The Complete Poetical Works of George Chapman

by George Chapman

  Vnnumberd arts thou add’st in him,

  To make his life more queint and more exact:

  His eye, eternesse cannot dim.

  Whose state he mounts to, with a mind infract:

  Thou shew’st him all the milke-white way,

  Op’st all thy Tabernacles dores

  Learn’st how to praise thee, how to pray,

  To shun, and chuse, what likes and what abhorres.

  8

  To keepe him in which hallowed path,

  As his companions, and perpetuall guides,

  Prayre thou ordainst, thy word and faith,

  And loue, that all his foule offences hides.

  And to each step his foote shall take,

  Thy couenants stand like wals of brasse,

  Which, from thy watch towre, good to make,

  Thou add’st thine eye for his securer passe.

  9

  All this deare (Lord) I apprehend,

  Thy Spirit euen partially inspiring me:

  Which to consort me to my end,

  With endlesse thanks, He strew my way to thee.

  Confessing falling, thou hast staid:

  Confirm’d me fainting, prostrate raisd,

  With comforts rapt me, quite dismaid,

  And dead, hast quickn’d me, to see thee praisd.

  All glorie to the Father be,

  And to the Sonne, &c.

  PSALME V.

  Nodes meœ in mœrore transeunt.

  1

  Yet, Lord, vnquiet sinne is stirring,

  My long nights, longer grow, like euening shades:

  In which woe lost, is all waies erring:

  And varied terror euery step inuades.

  Wayes made in teares, shut as they ope,

  My lodestarre I can no way see:

  Lame is my faith, blind loue and hope,

  And, Lord, tis passing ill with me.

  2

  My sleepe, like glasse, in dreames is broken,

  No quiet yeelding, but affright and care,

  Signes that my poore life is forspoken:

  Lord, courbe the ill, and good in place prepare.

  No more delay my spent desire,

  Tis now full time, for thee to heare:

  Thy loue hath set my soule on fire,

  My heart quite broke twixt hope and feare.

  3

  No outward light, my life hath graced,

  My mind hath euer bene my onely Sunne:

  And that so farre hath enuie chaced,

  That all in clouds her hated head is runne.

  And while she hides, immortall cares

  Consume the soule, that sense inspires:

  Since outward she sets eyes and eares,

  And other ioyes spend her desires.

  4

  She musters both without and in me,

  Troubles, and tumults: she’s my houshold theefe,

  Opes all my doores to lust, and enuie,

  And all my persecutors lends releefe.

  Bind her, Lord, and my true soule free,

  Preferre the gift thy hand hath giuen:

  Thy image in her, crowne in me,

  And make vs here free, as in heauen.

  All glorie to the Father be,

  And to the Sonne, &c.

  PSALME VI.

  Circumuallarunt me inimici.

  1

  My foes haue girt me in with armes,

  And earthquakes tost vp all my ioynts,

  No flesh can answer their alarmes,

  Each speare they manage hath so many points.

  2

  Death, arm’d in all his horrors, leades:

  Whom more I charge, the lesse he yeelds:

  Affections, with an hundred heads,

  Conspire with them, & turne on me their shields.

  3

  Nor looke I yet, Lord, to the East,

  Nor hope for helpe, where I am will’d:

  Nor, as I ought, haue arm’d my breast;

  But rust in sloth, and naked come to field.

  4

  And therefore hath the host of starres

  Now left me, that before I led:

  Arm’d Angels tooke my pay in warres,

  From whose height falne, all leaue me here for dead.

  5

  In falling, I discern’d how sleight,

  My footing was on those blest towres,

  I lookt to earth, and her base height,

  And so lost heauen, and all his aidfull powres.

  6

  Now, broke on earth, my bodie lies,

  Where theeues insult on my sad fall:

  Spoyle me of many a daintie prise,

  That farre I fetcht, t’enrich my soule withall.

  7

  Nor ceasse they, but deforme me too,

  With wounds that make me all engor’d:

  And in the desart, leaue me so,

  Halfe dead, all naked, and of all abhorr’d.

  8

  My head, and bosome, they transfixt,

  But in my torne affections rag’d:

  Wounds there, with blood, and matter mixt,

  Corrupt and leaue my very soule engag’d. —

  9

  There, Lord, my life doth most misgiue,

  There quickly thy white hand bestow:

  Thou liu’st, and in thee I may liue.

  Thy fount of life doth euer ouerflow.

  10

  All this from heauen, thy eyes explore,

  Yet silent sitst, and sufferst all:

  Since all I well deserue, and more;

  And must confesse me, wilfull in my fall:

  11

  And hence tis, that thou letst me bleed,

  Mak’st all men shun, and skorne my life:

  That all my workes such enuie breed,

  And my disgrace giues food to all mens strife.

  12

  But this, since Goodnesse oft doth cause,

  And tis Gods grace to heare his ill:

  Since tis a chiefe point in his lawes,

  No thought, without our powre, to make our wil.

  13

  Still let the greene seas of their gall,

  Against this rocke with rage be borne:

  And from their height, still let me fall:

  Them, stand and laugh, & me lie still and scorne.

