TO THE READER.

THERE are but few of many that can rightly judge of poetry, and yet there are many of those few that carry so left-handed an opinion of it, as some of them think it half sacrilege for profane poetry to deal with divine and heavenly matters; as though David were to be sentenced by them, for uttering his grave matter upon the harp; others, something more violent in their censure, but sure less reasonable (as though poetry corrupted all good wits, when indeed bad wits corrupt poetry), banish it, with Plato, out of all well-ordered commonwealths. Both these I will strive rather to satisfy, then refute.

And of the first I would gladly know, whether they suppose it fitter, that the sacred songs in the scripture of those heroical saints, Moses, Deborah, Jeremiah, Mary, Simeon, David, Solomon, (the wisest schoolman, and wittiest poet) should be ejected from the canon for want of gravity, or rather this errour erased out of their minds, for want of truth. But, it may be, they will give the Spirit of God leave to breathe through what pipe it please, and will confess, because they must needs, that all the songs dittied by him, must needs be, as their fountain is, most holy; but their common clamour is, "Who may compare with God?" True; and yet as none may compare without presumption, so all may imitate, and not without commendation; which made Nazianzen, one of the stars of the Greek church, that now shines as bright in Heaven, as he did then on Earth, write so many divine poems of the Genealogy, Miracles, Passion of Christ, called by him his Xgrès máxwv.— Which, when Basil, the prince of the fathers, and his chamberfellow, had seen, his opinion of them was, that he could have devised nothing either more fruitful to others, because it kindly wooed them to religion; or more honourable to himself, Οὐδὲν γὰρ μακαριώτερόν ἐτι τοῦ τὴν ἀγγέλων χορείαν ἐν câ yŷ μsprîter because, by imitating the singing angels in Heaven, himself became, though before his time, an earthly angel. What should I speak of Juvencus, Prosper, and the wise Prudentius? the last of which living in Hierome's time, twelve hundred years ago, brought forth in his declining age, so many, and so religious poems, straitly charging his soul, not to let pass so much as one either night or day without some divine song: Hymnis continuet dies, nec nox ulla vacet, quin Dominum canat. And as sedulous Prudentius, so prudent Sedulius was famous in this poetical divinity, the coetan of Bernard, who sung the history of Christ with as much devotion in himself, as admiration tơ others; all which were followed by the choicest wits of Christendom: Nonnius translating all St. John's gospel into Greek verse, Sanazar, the late living image, and happy imitator of Virgil, bestowing ten years upon a song, only to celebrate that one day when Christ was born unto us on Earth, and we (a happy change) unto God in Heaven: thrice honoured Bartas, and our (1 know no other name more glorious than his own) Mr. Edmund Spencer (two blessed souls) not thinking ten years enough, laying out their whole lives upon this one study. Nay, 1 may justly say that the princely father of our country (though in my conscience God hath made him of all the learned princes that ever were, the most religious, and of all the religious princes, the most learned; that so, by the one he might oppose him against the pope, the pest of all religion; and by the other, against Bellarmine, the abuser of all good learning) is yet so far enamoured with this celestial muse, that it shall never repent me-calamo trivisse lubellum, whensoever I shall remember Hæc eade ut sciret quid non faciebat Amyntas? To name no more in such plenty, where I may nd how to begin, sooner then to end, St. Paul by the example of Christ, that went singing to mount Clivet, with his disciples, after bis last supper, exciteth the Christians, to solace themselves with hymns, and psalms, and spiritual songs; and therefore, by their leaves, be it an errour for poets to be divines, I had

rather err with the scripture, than be rectified by them: I had rather adore the steps of Nazianzen, Prudentius, Sedulius, then follow their steps to be misguided: I had rather be the devout admirer of Nonnius, Bartas, my sacred sovereign, and others, the miracles of our latter age, than the false sectary of these, that have nothing at all to follow, but their own naked opinions. To conclude, I had rather with my Lord, and his most divine apostle, sing (though I sing sorrily) the love of Heaven and Earth, than praise God (as they do) with the worthy gift of silence, and sitting still, or think I disprais'd him with this poetical discourse. It seems they have either not read, or clean forgot, that it is the duty of the Muses (if we may believe Pindar and Hesiod) to set always under the throne of Jupiter, ejus et laudes, et beneficia vuruúrns, which made a very worthy German writer conclude it, Certò statuimus, proprium atque peculiare poetarum munus esse, Christi gloriam illustrare, being good reason that the heavenly infusion of such poetry should end in his glory, that had beginning from his goodness, fit orator, nascitur poeta.

