The Complete Poetical Works of George Chapman

by George Chapman

  Our painted fooles and cockhorse Pessantrie

  Still still usurp, with long lives, loves, and lust,

  The seates of vertue, cutting short as dust

  Her deare bought issue; ill, to worse converts,

  And tramples in the blood of all deserts.

  Night close and silent now goes fast before

  The Captaines and their souldiers to the shore,

  On whom attended the appointed Fleete

  At Sestus Bay, that should Leander meete.

  Who fainde he in another ship would passe:

  Which must not be, for no one meane there was

  To get his love home, but the course he tooke.

  Forth did his beautie for his beautie looke,

  And saw her through her Torch, as you beholde

  Sometimes within the Sunne, a face of golde,

  Form’d in strong thoughts, by that traditions force,

  That saies a God sits there and guides his course.

  His sister was with him, to whom he shewd

  His guide by Sea: and sayd; Oft have you viewd

  In one heaven many starres, but never yet

  In one starre many heavens till now were met.

  See lovely sister, see, now Hero shines

  No heaven but her appeares: each star repines,

  And all are clad in clowdes, as if they mournd,

  To be by influence of Earth out-burnd.

  Yet doth she shine, and teacheth vertues traine,

  Still to be constant in Hels blackest raigne:

  Though even the gods themselves do so entreat them

  As they did hate, and Earth as she would eate them.

  Off went his silken robe, and in he leapt;

  Whom the kinde waves so licorously cleapt,

  Thickning for haste one in another so,

  To kisse his skin, that he might almost go

  To Heros Towre, had that kind minuit lasted.

  But now the cruell fates with Ate hasted

  To all the windes, and made them battaile fight

  Upon the Hellespont, for eithers right

  Pretended to the windie monarchie.

  And forth they brake, the Seas mixt with the side,

  And tost distrest Leander, being in hell,

  As high as heaven; Blisse not in height doth dwell.

  The Destinies sate dancing on the waves,

  To see the glorious windes with mutuall braves

  Consume each other: O true glasse to see,

  How ruinous ambitious Statists bee

  To their owne glories! Poore Leander cried

  For help to Sea-borne Venus; she denied:

  To Boreas, that for his Atthoeas sake,

  He would some pittie on his Hero take,

  And for his owne loves sake, on his desires:

  But Glorie never blowes cold Pitties fires.

  Then calde he Neptune, who through all the noise,

  Knew with affright his wrackt Leanders voice:

  And up he rose, for haste his forehead hit

  Gainst heavens hard Christall; his proud waves he smit

  With his forkt scepter, that could not obay,

  Much greater powers then Neptunes gave them sway.

  They lov’d Leander so, in groanes they brake

  When they came neere him; and such space did take

  Twixt one another, loth to issue on,

  That in their shallow furrowes earth was shone,

  And the poore lover tooke a little breath:

  But the curst Fates sate spinning of his death

  On every wave, and with the servile windes

  Tumbled them on him: And now Hero findes

  By that she felt, her deare Leanders state.

  She wept and prayed for him to every fate,

  And every winde that whipt her with her haire

  About the face, she kist and spake it faire,

  Kneeld to it, gave it drinke out of her eyes

  To quench his thirst: but still their cruelties

  Even her poore Torch envied, and rudely beate

  The bating flame from that deare foode it eate:

  Deare, for it nourisht her Leanders life,

  Which with her robe she rescude from their strife:

  But silke too soft was, such hard hearts to breake,

  And she deare soule, even as her silke, faint, weake,

  Could not preserve it: out, O out it went.

  Leander still cald Neptune, that now rent

  His brackish curles, and tore his wrinckled face

  Where teares in billowes did each other chace,

  And (burst with ruth) he hurld his marble Mace

  At the sterne Fates: it wounded Lachesis

  That drew Leanders thread, and could not misse

  The thread it selfe, as it her hand did hit,

  But smote it full and quite did sunder it.

  The more kinde Neptune rag’d, the more he raste

  His loves lives fort, and kild as he embraste.

  Anger doth still his owne mishap encrease;

  If any comfort live, it is in peace.

  O theevish Fates, to let Blood, Flesh, and Sence

  Build two fayre Temples for their Excellence,

  To rob it with a poysoned influence.

  Though soules gifts starve, the bodies are held dear

  In ugliest things; Sence-sport preserves a Beare.

  But here nought serves our turnes; O heaven and earth,

  How most most wretched is our humane birth?

  And now did all the tyrannous crew depart,

  Knowing there was a storme in Heros hart,

  Greater then they could make, and skornd their smart.

  She bowd her selfe so low out of her Towre,

  That wonder twas she fell not ere her howre,

  With searching the lamenting waves for him;

  Like a poore Snayle, her gentle supple lim

  Hung on her Turrets top so most downe right,

  As she would dive beneath the darknes quite,

  To finde her Jewell; Jewell, her Leander,

  A name of all earths Jewels pleasde not her,

  Like his deare name: Leander, still my choice,

  Come nought but my Leander; O my voice

  Turne to Leander: hence-forth be all sounds,

  Accents, and phrases that shew all griefes wounds,

  Analisde in Leander. O black change!

