by John Dryden
Those upper Depths, which Nature hid from Sight:
And what he had observ’d, and learnt from thence, 85
Lov’d in familiar Language to dispence.
The Crowd with silent Admiration stand,
And heard him, as they heard their God’s Command;
While he discours’d of Heav’ns mysterious Laws,
The World’s Original, and Nature’s Cause; 90
And what was God, and why the fleecy Snows
In silence fell, and rattling Winds arose;
What shook the stedfast Earth, and whence begun
The Dance of Planets round the radiant Sun;
If Thunder was the Voice of angry Jove, 95
Or Clouds with Nitre pregnant burst above:
Of these, and Things beyond the common Reach,
He spoke, and charm’d his Audience with his Speech.
He first the tast of Flesh from Tables drove,
And argued well, if Arguments cou’d move. 100
O Mortals! from your Fellow’s Blood abstain,
Nor taint your Bodies with a Food profane:
While Corn and Pulse by Nature are bestow’d,
And planted Orchards bend their willing Load;
While labour’d Gardens wholesom Herbs produce, 105
And teeming Vines afford their generous Juice:
Nor tardier Fruits of cruder Kind are lost,
But tam’d with Fire, or mellow’d by the Frost:
While Kine to Pails distended Udders bring,
And Bees their Hony redolent of Spring: 110
While Earth not only can your Needs supply.
But lavish of her Store, provides for Luxury;
A guiltless Feast administers with Ease,
And without Blood is prodigal to please.
Wild Beasts their Maws with their slain Brethren fill; 115
And yet not all, for some refuse to kill:
Sheep, Goats, and Oxen, and the nobler Steed,
On Browz and Corn, and flow’ry Meadows feed.
Bears, Tygers, Wolves, the Lion’s angry Brood,
Whom Heaven endu’d with Principles of Blood, 120
He wisely sundred from the rest, to yell
In Forests, and in lonely Caves to dwell,
Where stronger Beasts oppress the weak by Might
And all in Prey, and Purple Feasts delight.
O impious use! to Nature’s Laws oppos’d, 125
Where Bowels are in other Bowels clos’d:
Where, fatten’d by their Fellow’s Fat, they thrive;
Maintain’d by Murder, and by Death they live.
’Tis then for nought that Mother Earth provides
The Stores of all she shows, and all she hides, 130
If Men with fleshy Morsels must be fed,
And chaw with bloody Teeth the breathing Bread:
What else is this but to devour our Guests,
And barbarously renew Cyclopean Feasts!
We, by destroying Life, our Life sustain; 135
And gorge th’ ungodly Maw with Meats obscene.
Not so the Golden Age, who fed on Fruit,
Nor durst with bloody Meals their Mouths pollute.
Then Birds in airy space might safely move,
And timerous Hares on Heaths securely rove: 140
Nor needed Fish the guileful Hooks to fear,
For all was peaceful; and that Peace sincere.
Whoever was the Wretch (and curs’d be He)
That envy’d first our Food’s simplicity;
Th’ essay of bloody Feasts on Bruits began, 145
And after forg’d the Sword to murther Man.
Had he the sharpen’d Steel alone employ’d
On Beasts of Prey that other Beasts destroy’d,
Or Men invaded with their Fangs and Paws,
This had been justify’d by Nature’s Laws, 150
And Self-defence: But who did Feasts begin
Of Flesh, he stretch’d Necessity to Sin.
To kill Man-killers, Man has lawful Pow’r,
But not th’ extended License, to devour.
Ill Habits gather by unseen degrees, 155
As Brooks make Rivers, Rivers run to Seas.
The Sow, with her broad Snout for rooting up
Th’ intrusted Seed, was judg’d to spoil the Crop,
And intercept the sweating Farmer’s hope:
The cov’tous Churl, of unforgiving kind, 160
Th’ Offender to the bloody Priest resign’d:
Her Hunger was no Plea: For that she dy’d.
The Goat came next in order, to be try’d:
The Goat had cropt the tendrills of the Vine:
In vengeance Laity and Clergy join, 165
Where one had lost his Profit, one his Wine.
Here was at least, some shadow of Offence:
The Sheep was sacrific’d on no pretence,
But meek, and unresisting Innocence.
A patient, useful Creature, born to bear 170
The warm and woolly Fleece, that cloath’d her Murderer,
And daily to give down the Milk she bred,
A Tribute for the Grass on which she fed.
Living, both Food and Rayment she supplies,
And is of least advantage when she dies. 175
How did the toiling Oxe his Death deserve,
A downright simple Drudge, and born to serve?
O Tyrant! with what Justice canst thou hope
The Promise of the Year, a plenteous Crop;
When thou destroy’st thy lab’ring Steer, who till’d, 180
And plough’d with Pains, thy else ungrateful Field?
From his yet reeking Neck to draw the Yoke,
That Neck, with which the surly Clods he broke;
And to the Hatchet yield thy Husband-Man,
Who finish’d Autumn, and the Spring began! 185
Nor this alone! but Heav’n it self to bribe,
We to the Gods our impious Acts ascribe:
First recompence with Death their Creatures Toil,
Then call the Bless’d above to share the Spoil:
The fairest Victim must the Pow’rs appease: 190
(So fatal ’tis sometimes too much to please!)
