The Project Gutenberg eBook of Thomas Stanley: His Original Lyrics, Complete, in
Their Collated Readings of 1647, 1651, 1657., Edited by L. I. Guiney.
The Project Gutenberg eBook of Thomas Stanley: His Original Lyrics, Complete, In Their Collated Readings of 1647, 1651, 1657.
This ebook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and
most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions
whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms
of the Project Gutenberg License included with this ebook or online
at www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States,
you will have to check the laws of the country where you are located
before using this eBook.
Title: Thomas Stanley: His Original Lyrics, Complete, In Their Collated Readings of 1647, 1651, 1657.
Author: Thomas Stanley
Editor: Louise Imogen Guiney
Release date: June 27, 2010 [eBook #32986]
Language: English
Credits: Produced by Charlene Taylor, Walt Farrell and the Online
Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This
file was produced from images generously made available
by The Internet Archive/Canadian Libraries)
*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THOMAS STANLEY: HIS ORIGINAL LYRICS, COMPLETE, IN THEIR COLLATED READINGS OF 1647, 1651, 1657. ***
Transcriber’s Note:
This e-text includes characters that will only display in UTF-8 (Unicode) file encoding,
such as:
Eἰkων Βασιλιkή
Œ, œ (“oe” ligature)
If any of these characters do not display properly, or if the apostrophes
and quotation marks in this paragraph appear as garbage, you may have an incompatible
browser or unavailable fonts. First, make sure that the browser’s “character set” or
“file encoding” is set to Unicode (UTF-8). You may also need to change your browser’s
default font.
Some changes to the original text are indicated by dotted lines under the
word. Place the mouse pointer over
the word and the original text will appear.
In a similar fashion, dotted lines under Greek words and some abbreviations indicate the presence of additional information to assist the reader, e.g., Eἰkων Βασιλιkή.
Other changes and inconsistencies are noted in the Transcriber’s Notes at the end of the book.
LYRICS: THOMAS STANLEY
Thy numbers carry weight, yet clear and terse,
And innocent, as becomes the soul of verse.
James Shirley: To his honour’d
friend Thomas Stanley, Esquire,
upon his Elegant Poems. [1646.]
Thomas Stanley:
HIS ORIGINAL LYRICS, COMPLETE,
IN THEIR COLLATED READINGS OF 1647, 1651, 1657.
WITH AN INTRODUCTION, TEXTUAL NOTES,
A LIST OF EDITIONS, AN APPENDIX OF
TRANSLATIONS, AND A PORTRAIT.
Thomas Stanley’s quiet life began in 1625, the year of the accession of
that King whom English poets have loved most. He came, though in the
illegitimate line, from the great Stanleys, Earls of Derby. His father,
descended from Edward, third Earl, was Sir Thomas Stanley of
Leytonstone, Essex, and Cumberlow, Hertfordshire; and his mother was
Mary, daughter to Sir William Hammond of St. Alban’s Court, Nonington,
near Canterbury. Following the almost unbroken law of the heredity of
genius, Stanley derived his chief mental qualities from his mother; and
through her he was nearly related to the poets George Sandys, William
Hammond, Sir John Marsham the chronologer, Richard Lovelace and his less
famous brother; as, through his father, to a fellow-poet perhaps dearer
to him than any of these, Sir Edward Sherburne.
His tutor, at home, not at College, was William Fairfax, son of the
translator of Tasso. With translation in his own blood, that
accomplished and affectionate gentleman succeeded in inspiring his
forward charge[xii] with a taste for the same rather thankless game, and
with a love of modern foreign classics which he never lost. It was
thrown at Stanley, afterwards, that in courting the Muses, he had
profited only too well by Fairfax’s aid: but the charge, if ever a
serious one at all, was absurdly ill-founded. It may have been based on
a wrong reading of that very generous acknowledgement beginning: ‘If we
are one, dear friend,’ which is printed in this volume; for the muddled
misconstruing mind has existed in every intellectual society. Nothing is
plainer than that Stanley, both by right of natural genius and of
fastidious scholarship, was more than capable of beating his music out
alone.
The boy was sent to Pembroke College, Cambridge, before he was fifteen,
and was entered as a gentleman commoner of that University, passing by
no means unmarked among a brilliant generation; and there, in 1641 he
graduated Master of Arts, being incorporated at Oxford in the same
degree. He next set out, like all youths of his rank and age, upon that
‘grand tour’ which was still a perilous business. He returned to England
in the full fury of the great Civil contest (his family having emigrated
to France, meanwhile), and settled down to work, not forensic, but
literary, in the Middle Temple. There he fell to editing Æschylus,
turning Anacreon into English, and planning the beginnings of his
History of Philosophy. Best of all, he wrote, at leisure and by
liking, his charming verses. Contemporaries not a few practised this
same notable detachment, building nests, as it were, in the cannon’s
mouth. Choosing the contemplative life, Stanley,[xiii] like William Habington
and Drummond of Hawthornden, was shut in with his mental activities,
while many others whom they knew and whom we know, poor gay sparks of
Parnassus, were dimming and blunting themselves on bloody fields. Like
Habington and Drummond also in this, he was, though a passive Royalist,
Royalist to the core. His Psalterium Carolinum (Eἰkων Βασιλιkή in metre), published three years before the Restoration,
proves at least that if he were a non-combatant for the cause he
believed in, he was no timid truckler to the power which crushed it. In
London he seems to have lived throughout the war, suffering and
surviving in the smallpox epidemic. He had married early, and, according
to all evidence, most happily. His wife was Dorothy, daughter and
co-heiress of Sir James Enyon, Baronet, of Flore, or Flower,
Northamptonshire. (It is curious, one may note in passing, that Thomas
Stanley in the Oxford University Register is entered as an incorporated
Cantabrigian ‘of Flowre, Northants.’ This was in his seventeenth year,
when it is highly improbable that any property there could have been
made over to him, unless with reference to his betrothal to Dorothy
Enyon, then a child.) One of Stanley’s devoted poetic circle joyfully
salutes them on the birth of their second son, Sidney,
‘Ere both the parents forty summers told,’
as equal paragons. ‘You two,’ sings Hammond, ‘who are in worthiness so
near allied.’ They enjoyed, together, a comfortable fortune, and gave
even more[xiv] generously, in proportion, than they had received. All
Stanley’s tastes and habits were humanistic. He was the loyal and
helpful friend of many English men of letters. To name his familiar
associates is to call up a bright and thoughtful pageant, for they
include, besides Lovelace and Suckling and Sherburne, the Bromes; James
Shirley; John Davies of Kidwelly; John Hall of Durham, better remembered
now as the friend of Hobbes than as the prodigy his generation thought
him; and the genial Edward Phillips, the nephew of Milton. Though
Stanley knew how to protest manfully when the profits of his mental
labours were in danger of being withdrawn from him, yet he sought none
of the usual awards of life, and never increased his patrimony. Indeed,
his relative William Wotton said of him long after, in a Latin notice
written for Elogia Gallorum, that Stanley lived engrossed in his
studies, and let his private interests run to seed. He kept his learning
and his liberty, his charity and peace and good repute; and of his
troubles and trials he has left, like the gallant philosopher he was, no
record at all. A little brass in the chancel pavement of Clothall
Church, near Baldock, witnesses to some of these: for there ‘Thomas et
Dorothea, parentes moesti,’ laid two little sons to rest ... ‘sit nomen
Dñi benedictum.’ They lost other children, later; but one son and three
daughters survived their gentle father, when, after a severe illness, he
was called away from a society which bitterly deplored him, in April,
1678. He died in Suffolk Street, London, in the parish of St.
Martin-in-the-Fields.
[xv]Stanley was supposed by his contemporaries to have made himself immortal
by his History of Philosophy, long a standard book, though hardly an
original one. Indeed, they considered him, chiefly on account of it,
‘the glory and admiration of his time’: the phrase is that of a careful
critic, Winstanley. The work went into many editions; his prose was used
and read, while his verse was talked of, and passed lightly from hand to
hand. As in the case of Petrarca, whose fine Latin tomes quickly
perished, while his less regarded vernacular Rime rose to shine ‘on
the stretched forefinger of all Time,’ so here was a little remainder of
lovely English song to embalm an otherwise soon-buried name. Hardly any
poet of his poetic day, to be discovered hereafter, can be appraised on
a more intimate understanding, or can awaken a more endearing interest.
Yet we know that save for one or two of his pieces extant here or there
in anthologies; save for a private reprint in 1814 by that tireless
scholar and ‘great mouser,’ Sir Egerton Brydges; save for Mr. A. H.
Bullen’s valued reproduction of the Anacreontea, in 1893, Thomas
Stanley’s name is utterly unknown to the modern world.
We have indeed travelled far from the ideals of the seventeenth century.
Perhaps, after all, that is one of our blunders; for every hour,
nowadays, we are busy breaking a backward path through the historic
underbrush, in order to speak with those singing gentlemen of ‘the
Warres,’ whose art and statecraft and religion some of us (who have seen
the end of so much else), find incredibly attractive to our own. Their
lawless[xvi] vision, like that of children, and the mysterious trick of
music in all their speech, are things we love instinctively, and never
can regain. Out of their political storm, their hard thought, and high
spirits, they can somehow give us rest: and it is chiefly rest which we
crave of them. We appeal to each of these post-Elizabethans with the
invitatory line of one of them:
‘Charm me asleep with thy delicious numbers!’
The pleasure they can still give is inexhaustible, for unconscious
genius like theirs, however narrow, is a deeper well than Goethe’s. Cast
aside, and contemned, and left in the darkness long ago, the greater
number of these English Alexandrians are as alive as the lamp in
Tullia’s tomb; and of these Stanley, as a craftsman, is almost first.
He was a born man of letters; he gave his whole life to meditation, to
friendship, and to art; he did his beautiful best, and cared nothing for
results; and though literary dynasties have come and gone, his work has
sufficient vitality to-day to leap abreast of work which has never been
out of the sphere of man’s appreciation, and has deserved all the
appreciation which it got. Stanley’s fastidious strength, his wayward
but concentrated grace, his spirit of liberty and scorn in writing of
love (which was one of the novel characteristic notes of Wither’s
generation, and of Robert Jones’s before him); the sunny, fearless
mental motion, like that of a bird flying not far, but high, seem to our
plodding scientific wits as unnatural as a Sibyllic[xvii] intoxication. He
strikes few notes; he recognises his limits and controls his range; but
within these, he is for the most part as happy as Herrick, as mellow as
Henry King, as free as Carew, and as capable as these were, and as those
deeper natures, Crashaw and Vaughan, were not, of a short poem perfect
throughout. He is the child of his age, moreover, in that his ingenuity
never slumbers, and his speech must ever be concise and knotty. If he
sports in the tangles of Neræa’s hair, it is because he likes tangles,
and means to add to them. No Carolian poet was ever an idler!
Carew, perhaps, is Stanley’s nearest parallel. The latter shows the very
same sort of golden pertness, masked in languid elegance, which goes to
unify and heighten Carew’s memorable enchantment, and the same sheer
singable felicity of phrase. But, unlike Carew, he has no glorious
ungoverned swift-passing raptures; there is in Stanley less fire and
less tenderness. Nor has he anything to repent of. His imagination, as
John Hall discerningly said of it,
‘Makes soft Ionic turn grave Lydian.’
Except Habington’s, no considerable body of amatory verse in all that
century, certainly not even Cowley’s more artificial sequence of 1647,
is, on the whole, so free from stain. Stanley’s exemption did not pass
unnoticed; and William Fairfax (‘no man fitter!’) is careful to instruct
us that Doris, Celinda, and Chariessa were ‘various rays’ of ‘one orient
sun,’ and further, that ‘no coy ambitious names may here imagine earthly
flames,’ because the poet’s professional and deliberate[xviii] homage was
really paid to inward beauty, and never to ‘roses of the cheek’ alone.
Here we run up against a sweet and famous moral of Carew’s, which not
Carew, but Stanley, bears out as the better symbolist of the two. Our
poet does not appear to have contributed towards the religious
literature of a day when the torrent of intense life in human hearts
bred so much heaven-mounting spray, as well as so much necessary scum
and refuse. But his was a temperament so religious that one almost
expects to find somewhere a manuscript volume of ‘pious thoughts,’ the
shy fruit of Stanley’s Christian ‘retirements’ at home. It will be
noticed that there is one sad devotional poem in this book, ‘The lazy
hours move slow’; and as it appears only in John Gamble’s book, 1657, it
may fairly be inferred that it was written later than the other lyrics.
In 1657 Stanley was two-and-thirty, and his singing-time, so far as we
know, was over. He had discharged it well. He fails where any true
artist may ever be expected to fail, in verses occasional and
complimentary. But, to balance this, he is often exceptionally happy
when translating.