  14

  But, Lord, my fall from thee, ô raise,

  And giue my fainting life thy breath:

  Sound keepe me euer in thy waies,

  Thou mightie art, and setst downe lawes to death.

  15

  Driue thou from this my ruines rape,

  These theeues, that make thy Phane their den:

  And let my innocence escape

  The cunning malice of vngodly men.

  All glorie to the Father be,

  And to the Sonne as great as he:

  With the coequall sacred Spirit:

  Who all beginnings were before,

  Are, and shall be euermore.

  Glorie, all glorie to their merit.

  PSALME VII.

  Cogitabam stare.

  1

  While I was faine, I thought to rise,

  And stand, presuming on my thies:

  But thighes, and knees, were too much broken.

  My haire stood vp to see such bane

  Depresse presumption so prophane:

  I tremble but to heare it spoken.

  2

  Yet in my strength, my hope was such,

  Since I conceiu’d, thou vow’dst as much:

  I fain’d dreames, and reioyc’t to faine them:

  But weighing awake, thy vowes profound,

  Their depth, my lead came short to sound:

  And now, aye me, my teares containe them.

  3

  For calmes, I into stormes did stere,

  And look’t through clouds, to see things cleare,

  Thy waies shew’d crook’t, like speares in water;

&nb
sp; When mine went trauerse, and no Snake

  Could winde with that course, I did take:

  No Courtier could so grosly flatter.

  4

  But which way I soeuer bend,

  Thou meet’st me euer in the end:

  Thy finger strikes my ioynts with terrors;

  Yet no more strikes, then points the way:

  Which, weighing weeping, straight I stay,

  And with my teares cleanse feete and errors.

  5

  But of my selfe, when I beleeue

  To make my steps, thy waies atchieue,

  I turne head, and am treading mazes:

  I feele sinnes ambush; and am vext

  To be in error so perplext,

  Nor yet can finde rests holy places.

  6

  I loathe my selfe, and all my deeds,

  Like Rubarbe taste, or Colchean weeds:

  I flie them, with their throwes vpon me.

  In each new purpose, customes old,

  So checke it, that the stone I rold

  Neuer so oft, againe fais on me.

  7

  No step in mans trust should be trod,

  Vnlesse in mans, as his in God:

  Of which trust, make good life the founder:

  Without which, trust no forme, nor art;

  Faiths loadstarre is a guiltlesse heart;

  Good life is truths most learn’d expounder.

  8

  With which, Lord, euer rule my skill;

  In which, as I ioyne powre with will,

  So let me trust, my truth in learning,

  To such minds, thou all truth setst ope:

  The rest are rapt with stormes past hope;

  The lesse, for more deepe arts discerning.

  9

  Blesse, Lord, who thus their arts employ,

  Their sure truth, celebrate with ioy,

  And teare the maskes from others faces;

  That make thy Name, a cloake for sinne;

  Learning but termes to iangle in,

  And so disgrace thy best of Graces.

  10

  Whereof since I haue onely this,

  That learnes me what thy true will is,

  Which thou, in comforts still conchadest;

  My poore Muse still shall sit, and sing,

  In that sweete shadow of thy wing,

  Which thou to all earths state obtrudest.

  11

  As oft as I my fraile foote moue,

  From this pure fortresse of thy loue:

  So oft let my glad foes deride me.

  I know my weaknesse yet, and feare,

  By triall, to build comforts there,

  It doth so like a ruine hide me.

  12

  My worth is all, but shade, I finde,

  And like a fume, before the winde;

  I gaspe with sloth, thy waies applying:

  v — Lie tumbling in corrupted blood;

  Loue onely, but can do no good:

  Helpe, Lord, lest I amend not dying.

  All glorie to the Father be,

  And to the Sonne as great as he,

  With the coequall sacred Spirit:

  Who all beginnings were before:

  Are, and shall be euermore.

  Glorie, all glorie to their merit.

  The end of Petrarchs seuen

  Penitentiall Psalmes.

  THE I. PSALME

  more strictly translated.

  1

  O me accurst, since I haue set on me

  (Incenst so sternely) my so meeke Redeemer;

  And haue bene proud in prides supreme degree;

  Of his so serious law, a sleight esteemer.

  2

  I left the narrow right way with my will,

  In bywaies brode, and farre about transferred:

  And euery way found toyle, and euery ill,

  Yet still in tracts more rough, and steepe I erred.

  3

  Where one or other of the brutish heard

  My feete encounterd, yet more brute affected:

  Euen to the dens of sauage beasts I err’d,

  And there my manlesse mansion house erected.

  4

  I haunted pleasure still, where sorrow mournd,

  My couch of ease, in sharpest brambles making:

  I hop’t for rest, where restlesse torment burnd,

  In ruines bosome, sleepes securely taking.

  5

  Now then, aye me, what resteth to be done,

  Where shall I turne me, where such dangers tremble?

  My youths faire flowres, are altogether gone,

  And now a wretched shipwracke I resemble.

  6

  That (all the merchandise, and venture lost,)

  Swims naked forth, with seas and tempests tost.