A purple Fillet his broad Brows adorns,
With flow’ry Garlands crown’d, and gilded Horns:
He hears the murd’rous Pray’r the Priest prefers,
But understands not, ’tis his Doom he hears: 195
Beholds the Meal betwixt his Temples cast,
(The Fruit and Product of his Labours past;)
And in the Water views perhaps the Knife
Uplifted, to deprive him of his Life;
Then broken up alive his Entrails sees, 200
Torn out for Priests t’ inspect the God’s Decrees.
From whence, O mortal Men, this gust of Blood
Have you deriv’d, and interdicted Food?
Be taught by me this dire Delight to shun,
Warn’d by my Precepts, by my Practice won: 205
And when you eat the well deserving Beast,
Think, on the Lab’rer of your Field you feast!
Now since the God inspires me to proceed,
Be that, whate’er inspiring Pow’r, obey’d.
For I will sing of mighty Mysteries, 210
Of Truths conceal’d before, from human Eyes,
Dark Oracles unveil, and open all the Skies.
Pleas’d as I am to walk along the Sphere
Of shining Stars, and travel with the Year,
To leave the heavy Earth, and scale the height 215
Of Atlas, who supports the heav’nly weight:
To look from upper Light, and thence survey
Mistaken Mortals wandring from the way,
And wanting Wisdom, fearful for the State
Of future Things, and trembling at their Fate; 220
Those I would teach; and by right Reason bring
T
o think of Death, as but an idle Thing.
Why thus affrighted at an empty Name,
A Dream of Darkness, and fictitious Flame?
Vain Themes of Wit, which but in Poems Pass, 225
And Fables of a World, that never was!
What feels the Body when the Soul expires,
By time corrupted, or consum’d by Fires?
Nor dies the Spirit, but new Life repeats
In other Forms, and only changes Seats. 230
Ev’n I, who these mysterious Truths declare,
Was once Euphorbus in the Trojan War;
My Name and Lineage I remember well,
And how in Fight by Sparta’s King I fell.
In Argive Juno’s Fane I late beheld 235
My Buckler hung on high, and own’d my former Shield.
Then, Death, so call’d, is but old Matter dress’d
In some new Figure, and a vary’d Vest:
Thus all Things are but alter’d, nothing dies;
And here and there th’ unbodied Spirit flies, 240
By Time, or Force, or Sickness dispossest,
And lodges, where it lights, in Man or Beast;
Or hunts without, till ready Limbs it find,
And actuates those according to their kind;
From Tenement to Tenement is toss’d; 245
The Soul is still the same, the Figure only lost:
And, as the soften’d Wax new Seals receives,
This Face assumes, and that Impression leaves;
Now call’d by one, now by another Name;
The Form is only chang’d, the Wax is still the same: 250
So Death, so call’d, can but the Form deface,
Th’ immortal Soul flies out in empty space;
To seek her Fortune in some other Place.
Then let not Piety be put to flight,
To please the taste of Glutton-Appetite; 255
But suffer inmate Souls secure to dwell,
Lest from their Seats your Parents you expel;
With rabid Hunger feed upon your kind,
Or from a Beast dislodge a Brother’s Mind.
And since, like Tiphys parting from the Shore, 260
In ample Seas I sail, and Depths untry’d before,
This let me further add, that Nature knows
No stedfast Station, but, or Ebbs, or Flows:
Ever in motion; she destroys her old,
And casts new Figures in another Mold. 265
Ev’n Times are in perpetual Flux; and run,
Like Rivers from their Fountain rowling on;
For Time no more than Streams, is at a Stay:
The flying Hour is ever on her way;
And as the Fountain still supplies her store, 270
The Wave behind impels the Wave before;
Thus in successive Course the Minutes run,
And urge their Predecessor Minutes on,
Still moving, ever new: For former Things
Are set aside, like abdicated Kings: 275
And every moment alters what is done,
And innovates some Act till then unknown.
Darkness we see emerges into Light,
And shining Suns descend to Sable Night;
Ev’n Heav’n it self receives another die, 280
When weari’d Animals in Slumbers lie,
Of Midnight Ease: Another when the gray
Of Morn preludes the Splendor of the Day.
The Disk of Phœbus when he climbs on high,
Appears at first but as a bloodshot Eye; 285
And when his Chariot downward drives to Bed,
His Ball is with the same Suffusion red;
But mounted high in his Meridian Race
All bright he shines, and with a better Face:
For there, pure Particles of Æther flow, 290
Far from th’ Infection of the World below.
Nor equal Light th’ unequal Moon adorns,
Or in her wexing or her waning Horns.
For ev’ry Day she wanes, her Face is less,
But gath’ring into Globe, she fattens at increase. 295
Perceiv’st thou not the process of the Year,
How the four Seasons in four Forms appear,
Resembling human Life in ev’ry Shape they wear?
Spring first, like Infancy, shoots out her Head,
With milky Juice requiring to be fed: 300
Helpless, tho’ fresh, and wanting to be led.
