George Wither: Verses about Soul

Now that my body, dead aliue,
Bereau'd of comfort, lies in thrall,
Doe thou, my soul, begin to thriue,
And unto honie turne this gall;
So shall we both, through outward wo,
The way to inward comfort know.

For as that foode my flesh I giue
Doth keepe in me this mortall breath
So souls on meditations hue,
And shunne thereby immortall death:
Nor art thou euer neerer rest
Than when thou find'st me most opprest.

First thinke, my soule, if I haue foes
That take a pleasure in my care,
And to procure these outward woes,
Haue thus enwrapt me vnaware,
Thou should'st by much more carefull bee,
Since greater foes lay waite for thee.

Then when mew'd vp in grates of Steele,
Minding those ioyes mine eyes do misse,
Thou find'st no torment thou dost feele
So grieuous as privation is
Muse how the damn'd in flames that glow
Pine in the loss of bliss they know.

Thou seest there's giuen so great might
To some that are but clay as I,
Their very anger can affright
Which if in any thou espie,
Thus thinke : if mortal's frownes strike feare,
How dreadfull will God's wrath appeare !

By my late hopes, than none are crost,
Consider those that firmer bee ;
And make the freedome I have lost
A meanes that may remember thee;
Had Christ not thy redeemer bin,
What horrid thrall thou hadst been in !

These iron chaines, the bolts of Steele,
Which other poore offenders griend,
The wants and cares which they do feele
May bring some greater thing to mind;
For by their griefe thou shalt doe well
To thinke upon the paines of hell.

Or when through me thou seest a man
Condemned vnto a mortall death,
How sad he lookes, how pale, how Wan,
Drawing with fear his panting breath;
Thinke if in that such griefe thou see,
How sad will, Go, yee cursed ! bee.

Againe, when he that fear'd to dye,
Past hope, doth see his pardon brought,
Reade but the joy that's in his eye,
And then conuey it to thy thought;
There thinke betwixt my heart and thee
How sweet will, Come, yee blessed! bee.

Thus if thou doe, though closed here,
My bondage I shall deem the lesse;
I neither shall have cause to feare,
Nor yet bevvaile my sad distresse:
For whether Hue, or pine, or dye,
We shall haue blisse eternally.


Willy.

Trust me ! I see the cage doth some birds good ;
And if they do not suffer too much wrong,
Will teach them sweeter descants than the wood.
Beleeu't ! I like the subiect of thy song,
It showes thou art in no distempered mood;
But cause to heare the residue I long,
My sheep to-morrow I will nearer bring,
And spend the day to heare thee talk and sing.

Yet ere we part, Roget to, areed
Of whom thou learn'dst to make such songs as these ;
I neuer yet heard any shepheard's reede
Tune in mishap a straine that more could please.
Surely thou dost inuoke at this thy need
Some power that we neglect in other layes:
For here's a name and words that but few swaines
Haue mentioned at their meeting on the plaines.


Roget

Indeed 'tis true ; and they are sore to blame
That doe so much neglect it in their songs;
For thence proceedeth such a worthy fame
As is not subject vnto enue's wrongs ;
That is the most to be respected name
Of our true Pan, whose worth sits on all tongues,
And what the ancient shepheards vse to prayse
In sacred anthems sung on holy dayes.

Hee that first taught his musike such a straine,
Was that sweet shepheard who, vntill a king,
Kept sheepe upon the hony, milky plaine,
That is inricht by Jordan's watering:
He in his troubles eased the bodie's paines
By measures raised to the souJe's rauishing;
And his sweet numbers onely, most diuine,
Gaue first the being to this song of mine.


Willy.

Let his good spirit euer with thee dwell,
That I might hear such musicke every day.


Philarete.

Thankes ! but would now it pleased thee to play.
Yet sure 'tis late, thy weather rings his bell,
And swaines to fold or homeward drive away.


Willy.

And yon goes Cuddy, therefore fare thou well!
Fie make his sheepe for me a little stay ;
And if thou thinke it fit I'll bring him too
Next morning hither. * * *


Philarete.

* * * Prithee, Willy ! do.

