Francis Quarles: Verses about Love

Even like two little bank-dividing brooks,
That wash the pebbles with their wanton stream,
And having ranged and searched a thousand nook
Meet both at length in silver-breasted Thames
Where in a greater current they conjoin
So I my Best-Beloved's am, so he is mine
Even so we met; and after long pursuit
Even so we joined; we both became entire
No need for either to renew a suit,
For I was flax and he was flames of fire
Our firm united souls did more than
So I my Best-Beloved's am, so he is mine.

If all those glittering monarchs that command
The servile quarters of this earthly ball
Should tender in exchange their shares of land,
I would not change my fortunes for them all:
Their wealth is but a counter to my coin;
The world's but theirs, but my Beloved's mine.

Nay, more: if the fair Thespian ladies all
Should heap together their diviner treasure,
That treasure should be deemed a price too small
To buy a minute's lease of half my pleasure.
'Tis not the sacred wealth of all the Nine
Can buy my heart from him, or his from being mine.

Nor time, nor place, nor chance, nor death can bow
My least desires unto the least remove;
He's firmly mine by oath, I his by vow;
He's mine by faith, and I am his by love;
He's mine by water, I am his by wine;
"Thus I my Best?Beloved's am, thus he is mine.

He is my altar, I his holy place;
I am his guest, and he my living food;
I'm his by penitence, he mine by grace;
I'm his by purchase, he is mine by blood;
He's my supporting elm, and I his vine:
Thus I my Best-Beloved's am, thus he is mine.

He gives me wealth, I give him all my vows;
I give him songs, he gives me length of days;
With wreaths of grace he crowns my conquering brows;
And I his temples with a crown of praise,
Which he accepts as an everlasting sign,
That I my Best-Beloved's am; that he is mine.

I love (and have some cause to love) the earth;
She is my Maker's creature, therefore good:
She is my mother, for she gave me birth;
She is my tender nurse; she gives me food;
But what's a creature, Lord, compared with Thee?
Or what's my mother, or my nurse to me?

I love the air; her dainty fruits refresh
My drooping soul, and to new sweets invite me;
Her shrill-mouth'd choirs sustain me with their flesh.
And with their polyphonian notes delight me:
But what's the air, or all the sweets that she
Can bless my soul withal, compared to Thee?

I love the sea; she is my fellow-creature,
My careful purveyor; she provides me store;
She walls me round; she makes my diet greater;
She wafts my treasure from a foreign shore:
But, Lord of oceans, when compared with Thee,
What is the ocean, or her wealth to me?

To heaven's high city I direct my journey,
Whose spangled suburbs entertain mine eye;
Mine eye, by contemplation's great attorney,
Transcends the crystal pavement of the sky.
But what is heaven, great God, compared to Thee?
Without Thy presence, heaven's no heaven to me.

Without Thy presence, earth gives no reflection:
Without Thy presence, sea affords no treasure;
Without Thy presence, air's a rank infection;
Without Thy presence, heaven itself no pleasure:
If not possess'd, if not enjoyed in Thee,
What's earth, or sea, or air, or heaven to me?

The highest honours that the world can boast,
Are subjects far too low for my desire;
Its brightest gleams of glory are, at most,
But dying sparkles of Thy living fire:
The brightest flames that earth can kindle, be
But nightly glowworms, if compared to Thee.

Without Thy presence, wealth is bags of cares;
Wisdom, but folly; joy, disquiet, sadness;
Friendship is treason, and delights are snares;
Pleasures, but pain; and mirth, but pleasing madness:
Without Thee, Lord, things be not what they be,
Nor have their being when compared with Thee.

In having all things, and not Thee, what have I?
Not having Thee, what have my labours got?
Let me enjoy but Thee, what have my labours got?
And having Thee alone, what have I not?
I wish nor sea nor land; nor would I be
Possess'd of heaven, heaven unpossess'd of Thee.

Bridegroom.

