Of the Working of Several Motions of Nature (from Phil. Fancies and Phil. Phys. Op.)

Motions do work according as they find1
Matter that’s fit and proper for each kind.
Sensitive spirits2 work not all one way,
But as the matter is, they cut, carve, lay,
Joining together matter, solid light,3                             5
And build and form some figures straight upright,
Or make them bending, and so jutting out,
And some are large, and strong, and big about,
And some are thick, and hard, and close unite;4
Others are flat, and low, and loose, and light.             10
But when they meet with matter fine and thin,
Then they do weave, as spiders when they spin.
All that is woven is soft, smooth, thin things,
As flow’ry vegetables and animal skins.5
Observe the grain of every thing, you’ll see                 15
Like interwoven threads lie evenly,6
And like to diaper and damask wrought,7
In several works that for our table’s bought,
Or like to carpets which the Persian made,8
Or satin smooth, which is the Florence trade.9            20
Some matter they engrave, like ring and seal,
Which is the stamp of Nature’s commonweal.10
’Tis Nature’s arms,11 where she doth print
On all her works, as coin that’s in the mint.12
Some several sorts they join together glued,                25
As matter solid with some that’s fluid.
Like to the earthly ball13, where some are mixed
Of several sorts, although not fixed,
For though the figure of the Earth may last
Longer than others, yet at last may waste.                   30
And so the sun, and moon, and planets all,
Like other figures, at the last may fall.
The matter’s still the same, but motion may
Alter it into figures every way,
Yet keep the property, to make such kind                     35
Of figures fit, which motion out can find.
Thus may the figures change, if motion hurls
That matter other14 ways, for other worlds.

A Description of the Passion of Love Misplaced (from Nature’s Picture(s))

A lady on the ground a-mourning lay15
Complaining to the gods, and thus did say:

“You gods,” said she, “why do you me torment?
Why give you life, without the mind’s content?
Why do you passions in a mind create,                              5
Then leave it all to Destiny and Fate?
With knots and snarls they spin the thread of life,16
Then weave it cross and make a web of strife.
Come, Death—though Fates are cross, yet thou’rt a friend,
And in the grave dost peace and quiet send.”                   10

It chanced a gentleman that way came by,
And seeing there a weeping beauty lie:

“Alas, dear lady, why do you so weep,
Unless your tears you mean the gods shall keep?
Jove17 will present those tears to Juno18 fair,                       15
For pendants and for necklaces to wear,
And so present that breath to Juno fair,
That she may always move in perfumed air.
Forbear, forbear, make not the world so poor;
Send not such riches, for the gods have store.”                 20

“I’m one,”19 said she, “to whom Fortune’s a foe,
Crossing my love, working my overthrow:20
A man which to Narcissus21 might compare
For youth and beauty—and the graces fair
Do22 him adorn—on him my love is placed,                        25
But his neglect doth make my life to waste;
My soul doth mourn; my thoughts no rest can take;
He23 by his scorn doth me unhappy make.”
With that she cried, “O Death,” said she, “come quick,
And in my heart thy leaden arrow24 stick!”                       30

“Take comfort, lady, grieve and weep25 no more,
For Nature handsome men hath more in store.
Besides, dear lady, beauty will decay,
And with that beauty love will flee away.
If you take time, this heat of love will waste,26                 35
Because ’tis only on a beauty placed,
But if your love did from his virtue spring,27
You might have loved, though not so fond28 have been.
The love of virtue is for to admire
The soul, and not the body to desire:                                  40
That’s a gross29 love, which only dull beasts use,
But noble man to love the soul will choose.
Because the soul is like a deity,
Therein30 pure love will live eternally.”

“O sir, but Nature hath the soul so fixed                             45
Unto the body, and such passions mixed,
That nothing can divide or disunite,
Unless that Death will separate them quite,
For when the senses in delights agree,
They bind the soul, make31 it a slave to be.”                      50

He answered.
“If that the soul in man32 should give consent
In every thing the senses to content,
No peace but war amongst mankind would33 be,
And desolation34 would have victory.
No man could tell35 or challenge what’s his own;            55
He would be master that is strongest grown.36
Lady, love virtue, and let beauty die,
And in the grave of ruins let it lie.”

With that she rose, and with great joy, said she:
“Farewell, fond love and foolish vanity.”                           60

The men condemned the tale because, said they,
“None but a fool would preach so, wise men pray.”
37
“But ladies,38 hear me,” did another say:

To love but one is a great fault,
For Nature otherwise us39 taught:                                       65
She caused varieties for us to taste,
And other appetites in us she placed,
And caused dislike in us to rise,
To surfeit when we gormandize,
For of one dish we glut our palate,                                      70
Although it be but of a salad.
When Solomon40 the Wise did try
Of all things underneath the sky,
Although he found it vanity,
Yet by it Nature made us free.                                              75
For by the change, her works do live
By several forms that she doth give,
So that inconstancy is Nature’s play,
And we, her various works, must her obey.

A woman said that men were foolish lovers,                    80
And whining passions love oft41 discovers.
“They’re full of thoughts,” said she, “yet never pleased,
Always complaining, and yet never eased;
They42 sigh, they mourn, they groan, they make great moan,
They’ll sit cross-legged with folded arms alone.               85
Sometimes their dress is careless with despair;
With hopes raised up, ’tis43 costly, rich, and rare,
Setting their looks and faces in a frame,
Their garb’s affected by their mistress’s44 name.
Flattering their loves, forswearing; then each boasts45  90
What valiant deeds he’s46 done in foreign coasts:
Through what great dangers his adventures run,47
Such acts as Hercules48 had never done,
That everyone that hears doth fear his49 name,
And every tongue that speaks sounds forth his50 fame. 95
And thus their tongues extravagantly move,
Caused by vainglorious, foolish, amorous love,
Which only those of his own sex approve.”51

But when their rallery52 was past,
The tale upon a man was cast;
                                               100
Then crying peace to all that talking were,
They were bid hold their tongues and lend an ear.
53

The Surprisal of Death (from Nature’s Picture(s))

The next,50 a virgin’s turn a54 tale to tell,
For youth and modesty did fit it well.

A company of virgins young did meet;
Their pastime was to gather flowers sweet.
They55 white straw hats upon their heads did wear,
And falling feathers, which waved with the air,
Fanning their faces like a Zephyrus56 wind,                      5
Shadowing the sun, that strove their eyes to blind.
And in their hands they each a basket held,
Which baskets they with fruits or flowers filled.
But one amongst the rest such beauty had,
That Venus for to change might well be glad57:                10
Her shape exact; her skin was smooth and fair;
Her teeth white, even set; a long curled hair;
Her nature modest; her behavior so,
As when she moved the Graces seemed to go.
Her wit was quick, and pleasing to the ear,                     15
That all who heard her speak straight58 lovers were—
But yet her words such chaste love did create
That all impurity they did abate.
In59 every heart or head, where wild thoughts live,
She did convert, and wise instructions give,                    20
For her discourse such heavenly seeds did sow
That where ’twas60 strewed, there virtues up did grow.
These virgins all were in a garden set,
And each did strive the finest flowers to get.
But this fair lady on a bank did lie                                     25
Of most choice flowers, which did court her eye,
And every one did bend their heads full low,
Bowing their stalks, which from the roots did61 grow.
And when her hands did touch their tender leaves,
Each62 seemed to kiss, and to her fingers cleaves.63      30
But she, as if in nature ’twere a crime,
Was loath to crop their stalks in their full prime,
But with her face close to those flowers lay,
That through her nostrils those sweets might find way—64
Not for to rob them, for her head was full                       35
Of flow’ry fancies, which her wit did pull
And posies made, the world for to present:
More lasting were, and of65 a sweeter scent.
But as she lay upon this pleasant66 bank,
For which those flowers did great Nature thank,           40
Death envious grew they67 such delight did take,
And with his dart a deadly wound did make.
A sudden cold did seize her every limb,
With which her pulse beat slow and eyes grew dim.
Some that sat by observed her pale to be,                        45
But thought it some false light, yet68 went to see.
And when they came, she turned her eyes aside,
Spread forth her arms, then stretched, and sighed, and died.
The frighted virgins ran with panting breath69
To tell the sadder story of her death,                                 50
The whilst the flowers to her rescue bend,70
And all their med’cinable virtues send.
But all in vain: their power’s too weak; each head
Then drooped, seeing71 they could not help the dead.
Their fresher colors did72 no longer stay,                         55
But faded straight and withered all away.
For tears they dropped their leaves, and thought it meet
To strew her with them as her73 winding sheet.
The airy74 choristers hovered above,
And sang75 her last sad funeral song of love.76                60
The Earth grew proud, now having so much honor,
That odoriferous77 corpse lying78 upon her.
When that pure virgin’s stuff dissolved in dew,79
Was the first cause new births of flowers grew,
And added sweets to those it did renew.                           65
The grosser parts the curious soon did take;
Of it transparent porcelain80 they did make.
Her purer dust they keep for to refine
Best poets verse and gild their81 every line.82
And all poetic flames she did inspire,                                70
So her name lives in that eternal fire.

