The Complete Poetical Works of George Chapman

by George Chapman

  A Beame of Homers fre’er soule, in mine,

  That made me see, I might propose my doubt;

  Which was; If this were true Peace I found out,

  That felt such passion? I prov’d her sad part;

  And prayd her call, her voice out of her hart

  (There, kept a wrongfull prisoner to her woe)

  To answere, why shee was afflicted so.

  Or how, in her, such contraries could fall;

  That taught all ioy, and was the life of all?

  Shee aunswered; Homer tould me that there are

  Passions, in which corruption hath no share;

  There is a ioy of soule; and why not then

  A griefe of soule, that is no skathe to men?

  For both are Passions, though not such as raigne

  In blood, and humor, that engender paine.

  Free sufferance for the truth, makes sorrow sing,

  And mourning farre more sweet, then banqueting.

  Good, that deserueth ioy (receiuing ill)

  Doth merit iustly, as much sorrow still:

  And is it a corruption to do right?

  Griefe, that dischargeth Conscience, is delight:

  One sets the other off. To stand at gaze

  In one position, is a stupide maze,

  Fit for a Statue. This resolv’d me well,

  That Griefe, in Peace, and Peace in Griefe might dwell.

  And now fell all things from their naturall Birth:

  Passion in Heauen; Stupiditie, in Earth,

  Inuerted all; the Muses, Vertues, Graces,

  Now sufferd rude, and miserable chaces

  From mens societies, to that desert heath;

  And after them, Religion (chac’t by death)

  Came weeping, bleeding to the Funerall:

  Sought her deare Mother Peace; and downe did fall,

  Before her, fainting, on her horned knees;

  Turnd home, with praying for the miseries

  She left the world in; desperate in their sinne;

  Marble, her knees pearc’t; but heauen could not winne

  To stay the weightie ruine of his Glorie

  In her sad Exile; all the memorie

  Of heauen, and heauenly things, rac’t of all hands;

  Heauen moues so farre off, that men say it stands;

  And Earth is turnd the true, and mouing Heauen;

  And so tis left; and so is all Truth driuen

  From her false bosome; all is left alone,

  Till all bee orderd with confusion.

  Thus the poore broode of Peace; driuen, & distrest,

  Lay brooded all beneath their mothers breast;

  Who fell vpon them weeping, as they fell:

  All were so pinde, that she containde them well.

  And in this Chaos, the digestion

  And beautie of the world, lay thrust and throwne.

  In this deiection, Peace pourd out her Teares,

  Worded (with some pause) in my wounded Eares.

  JNVOCATIO.

  O ye three-times-thrice sacred Quiristers,

  Of Gods great Temple; the small Vniuerse

  Of ruinous man: (thus prostrate as ye lye

  Brooded, and Loded with Calamitie,

  Contempt, and shame, in your true mother, Peace)

  As you make sad my soule, with your misease:

  So make her able fitly to disperse

  Your sadnesse, and her owne, in sadder verse.

  Now (olde, and freely banisht with your selues

  From mens societies; as from rockes, and shelues)

  Helpe me to sing, and die, on our Thames shore;

  And let her lend me, her waues to deplore

  (In yours, and your most holy Sisters falls)

  Heauens fall, and humane Loues, last funeralls.

  And thou, great Prince of men; let thy sweete graces

  Shine on these teares; and drie, at length, the faces

  Of Peace, and all her heauen-allyed brood;

  From whose Doues eyes, is shed the precious blood

  Of Heauens deare Lamb, that freshly bleeds in them.

  Make these no toyes then; gird the Diadem

  Of thrice great Britaine, with their Palm and Bayes:

  And with thy Eagles feathers, daigne to raise

  The heauie body of my humble Muse;

  That thy great Homers spirit in her may vse

  Her topless flight, and beare thy Fame aboue

  The reach of Mortalls, and their earthly loue;

  To that high honour, his Achilles wonne,

  And make thy glory farre out-shine the Sunne.

