Selected quad for the lemma: death_n
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A34930
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Steps to the temple sacred poems, with other delights of the muses / by Richard Crashaw ...
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Crashaw, Richard, 1613?-1649.
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1646
(1646)
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Wing C6836; ESTC R13298
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53,140
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154
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from the ground The Columnes both are crown'd with either Sphere To show Chronology and History beare No other Culmen then the double Art Astronomy Geography impart Or Thus. LEt hoary Time's vast Bowels be the Grave To what his Bowels birth and being gave Let Nature die Phoenix-like from death Revived Nature take a second breath If on Times right hand sâ—t faiâ—e Historie If from the seed of empty Ruine she Can raise so faire an Harvest Let Her be Ne're so farre distant yet Chronologie Sharpe sighted as the Eagles eye that can Out-stare the broad-beam'd Dayes Meridian Will have a Perspicill to find her out And through the Night of error and dark doubt Discerne the Dawne of Truth 's eternall ray As when the rosie Morne budds into Day Now that Time's Empire might be amply fill'd Babels bold Artists strive below to build Ruine a Temple on whose fruitfull fall History reares her Pyramids more tall Then were th' Aegyptian by the life theâ—e give Th' Egyptian Pyramids themselves must live On these she lifts the World and on their base Shewes the two termes and limits of Time's race That the Creation is the Iudgement this That the World's Morning this her Midnight is An Epitaph Vpon Mr. Ashton a conformable Citizen THe modest front of this small floore Beleeve mee Reader can say more Then many a braver Marble can Here lyes a truly honest man One whose Conscience was a thing That troubled neither Church nor King One of those few that in this Towne Honour all Preachers heare their owne Sermons he heard yet not so many As left no time to practise any Hee heard them reverendly and then His practice preach'd them o're agen His Parlour-Sermons rather were Those to the Eye then to the Eare. His prayers tooke their price and strength Not from the lowdnesse nor the length Hee was a Protestant at home Not onely in despight of Rome Hee lov'd his Father yet his zeale Tore not off his Mothers veile To th' Church hee did allow her Dresse True Beauty to true Holinesse Peace which hee lov'd in Life did lend Her hand to bring him to his end When Age and Death call'd for the score No surfets were to reckon for Death tore not therefore but sans strife Gently untwin'd his thread of Life What remaines then but that Thou Write these lines Reader in thy Brow And by his faire Examples light Burne in thy Imitation bright So while these Lines can but bequeath A Life perhaps unto his Death His better Epitaph shall bee His Life still kept alive in Thee Rex Redux I Lle redit redit Hoc populi bona murmura volâ—unt Publicus hoc audin ' plausus ad astra refert Hoc omnâ— sedet in vultu commune serenum Omnibus hinc una est laetitiae facies Rex noster lux nostra redit redeuntis ad ora Aridet totis Anglia laeta genis Quisque suos oculos oculis accendit ab istis Atque novum sacro sumit ab ore diem Forte roges tanto quae digna pericula plausu Evadat Carolus quae mala quósve metus Anne perrerati male fida volumina ponti Ausa illum terris pene negare suis Hospitis an nimii rurcus sibi conscia tellus Vix bene speratum reddat Ibera caput Nil horum nec enim male fida volumina ponti Aut sacrum tellus vidiâ— Ibera caput Verus amor tamen haec sibi falsa pericula fingit Falsa peric'la solet fingere verus amor At Carolo qui falsa timet nec vera timeret Vera peric'la solet temnere verus amor Illi falsa timens sibi vera pericula temnens Non solum est fidus sed quoque fortis amor Interea nostri satis ille est causa triumphi Et satis ah nostri causa doloris erat Causa doloris erat Carolus sospes licet esset Anglia quod saltem discere posset Abest Et satis est nostri Carolus nunc causa triumphi Dicere quod saltem possumus Ille redit Out of Catullus COme and let us live my Deare Let us love and never feare What the sowrest Fathers say Brightest Sol that dyes to day Lives againe as blith to morrow But if we darke sons of sorrow Set ô then how long a Night