The Description of the Violence of Love (from Nature’s Picture(s))

O, said a man,83 such love (as this was) sure
Doth never in a married pair endure.
But lovers crossed use not to end so well,
Which for to show, a tale I mean to tell.

There was a lady virtuous, young, and fair,
Unto her father only child and heir,
In her behaviour modest, sweet, and civil,
So innocent, knew only good from evil,
Yet in her carriage84 had a majestic grace,                               5
And affable and pleasant was her face.
Another gentleman (whose house did stand85
Hard by her father’s, and was rich in land),86
He87 had a son such88 beauty did adorn
As some might think of Venus89 he was born,                         10
His spirit noble, generous, and great,
By nature valiant, disposition90 sweet,
His wit ingenious, and his breeding such:
Arts, sciences, of pedantry no touch.91
This noble gentleman in love did fall                                      15
With this fair lady, who was pleased withal;
He courted her, his service did address:92
His love by words and letters did express.
Though she seemed coy, his love she did not slight,
But civil answers did in letters write.                                      20
At last so well acquainted they did grow,
As93 but one heart each other’s thoughts did know.
Meantime their parents did their loves descry,94
And sought all ways to break that unity,
Forbad95 each others company frequent,                               25
Did all they could love’s meetings to prevent.
But love regards not parents, nor their threats,
For love, the more ’tis barred, more strength begets.
Thus being crossed, by stealth they both did meet,
With96 privacy did make their love more sweet;                  30
Although their fears did oft affright their mind
Lest that their parents should their walks out find.97
Then98 in the kingdom did rebellion spring;
Most of the commons fought against their king,99
And all the gentry that then loyal were                                   35
Did to the standard of the king repair.
Amongst the rest this noble youth was one;
Love bade100 him stay, but honor spurred him on.
When he declared his mind, her heart it rent;101
Rivers of tears out of her eyes grief sent.                                40
And102 every tear like bullets pierced his breast,
Scattered his thoughts, and did his mind molest.
Silent long time they stood; at last spake he:
Why doth my love with tears so torture me?

Why do you blame my eyes, said she, to weep,                     45
Since they perceive you faith nor promise keep?
For did you love but half so true as I,
Rather than part, you’d103 choose to stay and die,
But you excuses make, and take delight,
Like cruel thieves, to rob and spoil by night.                         50
Now you have stole my heart, away you run,
And leave a silly104 virgin quite undone.

If I stay from the wars, what will men say?
They’ll say I make excuse to be away.
By this reproach, a coward I am thought,                               55
And my disgrace will make you seem in fault
To set your love upon a man so base,
Bring infamy to us and to our race.
To sacrifice my life for your content,
I would not spare; but (dear) in this consent,                        60
’Tis for your sake honor I strive to win,
That I some merit to your worth may bring.

She
If you will go, let me not stay behind,
But take such fortune with you as I find.
I’ll be your page, attend you in the field;105                             65
When you are weary I will hold your shield.

He
Dear love, that must not be, for women are
Of tender bodies, and minds full of fear.
Besides, my mind so full of care will be,
For fear a bullet should once light on thee,                            70
That I shall never fight, but strengthless grow,
Through feeble limbs be subject to my foe.
When thou art safe, my spirits high shall raise,
Striving to get a victory of praise.

With sad laments, these lovers they did part;106                    75
Absence as arrows sharp doth wound each heart.
She spends her time, to Heaven high107 doth pray
That gods would bless and safe conduct his way.

The whil’st he fights and Fortune’s favor had,
Fame brings his108 honor to his mistress sad.109                      80
All Cavaliers110 that in the army were,
There was not one could with this youth compare.
By love his spirits all were set on fire;
Love gave him courage, made his foes retire.

