Author: liza.blake

¹
The tongue’s a wheel, to spin words from the mind,
A thread of sense by th’understanding’s twined;²
The lips, a loom, these words of sense to weave³
Into discourse, which to the ears they leave.⁴
This cloth i’th’chest of memory’s laid up,⁵                           5
Till into shirts of judgments it⁶ be cut.

¹
The brain a garden seems, full of delight,²
Whereon³ the sun of knowledge shineth bright,
Where fancy flows, and runs in bubbling streams,
Where flowers grow⁴ upon the banks of dreams,
Whereon the dew of sleepy eyes doth fall,                            5
Bathing each leaf, and every flower small.
There⁵ various thoughts as several flowers grow:
Some milk-white innocence, as⁶ lilies, show,
Fancies, as painted tulips’⁷ colors fixt,
By Nature’s pencil neatly⁸ intermixt;                                      10
Some as sweet roses, which are newly blown,
Others as tender buds, not yet full⁹ grown;
Some, as small violets, much¹⁰ sweetness bring.
Thus many fancies from the brain still spring.
Their wit, as butterflies, hot love¹¹ do make,                        15
On every flower fine their pleasure take,¹²
Dancing¹³ about each leaf in pleasant sort,
Passing¹⁴ their time away in amorous sport.
Like Cupids young, their painted wings display,
And with Apollo’s golden beams do¹⁵ play.                            20
Industrious pains¹⁶, as¹⁷ bees, suck out the sweet,
Wax of invention gather¹⁸ with their feet.
Then on the¹⁹ wings of fame fly to their hive,
Which from the wint’r of²⁰ death keeps them alive.
There birds of poetry sweet notes still sing,                          25
Which through the world, as through the air, do²¹ ring,
And on the branches of delight they²² sit,
Pruning their wings, which are with study wet,
Then to the cedars of high honor fly,
Yet rest not there, but mount up to the sky.                           30

¹

The heart unto² a harp compare I may,
The passions,³ strings on which the mind doth play.
’Tis⁴ harmony, when they just time do keep;
With notes of peace they bring the soul to sleep.

The head unto an organ I compare,                                         5
The thoughts, as several pipes, make music there.
Imagination’s bellows drawn, do⁵ blow
Windy opinions, which the thoughts make⁶ go.
The little virg’nal⁷ jacks which skip about
Are several fancies that run in and out.                                  10

The tongue’s a lute, strung with the strings of breath.⁸
The words as fingers play; the pegs are teeth.⁹
These moving all, a sweet soft music make,
Wise sentences the ground¹⁰ of music take.
Witty light airs are pleasant to the ear;                                    15
Strains of description all delight¹¹ to hear.
In similizing quavers¹² lies great art,
Flour’shes¹³ of eloquence are a¹⁴ sweet part.
Stops of reproof are usèd with great¹⁵ skill;
Flatt’ring division doth the mind please¹⁶ still.                      20
The thoughts are several tunes, which they do¹⁷ play,
And thus the mind doth pass its time away.

¹
No music’s better than the winds do² make,
If all their several notes right places take:
The full, the half, the quarter-note they³ set;
The tenor, bass, and treble there are met.⁴
The northern wind a strong big bass⁵ doth sing;               5
The east is sweet, like a⁶ small treble string;
The south and west the tenor’s parts do take,⁷
And so, all joined, a fine sweet consort make.⁸
All that this music meets, it moves to dance,
If bodies yielding be with compliance.⁹                               10
The clouds do dance in circle, hand in hand,
Where in¹⁰ the midst¹¹ the worldly ball doth stand.
The seas do dance with ships upon their back,
Where, cap’ring¹² high, they many times do wrack,
As men which venture on the ropes to dance                     15
Oft tumble down, if they too high advance.
But dust,¹³ like country clowns, no measure keep,
But rudely run¹⁴ together on a heap.
Trees grave and civil first bow down¹⁵ their head
Towards the Earth, then every leaf outspread,¹⁶                20
And every twig each other will salute;
Embracing oft, they¹⁷ kiss each other’s root.
And so each other plant and flower¹⁸ gay
Will sweetly dance when as¹⁹ the winds do play.
But when they’re out of tune, they discord make,              25
Disorder all—nothing its²⁰ place can take.
But when Apollo with his beams²¹ doth play,
He²² places all again in the right way.

¹

A painter who would² draw the firmament
Did with a round plump face the same³ present.
His pencils were the beams shot from fair eyes,
Where some of them he in red blushes dyes,
Which as the morning, when the heaven’s⁴ clear,              5
Shows⁵ just so red before the sun appear.
The veins he draws for a blue azure⁶ sky,
And for the sun, a great and fair⁷ grey eye.
The rainbow like a brow he pencils⁸ out,
Which circles half a weeping eye about.                               10
From pure pale complexions, takes⁹ a white,
Mixed with a count’nance¹⁰ sad, he shades the¹¹ night.
Thus Heav’n he doth with such¹² a face present,
That¹³ is adorned with beauty excellent.