Now rests my love : till nuw her tender brest,
Wanting her joy, could finde no peace, no rest;
I charge you all, by the true love you beare
To friendship, or what else you count most deare,
Disturbe her not, but let her sleep her fill:
I charge you all upon your lives be still.
O may that labouring soule that lives opprest
For me, in me receive eternall rest.
What curious face is this ? what mortall birth
Can shew a beauty thus unstain'd with earth!
What glorious angell wanders there alone,
From earth's foule dungeon, to my father's throne!
It is my love ; my love that hath deny'd
The world for me, it is my fairest bride ;
How fragrant is her breath ! how heavenly faire
Her angel face ! each glorifying the ayre.

Bride.

O how I'm ravisht with eternall blisse !
Whoe'r thought heaven a joy compar'd to this ?
How doe the pleasures of this glorious face
Adde glory to the glory of his place !
See how kings' courts surmount poore shepheards' cels,
So this the pride of Salomon excels ;
Rich wreathes of glory crowne his royall head,
And troopes of angels waite upon his bed.
The court of princely Salomon was guarded
With able men at armes ; their faith rewarded
With fading honours, subject to the fate
Of fortune, and the jealous frownes of state:
But here the harmonious quire of heaven attend,
Whose prize is glory, glory without end,
Vnmixt with doubtings or denegerous feare—
A greater prince than Salomon is here.
The bridall bed of princely Salomon,
Whose beauty amaz'd the greedy lookers on.
Which all the world admired to behold.
Was but of cedar, and her sted of gold,
Her pillars silver, and her canopie
Of silkes, but richly stain'd with purple die.
Her curtaines wrought in vvorkes, workes rarely led
By th' needles' art : such was the bridall bed.
Such was the bridall bed, which time, or age.
Durst never warrant from th' approbrious rage
Of envious fate, earth's measures but a minute;
Earth fades, all ftides upon it, all within it;
O but the glory of thy divined place
No age can injure, nor yet time deface;
Too weak an object for weake eyes to bide,
Or tongues t' expresse: who ever saw't but dy'd.
Whoe'r beheld the royall crown set on
The nuptiall brovves of princely Salomon ?
His glorious pompe whose honour did display
The noysed triumphs of his marriage-day:
A greater prince than Salomon is here.
The beauty of whose nuptials shall appeare
More glorious, farre transcending his, as farre
As heaven's bright lamp outshines th' obscurest star.

The Argument.

He goes to Timnah : as he went
He slew a lyon by the way;
He sues, obtaines the maid's consent,
And they appoint tlie marriage-day.


SECTION VIII.

