Caelica

Caelica or Cælica is a sequence of 110 sonnets and poems by Fulke Greville, Lord Brooke.

Quotes

I

Love, the delight of all well-thinking minds;
Delight, the fruit of vertue dearely lov'd;
Vertue, the highest good, that reason finds;
Reason, the fire wherein mens thoughts bee prov'd;
Are from the world by Natures power bereft,
And in one creature, for her glory, left.
Beautie, her cover is, the eyes true pleasure;
In honours fame she lives, the eares sweet musicke,
Excesse of wonder growes from her true measure;
Her worth is passions wound, and passions physicke,
From her true heart, cleare springs of wisdome flow,
Which imag'd in her words and deeds, men know.
Time faine would stay, that she might never leave her,
Place doth rejoyce, that she must needs containe her,
Death craves of Heaven, that she may not bereave her,
The Heavens know their owne, and doe maintaine her,
Delight, Love, Reason, Vertue let it be,
To set all women light, but only she.

II

Faire dog, which so my heart dost teare asunder,
That my live’s-blood my bowels overfloweth:
Alas, what wicked rage conceal’st thou under
These sweet enticing joyes thy forehead showeth:
Me, whom the light-wing’d god of long hath chased,
Thou hast attain’d: thou gav’st that fatall wound
Which my soule’s peacefull innocence hath rased,
And Reason to her servant Humour bound.
Kill therefore in the end, and end my anguish,
Give me my death; me thinks even Time upbraideth
A fulness of the woes, wherein I languish:
Or if thou wilt I live, then Pittie pleadeth
Help out of thee, since Nature hath revealed,
That with thy tongue thy bytings may be healed.

III

More than most faire, full of that heavenly fire,
Kindled above to shew the Makers glory,
Beauties first-born, in whom all powers conspire,
To write the Graces life, and Muses storie.
If in my heart all Saints else be defaced,
Honour the Shrine, where you alone are placed.
Thou window of the skie, and pride of spirits,
True Character of honour in perfection,
Thou heavenly creature, Judge of earthly merits,
And glorious prison of mans pure affection,
If in my heart all Nymphs else be defaced,
Honour the shrine, where you alone are placed.
- Cp. Edmund Spenser, Amoretti, VIII: "More then most faire, full of the living fire, / Kindled above unto the maker neere."

IV

You little starres that live in skyes,
And glory in Apollo's glorie,
In whose aspects conjoinèd lyes
The Heavens will, and Natures storie,
Joy to be likened to those eyes,
Which eyes make all eyes glad, or sorie,
For when you force thoughts from above,
These over-rule your force by love.
And thou ô Love, which in these eyes
Hast married Reason with Affection,
And made them Saints of beauties skyes,
Where joyes are shadowes of perfection,
Lend me thy wings that I may rise
Up not by worth but thy election;
For I have vow'd in strangest fashion,
To love, and never seeke compassion.

VII

The World, that all containes, is ever moving,
The Starres within their spheres for ever turned,
Nature (the Queene of Change) to change is loving,
And Forme to matter new, is still adjourned.
Fortune our phansie-God, to varie liketh,
Place is not bound to things within it placed,
The present time upon time passed striketh,
With Phaebus wandring course the earth is graced.
The Ayre still moves, and by its moving cleareth
The Fire, up ascends, and planets feedeth,
The Water passeth on, and all lets weareth,
The Earth stands still, yet change of changes breedeth;
Her plants, which Summer ripes, in Winter fade,
Each creature in unconstant mother lyeth,
Man made of earth, and for whom earth is made,
Still dying lives, and living ever dyeth;
Onely like fate sweet Myra never varies,
Yet in her eyes the doome of all Change carries.

X

Love, of mans wandring thoughts the restlesse being,
Thou from my mind with glory wast invited,
Glory of those faire eyes, where all eyes, seeing
Vertues and beauties riches, are delighted;
What Angells pride, or what selfe-disagreeing,
What dazling brightnesse hath your beames benighted,
That fall'n thus from those joyes which you aspired,
Downe to my darkened minde you are retired?
Within which minde since you from thence ascended,
Truth clouds it selfe, Wit serves but to resemble,
Envie is King, at others good offended,
Memorie doth worlds of wretchednesse assemble,
Passion to ruine passion is intended,
My reason is but power to dissemble;
Then tell me Love, what glory you divine
Your selfe can find within this soule of mine?
Rather goe backe vnto that heavenly quire
Of Natures riches, in her beauties placed,
And there in contemplation feed desire,
Which till it wonder, is not rightly graced,
For those sweet glories, which you doe aspire,
Must, as Idea's, only be embraced
Since excellence in other forme enioyed,
Is by descending to her Saints destroyed.