  Trumpets doe you with thunder of your clange,

  Drive out this changes horror, my voyce faints:

  Where all joy was, now shrieke out all complaints.

  Thus cryed she, for her mixed soule could tell

  Her love was dead: And when the morning fell

  Prostrate upon the weeping earth for woe,

  Blushes that bled out of her cheekes did show,

  Leander brought by Neptune, brusde and torne

  With Citties ruines he to Rocks had worne,

  To filthie usering Rocks that would have blood,

  Though they could get of him no other good.

  She saw him, and the sight was much much more,

  Then might have serv’d to kill her; should her store

  Of giant sorrowes speake? Burst, dye, bleede,

  And leave poore plaints to us that shall succeede.

  She fell on her loves bosome, hugg’d it fast,

  And with Leanders name she breath’d her last.

  Neptune for pittie in his armes did take them,

  Flung them into the ayre, and did awake them

  Like two sweet birds surnam’d th’Acanthides,

  Which we call Thistle-warps, that neere no Seas

  Dare ever come, but still in couples flie,

  And feede on Thistle tops, to testifie

  The hardnes of their first life in their last:

  The first in thornes of love, and sorrowes past.

  And so most beautifull their colours show,

  As none (so little) like t
hem: her sad brow

  A sable velvet feather covers quite,

  Even like the forehead cloths that in the night,

  Or when they sorrow, Ladies use to weare:

  Their wings blew, red and yellow mixt appeare,

  Colours, that as we construe colours paint

  Their states to life; the yellow shewes their saint,

  The devill Venus, left them; blew their truth,

  The red and black, ensignes of death and ruth.

  And this true honor from their love-deaths sprung,

  They were the first that ever Poet sung.

  EVTHYMIÆ RAPTVS

  OR, THE TEARES OF PEACE.

  TO THE HIGH

  BORN PRINCE OF MEN,

  HENRIE,

  THRICE-ROYALL

  INHERITOVR TO THE

  VNITED KINGDOMS

  OF GREAT

  Britanne.

  THE TEARES OF PEACE

  INDVCTIO

  NOW that our Soueraign, the great King of Peace,

  Hath (in her grace) outlabour’d Hercules;

  And, past his Pillars, stretcht her victories;

  Since (as he were sole Soule, t’all Royalties)

  He moues all Kings, in this vast Vniuerse,

  To cast chaste Nettes, on th’impious lust of Mars;

  See, All; and imitate his goodnesse still;

  That (hauing cleard so well, warres outward ill)

  Hee, God-like, still employes his firme desires,

  To cast learn’d ynke vpon those inwarde fires,

  That kindle worse Warre, in the mindes of men,

  Like to incense the outward Warre againe:

  Selfe-loue, inflaming so, mens sensuall bloud,

  That all good, publique, drownes in priuate good;

  And that, sinks vnder, his owne ouer-freight;

  Mens Reasons, and their Learnings, shipwrackt quite;

  And their Religion, that should still be One,

  Takes shapes so many, that most know’t in none.

  Which, I admiring (since, in each man shinde

  A light so cleere, that by it, all might finde

  (Being well informd) their obiect perfect Peace,

  Which keepes the narrow path to Happinesse)

  In that discourse; I shund, (as is my vse)

  The iarring preace, and all their times abuse;

  T’enioy least trodden fieldes, and fre’est shades;

  Wherein (of all the pleasure that inuades

  The life of man, and flies all vulgar feet,

  Since silent meditation is most sweet)

  I sat to it; discoursing what maine want

  So ransackt man; that it did quite supplant

  The inward Peace I spake of; letting in

  (At his loose veines) sad warre, and all his sinne.

  When, sodainely, a comfortable light

  Brake through the shade; and, after it, the sight

  Of a most graue, and goodly person shinde;

  With eys turnd vpwards, & was outward, blind;

  But, inward; past, and future things, he sawe;

  And was to both, and present times, their lawe.

  His sacred bosome was so full of fire,

  That t’was transparent; and made him expire

  His breath in flames, that did instruct (me thought)

  And (as my soule were then at full) they wrought.

  At which, I casting downe my humble eyes,

  Not daring to attempt their feruencies;

  He thus bespake me; Deare minde, do not feare

  My strange apparance; Now t’is time t’outweare

  Thy bashfull disposition, and put on

  As confident a countnance, as the Sunne.

  For what hast thou to looke on, more diuine,

  And horrid, then man is; as hee should shine,

  And as he doth? what, free’d from this worlds strife;

  What he is entring; and what, ending life?

  All which, thou onely studiest, and dost knowe;

  And, more then which, is onely sought for showe.

  Thou must not vnderualue what thou hast,

  In weighing it with that, which more is grac’t;

  The worth that weigheth inward, should not long

  For outward prices. This should make thee strong

  In thy close value; Nought so good can be

  As that which lasts good, betwixt God, and thee.

  Remember thine owne verse — Should Heauen turn Hell,

  For deedes well done, I would do euer well.

