The Portable William Blake
Page 45
Round Purgatory is Paradise, & round Paradise is Vacuum or Limbo, so that Homer is the Center of All—I mean the Poetry of the Heathen, Stolen & Perverted from the Bible, not by Chance but by design, by the Kings of Persia & their Generals, The Greek Heroes & lastly by the Romans.
Swedenborg does the same in saying that in this World is the Ultimate of Heaven. This is the most damnable Falshood of Satan & his Antichrist.
On design no. 16, The Goddess Fortune.
The Goddess Fortune is the devil’s servant, ready to Kiss any one’s Arse.
On design no. 101, a diagram of the Circles of Hell.
It seems as if Dante’s supreme Good was something Superior to the Father or Jesus; for if he gives his rain to the Evil & the Good, & his Sun to the Just & the Unjust, He could never have Built Dante’s Hell, nor the Hell of the Bible neither, in the way our Parsons explain it—It must have been originally Formed by the devil Himself; & So I understand it to have been.
This [the diagram] is Upside Down When view’d from Hell’s gate, which ought to be at top, But right When View’d from Purgatory after they have passed the Center.
In Equivocal Worlds Up & Down are Equivocal.
Whatever Book is for Vengeance for Sin & Whatever Book is Against the Forgiveness of Sins is not of the Father, but of Satan the Accuser & Father of Hell.
EPIGRAMS, VERSES, AND FRAGMENTS
(1808-1811)
You don’t believe—I won’t attempt to make ye:
You are asleep—I won’t attempt to wake ye.
Sleep on, Sleep on! while in your pleasant dreams
Of Reason you may drink of Life’s clear streams.
Reason and Newton, they are quite two things;
For so the Swallow & the Sparrow sings.
Reason says “Miracle”: Newton says “Doubt”.
Aye! that’s the way to make all Nature out.
“Doubt, Doubt, & don’t believe without experiment”:
That is the very thing that Jesus meant,
When he said, “Only Believe! Believe & try!
”Try, Try, and never mind the Reason why.”
Anger & Wrath my bosom rends:
I thought them the Errors of friends.
But all my limbs with warmth glow:
I find them the Errors of the foe.
“Madman” I have been call’d: “Fool” they call thee
I wonder which they Envy, Thee or Me?
TO GOD
If you have form’d a Circle to go into,
Co into it yourself & see how you would do.
I am no Homer’s Hero, you all know;
I profess not Generosity to a Foe.
My Generosity is to my Friends,
That for their Friendship I may make amends.
The Generous to Enemies promotes their Ends
And becomes the Enemy & Betrayer of his Friends.
TO F[LAXMAN]
I mock thee not, tho’ I by thee am Mocked.
Thou call’st me Madman, but I call thee Blockhead.
Of H(ayley)’s birth this was the happy lot,
His Mother on his Father him begot.
He’s a Blockhead who wants a proof of what he can’t Percieve,
And he’s a Fool who tries to make such a Blockhead believe.
C(romek) loves artists, as he loves his Meat.
He loves the Art, but ’tis the Art to Cheat.
A petty Sneaking Knave I knew—
O Mr. Cr(omek), how do ye do?
He has observ’d the Golden Rule
Till he’s become the Golden Fool.
ON F[LAXMAN] & S[TOTHARD]
I found them blind: I taught them how to see;
And now they know neither themselves nor me.
’Tis Excellent to turn a thorn to a pin,
A Fool to a bolt, a Knave to a glass of gin.
P[hillips] loved me not as he lov’d his Friends,
For he lov’d them for gain to serve his Ends.
He loved me and for no Gain at all
But to rejoice & triumph in my fall.
Some Men, created for destruction, come
Into the World & make the World their home.
Be they as Vile & Base as E’er they can,
They’ll still be called “The World’s honest man”.
ON S[TOTHARD]
You say reserve & modesty he has,
Whose heart is iron, his head wood, & his face brass.
The Fox, the Owl, the Beetle & the Bat
By sweet reserve & modesty get Fat.
TO H[AYLEY]
Thy Friendship oft has made my heart to ake:
Do be my Enemy for Friendship’s sake.
Cosway, Frazer & Baldwin of Egypt’s Lake
Fear to associate with Blake.
This Life is a Warfare against Evils;
They heal the sick; he casts out devils.
Hayley, Flaxman & Stothard are also in doubt
Lest their Virtue should be put to the rout.
One grins, t’other spits & in comers hides,
And all the Virtuous have shewn their backsides.
EPITAPH
I was buried near this Dike,
That my Friends may weep as much as they like.
ANOTHER
Here lies John Trot, the Friend of all mankind:
He has not left one Enemy behind.
Friends were quite hard to find, old authors say;
But now they stand in every bodies way.
My tide as a Genius thus is prov’d:
Not Prais’d by Hayley nor by Flaxman lov’d.
I, Rubens, am a Statesman & a Saint.