His portrait, in middle age, by Faithorne after Lely, commends him to us
all as quite worthy of the affection and applause which surrounded him
from his youth, and never spoiled him. Brown-haired, hazel-eyed,
fresh-cheeked, serene rather than gay, he seems the very incarnation of
the ideal for which many others, less fortunate, hungered in that vexed
England: the man ‘innocent and quiet,’ whose ‘mind to him a[xix] kingdom
is,’ whose ‘treasure is in Minerva’s tower,’ and ‘who in the region of
himself remains.’ Through the Civil struggle, the Commonwealth, the
Restoration, he had followed a way of peace, without blame, and he is
almost the only poet of the stormy time who is absolutely unaffected by
it. He, at least, need not be discounted as a pathetic broken crystal:
he can be judged on his own little plot of ground, without allowances,
and by our strictest modern standards. His light bright best, his
viridaria, have borne victoriously the lava-drift of nearly three
centuries. An amorist of even temper and of malice prepense, a railer
with a sound heart, an untyrannic master of his Muse, Stanley sings low
to his small jocund lyre, and need not be too curiously questioned about
his sincerity. How can it matter? He gives delight; he deserves the
bays.
This little book is the first complete reprint of Stanley ever
published: it is his original and inclusive output. The text is a new
text, inasmuch as it represents the Editor’s choice of readings, among
many variants; but variants are noted throughout, and by their number
and interest tell their own tale of Stanley’s exacting and sure taste. A
few translated lyrics are gathered into an Appendix. The title-pages of
his few volumes will be found cited in the accompanying List of
Editions.
But the only issues taken into account here, for textual purposes, are
the three of 1647, 1651, and 1657, of which last a word needs to be
said. (The edition of 1652 is an exact copy of 1651, therefore
negligible in the[xx] preparation of this book.) The often-overlooked
Ayres and Dialogues, Gamble’s and Stanley’s, appeared first privately,
in 1656, then in 1657. The earlier issue is rare; it figures in the
British Museum Music Catalogues, but not in those of the Bodleian
Library. There is at Oxford, however, a copy of the later edition, and
on this the present editor bases the readings common both to 1656 and
1657. As a general thing these readings of the Gamble Stanley are
particularly satisfying, and besides having all the advantages in point
of time, may have profited by the author’s careful revision. John
Gamble’s music-book is devoted wholly to Stanley’s poems. It has a
notably affectionate and, as it happens, a not-much-too-obsequious
Preface, in which Gamble well says that he felt it ‘a bold Undertaking
to compose words which are so pure Harmonie in themselves, into any
other Musick’; yet that he longed to put it to the test, ‘how neer a
whole life spent in the study of Musical Compositions could imitate the
flowing and naturall Graces which you have created by your Fancie.’
Gamble wrote out no accompaniments to his sweet and spirited settings,
nor did he leave Stanley’s titles prefixed to the numbered songs, a good
proportion of which are translations, though not indicated as such.
As to the present arrangement, for simplicity’s sake, it is nothing if
not frankly chronological. It is divided into six sections; the sixth
contains those poems which must have appeared to Stanley to be his best,
as they were included by him in every successive edition of his work.
Form and method, therefore,[xxi] are both, after a fashion, novel, but not
without their good inherent justification, nor without fullest obedience
of spirit to the author’s individual genius and its posthumous dues. The
spelling has been modernised, and particular pains have been taken with
the punctuation. This reprint is a deferent attempt to set forth Thomas
Stanley as a little latter-day classic, in his old rich singing-coat,
made strong and whole by means of coloured strands of his own weaving.
L. I. G.
Oxford, August 31, 1905.
The Editor’s best acknowledgements are due to Mr. W. Bailey Kempling,
for his painstaking copy, from the 1651 edition of Stanley in the
British Museum, of a large number of the poems collated in this book.
That I might ever dream thus! that some power To my eternal sleep would join this hour! So, willingly deceiv’d, I might possess In seeming joys a real happiness. Haste not away: O do not dissipate5 A pleasure thou so lately didst create! Stay, welcome Sleep; be ever here confin’d: Or if thou wilt away, leave her behind.
Despair.
No, no, poor blasted Hope! Since I (with thee) have lost the scope Of all my joys, I will no more Vainly implore [2]The unrelenting Destinies:5 He that can equally sustain The strong assaults of joy and pain, May safely laugh at their decrees.
Despair, to thee I bow, Whose constancy disdains t’allow10 Those childish passions that destroy Our fickle joy; How cruel Fates so e’er appear, Their harmless anger I despise, And fix’d, can neither fall nor rise,15 Thrown below hope, but rais’d ’bove fear.
The Picture.
Thou that both feel’st and dost admire The flames shot from a painted fire, Know Celia’s image thou dost see: Not to herself more like is she. He that should both together view5 Would judge both pictures, or both true. But thus they differ: the best part Of Nature this is; that of Art.
Opinion.
Whence took the diamond worth? the borrow’d rays That crystal wears, whence had they first their praise? Why should rude feet contemn the snow’s chaste white, Which from the sun receives a sparkling light, [3]Brighter than diamonds far, and by its birth5 Decks the green garment of the richer earth? Rivers than crystal clearer, when to ice Congeal’d, why do weak judgements so despise? Which, melting, show that to impartial sight Weeping than smiling crystal is more bright.10 But Fancy those first priz’d, and these did scorn, Taking their praise the other to adorn. Thus blind is human sight: opinion gave To their esteem a birth, to theirs a grave; Nor can our judgements with these clouds dispense,15 Since reason sees but with the eyes of sense.
Choose one whose love may be assur’d25 By thine: who ever knew Inveterate diseases cur’d But by receiving new?
Shepherd.
All will, like her, my soul perplex.
Nymph.
Yet try.
Shepherd.
Oh, could there be30 But any softness in that sex, I’d wish it were in thee!
Nymph.
Thy prayer is heard: learn now t’esteem The kindness she hath shown, Who, thy lost freedom to redeem,35 Hath forfeited her own.
To the Countess of S[underland?] with the Holy Court.[1:1]
Since every place you bless, the name This book assumes may justlier claim. (What more a court than where you shine? And where your soul, what more divine?) [7]You may perhaps doubt at first sight5 That it usurps upon your right; And praising virtues that belong To you, in others, doth you wrong. No, ’tis yourself you read, in all Perfections earlier ages call10 Their own; all glories they e’er knew Were but faint prophecies of you. You then have here sole interest, whom ’tis meant As well to entertain, as represent.
Drawn For Valentine by the L[ady] D[orothy] S[pencer?].[2:1]
Though ’gainst me Love and Destiny conspire, Though I must waste in an unpitied fire, By the same deity, severe as fair, Commanded adoration and despair; Though I am mark’d for sacrifice, to tell5 The growing age what dangerous glories dwell In this bright dawn, who, when she spreads her rays, Will challenge every heart, and every praise; Yet she who to all hope forbids my claim, By Fortune’s taught indulgence to my flame,10 Great Queen of Chance! unjustly we exclude Thy power an interest in beatitude, Who with mysterious judgement dost dispense The bounties of unerring Providence; Whilst we, to whom the causes are unknown,15 Would style that blindness thine, which is our own. [8]As kind, in justice to thyself, as me, Thou hast redeem’d thy name and votary: Nor will I prize this less for being thine, Nor longer at my destiny repine.20 Counsel and choice are things below thy state: Fortune relieves the cruelties of Fate.
III. LYRICS PRINTED ONLY IN THE EDITION OF 1657 [JOHN GAMBLE’S AYRES
AND DIALOGUES] HAVING NO TITLES.
On this Swelling Bank.
On this swelling bank, once proud Of its burden, Doris lay: Here she smil’d, and did uncloud Those bright suns eclipse the day; Here we sat, and with kind art5 She about me twin’d her arms, Clasp’d in hers my hand and heart, Fetter’d in those pleasing charms.
Here my love and joys she crown’d, Whilst the hours stood still before me,10 With a killing glance did wound, And a melting kiss restore me. On the down of either breast, Whilst with joy my soul retir’d, My reclining head did rest,15 Till her lips new life inspir’d.
Thus, renewing of these sights Doth with grief and pleasure fill me, And the thought of these delights Both at once revive and kill me!20
Dear, fold me once more in thine arms! And let me know Before I go There is no bliss but in those charms. By thy fair self I swear5 That here, and only here, I would for ever, ever stay: But cruel Fate calls me away.
How swiftly the light minutes slide! The hours that haste10 Away thus fast By envious flight my stay do chide. Yet, Dear, since I must go, By this last kiss I vow, By all that sweetness which dwells with thee,[3:1]15 Time shall move slow, till next I see thee.
The Lazy Hours.
The lazy hours move slow, The minutes stay; Old Time with leaden feet doth go, And his light wings hath cast away. The slow-pac’d spheres above5 Have sure releas’d Their guardians, and without help move, Whilst that the very angels rest.
The number’d sands that slide [11]Through this small glass,10 And into minutes Time divide, Too slow each other do displace; The tedious wheels of light No faster chime, Than that dull shade which waits on night:15 For Expectation outruns Time.
How long, Lord, must I stay? How long dwell here? O free me from this loathed clay! Let me no more these fetters wear!20 With far more joy Shall I resign my breath, For, to my griev’d soul, not to die Is every minute a new death.
See how this ivy strives to twine[4:2] Her wanton arms about the vine, And her coy lover thus restrains, Entangled in her amorous chains; See how these neighb’ring palms do bend5 Their heads, and mutual murmurs send, As whispering with a jealous fear[4:3] Their loves into each other’s ear.
Then blush not such a flame to own As, like thyself, no crime hath known;10 Led by these harmless guides, we may Embrace and kiss as well as they.
And like those blessed souls above, Whose life is harmony and love, Let us our mutual thoughts betray,15 And in our wills our minds display. This silent speech is swifter far Than the ears’ lazy species are; And the expression it affords (As our desires,) ’bove reach of words.20 [13]Thus we, my Dear, of these may learn[4:5] A passion others not discern; Nor can it shame or blushes move, Like plants to live, like angels love: Since all excuse with equal innocence25 What above reason is, or beneath sense.
Thou whose sole name all passions doth comprise: Youngest and eldest of the Deities, Born without parents, whose unbounded reign Moves the firm earth, fixeth the floating main, Inverts the course of heaven, and from the deep5 Awakes those souls that in dark Lethe sleep, By thy mysterious chains seeking t’unite, Once more, the long-since-torn hermaphrodite! He who thy willing prisoner long was vow’d, And uncompell’d beneath thy sceptre bow’d,10 Returns at last in thy soft fetters bound, With victory, though not with freedom, crown’d: And, (of his dangers past a grateful sign,) Suspends this tablet at thy numerous shrine.
The Glow-Worm.
Stay, fairest Chariessa, stay and mark This animated gem,[6:1] whose fainter spark Of fading light, its birth had from the dark:
A star thought by the erring[6:2] passenger [14]Which falling from its native orb, dropped here,5 And makes the earth, its centre, now its sphere.
Should many of these sparks together be, He that the unknown light far off should see Would think it a terrestrial galaxy.
Take ’t up, fair Saint; see how it mocks thy fright;10 The paler flame doth not yield heat, though light, Which thus deceives[6:3] thy reason, through thy sight.
But see how quickly it, ta’en up, doth fade, (To shine in darkness only being made), By th’ brightness of thy light turn’d to a shade,15
And burnt to ashes by thy flaming eyes! On the chaste altar of thy hand it dies, As to thy greater light a sacrifice.
Fletcher, whose fame no age can ever waste, (Envy of ours, and glory of the last,) Is now alive again; and with his name His sacred ashes wak’d into a flame Such as before could[8:2] by a secret charm5 The wildest heart subdue, the coldest warm, And lend the ladies’ eyes a power more bright, Dispensing thus, to either, heat and light. He to a sympathy those souls betray’d Whom love or beauty never could persuade;10 And in each mov’d spectator did[8:3] beget A real passion by a counterfeit. When first Bellario bled, what lady there Did not for every drop let fall a tear? And when Aspasia wept, not any eye15 But seem’d to wear the same sad livery; [16]By him inspir’d, the feign’d Lucina drew More streams of melting sorrow than the true; But then The Scornful Lady did[8:4] beguile Their easy griefs, and teach them all to smile.20 Thus he affections could or raise or lay; Love, grief, and mirth thus did his charms obey: He Nature taught her passions to out-do, How to refine the old, and create new; Which such a happy likeness seem’d to bear,25 As if that Nature Art, Art Nature were. Yet all had nothing been, obscurely kept In the same urn wherein his dust hath slept; Nor had he risen[8:5] the Delphic wreath to claim, Had with[8:6] the dying scene expir’d his name.30 O the indulgent justice of this age, To grant the press what it denies the stage! Despair our joy hath doubled: he is come Twice welcome by this post liminium. His loss preserv’d him; they that silenc’d wit35 Are now the authors to eternize it. Thus poets are in spite of Fate reviv’d, And plays, by intermission, longer liv’d.