  While this small time gaue Peace (in her kinde Throes)

  Vent for the violence of her sodaine woes;

  She turnd on her right side, and (leaning on

  Her tragique daughters bosome) lookt vpon

  My heauy lookes, drownd in imploring teares

  For her, and that so wrongd deare Race of hers.

  At which, euen Peace, exprest a kinde of Spleene;

  And, as a carefull Mother, I haue seene

  Chide her lov’d Childe, snatcht with som feare from danger:

  So Peace chid me; and first shed teares of anger.

  THE TEARES OF PEACE.

  Thou wretched man, whome I discouer, borne

  To want, and sorrowe, and the Vulgars scorne:

  Why haunt’st thou freely, these vnhaunted places,

  Emptie of pleasures? empty of all Graces,

  Fashions, and Riches; by the best pursude

  With broken Sleepe, Toyle, Loue, Zeale, Seruitude;

  With feare and trembling, with whole liues, and Soules?

  While thou break’st sleepes, digst vnder Earth, like moules,

  To liue, to seeke me out, whome all men fly:

  And think’st to finde, light in obscuritie,

  Eternitie, in this deepe vale of death:

  Look’st euer vpwards, and liu’st still beneath;

  Fill’st all thy actions, with strife, what to thinke,

  Thy Braine with Ayre, and skatterst it in inke:

  Of which thou mak’st weeds for thy soule to weare,

  As out of fashion, as the bodies are.

  I grant their strangenesse, and their too ill grace,

  And too much wretchednesse, to beare the face

  Or any likenesse of my soule in them:

  Whose Instruments, I rue with many a Streame

  Of secret Teares for their extream defects,

  In vttering her true forms: but their respects

  Need not be less’ned, for their being strange,

  Or not so vulgar, as the rest that range

  With headlong Raptures, through the multitude:

  Of whom they get grace, for their being rude.

  Nought is so shund by Virtue, throwne from Truth,

  As that which drawes the vulgar Dames, and Youth.

  Truth must confesse it: for where liues there one,

  That Truth or Vertue, for themselues alone,

  Or seekes, or not contemns? All, all pursue

  Wealth, Glory, Greatnesse, Pleasure, Fashions new.

  Who studies, studies these: who studies not

  And sees that studie, lay es the vulgar Plot;

  That all the Learning he gets liuing by,

  Men but for forme, or humour dignifie

  (As himselfe studies, but for forme, and showe,

  And neuer makes his speciall end, to knowe)

  And that an idle, ayrie man of Newes,

  A standing Face; a propertie to vse

  In all things vile, makes Booke-wormes, creepe to him:

  How scorns he bookes, and booke-worms! O how dim

  Burnes a true Soules light, in his Bastard eyes!

  And, as a Forrest ouer-grow’n breedes Flyes,

  Todes, Adders, Sauadges, that all men shunne;

  When, on the South-side, in a fresh May Sunne,

  In varied Heards, the Beasts lie out, and
sleepe,

  The busie Gnatts, in swarms a buzzing keepe,

  And guild their empty bodies (lift aloft)

  In beames, that though they see all, difference nought:

  So, in mens meerly outward, and false Peace,

  Insteade of polisht men, and true encrease,

  She brings forth men, with vices ouer-growne:

  Women, so light, and like, fewe knowe their owne:

  For milde and humane tongues, tongues forkt that sting:

  And all these (while they may) take Sunne, and spring,

  * * * * * *

  To help them sleep, and florish: on whose beames,

  And branches, vp they clime, in such extreams

  Of proude confusion, from iust Lawes so farre,

  That in their Peace, the long Robe sweeps like warre.

  That Robe serues great men: why are great so rude?

  Since great, and meane, are all but multitude.

  For regular Learning, that should difference set

  Twixt all mens worths, and make the meane, or great,

  As that is meane or great (or chiefe stroke strike)

  Serues the Plebeian and the Lord alike.

  Their obiects, showe their learnings are all one;

  Their liues, their obiects; Learning lov’d by none.

