Fraile Life! in which, through Mists of humane breath,
We grope for Truth, and make our Progress slow;
Because, by passion blinded, till by death,

Our Passions ending, we begin to know.

O rev'rend Death! whose looks can soon advise

30

Even scornfull Youth; whilst Priests their Doctrine wast, Yet mocks us too; for he does make us wise, When by his coming our Affaires are past.

O harmless Death! whom still the valiant brave,
The Wise expect, the Sorrowfull invite,
And all the Good embrace, who know the Grave,
A short dark passage to Eternal Light.

Sir William Davenant.

40

A Dialogue between The Resolved Soul and

Created Pleasure.

Ourage my Soul, now learn to wield
The weight of thine immortal whield.

Close on thy Head thy Helmet bright.
Ballance thy Sword against the Fight.
See where an Army, strong as fair,
With silken Banners spreads the air.
Now, if thou bee'st that thing Divine,
In this day's Combat let it shine:
And shew that Nature wants an Art
To conquer one resolved Heart.

ΤΟ

Pleasure. Welcome the Creations Guest,
Lord of Earth, and Heavens Heir.
Lay aside that Warlike Crest,
And of Nature's banquet share:

Soul.

Where the Souls of fruits and flow'rs
Stand prepar'd to heighten yours.

I sup above, and cannot stay
To bait so long upon the way.

Pleasure. On these downy Pillows lye,

Whose soft plumes will thither fly:
On these Roses strow'd so plain

Lest one Leaf thy Side should strain.

Soul. My gentler Rest is on a Thought,
Conscious of doing what I ought.

Pleasure. If thou bee'st with Perfumes pleas'd,
Such as oft the Gods appeas'd,

Soul.

Thou in fragrant Clouds shalt show
Like another God below.

A Soul that knowes not to presume
Is Heaven's and its own perfume.
Pleasure. Every thing does seem to vie

Soul.

Which should first attract thine Eye:
But since none deserves that grace,
In this Crystal view thy face.
When the Creator's skill is priz'd,
The rest is all but Earth disguis❜d.

Pleasure. Heark how Musick then prepares
For thy Stay these charming Aires;
Which the posting Winds recall,
And suspend the Rivers Fall.

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Soul.

Chorus.

Had I but any time to lose,

On this I would it all dispose.

Cease Tempter. None can chain a mind
Whom this sweet Chordage cannot bind.

Earth cannot shew so brave a Sight
As when a single Soul does fence
The Batteries of alluring Sense,

And Heaven views it with delight.

Then persevere: for still new Charges sound:
And if thou overcom'st thou shalt be crown'd. 50

Pleasure. All this fair, and cost, and sweet,
Which scatteringly doth shine,
Shall within one Beauty meet,
And she be only thine.

Soul.

If things of Sight such Heavens be,
What Heavens are those we cannot see?

Pleasure. Where so e're thy Foot shall go

Soul.

Pleasure.

Soul.

2025.8

The minted Gold shall lie;

Till thou purchase all below,

And want new Worlds to buy.

Wer't not a price who❜ld value Gold?
And that's worth nought that can be sold.

Wilt thou all the Glory have

That War or Peace commend?
Half the World shall be thy Slave
The other half thy Friend.

What Friends, if to my self untrue?
What Slaves, unless I captive you?

M

бо

Pleasure. Thou shalt know each hidden Cause;

Soul.

And see the future Time:

Try what depth the Centre draws;

And then to Heaven climb.

None thither mounts by the degree
Of Knowledge, but Humility.

Chorus. Triumph, triumph, victorious Soul;
The World has not one Pleasure more:

The rest does lie beyond the Pole,

And is thine everlasting Store.

Andrew Marvell.

WH

The Coronet.

Hen for the Thorns with which I long, too long,
With many a piercing wound,

My Saviours head have crown'd,

I seek with Garlands to redress that Wrong:

Through every Garden, every Mead,
I gather flow'rs (my fruits are only flow'rs)
Dismantling all the fragrant Towers

That once adorn'd my Shepherdesses head.
And now when I have summ'd up all my store,
Thinking (so I my self deceive)

So rich a Chaplet thence to weave
As never yet the king of Glory wore:
Alas I find the Serpent old

That, twining in his speckled breast,
About the flow'rs disguis'd does fold,
With wreaths of Fame and Interest.

Ah, foolish Man, that would'st debase with them,
And mortal Glory, Heavens Diadem!

But thou who only could'st the Serpent tame,
Either his slipp'ry knots at once untie,
And disintangle all his winding Snare:
Or shatter too with him my curious frame:
And let these wither, so that he may die,

Though set with Skill and chosen out with Care.
That they, while Thou on both their Spoils dost tread,
May crown thy Feet, that could not crown thy Head.
Andrew Marvell.

20

A Dialogue between the Soul and Body.

Soul.

A Soul inslav'd so many wayes?

Who shall, from this Dungeon, raise

With bolts of Bones, that fetter'd stands
In Feet; and manacled in Hands.
Here blinded with an Eye; and there
Deaf with the drumming of an Ear.
A Soul hung up, as 'twere, in Chains
Of Nerves, and Arteries, and Veins.
Tortur'd, besides each other part,
In a vain Head, and double Heart.

Body. O who shall me deliver whole,

From bonds of this Tyrannic Soul?
Which, stretcht upright, impales me so,
That mine own Precipice I go;

And warms and moves this needless Frame:
(A Fever could but do the same.)

IO