Madam! the blushes I betray, When at your feet I humbly lay These papers, beg you would excuse Th’ obedience of a bashful Muse, Who, bowing to your strict command,5 Trusts her own errors to your hand, [17]Hasty abortives, which, laid by, She meant, ere they were born, should die: But since the soft power of your breath Hath call’d them back again from death,10 To your sharp judgement now made known, She dares for hers no longer own; The worst she must not: these resign’d She hath to th’ fire; and where you find Those your kind charity admir’d,15 She writ but what your eyes inspir’d.
To Mr. W[illiam] Hammond.
Thou best of Friendship, Knowledge, and of Art! The charm of whose lov’d name preserves my heart From female vanities, (thy name, which there Till time dissolves the fabric, I must wear!) Forgive a crime which long my soul oppress’d,5 And crept by chance in my unwary breast, So great, as for thy pardon were unfit, And to forgive were worse than to commit, But that the fault and pain were so much one, The very act did expiate what was done.10 I, who so often sported with the flame, Play’d with the Boy, and laugh’d at both as tame, Betray’d by idleness and beauty, fell At last in love, love both the sin and hell: No punishment great as my fault esteem’d,15 But to be that which I so long had seem’d. Behold me such: a face, a voice, a lute; The sentence in a minute execute. [18]I yield, recant; the faith which I before Deny’d, profess; the power I scorn’d, implore.20 Alas, in vain! no prayers, no vows can bow Her stubborn heart, who neither will allow. But see how strangely what was meant no less Than torment, prov’d my greatest happiness; Delay, that should have sharpen’d, starv’d Desire,25 And Cruelty not fann’d, but quench’d my fire. Love bound me; now, by kind Disdain set free, I can despise that Love as well as she. That sin to friendship I away have thrown! My heart thou may’st without a rival own,[10:1]30 While such as willingly themselves beguile, And sell away their freedoms for a smile, Blush to confess our joys as far above Their hopes, as friendship’s longer-liv’d than love.
When, dearest Friend, thy verse doth re-inspire Love’s pale decaying torch with brighter fire, Whilst everywhere thou dost dilate thy flame, And to the world spread thy Odelia’s name, The justice of all ages must remit5 To her the prize of beauty, thee of wit. Then, like some skilful artist, that to wonder[11:2] Framing some[11:3] piece, displeas’d, takes it asunder, Thou Beauty dost depose, her charms deny, And all the mystic chains of Love untie.10 [19]Thus thy diviner Muse a power ’bove Fate May boast, that can both make and uncreate. Next, thou call’st back to life that love-sick boy, To the kind-hearted nymphs less fair than coy, Who, by reflex beams burnt with vain desire,15 Did, phœnix-like, in his own flames expire; But should he view his shadow drawn by thee, He with himself once more in love would be. Echo, (who though she words[11:4] pursue, her haste Can only overtake and stop the last,)20 Shall her first speech and human voice[11:5] obtain, To sing thy softer numbers o’er again. Thus, into dying poetry, thy Muse Doth full perfection and new life infuse. Each line deserves a laurel, and thy praise25 Asks not a garland, but a grove of bays; Nor can ours raise thy lasting trophies higher, Who only reach at merit to admire. But I must chide thee, friend: how canst thou be A patron, yet a foe to Poesy?[11:6]30
For while thou dost this age to verse restore, Thou dost deprive the next of owning more;
And hast so far all future times surpass’d,[11:8] That none dare write: thus, being first and last, All their abortive Muses will suppress,35 And Poetry, by this increase, grow less.
[20]On Mr. Sherburne’s Translation of Seneca’s Medea, and Vindication of the
Author [1647-8].[12:1]
That wise philosopher who had design’d To [th’] life the various passions of the mind, Did wrong’d Medea’s jealousy prefer To entertain the Roman theatre; Both to instruct the soul, and please the sight,5 At once begetting horror and delight. This cruelty thou dost once more express Though in a strange, no less becoming dress; And her revenge hast robb’d of half its pride, To see itself thus by itself outvied,10 That boldest ages past may say, our times Can speak, as well as act, their highest crimes. Nor was’t enough to do his scene this right, But what thou gav’st to us, with equal light Thou wouldst bestow on him, nor wert more just15 Unto the author’s work, than to his dust. Thou dost make good his title, aid his claim, Both vindicate his poem and his name, So shar’st a double wreath; for all that we Unto the poet[12:2] owe, he owes to thee.20 Though change of tongues stol’n praise to some afford, Thy version hath not borrow’d, but restor’d.
[21]On Mr. Hall’s Essays [Horae Vacivae, 1646].[13:1]
Wits that matur’d by time have courted praise, Shall see their works outdone in these essays, And blush to know thy earlier years display A dawning clearer than their brightest day.[13:2] Yet I’ll not praise thee, for thou hast outgrown5 The reach of all men’s praises but thine own. Encomiums to their objects are exact: To praise, and not at full, is to detract. And with most justice are the best forgot; For praise is bounded when the theme is not:10 Since mine is thus confin’d, and far below Thy merit, I forbear it, nor will show How poor the autumnal pride of some appears,[13:3] To the ripe fruit thy vernal season bears! Yet though I mean no praise, I come t’invite15 Thy forward aims still to advance their flight. Rise higher yet; what though thy spreading wreath Lessen, to their dull sight who stay beneath? To thy full learning how can all allow Just praise, unless that all were learn’d as thou?20 Go on, in spite of such low souls, and may Thy growing worth know age, though not decay, Till thou pay back thy theft, and live to climb As many years as thou hast snatch’d from Time.
On Sir J[ohn] S[uckling] his Picture and Poems [1646].[14:1][22]
Suckling, whose numbers could invite Alike to wonder and delight, And with new spirit did inspire The Thespian scene, and Delphic lyre, Is thus express’d in either part,5 Above the humble reach of Art. Drawn by the pencil, here you find His form; by his own pen, his mind.
Answer [to “The Union,” Poem addressed to Stanley by his Friend and
Tutor, William Fairfax].[15:1]
If we are one, dear Friend! why shouldst thou be At once unequal to thyself and me? By thy release thou swell’st my debt the more, And dost but rob thyself to make me poor. What part can I have in thy luminous cone,5 What flame, since my love’s thine, can call my own, (The palest star is less the son of night,) Who but thy borrow’d know no native light?[15:2] Was’t not enough thou freely didst bestow The Muse, but thou must[15:3] give the laurel too,10 And twice my aims by thy assistance raise, Conferring first the merit, then the praise? But I should do thee greater injury, Did I believe this praise were meant to me, [23]Or thought, though thou hast worth enough to spare15 T’enrich another soul, that mine should share. Thy Muse, seeming to lend, calls home her fame, And her due wreath doth, in renouncing, claim.
V. LYRICS PRINTED ONLY IN EDITIONS OF 1647 AND 1657 [GAMBLE].
The Blush.
So fair Aurora doth herself discover (Asham’d o’ th’ aged bed of her cold lover,) In modest blushes, whilst the treacherous light Betrays her early shame to the world’s sight. Such a bright colour doth the morning rose5 Diffuse, when she her soft self doth disclose Half drown’d in dew, whilst on each leaf a tear Of night doth like a dissolv’d pearl appear; Yet ’twere in vain a colour out to seek To parallel my Chariessa’s cheek;10 Less are compar’d[16:1] with greater, and these seem To blush like her, not she to blush like them. But whence, fair soul, this passion? what pretence Had guilt to stain thy spotless innocence? Those only this feel who have guilty been,15 Not any blushes know, but who know[16:2] sin. Then blush no more; but let thy chaster flame, That knows no cause, know no effects of shame.
Such icy kisses, anchorites that live Secluded from the world, to dead skulls give; And those[17:1] cold maids on whom Love never spent His flame, nor know what by desire is meant, To their expiring fathers such bequeath,5 Snatching their fleeting spirits in that breath: The timorous priest doth with such fear and nice Devotion touch the Holy Sacrifice.
Fie, Chariessa! whence so chang’d of late, As to become in love a reprobate?10 Quit, quit this dulness, Fairest, and make known A flame unto me equal with mine[17:2] own. Shake off this frost, for shame, that dwells upon Thy lips; or if it will not so be gone, Let’s once more join our lips,[17:3] and thou shalt see15 That by the flame of mine ’twill melted be.
The Idolater.
Think not, pale lover, he who dies Burnt in the flames of Celia’s eyes, Is unto Love a sacrifice;
Or, by the merit of this pain, Thou shalt the crown of martyrs gain!5 Those hopes are, as thy passion, vain.
[26]For when, by death, from[18:1] these flames free, To greater thou condemn’d shalt be, And punish’d for idolatry,
Since thou, Love’s votary before,10 (Whilst she[18:2] was kind,) dost him no more, But, in his shrine, Disdain adore.
Nor will this fire the gods prepare To punish scorn, that cruel Fair, Though now from flames exempted, spare;15
But as together both shall die, Both burnt alike in flames shall lie, She in thy heart,[18:3] thou in her eye.
The Magnet.
Ask the empress of the night How the Hand which guides her sphere, Constant in unconstant light, Taught the waves her yoke to bear, And did thus by loving force5 Curb or tame the rude sea’s course.
Ask the female palm how she First did woo her husband’s love; And the magnet, ask how he[19:1] Doth th’ obsequious iron move;10 Waters, plants, and stones know this: That they love; not what Love is.
[27]Be not thou[19:2] less kind than these, Or from Love exempt alone! Let us twine like amorous trees,15 And like rivers melt in one. Or, if thou more cruel prove, Learn of steel and stones to love.
On a Violet in her Breast.
See how this violet, which before Hung sullenly her drooping head, As angry at the ground that bore The purple treasure which she spread, Doth smilingly erected grow,5 Transplanted to those hills of snow.
And whilst the pillows of thy breast Do her reclining head sustain, She swells with pride to be so blest, And doth all other flowers disdain;10 Yet weeps that dew which kissed her last, To see her odours so surpass’d.
Poor flower! how far deceiv’d thou wert, To think the riches of the morn Or all the sweets she can impart.15 Could these or sweeten or adorn, Since thou from them dost borrow scent, And they to thee lend ornament!
I go, dear Saint, away, Snatch’d from thy arms By far less pleasing charms, Than those I did[21:1] obey; But if hereafter thou shalt know5 That grief hath kill’d me, come,[21:2] And on my tomb Drop, drop a tear or two; Break with thy sighs the silence of my sleep, And I shall smile in death to see thee weep.10
Thy tears may have the power To reinspire My ashes with new fire, Or change me to some flower, Which, planted ’twixt thy breasts, shall grow:15 Veil’d in this shape, I will Dwell with thee still, Court, kiss, enjoy thee too: Securely we’ll contemn[21:3] all envious force, And thus united be by death’s divorce.20
Counsel.
When deceitful lovers lay At thy feet their suppliant hearts, And their snares spread to betray Thy best treasure[22:1] with their arts, Credit not their flatt’ring vows:5 Love such perjury allows.
[30]When they with the[22:2] choicest wealth Nature boasts of, have possess’d thee; When with flowers (their verses’ stealth), Stars, or jewels they invest thee,[22:3]10 Trust not to their borrow’d store: ’Tis but lent to make thee poor.
When with poems[22:4] they invade thee, Sing thy praises or disdain; When they weep, and would persuade thee15 That their flames beget that rain; Let thy breast no baits let in: Mercy’s only here a sin!
Let no tears or offerings move thee, All those cunning charms avoid;20 For that wealth for which they love thee, They would slight if once enjoy’d.
Guard thy unrelenting mind! None are cruel but the kind.
Love! what tyrannic laws must they obey Who bow beneath thy uncontrolled sway! Or how unjust will that harsh empire prove Forbids to hope and yet commands to love!
Must all are to thy hell condemn’d sustain5 A double torture of despair and pain? [31]Is’t not enough vainly to hope and woo, That thou shouldst thus deny that vain hope too? It were some joy,[23:2] Ixion-like, to fold The empty air, or feed on thoughts as cold;[23:3]10 But if thou to my passion this deny, Thou may’st be starv’d to death as well as I; For how can thy pale sickly flame burn clear When death and cold despair inhabit here?[23:4] Then let thy dim heat warm, or else expire;[23:5]15 Dissolve this frost, or let that quench the[23:6] fire. Thus let me not desire, or else possess! Neither, or both, are equal happiness.[23:7]
Song.
Faith, ’tis not worth thy pains and care To seek t’ensnare A heart so poor as mine:[24:1] Some fools there be Hate liberty,5 Who[m] with more ease thou may’st confine.