  You meane, for most part: nor would it displease

  That most part, if they heard; since they professe,

  Contempt of learning: Nor esteeme it fit,

  Noblesse should study, see, or count’nance it.

  Can men in blood be Noble, not in soule?

  Reason abhorres it; since what doth controule

  The rudenesse of the blood, and makes it Noble

  (Or hath chiefe meanes, high birth-right to redouble,

  In making manners soft, and man-like milde,

  Not suffering humanes to runne proude, or wilde)

  Is Soule, and learning; (or in loue, or act)

  In blood where both faile then, lyes Nobless wrackt.

  It cannot be deny de: but could you proue,

  As well, that th’act of learning, or the loue,

  (Loue being the act in will) should difference set,

  Twixt all mens worths, and make the meane or great,

  As learning is, or great, or meane in them;

  Then cleare, her Right, stood to mans Diadem.

  To proue that Learning (the soules actuall frame;

  Without which, tis a blanke; a smoke-hid flame)

  Should sit great Arbitresse, of all things donne,

  And in your soules, (like Gnomons in the Sunne)

  Giue Rules to all the circles of your liues;

  I proue it, by the Regiment God giues

  To man, of all things; to the soule, of man;

  To Learning, of the Soule. If then it can

  Rule, liue; of all things best, is it not best?

  O who, what god makes greatest, dares make least?

  But, to vse their tearms; Life is Roote and Crest

  To all mans Cote of Nobless; his soule is

  Field to that Cote; and learning differences

  All his degrees in honour, being the Cote.

  And as a Statuarie, hauing got

  An Alabaster, bigge enough to cut

  A humane image in it: till he hath put

  His tooles, and art to it; hew’n, formd, left none

  Of the redundant matter in the Stone;

  It beares the image of a man, no more,

  Then of a Woolf, a Cammell, or a Boare:

  So when the Soule is to the body giuen;

  (Being substance of Gods Image, sent from heaven)

  It is not his true Image, till it take

  Into the Substance, those fit forms that make

  His perfect Image; which are then imprest

  By Learning and impulsion; that inuest

  Man with Gods forme in liuing Holinesse,

  By cutting from his Body the excesse

  Of Humors, perturbations and Affects;

  Which Nature (without Art) no more eiects,

  Then without tooles, a naked Artizan

  Can, in rude stone, cut th’ Image of a man.

  How then do Ignorants? who, oft, we trie,

  Rule perturbations, liue more humanely

  Then men held learnd?

  Who are not learn’d indeed;

  More then a house fram’d loose, (that still doth neede

  The haling vp, and ioyning) is a house:

  Nor can you call, men meere Religious,

  (That haue good wills, to knowledge) Ignorant;

  For, virtuous knowledge hath two waies to plant;

  By Powre infus’d, and Acquisition;

  The first of which, those good men, graft vpon;

  For good life is th’effect, of learnings Act;

  Which th’action of the minde, did first compact

  By infusde loue to Learning gainst all ill,

  Conquests first step, is to all good, the will.

  If Learning then, in loue or act must be,

  Meane to good life, and true humanitie;

  Where are our Scarre-crowes now, or men of ragges,

  Of Titles meerely, Places, Fortunes, Bragges,

  That want and scorne both? Those inuerted men?

  Those dungeons; whose soules no more containe

  The actuall light of Reason, then darke beasts?

  Those Clou des, driuen still, twixt Gods beame and their brests?

  Those Giants, throwing goulden hils gainst heauen?

  To no one spice of true humanitie given?

  Of men, there are three sorts, that most foes be

  To Learning and her loue; themselues and me:

  Actiue, Passiue, and Intellecliue men:

  Whose selfe-loues; Learning, and her loue disdaine.