  This heard, with ioy enough, to breake the twine

  Of life and soule, so apt to breake as mine;

  I brake into a trance, and then remainde

  (Like him) an onely soule; and so obtainde

  Such bouldnesse, by the sense hee did controule;

  That I set looke, to looke; and soule to soule.

  I view’d him at his brightest; though, alas,

  With all acknowledgement, of what hee was

  Beyond what I found habited in me;

  And thus I spake; O thou that (blinde) dost see

  My hart, and soule; what may I reckon thee?

  Whose heauenly look showes not; nor voice sounds man?

  I am (sayd hee) that spirit Elysian,

  That (in thy natiue ayre; and on the hill

  Next Hitchins left hand) did thy bosome fill,

  With such a flood of soule; that thou wert faine

  (With acclamations of her Rapture then)

  To vent it, to the Echoes of the vale;

  When (meditating of me) a sweet gale

  Brought me vpon thee; and thou didst inherit

  My true sense (for the time then) in my spirit;

  And I, inuisiblie, went prompting thee,

  To those fayre Greenes, where thou didst english me.

  Scarce he had vttered this, when well I knewe

  It was my Princes Homer; whose deare viewe

  Renew’d my gratefull memorie of the grace

  His Highnesse did me for him: which, in face,

  Me thought the Spirit show’d, was his delight;

  And added glory to his heauenly plight:

  Who tould me, he brought stay to all my state;

  That hee was Angell to me; Starre, and Fate;

  Aduancing Colours of good hope to me;

  And tould me, my retired age should see

  Heauens blessing, in a free, and harmelesse life,

  Conduct me, through Earths peace-pretending strife,

  To that true Peace, whose search I still intend,

  And to the calme Shore of a loued ende.

  But now, as I cast round my rauisht eye,

  To see, if this free Soule had companie;

  Or that, alone, hee louingly pursude

  The hidden places of my Solitude;

  He rent a Cloude downe, with his burning hand

  That at his backe hung, twixt me, and a Land

  Neuer inhabited; and sayd; Now, behould

  What maine defect it is that doth enfould

  The World, in ominous flatteries of a Peace

  So full of worse then warre; whose sterne encrease

  Deuours her issue. With which words, I view’d

  A Lady, like a Dei tie indew’d;

  (But weeping, like a woman) and made way

  Out of one Thicket, that sawe neuer day,

  Towards another; bearing vnderneath

  Her arme, a Coffine, for some prize of death;

  And after her (in funerall forme) did goe

  The woddes foure-footed Beasts, by two, and two;

  A Male, and Female, matcht, of euerie kinde;

  And after them; with like instinct enclinde,

  The ayrie Nation felt her sorrowes stings;

  Fell on the earth, kept rancke, and hung their wings.

  Which sight I much did pittie, and admire;

  And longd to knowe the dame that could inspire

  Those Bestials, wit
h such humane Forme, and ruthe;

  And how I now should knowe, the hidden Truthe

  (As Homer promist) of that maine defect

  That makes men, all their inward Peace reiect

  For name of outward: Then hee took my hand;

  Led to her; and would make my selfe demand,

  (Though he could haue resolv’d me) what shee was?

  And from what cause, those strange effects had pass?

  For whom, She bore that Coffine? and so mournd?

  To all which; with all mildnesse, she returnd

  Aunswere; that she was Peace; sent down from heauen

  With charge, from the Almightie Deitie giuen,

  T’attend on men; who now had banisht her

  From their societies, and made her erre

  In that wilde desert; onely Humane loue

  (Banisht in like sort) did a long time proue

  That life with her; but now, alas, was dead,

  And lay in that wood to bee buried;

  For whom she bore that Coffine, and did mourne;

  And that those Beasts were so much humane, borne,

  That they, in nature, felt a loue to Peace;

  For which, they followd her, when men did cease.

  This went so neere her heart, it left her tongue;

  And (silent) she gaue time, to note whence sprung

  Mens want of Peace, which was from want of loue:

  And I observ’d now, what that peace did proue

  That men made shift with, & did so much please.

  For now, the Sunne declining to the Seas,

  Made long misshapen shadowes; and true Peace

  (Here walking in his Beames) cast such encrease

  Of shaddowe from her; that I saw it glide

  Through Citties, Courts, and Countryes; and descride,

  How, in her shadowe only, men there liv’d,

  While shee walkt here ith Sunne: and all that thriv’d

  Hid in that shade their thrift; nought but her shade

  Was Bullwarke gainst all warre that might inuade

  Their Countries, or their Consciences; since Loue

  (That should giue Peace, her substance) now they droue

  Into the Deserts; where hee sufferd Fate,

  And whose sad Funerals Beasts must celebrate.

  With whom, I freely wisht, I had beene nurst;

  Because they follow Nature, at their wurst;

  And at their best, did teach her. As wee went

  I felt a scruple, which I durst not vent,

  No not to Peace her selfe, whom it concernd,

  For feare to wrong her; So well I haue learnd,

  To shun iniustice, euen to doues, or flies;

  But, to the Diuell, or the Destinies,

  Where I am iust, and knowe I honour Truth,

  lie speake my thoughts, in scorne of what ensu’th.

  Yet (not resolv’d in th’other) there did shine