Alas! when with much charge thou hast Brought it at last Beneath thy power to bow, It will adore10 Some twenty more, And that, perhaps, you’d[24:2] not allow.
[32]No, Chloris, I no more will prove The curse of love, And now can boast a heart15 Hath learn’d of thee Inconstancy, And cozen’d women of their art.
Expectation.
Chide, chide no more away The fleeting daughters of the day, Nor with impatient thoughts outrun The lazy sun, Nor[25:1] think the hours do move too slow;5 Delay is kind, And we too soon shall find That which we seek, yet fear to know.
The mystic dark decrees Unfold not of the Destinies,10 Nor boldly seek to antedate The laws of Fate; Thy anxious search awhile forbear, Suppress thy haste, And know that Time at last15 Will crown thy hope, or fix thy fear.
VI. LYRICS PRINTED IN ALL ORIGINAL EDITIONS OF STANLEY.
The Breath.
Favonius, the milder breath o’ th’ Spring, When proudly bearing on his softer wing Rich odours, which from the Panchean groves He steals, as by the phœnix-pyre he moves, Profusely doth his sweeter theft dispense5 To the next rose’s blushing innocence; But from the grateful flower, a richer scent He doth receive[26:1] than he unto it lent. Then, laden with his odour’s richest store, He to thy breath hastes, to which these are poor;10 Which, whilst the amorous wind[26:2] to steal essays, He like a wanton lover ’bout thee plays, And sometimes cooling thy soft cheek doth lie, And sometimes burning at thy flaming eye: Drawn in at last by that breath we implore,15 He now[26:3] returns far sweeter than before, And rich by being robb’d, in thee he finds The burning sweets of pyres, the cool of winds.
Then whilst these black shades conceal us,25 We will scorn Th’ envious morn, And the sun that would reveal us. Our flames shall thus their mutual light betray, And night, with these joys crown’d, outshine the day.30
Unalter’d by Sickness.
Pale envious Sickness, hence! no more Possess her breast, too cold before. In vain, alas, thou dost invade A beauty that can never fade.
Could all thy malice but impair5 One o’ th’ sweets which crown her fair;[28:2] Or steal the spirits from her eye; Or kiss into a paler dye The blooming[28:3] roses of her cheek; Our suffering[28:4] hopes might justly seek10 Redress from thee, and thou mightst save Thousands of lovers from the grave. But such assaults are vain, for she Is too divine to stoop to thee, Blest with a form as much too high15 For any change, as[28:5] Destiny, Which no attempt can violate: For what’s her beauty is our fate.
Why thy passion should it move That I wished thy beauty less? Fools desire what is above Power of nature to express; And to wish it had been more5 Had been to outwish her store.
If the flames within thine eye Did not too great heat inspire,
Men might languish, yet not die, At thy less ungentle fire,10
And might on thy weaker light Gaze, and yet not lose their sight.
Nor wouldst thou less fair appear, For detraction adds to thee; If some parts less beauteous were,15 Others would much fairer be; Nor can any part we know Best be styl’d, when all are so.
Thus this great excess of light, Which now dazzles our weak eyes,20 Would, eclips’d, appear more bright; And the only way to rise, Or to be more fair, for[29:3] thee, Celia! is less fair to be.
Roses, in breathing forth their scent, Or stars their borrowed ornament; Nymphs in the watery sphere that move, Or angels in their orbs above; The winged chariot of the light,5 Or the slow silent wheels of night; The shade which from the swifter sun Doth in a circular motion run, Or souls that their eternal rest do keep, Make far more[30:2] noise than Celia’s breath in sleep.10
But if the angel which inspires This subtle frame[30:3] with active fires, Should mould this[30:4] breath to words, and those Into a harmony dispose, The music of this heavenly sphere15 Would steal each soul out at the ear, And into plants and stones infuse A life that cherubim[30:5] would choose, And with new powers[30:6] invert the laws of fate: Kill those that live, and dead things animate.20
Beauty, thy harsh imperious chains As a scorn’d weight, I here untie, Since thy proud empire those disdains Of reason or philosophy, [38]That would[31:2] within tyrannic laws5 Confine the power of each free cause.
Forc’d by the potent[31:3] influence Of thy disdain, I back return: Thus with those flames I do dispense Which, though they would not light, did burn,10 And rather will through cold expire, Than languish at[31:4] a frozen fire.
But whilst I the insulting pride Of thy vain beauty do despise, Who gladly wouldst be deified15 By making me thy sacrifice, May Love thy heart which to his charm Approach’d, seem’d cold, at distance warm!
The Return.
Beauty, whose soft magnetic chains Nor time nor absence can untie,[32:1] Thy power the narrow bound[32:2] disdains Of Nature or Philosophy; Thou[32:3] canst by unconfined laws5 A motion, though at distance, cause.
Drawn by the powerful[32:4] influence Of thy bright eyes, I back return; And since I nowhere can dispense With flames that[32:5] do in absence burn,10 [39]I rather choose ’twixt[32:6] them t’expire, Than languish by a hidden fire.
But if thou th’[32:7] insulting pride Of vulgar beauties dost despise, Who, by vain triumphs deified,15 Their votaries do sacrifice, Then let those flames, whose magic charm At distance scorch’d, approach’d, but warm.
Chang’d, Yet Constant.
Wrong me no more In thy complaint, Blam’d for inconstancy: I vow’d t’ adore The fairest Saint,5 Nor chang’d whilst thou wert she: But if another thee outshine, Th’ inconstancy is only thine!
To be by such Blind fools admir’d10 Gives thee but small esteem, By whom as much Thou’dst be desir’d, Didst thou less beauteous seem. Sure, why they love they know not well,15 Who why they should not, cannot tell!
[40]Women are by Themselves betray’d, And to their short joys cruel, Who foolishly20 Themselves persuade Flames can outlast their fuel; None (though platonic their pretence), With reason love, unless by sense.
And he,[33:1] by whose25 Command to thee I did my heart resign, Now bids me choose A deity Diviner far than thine;30 No power can Love from Beauty sever: I’m still Love’s subject; thine was, never.
The fairest she Whom none surpass, To love hath only right;35 And such to me Thy beauty was, Till one I found more bright; But ’twere as impious to adore Thee now, as not to have done ’t before.40
Nor is it just By rules of Love, Thou shouldst deny to quit A heart that must [41]Another’s prove45 Even in thy right to it; Must not thy subjects captives be To her who triumphs over thee?
Cease, then, in vain To blot my name50 With forg’d apostasy! Thine is that stain Who dar’st to claim What others ask of thee. Of lovers they are only true55 Who pay their hearts where hearts[33:2] are due.
Cast, Chariessa, cast that glass away; Not in its crystal face thine own survey. What can be free from Love’s imperious laws, When painted shadows real flames can cause? The fires may burn thee from this mirror rise,5 By the reflected beams of thine own eyes; And thus at last fall’n with thyself in love, Thou wilt my rival, thine own[34:2] martyr, prove. But if thou dost desire thy form to view, Look in my heart, where Love thy picture drew,10 And then, if pleas’d with thine own shape thou be, Learn how to love thyself by[34:3] loving me.
Fool! take up thy shaft again. If thy store Thou profusely spend in vain, Who can furnish thee with more? Throw not then away thy darts5 On impenetrable hearts.
Think not thy pale flame can warm Into tears, Or dissolve the snowy charm Which her frozen bosom wears,10 That expos’d unmelted lies To the bright suns of her eyes.
But since thou thy power hast lost, Nor canst fire Kindle in that breast, whose frost15 Doth these flames in mine inspire; Not to thee but her I’ll sue, That disdains both me and you!
Delay.
Delay! Alas, there cannot be To Love a greater tyranny: Those cruel beauties that have slain Their votaries by their disdain, Or studied torments sharp and witty.5 Will be recorded for their pity, [44]And after-ages be misled To think them kind, when this is spread. Of deaths the speediest is despair; Delays the slowest tortures are;10 Thy cruelty at once destroys, But expectation starves my joys. Time and Delay may bring me past The power of Love to cure, at last; And shouldst thou wish to ease my pain,15 Thy pity might be lent in vain. Or if thou hast decreed that I Must fall[36:1] beneath thy cruelty, O kill me soon! Thou wilt express More mercy, ev’n in showing less.20
The Repulse.
Not that by this disdain I am releas’d, And, freed from thy romantic[37:1] chain, Do I myself think blest;
Not that thy flame shall burn5 No more; for know That I shall into ashes turn Before this fire doth so.
Nor yet that unconfin’d I now may rove,10 And with new beauties please my mind; But that thou ne’er didst love!
[45]For since thou hast no part Felt of this flame, I only from thy tyrant heart15 Repuls’d, not banish’d, am.
To lose what once was mine Would grieve me more Than those inconstant sweets of thine Had pleas’d my soul before.20
Now I’ve not lost that[37:2] bliss I ne’er possessed; And, spite of Fate, am blest in this: That I was never blest.
Song.
Celinda, by what potent art Or unresisted charm, Dost thou thine ear and frozen heart Against my passion arm?
Or by what hidden influence5 Of powers in one combin’d, Dost thou rob Love of either sense, Made deaf as well as blind?
Sure thou as friends[38:1] united hast Two distant deities,10 And scorn within thy heart hast plac’d, And love within thine eyes;
[46]Or those soft fetters of thy hair, (A bondage that disdains All liberty,) do guard thine ear15 Free from all other chains.
Then my complaint how canst thou hear, Or I this passion fly, Since thou imprison’d hast thine ear, And not confin’d thine eye?20
The Tomb.
When, cruel fair one, I am slain By thy disdain, And as a trophy of thy scorn To some old tomb am borne, Thy fetters must their power bequeath5 To those of Death; Nor can thy flame immortal burn Like monumental fires within an urn. Thus freed from thy proud empire, I shall prove There is more liberty in Death than Love.10
And when forsaken lovers come To see my tomb, Take heed thou mix not with the crowd, And, as a victor, proud To view the spoils thy beauty made,15 Press near my shade! [47]Lest thy too cruel breath, or name, Should fan my ashes back into a flame.
And thou, devour’d by this revengeful fire, His sacrifice, who died as thine, expire.20
Or should my dust thy pity move That could not, love, Thy sighs might wake me, and thy tears Renew my life and years; Or should thy proud insulting scorn25 Laugh at my urn, Kindly deceiv’d by thy disdain, I might be smil’d into new life again. Then come not near: since both thy love and hate Have equal power to kill[39:2] or animate.30
But if cold earth or marble must Conceal my dust, Whilst, hid in some dark ruins, I Dumb and forgotten lie, The pride of all thy victory35 Will sleep with me; And they who should attest thy glory Will or forget, or not believe this story. Then, to increase thy triumph, let me rest, (Since by thine eye slain,) buried in thy breast!40
Dear, urge no more the killing cause Of our divorce: Love is not fetter’d by such laws, Nor bows to any force. Though thou deniest I should be thine,5 Yet say not thou deserv’st not to be mine!
Oh, rather frown away my breath With thy disdain, Or flatter me with smiles to death; By joy or sorrow slain,10 ’Tis less crime to be kill’d by thee, Than I thus cause of mine[40:2] own death should be.
Thyself of beauty to divest, And me of love, Or from the worth of thine own breast15 Thus to detract, would prove In us a blindness, and in thee At best a sacrilegious modesty.
But, Celia,[40:3] if thou wilt despise What all admire,20 Nor rate thyself at the just price Of beauty or desire, Yet meet my flames! and thou shalt see That equal love knows no disparity.
When on thy lip my soul I breathe, Which there meets thine, Freed from their fetters by this death, Our subtle forms[41:2] combine: Thus without bonds of sense they move,5 And like two cherubim converse by[41:3] love.
Spirits to chains of earth confin’d Discourse by sense; But ours, that are by flames refin’d, With those weak ties dispense.10 Let such in words their minds display: We in a kiss our mutual thoughts convey.[41:4]
But since my soul from me doth fly, To thee retir’d, Thou canst not both retain; for I15 Must be with one inspir’d; Then, Dearest,[41:5] either justly mine Restore, or in exchange let me have thine.
Yet if thou dost return mine own, O tak’t again!20 For ’tis this pleasing death alone Gives ease unto my pain. Kill me once more, or I shall find Thy pity than thy cruelty less kind.
Doris, I that could repel All those darts about thee dwell, And had wisely learn’d to fear ’Cause I saw a foe so near; I that my deaf ear did arm5 ’Gainst thy voice’s powerful charm; And the lightning of thine eye Durst, by closing mine, defy; Cannot this cold snow withstand From the winter[42:1] of thy hand.10 Thy deceit hath thus done more Than thy open force before: For who could suspect or fear Treason in a face so clear, Or the hidden fires descry15 Wrapt in this cold outside lie? Flames might thus, involv’d in ice, The deceiv’d world sacrifice; Nature, ignorant of this Strange antiperistasis,20 Would her falling frame admire, That by snow were set on fire!
