Chapter XIII: Epilogue: Gentlemen, (4)

The weakest power is subject to obey;
The mushrooms humbly kiss the cedar’s foot,
The cedar flourishes when they decay,
Because her strength is grounded on a root;
We are the cedars, they the mushrooms be,
Unabled shrubs unto an abled tree.

Then sith[383] the weaker gives the stronger place, 12
The young the elder, and the foot the top,
The low the high, the hidden powers the face,
All beasts the lion, every spring his stop;
Let those which practise contrariety
Be join’d to us with inequality.

They say that we offend, we say they do;
Their blame is laid on us, our blame on them;
They strike, and we retort the strucken blow;
So in each garment there’s a differing hem:
We end with contraries, as they begun,
Unequal sharing of what either won.

In this long conflict between tongue and tongue, 13
Tongue new beginning what one tongue did end,
Made this cold battle hot in either’s wrong,
And kept no pausing limits to contend;
One tongue was echo to the other’s sound,
Which breathèd accents between mouth and ground.

He which hath virtue’s arms upon his shield, 14
Draws his descent from an eternal king:
He knows discretion can make folly yield,
Life conquer death, and vice a captive bring;
The other, tutor’d by his mother sin,
Respects not deeds nor words, but hopes to win.

The first, first essence of immortal life, 15
Reproves the heart of thought, the eye of sight,
The ear of hearing ill, the mind of strife,
The mouth of speech, the body of despite;
Heart thinks, eyes see, ears hear,[384] minds meditate,
Mouth utters both the soul and body’s hate.

But nature, differing in each nature’s kind,
Makes differing hearts, each heart a differing
thought;
Some hath she made to see, some folly-blind,
Some famous, some obscure, some good, some naught:
So these, which differ[385] in each nature’s reason,
Had nature’s time when time was out of season.

Quoth they, he doth reprove our heart of thinking, 16
Our eyes of sight, our ears of hearing ill,
Our minds, our hearts, in meditation linking,
Our mouths in speaking of our body’s will;
Because heart, sight, and mind do disagree,
He’d make heart, sight, and mind of their decree.

He says, our heart is blinded with our eyes,
Our eyes are blinded with our blinded heart,
Our bodies on both parts defilèd lies,
Our mouths the trumpets of our vices’ smart;
Quoth he, God is my father, I his son,
His ways I take, your wicked ways I shun.

As meditated wrongs are deeper plac’d 17
Within the deep core[386] of a wrongèd mind,
So meditated words are[387] never past
Before their sounds a settled harbour find;
The wicked, answering to the latter words,
Begin[388] to speak as much as speech affords.

One tongue must answer, other tongues reply,
Beginning boasts require an ending fall;
Words lively spoke do sometimes wordless die,
If not, live echoes unto speeches call:
Let not the shadow smother up the deed,
The outward leaf differs from inward seed.

The shape and show of substance and effect 18
Do[389] shape the substance in the shadow’s hue,
And shadow put in substance will neglect
The wonted shadow of not being true:
Let substance follow substance, show a show,
And let not substance for the shadow go.

He that could give such admonition,
Such vaunting words, such words confirming vaunts,
As if his tongue had mounted to ambition,
Or climb’d the turrets which vain-glory haunts,
Now let his father, if he be his son,
Undo the knot which his proud boasts have spun.

We are his enemies, his chain our hands, 19
Our words his fetters, and our heart his cave,
Our stern embracements are his servile bands;
Where is the helper now which he should have?
In prison like himself, not to be found,
He wanteth help himself to be unbound.

Then sith[390] thy father bears it patiently,
To suffer torments, grief, rebuke, and blame,
’Tis needful thou should’st bear equality,
To see if meekness harbour in thy name:
Help, father, for thy son in prison lies!
Help, son, or else thy helpless father dies!

Thus is the righteous God and righteous man 20
Drown’d in oblivion with this vice’s reign;
God wanteth power (say they) of what we can,
The other would perform that which is vain;
Both faulty in one fault, and both alike
Must have the stroke which our law’s judgments strike.

He calls himself a son from heaven’s descent;
What can earth’s force avail ’gainst heaven’s defence?
His life by immortality is lent;
Then how can punishment his wrath incense?
Though death herself in his arraignment deck,
He hath his life’s preserver at a beck.

As doth the basilisk with poison’d sight 21
Blind every function of a mortal eye,
Disarm the body’s powers of vital might,
Rob heart of thought, make living life to die,
So do[391] the wicked with their vice’s look
Infect the spring of clearest virtue’s brook.

This basilisk, mortality’s chief foe,
And to the heart’s long-knitted artery,
Doth sometime perish at her shadow’s show,
Poisoning herself with her own poison’d eye:
Needs must the sting fall out with over-harming,
Needs must the tongue burn out in over-warming.

So fares it with the practisers of vice, 22
Laden with many venomous adders’ stings,
Sometimes are blinded with their own device,
And tune[392] that song which their destruction sings;
Their mischief blindeth their mischievous eyes,
Like basilisks, which in their shadow dies.

They go, and yet they cannot see their feet,
Like blinded pilgrims in an unknown way,
Blind in perceiving things which be most meet,
But need nor sight nor guide to go astray:
Tell them of good, they cannot understand;
But tell them of a mischief, that’s at hand.

The basilisk was made to blind the sight, 23
The adder for to sting, the worm to creep,
The viper to devour, the dog to bite,
The nightingale to wake when others sleep;
Only man differs from his Maker’s will,
Undoing what is good, and doing ill.

A godlike face he had, a heavenly hue, 24
Without corruption, image without spots;
But now is metamorphosèd anew,
Full of corruption, image full of blots;
Blotted by him that is the plot[393] of evil,
Undone, corrupted, vanquish’d by the devil.

CHAP. III.

But every cloud cannot hide Phœbus’ face, 1
Nor shut the casement of his living flame;
Nor is there every soul which wanteth grace,
Nor every heart seduc’d with mischief’s name:
Life cannot live without corruption,
World cannot be without destruction.