Shuts the Eyes of our short light Then let amorous kisses dwell On our lips begin and tell A Thousand and a Hundred score An Hundred and a Thousand more Till another Thousand smother That and that wipe of another Thus at last when we have numbred Many a Thousand many a Hundred Wee 'l confound the reckoning quite And lose our selves in wild delight While our joyes so multiply As shall mocke the envious eye Ad Principem nondum natum NAscere nunc ô nunc quid enim puer alme moraris Nulla tibi dederit dulcior hora diem Ergone tot tardos ô lente morabere menses Rex redit Ipse veni dic bone Gratus ades Nam quid Ave nostrum quid nostri verba triumphi Vagitu melius dixeris ista tuo At maneas tamen nobis nova causa triumphi Sic demum fueris nec nova causa tamen Nam quoties Carolo novus aut nova nascitur infans Revera toties Carolus ipse redit Wishes To his supposed Mistresse WHo ere shee bee That not impossible shee That shall command my heart and mee Where ere shee lye Lock't up from mortall Eye In shady leaves of Destiny Till that ripe Birth Of studied fate stand forth And teach her faire steps to our Earth Till that Divine Idaea take a shrine Of Chrystall flesh through which to shine Meet you her my wishes Be speake her to my blisses And bee yee call'd my absent kisses I wish her Beauty That owes not all his Duty To gaudy Tire or glistring shoo-ty Something more than Taffata or Tissew can Or rampant feather or rich fan More then the spoyle Of shop or silkewormes Toyle Or a bought blush or a set smile A face that 's best By its owne beauty drest And can alone command the rest A face made up Out of no other shop Then what natures white hand sets ope A cheeke where Youth And Blood with Pen of Truth Write what the Reader sweetly ru'th A Cheeke where growes More then a Morning Rose Which to no Boxe his being owes Lipps where all Day A lovers kisse may play Yet carry nothing thence away Lookes that oppresse Their richest Tires but dresse And cloath their simplest Nakednesse Eyes that displaces The Neighbour Diamond and out faces That Sunshine by their owne sweet Graces Tresses that weare Iewells but to declare How much themselves more pretious are Whose native Ray Can tame the wanton Day Of Gems that in their bright shades play Each Ruby there Or Pearle that dare appeare Bee its owne blush bee its owne Teaâ—e A well tam'd Heart For whose more noble smart Love may bee long chusing a Dart. Eyes that bestow Full quivers on
Sea of thy blood Their little channels can deliver Something to the generall flood But while I speake whither are run All the Rivers nam'd before I counted wrong there is but one But ô that one is one all'ore Raine-swolne Rivers may rise proud Threatning all to overflow But when indeed all 's overflow'd They themselves are drowned too This thy Bloods deluge a dire chance Deare Lord to thee to us is found A deluge of deliverance A deluge least we should be drown'd Nere was 't thou in a sence so sadly true The well of living Waters Lord till now Sampson to his Dalilah COuld not once blinding me cruell suffâ—ce When first I look't on thee I lost mine eyes Psalme 23. HAppy me ô happy sheepe Whom my God vouchsafes to keepe Even my God even he it is That points me to these wayes of blisse One whose pastures cheerefull spring All the yeare doth sit and sing And rejoycing smiles to see Their greene backs were his liverie Pleasure sings my soule to rest Plenty weares me at her brest Whose sweet temper teaches me Nor wanton nor in want to be At my feet the blubb'ring Mountaine Weeping melts into a Fountaine Whose soft silver-sweating streames Make high Noone forget his beames When my waiward breath is flying Hee calls home my soule from dying Strokes and tames my rabid Griefe And does woe me into life When my simple weaknesse strayes Tangled in forbidden wayes Hee my Shepheard is my Guide Hee 's before me on my side And behind me he beguiles Craft in all her knotty wiles Hee expounds the giddy wonder Of my weary steps and under Spreads a Path cleare as the Day Where no churlish rub saies nay To my joy-conducted Feet Whil'st they Gladly goe to meet Grace and peace to meet new laies Tun'd to my great Shepheards praise Come now all yee terrors sally Muster forth into the valley Where triumphant darknesse hovers With a sable wing that covers Brooding Horror Come thou Death Let the damps of thy dull Breath Overshadow even the shade And make darknesse selfe afraid There my feet even there shall find Way for a resolved mind Still