For the second sort therefore, that eliminate poets out of their city gates, as though they were now grown so bad, as they could neither grow worse, nor better, though it be somewhat hard for those to be the only men should want cities, that were the only causers of the building of them; and somewhat inhumane to thrust them into the woods, to live among the beasts, who were the first that called men out of the woods, from their beastly, and wild life; yet since they will needs shoulder them out for the only firebrands to inflame lust (the fault of earthly men, not heavenly poetry) I would gladly learn, what kind of professions these men would be entreated to entertain, that so deride and disaffect poesy: would they admit of philosophers, that after they have burnt out the whole candle of their life in the circular study of sciences, cry out at length, "Se nihil prorsus scire?" or should musicians be welcome to them, that Dant sine mente sonum-bring delight with them indeed, could they as well express with their instruments a voice, as they can a sound? or would they most approve of soldiers that defend the life of their countrymen, either by the death of themselves, or their enemies? If philosophers please them, who is it that knows not, that all the lights of example, to clear their precepts, are borrowed by philosophers from poets? that without Homer's examples, Aristotle would be as blind as Homer? If they retain musicians, who ever doubted, but that poets infused the very soul into the inarticulate sounds of music? that without Pindar and Horace, the lyrics had been silenced for ever? If they must needs entertain soldiers, who can bnt confess, that poets restore again that life to soldiers, which they before lost for the safety of their country? that without Virgil, Æneas had never been so much as heard of? How then can they for shame deny commonwealths to them, who were the first authors of them? how can they deny the blind philosopher that teaches them, his light? the empty musician that delights them his soul? the dying soldier that defends their life, immortality, after his own death? Let philosophy, let ethics, let all the arts bestow upon us this gift, that we be not thought dead men, whilst we remain among the living, it is only poetry that can make us be thought living men, when we lie among the dead; and therefore I think it unequal, to thrust them out of our cities, that call us out of our graves; to think so hardly of them, that make us to be so well thought of; to deny them to live a while among us, that make us live for ever among our posterity.

So being now weary in persuading those that hate, I commend myself to those that love such poets, as Plato speaks of, that sing divine and heroical matters. 'Ov yag ivros sien di raŭra Xíyovres, dax' ¿ Oses, dutés ism iλśywv, recommending these my idle hours, not idly spent, to good scholars, and good Christians, that have overcome their ignorance with reason, and their reason with religion.

RECOMMENDATORY POEMS.

POEMS

OF

GILES FLETCHER.

CHRIST'S VICTORY IN HEAVEN.

THE ARGUMENT.

Egypt, ver. 81. The angels and men, ver. 82. 83. The effect of Mercy's speech, ver. 84. transition to Christ's second victory, ver. 85.

1

THE birth of Him that no beginning knew,
Yet gives beginning to all that are born,
And how the Infinite far greater grew,
By growing less, and how the rising morn,
That shot from Heav'n, and back to Heav'n return,
The obsequies of him that could not die,
And death of life, end of eternity,
How worthily he died, that died unworthily;
How God and man did both embrace each other,
Met in one person, Heaven and Earth did kiss,
And how a virgin did become a mother,
And bare that Son, who the world's Father is,
And maker of his mother, and how bliss