But O ambitious lovers, how they run                                     85
Without all111 guidance, like Apollo’s son,112
Run113 out of moderations line—so he
Into114 the thickest of the army flee
Singly alone, amongst the squadrons deep
Fighting, sent many one with Death to sleep.                          90
But numbers, with united strength, at last
This noble gallant man from horse did cast.
His body all so thick of wounds was115 set,
Safety, it seems, in fight he116 did forget—
But not his love,117 who in his mind still lies;                           95
He118 wished her there119 to close his dying eyes.120
Soul, said he, if thou wand’rest in the air,
Thy service to my mistress be thy care:
Attend her close, with her soul friendship make,
Then she perchance no other love may take.                         100
But if thou sink down to the shades below,
And (being a lover)121 to Elysium go,122
Perchance my mistress’s soul you there may meet,
So walk and talk in love’s discourses sweet.
But if thou art like to a light put out,                                        105
Thy motion’s ceased, then all’s forgot no doubt.
With that, a sigh which from his heart did rise
Did mount his soul up to the airy skies.

The whilst his mistress, being sad with care,
Knees worn, spirits spent,123 imploring gods with prayer,   110
A drowsy sleep did all her senses close,
But in her dreams Hermes124 her lover shows
With all his wounds, which made her loud to cry:
Help, help, you gods, said she, that dwell on high!
These fearful dreams her senses all did wake;                      115
In a cold sweat with fear each limb did shake.
Then came a messenger as pale as death,
With panting sides, swoll’n eyes, and shortened breath,
And by his looks his sadder tale did tell,
Which when she saw, straight in a swoon she fell.               120
At last her stifled spirits had recourse
Unto their usual place,125 but of less force.
Then lifting up her eyes, her tongue gave way,
And thus unto the gods did mourning say:

Why do we pray126 and offer to high heaven,                         125
Since what we ask is seldom to us given?127
If their decrees are fixed, what need we pray?
Nothing can alter fates, nor cross their way.
If they leave all to chance, who can apply?
For every chance is then a deity.                                              130
But if a power they keep to work at will,
It shows them cruel to torment us still.
When we are made, in pain we always live,
Sick bodies, or grieved128 minds to us they give;
With motions which run cross, composed we are,               135
Which makes our reason and our sense to jar;
When they are weary to torment us, must
We then return, and so dissolve to dust.
But if I have my fate in my own power,
I will not breathe, nor live another hour;                               140
Then with the gods I shall not be at strife,
If my decree can take away my life.
Then on her feeble129 legs she straight did stand,
And took a pistol charged130 in either hand.
Here, dear, said she, I give my heart to thee,                         145
And by my death divulged131 our loves shall be.
Then constant lovers mourners be; when dead
They’ll strew our graves—which is our marriage bed—132
Upon our hearse a weeping poplar133 set,
Whose moist’ning drops134 our death’s-dried135 cheeks may wet; 150
Two cypress garlands at our head shall stand,136
That were made up by some fair virgin’s hand,
And on our cold pale corpse such flowers strew,137
As138 hang their heads for grief, and139 downward grow;
Then shall they lay us deep in140 quiet grave,                         155
Wherein our bones long rest and peace may have.
Let not our friends a marble tomb erect141
Upon our graves, but myrtle trees there set;142
Those may in time a shady grove become,
Fit for sad lovers’ walks, whose thoughts are dumb,           160
For melancholy love seeks place obscure,
No noise nor company can it endure,143
And when to ground they cast a dull, sad eye,144
Perhaps they’ll think on us who therein lie.145
Thus though we’re dead, our memory remains,146                165
And, like a ghost,147 may walk in moving brains,148
And in each head Love’s149 altars for us build
To sacrifice some sighs or tears distilled.
Then to her heart the pistol set, and150 shot
A bullet in, and so151 her grief forgot.                                       170
Fame with her trumpet blew in every ear;
The sound of this great act spread everywhere.
Lovers from all parts came by the report
Unto her urn, as pilgrims did resort,
There offered praises of her constancy,                                  175
And vowed152 the like unto Love’s deity.

A woman said that tale expressed love well,
And showed153 that constancy in death did dwell;
Friendship, they say, a thing is so sublime154,
That Jove himself doth with himself so join,155                       180
Dividing himself into equal parts three,
Yet one pure mind, and perfect power agree:156
So loving friendships, having but one will,157
Their bodies two,158 one soul doth govern still,
And though they be always disjoinèd much,159                      185
Yet all their160 senses equally do touch,
For what doth strike the eye, or other part,161
Begets in all like pleasure, or like smart.162
So though in substance form divided be,
Yet soul and senses joined in one agree.163                              190

A man that to the lady placed was nigh
Said he would tell another tragedy.