Speaking and Kissing.
The air which thy smooth voice doth break Into my soul like lightning flies; My life retires whilst thou dost speak, And thy soft breath its room supplies.
[51]Lost in this pleasing ecstasy,5 I join my trembling lips to thine, And back receive that life from thee, Which I so gladly did resign.
Forbear, platonic fools! t’inquire What numbers do the soul compose:10 No harmony can life inspire, But that which from these accents flows.
Though when I lov’d thee thou wert[43:2] fair, Thou art no longer so: Those glories do[43:3] the pride they wear Unto opinion owe. Beauties, like stars, in borrow’d lustre shine;5 And ’twas my love that gave thee thine.
The flames that dwelt within thine eye Do now with mine expire; Thy brightest graces[43:4] fade and die At once, with my desire.10 Love’s fires thus mutual influence return: Thine cease to shine when mine to burn.
Then, proud Celinda, hope no more To be implor’d or woo’d, Since by thy scorn thou dost restore15 The wealth my[43:5] love bestow’d; And thy despis’d disdain too late shall find That none are fair but who are kind.
He whose active thoughts disdain To be captive to one foe, And would break his single chain, Or else more would undergo, Let him learn the art of me,5 By new bondage to be free!
What tyrannic mistress dare To one beauty Love confine? Who, unbounded as the air, All may court, but none decline.10 Why should we the heart deny As many objects as the eye?
Wheresoe’er I turn or move, A new passion doth detain me: Those kind beauties that do love,15 Or those proud ones that disdain me. This frown melts, and that smile burns me; This to tears, that, ashes, turns me.
Soft fresh virgins not full-blown With their youthful sweetness take me;20 Sober matrons that have known, Long since, what these prove, awake me; Here, staid coldness I admire, There, the lively active fire.
[53]She that doth by skill dispense25 Every favour she bestows, Or the harmless innocence Which nor court nor city knows;— Both alike my soul inflame, That wild beauty, and this tame.30
She that wisely can adorn Nature with the wealth of Art, Or whose rural sweets do scorn Borrow’d helps to[44:1] take a heart;— The vain care of that’s my pleasure;35 Poverty of this, my treasure.
Both the wanton and the coy Me with equal pleasure[44:2] move; She whom I by force enjoy, Or who forceth me to love:40 This, because she’ll not confess, That, not hide, her happiness.
She whose loosely flowing hair, (Scatter’d like the beams o’ th’ morn.) Playing with the sportive air,45 Hides the sweets it doth adorn, Captive in that net restrains me, In those golden fetters chains me;
[54]Nor doth she with power less bright My divided heart invade,50 Whose soft tresses spread, like night, O’er her shoulders a black shade; For the starlight of her eyes Brighter shines through those dark skies.
Black, or fair, or tall, or low,55 I alike with all can sport, The bold sprightly Thaïs woo, Or the frozen vestal court: Every beauty takes my mind, Tied to all, to none confin’d.60
La Belle Confidante.
You earthly souls that court a wanton flame, Whose pale weak influence Can rise no higher than the humble name And narrow laws of sense! Learn by our friendship to create5 An immaterial fire, Whose brightness angels may admire But cannot emulate.
Sickness may fright the roses from her cheek, Or make the lilies fade,10 But all the subtle ways that Death doth seek Cannot my love invade. [55]Flames that are kindled by the eye Through time and age expire, But ours, that boast a reach far higher,15 Cannot decay or die.[45:1]
For[45:2] when we must resign our vital breath, Our loves by Fate benighted,[45:3] We by this friendship shall survive in death, Even in divorce united:20 Weak love, through fortune or distrust, In time forgets to burn, But this pursues us to the urn, And marries either’s dust.
La Belle Ennemie.
I yield, dear enemy, nor know How to resist so fair a foe. Who would not thy soft yoke sustain, And bow beneath thy easy chain, That with a bondage blest might be5 Which far transcends all liberty? But since I freely have resign’d, At first assault, my willing mind, Insult not o’er my captiv’d heart With too much tyranny and art,10 Lest by thy scorn thou lose the prize Gain’d by the power of thy bright eyes; And thou this conquest thus shalt prove, Though got by beauty, kept by love.
You that unto your mistress’ eyes Your hearts do sacrifice, And offer sighs or tears at Love’s rich shrine, Renounce with me Th’ idolatry,5 Nor this infernal power esteem divine!
The brand, the quiver, and the bow, Which we did first bestow, And he as tribute wears from every lover, I back again10 From him have ta’en, And the impostor now unveil’d discover.
I can the feeble Child disarm, Untie his mystic charm, Divest him of his wings, and break his arrow;15 We will obey No more his sway, Nor live confin’d to laws or bounds so narrow
And you, bright Beauties, that inspire The Boy’s pale torch with fire,20 We safely now your subtle power despise, And unscorch’d may, Like atoms, play And wanton in the sunshine of your eyes.
[57]Nor think hereafter by new arts25 You can bewitch our hearts, Or raise this devil by your pleasing charm: We will no more His power implore, Unless, like Indians, that he do no harm.30
The Divorce.
Dear, back my wounded heart restore, And turn away thy powerful eyes; Flatter my willing soul no more: Love must not[46:1] hope what Fate denies.
Take, take away thy smiles and kisses!5 Thy love wounds deeper than disdain; For he that sees the heaven he misses, Sustains two hells of loss and pain.
Shouldst thou some other’s suit prefer, I might return thy scorn to thee,10 And learn apostasy of her Who taught me, first, idolatry.[46:2]
Or in thy unrelenting breast Should I[46:3] disdain or coyness move,
He by thy hate might be releas’d,15 Who now is prisoner to thy love.
I only for thy scorn do sue: ’Tis charity here not to love.
The Bracelet.
Rebellious fools that scorn to bow Beneath Love’s easy sway, Whose stubborn wills no laws allow, Disdaining to obey, Mark but this wreath of hair, and you shall see5 None that might wear such fetters would be free.
I once could boast a soul like you, As unconfin’d as air; But mine, which force could not subdue, Was caught within this snare;10 And by myself betray’d, I for this gold Have to mine enemy my freedom sold.[47:1]
No longer now, wise Art, inquire, (With this vain search delighted,) How souls that human[47:2] breasts inspire15 Are to their frames united: Material chains such spirits well may bind, When this soft braid can tie both arm and mind.
[59]Now, Beauties, I defy your charm, Rul’d by more powerful art:20 This mystic wreath which crowns my arm Defends my vanquish’d heart;[47:3] And I, subdu’d by one more fair, shall be Secur’d from conquest by captivity.
The Farewell.
Since Fate commands me hence, and I Must leave my soul with thee, and die, Dear, spare one sigh, or else let fall A tear to crown my funeral, That I may tell my grieved heart5 Thou art unwilling we should part; And martyrs that embrace the fire Shall with less joy than I expire.
With this last kiss I will bequeath My soul, transfus’d into thy breath,10 Whose active heat shall gently slide Into thy breast, and there reside, And may, (in spite of Fate thus blest,) Be, in this death, of heaven possess’d.[48:1] Then prove but kind; and thou shalt see15 Love hath more power than Destiny.
And with the same warm breath did mine Into thy bosom slide, There dwell, contracted unto thine, Yet still with me reside.10 Weak Nature no such power doth know: Love only can these wonders show.
Chor[us].
Both souls thus in desire are one, And each is two in skill, Doubled in intellect alone,15 United in the will. Weak Nature no such power doth know: Love only can these wonders show.
Draw near, You lovers, that complain Of Fortune or Disdain, And to my ashes lend a tear. Melt the hard marble with your groans,5 And soften the relentless stones,
Whose cold embraces the sad subject hide Of all Love’s cruelties, and Beauty’s pride.
No verse, No epicedium, bring;10 Nor peaceful requiem sing, To charm the terrors of my hearse; No profane numbers must flow near The sacred silence that dwells here. Vast griefs are dumb: softly, oh softly mourn!15 Lest you disturb the peace attends my urn.
Yet strew Upon my dismal grave Such offerings as you have: Forsaken cypress, and sad yew;20 For kinder flowers can take no birth Or growth from such unhappy earth. Weep only o’er my dust, and say: “Here lies To Love and Fate an equal sacrifice.”
The[51:1] silkworm, to long sleep retir’d, The early year hath re-inspir’d, Who now to pay to thee prepares The tribute of her pleasing cares; And hastens with industrious toil5 To make her ornament thy spoil.[51:2] See with what pains[51:3] she spins for thee The thread of her own destiny, Then, (growing proud in death, to know That all her curious labours thou[51:4]10 Wilt, as in triumph, deign to wear!) Retires to her soft sepulchre.
Such, Dearest, is that hapless state To which I am design’d by Fate, Who, by thee willingly o’ercome,15 Work mine own fetters and my tomb.
Ambition.
I must no longer now admire The coldness which possess’d Thy snowy breast, That can by other flames be set on fire; Poor Love, to harsh Disdain betray’d,5 Is by Ambition thus outweigh’d.
[63]Hadst thou but known the vast extent Of constant faith, how far ’Bove all that are Born slaves to wealth, or honours’ vain ascent;[52:1]10 No richer treasure couldst thou find Than hearts with mutual chains combin’d.
But Love is too despis’d a name, And must not hope to rise Above these ties.15 Honours[52:2] and wealth outshine his paler flame! These unite souls, whilst true desire Unpitied dies in its own fire.
Yet, cruel fair one, I did aim With no less justice too,20 Than those that sue For other hopes, and thy proud fortunes claim. Wealth honours, honours wealth, approve; But Beauty’s only meant for Love.
Song.
When, dearest Beauty, thou shalt pay Thy faith and my vain hope away To some dull soul that cannot know The worth of that thou dost bestow; Lest[53:1] with my sighs and tears I might5 Disturb thy unconfin’d delight, To some dark shade I will retire, And there, forgot by all, expire.
[64]Thus, whilst the difference thou shalt prove Betwixt a feign’d and real love,10 Whilst he, more happy, but less true, Shall reap those joys I did pursue, And with those pleasures crowned be By Fate, which Love design’d for me, Then thou perhaps thyself wilt find15 Cruel too long, or too soon kind.
Song.
I will not trust thy tempting graces, Or thy deceitful charms, Nor prisoner be to thy embraces, Or fetter’d in thy arms; No, Celia, no: not all thy art5 Can wound or captivate my heart.
I will not gaze upon thy eyes, Or wanton with thy hair, Lest those should burn me by surprise, Or these my soul ensnare;10 Nor with those smiling dangers play, Or fool my liberty away.
Since, then, my wary heart is free And unconfin’d as thine, If thou wouldst mine should captiv’d[54:1] be,15 Thou must thine own resign; And gratitude may thus move more Than love or beauty could before.
No, I will sooner trust the wind, When, falsely kind, It courts the pregnant sails into a storm, And when the smiling waves persuade, Be willingly betray’d,5 Than thy deceitful vows or form.
Go, and beguile some easy heart With thy vain art; Thy smiles and kisses on those fools bestow Who only see the calms that sleep10 On this smooth flattering deep, But not the hidden dangers know.
They that, like me, thy falsehood prove, Will scorn thy love, Some may, deceiv’d at first, adore thy shrine;15 But he that as thy sacrifice Doth willingly fall twice, Dies his own martyr, and not thine.
Song.
I prithee let my heart alone! Since now ’tis raised above thee: Not all the beauty thou dost own Again can make me love thee.
[66]He that was shipwreck’d once before5 By such a Siren’s call, And yet neglects to shun the[55:1] shore, Deserves his second fall!
Each flattering kiss, each tempting smile Thou dost in vain bestow,10 Some other lovers might beguile Who not thy falsehood know.
But I am proof against all art: No vows shall e’er persuade me Twice to present a wounded heart15 To her that hath betray’d me.
Could I again be brought to love Thy form, though more divine, I might thy scorn as justly move As now thou sufferest mine.20
The Loss.
Yet ere I go, Disdainful Beauty, thou shalt be So wretched as to know What joys thou fling’st away with me:
A faith so bright,5 As Time or Fortune could not rust, So firm, that lovers might Have read thy story in my dust,
[67]And crown’d thy name With laurel verdant as thy youth.10 Whilst the shrill voice of Fame Spread wide thy beauty and my truth.
This thou hast lost! For all true lovers, when they find That my just aims were crossed,15 Will speak thee lighter than the wind;
And none will lay Any oblation on thy shrine, But such as would betray Their[56:1] faith to faiths as false as thine.20
Yet if thou choose On such thy freedom to bestow, Affection may excuse: For love from sympathy doth flow.
