Democritus Platonissans Part 8

Thus armed stood he and betwixt us tway The labouring brook did break his toilsome way.

The wanton lad whose sport is others pain Did charge his bended bow with deadly dart, And drawing to the head with might and main, With fell intent he aim'd to hit my heart.

But ever as he shot his arrows still In their mid course dropt down into the rill.

Of wondrous virtues that in waters been Is needlesse to rehea.r.s.e, all books do ring Of those strange rarities. But ne're was seen Such virtue as resided in this spring.

The novelty did make me much admire But stirr'd the hasty youth to ragefull ire.

As heedlesse fowls that take their per'lous flight Over that bane of birds, _Averno lake_, Do drop down dead: so dead his shafts did light Amid this stream, which presently did slake Their fiery points, and all their feathers wet Which made the youngster G.o.dling inly fret.

Thus l.u.s.tfull Love (this was that love I ween) Was wholly changed to consuming ire.

And eath it was, sith they're so near a kin They be both born of one rebellious sire.

But he supprest his wrath and by and by For feathered darts, he winged words let flie:

Vain man! said he, and would thou wer'st not vain That hid'st thy self in solitary shade And spil'st thy precious youth in sad disdain Hating this lifes delight! Hath G.o.d thee made Part of this world, and wilt not thou partake Of this worlds pleasure for its makers sake?

Unthankfull wretch! G.o.ds gifts thus to reject And maken nought of Natures goodly dower That milders still away through thy neglect And dying fades like unregarded flower.

This life is good, what's good thou must improve, The highest improvement of this life is love.

Had I (but O that envious Destinie, Or Stygian vow, or thrice accursed charm Should in this place free pa.s.sage thus denie Unto my shafts as messengers of harm!

Had I but once transfixt thy froward breast, How would'st thou then----I staid not for the rest;

But thus half angry to the boy replide: How would'st thou then my soul of sense bereave!

I blinded, thee more blind should choose my guide!

How would'st thou then my muddied mind deceive With fading shows, that in my errour vile, Base l.u.s.t; I love should tearm, vice, virtue stile.

How should my wicked rymes then idolize Thy wretched power, and with impious wit Impute thy base born pa.s.sions to the skies And my souls sicknesse count an heavenly fit, My weaknesse strength, my wisdome to be caught My bane my blisse, mine ease to be o'rewraught.

How often through my fondly feigning mind And frantick phansie, in my Mistris eye Should I a thousand fluttering Cupids find Bathing their busie wings? How oft espie Under the shadow of her eye-brows fair Ten thousand Graces sit all naked bare?

Thus haunted should I be with such feat fiends: A pretty madnesse were my portion due.

Foolish my self I would not hear my friends.

Should deem the true for false, the false for true.

My way all dark more slippery then ice My attendents, anger, pride, and jealousies.

Unthankfull then to G.o.d I should neglect All the whole world for one poor sorry wight, Whose pestilent eye into my heart project Would burn like poysonous Comet in my spright.

Aye me! how dismall then would prove that day Whose onely light sprang from so fatall ray.

Who seeks for pleasure in this mortall life By diving deep into the body base Shall loose true pleasure: But who gainly strive Their sinking soul above this bulk to place Enlarg'd delight they certainly shall find Unbounded joyes to fill their boundlesse mind.

When I my self from mine own self do quit And each thing else; then an all-spreaden love To the vast Universe my soul doth sit Makes me half equall to all-seeing Jove.

My mighty wings high stretch'd then clapping light I brush the starres and make them shine more bright.

Then all the works of G.o.d with close embrace I dearly hug in my enlarged arms All the hid paths of heavenly Love I trace And boldly listen to his secret charms.

Then clearly view I where true light doth rise, And where eternall Night low-pressed lies.

Thus lose I not by leaving small delight But gain more joy, while I my self suspend From this and that; for then with all unite I all enjoy, and love that love commends.

That all is more then loves the partiall soul Whose petty loves th' impartiall fates controll.

Ah son! said he, (and laughed very loud) That trickst thy tongue with uncouth strange disguize, Extolling highly that with speeches proud To mortall men that humane state denies, And rashly blaming what thou never knew Let men experienc'd speak, if they'll speak true.

Had I once lanc'd thy froward flinty heart And cruddled bloud had thawn with living fire And p.r.i.c.kt thy drousie sprite with gentle smart How wouldst thou wake to kindly sweet desire, Thy soul fill'd up with overflowing pleasures Would dew thy lips with hony-dropping measures.

Then wouldst thou caroll loud and sweetly sing In honour of my sacred Deity That all the woods and hollow hills would ring Reechoing thy heavenly harmonie.

And eke the hardy rocks with full rebounds Would faithfully return thy silver sounds.

Next unto me would be thy Mistresse fair, Whom thou might setten out with goodly skill Her peerlesse beauty and her virtues rare, That all would wonder at thy gracefull quill.

And lastly in us both thy self shouldst raise And crown thy temples with immortall bayes.

But now thy riddles all men do neglect, Thy rugged lines of all do lie forlorn.

Unwelcome rymes that rudely do detect The Readers ignorance. Men holden scorn To be so often non-plusd or to spell, And on one stanza a whole age to dwell.

Besides this harsh and hard obscuritie Of the hid sense, thy words are barbarous And strangely new, and yet too frequently Return, as usuall plain and obvious, So that the show of the new thick-set patch Marres all the old with which it ill doth match.

But if thy haughty mind, forsooth, would deign To stoop so low to hearken to my lore, Then wouldst thou with trim lovers not disdeign To adorn the outside, set the best before.

Nor rub nor wrinkle would thy verses spoil Thy rymes should run as glib and smooth as oyl.

If that be all, said I, thy reasons slight Can never move my well establishd mind.

Full well I wote alwayes the present sprite, Or life that doth possesse the soul, doth blind, Shutting the windows 'gainst broad open day Lest fairer sights its uglinesse bewray.

The soul then loves that disposition best Because no better comes unto her view.

The drunkard drunkennesse, the sluggard rest, Th' Ambitious honour and obeisance due.

So all the rest do love their vices base 'Cause virtues beauty comes not into place.

And looser love 'gainst Chast.i.tie divine Would shut the door that he might sit alone.

Then wholly should my mind to him incline: And woxen strait, (since larger love was gone) That paultrie sprite of low contracting l.u.s.t Would fit my soul as if 't were made for 't just.

Then should I with my fellow bird or brute So strangely metamorphis'd, either ney Or bellow loud: or if 't may better sute Chirp out my joy pearch'd upon higher spray.

My pa.s.sions fond with impudence rehea.r.s.e, Immortalize my madnesse in a verse.

This is the summe of thy deceiving boast That I vain ludenesse highly should admire, When I the sense of better things have lost And chang'd my heavenly heat for h.e.l.lish fire, Pa.s.sion is blind, but virtues piercing eye Approching danger can from farre espie.

And what thou dost Pedantickly object Concerning my rude rugged uncouth style, As childish toy I manfully neglect, And at thy hidden snares do inly smile.

How ill alas! with wisdome it accords To sell my living sense for livelesse words.

My thought 's the fittest measure of my tongue, Wherefore I'll use what's most significant, And rather then my inward meaning wrong Or my full-shining notion trimly scant, I'll conjure up old words out of their grave, Or call fresh forrein force in if need crave.

And these attending on my moving mind Shall duly usher in the fitting sense.

As oft as meet occasion I find.

Unusuall words oft used give lesse offence; Nor will the old contexture dim or marre, For often us'd they're next to old, thred-bare.

And if the old seem in too rustie hew, Then frequent rubbing makes them shine like gold, And glister all with colour gayly new.

Wherefore to use them both we will be bold.

Thus lists me fondly with fond folk to toy, And answer fools with equall foolerie.

The meaner mind works with more nicetie, As spiders wont to weave their idle web, But braver spirits do all things gallantly Of lesser failings nought at all affred: So Natures carelesse pencill dipt in light With sprinkled starres hath spattered the Night.

And if my notions clear though rudely thrown And loosely scattered in my poesie, May lend men light till the dead Night be gone, And Morning fresh with roses strew the skie: It is enough, I meant no trimmer frame Or by nice needle-work to seek a name.

Vain man! that seekest name mongst earthly men Devoid of G.o.d and all good virtuous lere; Who groping in the dark do nothing ken But mad; with griping care their souls do tear, Or burst with hatred or with envie pine Or burn with rage or melt out at their eyne.