When the next day had with his morning light
Redeem'd the East from the dark shades of night,
And with his golden rayes had overspred
The neighb'ring moimtaines, from his loathed bed
Sick-tholighted Samson rose, whose watchfull eyes
Morpheus that night had with his leaden keyes
Not power to close : his thoughts did so incumber
His restlesse soule, his eyes could never slumber;
Whose softer language by degrees did wake
His father's sleep-bedeafned eares, and spake ;
' Sir, let your early blessings light upon
The tender bosome of your prosprous sonne.
And let the God of Israel repay
Those blessings, double, on your head this day:
The long since banisht shadowes make me bold
To let you know the morning waxes old;
The sun-beames are growne strong, their brighter hiew
Have broke the mists and dride the morning dew;
The sweetness of the season does invite
Your steps to visit Timnah, and acquite
Your last night's promise.'
With that the Danite and his wife arose,
Scarce yet resolved ; at last they did dispose
Their doubtfull paces to behold the prize
Of Samson's heart, and pleasure of his eyes.
Tliey went, and when their travell had attain'd
Those fruitfuU hils whose clusters entertain'd
Their thirsty palats with their swelling pride,
The musing lover being stept aside
To gaine the pleasure of a lonely thought,
Appear d a full-ag'd lyon, who had sought
(But could not find) his long-desired prey.
Soone as his eye had given him hopes to pay
His debt to nature, and to mend that fault
His empty stomack found, he made assault
Vpon th' unarm'd lover's breast, whose hand
Had neither staffe nor weapon to withstand
His greedy rage ; but he whose mighty strength
Or sudden death must now appeare, at length
Strecht forth his brawny arme, (his arme supplide
With power from heaven,) and did with ease divide
His body limme from limme, and did betray
His flesh to foules that lately sought his prey.
This done, his quick redoubled paces make
His stay amends ; his nimble steps o'rtake
His leading parents, who by this discover
The smoake of Timnah : now the greedy lover
Thinkes every step a mile, and every pace
A measured league, untill he see that face.
And finde the treasure of his heart that lies
In the fair casket of his mistresse' eyes.
But all this while close Samson made not knowne
Vnto his parents what his hands had done.
By this the gate of Timnah entertaines
The welcome travellers ; the parents' paines
Are now rewarded with their Sonne's best pleasure:
The virgin comes ; his eyes can finde no leisure
To owne another object. O the greeting
Th' impatient lovers had at their first meeting!
The lover speakes ; she answers ; he replies;
She blushes ; he demandeth ; she denies ;
He pleades affection ; she doubts ; hee sues
For nuptiall love ; she questions ; he renewes
His earnest suit: importunes; she relents;
He must have no deniall ; she consents :
They passe their mutuall loves ; their joyned hands
Are equall earnests of the nuptiall bands.
The parents are agreed ; all parties pleas'd;
The daye's set downe ; the lovers hearts are eas'd ;
Nothing displeases now but the long stay
Betwixt th' appointment and the mariage-day.

MEDITA VIII.

'Tis too severe a censure : if the sonne
Take him a wife ; the marriage fairely done,
Without consent of parents (who perchance
Had rais'd his higher price, knew where t' advance
His better'd fortunes to one hundred more,)
He lives a fornicator, she, a whore :
Too hard a censure ! and it seems to me
The parent 's most delinquent of the three.
What if the better minded sonne doe aime
At worth ? what if rare vertues doe inflame
His rapt affection ? what if the condition
Of an admired and dainty disposition
Hath won his soule ? whereas the covetous father
Findes her gold light, and recommends him rather
T' an old worne widow, whose more weighty purse
Is filled with gold, and with the orphan's curse;
The sweet exuberance of whose full-mouth'd portion
Is but the cursed issue of extortion;
Whose worth, perchance, lies onely in her weight,
Or in tlie bosome of her great estate.
Wliat if the sonne (that does not care to buy
Abundance at so deare a rate,) deny
The soule-detesting profer of his father,
And, in his better judgement, chooses rather
To match with meaner fortunes and desert ?
I thinke that Mary cliose the better part.
What noble families (that have outgrowne
The best records) have quite bin overthrowne
By wilfuU parents, that will either force
Their sonnes to match, or haunt them with a curse!
That can adapt their humors to rejoyce
And fcincy all things, but their children's choyce!
Which makes them often timorous to reveale
The close desiers of their hearts, and steale
Such matches as perchance their faire advice
Might in the bud have hindred in a trice ;
Which done, and past, then their hasty spirit
Can thinke of nothing under disinherit:
He must be quite discarded and exiled ;
The furious father must renounce his childe;
Nor pray'r nor blessing must he have ; bereiven
Of all ; nor must he live, nor die, forgiven;
When as the father's rashnesse oftentimes
Was the first causer of the children's crimes.
Parents, be not too cruel! ; children doe
Things oft too deepe for us t' inquire into.
What father would not storme if his wilde sonne
Should doe the deed that Samson here had done ?
Nor doe I make it an exemplar act,
Onely let parents not be too exact.
To curse their children, or to dispossesse Qblesse.
Them of their blessings. Heaven may chance to
Be not too strict ; faire language may recure
A fault of youth, whilst rougher words obdure.