Cast off, for shame, ungentle maid, That misbecoming joy thou wear’st! For in my death (though long delay’d), Unwisely cruel thou appear’st. Insult o’er captives with disdain:5 Thou canst not triumph o’er the slain.
[68]No, I am now no longer thine; Nor canst thou take delight to see Him whom thy love did once confine Set, though by death, at liberty;10 For if my fall a smile beget, Thou gloriest in thy own defeat.
Behold how thy unthrifty pride Hath murthered him that did maintain it; And wary souls who never tried15 Thy tyrant beauty, will disdain it: But I am softer, and, (though[57:2] me Thou wouldst not pity,) pity thee.
An Answer to a Song, “Wert thou much [?] Fairer than thou art,” by Mr.
W. M.[58:1]
Wert thou by all affections sought, And fairer than thou wouldst be thought, Or had thine eyes as many darts As thou believ’st they shoot at hearts, Yet if thy love were paid to me,5 I would not offer mine to thee.
I’d sooner court a fever’s heat, Than her that owns a flame as[58:2] great. She that my love will entertain Must meet it with no less disdain;10 For mutual fires themselves destroy, And willing kisses yield no joy.
[69]I love thee not because alone Thou canst all beauty call thine own, Nor doth my passion fuel seek15 In thy bright eye or softer cheek. Then, Fairest! if thou wouldst know why: I love thee ’cause thou canst deny.
Alas! alas! thou turn’st in vain Thy beauteous face away, Which, like young sorcerers, rais’d a pain Above its power to lay.
Love moves not as thou turn’st thy[60:1] look,5 But here doth firmly rest: He long ago thine[60:2] eyes forsook To revel in my breast.
Thy power on him why hop’st thou more Than his on me should be?10 The claim thou lay’st to him is poor To that he owns from me.
His substance in my heart excels, His shadow, in thy sight: Fire where it burns more truly dwells15 Than where it scatters light.
The Sick Lover.
[Guarini.]
My sickly breath Wastes in a double flame, Whilst Love and Death To my poor life lay claim; The fever in whose heat I melt5 By her that causeth it[61:1] not felt.
[73]Thou who alone Canst, yet wilt grant no ease, Why slight’st thou one, To feed a new disease?10 Unequal Fair! the heart is thine: Ah, why then should the pain be mine?
Time Recover’d.
[Casone.]
Come, my Dear, whilst youth conspires With the warmth of our desires! Envious Time about thee watches, And some grace each minute snatches: Now a spirit, now a ray5 From thy eye he steals away; Now he blasts some blooming rose Which upon thy fresh cheek grows; Gold now plunders in a hair; Now the rubies doth impair10 Of thy lips; and with sure haste All thy wealth will take at last; Only that of which thou mak’st Use in time, from Time thou tak’st.
Song.
[De Voiture.]
I languish in a silent flame: For she to whom my vows incline Doth own perfections so divine, That but to speak were to disclose her name. [74]If I should say that she the store5 Of Nature’s graces doth comprise, (The love and wonder of all eyes,) Who will not guess the Beauty I adore?
Or though I warily conceal The charms her looks and soul possess,10 Should I her cruelty express, And say she smiles at all the pains we feel, Among such suppliants as implore Pity, distributing her hate, Inexorable as their fate,—15 Who will not guess the Beauty I adore?
Apollo and Daphne.
[Marino.]
When Phœbus saw a rugged bark beguile His love, and his embraces intercept, The leaves, instructed by his grief to smile, Taking fresh growth and verdure as he wept, ‘How can,’ saith he, ‘my woes expect release,5 When these,[62:1] the subject of my tears, increase?’
His chang’d yet scorn-retaining Fair he kiss’d, From the lov’d trunk plucking a little bough, And though the conquest which he sought he miss’d, With that triumphant spoil adorns his brow.10 Thus this disdainful maid his aim deceives: Where he expected fruit he gathers leaves.
Torment of absence and delay That thus afflicts my memory! Why dost thou kill me every day, Yet will not give me leave to die? Why dost thou suffer me to live5 All hope of life in life denying, Or to my patience tortures give Never to die, yet ever dying?
To fair Narcissa’s brighter eyes I was by Love’s instruction guided,10 (A happiness I long did prize,) But now am from their light divided. Favours and gifts my suit obtain’d, But envious Fate would now destroy them, Which if to lose I only gain’d,15 What greater pain than to enjoy them?
A Lady Weeping.
[Montalvan.]
As when some brook flies from itself away, The murmuring crystal loosely runs astray, And, as about the verdant plain it winds, The meadows with a silver ribbon binds, Printing a kiss on every flower she meets,5 Losing herself to fill them with new sweets, [76]To scatter frost upon the lily’s head. And scarlet on the gilliflower to spread,— So melting sorrow, in the fair disguise Of humid stars,[63:1] flow’d from bright Chloris’ eyes,10 Which, watering every flower her cheek discloses, Melts into jasmines here, there into roses.
To his Mistress in Absence.
[Tasso.]
Far from thy dearest self, the scope Of all my aims, I waste in secret flames; And only live because I hope.
O when will Fate restore5 The joys, in whose bright fire My expectation shall expire, That I may live because I hope no more!
The Hasty Kiss.
[Secundus.]
A kiss I begg’d, and thou didst[64:1] join Thy[64:2] lips to mine; Then, as afraid, snatch’d[64:3] back their treasure, And mock’d[64:4] my pleasure. Again, my Dearest![64:5]—for in this5 Thou only gav’st[64:6] desire, and not a kiss.
When thou thy pliant arms dost wreathe About my neck, and gently breathe Into my breast that soft sweet air With which thy soul doth mine repair; When my faint life thou draw’st away,5 (My life which scorching flames decay,) O’ercharg’d, my panting bosom boils, Whose fever thy kind art beguiles, And with the breath that did inspire Doth mildly fan my glowing fire.10 Transported, then I cry: ‘Above All other deities is Love! Or if a deity there be Greater than Love, ’tis only thee.’
Song: ’Tis no kiss.
[Secundus.]
’Tis no kiss my Fair bestows! Nectar ’tis, whence new life flows. All the sweets which nimble bees In their osier treasuries With unequall’d art repose,5 In one kiss, her lips disclose. These, if I should many take, Soon would me immortal make, [78]Rais’d to the divine abodes, And the banquets of the gods.10 Be not, then, too lavish, Fair! But this heavenly treasure spare, ’Less thou’lt, too, immortal be: For without thy company What to me were the abodes15 Or the banquets of the gods?
Translated from Anacreon.
I. The Chase.
With a whip of lilies, Love Swiftly me before him drove: On we cours’d it through deep floods, Hollow valleys, and rough woods, Till a snake that lurking lay5 Chanc’d to sting me by the way.
Now my soul was nigh to death, Ebbing, flowing, with my breath, When Love, fanning with his wings, Back my fleeting spirit brings:10 ‘Learn,’ saith he, ’another day, Love without constraint t’obey!’
II.
Vex no more thyself and me With demure philosophy, Hollow precepts, only fit To amuse the busy wit. [79]Teach me brisk Lyæus’ rites;5 Teach me Venus’ blithe delights. Jove[65:1] loves water: give me wine, That my soul ere I resign May this cure of sorrow have. There’s no drinking in the grave!10
III. The Spring.
See, the Spring herself discloses, And the Graces gather roses; See how the becalmed seas Now their swelling waves appease; How the duck swims; how the crane5 Comes from ’s winter home again; See how Titan’s cheerful ray Chaseth the dark clouds away!
Now in their new robes of green Are the ploughman’s labours seen;10 Now the lusty teeming earth Springs, each hour, with a new birth; Now the olive blooms; the vine Now cloth with plump pendants shine, And with leaves and blossoms now15 Freshly bourgeons every bough.
IV. The Combat.
Now will I a lover be! Love himself commanded me. Full at first of stubborn pride, To submit, my soul denied.20 [80]He his quiver takes, and bow, Bids defiance: forth I go. Armed with spear and shield we meet: On he charges: I retreat,
Till, perceiving in the fight25 He had wasted every flight, Into me, with fury hot, Like a dart himself he shot. And my cold heart melts; my shield Useless, no defence could yield;30 For what boots an outward screen, When, alas, the fight’s within?
V.
On this verdant lotus laid, Underneath the myrtle’s shade, Let us drink our sorrows dead, Whilst Love plays the Ganymed.
Life like to[66:1] a wheel runs round:5 And, ere long, we underground Ta’en by death asunder, must Moulder in forgotten dust.
Why then graves should we bedew, Why the ground with odours strew?10 Better, whilst alive, prepare Flowers and unguents for our hair.
[81]Come, my Fair,[66:2] and come away! All our cares behind us lay, That these pleasures we may know,15 Ere we come to those below.
E. Catalectis Vet[erum] Poet[arum].
A small well-gotten stock, and country seat I have, yet my content makes both seem great. My quiet soul to fears is not inur’d, And from the sins of idleness secur’d. Others may seek the camp, others the town,5 And fool themselves with pleasure or renown; Let me, unminded in the common crowd, Live, master of the time that I’m allow’d!
The stars, my Star! thou view’st: heaven I would be, That I with thousand eyes might gaze on thee.
II. Upon Aster’s Death.
A Phosphor ’mongst the living late wert thou, But shin’st, among the dead, a Hesper now.
III. On Dion, engraved on his Tomb at Syracuse.[82]
Old Hecuba, the Trojan matron’s, years Were interwoven by the Fates with tears, But thee, with blooming hopes, my Dion! deck’d, Gods did a trophy of their power erect. Thy honour’d relics in thy country rest,5 Ah, Dion! whose love rages in my breast.
IV. On Alexis.
‘Fair is Alexis,’ I no sooner said, When every one his eyes that way convey’d. My soul, as when some dog a bone we show Who snatcheth it,—lost we not Phaedrus so?
V. On Archaeanassa.
To Archaeanassa, on whose furrow’d brow Love sits in triumph, I my service vow. If her declining graces shine so bright, What flames felt you who saw her noon of light?
VI. Love Sleeping.
Within the covert of a shady grove We saw the little red-cheek’d god of Love: He had nor bow nor quiver: these among The neighbouring trees upon a bow were hung. Upon a bank of tender rosebuds laid,5 He smiling slept; bees with their noise invade His rest, and on his lips their honey made.
Five oxen, grazing in a flowery mead, A jasper seal, (done to the life,) doth hold; The little herd away long since had fled, Were’t not enclos’d within a pale of gold.
1:1.To the Countess of S. with ‘The Holy Court’ (p. 6).
This is most probably Dorothy Spencer, born Sidney, Countess of
Sunderland, Waller’s ‘Saccharissa,’ then a widow: a woman entirely
worthy of Stanley’s admiration, and within his circle of personal
friends. The Holy Court, a practical and devotional treatise by
Nicolas Caussin, S.J., was first translated into English by Sir
Thomas Hawkins, and published in London in 1626. There was a fine
five-volume edition printed in 1650. A copy of this may, very
likely, have been Stanley’s gift. The poem, 1651, is preceded by
‘Madam’ in formal address.
The Editor guesses this young lady, the ‘bright dawn,’ who will
‘challenge every heart,’ later, to be the future Marchioness of
Halifax, the little Dorothy, daughter of the Earl of Sunderland (who
was killed at Newbury when she was three years old), and
‘Saccharissa.’ She was eleven in 1651. Waller, Sedley, and others,
have left happier poems addressed to children, in the same forced
tone, which was quite characteristic of the time.
‘Then blush not, Fair, that flame to show, Which, like thyself, no crime can know. Thus, led by those chaste guides, we may Embrace and kiss as free as they.’
This, in the edition of 1647, is followed by twenty-seven lines of
citations from the Greek poets, giving the origins of the epithets
applied here to Love.
This poem, under the title, ‘To my most honour’d Aunt, the Lady Dormer,’
is the dedication of 1647. Who this lady was is not clear to the
Editor, unless she was Alice, daughter to Sir Richard Molyneux,
Bart., of Sefton, Lancashire, widow of Sir William Dormer, and
mother of the splendid first Earl of Carnarvon, killed in the King’s
cause at Newbury, 1643. It is rather noticeable that many of
Stanley’s friends and kinsfolk, like the Dormers, were Catholics.
11:8. P. ” line 33. Thus, 1647. 1651, erroneously:
‘And hast so far even future aims surpass’d.’
12:1.On Mr. Sherburne’s Translation, etc. (p. 20).
In Stanley, 1647, entitled: ‘To Mr. E. S. on his Translation of Medea,
with the other Tragedies of Seneca the philosopher, and vindication
of the Author.’ Sherburne was not knighted until 1682, four years
after Stanley’s death.
13:2. P. 21, line 4. Here ends the prologue-like poem, in the edition of
1647. Then, as a separate piece on another page, under a new title,
‘To Mr. I. H.,’ follow these lines:
‘I’ll not commend thee; for thou hast outgrown The reach of all men’s praises but thine own. Encomiums to their full objects are exact: To praise, and not at full, is to detract. And with most justice,’ etc.
The rest as in the present edition. ‘Full,’ in the third line just
quoted, is certainly a misprint, crept up from the line below.
As in the crystal-centre of the sight Two subtle beams make but one cone of light, Or, when one flame twin’d with another is, They both ascend in one bright pyramis; Our spirits thus into each other flow,5 One in our being, one in what we know, In what we will, desire, dislike, approve, In what we love; and one is that pure love. As in a burning glass the aerial flame With the producing ray is still the same,10 We to love’s purest quintessence refin’d, Do both become one undivided mind. This sacred fire into itself converts Our yielding spirits and our melting hearts, Till both our lines into one spirit run;15 So several lines are in their centre one. And when thy fair idea is impress’d In the soft tablet of my easier breast, The sweet reflexion brings such sympathy, That I my better self behold in thee;20 And all perfections that in thee combine, By this resultance are entirely mine. Thy rays disperse my shades, who only live Bright in the lustre thou art pleas’d to give,
15:2. P. 22, line 8. i.e. ‘I [who] know no native light but light
borrowed from thee.’ The rather obscure phrase is obscured the more
by its slovenly original punctuation.
‘Love, with what strange tyrannic laws must they Comply, which are subjected to thy sway! How far all justice thy commands decline Which though they hope forbid, yet love enjoin!’
The elision of the relative pronoun between lines 3 and 4 of the
present text, and again in the course of line 5, is an irritating
mannerism of the time, nowhere more frequent than in Stanley.
27:1. P. 34, line 1. ‘Chariessa’ is misprinted, in 1651, ‘Charissa.’ The
names are placed over the speeches. 1647 has for title: ‘Amori
Notturni: A Dialogue between Philocharis and Chariessa.’
Unalter’d by Sickness (p. 35).
28:1. P. 35, lines 1-4. The editions of 1647 and 1651 start off:
‘Sickness, in vain thou dost invade A beauty that can never fade.’
The additional opening lines figure only in 1657; there, however,
‘her’ in the second line is misprinted ‘our,’ and line 4 reads:
Not in the edition of 1651. The poem is printed in this section on
account of its relation to ‘The Return,’ which follows. ‘The Return’
is possibly but another version of ‘Palinode.’
31:2. P. 38, line 5. The Editor has ventured to print ‘That would,’
though against all three texts, which give ‘That wouldst.’ The
meaning seems to be that the ‘proud empire’ of Beauty is rebellions
to Reason or Philosophy, the restraints of which, (‘chains’) ‘would
within tyrannic laws confine,’ etc.
33:2. P. 41, line 56. May the Editor be forgiven for altering, with no
explicit help from printed texts, one word of this splendid lyric,
in the very best impudent spirit of the time? The second ‘hearts’ in
the closing line reads ‘they’ in all editions[94] of Stanley. It is
possible that this word ‘they’ has been caught from the line just
before, after a fashion only too familiar to copyists and printers.
Even so, it would mean not ‘lovers’ but ‘hearts.’ The word ‘hearts,’
one is tempted to think, may be the right word.
34:1.To Chariessa: Beholding herself, etc. (p. 41).
The edition of 1651 omits ‘To Chariessa.’ The Editor regrets having
included it, by an oversight, in this section.
34:3. P. ” line 12. The reading of 1657. ‘In’: 1647.
Song: ‘When I lie burning’ (p. 42).
35:1. P. 42, lines 13-16. This stanza, probably by inadvertence, is not
included in the edition of 1651. ‘Eye,’ line 14, is ‘eyes’ in 1657;
and ‘than,’ line 16, is misprinted ‘them’ in 1647.
39:1. P. 47, lines 19-20. In the version of 1647, these lines read:
‘And (thou in this flame sacrific’d to me), We might each other’s mutual martyr be.’
The whole third stanza is reproduced from 1647; it figures neither
in 1651 nor in 1657.
39:2.[95] P. 47, line 30. ‘Love’: 1647; a manifest befogging duplication of
the ‘love’ in the preceding line. ‘Kill’ seems to be called for, or
perhaps ‘slay,’ a word less in favour with Stanley.
57:2. P. 68, line 17. ‘That’ in all texts: but presumably a misprint.
58:1.An Answer to a Song: ‘Wert thou much [?] Fairer’ (p. 68).
Stanley gives the title inaccurately.
Mr. W. M.’s Wither-like song (the author of which the Editor has not
identified), appears only in the edition of 1651:—
Wert thou yet fairer than thou art, (Which lies not in the power of art,) Or hadst thou in thine eyes more darts Than ever Cupid shot at hearts; Yet if they were not thrown at me,5 I would not cast a thought on thee.
I’d rather marry a disease, Than court the thing I cannot please: She that will cherish my desires Must meet my flames with equal fires.10 What pleasure is there in a kiss, To him that doubts the heart’s not his?
I love thee not because thou’rt fair, Softer than down, smoother than air; Nor for the Cupids that do lie15 In either corner of thine eye. Wouldst thou then know what it might be? ’Tis I love you, ’cause you love me.
59:3. P. 69, line 7. ‘Fall’: 1657; in the earlier versions ‘name,’
caught up by the compositor, in error, from the succeeding line. But
the 1647 copy of Stanley in the Bodleian Library, which belonged to
William Fairfax, has ‘name’ erased, and ‘fall’ written, in a
seventeenth-century hand, above it.
The Sick Lover. Guarini. [1647, 1651, 1657] (p. 72).
61:1. P. 72, line 6. ‘It’ in all texts, possibly a misprint for ‘is.’
Apollo and Daphne. Marino. [1651] (p. 74).
62:1. P. 74, line 6. ‘Tears,’ manifestly wrong, in the text; ‘these’ as
relating to ‘leaves,’ is inserted at a venture, and may or may not
be the right word.
A Lady Weeping. Montalvan. [1651, 1657] (p. 75).
63:1. P. 76, line 10. ‘Stars’ in both texts; but this may be in error
for ‘tears.’
The Hasty Kiss. Secundus. [1647, 1651, 1657] (p. 76).
A LIST OF EDITIONS OF THOMAS STANLEY’S POEMS AND TRANSLATIONS
[Note.—The present ‘List’ may be looked upon as an apology for a
Stanley Bibliography, which, on the present occasion, is an
impossibility to the compiler, who has, to some extent, had to
satisfy himself with the sparse details of the ordinary
bibliographical works; in addition, he has been aided by the Editor
of the present edition of Stanley’s Poems.—J. R. Tutin.]
1. [Anonymous lines[*] to Sir John Suckling occurring beneath Marshall’s
portrait of him in edd. 1646-1696 of Suckling’s Works.
[*] Commencing: ‘Suckling, whose numbers could invite.’]
2. Poems and Translation. By Thomas Stanley, Esquire. Quæ mea culpa
tamen, nisi si lusisse vocari Culpa potest: nisi culpa potest &
amasse, vocari?Tout vient a poinct qui peut attendre. Printed for
the Author, and his friends, 1647. Collation—[13 pp.] 49 pp. [+8
pp.]
In a copy of this edition in the Bodleian Library, Oxford [Mason cc.
297], is the following Note:—
‘Privately printed for presents only; afterwards reprinted in 1649
and 1650 for sale. The only other copy of this first edition I can
trace was in Isaac Reed’s Sale.’
This 1647 edition has half-titles for Europa, Cupid Crucified, and
Venus Vigils; but for Oronta and for Aurora, etc., a title: Oronta,
The Cyprian Virgin, by Sigr Girolamo Preti. London.[102] Printed by F.
B. for Humphrey Moseley at the Signe of the Princes Armes in St.
Pauls Churchyard, 1637.
Aurora, Ismenia. By Don Juan Perez de Montalvan, 1648.
3. Europa, Cupid Crucified, Venus Vigils. With Annotations by Tho:
Stanley, Esq. Printed by W. W. for Humphrey Moseley, and are to be
sold at his shop at the Signe of the Princes Armes in St. Pauls
Churchyard. 1649 [2], 61 pp.
4. Aurora, Ismenia, and the Prince, by Don Juan Perez de Montalvan.
Oronta the Cyprian Virgin, by Signr Girolamo Preti. Tout vient a
poinet qui peut attendre. Translated by Thomas Stanley, Esq.; The
Second Edition, with additions. London. Printed by W. Wilson for
Humphrey Moseley at the Signe of Princes Armes in St. Pauls
Churchyard. 1650 [8 pp.], 87 p.
Considered by bibliographers part of succeeding (i.e. Poems of
1651), though the pagination begins anew and the date is 1650.
5. Poems, By Thomas Stanley, Esquire. Quæ mea culpa tamen, nisi si
lusisse vocari Culpa potest: nisi culpa potest & amasse, vocari?
Printed in the Year 1651. 86 pp.
6. Anacreon, Bion, Moschus: Kisses by Secundus: Cupid Crucified by
Ausonius: Venus Vigils. Incerto authore. [Translated by Thomas
Stanley.] Printed in the year 1651. 164 pp.
7. Sylvias Park by Theophile, Acanthus Complaint by Tristran, Oronto by
Preti, Echo by Marino, Loves Embassy by Boscan, The Solitude by
Gongora. [Translated by Thomas Stanley.] Printed in the year 1651.
Pp. 167-212. (Paged continuously with Anacreon, Bion, etc.)
8. A Platonick Discourse upon Love. Written in Italian by John[103] Picus
Mirandula, in Explication of Sonnet by Hieronimo Benvieni.
[Translated by Thomas Stanley.] Printed in the year 1651. Pp.
215-260. (Paged continuously with Sylvias Park, etc.)
9. Poems by Thomas Stanley, Esquire. Quæ mea culpa tamen, nisi si
lusisse vocari Culpa potest: nisi culpa potest et amasse, vocari.
London: Printed for Humphrey Moseley, and are to be sold at his Shop
at the Signe of the Princes Armes in S. Pauls Church Yard, 1652.
10. Ayres and Dialogues (To be Sung to the Theorbo-Lute or Bass-Violl).
By John Gamble. Horat. Od. 2. 10.—Quondam cithara tacentem Suscitat
Musam, neque semper arcum Tendit Apollo. London. Printed by William
Godbid for the Author. 1656. [10 pp.] 83 pp. Fo.
Containing a full-page portrait of Gamble engraved by T. Cross. The
Prefaces precede the complimentary Poems.
11. Ayres and Dialogues (To be Sung to the Theorbo-Lute or Bass-Violl).
By John Gamble. Horat. Ode II., 10.—Quondam cithara tacentem
Suscitat Musam, neque semper arcum Tendit Apollo. London: Printed by
W. Godbid for Humphry Moseley at the Princes-Arms in St. Pauls
Church-yard, 1657. [10 pp.] 78 pp. [+1]. Fo.
Followed by twenty very complimentary lines by Alexander Broome
[Brome] addressed ‘To His Friend Thomas Stanley, Esq., On his Odes
set and Published by Mr. John Gamble’; by twenty-two lines ‘On my
Friend Mr. John Gamble his Excellent Composition of the Songs and
Dialogues of Thomas Stanley, Esq.,’ signed Jo: Tatham; and a Preface
of Gamble’s own, reproduced herewith. Then another Preface, To the
Noble Few Lovers of Musick (Gamble’s); and poems, in order, by
Richard Lovelace, Jo: Redmayne, Dudley Lovelace, and Eldred Revet.
Sir,—You have been a merciful Creditor in the trust of these
inestimable Poems so long with me, a person inconsiderable. But, I
beseech you, think I have been sensible of the great obligation, and
alwayes thought it a lesse trespass to break with all the world,
then, by the least forgetfulness, make an unhappy forfeit of myself
to your displeasure. Sir, I have brought home your Principal; and
though it be a thing beneath your generous expectation to look at
profit, yet I thought it became my justice to tender you a small
interest, the endevours of my poor Art, to wait upon it: I
acknowledge it a bold Undertaking to compose your Words, (which are
so pure Harmonie in themselves,) into any other Musick. But it was
not in my ambition or hope to mend the least Accent or Emphasis
wch they received from your own numerous Soul, but to essay how
neer a whole life spent in the study of Musical Compositions could
imitate the flowing and naturall Graces which you have created by
your Fancie. I have onely to say, if my zeal have not stained what
you have excellently made, I will not despair of your pardon; and if
any thing herein, (the wel-meant tender of my service,) may obtain
your smile and permission, I shalbe confirmed in my thoughts that I
may stil write myself,—Sir, The most humble and faithful of your
Servants,
John Gamble.
