More of heaven’s glory than a worldling can.
As man is of the world, the heart of man
Is an epitome of God’s great book
Of creatures, and man need no farther look;
So is the country of courts, where sweet peace doth,
As their own common soul, give life to both;
And am I then from court?
Dreamer, thou art:
Think’st thou, fantastic, that thou hast a part
In the Indian fleet, because thou hast
A little spice or amber in thy taste?
Because thou art not frozen, art thou warm?
Seest thou all good, because thou seest no harm?
The earth doth in her inner bowels hold
Stuff well-disposed, and which would fain be gold;
But never shall, except it chance to lie
So upward, that heaven gild it with his eye.
As, for divine things, faith comes from above,
So, for best civil use, all tinctures move
From higher powers; from God religion springs,
Wisdom and honour from the use of kings:
Then unbeguile thyself, and know with me,
That angels, though on earth employ’d they be,
Are still in heaven, so he is still at home
That doth abroad to honest actions come.
Chide thyself then, O fool, which yesterday
Mightst have read bewray; more than all thy books
Hast thou a history, which doth present
A court, where all affections do assent
Unto the king’s, and that that king’s are just;
And where it is no levity to trust;
Where there is no ambition, but to obey;
Where men need whisper nothing, and yet may;
Where the king’s favours are so placed, that all
Find that the king therein is liberal
To them, in him, because his favours bend
To virtue, to the which they all pretend?
Thou hast no such; yet here was this, and more.
An earnest lover, wise then, and before,
Our little Cupid hath sued livery,
And is no more in his minority;
He is admitted now into that breast
Where the king’s counsels and his secrets rest.
What hast thou lost, O ignorant man?
I knew
All this, and only therefore I withdrew.
To know and feel all this, and not to have
Words to express it, makes a man a grave
Of his own thoughts; I would not therefore stay
At a great feast, having no grace to say.
And yet I ’scaped not here; for being come,
Full of the common joy, I utter’d some.
Read then this nuptial song, which was not made
Either the court or men’s hearts to invade;
But since I’m dead and buried, I could frame
No epitaph, which might advance my fame
So much as this poor song, which testifies
I did unto that day some sacrifice.
Epithalamion
I
The Time of the Marriage
Thou art reprieved, old year, thou shalt not die;
Though thou upon thy deathbed lie,
And should’st within five days expire,
Yet thou art rescued by a mightier fire,
Than thy old soul, the sun,
When he doth in his largest circle run.
The passage of the west or east would thaw,
And open wide their easy liquid jaw
To all our ships, could a Promethean art
Either unto the northern pole impart
The fire of these inflaming eyes, or of this loving heart.
II
Equality of Persons
But undiscerning Muse, which heart, which eyes,
In this new couple, dost thou prize,
When his eye as inflaming is
As hers, and her heart loves as well as his?
Be tried by beauty, and then
The bridegroom is a maid, and not a man;
If by that manly courage they be tried,
Which scorns unjust opinion; then the bride
Becomes a man. Should chance or envy’s art
Divide these two, whom nature scarce did part,
Since both have the inflaming eye, and both the loving heart?
III
Raising of the Bridegroom
Though it be some divorce to think of you
Single, so much one are you two,
Let me here contemplate thee,
First, cheerful bridegroom, and first let me see,
How thou prevent’st the sun,
And his red foaming horses dost outrun;
How, having laid down in thy Sovereign’s breast
All businesses, from thence to reinvest
Them when these triumphs cease, thou forward art
To show to her, who doth the like impart,
The fire of tby inflaming eyes, and of thy loving heart.
IV
Raising of the Bride
But now to thee, fair bride, it is some wrong,
To think thou wert in bed so long.
Since soon thou liest down first, ’tis fit
Thou in first rising shouldst allow for it.
Powder thy radiant hair,
Which if without such ashes thou wouldst wear,
Thou which, to all which come to look upon,
Wert meant for Phoebus, wouldst be Phaëton.
For our ease, give thine eyes th’ unusual part
Of joy, a tear; so quench’d, thou mayst impart,
To us that come, thy inflaming eyes; to him, thy loving heart.
V
Her Apparelling
Thus thou descend’st to our infirmity,
Who can the sun in water see.
So dost thou, when in silk and gold
Thou cloud’st thyself; since we which do behold
Are dust and worms, ’tis just,
Our objects be the fruits of worms and dust.
Let every jewel be a glorious star,
Yet stars are not so pure as their spheres are;
And though thou stoop, to appear to us, in part,
Still in that picture thou entirely art,
Which thy inflaming eyes have made within his loving heart.
VI
Going to the Chapel
Now from your easts you issue forth, and we,
As men, which through a cypress see
The rising sun, do think it two;
So, as you go to church, do think of you;
But that veil being gone,
By the church rites you are from thenceforth one.
The church triumphant made this match before,
And now the militant doth strive no more.
Then, reverend priest, who God’s Recorder art,
Do, from his dictates, to these two impart
All blessings which are seen, or thought, by angel’s eye or heart.
VII
The Benediction
Blest pair of swans, O may you interbring
Daily new joys, and never sing;
Live, till all grounds of wishes fail,
Till honour, yea, till wisdom grow so stale,
That new great heights to try,
It must serve your ambition, to die;
Raise heirs, and may here, to the world’s end, live
Heirs from this king, to take thanks, you, to give.
Nature and grace do all, and nothing art;
May never age or error overthwart
With any west these radiant eyes, with any north this heart.
VIII
Feasts and Revels
But you are over-blest. Plenty this day