And first, that no man else may censure me
For vaunting what belongeth not to me,
Heare what I have not, for Tie not deny
To make confession of my poverty.
I have not of myselfe the powre or grace
To be, or not to be ; one minute-space
I have not strength another word to write,
Or tell you what I purpose to indite ;
Or thinke out halfe a thought, before my death,
But by the leave of him that gave me breath.
I have no native goodnes in my soul,
But I was over all corrupt and foul:
And till another cleans'd me I had nought
That was not stain'd within me : not a thought.
I have no propper merrit ; neither will,
Or to resolve, or act, but what is ill;
I have no meanes of safety, or content,
In ought which mine owne wisdom can invent.
Nor have I reason to be desperate tho,
Because for this a remedy I know.
I have no portion in the world like this,
That I may breathe that ayre which common is,
Nor have I seen within this spacious round
What I have worth my joy or sorrow found,
Except it hath for these that follow binn,
The love of my Redeemer, and my sinn.
I none of those great priviledges have
Which makes the minions of the time so brave;
I have no sumpteous pallaces, or bowers
That overtop my neighbours with their tow'rs;
I have no large demeanes or princely rents,
Like those heroes, nor their discontents;
I have no glories from mine auncesters,
For want of reall worth to bragg of theirs ;
Nor have I baseness in my pedigree:
For it is noble, though obscure it be.
I have no golde those honours to obtaine,
Which men might heretofore by vertue gaine;
Nor have I witt, if wealth were given me,
To thinke bought place, or title, honour'd me.
I (yet) have no beliefe that they are wise
Who for base ends can basely temporise :
Or that it will at length be ill for me,
That I liv'd poore to keepe my spirit free.
I have no causes in our pleading courts,
Nor start I at our Chancery reports;
No fearfull bill hath yet affrighted me,
No motion, order, judgement, or decree.
Nor have I forced beene to tedious journeys
Betwixt my counsellors and my attorneys.
I have no neede of these long-gowned warriers,
Who play at Westminster, unarm'd, at barriers
For gamster for those Common-pleas am I
Whose sport is marred by the Chancery.

* * * *

I have no complements, but what may show
That I doe manners and good breeding know;
For much I hate the forced apish tricks
Of these our home-disdaining politicks :
Who to the forraine guises are affected,
That English honesty is quite rejected
And in the stead thereof, they furnisht home
With shadowes of humanity doe come.
Oh! how judicious, in their owne esteeme,
And how compleatly travelled they seem,
If, in the place of reall kindnesses,
(Which nature could have taught them to expresse,)
They can, with gestures, lookes, and language sweet,
Fawne like a curtezan on all they meete ;
And vie in humble and kind speeches, when
They doe most proudly and most falsely meane.
On this too many falsely set their face,
Of courtship and of wisdome ; but 'tis base.
For servile unto me it doth appeare
When we descend to soothe and flatter, where
We want affection : yea, I hate it more
Than to be borne a slave, or to be poore.
I have no pleasure or delight in ought
That by dissembling must to passe be brought
If I dislike, I'll sooner tell them so,
Then hide my face beneath a friendly show
For he who to be just hath an intent,
Needs nor dissemble nor a lie invent.
I rather wish to faile with honestie,
Then to prevaile in ought by treacherie.
And with this minde I'll safer sleep, then all
Our Macavillian polititians shall.
I have no minde to flatter ; though I might
Be made some lord's companion, or a knight;
Nor shall my verse for me on begging goe,
Though I might starve unlesse it did doe so.

* * * *

I cannot (for my life) my pen compell,
Upon the praise of any man to dwell:
Unlesse I know (or thinke at least) his worth
To be the same which I have blazed forth.
Had I some honest suit, the gaine of which
Would make me noble, eminent, and rich,
And that to compasse it no meanes there were,
Unlesse I basely flatter'd some great peere;
Would with that suite my mine I might get,
If on those terms I would endeavour it.
I have not bin to their condition borne
Who are enclyned to respect, and scorne,
As men in their estates doe rise or fall:
Or rich or poore, I vertue love in all.
And where I find it not, I doe despise
To fawn on them ; how high soe're they rise ;
For where proud greatnesse without worth J see
Old Mordecay had not a stiffer knee.
I cannot give a plaudit (I protest)
When, as his lordship thinks, he breakes a jeast,
Unles it move me ; neither can I grin
When he a causeles laughter doth begin ;
I cannot sweare him truly honourable,
Because he once received me to his table,
i And talk't as if the Muses glad might be
That he vouchsafed such a grace to me :
I His slender worth I could not blazen so
By strange hyperboles, as some would do;
Or wonder at it, as if none had bin
His equall, since King William first came in.
Nor can I thinke true vertue ever car'd
To give or take (for praise) what I have heard.
For, if we pryze them well, what goodly grace
Have outward beauties, riches, titles, place,
Or such, that we the owners should commend,
When no true vertues doe on these attend ?
If beautiful he be, what honor's that ?
As fayre as he is many a beggar's brat.
If we his noble titles would extoll,
Those titles he may have, and be a fool.
If seats of justice he hath climbed (we say),
So tyrants and corrupt oppressors may.
If for a large estate his praise we tell,
A thousand villains may be praised as well.
If he his prince's good esteeme be in,
Why so hath many a bloudy traytor bin.
And if in these things he alone excell,
Let those that list upon his praises dwell.
Some other worth I find ere I have sense
Of any praise deserving excellence.
I have no friends that once affected were,
But to my heart they sit this day as neare
As when I most endear'd them (though they seeme
To fall from my opinion or esteeme :)
For pretious time in idle would be spent,
If I with all should alwayes complement ;
And till my love I may to purpose show,
I care not wher' they think I love or no.
For sure I am, if any find me chang'd,
Their greatnes,not their meannesse, me estranged.