Deceptions? And so I’ll learn to Paint.
TO ENGLISH CONNOISSEURS
You must agree that Rubens was a Fool,
And yet you make him master of your School
And give more money for his slobberings
Than you will give for Rafael’s finest Things.
I understood Christ was a Carpenter
And not a Brewer’s Servant, my good Sir.
A PRETTY EPIGRAM FOR THE ENTERTAINMENT OF THOSE WHO HAVE PAID GREAT SUMS IN THE VENETIAN & FLEMISH OOZE
Nature & Art in this together Suit:
What is Most Grand is always most Minute.
Rubens thinks Tables, Chairs & Stools are Grand,
But Rafael thinks A Head, a foot, a hand.
These are the Idiot’s chiefest arts,
To blend & not define the Parts.
The Swallow sings in Courts of Kings
That Fools have their high finishings,
And this the Princes’ golden rule,
The Laborious stumble of a Fool.
To make out the parts is the wise man’s aim,
But to lose them the Fool makes his foolish Game.
Rafael Sublime, Majestic, Graceful, Wise,
His Executive Power must I despise?
Rubens Low, Vulgar, Stupid, Ignorant,
His power of Execution I must grant?
Learn the Laborious stumble of a Fool,
And from an Idiot’s Actions form my rule?
Go send your Children to the Slobbering School!
If I e’er Grow to Man’s Estate,
0, Give to me a Woman’s fate!
May I govern all, both great & small,
Have the last word & take the wall.
ON THE GREAT ENCOURAGEMENT GIVEN BY ENGLISH NOBILITY & GENTRY TO CORREGGIO, RUBENS, REMBRANDT, 10 REYNOLDS, GAINSBOROUGH, CATALANI, DU CROWE, & DILBURY DOODLE
As the Ignorant Savage will sell his own Wife
For a Sword or a Cutlass, a dagger or Knife,
So the Taught, Savage Englishman spends his whole
Fortune
On a smear or a squall to destroy Picture or Tune,
And I call upon Colonel Wardle
To give these Rascals a dose of Cawdle.
Give pensions to the Learned Pig
Or the Hare playing on a Tabor;
But in the Journeyman’s Labour.
All Pictures that’s Painted with Sense & with Thought
Are Painted by Madmen as sure as a Groat;
For the Greater the Fool in the Pencil more blest,
And when they are drunk they always paint best.
They never can Rafael it, Fuseli it, nor Blake it;
If they can’t see an outline, pray how can they make it?
When Men will draw outlines begin you to jaw them;
Madmen see outlines & therefore they draw them.
ON H[AYLEY] THE PICK THANK
I write the Rascal Thanks till he & I
With Thanks & Compliments are quite drawn dry.
CROMEK SPEAKS
I always take my judgment from a Fool
Because his judgment is so very Cool,
Not prejudic’d by feelings great or small.
Amiable state! he cannot feel at all.
ENGLISH ENCOURAGEMENT OF ART: CROMEK’S OPINIONS PUT INTO RHYME
If you mean to Please Every body you will
Set to work both Ignorance & skill;
For a great multitude are Ignorant,
And skill to them seems raving & rant;
Like putting oil & water into a lamp,
’Twill make a great splutter with smoke & damp;
For there is no use, as it seems to me,
Of Lighting a Lamp when you don’t wish to see.
And, when it smells of the Lamp, we can
Say all was owing to the Skilful Man.
For the smell of water is but small,
So e’en let Ignorance do it all.
You say their Pictures well Painted be,
And yet they are Blockheads you all agree.
Thank God, I never was sent to school
To be Flog’d into following the Style of a Fool.
The Errors of a Wise Man make your Rule
Rather than the Perfections of a FooL
THE WASHERWOMAN’S SONG
I wash’d them out & wash’d them in,
And they told me it was a great Sin.
When I see a Rubens, Rembrandt, Correggio,
I think of the Crippled Harry & Slobbering Joe;
And then I question thus: are artists’ rules
To be drawn from the works of two manifest fools?
Then God defend us from the Arts I sayl
Send Battle, Murder, Sudden death, 0 pray!
Rather than be such a blind Human Fool
I’d be an Ass, a Hog, a worm, a Chair, a Stooll
Great things are done when Men & Mountains meet;
This is not done by Jostling in the Street
If you play a Game of Chance, know, before you begin,
If you are benevolent you will never win.
WILLIAM COWPER, ESQRE
For this is being a Friend just in the nick,
Not when he’s well, but waiting till he’s side.
He calls you to his help: be you not mov’d
Untill, by being Sick, his wants are prov’d.
You see him spend his Soul in Prophecy.
Do you believe it a confounded lie
Till some Bookseller & the Public Fame
Proves there is truth in his extravagant claim.
For ‘tis atrocious in a Friend you love
To tell you any thing that he can’t prove,
And ’tis most wicked in a Christian Nation
For any Man to pretend to Inspiration.