Untitled [Great God, from Thee all infinites do flow] (from Phil. Fancies and Phil. Phys. Op.)

Great God, from Thee all infinites do flow,118
And by Thy power from thence effects do grow.
Thou order’st164 all degrees of matter; just
As ’tis Thy will and pleasure, move it must.165
And by Thy knowledge order’st166all for th’best,167             5
And168 in Thy knowledge doth Thy wisdom rest,
And wisdom cannot order things amiss,
For where disorder, there169 no wisdom is.
Besides, great God, Thy will is just—for why?170
Thy will still on Thy wisdom doth rely.171                          10
O pardon Lord for what I now here speak172
Upon a guess; my knowledge is but weak.173
But Thou hast made such creatures as mankind,
And gav’st174 them something which we call a mind;
Always in motion, it ne’er175 quiet lies                              15
Until the figure of his body dies.176
His sev’ral177 thoughts, which sev’ral178 motions are,
Do raise up love, hope, joys, and doubts179 and fear.
As love doth raise up hope, so fear doth doubt,
Which makes him seek to find the great God out.         20
Self-love doth make him seek to find if he
Came from, or shall last to, eternity.
But motion, being slow, makes knowledge weak,
And then his thoughts ’gainst ignorance do180 beat,
As fluid waters ’gainst hard rocks do flow,                     25
Break their soft streams, and so they backward go:
Just so do thoughts, and then they backward slide
Unto the place where first they did abide,
And there in gentle murmurs do complain
That all their care and labor is in vain.181                        30
But since none knows the great Creator, must
Man seek no more, but in his greatness182 trust.

FINIS.183

Of Sense and Reason Exercised in their Different Shapes (from Philosophical Fancies)

