what needed you to buy
shift,
And little worth, that seeks injuriously
worthier from his lawful room to lift.
We cannot say, that you were then preferr'd;
But that your money was, or some worse gift.
O scatt'ring gath'rers! that, without regard
Of times to come, will (to be made) undo;
As if you were the last of men, prepar'd
To bury in your graves all other too.
Dare you profane that holy portion,
Which never sacrilegious hand durst do?
Did form-establishing Devotion,
To maintain a respective reverence,
Extend her bountiful provision
For your deforming hands to dissipate,
With such a charitable providence,
And make God's due your impious expense!
No marvel then, though th' over pester'd state
Want room for goodness; if our little hold
Be lessen'd unto such a narrow rate,
That rev'rence cannot sit; sit as it should.
And yet what need we thus for rooms complain;
That shall not want void rooms, if this course hold?
And more than will be fill'd-For who will strain,
To get an empty title, to betray
His hopes; and travel for an honour vain,
And gain a port, without support or stay?
What need hath envy to malign their state,
That will themselves (so kind!) give it away?
This makes indeed our number pass the rate
Of our provisions; which, if dealt aright,
Would yield sufficient room t' accommodate,
More than we have in places requisite.
The ill-disposing only doth us set
In disarray, and out of order quite.
Whilst others gifts then of the mind shall get,
Under our colours, that which is our dues;
And to our travels, neither benefit,
Nor grace, nor bonour, nor respect accrues:
The sickness of the state's soul (learning) then
The body's great distemp'rature ensues.
For if that learning's rooms to learned men
Were as their heritage distributed,
All this disorder'd thrust would cease. For when
The fit were call'd; th' unworthy frustrated:
These would be 'sham'd to seek; those to b' unsought;
And, staying their turn, were sure they should be sped.
Then would our drooping academies, brought
Again in heart, regain that rev'rend hand
Of lost opinion; and no more be thought
Th' unnecessary furnish of the land,
Nor (discouraged with their small esteem)
Confus'd, irresolute and wav'ring stand:
Caring not to become profound; but seem
Contented with a superficial skill,
Which for a slight reward enough they deem,
When th' one succeeds as well as th' other will:
See'ng shorter ways lead sooner to their end,
And others' longer travels thrive so ill.
Then would they only labour to extend
Their now unsearching spir't beyond these bounds
Of others' pow'rs, wherein they must be pen'd;
As if there were besides no other grounds:
And set their bold plus ultra far without
The pillars of those axioms age propounds.
Discov'ring daily more and more about,
In that immense and boundless ocean
Of Nature's riches, never yet found out,
Nor fore-clos'd with the wit of any man.
So far beyond the ordinary course,
That other unindustrious ages ran;
Whilst to the times, not to men's wits, pertain The good successes of ill-manag'd deeds: Though th' ignorant deceiv'd with colours vain, Miss of the causes whence this luck proceeds. Foreign defects giving home faults the way, Make ev'n that weakness sometimes well suc ceeds.
I grant, that some unletter'd practic may
(Leaving beyond the Alps faith and respect
To God and man) with impious cunning sway
The courses fore-begun with like effect,
And without stop maintain the turning on,
And have his errours deem'd without defect:
But when some pow'rful opposition
Shall, with a sound encountr'ing shock, disjoint
The fore-contrived frame; and thereupon
Th' experience of the present disappoint;
And other stirring spir'ts, and other hearts
Built huge for action, meeting in a point;
Shall drive the world to summon all their arts,
And all too little for so real might,
When no advantages of weaker parts
Shall bear out shallow counsels from the light;
And this sense-op'ning action (which doth hate
Unmanly craft) shall look to have her right.
Who then holds up the glory of the state;
(Which letter'd arms, and armed letters won)
Who shall be fittest to negotiate,
Contemn'd Justinian, or else Littleton ?
When it shall not be held wisdom to be
Privately made, and publicly undone :
But sound designs, that judgment shall decree
Out of a true discern of the clear ways
That lie direct, with safe-going equity;
Embroiling not their own, and others' days.
That these more curious times they might divorce Extending forth their providence beyond From the opinion they are link'd unto,
Of our disable and unactive force;
To show true knowledge can both speak and do: Arm'd for the sharp which in these days they find, With all provisions that belong thereto :
That their experience may not come behind
The time's conceit; but leading in their place,
May make men see the weapons of the mind
Are states' best strengths, and kingdoms' chiefest
grace;
[praise,
And rooms of charge, charg'd full with worth and
Makes Majesty appear with her full face;
Shining with all her beams, with all her rays;
Unscanted of her parts, unshadowed
In any darken'd point: which still bewrays
The wain of pow'r, when pow'r 's unfurnished,
And hath not all those entire compliments,
Wherewith the state should for her state be sped.
And though the fortune of some age consents
Unto a thousand errours grossly wrought,
Which flourish'd over with their fair events,
Have pass'd for current, and good courses thought;
The least whereof, in other times, again
Most dang'rous inconveniences have brought;
The circuit of their own particular;
That ev'n th' ignorant may understand,
How that Deceit is but a caviller,
And true unto itself can never stand,
But still must with her own conclusions war.