The argument propounded in general. Our redemption by Christ, ver. 1, 2. The author's invocation for the better handling of it, ver. 3, 4. Man's redemption, from the cause. Mercy dwelling in Heaven, and pleading for men now guilty, with Justice described by her qualities, ver. 5-10. Her retinue, ver. 12. Her subject, ver. 15. Her accusation of man's sin, ver. 17. And 1st, of Adam's first sin, ver. 18, 19. Then of his posterity's, in all kind of idolatry, Ter. 20-24. How hopeful any patronage of it, ver. 25-27. All the creatures having disleagued themselves with him for his extreme Descended from the bosom of the High, unthankfulness, ver. 28-33. So that being To clothe himself in naked misery, [antly, destitute of all hope and remedy, he can look Sailing at length to Heav'n, in Earth, triumphfor nothing but a fearful sentence, ver. 35-40. Is the first flame, wherewith my whiter Muse The effect of Justice her speech: the inflamma-Doth burn in heavenly love, such love to tell. tion of the heavenly powers appeased by Mercy, O thou that didst this holy fire infuse, [Hell, who is described by her cheerfulness to defend And taught'st this breast, but late the grave of man, ver 40-42. Our inability to describe her, Wherein a blind and dead heart liv'd, to swell ver. 43, 44. Her beauty, resembled by the With better thoughts, send down those lights creatures, which are all frail shadows of her that lend Essential perfection, ver. 45, 46. Her attendants, ver. 46, 47. Her persuasive power, ver. 48 -50. Her kind offices to man, ver. 51. 52. Her garments wrought by her own hands, wherewith she clothes herself, composed of all the creatores, ver. 53. The earth, ver. 54. Sea, ver. 55, 56. Air, ver. 57, 58. The celestial bodies, ver. 59, 60. The third Heaven, ver. 61, 62. Her objects, ver. 63. Repentance, ver. 64-66. Faith, ver. 67-69. Her deprecative speech for man: in which she translates the principal fault unto the devil; and repeating Justice her aggravation of men's sin, mitigates it; 1st, By a contrary inference: 2d, By intercessing herself in the cause, and Christ, ver. 70-75. That is as sufficient to satisfy, as man was impotent, ver. 76, 77. Whom she celebrates from the time of his nativity, ver. 78. From the effects of it in himself, ver. 79, 80.

Knowledge, how to begin, and how to end
The love, that never was, nor ever can be penn’d.
Ye sacred writings, in whose antique leaves
The memories of Heaven entreasur'd lie,
Say, what might be the cause that Mercy heaves
The dust of sin above th' industrious sky,
And lets it not to dust and ashes fly?

Could Justice be of sin so over-woo'd,
Or so great ill be cause of so great good, [blood?"
That bloody man to save, man's Saviour shed his
Or did the lips of Mercy drop soft speech
For trait'rons man, when at th' Eternal's throne
Incensed Nemesis did Heav'n beseech
With thund'ring voice, that justice might be shown
Against the rebels that from God were flown?
O say, say how could Mercy plead for those
That, scarcely made, against their Maker rose?
Will any slay his friend, that he may spare his foes?

There is a place beyond that flaming hill
From whence the stars their thin appearance shed,
A place, beyond all place, where never ill,
Nor impure thought was ever harboured;
But saintly heroes are for ever su'd

To keep an everlasting Sabbath's rest;
Still wishing that, of what th' are still possest;
Enjoying but one joy, but one of all joys best.
Here, when the ruin of that beauteous frame,
Whose golden building shin'd with every star
Of excellence, deform'd with age became :
Mercy, rememb'ring peace in midst of war,
Lift up the music of her voice, to bar

Eternal fate; lest it should quite erase [grace,
That from the world, which was the first world's
And all again into their (nothing) chaos chase.
For what had all this all, which man in one
Did not unite? the earth, air, water, fire,
Life, sense, and spirit, nay, the pow'rful throne
Of the divinest essence did retire,
And his own image into clay inspire:

So that this creature well might called be
Of the great world the small epitomy,
Of the dead world the live and quick anatomy.
But Justice had no sooner Mercy seen
Smoothing the wrinkles of ber father's brow,
But up she starts, and throws herself between ;
As when a vapour from a moory slough,
Meeting with fresh Eous, that but now