If everything hath sense and reason, then
There might be beasts, and birds, and fish, and men
As vegetables and minerals, had they
The animal shape to express that way;
And vegetables and minerals may know                                     5
As man, though like to trees and stones they grow.178
Then coral trouts may through the water glide,
And pearled minnows swim on either side,
And mermaids, which in the sea delight,
Might all be made of watery lilies white,                                   10
Set on salt wat’ry billows as they flow,
Which like green banks appear thereon to grow.
And mariners i’th’midst their ship might stand
Instead of mast, hold sails in either hand.
On mountain tops the Golden Fleece184 might feed,                  15
Some hundred years their ewes bring forth their breed.
Large deer of oak might through the forest run,
Leaves on their heads might keep them from the sun;
Instead of shedding horns, their leaves might fall,
And acorns to increase a wood of fawns withal.                     20
Then might a squirrel for a nut be cracked,
If nature had that matter so compact,
And the small sprouts which on the husk do grow
Might be the tail, and make a brushing show.
Then might the diamonds which on rocks oft lie                    25
Be all like to some little sparkling fly.
Then might a leaden hare, if swiftly run,
Melt from that shape, and so a pig become.185
And dogs of copper-mouths sound like a bell,
So when they kill a hare, ring out his knell.186                             30
Hard iron men shall have no cause to fear
To catch a fall, when they a-hunting were,
Nor in the wars should have no use of arms,
Nor feared187 to fight; they could receive no harms.
For if a bullet on their breasts should hit,                                 35
Fall on their back, but straightways up may get,
Or if a bullet on their head do light,
May make them totter, but not kill them quite.
And stars be like the birds with twinkling wing,
When in the air they fly, like larks might sing,                        40
And as they fly, like wandering planets show,
Their tails may like to blazing comets grow.
When they on trees do rest themselves from flight,
Appear like fixed stars in clouds of night.
Thus may the sun be like a woman fair,188                                   45
And the bright beams be as her flowing hair,
And from her eyes may cast a silver light,
And when she sleeps, the world be as dark night.
Or women may of alabaster be,
And so as smooth as polished ivory,                                           50
Or as clear crystal, where hearts may be shown,
And all their falsehoods to the world be known,
Or else be made of rose, and lilies white,
Both fair and sweet, to give the soul delight,
Or else be made like tulips fresh in May,                                   55
By nature dressed, clothed several colours gay.
Thus every year there may young virgins spring,
But wither and decay as soon again.
While they are fresh, upon their breast might set
Great swarms of bees, from thence sweet honey get.             60
Or on their lips, for gillyflowers, flies
Drawing delicious sweet that therein lies.
Thus every maid like several flowers show,
Not in their shape, but like in substance grow.
Then tears which from oppressèd hearts do rise,                    65
May gather into clouds within the eyes,
From whence those tears, like showers of rain may flow
Upon the banks of cheeks, where roses grow;
After those showers of rain, so sweet may smell,
Perfuming all the air that near them dwell.                               70
But when the sun of joy and mirth doth rise,
Darting forth pleasing beams from loving eyes,
Then may the buds of modesty unfold,
With full blown confidence the sun behold.
But grief as frost them nips, and withering die,                        75
In their own pods189 entombèd lie.
Thus virgin cherry trees, where blossoms blow,
So red ripe cherries on their lips may grow.
Or women plum trees at each fingers end,
May ripe plums hang, and make their joints to bend.              80
Men sycamores, which on their breast may write
Their amorous verses, which their thoughts indite.190
Men’s stretchèd arms may be like spreading vines,
Where grapes may grow, so drink of their own wine.
To plant large orchards need no pains nor care,                      85
For everyone their sweet fresh fruit may bear.
Then silver grass may in the meadows grow,
Which nothing but a scythe of fire can mow.
The wind, which from the north a journey takes,
May strike those silver strings, and music make.                    90
Thus may another world, though matter still the same,
By changing shapes, change humours,191 properties, and name.192
Thus Colossus, a statue wondrous great,193
When it did fall, might straight get on his feet.
Where ships, which through his legs did swim, he might       95
Have blown194 their sails, or else have drowned them quite.
The Golden Calf that Israel joyed to see195
Might run away from their idolatry.
The Basan bull of brass might be, when roar,
His metalled throat might make his voice sound more.196    100
The hill which Muhammad did call might come
At the first word, or else away might run.197
Thus Pompey’s statue might rejoice to see
When killed was Caesar, his great enemy.198
The wooden horse that did great Troy betray                         105
Have told what’s in him, and then run away.199
Achilles’s arms against Ulysses plead,
And not let wit against true valor speed.200

An Excuse for Writing So Much upon my Verses

Condemn201 me not for making such a coil202
About my203 book: alas, it is my child.204
Just like a bird when her young are in nest
Goes in and out, and hops, and takes no rest,
But when their young are fledged, their heads out peep,  5
Lord what a chirping does the old one keep!
So I—for fear my strengthless child should fall
Against a door or stool—aloud I call,
“Bid have a care of such a dangerous place!”
Thus write I much to hinder all disgrace.                              10

The Poetress’s Petition

Like to a fever’s pulse my heart doth beat,
For fear my book some great repulse should meet.
If it be naught, let her205 in silence lie;
Disturb her206 not; let her207 in quiet die.
Let not the bells of your dispraise ring loud,                 5
But wrap her208 up in silence as a shroud.
Cause black oblivion on her209 hearse to lie;210
Instead of tapers, let dark night stand by.211
Instead of flowers on her212 grave to213 strow
Before her214 hearse, sleepy, dull poppy throw.              10
Instead of scutcheons, let my tears be hung,
Which grief and sorrow from my eyes out wrung.
Let those that bear her215 corpse no jesters be,
But sober, sad, and grave mortality;216
No satyr poets to her funeral come,217                              15
No altars raised to write inscriptions on.218
Let dust of all forgetfulness be cast
Upon her219 corpse; there let it220 lie and waste.
Nor let her221 rise again, unless some know
At judgments some good merits she222 can show;          20
Then she shall223 live in heavens of high praise,
And for her224 glory, garlands of fresh225 bays.

The Poetress’s Hasty Resolution

Reading my verses, I liked them so well
Self-love did make my judgment to rebel.
And thinking them so good, thought more to make,206
Considering not how others would them take.207
I writ so fast, I thought if I lived long208                                   5
A pyramid of fame to build thereon.214
Reason, observing which way I was bent,
Did stay my hand, and asked me what I meant:
“Will you,” said she,215 “thus waste your time in vain,
On that which in the world small praise shall gaine?      10
For shame leave off,” said she,221 “the printer spare,
He’ll lose by your ill poetry, I fear.
Besides, the world already hath great store224
Of useless books; wherefore, do write no more,226
But227 pity take, do the world a good turn,                            15
And all you write cast in228 th’fire229 and burn.”
Angry I was, and Reason struck230 away,
When I did hear, what she231 to me did say.
Then all in haste I to the press it sent,
Fearing persuasion might my book prevent.                     20
But now ’tis done, repent with grief do I,232
Hang down my head with shame, blush, sigh, and cry.
Take pity, and my drooping spirits raise,
Wipe off my tears with handkerchiefs of praise.

To the Reader

Reader,

If any do read this book of mine, pray be not too severe in your censures. For first, I have no children to employ my care and attendance on, and233 my lord’s estate being taken away in those times when I writ this book, I234 had nothing for housewifery or thrifty industry to employ myself in, having no stock to work on. For housewifery is a discreet management, and ordering all in private and household affairs, seeing that nothing be235 spoiled or profusely spent, that every thing may have236 its proper place, and every servant his proper work, and every work may237 be done in its proper time, to be neat and cleanly, to have their house quiet from all disturbing noise. But thriftiness is something stricter; for good housewifery may be used in great expenses, but238 thriftiness signifies a saving or a getting, as to239 increase their stock or estate. For thrift weighs and measures out all expense. It is just as in poetry: for good husbandry in poetry is when there is great store of fancy well ordered, not only in fine language, but proper phrases and significant words. And thrift in poetry is when there is but little fancy, which is not only spun to the last thread, but the thread is drawn so small that240 it is scarce perceived. But I had241 nothing to spin or order, so that242 I became243 idle—I cannot say “in mine own house,” because I had244 none but what my mind was245 lodged in. Thirdly, you are to246 spare your severe censures, because I had247 not so many years of experience when I wrote this book as could248 make me a garland to crown my head; only I had249 so much time as to gather a little posy to stick upon my breast. Lastly, the time I have been writing them hath not been very long, but since I came into England, being eight years out and nine months in, and of these nine months, only some hours in the day, or rather in the night. For my rest being broke with discontented thoughts because I was from my lord and husband, knowing him to be in great wants, and myself in the same condition, to divert them, I strove to turn the stream, and250 shunning the muddy and foul ways of vice, I went to the well of Helicon, and by the wells side I did sit251 and wrote this work. It is not excellent, nor rare, but plain; yet it is harmless, modest, and honest. True, you252 may tax my indiscretion, being so fond of my book as to make it as if it were my child, and striving to show her253 to the world in hopes some may like her,254 and though they cannot admire her beauty,255 yet may praise her256 behavior, which is neither257 wanton nor rude. Wherefore I hope you will not put her258 out of countenance, which she is very apt to,259 being of bashful nature, and as ready to shed repentant tears if she260 think she hath261 committed a fault: wherefore pity her262 youth and tender growth, and rather tax the parent’s indiscretion than the child’s innocency. But my book coming out in this iron age, I fear I shall find hard hearts; yet I had rather she263 should find cruelty than scorn, and that my book264 should be torn rather than laughed at, for there is no such regret in nature as contempt. But I am resolved to set it at all hazards. If Fortune plays ambs-ace,265 I am gone; if sice cinque, I shall win a reputation of fancy; and if I lose, I lose266 but the opinion of wit. And where the gain will be more than the loss, who would not venture, when there are many in the world (which are accounted wise) that will venture life and honor for a petty interest, or out of envy, or for revenge’s267 sake. And why should not I venture, when nothing lies at stake but wit? Let it go—I shall not,268 nor cannot be much poorer. If fortune be my friend, then fame will be my gain, which may build me a pyramid of269 praise to my memory. I shall have no cause to fear it will be so high as Babel’s tower, to fall in the mid-way. Yet I am sorry it doth not touch the270 heaven, but my incapacity, fear, awe, and reverence kept me from that work. For it were too great a presumption to venture to discourse of that271 in my fancy which is not describable.272 For God and his heavenly mansions are to be admired and wondered at with astonishment,273 and not disputed on.

But at all other things let fancy fly,
And like a towering eagle mount the sky.
Or like the sun swiftly the world to round,
Or like pure gold, which in the earth is found.
But if a drossy wit, let’t buried be
Under the ruins of all memory.