  7

  Farre from my hauen, I roue, touch at no streme

  That any course to my saluation tenders:

  But waies sinister, rauish me with them:

  I see a little; which more grieuous renders.

  8

  My inward conflict; since my charges passe

  Vpon my selfe; and my sad soule endanger:

  Anger with sinne striues; but so huge a masse

  Of cruell miseries oppresse mine anger,

  9

  That it confounds me, nor leaues place for breath.

  Oft I attempt to flie, and meditation

  Contends to shake off my old yoke of death,

  But to my bones cleaues the vncur’d vexation.

  10

  O that at length, my necke his yoke could cleare,

  Which would be straite, wouldst thou ô highest will it:

  O that so angrie with my sinne I were,

  That I could loue thee, though thus late fulfill it.

  11

  But much I feare it, since my freedome is

  So with mine owne hands out of heart, & sterued:

  And I must yeeld, my torment iust in this,

  Sorrow, and labor, wring me most deserued.

  12

  Mad wretch, what haue I to my selfe procured?

  Mine owne hands forg’d, the chains I haue endur’d.

  13

  In deaths blacke ambush, with my will I fell,

  And wheresoeuer vulgar brode waies traine me:

  Nets are disposde for me, by him of hell.

  When more retir’d, more narrow paths containe me.

  14

  There meete my feete with fitted snares as sure,

  I (wretch) looke downeward, and of one side euer;

  And euerie slipperie way I walke secure,

  My sins forget their traitrous flatteries neuer.

  15

  1 — thought the grace of youth could neuer erre,

  And follow’d where his boundles force wold driue me,

  Said to my selfe; Why should th’extremes deterre,

  Before youths season, of the meane depriue me?

  16

  Each age is bounded in his proper ends;

  God, I know, sees this, but he laughs and sees it:

  Pardon, at any time, or prayre attends;

  Repentance still weeps when thy wish decrees it.

  17

  Then vilest custome challengeth his slaue,

  And laies on hand, that all defence denies me;

  And then no place reseru’d for flight I haue:

  Subdu’d I am, and farre my refuge flies me.

  18

  Die in my sinne I shall, vnlesse my aide

  Stoopes from aloft, of which deserts depriue me.

  Yet haue thou mercie, Lord, helpe one dismaide,

  Thy word retain, & from hell mouth retriue me.

  All glorie to the Father be,

  And to the Sonne as great as he:

  With the coequall sacred Spirit;

  Who all beginnings were before,

  Are, and shall be euermore.

  Glorie, all glorie to their merit.
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  A HYMNE TO OVR

  Sauiour on the Crosse.

  Haile great Redeemer, man, and God, all haile,

  Whose feruent agonie, tore the temples vaile,

  Let sacrifices out, darke Prophesies

  And miracles: and let in, for all these,

  A simple pietie, a naked heart,

  And humble spirit, that no lesse impart,

  And proue thy Godhead to vs, being as rare,

  And in all sacred powre, as circulare.

  Water and blood mixt, were not swet from thee

  With deadlier hardnesse: more diuinitie

  Of supportation, then through flesh and blood,

  Good doctrine is diffusde, and life as good.

  O open to me then, (like thy spread armes

  That East & West reach) all those misticke charmes

  That hold vs in thy life and discipline:

  Thy merits in thy loue so thrice diuine;

  It made thee, being our God, assume our man;

  And like our Champion Olympian,

  Come to the field gainst Sathan, and our sinne:

  Wrastle with torments, and the garland winne

  From death & hell; which cannot crown our browes

  But blood must follow: thornes mixe with thy bowes

  Of conquering Lawrell, fast naild to thy Crosse,

  Are all the glories we can here engrosse,

  Proue then to those, that in vaine glories place

  Their happinesse here: they hold not by thy grace,

  To those whose powres, proudly oppose thy lawes,

  Oppressing Vertue, giuing Vice applause:

  They neuer manage iust authoritie,

  But thee in thy deare members crucifie.

  Thou Couldst haue come in glorie past them all,

  With powre to force thy pleasure, and empale

  Thy Church with brasse, & Adamant, that no swine,

  Nor theeues, nor hypocrites, nor fiends diuine

  Could haue broke in, or rooted, or put on’

  Vestments of Pie tie, when their hearts had none:

  Or rapt to ruine with pretext, to saue:

  Would pompe, and radiance, rather not out braue

  Thy naked truth, then cloath, or countnance it

  With grace, and such sincerenesse as is fit:

  But since true pietie weares her pearles within,

  And outward paintings onely pranke vp sinne:

  Since bodies strengthned, soules go to the wall;

  Since God we cannot serue and Beliall;

  Therefore thou putst on, earths most abiect plight,

  Hid’st thee in humblesse, vnderwentst despight,

  Mockerie, detraction, shame, blowes, vilest death.

  These, thou, thy souldiers taughtst to fight beneath:

  Mad’st a commanding President of these,

  Perfect, perpetuall: bearing all the keyes

  To holinesse, and heauen. To these, such lawes

  Thou in thy blood writst: that were no more cause