  Your Actiue men, consume their whole lifes fire,

  In thirst of State-height, higher still and higher,

  (Like seeled Pigeons) mounting, to make sport,

  To lower lookers on; in seeing how short

  They come of that they seeke, and with what trouble;

  Lamely, and farre from Nature, they redouble

  Their paines in flying, more then humbler witts,

  To reach death, more direct. For Death that sits,

  Vpon the fist of Fate, past highest Ayre,

  (Since she commands all Hues, within that Sphere)

  The higher men aduance; the neerer findes

  Her seeled Quarries; when, in bitterest windes,

  Lightnings, and thunders, and in sharpest hayles

  Fate casts her off at States; when lower Sayles

  Slide calmely to their ends. Your Passiue men

  (So call’d of onely passing time in vaine)

  Passe it, in no good exercise; but are

  In meates, and cuppes laborious; and take care

  To lose without all care their Soule-spent Time;

  And since they haue no meanes, nor Spirits to clime,

  Like Fowles of Prey, in any high affaire;

  See how like Kites they bangle in the Ayre,

  To stoope at scraps, and garbidge; in respect,

  Of that which men of true peace should select;

  And how they trot out, in their Hues, the Ring;

  With idlely iterating oft one thing,

  A new-fought Combat, an affaire at Sea;

  A Marriage, or a Progresse, or a Plea.

  No Newes, but fits them, as if made for them;

  Though it be forg’d, but of a womans dreame;

  And stuffe with, such stolne ends, their manlesse breasts,

  (Sticks, rags, and mud) they seem meer Puttock nests:

  Curious in all mens actions, but their owne;

  All men, and all things censure, though know none.

  Your Intellectiue men, they study hard

  Not to get knowledge, but for meere rewarde.

  And therefore that true knowledge that should be

/>   Their studies end, and is in Nature free,

  Will not be made their Broker; hauing powre

  (With her sole selfe) to bring both Bride, and dowre.

  They haue some shadowes of her (as of me,

  Adulterate outward Peace) but neuer see

  Her true and heauenly face. Yet those shades serue

  (Like errant Knights, that by enchantments swerue,

  From their true Ladyes being; and embrace

  An ougly Witch, with her phantastique face)

  To make them thinke, Truths substance in their arms:

  Which that they haue not, but her shadowes charmes,

  See if my proofes, be like their Arguments

  That leaue Opinion still, her free dissents.

  They haue not me with them; that all men knowe

  The highest fruité that doth of knowledge grow;

  The Bound of all true formes, and onely Act;

  If they be true, they rest; nor can be rackt

  Out of their posture, by Times vtmost strength;

  But last the more of force, the more of length;

  For they become one substance with the Soule;

  Which Time with all his adiuncts shall controule.

  But since, men wilfull may beleeue perchance

  (In part of Errors two-folde Ignorance,

  Ill disposition) their skills looke as hie

  And rest in that diuine Securitie;

  See if their Hues make proofe of such a Peace,

  For Learnings Truth makes all lifes vain war cease;

  It making peace with God, and ioines to God;

  Whose information driues her Period

  Through all the Bodies passiue Instruments;

  And by reflection giues them Soule-contents,

  Besides, from perfect Learning you can neuer

  Wisedome (with her faire Reigne of Passions) seuer;

  For Wisedome is nought else, then Learning fin’d,

  And with the vnderstanding Powre combin’d;

  That is, a habite of both habits standing;

  The Bloods vaine humours, euer countermaunding.

  But, if these showe, more humour then th’vnlearn’d;

  If in them more vaine passion be discern’d;

  More mad Ambition; more lust; more deceipt;

  More showe of golde, then gold; then drosse, less weight;

  If Flattery, Auarice haue their soûles so giuen,

  Headlong, and with such diuelish furies driuen;

  That fooles may laugh at their imprudencie,

  And Villanes blush at their dishonestie;

  Where is true Learning, proov’d to separate these

  And seate all forms in her Soules height, in peace?

  Raging Euripus, that (in all their Pride)

  Driues Shippes gainst roughest windes, with his fierce Tide,

  And ebbes and flowes, seuen times in euerie daie;