Great Nature doth by¹ variations live,²
For she to none a constant course doth give.³
We find in change she swiftly runs about,
To keep her health and get⁴ long life (no doubt).
And we are only food for Nature fine,⁵                                   5
Our flesh her meat, our blood is her strong wine.⁶
The trees and herbs, fruits, roots, and flowers sweet,
Are but her salads, or such cooling meat.
The sea’s her bath to wash and cleanse her in
When weary she hath on a⁷ journey been.                            10
The sun’s her fire, which⁸ serves her many ways,
His lights⁹ her looking-glass, and beauties¹⁰ praise.
The winds,¹¹ her horses, pace as she doth¹² please,
The clouds her chariot where she sits with¹³ ease.
The Earth’s her ball, which she oft¹⁴ trundles round;         15
She in this¹⁵ exercise much good hath found.
Night is her bed, her rest therein to take;
Silence doth watch¹⁶ lest noise might her awake.
The spheres her music, and the Milky Way
Is where she dances whilst those spheres do play.              20

Nature did of great rocks and mountains build¹
A city, with all sorts of creatures filled.²
The citizens are worms, which seldom stir,³
But sit within their shops and sell their ware.
The moles are magistrates, who undermine⁴                       5
Each one’s estate, that they their wealth may find,⁵
And with⁶ extortions they⁷ high houses make,⁸
Called mole-hills, wherein they pleasure take.⁹
The lazy dormouse in her house¹⁰ doth keep—
The gentry, which doth¹¹ eat, and drink, and sleep—         10
Unless it be to hunt about for nuts,
Wherein the sport is still to fill their guts.
The peasant ants with their industrious feet¹²
Provisions get, made by hard labors sweet.¹³
They dig, they draw, they plow, and reap with care,           15
And what they get they to their barns do bear.
But after all their husbandry and pains,
Extortion comes and eats up all their gains.
All sorts of bugs, as several merchants, do¹⁴
In all things trade, and each place travel to.¹⁵                      20
But vapors, they are artisans with skill,
And make strong winds to send which way they will.
They do round balls of wildfire make¹⁶ to run,
Which spreads about¹⁷ when that round form’s undone.
This is the city which great Nature makes,                            25
And in this city she great¹⁸ pleasure takes.

In Nature’s market you may all things find,
Of several sorts and of each several¹ kind:
Carts of sickness bring pains and weakness in;
Of surfeits many baskets full are seen;²
Fruits of green sickness there are to be sold,              5
And colic herbs, which are both hot and cold;
Lemons of sharp pain; sour orange sores,³
Besides those things, within this market store.⁴

¹

There were two hearts an hundred acres wide,
Hedged round about,² and ditched on every side.
The one was very rich and fertile ground,
The other barren, where small good was found.

In pasture,³ grass of virtue grew up high,                         5
Where noble thoughts did feed continually.
Some grew like horses, nimble, strong, and⁴ large,
Fit for the manage, or in war to charge.
Others, like kine, did⁵ give the milk of wit,
And cream of wisdom for grave counsels fit.                   10
The sheep of patience had wool⁶ thick and long
Upon their backs and sides, to keep out wrong.
Rich meadows, where the hay of faith doth⁷ grow,
Which with the scythes of reason down we⁸ mow;
Devotion⁹ stacked it up on haycocks high,                        15
Lest in the wint’r of¹⁰ death the soul should die.

The barren ground nothing but weeds did bear.¹¹
No fruit, no corn, no seed that’s good grew there,¹²
But sour rye of ill nature up did spring,¹³
Which doth the colic of displeasure bring,¹⁴                     20
And cruel hempseed, hanging ropes to make,
And treacherous linseed, little birds¹⁵ to take,
And many such like seeds this ground doth bear,¹⁶
As coal black brank, and melancholy tare.
Nay, some parts so insipid were, and¹⁷ dry,                       25
That neither furse nor ling would¹⁸ grow, but die.
The rich ground, by¹⁹ good education plowed,
Deep furrows of discretion had²⁰ allowed,
And several sorts of seeds about did sow,²¹
Where crops of actions good in full ears²² grow:             30
First,²³ wheat of charity, a fruitful seed—
It makes²⁴ the bread of life the poor to feed—
Barley, whose spirits strong do²⁵ courage make,
For he that drinks them²⁶ no affront will take;
And hospitable pease²⁷ firm friendship breeds;²⁸           35
And grateful oats, restoring still good deeds.²⁹
This corn by fame’s sharp scythe is reaped³⁰ and cut,
And into large great barns of honor put.
Where Truth doth thresh it out from gross abuse,
And³¹ Honesty doth grind it fit for use.                              40

¹

The airy clouds do swiftly run a race,
Each other following as² in a chase.
Like horses, some are sprightful, nimbl’and³ fleet,
Others swelled big with wat’ry spavined feet.
Some⁴ lag behind, as tired in⁵ midway,                                     5
And some,⁶ like resty jades, stock-still will stay.
They all of⁷ several shapes and colors be,
Of several tempers, seldom well agree.
And as those horses which are⁸ highly fed
Do proudly snort—their eyes look fiery red—                         10
So clouds exhaled, fed by the hot sun,⁹
With sulphur and saltpetre fierce become,¹⁰
Flash out fire when they on each other light,¹¹
And with those flames the¹² world with terror fright;
Meeting each other,¹³ they encounters make,                          15
And do with strong assaults each other¹⁴ break,
Falling upon each other’s head and back,
Ne’er parted are, but by a¹⁵ thunder crack.¹⁶
Then pouring down some show’rs of rain they do¹⁷
Strong gusts of wind with their long breath out blow.¹⁸        20
Then Boreas whips¹⁹ them up, and makes them run
Till all their breath is spent, and spirits²⁰ gone.
Apollo breaks and backs them fit to ride,
Bridling with his hot beams their strengths²¹ to guide;
He²² gives them heats until they foam and sweat,                   25
Then²³ wipes them dry, lest they a cold should get,
Leads them into the middle-region stable,
Where are all sorts: dull, quick, weak, and²⁴ able.
But when they loose do get, having no fears,
They fall together all out²⁵ by the ears.                                      30