XII

Cupid, thou naughtie Boy, when thou wert loathed,
Naked and blind, for vagabunding noted,
Thy nakednesse I in my reason clothed,
Mine eyes I gave thee, so was I devoted.
Fye Wanton, fie; who would shew children kindnesse?
No sooner he into mine eyes was gotten,
But straight he clouds them with a seeing blindnesse,
Makes reason wish that reason were forgotten.
From thence to Mira's eyes the Wanton strayeth,
Where while I charge him with ungratefull measure,
So with faire wonders he mine eyes betrayeth,
That my wounds, and his wrongs, become my pleasure;
Till for more spite to Myra's heart he flyeth,
Where living to the world, to me he dieth.

XVI

Fye foolish Earth, thinke you the heaven wants glory,
Because your shadowes doe your selfe be-night?
All's darke unto the blind, let them be sory,
The heavens in themselves are ever bright.
Fye fond desire, thinke you that Love wants glory,
Because your shadowes doe your selfe benight?
The hopes and feares of lust, may make men sorie,
But love still in her selfe finds her delight.
Then Earth stand fast, the skye that you benight
Will turne againe, and so restore your glory;
Desire be steady, hope is your delight,
An orbe wherein no creature can be sorie;
Love being plac'd above these middle regions,
Where every passion warres it selfe with legions.

XVII

Cynthia, whose glories are at Full for ever,
Whose beauties draw forth teares, and kindle fires,
Fires, which kindled once are quenchèd never,
So beyond hope your worth beares up desires.
Why cast you clouds on your sweet looking eyes?
Are you afraid they shew me too much pleasure?
Strong Nature decks the grave wherein it lyes,
Excellence can never be exprest in measure.
Are you afraid, because my heart adores you?
The world will thinke I hold Endymion's place
Hippolytus, sweet Cynthia, kneel'd before you,
Yet did you not come downe to kisse his face.
Angells enjoy the heavens inward Quires:
Starre-gazers only multiply desires.

XXII

I with whose colors Myra drest her head,
I, that ware posies of her owne hand making,
I, that mine owne name in the chimnies read
By Myra finely wrought ere I was waking:
  Must I looke on? in hope time comming may
  With change bring back my turne againe to play.
I, that on Sunday at the Church-stile found,
A Garland sweet, with true-love knots in flowers,
Which I to weare about mine arme was bound,
That each of us might know that all was ours:
  Must I now lead an idle life in wishes?
  And follow Cupid for his loaves, and fishes?
I, that did weare the ring her Mother left,
I, for whose love she gloried to be blamèd,
I, with whose eyes her eyes committed theft,
I, who did make her blush when I was namèd;
  Must I lose ring, flowers, blush, theft and go naked,
  Watching with sighs, till dead love be awakèd?
I, that when drowsie Argus fell asleep,
Like Jealousie o’rewatchèd with Desire,
Was even warnèd modestie to keepe,
While her breath speaking kindled Natures fire:
  Must I looke on a-cold, while others warme them?
  Doe Vulcans brothers in such fine nets arme them?
Was it for this that I might Myra see
Washing the water with her beauties, white,
Yet would she never write her love to me;
Thinks wit of change while thoughts are in delight?
  Mad Girles must safely love, as they may leave,
  No man can print a kisse, lines may deceive.
- Variants: l. 9, "arms"; l. 26, "beauty’s white"; l. 29, "may safely"