The green Stem grows in Stature and in Size,
But only feeds with hope the Farmer’s Eyes;
Then laughs the childish Year with Flourets crown’d,
And lavishly perfumes the Fields around, 305
But no substantial Nourishment receives,
Infirm the Stalks, unsolid are the Leaves.
Proceeding onward whence the Year began
The Summer grows adult, and ripens into Man.
This Season, as in Men, is most repleat, 310
With kindly Moisture, and prolifick Heat.
Autumn succeeds, a sober tepid Age,
Not froze with Fear, nor boiling into Rage;
More than mature, and tending to decay,
When our brown Locks repine to mix with odious Grey. 315
Last Winter creeps along with tardy pace,
Sour is his Front, and furrow’d is his Face.
His Scalp if not dishonour’d quite of Hair,
The ragg’d Fleece is thin, and thin is worse than bare.
Ev’n our own Bodies daily change receive, 320
Some part of what was theirs before, they leave;
Nor are to Day what Yesterday they were;
Nor the whole same to Morrow will appear.
Time was, when we were sow’d, and just began
From some few fruitful Drops, the promise of a Man; 325
Then Nature’s Hand (fermented as it was)
Moulded to Shape the soft, coagulated Mass;
And when the little Man was fully form’d,
The breathless Embryo with a Spirit warm’d;
But when the Mothers Throws begin to come, 330
The Creature, pent within the narrow Room,
Breaks his blind Prison, pushing to repair
His stiffled Breath, and draw the living Air;
Cast on the Margin of the World he lies,
A helpless Babe, but by Instinct he cries. 335
He next essays to walk, but downward press’d,
On four Feet imitates his Brother Beast:
By slow degrees he gathers from the Ground
His Legs, and to the rowling Chair is bound;
Then walks alone; a Horseman now become, 340
He rides a Stick, and travels round the Room:
In time he vaunts among his Youthful Peers,
Strong-bon’d, and strung with Nerves, in pride of Years,
He runs with Mettle his first merry Stage,
Maintains the next, abated of his Rage, 345
But manages his Strength, and spares his Age.
Heavy the third, and stiff, he sinks apace,
And tho’ ’tis down-hill all, but creeps along the Race.
Now sapless on the verge of Death he stands,
Contemplating his former Feet, and Hands; 350
And Milo-like, his slacken’d Sinews sees,
And wither’d Arms, once fit to cope with Hercules,
Unable now to shake, much less to tear the Trees.
So Helen wept, when her too faithful Glass
Reflected to her Eyes the ruins of her Face: 355
Wondring what Charms her Ravishers cou’d spy,
To force her twice, or ev’n but once enjoy!
Thy Teeth, devouring Time, thine, envious Age,
On Things below still exercise your Rage:
With venom’d Grinders you corrupt your Meat, 360
And then at lingring Meals, the Morsels eat.
Nor those, which Elements we call, abide,
For this eternal World is said of Old
But four prolifick Principles to hold, 365
Four different Bodies; two to Heaven ascend,
And other two down to the Center tend:
Fire first with Wings expanded mounts on high,
Pure, void of weight, and dwells in upper Sky;
Then Air, because unclogg’d in empty space, 370
Flies after Fire, and claims the second Place:
But weighty Water, as her Nature guides,
Lies on the Lap of Earth, and Mother Earth subsides.
All things are mix’d of these, which all contain,
And into these are all resolv’d again 375
Earth rarifies to Dew, expanded more
The subtil Dew in Air begins to soar;
Spreads as she flies, and weary of her Name
Extenuates still, and changes into Flame;
Thus having by Degrees Perfection won, 380
Restless they soon untwist the Web they spun,
And Fire begins to lose her radiant Hue,
Mix’d with gross Air, and Air descends to Dew;
And Dew condensing, does her Form forego.
And sinks, a heavy Lump of Earth below. 385
Thus are their Figures never at a stand,
But chang’d by Nature’s innovating Hand;
All Things are alter’d, nothing is destroy’d,
The shifted Scene, for some new Show employ’d.
Then to be born, is to begin to be, 390
Some other Thing we were not formerly:
And what we call to Die, is not t’ appear,
Or be the Thing that formerly we were.
Those very Elements, which we partake
Alive, when Dead some other Bodies make: 395
Translated grow, have Sense, or can discourse;
But Death on deathless Substance has no force.
That Forms are chang’d, I grant, that nothing can
Continue in the Figure it began:
The Golden Age to Silver was debas’d: 400
To Copper that; our Mettal came at last.
The Face of Places, and their Forms decay;
And that is solid Earth, that once was Sea:
Seas in their turn retreating from the Shore,
Make solid Land, what Ocean was before; 405
And far from Strands are Shells of Fishes found,
And rusty Anchors fix’d on Mountain-Ground:
And what were Fields before, now wash’d and worn
By falling Floods from high, to Valleys turn,
And crumbling still descend to level Lands; 410
And Lakes, and trembling Bogs are barren Sands:
And the parch’d Desart floats in Streams unknown;
Wondring to drink of Waters not her own.
Here Nature living Fountains opes; and there,
Seals up the Wombs where living Fountains were; 415