Nor is the body all corrupt, or world
Bent wholly unto wickedness’ assault;
The adder is not always seen uncurl’d,
Nor every soul found guilty in one fault;
Some good, some bad; but those whom virtues guard,
Heaven is their haven, comfort their reward.

Thrice-happy habitation of delight, 2
Thrice-happy step of immortality,
Thrice-happy souls to gain such heavenly sight,
Springing from heaven’s perpetuity!
O peaceful place! but O thrice-peaceful souls,
Whom neither threats nor strife nor wars controls!

They are not like the wicked, for they live;
Nor they like to the righteous, for they die;
Each of their lives a differing nature give:
One thinks that life ends with mortality,
And that the righteous never live again,
But die as subjects to a grievous pain.

What labouring soul refuseth for to sweat, 4
Knowing his hire, his payment, his reward,
To suffer winter’s cold and summer’s heat,
Assurèd of his labour’s due regard?
The bee with summer’s toil will lade her hive,
In winter’s frost to keep herself alive.

And what divinest spirit would not toil,
And suffer many torments, many pains,
This world’s destruction, heavy labour’s foil,
When heaven is their hire, heaven’s joy their gains?
Who would not suffer torments for to die,
When death’s reward is immortality?

Pain is the entrance to eternal joy; 5
Death endeth life, and death beginneth life,
Beginneth happy, endeth in annoy,
Begins immortal peace, ends mortal strife;
Then, seeing death and pains bring joy and heaven,
What need we fear death’s pain, when life is given?

Say sickness, or infirmity’s disease
(As many harms hang over mortal heads),
Should be his world’s reward; yet heaven hath ease,
A salve to cure, and quiet resting beds:
God maketh in earth’s world lament our pleasure,
That in heaven’s world delight might be our treasure.

Fair may the shadow be, the substance foul; 6
After the trial followeth the trust;
The clearest skin may have the foulest soul;
The purest gold will sooner take the rust;
The brook, though ne’er so clear, may take some soil;
The hart, though ne’er so strong, may take some foil.

Wouldst thou be counted just? make thyself just,
Or purify thy mire-bespotted heart;
For God doth try thy actions ere he trust,
Thy faith, thy deeds, thy words, and what thou art;
He will receive no mud for clearest springs,
Nor thy unrighteous words for righteous things.

As God is perfect God and perfect good, 7
So he accepteth none but perfect minds;
They ever prosper, flourish, live, and bud,
Like blessèd plants, far from destruction’s winds;
Still bud, ne’er fade, still flourish, ne’er decay;
Still rise, ne’er fall, still spring, ne’er fade away.

Who would not covet to be such a plant,
Who would not wish to stand in such a ground,
Sith[394] it doth neither fruit nor blessing want,
Nor aught which in this plant might not be found?
They are the righteous which enjoy this earth,
The figure of an ever-bearing birth.

The small is always subject to the great, 8
The young to him which is of elder time,
The lowest place unto the highest seat,
And pale-fac’d Phœbe to bright Phœbus’ clime;
Vice is not governor of virtue’s place,
But blushes for to see so bright a face.

Virtue is chief, and virtue will be chief,
Chief good, and chief Astræa, justice’ mate,
Both for to punish and to yield relief,
And have dominion over every state,
To right the wrongs which wickedness hath done,
Delivering nations from life-lasting moan.

O you, whose causes plungeth in despair, 9
Sad-fac’d petitioners with grief’s request!
What seek you? here’s nor justice nor her heir,
But woe and sorrow, with death’s dumb arrest;
Turn up your woe-blind eyes unto the sky,
There sits the judge can yield you remedy.

Trust in his power, he is the truest God,
True God, true judge, true justice, and true guide;
All truth is placèd in his truth’s abode,
All virtues seated at his virtuous side;
He will regard your suit, and ease your plaint,
And mollify your misery’s constraint.

Then shall you see the judges of the earth 10
Summonèd with the trumpet of his ire,
To give account and reckoning from their birth,
Where[395] worthy or unworthy of their hire:
The godly shall receive their labour’s trial,
The wicked shall receive their joy’s denial.

They which did sleep in sin, and not regarded
The poor man’s fortune prostrate at their feet,
Even as they dealt, so shall they be rewarded,
When they their toilèd souls’ destruction meet;
From judges they petitioners shall be,
Yet want the sight which they do sue to see.

That labour which is grounded on delight, 11
That hope which reason doth enrich with hap,
That merit which is plac’d in wisdom’s might,
Secure from mischief’s bait or folly’s clap,
Wit’s labour, reason’s hope, and wisdom’s merit,
All three in one, make one thrice-happy spirit.

Why set I happiness ’fore mortal eyes,
Which covet[396] to be drench’d in misery,
Mantling their foolish minds in folly’s guise,
Despising wisdom’s perpetuity?
Sin’s labour, folly’s hope, and vice’s merit,
These three in one make a thrice-cursèd spirit.

Vain hope must needs consist in what is vain; 12
All foolish labours flow[397] from folly’s tears;
Unprofitable works proceed from pain,
And pain ill labour’s duest guerdon bears;
Three[398] vanities in one, and one in three,
Make three pains one, and one uncertainty.

A wicked king makes a more wicked land;
Heads once infected soon corrupt[399] the feet;
If the tree falls, the branches cannot stand,
Nor children, be their parents indiscreet;
The man infects the wife, the wife the child,
Like birds which in one nest be all defil’d.

The field which never was ordain’d to bear 13
Is happier far than a still-tillèd ground;
This sleeps with quietness in every year,
The other curs’d if any tares be found;
The barren happier than she that bears,
This brings forth joy, the other tares and tears.

The eunuch never lay in vice’s bed, 14
The barren woman never brought forth sin;
These two in heaven’s happiness are led,
She fruit in soul, he fruit in faith doth win:
O rare and happy man, for ever blest!
O rare and happy woman, heaven’s guest!