Can Truth and Honesty, wherein consists
The right repose on Earth, the surest ground
Of trust; come weaker arm'd into the lists,
Than Fraud or Vice, that doth itself confound?
Or shall Presumption, that doth what it lists,
(Not what it ought) carry her courses sound?
Then what safe place out of confusion,
Hath plain proceeding Honesty to dwell?
What suit of grace hath Virtue to put on,
If Vice shall wear as good, and do as well?
If Wrong, if Craft, if Indiscretion,
Act as fair parts, with ends as laudable ?
Which all this mighty volume of events,
The world, th' universal map of deeds,
Strongly controls; and proves from all descents,
That the directest courses best succeeds,
When Craft (wrapt still in many comberments)
With all her cunning thrives not, though it speeds,
For should not grave and learn'd Experience,
That looks with th' eyes of all the world beside,
And with all ages holds intelligence,
Go safer than Deceit without a guide?
Which in the by-paths of her diffidence,
Crossing the ways of right, still runs more wide.
Who will not grant, and therefore this observe,
No state stands sure, but on the grounds of right,
Of virtue, knowledge; judgment to preserve,
And all the pow'rs of learning requisite ?
Though other shifts a present turn may serve,
Yet in the trial they will weigh too light.
And do not thou contemn this swelling tide,
And stream of words, that now doth rise so high
Above the usual banks, and spreads so wide
Over the borders of antiquity:
Which, I confess, comes ever amplify'd
With th' abounding humours that do multiply;
And is with that same hand of happiness
Enlarg'd, as vices are out of their bands:
Yet so as if let out but to redress,
And calm and sway th' affections it commands;
Which as it stirs, it doth again repress,
And brings in th' out-gone malice that withstands.
Pow'r above pow'rs! O heav'nly, Eloquence!
That with the strong rein of commanding words
Dost manage, guide, and master th' eminence
Of men's affections, more than all their swords!
Shall we not offer to thy excellence,
The richest treasure that our wit affords ?
Thou that can'st do much more with one poor pen,
Than all the pow'rs of princes can effect;
And draw, divert, dispose and fashion men,
Better than force or rigour can direct!
Should we this ornament of glory then,
As th' unmaterial fruits of shades, neglect?
Or should we careless come behind the rest
In pow'r of words, that go before in worth;
When as our accent's equal to the best,
Is able greater wonders to bring forth?
When all that ever hotter spir'ts express'd,
Comes better'd by the patience of the north.
And who (in time) knows whither we may vent
The treasure of our tongue? To what strange shores
This gain of our best glory shall be sent,
T'enrich unknowing nations with our stores?
What worlds in th' yet unformed occident,
May come refin'd with th' accents that are ours?
Or who can tell for what great work in hand
The greatness of our style is now ordain'd?
What pow'rs it shall bring in, what spir'ts command?
What thoughts let out; what humours keep re-
strain'd?
What mischief it may pow'rfully withstand;
And what fair ends may thereby be attain'd?
And as for Po'sy, (mother of this force!)
That breeds, brings forth, and nourishes this might;
Teaching it in a loose, yet measur'd course,
With comely motions how to go upright;
And fost'ring it with bountiful discourse,
Adorns it thus in fashions of delight.
What should I say?-Since it is well approv'd
The speech of Heav'n, with whom they have com-
That only seem out of themselves remov'd,
And do with more than human skills converse:
Those numbers wherewith Heav'n and Earth are
mov'd,
Show weakness speaks in prose, but pow'r in verse.
Wherein thou likewise seemest to allow,
That th' acts of worthy men should be preserv'd,
As in the holiest tombs we can bestow
Upon their glory that have well deserv'd;
Wherein thou dost no other virtue show,
Than what most barb'rous countries have observ'd:
When all the happiest nations hitherto,
Did with no lesser glory speak, than do.
Now to what else thy malice shall object,
For schools, and arts, and their necessity;
When from my lord, whose judgment must direct
And form and fashion my ability,
I shall have got more strength; thou shalt expect,
Out of my better leisure, my reply.
UNTO the boundless ocean of thy beauty Runs this poor river, charg'd with streams of zeal, Returning thee the tribute of my duty, Which here my love, my youth, my plaints reveal. Here I unclasp the book of my charg'd soul, Where I have cast th' accounts of all my care: Here have I summ'd my sighs; here I enroll How they were spent for thee; look what they are. Look on the dear expenses of my youth, And see how just I reckon with thine eyes: Examine well thy beauty with my truth; And cross my cares, e'er greater sums arise. Read it, sweet maid, though it be done but slightly; Who can show all his love, doth love but lightly.
Go, wailing Verse, the infants of my love; Present the image of the cares I prove; Minerva-like, brought forth without a mother! Witness your father's grief exceeds all other. Sigh out a story of her cruel deeds, With interrupted accents of despair; A monument that whosoever reads, May justly praise, and blame my loveless fair. And starved you, in succours still denying : Say her disdain hath dried up my blood, Press to her eyes, importune me some good; Waken her sleeping pity with your crying: Knock at her hard heart; beg till y' have mov'd her; And tell th' unkind how dearly I have lov'd her.
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