XXIII

Merlin, they say, an English Prophet borne,
When he was yong and govern'd by his Mother,
Took great delight to laugh such fooles to scorne,
As thought, by Nature we might know a Brother.
His Mother chid him oft, till on a day,
They stood, and saw a Coarse to buriall carried,
The Father teares his beard, doth weepe and pray;
The Mother was the woman he had married.
Merlin laughs out aloud in stead of crying;
His Mother chides him for that childish fashion;
Sayes, Men must mourne the dead, themselves are dying,
Good manners doth make answer unto passion.
The Child (for children see what should be hidden)
Replies unto his Mother by and by,
Mother, if you did know, and were forbidden,
Yet you would laugh as heartily, as I.
This Man no part hath in the child he sorrowes,
His Father was the Monke that sings before him:
See then how Nature of Adoption borrowes,
Truth covets in me, that I should restore him.
True fathers singing supposed fathers crying,
I thinke make women laugh, that lye a-dying.

XXV

Cupid, my pretty Boy, leave off thy crying,
Thou shalt have Bells or Apples; be not peevish;
Kisse me sweet Lad, beshrew her for denying;
Such rude denyalls doe make children theevish.
Did Reason say that Boyes must be restrained?
What was it, Tell: hath cruell Honour chidden?
Or would they have thee from sweet Myra weyned?
Are her faire brests made dainty to be hidden?
Tell me (sweet Boy,) doth Myra's beauty threaten?
Must you say Grace when you would be a playing?
Doth she cause thee make faults, to make thee beaten?
Is Beauties pride in innocents betraying?
Give me a Bow, let me thy Quiver borrow,
And she shall play the child with love, or sorrow.

XXXVII

Caelica, I overnight was finely used,
Lodg'd in the midst of paradise, your Heart:
Kind thoughts had charge I might not be refused,
Of every fruit and flower I had part.
But curious Knowledge, blowne with busie flame,
The sweetest fruits had in downe shadowes hidden,
And for it found mine eyes had seene the same,
I from my paradise was straight forbidden.
Where that Curre, Rumor, runnes in every place,
Barking with Care, begotten out of feare;
And glassy Honour, tender of Disgrace,
Stands Ceraphin to see I come not there;
While that fine soyle, which all these joyes did yeeld,
By broken fence is prov'd a common field.

XXXVIII

The pride of Flesh by reach of humane wit,
Did purpose once to over-reach the skye;
And where before God drown'd the world for it,
Yet Babylon it built up, not to dye.
God knew these fooles how foolishly they wrought,
That Destiny with Policie would breake,
Straight none could tell his fellow what he thought,
Their tongues were chang'd, & men not taught to speake:
So I that heavenly peace would comprehend,
In mortall seat of Caelica's faire heart,
To babylon my selfe there, did intend,
With naturall kindnesse, and with passions art:
But when I though my selfe of her selfe free;
All's chang'd: she understands all men but me.
- Cp. Genesis xi, 1–7

XXXIX

The Nurse-life Wheat within his greene huske growing,
Flatters our hope, and tickles our desire,
Natures true riches in sweet beauties shewing,
Which set all hearts, with labours love, on fire.
No lesse faire is the Wheat when golden care,
Shewes unto hope the joyes of neare enjoying:
Faire and sweet is the bud, more sweet and faire
The Rose, which proves that time is not destroying.
Caelica, your youth, the morning of delight,
Enamel'd o're with beauties white and red,
All sense and thoughts did to beleefe invite,
That Love and Glorie there are brought to bed;
And your ripe yeeres love none; he goes no higher,
Turnes all the spirits of Man into desire.

XLIV

Absence, the noble truce
Of Cupids warre:
Where though desires want use,
They honoured are.
Thou art the just protection,
Of prodigall affection,
Have thou the praise;
When bankrupt Cupid braveth,
Thy mines his credit saveth,
With sweet delayes.
Of wounds which presence makes
With Beauties shot,
Absence the anguish slakes,
But healeth not:
Absence records the Stories,
Wherein Desire glories,
Although she burne,
She cherisheth the spirits
Where Constancy inherits
And Passions mourne.
Absence, like dainty Clouds,
On glorious-bright,
Natures weake senses shrowds,
From harming light.
Absence maintaines the treasure
Of pleasure unto pleasure,
Sparing with praise;
Absence doth nurse the fire,
Which starves and feeds desire
With sweet delayes.
Presence to every part
Of Beauty tyes,
Where Wonder rules the heart
There Pleasure dyes:
Pleasures plagues minde and senses
With modesties defences,
Absence is free:
Thoughts doe in absence venter
On Cupids shadowed center,
They winke and see.
But Thoughts be not so brave,
With absent joy;
For you with that you have
Your selfe destroy:
The absence which you glory,
Is that which makes you sory,
And burne in vaine:
For Thought is not the weapon,
Wherewith thoughts-ease men cheapon,
Absence is paine.