Who seeks to reap before the corn be ripe? 15
Who looks for harvest among winter’s frost?
Or who in grief will follow pleasure’s pipe?
What mariner can sail upon the coast?
That which is done in time is done in season,
And things done out of time are[400] out of reason.

The glorious labour is in doing good,
In time’s observance, and in nature’s will,
Whose fruit is also glorious for our food,
If glory may consist in labour’s skill,
Whose root is wisdom, which shall never wither,
But spring, and sprout, and love, and live together.

But every ground doth not bear blessèd plants, 16
Nor every plant brings forth expected fruit;
What this same ground may have, another wants;
Nor are all causes answer’d with one suit:
That tree whose root is sound, whose grounding strong,
May firmly stand when others lie along.

View nature’s beauty, mark her changing hue,
She is not always foul, not always fair,
Chaste and unchaste she is, true and untrue,
And some spring[401] from her in a lustful air;
And these adulterers be, whose seed shall perish;
Never shall lust and wickedness long flourish.

Although the flint be hard, the water soft, 17
Yet is it mollified with lightest drops;
Hard is the water when the wind’s aloft;
Small things in time may vanquish greatest stops:
The longer grows the tree, the greater moss;
The longer soil remains, the more the dross.

The longer that the wicked live[402] on earth,
The greater is their pain, their sin, their shame,
The greater vice’s reign and virtue’s dearth,
The greater goodness’ lack and mischief’s name;
When in their youth no honour they could get,
Old age could never pay so young a debt.

To place an honour in dishonour’s place, 18
Were but to make disparagement of both;
Both enemies, they could not brook the case,
For honour to subvert dishonour’s growth:
Dishonour will not change for honour’s room,
She hopes to stay after their bodies’ doom.

Or live they long, or die they suddenly,
They have no hope, nor comfort of reward;
Their hope of comfort is iniquity,
The bar by which they from their joys are barr’d:
O old-new end, made to begin new grief!
O new beginning, end of old relief!

CHAP. IV.

If happiness may harbour in content, 1
If life in love, if love in better life,
Then unto many happiness is lent,
And long-departed joy might then be rife:[403]
Some happy if they live, some if they die,
Happy in life, happy in tragedy.

Content is happiness because content;
Bareness and barrenness are[404] virtue’s grace,
Bare because wealth to poverty is bent,
Barren in that it scorns ill-fortune’s place;
The barren earth is barren of her tares,
The barren woman barren of her cares.

The soul of virtue is eternity, 2
All-filling essence of divinest rage;
And virtue’s true eternal memory
Is barrenness, her soul’s eternal gage:
O happy soul, that is engagèd there,
And pawns his life that barren badge to wear!

See how the multitude, with humble hearts,
Lies prostrate for to welcome her return!
See how they mourn and wail when she departs!
See how they make their tears her trophy’s urn!
Being present, they desire her; being gone,
Their hot desire is turn’d to hotter moan.

As every one hath not one nature’s mould, 3
So every one hath not one nature’s mind;
Some think that dross which others take for gold,
Each difference cometh from a differing kind;
Some do despise what others do embrace,
Some praise the thing which others do disgrace.

The barren doth embrace their barrenness,
And hold it as a virtue-worthy meed;
The other calls conception happiness,
And hold it as a virtue-worthy deed;
The one is firmly grounded on a rock,
The other billows’ game and tempests’ mock.

Sometime the nettle groweth with the rose; 4
The nettle hath a sting, the rose a thorn;
This stings the hand, the other pricks the nose,
Harming that scent which her sweet birth had borne;
Weeds among herbs, herbs among weeds are found,
Tares in the mantle of a corny ground.

The nettle’s growth is fast, the rose’s slow,
The weeds outgrow the herbs, the tares the corn;
These may be well compar’d to vice’s show,
Which covets for to grow ere it be born:
As greatest danger doth pursue fast going,
So greatest danger doth ensue fast growing.

The tallest cedar hath the greatest wind, 5
The highest tree is subject unto falls;
High-soaring eagles soon are strucken blind;
The tongue must needs be hoarse with many calls:
The wicked, thinking for to touch the sky,
Are blasted with the fire of heaven’s eye.

So like ascending and descending air,
Both dusky vapours from two humorous clouds,
Lies witherèd the glory of their fair;[405]
Unpleasant branches wrench’d in folly’s floods;
Unprofitable fruits, like to a weed,
Made only to infect, and not to feed.

Made for to make a fast, and not a feast, 6
Made rather for infection than for meat,
Not worthy to be eaten of a beast,
Thy taste so sour, thy poison is so great;
Thou may’st be well comparèd to a tree,
Because thy branches are as ill as thee.

Thou hast begot thine own confusion,
The witnesses of what thou dost begin,
Thy doomers in thy life’s conclusion,
Which will, unask’d and ask’d, reveal thy sin:
Needs must the new-hatch’d birds bewray the nest,
When they are nursèd in a step-dame’s breast.

But righteousness is of another sex, 7
Her root is from an everlasting seed,
No weak, unable grounding doth connex
Her never-limited memorial’s deed;
She hath no branches for a tempest’s prey,
No deeds but scorns to yield unto decay.

She hath no wither’d fruit, no show of store,
But perfect essence of a complete power;
Say that she dies to world, she lives the more,
As who so righteous but doth wait death’s hour?
Who knows not death to be the way to rest?
And he that never dies is never blest.

Happy is he that lives, twice he that dies, 8
Thrice happy he which neither liv’d nor died,
Which never saw the earth with mortal eyes,
Which never knew what miseries are tried:
Happy is life, twice happy is our death,
But three times thrice he which had never breath.

Some think[406] that pleasure is achiev’d by years,
Or by maintaining of a wretched life,
When, out, alas! it heapeth tears on tears,
Grief upon grief, strife on beginning strife:
Pleasure is weak, if measurèd by length;
The oldest ages have[407] the weaker strength.

Three turnings are contain’d in mortal course, 9
Old, mean, and young; mean and old bring[408] age;
The youth hath strength, the mean decaying force,
The old are weak, yet strong in anger’s rage:
Three turnings in one age, strong, weak, and weaker,
Yet age nor youth is youth’s or age’s breaker.

Some say[409] that youth is quick in judging causes,
Some say[409] that age is witty, grave, and wise:
I hold of age’s side, with their applauses,
Which judges with their hearts, not with their eyes;
I say grave wisdom lies in grayest heads,
And undefilèd lives in age’s beds.

God is both grave and old, yet young and new, 10
Grave because agèd, agèd because young;
Long youth may well be callèd age’s hue,
And hath no differing sound upon the tongue:
God old, because eternities are old;
Young, for eternities one motion hold.

Some in their birth, some die[410] when they are born,
Some born, and some abortive, yet all die;
Some in their youth, some in old age forlorn,
Some neither young nor old, but equally:
The righteous, when he liveth with the sinner,
Doth hope for death, his better life’s beginner.

The swine delights to wallow in the mire, 11
The giddy drunkard in excess of wine;
He may corrupt the purest reason’s gyre,
And she turn virtue into vice’s sign:
Mischief is mire, and may infect that spring
Which every flow and ebb of vice doth bring.

Fishes are oft deceivèd by the bait,
The bait deceiving fish doth fish deceive;
So righteous are allur’d by sin’s deceit,
And oft enticèd into sinners’ weave:
The righteous be as fishes to their gin,
Beguil’d, deceiv’d, allurèd into sin.

The fisher hath a bait deceiving fish, 12
The fowler hath a net deceiving fowls;
Both wisheth to obtain their snaring wish,
Observing time, like night-observing owls;
The fisher lays his bait, fowler his net,
He hopes for fish, the other birds to get.

This fisher is the wicked, vice his bait,
This fowler is the sinner, sin his net;
The simple righteous falls in their deceit,
And like a prey, a fish, a fowl beset:
A bait, a net, obscuring what is good,
Like fish and fowl took up for vice’s food.

But baits nor nets, gins nor beguiling snares, 13
Vice nor the vicious sinner, nor the sin,
Can shut the righteous into prison’s cares,
Or set deceiving baits to mew them in;
They know their life’s deliverer, heaven’s God,
Can break their baits and snares with justice’ rod.

When vice abounds on earth, and earth in vice, 14
When virtue keeps her chamber in the sky,
To shun the mischief which her baits entice,
Her snares, her nets, her guiles, her company;
As soon as mischief reigns upon the earth,
Heaven calls the righteous to a better birth.

The blinded eyes can never see the way, 15
The blinded heart can never see to see,
The blinded soul doth always go astray;
All three want sight, in being blind all three:
Blind and yet see, they see and yet are blind,
The face hath eyes, but eyeless is the mind.

They see with outward sight God’s heavenly grace,
His grace, his love, his mercy on his saints;
With outward-facèd eye and eyèd face,
Their outward body inward soul depaints:
Of heart’s chief eye they chiefly are bereft,
And yet the shadow[s] of two eyes are left.

Some blinded be in face, and some in soul; 16
The face’s eyes are not incurable;
The other wanteth healing to be whole,
Or seems to some to be endurable;
Look in a blinded eye, bright is the glass,
Though brightness banishèd from what it was.

So, quoth the righteous, are these blinded hearts;
The outward glass is clear, the substance dark,
Both seem as if one took the other’s parts,
Yet both in one have not one brightness’ spark:
The outward eye is but destruction’s reader,
Wanting the inward eye to be the leader.

Our body may be call’d a commonweal,
Our head the chief, for reason harbours there, 17
From thence comes heart’s and soul’s united zeal;
All else inferiors be, which stand in fear:
This commonweal, rul’d by discretion’s eye,
Lives likewise if she live, dies if she die.

Then how can weal or wealth, common or proper,
Long stand, long flow, long flourish, long remain,
When wail is weal’s, and stealth is wealth’s chief
stopper,
When sight is gone, which never comes again?
The wicked see[411] the righteous lose their breath,
But know not what reward they gain by death.

Though blind in sight, yet can they see to harm, 18
See to despise, see to deride and mock;
But their revenge lies in God’s mighty arm,
Scorning to choose them for his chosen flock:
He is the shepherd, godly are his sheep,
They wake in joy, these in destruction sleep.

The godly sleep in eyes, but wake in hearts; 19
The wicked sleep in hearts, but wake in eyes:
These ever wake, eyes are no sleepy parts;
These ever sleep, for sleep is heart’s disguise:
Their waking eyes do see their heart’s lament,
While heart securely sleeps in eyes’ content.

If they awake, sleep’s image doth molest them, 20
And beats into their waking memories;
If they do sleep, joy waking doth detest them,
Yet beats into their sleeping arteries:
Sleeping or waking, they have fear on fear,
Waking or sleeping, they are ne’er the near.[412]

If waking, they remember what they are,
What sins they have committed in their waking;
If sleeping, they forget tormenting’s fare,
How ready they have been in mischief’s making:
When they awake, their wickedness betrays them;
When they do sleep, destruction dismays them.

CHAP. V.

As these two slumbers have two contraries, 1
One slumber in the face, one in the mind;
So their two casements two varieties,
One unto heaven, and one to hell combin’d:
The face is flattery, and her mansion hell;
The mind is just, this doth in heaven dwell.

The face, heaving her heavy eyelids up
From forth the chamber of eternal night,
Sees virtue hold plenty’s replenish’d cup,
And boldly stand[413] in God’s and heaven’s sight;
She, opening the windows of her breast,
Sees how the wicked rest in their unrest.

Quoth she, Those whom the curtain of decay 2
Hath tragically summonèd to pain,
Were once the clouds and clouders of my day,
Depravers and deprivers of my gain.
The wicked hearing this descending sound,
Fear struck their limbs to the pale-clothèd ground.

Amazèd at the freedom of her words, 3
Their tongue-tied accents drove them to despair,
And made them change their minds to woe’s records,
And say within themselves, Lo, what we are!
We have had virtue in derision’s place,
And made a parable of her disgrace.

