Still on went I; first, an sit anima;
Then, an it were mortal. O hold, hold; at that
They're at brain-buffets, fell by the ears amain
Pell-mell together: still my spaniel slept.
Then, whether 'twere corporeal, local, fixt,
Ex traduce, but whether 't had free will
Or no, hot Philosophers
Stood banding factions, all so strongly propt,
I stagger'd, knew not which was firmer part,
But thought, quoted, read, observ'd, and pryed,
Stufft noting-books: and still my spaniel slept.
At length he wak'd, and yawn'd; and by yon sky,
For ought I know he knew as much as I.
Preparations for Second Nuptials.
Now is Albano's 36 mariage-bed new hung
With fresh rich curtains, now are my valence up,
Imbost with orient pearl, my grandsire's gift,
Now are the lawn sheets fum'd with violets
To fresh the pall'd lascivious appetite,
Now work the cooks, the pastry sweats with slaves,
The march-panes glitter, now now the musicians
Hover with nimble sticks o'er squeaking crowds, 37
Tickling the dried guts of a mewing cat :
The taylors, starchers, semsters, butchers, poulterers,
Mercers, all, all- -none think on me.
36 Albano, the first husband, speaks; supposed dead.
37 Fiddles.
A TRAGEDY. BY GEORGE CHAPMAN.
Imperial Cæsar, at your sacred charge
I drew a milk white ox into the Temple,
And turning there his face into the East
(Fearfully shaking at the shining light)
Down fell his horned forehead to his hoof.
When I began to greet him with the stroke
That should prepare him for the holy rites,
With hideous roars he laid out such a throat
As made the secret lurkings of the God
To answer Echo-like in threat'ning sounds;
I struck again at him, and then he slept ;
His life-blood boiling out at every wound
In streams as clear as any liquid ruby.
the beast cut up, and laid on the altar,
His limbs were all lickt up with instant flames;
Not like the elemental fire that burns
In household uses, lamely struggling up,
This way and that way winding as it rises,
But right and upright reacht his proper sphere
Where burns the fire eternal and sincere.
Joys unexpected, and in desperate plight,
Are still most sweet, and prove from whence they come;
When earth's still moon-like confidence in joy
Is at her full: True Joy descending far
From past her sphere, and from that highest heaven
That moves and is not moved.
Inward Help the best Help.
On others' legs, nor build one joy without me.
If ever I be worth a house again,
I'll build all inward: not a light shall ope
The common out-way: no expence, no art,
No ornament, no door, will I use there;
But raise all plain and rudely like a rampire,
Against the false society of men,
All reason piece-meal; and, for earthly greatness
All heavenly comforts rarifies to air.
I'll therefore live in dark; and all my light,
Like ancient Temples, let in at my top.
That were to turn one's back to all the world,
And only look at heaven.
When our diseas'd affections
Harmful to human freedom, and storm-like
Inferring darkness to th' infected mind,
Oppress our comforts: 'tis but letting in
The light of reason, and a purer spirit
Take in another way; like rooms that fight
With windows 'gainst the wind, yet let in light.
BUSSY D'AMBOIS, A TRAGEDY; BY GEORGE
A Nuntius (or Messenger) in the presence of King Henry the Third of France and his court tells the manner of a combat, to which he was witness, of three to three; in which D'Ambois remained sole survivor: begun upon an affront passed upon D'Ambois by some courtiers.
HENRY, GUISE, BEAUPRE, NUNTIUS, &c.
Nuntius. I saw fierce D'Ambois and his two brave friends
Enter the field, and at their heels their foes,
Which were the famous soldiers, Barrisor,
L'Anou, and Pyrrhot, great in deeds of arms:
All which arriv'd at the evenest piece of earth
The field afforded, the three challengers
Turn'd head, drew all their rapiers, and stood rank'd;
When face to face the three defendants met them,
Alike prepar'd, and resolute alike.
Like bonfires of contributory wood
Every man's look shew'd, fed with other's spirit;
As one had been a mirror to another,
Like forms of life and death each took from other:
And so were life and death mix'd at their heights,
That you could see no fear of death (for life)
Nor love of life (for death): but in their brows
Pyrrho's opinion in great letters shone ;
That "life and death in all respects are one."
Henry. Past there no sort of words at their encounter?
Nuntius. As Hector twixt the hosts of Greece and Troy,
When Paris and the Spartan king should end
The nine years war, held up his brazen lance
For signal that both hosts should cease from arms,
And hear him speak; so Barrisor (advis'd)
Advanc'd his naked rapier 'twixt both sides,
Ript up the quarrel, and compar'd six lives
Then laid in balance with six idle words;
Offer'd remission and contrition too:
Or else that he and D'Ambois might conclude
The others' dangers. D'Ambois lik'd the last:
But Barrisor's friends, (being equally engag'd
In the main quarrel) never would expose
His life alone to that they all deserv'd.
And (for the other offer of remission)
D'Ambois (that like a laurel put in fire.
Sparkled and spit) did much much more than scorn
That his wrong should incense him so like chaff
To go so soon out, and, like lighted paper,
Approve his spirit at once both fire and ashes:
So drew they lots, and in them fates appointed
That Barrisor should fight with fiery D'Ambois;
Pyrrhot with Melynell; with Brisac L'Anou:
And then like flame and powder they commixt,
So spritely, that I wish'd they had been Spirits;
That the ne'er-shutting wounds, they needs must open,
Might as they open'd shut, and never kill.37
But D'Ambois' sword (that lightned as it flew)
Shot like a pointed comet at the face
Of manly Barrisor; and there it stuck:
Thrice pluck'd he at it, and thrice drew on thrusts
From him, that of himself was free as fire;
Who thrust still, as he pluck'd, yet (past belief)
He with his subtil eye, hand, body, 'scap'd;
At last the deadly bitten point tugg'd off,
On fell his yet undaunted foe so fiercely
That (only made more horrid with his wound)
Great D'Ambois shrunk, and gave a little ground:
But soon return'd, redoubled in his danger,
And at the heart of Barrisor seal'd his anger.
Then, as in Arden I have seen an oak
37 One can hardly believe but that these lines were written after
Milton had described his warring angels.
|