my Shepheard still my God Thou art with me Still thy rod And thy staffe whose influence Gives direction gives defence At the whisper of thy Word Crown'd abundance spreads my Bord While I feast my foes doe feed Their rank malice not their need So that with the self-same bread They are starv'd and I am fed How my head in ointment swims How my cup orelooks her Brims So even so still may I move By the Line of thy deare Love Still may thy sweet mercy spread A shady Arme above my head About my Paths so shall I find The faire Center of my mind Thy Temple and those lovely walls Bright ever with a beame that falls Fresh from the pure glance of thine eye Lighting to Eternity There I 'le dwell for ever there Will I find a purer aire To feed my Life with there I 'le sup Balme and Nectar in my Cup And thence my ripe soule will I breath Warme into the Armes of Death Psalme 137. ON the proud bankes of great Euphrates flood There we sate and there we wept Our Harpes that now no Musicke understood Nodding on the Willowes slept While unhappy captiv'd wee Lovely Sion thought on thee They they that snatcht us from our Countries brest Would have a Song carv'd to their Eares In Hebrew numbers then ô cruell jest When Harpes and hearts were drown'd in Teares Come they cry'd come sing and play On of Sions songs to day Sing play to whom ah shall we sing or play If not Ierusalem to thee Ah thee Ierusalem ah sooner may This hand forget the mastery Of Musicks dainty touch then I The Musicke of thy memory Which when I lose ô may at once my Tongue Lose this same busie speaking art Vnpearcht her vocall Arteries unstâ—ung No more acquainted with my Heart On my dry pallats roofe to rest A wither'd Leafe an idle Guest No no thy good Sion alone must crowne The head of all my hope-nurst joyes But Edom cruell thou thou cryd'st ddowne downe Sinke Sion downe and never rise Her falling thou did'st urge and thrust And haste to dash her into dust Dost laugh proud Babels Daughter do laugh on Till thy ruine teach thee Teares Even such as these laugh till a venging throng Of woes too late doe rouze thy feares Laugh till thy childrens bleeding bones Weepe pretious Teares upon the stones A Hymne of the Nativity sung by the Shepheards Chorus COme wee Shepheards who have seene Dayes King deposed by Nights Queene Come lift we up our lofty song To wake the Sun that sleeps too long Hee in this our generall joy Slept and dreampt of no such thing While we found out the fair-ey'd Boy And kist the Cradle of our King Tell him hee rises now too late To shew us ought worth looking at Tell him wee now can shew him more Then hee e're shewd to mortall sight Then hee himselfe e're saw before Which to be seene needs not his light Tell him Tityrus where th' hast been Tell him Thyrsis what th' hast seen Tytirus Gloomy Night embrac't the place Where the noble Infant lay The Babe lookt up and shew'd his face In spight of Darknesse it was Day It was thy Day Sweet and did râ—se Not from the East but from thy eyes Thyrsis Winter chid the world and sent The angry North to wage his warres The North forgot his fierce intent And lest perfumes in stead of scarres By those sweet Eyes persuasive Powers Where he meant frosts he scattered Flowers Bâ—th We saw thee in thy Balmy Nest Bright Dawne of our Eternall Day Wee saw thine Eyes-break from the East And chase the trembling shades away Wee saw thee and wee blest the sight Wee saw thee by thine owne sweet Light Tityrus I saw the curl'd drops soft and slow Come hovering o're the places head Offring their whitest sheets of snow To furnish the faire Infants Bed Forbeare said I be not too bold Your fleece is white but 't is too cold Thyrsis I saw th'officious Angels bring The downe that their soft brests did strow For well they now can spare their wings When Heaven it selfe lyes here below Faire Youth said I be not too rough Thy Downe though soft's not soft enough Tityrus The Babe no sooner 'gan to seeke Where to lay his lovely head But streight his eyes advis'd his Cheeke 'Twixt Mothers Brests to goe to bed Sweet choise said I no way but so Not to lye cold yet sleepe in snow All. Welcome to our wondring sight Eternity shut in a span Summer in Winter Day in Night Chorus Heaven in Earth and God in Man Great litle one whose glorious Birth Lifts Earth to Heaven stoops heaven to earth Welcome though not to Gold nor Silke To more then Caesars Birthright is Two sister-Seas of virgins Milke With many a rarely-temper'd kisse That breathes at once both Maid and