See where she sits enthronis’d in the sky! 4
See, see her labour’s crown upon her head!
See how the righteous live, which erst did die,
From death to life with virtue’s loadstar led!
See those whom we derided, they are blest,
They heaven’s, not hell’s, we hell’s, not heaven’s
guest!

We thought the righteous had been fury’s son,
With inconsiderate speech, unstayèd way;
We thought that death had his dishonour won,
And would have made his life destruction’s prey:
But we were mad, they just; we fools, they wise;
We shame, they praise; we loss, they have the prize.

We thought them fools, when we ourselves were fools; 5
We thought them mad, when we ourselves were mad;
The heat which sprang from them, our folly cools;
We find in us which we but thought they had:
We thought their end had been dishonour’s pledge;
They but survey’d the place, we made the hedge.

We see how they are blest, how we are curst;
How they accepted are, and we refus’d;
And how our bands are tied, their bands are burst;
Our faults are hourly blam’d, their faults excus’d;
See how heavens gratulate their welcom’d sight,
Which come[414] to take possession of their right!

But O too late we see our wickedness, 6
Too late we lie in a repentant tomb,
Too late we smooth old hairs with happiness,
Too late we seek to ease our bodies’ doom!
Now falsehood hath advanc’d her forgèd banner,
Too late we seem to verify truth’s manner.

The sun of righteousness, which should have shin’d,
And made our hearts the cabins of his east,
Is now made cloudy night through vice’s wind,
And lodgeth with his downfall in the west;
That summer’s day, which should have been night’s bar,
Is now made winter in her icy car.

Too much our feet have gone, but never right; 7
Much labour we have took, but none in good;
We wearièd ourselves with our delight,
Endangering ourselves to please our mood;
Our feet did labour much, ’twas for our pleasure;
We wearièd ourselves,’twas for our leisure.

In sin’s perfection was our labour spent,
In wickedness’ preferment we did haste;
To suffer perils we were all content
For the advancement of our vices past:
Through many dangerous ways our feet have gone,
But yet the way of God we have not known.

We which have made our hearts a sea of pride, 8
With huge risse[415] billows of a swelling mind,
With tossing tumults of a flowing tide,
Leaving our laden bodies plung’d behind;
What traffic have we got? ourselves are drown’d,
Our souls in hell, our bodies in the ground.

Where are our riches now? like us consum’d; 9
Where is our pomp? decay’d; where’s glory? dead;
Where is the wealth of which we all presum’d?
Where is our profit? gone; ourselves? misled:
All these are like to shadows what they were;
There is nor wealth, nor pomp, nor glory here.

The dial gives a caveat of the hour; 10
Thou canst not see it go, yet it is gone;
Like this the dial of thy fortune’s power,
Which fades by stealth, till thou art left alone:
Thy eyes may well perceive thy goods are spent,
Yet can they not perceive which way they went.

Lo, even as ships sailing on Tethys’ lap
Plough[416] up the furrows of hard-grounded waves,
Enforcèd for to go by Æol’s clap,
Making with sharpest team the water graves;
The ship once past, the trace cannot be found,
Although she diggèd in the water’s ground:

Or as an eagle, with her soaring wings, 11
Scorning the dusty carpet of the earth,
Exempt from all her clogging jesses,[417] flings
Up to the air, to shew her mounting birth;
And every flight doth take a higher pitch,
To have the golden sun her wings enrich;

Yet none can see the passage of her flight,
But only hear her hovering in the sky,
Beating the light wind with her being light,
Or parting through the air where she might fly;
The ear may hear, the eye can never see
What course she takes, or where she means to be:

Or as an arrow which is made to go 12
Through the transparent and cool-blowing air,
Feeding upon the forces of the bow,
Else forceless lies in wanting her repair;
Like as the branches when the tree is lopt,
Wanteth the forces which they forceless cropt;

The arrow, being fed with strongest shot,
Doth part the lowest elemental breath,
Yet never separates the soft air’s knot,
Nor never wounds the still-foot winds to death;
It doth sejoin and join the air together,
Yet none there is can tell or where or whither:

So are our lives; now they begin, now end, 13
Now live, now die, now born, now fit for grave;
As soon as we have breath, so soon we spend,
Not having that which our content would have:
As ships, as birds, as arrows, all as one,
Even so the traces of our lives are gone:

A thing not seen to go, yet going seen,
And yet not shewing any sign to go;
Even thus the shadows of our lives have been,
Which shew[418] to fade, and yet no virtues shew:
How can a thing consum’d with vice be good?
Or how can falsehood bear true virtue’s food?

Vain hope, to think that wickedness hath bearing 14
When she is drownèd in oblivion’s sea!
Yet can she not forget presumption’s wearing,
Nor yet the badge of vanity’s decay:
Her fruits are cares, her cares are vanities,
Two both in one destruction’s liveries.

Vain hope is like a vane turn’d with each wind;
’Tis like a smoke scatter’d with every storm;
Like dust, sometime before, sometime behind;
Like a thin foam made in the vainest form:
This hope is like to them which never stay,
But comes and goes again all in one day.

View nature’s gifts; some gifts are rich, some 15
poor;
Some barren grounds there are, some cloth’d with
fruit;
Nor hath all nothing, nor hath all her store;
Nor can all creatures speak, nor are all mute;
All die by nature, being born by nature;
So all change feature, being born with feature.

This life is hers; this dead, dead is her power,
Her bound[419] begins and ends in mortal state;
Whom she on earth accounteth as her flower
May be in heaven condemn’d of mortal hate;
But he whom virtue judges for to live,
The Lord his life and due reward will give.

The servant of a king may be a king, 16
And he that was a king a servile slave;
Swans before death a funeral dirge do sing,
And wave[420] their wings again[421] ill fortune’s
wave:
He that is lowest in this lowly earth
May be the highest in celestial birth.

The rich may be unjust in being rich,
For riches do corrupt and not correct;
The poor may come to highest honour’s pitch,
And have heaven’s crown for mortal life’s respect:
God’s hands shall cover them from all their foes,
God’s arm defend them from misfortune’s blows:

His hand eternity, his arm his force, 17, 18
His armour zealousy, his breast-plate heaven,
His helmet judgment, justice, and remorse,[422]
His shield is victory’s immortal steven;[423]
The world his challenge, and his wrath his sword,
Mischief his foe, his aid his gospel’s word:

His arm doth overthrow his enemy, 19, 20
His breast-plate sin, his helmet death and hell,
His shield prepar’d against mortality,
His sword ’gainst them which in the world do dwell:
So shall vice, sin, and death, world and the devil,
Be slain by him which slayeth every evil.

All heaven shall be in arms against earth’s world; 21
The sun shall dart forth fire commix’d with blood,
The blazing stars from heaven shall be hurl’d,
The pale-fac’d moon against the ocean-flood;
Then shall the thundering chambers[424] of the sky
Be lighten’d with the blaze of Titan’s eye.

The clouds shall then be bent like bended bows,
To shoot the thundering arrows of the air;
Thick hail and stones shall fall on heaven’s foes,
And Tethys overflow in her despair;
The moon shall overfill her horny hood
With Neptune’s ocean’s overflowing flood.

The wind shall be no longer kept in caves, 22
But burst the iron cages of the clouds;
And Æol shall resign his office-staves,
Suffering the winds to combat with the floods:
So shall the earth with seas be palèd in,
As erst it hath been overflow’d with sin.

Thus shall the earth weep for her wicked sons,
And curse the concave of her tirèd womb,
Into whose hollow mouth the water runs,
Making wet wilderness her driest tomb;
Thus, thus iniquity hath reign’d so long,
That earth on earth is punish’d for her wrong.

CHAP. VI.

After this conflict between God and man, 1
Remorse[425] took harbour in God’s angry breast;
Astræa to be pitiful began,
All heavenly powers to lie in mercy’s rest;
Forthwith the voice of God did redescend,
And his Astræa warn’d all to amend.

To you I speak, quoth she; hear, learn, and mark, 2
You that be kings, judges, and potentates,
Give ear, I say; wisdom, your strongest ark,
Sends me as messenger to end debates;
Give ear, I say, you judges of the earth,
Wisdom is born, seek out for wisdom’s birth.

This heavenly embassage from wisdom’s tongue, 3
Worthy the volume of all heaven’s sky,
I bring as messenger to right your wrong;
If so, her sacred name might never die:
I bring you happy tidings; she is born,
Like golden sunbeams from a silver morn.

The Lord hath seated you in judgment’s seat,
Let wisdom place you in discretion’s places;
Two virtues, one will make one virtue great,
And draw more virtues with attractive faces:
Be just and wise, for God is just and wise;
He thoughts, he words, he words and actions tries.

If you neglect your office’s decrees, 4
Heap new lament on long-toss’d miseries,
Do and undo by reason of degrees,
And drown your sentences in briberies,
Favour and punish, spare and keep in awe,
Set and unset, plant and supplant the law;

O be assur’d there is a judge above, 5
Which will not let injustice flourish long;
If tempt him, you your own temptation move,
Proceeding from the judgment of his tongue:
Hard judgment shall he have which judgeth hard,
And he that barreth others shall be barr’d.

For God hath no respect of rich from poor, 6
For he hath made the poor and made the rich;
Their bodies be alike, though their minds soar,
Their difference nought but in presumption’s pitch:
The carcass of a king is kept from foul,
The beggar yet may have the cleaner soul.

The highest men do bear the highest minds;
The cedars scorn to bow, the mushrooms bend;
The highest often superstition blinds,
But yet their fall is greatest in the end;
The winds have not such power of the grass,
Because it lowly stoopeth whenas they pass.

The old should teach the young observance’ way, 7
But now the young doth teach the elder grace;
The shrubs do teach the cedars to obey,
These yield to winds, but these the winds out-face:
Yet he that made the winds to cease and blow,
Can make the highest fall, the lowest grow.

He made the great to stoop as well as small, 8
The lions to obey as other beasts;
He cares for all alike, yet cares for all,
And looks that all should answer his behests;
But yet the greater hath the sorer trial,
If once he finds them with his law’s denial.

Be warn’d, you tyrants, at the fall of pride; 9
You see how surges change to quiet calm,
You see both flow and ebb in folly’s tide,
How fingers are infected by their palm:
This may your caveat be, you being kings,
Infect your subjects, which are lesser things.

Ill scents of vice once crept into the head
Do[426] pierce into the chamber of the brain,
Making the outward skin disease’s bed,
The inward powers as nourishers of pain;
So if that mischief reigns in wisdom’s place,
The inward thought lies figur’d in the face.

Wisdom should clothe herself in king’s attire, 10
Being the portraiture of heaven’s queen;
But tyrants are no kings, but mischief’s mire,
Not sage, but shows of what they should have been;
They seek for vice, and how to go amiss,
But do not once regard what wisdom is.

They which are kings by name are kings by deed,
Both rulers of themselves and of their land;
They know that heaven is virtue’s duest meed,
And holiness is knit in holy band:
These may be rightly callèd by their name,
Whose words and works are blaz’d in wisdom’s flame.

To nurse up cruelty with mild aspèct, 11
Were to begin, but never for to end;
Kindness with tigers never takes effect,
Nor proffer’d friendship with a foelike friend:
Tyrants and tigers have all natural mothers,
Tyrants her sons, tigers the tyrants’ brothers.

No words’ delight can move delight in them,
But rather plough the traces of their ire;
Like swine, that take the dirt before the gem,
And scorn[427] that pearl which they should most
desire:
But kings whose names proceed from kindness’ sound
Do plant their hearts and thoughts on wisdom’s ground.

A grounding ever moist, and never dry, 12
An ever-fruitful earth, no fruitless way,
In whose dear womb the tender springs do lie,
Which ever flow and never ebb[428] away;
The sun but shines by day, she day and night
Doth keep one stayèd essence of her light.

Her beams are conducts to her substance’ view, 13
Her eye is adamant’s attractive force;
A shadow hath she none, but substance true,
Substance outliving life of mortal course:
Her sight is easy unto them which love her,
Her finding easy unto them which prove her.

The far-fet[429] chastity of female sex 14
Is nothing but allurement into lust,
Which will forswear and take, scorn and annex,
Deny and practise it, mistrust and trust:
Wisdom is chaste, and of another kind;
She loves, she likes, and yet not lustful blind.

She is true love, the other love a toy;
Her love hath eyes, the other love is blind;
This doth proceed from God, this from a boy;
This constant is, the other vain-combin’d:
If longing passions follow her desire,
She offereth herself as labour’s hire.

She is not coyish she, won by delay, 15
With sighs and passions, which all lovers use,
With hot affection, death, or life’s decay,
With lovers’ toys, which might their loves excuse:
Wisdom is poor, her dowry is content;
She nothing hath, because she nothing spent.

She is not woo’d to love, nor won by wooing;
Nor got by labour, nor possess’d by pain;
The gain of her consists in honest doing;
Her gain is great in that she hath no gain:
He that betimes follows repentance’ way
Shall meet with her his virtue’s worthy pay.

To think upon her is to think of bliss, 16
The very thought of her is mischief’s bar,
Depeller of misdeeds which do amiss,
The blot of vanity, misfortune’s scar:
Who would not think, to reap such gain by thought?
Who would not love, when such a life is bought?

If thought be understanding, what is she?
The full perfection of a perfect power,
A heavenly branch from God’s immortal tree,
Which death, nor hell, nor mischief can devour:
Herself is wisdom, and her thought is so;
Thrice happy he which doth desire to know!

She man-like woos, men women-like refuses; 17
She offers love, they offer’d love deny,
And hold her promises as love’s abuses,
Because she pleads with an indifferent eye;
They think that she is light, vain, and unjust,
When she doth plead for love, and not for lust.

Hard-hearted men, quoth she, can you not love?
Behold my substance, cannot substance please?
Behold my feature, cannot feature move?
Can substance nor my feature help or ease?
See heaven’s joy defigur’d in my face,
Can neither heaven nor joy turn you to grace?

O, how desire sways her pleading tongue, 18
Her tongue her heart, her heart her soul’s affection!
Fain would she make mortality be strong,
But mortal weakness yields rejection:
Her care is care of them, they careless are;
Her love loves them, they neither love nor care.

Fain would she make them clients in her law, 19
Whose law’s assurance is immortal honour;
But them nor words, nor love, nor care can awe,
But still will fight under destruction’s bonner:[430]
Though immortality be their reward,
Yet neither words nor deeds will they regard.

Her tongue is hoarse with pleading, yet doth plead, 20
Pleading for that which they should all desire;
Their appetite is heavy, made of lead,
And lead can never melt without a fire:
Her words are mild, and cannot raise a heat,
Whilst they with hard repulse her speeches beat.

Requested they, for what they should request;
Entreated they, for what they should entreat;
Requested to enjoy their quiet rest,
Entreated like a sullen bird to eat;
Their eyes behold joy’s maker which doth make it,
Yet must they be entreated for to take it.

You whose delight is plac’d in honour’s game, 21
Whose game in majesty’s imperial throne,
Majestic portraitures of earthly fame,
Relievers of the poor in age’s moan;
If your content be seated on a crown,
Love wisdom, and your state shall never down.

Her crowns are not as earthly diadems,
But diapasons of eternal rest;
Her essence comes not from terrestrial stems,
But planted on the heaven’s immortal breast:
If you delight in sceptres and in reigning,
Delight in her, your crown’s immortal gaining.

Although the shadow[431] of her glorious view 22
Hath been as accessary to your eyes,
Now will I shew you the true substance’ hue,
And what she is, which without knowledge lies;
From whence she is deriv’d, whence her descent,
And whence the lineage of her birth is lent:

Now will I shew the sky, and not the cloud;
The sun, and not the shade; day, not the night;
Tethys herself, not Tethys in her flood;
Light, and not shadow of suppressing light;
Wisdom herself, true type of wisdom’s grace,
Shall be apparent before heart and face.

Had I still fed you with the shade of life, 23
And hid the sun itself in envy’s air,
Myself might well be callèd nature’s strife,
Striving to cloud that which all clouds impair;
But envy, haste thee hence! I loathe thy eye,
Thy love, thy life, thyself, thy company.

Here is the banner of discretion’s name,
Advanc’d on wisdom’s ever-standing tower;
Here is no place for envy or her shame,
For Nemesis, or black Megæra’s power:
He that is envious is not wisdom’s friend;
She ever lives, he dies when envies end.

Happy, thrice-happy land, where wisdom reigns! 24
Happy, thrice-happy king, whom wisdom sways!
Where never poor laments, or soul[432] complains,
Where folly never keeps discretion’s ways;
That land, that king doth flourish, live, and joy,
Far from ill-fortune’s reach or sin’s annoy.

That land is happy, that king fortunate, 25
She in her days, he in his wisdom’s force;
For fortitude is wisdom’s sociate,
And wisdom truest fortitude’s remorse:
Be therefore rul’d by wisdom, she is chief,
That you may rule in joy, and not in grief.

CHAP. VII.

What am I? man; O what is man? O nought! 1
What, am I nought? yes; what? sin and debate:
Three vices all in one, of one life bought:
Man am I not; what then? I am man’s hate:
Yes, man I am; man, because mortal, dead;
Mortality my guide, by mischief led.

Man, because like to man, man, because born;
In birth no man, a child, child, because weak;
Weak, because weaken’d by ill-fortune’s scorn;
Scorn’d, because mortal, mortal, in wrong’s wreak:
My father, like myself, did live on earth;
I, like myself and him, follow his birth.

My mother’s matrice was my body’s maker, 2
There had I this same shape of infamies;
Shape? ah, no shape, but substance mischief’s taker!
In ten months’ fashion; months? ah, miseries!
The shame of shape, the very shape of shame;
Calamity myself, lament my name.