The only Man that e’er I knew
Who did not make me almost spew
Was Fuseli: he was both Turk & Jew—
And so, dear Christian Friends, how do you do?
BLAKE’S APOLOGY FOR HIS CATALOGUE
Having given great offence by writing in Prose,
I‘Il write in Verse as soft as Bartolloze.
Some blush at what others can see no crime in,
But nobody sees any harm in Rhyming.
Dryden in Rhyme cries, “Milton only plann’dl”
Every Fool shook his bells throughout the land.
Tom Cooke cut Hogarth down with his clean graving.
Thousands of Connoisseurs with joy ran raving.
Thus Hayley on his Toilette seeing the sope,
Cries, “Homer is very much improv’d by Pope.”
Some say I’ve given great Provision to my foes,
And that now I lead my false friends by the nose.
Flaxman & Stothard smelling a sweet savour
Cry, “Blakified drawing spoils painter & Engraver,”
While I, looking up to my Umbrella,
Resolv’d to be a very contrary fellow,
Cry, looking quite from Skumference to Center,
“No one can finish so high as the original Inventor.”
Thus Poor Schiavonetti died of the Cromek,
A thing that’s tied around the Examiner’s neck.
This is my sweet apology to my friends,
That I may put them in mind of their latter ends.
If Men will act like a maid smiling over a Churn,
They ought not, when it comes to another’s turn,
To grow sower at what a friend may utter,
Knowing & feeling that we all have need of Butter.
False Friends! fie! fie! our Friendship you shan’t sever,
In spite we will be greater friends than ever.
Some people admire the work of a Fool,
For it’s sure to keep your judgment cool;
It does not reproach you with want of wit;
It is not like a lawyer serving a writ.
“Now Art has lost its mental Charms
France shall subdue the World in Arms.”
So spoke an Angel at my birth,
Then said, “Descend thou upon Earth.
Renew the Arts on Britain’s Shore,
And France shall fall down & adore.
With works of Art their Armies meet,
And War shall sink beneath thy feet.
But if thy Nation Arts refuse,
And if they scorn the immortal Muse,
France shall the arts of Peace restore,
And save thee from the Ungrateful shore.”
Spirit, who lov’st Brittannia’s Isle
Round which the Fiends of Commerce smile ...
VIII.
THE OLD BLAKE
FRAGMENTS
INSCRIPTION IN THE AUTOGRAPH ALBUM OF WILLIAM UPCOTT
(January 16, 1826)
William Blake, one who is very much delighted with being in good Company.
Born 28 Novr 1757 in London & has died several times since.
23 May, 1810, found the Word Golden.
Jesus does not bear ... he makes a Wide distinction between the Sheep & the Goats; consequently he is Not Charitable.
THE EVERLASTING GOSPEL
(1818)
There is not one Moral Virtue that Jesus Inculcated but Plato & Cicero did Inculcate before him; what then did Christ Inculcate? Forgiveness of Sins. This alone is the Gospel” &: this is the Life & Immortality brought to light by Jesus, Even the Covenant of Jehovah, which is This: If you forgive one another your Trespasses, so shall Jehovah forgive you, That he himself may dwell among you; but if you Avenge, you Murder the Divine Image, & he cannot dwell among you; because you Murder him he arises again, & you deny that he is Arisen, & are blind to Spirit.
1
If Moral Virtue was Christianity,
Christ’s Pretensions were all Vanity,
And Cai[a]phas & Pilate, Men
Praise Worthy, & the Lion’s Den
And not the Sheepfold, Allegories
Of God & Heaven & their Glories.
The Moral Christian is the Cause
Of the Unbeliever & his Laws.
The Roman Virtues, Warlike Fame,
Take Jesus’ & Jehovah’s Name;
For what is Antichrist but those
Who
against Sinners Heaven close
With Iron bars, in Virtuous State,
And Rhadamanthus at the Gate?
2
What can this Gospel of Jesus be?
What Life & Immortality,
What was it that he brought to Light
That Plato & Cicero did not write?
The Heathen Deities wrote them all,
These Moral Virtues, great & small.
What is the Accusation of Sin
But Moral Virtues’ deadly Gin?
The Moral Virtues in their Pride
Did o‘er the World triumphant ride
In Wars & Sacrifice for Sin,
And Souls to Hell ran trooping in.
The Accuser, Holy God of All
This Pharisaic Worldly Ball,
Amidst them in his Glory Beams
Upon the Rivers & the Streams.
Then Jesus rose & said to Me,
“Thy Sins are all forgiven thee.”
Loud Pilate Howl’d, loud Caiphas yell‘d,
When they the Gospel Light beheld.
It was when Jesus said to Me,
“Thy Sins are all forgiven thee.”
The Christian trumpets loud proclaim
Thro’ all the World in Jesus’ name
Mutual forgiveness of each Vice,
And oped the Gates of Paradise.
The Moral Virtues in Great fear