And fain would know his birth, and what he were; How there erected; and how long agone: Enquires and asks his fellow traveller What he hath heard, and his opinion :
And he knows nothing, then he turns again, And looks and sighs; and then admires afresh, And in himself with sorrow doth complain The misery of dark forgetfulness : Angry with Time that nothing should remain, Our greatest wonder's wonder to express.
Then Ignorance, with fabulous discourse, Robbing fair Art and Cunning of their right, Tells how those stones were by the devil's force From Afric brought to Ireland in a night; And thence to Brittany, by magic course, From giants hands redeem'd by Merlin's slight;
And then near Ambri plac'd, in memory Of all those noble Britons murther'd there By Hengist and his Saxon treachery, Coming to parley in peace at unaware. With this old legend then Credulity Holds her content, and closes up her care.
+ And as for thee, thou huge and mighty frame, That standst corrupted so with Time's despite, And giv'st false evidence against their fame That set thee there to testify their right;
And art become a traitor to their name*,
That trusted thee with all the best they might;
Thou shalt stand still bely'd and slandered, The only gazing-stock of Ignorance, And by thy guile the wise admonished, Shall never more desire such hopes t' advance, Nor trust their living glory with the dead
That cannot speak, but leave their fame to chance.
Consid'ring in how small a room do lie, And yet lie safe, (as fresh as if alive) All those great worthies of antiquity, Which long foreliv'd thee, and shall long survive; Who stronger tombs found for eternity,
Than could the pow'rs of all the earth contrive.
Where they remain these trifles to upbraid, Out of the reach of spoil, and way of rage; Tho' Time with all his pow'r of years hath laid Long batt'ry, back'd with undermining Age; Yet they make head only with their own aid, And war with his all-conqu'ring forces wage; Pleading the heaven's prescription to be free, And t' have a grant t' endure as long as he.
Musophilus, by S. Daniel.
* And art become a traitor to their name. Thus Drayton, speaking of the same place:
Ill did those mighty men to trust thee with their story,
That hast forgot their names, who rear'd thee for their glory: For all their wondrous cost, thou that hast serv'd them so, What 'tis to trust to tombs, by thee we easily know.
End and beginning of each thing that grows, Whose self no end, nor yet beginning knows;
That hath no eyes to see, nor ears to hear, Yet sees and hears, and is all eye, all ear; That no where is contain'd, and yet is every where.
Changer of all things, yet immutable, Before and after all, the first and last; That moving all is yet immoveable ; Great without quantity, in whose forecast Things past are present, things to come are past; Swift without motion, to whose open eye The hearts of wicked men unbreasted lie, At once absent and present to them, far and nigh.
It is no flaming lustre made of light, No sweet concent, or well-tim'd harmony; Ambrosia for to feast the appetite,
Or flow'ry odour mix'd with spicery,
No soft embrace or pleasure bodily.
And yet it is a kind of inward feast,
A harmony that sounds within the breast,
An odour, light, embrace, in which the soul doth rest.
A heav'nly feast no hunger can consume,
A light unseen yet shines in every place;
A sound no time can steal, a sweet perfume No winds can scatter, an entire embrace That no satiety can e'er unlace.
Ingrac'd into so high a favour, there The saints, with their compeers, whole worlds outwear,
And things unseen do see, and things unheard do hear.
Christ's Triumph, by G. Fletcher, Part II. stan. 39-42,
TH' Egyptians, amidst their solemn feasts, Used to welcome and present their guests With the sad sight of man's anatomy, Serv'd in with this loud motto, 'All must die.' Fools often go about, when as they may Take better 'vantage of a nearer way. Look well into your bosoms: do not flatter Your known infirmities: behold, what matter Your flesh was made of. Man, cast back thine eye Upon the weakness of thine infancy; See how thy lips hang on thy mother's breast Bawling for help, more helpless than a beast. Liv'st thou to childhood? then behold what toys Do mock the sense, how shallow are thy joys. Com'st thou to downy years? See how deceits Gull thee with golden fruit, and with false baits Slily beguile the prime of thine affection. Art thou attain'd at length to full perfection
Of ripen'd years? Ambition hath now sent Thee on her frothy errand; Discontent Pays thee thy wages. Do thy grizly hairs Begin to cast account of many cares Upon thy head? The sacred lust of gold Now fires thy spirit *, for fleshly lust too cold Makes thee a slave to thine own base desire, Which melts and hardens at the selfsame fire. Art thou decrepit ? then thy very breath Is grievous to thee, and each grief's a death. Look where thou list, thy life is but a span, Thou art but dust, and, to conclude, a man. Thy life's a warfare, thou a soldier art, Satan's thy foeman, and a faithful heart Thy two-edg'd weapon, patience is thy shield, Heaven is thy chieftain, and the world thy field.
To be afraid to die, or wish for death, Are words and passions of despairing breath; Who doth the first the day doth faintly yield, And who the second basely flies the field. Man's not a lawful steersman of his days, His bootless wish nor hastens nor delays : We are God's hired workmen; he discharges Some late at night, and (when he list) enlarges Others at noon, and in the morning some: None may relieve himself till he bid come: If we receive for one half day as much
As they that toil till evening, shall we grutch?
Job Militant, by F. Quarles, Med. viii.
.......... the sacred lust of gold
Now fires thy spirit.] Sacred is here used in the sense of ac
cursed, like the auri sacra fames of Virgil. Æn. III. 57.
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