I was conceiv’d with seed, deceiv’d with sin;
Deceiv’d, because my seed was sin’s deceit;
My seed deceit, because it clos’d me in,
Hemm’d me about, for sin’s and mischief’s bait:
The seed of man did bring me into blood,
And now I bring myself, in what? no good.

When I was born, when I was, then I was; 3
Born? when? yet born I was, but now I bear,
Bear mine own vices, which my joys surpass,
Bear mine own burden full of mischief’s fear:
When I was born, I did not bear lament;
But now unborn, I bear what birth hath spent.

When I was born, my breath was born to me,
The common air which airs my body’s form;
Then fell I on the earth with feeble knee,
Lamenting for my life’s ill-fortune’s storm;
Making myself the index of my woe,
Commencing what I could, ere I could go.

Fed was I with lament, as well as meat; 4
My milk was sweet, but tears did make it sour;
Meat and lament, milk and my tears I eat,
As bitter herbs commix’d with sweetest flower;
Care was my swaddling clothes, as well as cloth,
For I was swaddled[433] and cloth’d in both.

Why do I make myself more than I am? 5
Why say I, I am nourishèd with cares,
When every one is clothèd with the same,
Sith[434] as I fare myself, another fares?
No king hath any other birth than I,
But wail’d his fortune with a watery eye.

Say, what is mirth? an entrance unto woe; 6
Say, what is woe? an entrance unto mirth;
That which begins with joy doth not end so,
These go by change, because a changing birth:
Our birth is as our death, both barren, bare;
Our entrance wail, our going out with care.

Naked we came into the world, as naked,
We had not wealth nor riches to possess;
Now differ we, which difference riches maked,
Yet in the end we naked ne’ertheless;
As our beginning is, so is our end,
Naked and poor, which needs no wealth to spend.

Thus weighing in the balance of my mind 7
My state, all states, my birth, all births alike,
My meditated passions could not find
One freèd thought which sorrow did not strike;
But knowing every ill is cur’d by prayer,
My mind besought the Lord, my grief’s allayer.

Wherefore I pray’d; my prayer took effect,
And my effect was good, my good was gain;
My gain was sacred wisdom’s bright aspèct,
And her aspèct in my respect did reign;
Wisdom, that heavenly spirit of content,
Was unto me from heaven by prayer sent:

A present far more worthy than a crown, 8
Because the crown of an eternal rest;
A present far more worthy than a throne,
Because the throne of heaven, which makes us blest;
The crown of bliss, the throne of God is she;
Comparèd unto heaven, not, earth, to thee.

Her footstool is thy face, her face thy shame;
Thy shame her living praise, her praise thy scorn;
Thy scorn her love, her love thy merit’s blame;
Thy blame her worth, her worth thy being born:
Thyself art dross to her comparison;
Thy valour weak unto her garrison.

To liken gold unto her radiant face, 9
Were likening day to night, and night to day,
The king’s high seat to the low subject’s place,
And heaven’s translucent breast to earthly way:
For what is gold? her scorn; her scorn? her ire;
Melting that dross with nought but anger’s fire.

In her respect ’tis dust, in her aspècts
Earth, in respect of her ’tis little gravel;
As dust, as earth, as gravel she rejects
The hope, the gain, the sight, the price, the travel;
Silver, because inferior to the other,
Is clay, which two she in one look doth smother.

Her sight I callèd health, herself my beauty; 10
Health as my life, and beauty as my light;
Each in performance of the other’s duty,
This curing grief, this leading me aright;
Two sovereign eyes, belonging to two places,
This guides the soul, and this the body graces.

The heart-sick soul is cur’d by heart-strong health,
The heart-strong health is the soul’s brightest eye,
The heart-sick body heal’d by beauty’s wealth;
Two sunny windolets of either’s sky,
Whose beams cannot be clouded by reproach,
Nor yet dismounted from so bright a coach.

What dowry could I wish more than I have? 11
What wealth, what honour, more than I possess?
My soul’s request is mine, which I did crave;
For sole redress in soul I have redress:
The bodily expenses which I spend,
Are[435] lent by her which my delight doth lend.

Then I may call her author of my good,
Sith[436] good and goods are portions for my love;
I love her well; who would not love his food,
His joy’s maintainer, which all woes remove?
I richest am, because I do possess her;
I strongest am, in that none can oppress her.

It made me glad to think that I was rich, 12
More gladder for to think that I was strong;
For lowest minds do covet highest pitch,
As highest braves proceed from lowest tongue:
Her first arrival first did make me glad,
Yet ignorant at first, first made me sad.

Joyful I was, because I saw her power,
Woeful I was, because I knew her not;
Glad that her face was in mine eyes’-lock’d bower,
Sad that my senses never drew her plot:
I knew not that she was discretion’s mother,
Though I profess’d myself to be her brother.

Like a rash wooer feeding on the looks, 13
Disgesting[437] beauty, apparition’s shew,
Viewing the painted outside of the books,
And inward works little regards to know;
So I, feeding my fancies with her sight,
Forgot to make inquiry of her might.

External powers I knew, riches I had,
Internal powers I scarcely had discern’d;
Unfeignedly I learnèd to be glad,
Feigning I hated, verity I learn’d:
I was not envious-learnèd to forsake her,
But I was loving-learnèd for to take her.

And had I not, my treasure had been lost, 14
My loss my peril’s hazard had proclaim’d,
My peril had my life’s destruction tost,
My life’s destruction at my soul had aim’d:
Great perils hazarded from one poor loss,
As greatest filth doth come with smallest dross.

This righteous treasure whoso rightly useth,
Shall be an heir in heaven’s eternity;
All earthly fruits her heritage excuseth,
All happiness in her felicity:
The love of God consists in her embracing,
The gifts of knowledge in her wisdom’s placing.

I speak as I am prompted by my mind, 15
My soul’s chief agent, pleader of my cause;
I speak these things, and what I speak I find,
By heaven’s judgment, not mine own applause:
God he is judge; I next, because I have her;
God he doth know; I next, because I crave her.