Open'd the world which all in darkness lay,
Doth Heav'n's bright face of his rays disarray,
And sads the smiling orient of the springing day.
She was a virgin of austere regard :
Not as the world esteems her, deaf and blind;
But as the cagle, that hath oft compar'd
Her eye with Heav'n's, so, and more brightly shin'd
Her lamping sight: for she the same could wind

Into the solid heart, and with her ears,

The silence of the thought loud speaking hears,
And in one hand a pair of even scales she wears.
No riot of affection revcl kept
Within her breast, but a still apathy
Possessed all her soul, which softly slept,
Securely, without tempest; no sad cry
Awakes her pity, but wrong'd poverty,

Sending his eyes to Heav'n swimming in tears,
With hideous clamours ever struck her ears,
Whetting the blazing sword that in her hand she
bears.

The winged lightning is her Mercury,

And round about her mighty thunders sound:
Impatient of himself lies pining by

Pale Sickness, with her kercher'd head up wound,
And thousand noisome plagues attend her round.
But if her cloudy brow but once grow foul,
The flints do melt, and rocks to water roll,
And airy mountains shake, and frighted shadows
howl.

Famine, and bloodless Care, and bloody War,
Want, and the want of knowledge how to use
Abundanee, Age, and Fear, that runs afar
Before his fellow Grief, that aye pursues
His winged steps; for who would not refuse
Grief's company, a dull, and raw-bon'd spright,
That lanks the cheeks, and pales the freshest
sight,
Unbosoming the cheerful breast of all delight?

Pefore this cursed throng goes Ignorance,
That needs will lead the way he cannot see:
And, after all, Death doth his flag advance,
And in the midst, Strife still would roguing be,
Whose ragged flesh and clothes did well agree :
And round about, amazed Horrour flies,
And over all, Shame veils his guilty eyes, [lies.
And underneath, Hell's hungry throat still yawning
Upon two stony tables, spread before her,
She lean'd her bosom, more than stony hard,
There slept th' impartial judge, and strict restorer
Of wrong, or right, with pain, or with reward,
There hung the score of all our debts, the card
Where good, and bad, and life, and death, were

painted :

Was never heart of mortal so untainted,
But when that scroll was read, with thousand ter-
rours fainted.

Witness the thunder that mount Sinai heard,
When all the hill with fiery clouds did flame,
And wand'ring Israel, with the sight afear'd,
Blinded with seeing, durst not touch the same,
But like a wood of shaking leaves became.
On this dead Justice, she, the living law,
Bowing herself with a majestic awe,

All Heav'n, to hear her speech, did into silence draw.
"Dread Lord of spirits, well thou didst devise
To fling the world's rude dunghill, and the dross
Of the old chaos, farthest from the skies,
And thine own seat, that here the child of loss,
Of all the lower heav'n, the curse, and cross,
That wretch, beast, captive, monster man, might
spend,

(Proud of the mire, in which his soul is pen'd)
Clodded in lumps of clay, bis weary life to end.
"His body dust: where grew such cause of pride?
His soul, thy image: what could he envy?)
Himself most happy, if he so would bide:
Now grown most wretched, who can remedy?
He slew himself, himself the enemy.

That his own soul would her own murder wreak,
If I were silent, Heav'n and Earth would speak ;
And if all fail'd, these stones would into clamours
break.

"How many darts made furrows in his side,
When she, that out of his own side was made,
Gave fathers to their flight? where was the pride
Of their new knowledge? whither did it fade?
When running from thy voice into the shade,

He fled thy sight, himself of light bereav'd;
And for his shield a heavy armour weav'd,
With which, vain man, he thought God's eyes to
have deceiv'd?

"And well he might delude those eyes that see,
And judge by colours; for who ever saw
A man of leaves, a reasonable tree?
But those that from this stock their life did draw,
Soon made their father godly, and by law

Proclaimed trees almighty: gods of wood,
Of stocks, and stones, with crowns of laurel
stood,
[blood.
Templed, and fed by fathers with their children's
"The sparkling fanes, that burn in beaten gold,
And, like the stars of Heav'n in midst of night,
Black Egypt, as her mirrors, doth behold,
Are but the dens where idol-snakes delight
Again to cover Satan from their sight: