Author: liza.blake

The head of man just like a hive is made;
The brain is like a comb² exactly laid,
Where every thought, just like a bee, doth dwell,
Each by itself within a parted cell.
The soul doth govern all, as doth their³ king,                        5
Employs each thought⁴ upon each several thing.
Just as the⁵ bees swarm in the hottest weather,
In great round heaps they do hang all together,⁶
As if for counsel wise they all did meet,⁷
For when they fly away, new hives they seek.⁸                     10
So Men, when they have any great design,
Their thoughts do gather and⁹ in heaps combine.¹⁰
But when they are resolved,¹¹ each one takes flight,
And strives¹² which first shall on desire¹³ light.
Thus¹⁴ thoughts do meet¹⁵ and fly about, till they               15
For their subsistence can find out a way.
But doubting thoughts, like drones, live on the rest
Of hoping¹⁶ thoughts, which honey bring to nest.
For like as bees by their sting’s industry¹⁷
Get¹⁸ honey, which the stingless drones live by,¹⁹                20
So men without ambition’s stings do live
Upon th’industrious stock their fathers give.
Or like to such that steals a²⁰ poet’s wit,
And dress it up in their²¹ own language fit.
But fancy into every garden flies,                                            25
And sucks the flowers sweet of²² lips and eyes.
But if they light²³ on those that are not fair,
Like bees on herbs that dry and withered are.²⁴
As²⁵ purest honey on sweet flowers lies,
So finest fancies from young beauties rise.                           30

If thoughts be the mind’s creatures, as some say,
Then, like the rest,¹ they on each other² prey,
Ambitious thoughts, like to a hawk, fly high,
In circles of desires mount the³ sky.
And when a covey of young hopes up springs,⁴                             5
They strive to catch them with their swiftest wings.⁵
Thus as the hawk on partridges doth⁶ eat,
So hopeful thoughts are for ambitions⁷ meat.
Thoughts of self love do swim in self conceit.
Imaginary thoughts of⁸ praises bait,⁹                                               10
Which baits¹⁰ the thoughts of pride do catch and¹¹ eat,
Thinking it high and most¹² delicious meat.
Thoughts of revenge are like to lions strong,
Which whet the appetite with thoughts of wrong.
With subtle thoughts they couch and leap for prey,¹³                   15
But bloody thoughts carry the flesh away.¹⁴
The¹⁵ spiteful thoughts, like cats which¹⁶ mice do catch,
At each¹⁷ corner of imperfections watch.
When spite perceives detracting thoughts to¹⁸ speak,
It straight leaps on, no other meat doth seek.                                 20
Suspicious thoughts like hounds do hunt about
To find and eat the hare¹⁹ of timorous doubt.
Observing thoughts do smell²⁰ which way to trace,
And hateful thoughts do follow close the chase.
But thoughts of patience like to dormice live,                                 25
Eat little: sleep them²¹ nourishment doth give.
And when they feed, they thoughts of sorrows crack,²²
Which nuts being²³ hard, their²⁴ teeth against them knack.²⁵
But²⁶ grateful thoughts on thoughts of thanks do feed,²⁷
And, by their industry, like ants they speed.²⁸                                30
But thoughts of love do live on several meat,
Of hopes, and fears, and jealousies they²⁹ eat,
And³⁰ like as bees do fly on several flowers³¹
To suck out honey,³² so thoughts do of lovers.³³

Some fancies, like small gnats, buzz in the brain,
And² by the hand of worldly cares are slain.
But they do sting so sore the poet’s head,
His mind is blistered, and his³ thoughts turn⁴ red.
Nought can take out this⁵ burning heat and pain            5
But pen and ink, to write on paper plain.
Then⁶ take the oil of fame, and ’noint⁷ the mind,
And this will⁸ be a perfect cure, you’ll find.

The spider’s housewif’ry no webs doth spin
To make her cloth, but ropes to hang flies in.
Her bowels are the shop where flax is found;
Her body is the wheel that goeth round.
A wall her² distaff, where she sticks thread on;³                       5
The fingers are the feet that pull it long.⁴
She’s busy at all times, not idle lies;⁵
A house she builds with nets to catch the flies.⁶
Though it be not so strong as brick and stone,
Yet strong enough to bear light bodies on.                                  10
Within this house the female spider lies,
The whilst the male doth hunt abroad for flies.
Ne’er leaving⁷ till he⁸ flies gets in, which are⁹
Entangled¹⁰ soon¹¹ within his subtle snare,
Like treacherous hosts,¹² which do¹³ much welcome make   15
Their guests, yet watch how they their lives¹⁴ may take.

I am the purest of all Nature’s works;
No dross nor sluggish moisture in me lurks.
I am within the bowels of the Earth;
None knows of what, or whence, I took my birth.
And as the sun, I shine in glory bright;                                   5
Only I want his beams to make a light.
And as the sun is chief of planets high,
So on the Earth the chiefest thing am I.
And as the sun rules there as lord and king,
So on the Earth I govern everything.                                      10
And as the sun doth run about the world,
So I about from man to man am¹ hurled.

Nature most pleasure doth to poets give,
If pleasure¹ in variety doth² live.
Each sense of theirs³ by fancy new is fed,
Which fancy in a torrent brain is bred.
Contrary ’tis⁴ to all that’s born on Earth,                                    5
For fancy is delighted most at’s birth.
Whatever else⁵ is born with pain comes forth,⁶
Hath neither beauty, strength, nor perfect growth.⁷
But fancy needs not time to make it grow;⁸
The brain’s⁹ like gods, from whence all things do flow.         10

A garden they’ve, which¹⁰ Paradise we call,¹¹
Forbidden fruits, which tempt young lovers all,
Grow on the trees,¹² which in the midst doth stand,¹³
Beauty on one, desire on th’other hand.¹⁴
The devil,¹⁵ self conceit, full¹⁶ craftily                                       15
Doth¹⁷ take the serpent’s shape of flattery,
For to deceive the female sex thereby,
Which made is¹⁸ only of inconstancy.
The male, high credence, to the female sex¹⁹
Yields fondly anything which they do²⁰ ask.                            20
Two rivers round this garden run about;
The one is confidence, the other doubt.
Every²¹ bank is set with fancy’s flowers;
Wit raines upon them fine refreshing showers.
Truth is the lord and owner²² of this place,                              25
But ignorance this garden out will²³ raze.

Then, from this garden,²⁴ to a forest goes,²⁵
Where many cedars of high knowledge grow,²⁶
Oaks of strong judgment, hazel wits²⁷—which tree
Bears nuts full of conceits, when cracked they be—              30
And smooth-tongued beech; kind-hearted willow²⁸ bows
And yields to all that honesty allows.
Here²⁹ birds of eloquence do sit and sing,
Build nests of logic, reasons forth to bring.³⁰
Some birds of sophistry till hatched there lie;                         35
Winged with false principles, away they fly.
Here doth³¹ the poet hawk, hunt, run³² a race,
Until he weary grows, then leaves this place.

Then³³ goes a-fishing to a river’s side,
Whose water clear doth flow with fancy’s tide;³⁴                   40
Angles with wit to catch the fish of fame,
To feed his mem’ry³⁵ and preserve his name.
Ships of ambition he builds,³⁶ swift and strong;
Sails of imaginations drive ’em along,³⁷
With winds of several praises fills them³⁸ full,                       45
Swims³⁹ on the salt sea brain,⁴⁰ round the world’s skull.
The thoughts are mariners which, that they may⁴¹
’Scape shipwrecks of dislike, work night and day.⁴²
Some⁴³ ships are cast⁴⁴ upon the sands of spite,
And rocks of malice sometimes split them quite.                   50
But merchant poets, whose shipmaster’s⁴⁵ mind,
Do compass take some unknown land to find.

The head of man’s a church, where reason preaches,
Directs the life, and every thought it teaches,
Persuades the mind to live in peace and quiet,
And not in fruitless contemplation’s² riot.
“For why,” says Reason, “you shall damnèd be                 5
From all content, for curiosity;³
To seek about for what⁴ you cannot find
Will⁵ be a torment to a restless mind.”

’Tis strange men think so vain, and seem so sage,
And act so foolish in this latter¹ age.
Their brains are always working some design,
Which plots they dig, as miners in a² mine.
Fancies are min’rals, and³ the mine’s⁴ the head,                5
Some gold, some⁵ silver, iron, tin, some⁶ lead.
The furnace which ’tis melted in is great,
And motion quick doth give⁷ a glowing heat.
The mouth’s the gutter where the ore doth run;⁸
The hammer which the bars do beat’s⁹ the tongue.          10
The ear’s the forge to shape and form it out,
And several merchants send it all about.
And as the metal’s worth, the price is set;
Scholars, which are the buyers, most¹⁰ do get.
On gold and silver, which are fancies fine,                         15
Are poets stamped, as masters of that coin.
Hard iron of strong judgment’s¹¹ fit for use
In¹² peace or war, to join up errors loose.
Though lead is dull, yet often use¹³ is made,
Like to translators in every language¹⁴ trade.                    20
Tin is but¹⁵ weak, and of small strength we see,
Yet, joined with silver wits, ’t makes¹⁶ alchemy.
Half-witted men joined with strong wits might¹⁷ grow
To be of use, and make a glist’ring show.