LI

Away with these selfe-loving Lads,
Whom Cupids arrow never glads:
Away poore soules, that sigh and weep,
In love of those that lye asleepe:
For Cupid is a meadow-God,
And forceth none to kisse the rod.
Sweet Cupids shafts like Destinie
Doe causelesse good or ill decree;
Desert is borne out of his bow,
Reward upon his wing doth goe;
What fooles are they that have not knowne,
That Love likes no Lawes but his owne.
My songs they be of Cynthia's praise,
I weare her Rings on Holy dayes,
In every Tree I write her name,
And every Day I read the same.
Where Honour Cupids riuall is
There miracles are seene of his.
If Cynthia crave her Ring of me,
I blot her name out of the Tree,
If doubt doe darken things held deare,
Then well-fare Nothing once a yeare
For many runne, but one must winne,
Fooles only hedge the Cuckoe in.

LIV

Cynthia, because your Hornes looke diverse wayes,
Now darkned to the East, now to the West;
Then at Full-glorie once in thirty dayes,
Sense doth beleeve that Change is Natures rest.
Poore earth, that dare presume to judge the skye;
Cynthia is ever round, and never varies,
Shadowes and distance doe abuse the eye,
And in abusèd sense truth oft miscarries:
Yet who this language to the People speaks,
Opinions empire senses idoll breaks.

LX

Caelica, while you doe sweare you love me best,
And euer loved onely me,
I feele that all powers are opprest
By Love, and Love by Destinie.
For as the child in swadlin-bands,
When it doth see the Nurse come nigh,
With smiles and crowes doth lift the hands,
Yet still must in the cradle lie:
So in the boate of Fate I rowe,
And looking to you, from you goe.
When I see in thy once-belovèd browes,
The heavy marks of constant love,
I call to minde my broken vowes,
And child-like to the Nurse would move;
But Love is of the Phaenix-kind,
And burnes it selfe, in selfe-made fire,
To breed still new birds in the minde,
From ashes of the old desire:
And hath his wings from constancy,
As mountaines call'd of moving be.
Then Caelica lose not heart-eloquence,
Love understands not, come againe:
Who changes in her owne defence,
Needs not cry to the deafe in vaine.
Love is no true made Looking-glasse,
Which perfect yeelds the shape we bring,
It ugly showes us all that was,
And flatters every future thing.
When Phoebus beames no more appeare,
'Tis darker that the day was here.
Change I confesse it is a hatefull power,
To them that all at once must thinke,
Yet Nature made both sweet and sower,
She gave the eye a lid to winke:
And though the Youth that are estrang'd
From Mothers lap to other skyes,
Doe thinke that Nature there is chang'd
Because at home their knowledge lyes;
Yet shall they see who farre have gone,
That Pleasure speaks more tongues than one.
The Leaves fall off, when Sap goes to the root,
The warmth doth clothe the bough againe;
But to the dead tree what doth boot,
The silly mans manuring paine?

LXI

Who worships Cupid, doth adore a boy,
Boyes earnest are at first in their delight,
But for a new, soone leave their dearest toy,
And out of minde, as soone as out of sight,
Their joyes be dallyings and their wealth is play,
They cry to have, and cry to cast away.
Marsis an Idoll, and Mans lust, his skye;
Whereby his glories still are full of wounds,
Who worships him, their fame goes farre and nigh,
But still of ruine and distresse it sounds.
Yet cannot all be wonne, and who doth live,
Must roome to neighbours and succession give.
Those Mercurists that upon humors worke,
And so make others skill, and power their owne,
Are like the Climats, which farre Northward lurke,
And through long Winters must reape what is sowne;
Or like the Masons, whose Art building well,
Yet leaves the house for other men to dwell.
Mercurie, Cupid, Mars, they be no Gods,
But humane Idols, built up by desire,
Fruit of our boughs, whence heaven maketh rods,
And babyes too for child-thoughts that aspire:
Who sees their glories, on the earth must prye;
Who seeks true glory must looke to the skye.

LXVIII

When all this All doth passe from age to age,
And revolution in a circle turne,
Then heavenly Justice doth appeare like rage,
The Caves doe roare, the very Seas doe burne,
Glory growes darke, the Sunne becomes a night,
And makes this great world feele a greater might.
When Love doth change his seat from heart to heart,
And worth about the wheele of Fortune goes,
Grace is diseas'd, desert seemes overthwart,
Vowes are forlorne, and truth doth credit lose,
Chance then gives Law, Desire must be wise,
And looke more wayes than one, or lose her eyes.
My age of joy is past, of woe begunne,
Absence my presence is, strangenesse my grace,
With them that walke against me, is my Sunne:
The wheele is turn'd, I hold the lowest place,
What can be good to me since my love is,
To doe me harme, content to doe amisse?

LXXIII

In the window of a Graunge,
Whence mens prospects cannot range
Over groves, and flowers growing,
Natures wealth, and pleasure showing;
But on graves where shepheards lye,
That by love or sicknesse die;
In that window saw I sit,
Caelica adorning it,
Sadly clad for sorrowes glory,
Making joy, glad to be sorie:
Shewing Sorrow in such fashion,
As Truth seem'd in love with Passion,
Such a sweet enamell giveth
Love restrain'd, that constant liveth.
Absence, that bred all this paine,
Presence heal'd not straight againe;
Eyes from darke to suddaine light,
See not straight, nor can delight.
Where the heart revives from death,
Grones doe first send forth a breath:
So, first looks did looks beget,
One sigh did another fet,
Hearts within their breast did quake,
While thoughts to each other spake.
Philocell entrauncèd stood,
Rackt, and joyèd with his good,
His eyes on her eyes were fixed,
Where both true Love and Shame were mixed:
In her eyes he pittie saw,
His Love did to Pittie draw:
But Love found when it came there,
Pitty was transform'd to Feare:
Then he thought that in her face,
He saw Love, and promis'd Grace.
Love calls his Love to appeare,
But as soone as it came neere,
Her Love to her bosome fled,
Under Honours burthens dead.
Honour in Loves stead tooke place,
To grace Shame, with Loves disgrace;
But like drops throwne on the fire,
Shames restraints, enflam'd Desire:
Desire looks, and in her eyes,
The image of it selfe espies,
Whence he takes selfe-pitties motions
To be Cynthia's owne devotions,
And resolves Feare is a lyar,
Thinking she bids speake Desire,
But true love that feares, and dare
Offend it selfe with pleasing Care,
So divers wayes his heart doth move,
That his tongue cannot speake of love.
Onely in himselfe he sayes,
How fatall are blind Cupids wayes?

LXXXIV

Farewell sweet Boy, complaine not of my truth;
Thy Mother lov'd thee not with more devotion;
For to thy Boyes play I gave all my youth,
Yong Master, I did hope for your promotion.
While some sought Honours, Princes thoughts observing,
Many woo'd Fame, the child of paine and anguish,
Others judg'd inward good a chiefe deserving,
I in thy wanton Visions joy'd to languish.
I bow'd not to thy image for succession,
Nor bound thy bow to shoot reformèd kindnesse,
Thy playes of hope and feare were my confession,
The spectacles to my life was thy blindnesse:
But Cupid now farewell, I will goe play me,
With thoughts that please me lesse, and lesse betray me.

LXXXV

Love is the Peace, whereto all thoughts doe strive,
Done and begun with all our powers in one:
The first and last in us that is alive,
End of the good, and there with pleas'd alone.
Perfections spirit, Goddesse of the minde,
Passed through hope, desire, griefe and feare,
A simple Goodnesse in the flesh refind,
Which of the joyes to come doth witnesse beare.
Constant, because it sees no cause to varie,
A Quintessence of Passions overthrowne,
Rais'd above all that change of objects carry,
A Nature by no other nature knowne:
For Glorie's of eternitie aframe,
That by all bodies else obscures her name.

LXXXVI

The Earth with thunder torne, with fire blasted,
With waters drowned, with windye palsey shaken
Cannot for this with heaven be distasted,
Since thunder, raine and winds from earth are taken:
Man torne with Love, with inward furies blasted,
Drown'd with despaire, with fleshly lustings shaken,
Cannot for this with heaven be distasted,
Love, furie, lustings out of man are taken.
Then Man, endure thy selfe, those clouds will vanish;
Life is a Top which whipping Sorrow driveth;
Wisdome must beare what our flesh cannot banish,
The humble leade, the stubborne bootlesse striveth:
Or Man, forsake thy selfe, to heaven turne thee,
Her flames enlighten Nature, never burne thee.

LXXXVII

When as Mans life, the light of humane lust,
In soacket of his earthly lanthorne burnes,
That all this glory unto ashes must,
And generations to corruption turnes;
  Then fond desires that onely feare their end,
  Doe vainely wish for life, but to amend.
But when this life is from the body fled,
To see it selfe in that eternall Glasse,
Where time doth end, and thoughts accuse the dead,
Where all to come, is one with all that was;
  Then living men aske how he left his breath,
  That while he livèd never thought of death.

LXXXVIII

Man, dreame no more of curious mysteries,
As what was here before the world was made,
The first Mans life, the state of Paradise,
Where heaven is, or hells eternall shade,
  For Gods works are like him, all infinite;
  And curious search, but craftie sinnes delight.
The Flood that did, and dreadfull Fire that shall,
Drowne, and burne up the malice of the earth,
The divers tongues, and Babylons downe-fall,
Are nothing to the mans renewèd birth;
  First, let the Law plough up thy wicked heart,
  That Christ may come, and all these types depart.
When thou hast swept the house that all is cleare,
When thou the dust hast shaken from thy seete,
When Gods All might doth in thy flesh appeare,
Then Seas with streames above the skye doe meet;
  For Goodnesse onely doth God comprehend,
  Knowes what was first, and what shall be the end.

LXXXIX

The Manicheans did no Idols make,
Without themselves, nor worship gods of Wood,
Yet Idolls did in their Idea's take,
And figur'd Christ as on the crosse he stood.
Thus did they when they earnestly did pray,
Till clearer Faith this Idoll tooke away:
We seeme more inwardly to know the Sonne,
And see our owne salvation in his blood;
When this is said, we thinke the worke is done,
And with the Father hold our portion good:
As if true life within these words were laid,
For him that in life, never words obey'd.
If this be safe, it is a pleasant way,
The Crosse of Christ is very easily borne:
But sixe dayes labour makes the sabboth day,
The flesh is dead before grace can be borne.
The heart must first beare witnesse with the booke,
The earth must burne, ere we for Christ can looke.

XCI

Rewards of earth, Nobilitie and Fame,
To senses Glorie, and to conscience wee,
How little be you, for so great a name?
Yet lesse is he with men that thinks you so.
For earthly Power, that stands by fleshly wit,
Hath banish'd that Truth, which should governe it.
Nobilitie, Powers golden fetter is,
Where with wise Kings subjection doe adorne,
To make man thinke her heavy yoke, a blisse,
Because it makes him more than he was borne.
Yet still a slave, dimm'd by mists of a Crowne,
Lest he should see, what riseth, what puls downe.
Fame, that is but good words of evill deeds,
Begotten by the harme we have, or doe,
Greatest farre off, least ever where it breeds,
We both with dangers and disquiet wooe.
And in our flesh (the vanities false glasse)
We thus deciav'd adore these Calves of brasse.

XCVII

Eternall Truth, almighty, infinite,
Onely exiled from mans fleshly heart,
Where ignorance and disobedience fight,
In hell and sinne, which shall have greatest part:
When thy sweet mercy opens forth the light,
Of Grace which giveth eyes unto the blind,
And with the Law even plowest up our sprite
To faith, wherein flesh may salvation finde.
Thou bid'st us pray, and wee doe pray to thee,
But as to power and God without us plac'd,
Thinking a wish may weare out vanity,
Or habits be by miracles defac'd.
One thought to God wee give, the rest to sinne,
Quickely unbent is all desire of good,
True words passe out, but have no being within,
Wee pray to Christ, yet helpe to shed his blood;
For while wee say beleeve, and feele it not,
Promise amends, and yet despaire in it.
Heare Sodom judg'd, and goe not out with Lot,
Make Law and Gospell riddles of the wit:
We with the Jewes even Christ still crucifie,
As not yet come to our impiety.

C

In Night when colours all to blacke are cast,
Distinction lost, or gone downe with the light;
The eye a watch to inward senses plac'd,
Not seeing, yet still having power of sight.
Gives vaine Alarums to the inward sense,
Where feare stirr'd up with witty tyranny,
Confounds all powers, and thorough selfe-offence,
Doth forge and raise impossibility:
Such as in thicke depriving darkenesse,
Proper reflections of the errour be,
And images of selfe-confusednesse,
Which hurt imaginations onely see;
And from this nothing seene, tels newes of devils,
Which but expressions be of inward evils.

CIII

O False and treacherous Probability,
Enemy of truth, and friend to wickednesse;
With whose bleare eyes opinion learnes to see,
Truths feeble party here, and barrennesse.
When thou hast thus misled Humanity,
And lost obedience in the pride of wit,
With reason dar'st thou judge the Deity,
And in thy flesh make bold to fashion it.
Vaine thought, the word of Power a riddle is,
And till the vayles be rent, the flesh new borne,
Reveales no wonders of that inward blisse,
Which but where faith is, every where findes scorne;
Who therfore censures God with fleshly sp'rit,
As well in time may wrap up infinite.

CV

Three things there be in Mans opinion deare,
Fame, many Friends, and Fortunes dignities:
False visions all, which in our sense appeare,
To sanctifie desires Idolatry.
For what is Fortune, but a wat'ry glasse?
Whose chrystall forehead wants a steely backe,
Where raine and stormes beare all away that was,
Whose ship alike both depths and shallowes wracke.
Fame againe, which from blinding power takes light,
Both Caesars shadow is, and Cato's friend,
The child of humour, not allyed to right,
Living by oft exchange of wingèd end.
And many Friends, false strength of feeble mind,
Betraying equals, as true slaves to might;
Like Ecchoes still send voyces down the wind,
But never in adversity finde right.
Then Man, though vertue of extremities,
The middle be, and so hath two to one,
By Place and Nature constant enemies,
And against both these no strength but her owne,
Yet quit thou for her, Friends, Fame, Fortunes throne;
Divels, there many be, and Gods but one.

CIX

Syon lyes waste, and thy Jerusalem,
O Lord, is falne to utter desolation,
Against thy Prophets, and thy holy men,
The sinne hath wrought a fatall combination,
Prophan'd thy name, thy worship overthrowne,
And made thee living Lord, a God unknowne.
Thy powerfull lawes, thy wonders of creation,
Thy Word incarnate, glorious heaven, darke hell,
Lye shadowed under Mans degeneration,
Thy Christ still crucifi'd for doing well,
Impiety, ô Lord, sits on thy throne,
Which makes thee living light, a God unknown.
Mans superstition hath thy truths entomb'd,
His Atheisme againe her pomps defaceth,
That sensuall unsatiable vaste wombe,
Of thy seene Church, thy unseene Church disgraceth;
There lives no truth with them that seem thine own,
Which makes thee living Lord, a God unknowne.
Yet unto thee, Lord, (mirrour of transgression)
Wee, who for earthly Idols, have forsaken
Thy heavenly Image (sinlesse pure impression)
And so in nets of vanity lye taken,
All desolate implore that to thine owne,
Lord, thou no longer live a God unknowne.
Yet Lord let Israels plagues not be eternall,
Nor sinne for ever cloud thy sacred Mountaines,
Nor with false flames spirituall but infernall,
Dry up thy mercies ever springing fountaines,
Rather, sweet Jesus, fill up time and come,
To yeeld the sinne her everlasting doome.
- Cp. John Steinbeck, To a God Unknown (1933)

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Certaine learned and elegant vvorkes of the Right Honorable Fulke Lord Brooke written in his youth, and familiar exercise with Sir Philip Sidney. The seuerall names of which workes the following page doth declare (London: Printed by E[lizabeth] P[urslowe] for Henry Seyle, 1633)

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