In this collection of Stanley’s verse, 1656, 1657, the lyrics have
no titles of any sort, but are numbered.
12. Psalterium Carolinum: the Devotions of His Sacred Majestie in his
Solitudes and Sufferings rendred in Verse [from the Eikon Basilike
by T. Stanley]. Set to Musick for 3 Voices and an Organ or Theorbo
by John Wilson, Dr. and Music Professor of Oxford, London. Printed
for John Martin and James Allestrey, and are to be sold at the Bell
in St. Pauls Church-yard. 1657. Folio.
[105]13. Psalterium Carolinum: the Devotions of His Sacred Majesty Charles
the First in his Solitudes and Sufferings. Rendred in Verse. London.
Printed for John Martin, James Allestry, and Thomas Dicas, and are
to be sold at the Bell in St. Pauls Church-yard, 1660.
The Dedication, to King Charles the Second, is signed Tho: Stanley.
The twenty-seven paraphrases here are without the music. Fo.
14. Poems, by Thomas Stanley, Esq. Quæ mea culpa tamen, nisi si lucisse
[sic] vocari Culpa potest: nisi culpa potest et amasse, vocans
[sic]. Reprinted from the Edition of 1651. London: From the Private
Press of Longman, Hurst, Rees, Orme, and Brown. Printed by T.
Davison, Whitefriars. 1814. Pp. xxiv. 107. crown 8vo.
Edited, with Preface, etc., by Sir Egerton Brydges.
The edition contained about 100 copies.
15. Anacreon, Bion, and Moschus, with Other Translations. By Thomas
Stanley, Esq. First Printed 1651. A New Edition, with a Preface,
Critical and Biographical. London: From the Private Press of
Longman, Hurst, Rees, Orme, and Brown. Printed by T. Davison,
Whitefriars. 1815. Pp. xxvii. 276. crown 8vo.
Edited by Sir Egerton Brydges; about 100 copies only.
Pp. 133-276 comprise a large number of “excitations,” by Stanley,
upon the authors dealt with in these translations.
16. The Elegies of Propertius, &c. London: H. G. Bohn. 1854. cr. 8vo
[Bohn’s Classical Library].
Contains The Kisses of Secundus, translated into English verse by T.
Stanley.
17. The Poems of Catullus, &c. London: H. G. Bohn. 1854. cr. 8vo [Bohn’s
Classical Library].
Contains The Vigil of Venus, translated into English Verse by T.
Stanley.
18.[106] Anacreon: with Thomas Stanley’s Translation. Edited by A. H. Bullen.
Illustrated by J. R. Weguelin. London: Lawrence & Bullen, 16
Henrietta Street, Covent Garden. MDCCCXCIII. 4to. Collation: Pp.
xxix. 224. Contains twelve photogravures. 1000 copies only were
printed for England and America.
[It may be here noted that many of Stanley’s Verse-Translations
appeared in his History of Philosophy, of which there are many
editions, dating from 1655 to 1743, the best edition of which is
said to be the latter.]
19. Anacreon, Translated by Thomas Stanley. With a Preface and Notes by
A. H. Bullen, and Illustrations by J. R. Weguelin. London: A. H.
Bullen, 47, Great Russell Street, W.C. 1906. Pp. xxiv+92.
20. Thomas Stanley: His Original Lyrics, Complete, in their Collated
Readings of 1647, 1651, 1657. With an Introduction, Textual Notes, A
List of Editions, An Appendix of Translations, and a Portrait.
Edited by L. I. Guiney, J. R. Tutin, Hull, 1907.
Collation. Titles, Dedication, Contents, and Prefatory Note, pp.
i-xxi; Original Lyrics, pp. 1-69; Appendix of Translations, pp.
71-83; Textual Notes, pp. 85-100; List of Editions, pp. 101-105;
Index to First Lines, pp. 107-110.
Obvious punctuation errors outside of the poems have been fixed without
further note, but punctuation within poems remains as printed.
As an aid to the reader this text uses a different style for
references to the author’s textual notes than the printed edition used.
References to the notes are marked within the text as [number:number]
and within the textual notes section as "number:number."
For example, [2:1] represents the first note in the second poem that has notes;
[3:2] represents the second note in the third poem that has notes.
Line numbers in the poems are as printed in the original book, even in cases where they may seem
inconsistent.
Page 36: The reference to note 2 (29:2) in ‘To Celia’ (at line 10) was missing and has been added.
Page 79: In ‘IV. The Combat,’ the line numbering should have
probably restarted at 1, rather than continuing from III. The
printed numbering has been retained.
Page 81: The reference to note 2 (66:2) in ‘V.’ (at line 13) was missing
has been added.
Page 100: The reference in note 66:1 to line 5 of No. IV has
been corrected to refer to No. V instead.
Page 100: The note numbers in the notes for ‘Translations from Anacreon’
were inconsistent with the numbers actually used in the poems, and have been corrected.
The book has a number of inconsistencies in spelling, word usage, or style of citation in the
List of Editions,
all of which have been retained. Some of them are noted here:
church yard, church-yard, and churchyard
Princes-Arms and Princes Armes
St. Pauls and S. Pauls
Fo. and Fo.
re-inspire and reinspire
James Allestrey and James Allestry
*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THOMAS STANLEY: HIS ORIGINAL LYRICS, COMPLETE, IN THEIR COLLATED READINGS OF 1647, 1651, 1657. ***
Updated editions will replace the previous one—the old editions will
be renamed.
Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright
law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works,
so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United
States without permission and without paying copyright
royalties. Special rules, set forth in the General Terms of Use part
of this license, apply to copying and distributing Project
Gutenberg™ electronic works to protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG™
concept and trademark. Project Gutenberg is a registered trademark,
and may not be used if you charge for an eBook, except by following
the terms of the trademark license, including paying royalties for use
of the Project Gutenberg trademark. If you do not charge anything for
copies of this eBook, complying with the trademark license is very
easy. You may use this eBook for nearly any purpose such as creation
of derivative works, reports, performances and research. Project
Gutenberg eBooks may be modified and printed and given away—you may
do practically ANYTHING in the United States with eBooks not protected
by U.S. copyright law. Redistribution is subject to the trademark
license, especially commercial redistribution.
START: FULL LICENSE
THE FULL PROJECT GUTENBERG LICENSE
PLEASE READ THIS BEFORE YOU DISTRIBUTE OR USE THIS WORK
To protect the Project Gutenberg™ mission of promoting the free
distribution of electronic works, by using or distributing this work
(or any other work associated in any way with the phrase “Project
Gutenberg”), you agree to comply with all the terms of the Full
Project Gutenberg™ License available with this file or online at
www.gutenberg.org/license.
Section 1. General Terms of Use and Redistributing Project Gutenberg™
electronic works
1.A. By reading or using any part of this Project Gutenberg™
electronic work, you indicate that you have read, understand, agree to
and accept all the terms of this license and intellectual property
(trademark/copyright) agreement. If you do not agree to abide by all
the terms of this agreement, you must cease using and return or
destroy all copies of Project Gutenberg™ electronic works in your
possession. If you paid a fee for obtaining a copy of or access to a
Project Gutenberg™ electronic work and you do not agree to be bound
by the terms of this agreement, you may obtain a refund from the person
or entity to whom you paid the fee as set forth in paragraph 1.E.8.
1.B. “Project Gutenberg” is a registered trademark. It may only be
used on or associated in any way with an electronic work by people who
agree to be bound by the terms of this agreement. There are a few
things that you can do with most Project Gutenberg™ electronic works
even without complying with the full terms of this agreement. See
paragraph 1.C below. There are a lot of things you can do with Project
Gutenberg™ electronic works if you follow the terms of this
agreement and help preserve free future access to Project Gutenberg™
electronic works. See paragraph 1.E below.
1.C. The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation (“the
Foundation” or PGLAF), owns a compilation copyright in the collection
of Project Gutenberg™ electronic works. Nearly all the individual
works in the collection are in the public domain in the United
States. If an individual work is unprotected by copyright law in the
United States and you are located in the United States, we do not
claim a right to prevent you from copying, distributing, performing,
displaying or creating derivative works based on the work as long as
all references to Project Gutenberg are removed. Of course, we hope
that you will support the Project Gutenberg™ mission of promoting
free access to electronic works by freely sharing Project Gutenberg™
works in compliance with the terms of this agreement for keeping the
Project Gutenberg™ name associated with the work. You can easily
comply with the terms of this agreement by keeping this work in the
same format with its attached full Project Gutenberg™ License when
you share it without charge with others.
1.D. The copyright laws of the place where you are located also govern
what you can do with this work. Copyright laws in most countries are
in a constant state of change. If you are outside the United States,
check the laws of your country in addition to the terms of this
agreement before downloading, copying, displaying, performing,
distributing or creating derivative works based on this work or any
other Project Gutenberg™ work. The Foundation makes no
representations concerning the copyright status of any work in any
country other than the United States.
1.E. Unless you have removed all references to Project Gutenberg:
1.E.1. The following sentence, with active links to, or other
immediate access to, the full Project Gutenberg™ License must appear
prominently whenever any copy of a Project Gutenberg™ work (any work
on which the phrase “Project Gutenberg” appears, or with which the
phrase “Project Gutenberg” is associated) is accessed, displayed,
performed, viewed, copied or distributed:
This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and most
other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions
whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms
of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online
at www.gutenberg.org. If you
are not located in the United States, you will have to check the laws
of the country where you are located before using this eBook.
1.E.2. If an individual Project Gutenberg™ electronic work is
derived from texts not protected by U.S. copyright law (does not
contain a notice indicating that it is posted with permission of the
copyright holder), the work can be copied and distributed to anyone in
the United States without paying any fees or charges. If you are
redistributing or providing access to a work with the phrase “Project
Gutenberg” associated with or appearing on the work, you must comply
either with the requirements of paragraphs 1.E.1 through 1.E.7 or
obtain permission for the use of the work and the Project Gutenberg™
trademark as set forth in paragraphs 1.E.8 or 1.E.9.
1.E.3. If an individual Project Gutenberg™ electronic work is posted
with the permission of the copyright holder, your use and distribution
must comply with both paragraphs 1.E.1 through 1.E.7 and any
additional terms imposed by the copyright holder. Additional terms
will be linked to the Project Gutenberg™ License for all works
posted with the permission of the copyright holder found at the
beginning of this work.
1.E.4. Do not unlink or detach or remove the full Project Gutenberg™
License terms from this work, or any files containing a part of this
work or any other work associated with Project Gutenberg™.
1.E.5. Do not copy, display, perform, distribute or redistribute this
electronic work, or any part of this electronic work, without
prominently displaying the sentence set forth in paragraph 1.E.1 with
active links or immediate access to the full terms of the Project
Gutenberg™ License.
1.E.6. You may convert to and distribute this work in any binary,
compressed, marked up, nonproprietary or proprietary form, including
any word processing or hypertext form. However, if you provide access
to or distribute copies of a Project Gutenberg™ work in a format
other than “Plain Vanilla ASCII” or other format used in the official
version posted on the official Project Gutenberg™ website
(www.gutenberg.org), you must, at no additional cost, fee or expense
to the user, provide a copy, a means of exporting a copy, or a means
of obtaining a copy upon request, of the work in its original “Plain
Vanilla ASCII” or other form. Any alternate format must include the
full Project Gutenberg™ License as specified in paragraph 1.E.1.
1.E.7. Do not charge a fee for access to, viewing, displaying,
performing, copying or distributing any Project Gutenberg™ works
unless you comply with paragraph 1.E.8 or 1.E.9.
1.E.8. You may charge a reasonable fee for copies of or providing
access to or distributing Project Gutenberg™ electronic works
provided that:
• You pay a royalty fee of 20% of the gross profits you derive from
the use of Project Gutenberg™ works calculated using the method
you already use to calculate your applicable taxes. The fee is owed
to the owner of the Project Gutenberg™ trademark, but he has
agreed to donate royalties under this paragraph to the Project
Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation. Royalty payments must be paid
within 60 days following each date on which you prepare (or are
legally required to prepare) your periodic tax returns. Royalty
payments should be clearly marked as such and sent to the Project
Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation at the address specified in
Section 4, “Information about donations to the Project Gutenberg
Literary Archive Foundation.”
• You provide a full refund of any money paid by a user who notifies
you in writing (or by e-mail) within 30 days of receipt that s/he
does not agree to the terms of the full Project Gutenberg™
License. You must require such a user to return or destroy all
copies of the works possessed in a physical medium and discontinue
all use of and all access to other copies of Project Gutenberg™
works.
• You provide, in accordance with paragraph 1.F.3, a full refund of
any money paid for a work or a replacement copy, if a defect in the
electronic work is discovered and reported to you within 90 days of
receipt of the work.
• You comply with all other terms of this agreement for free
distribution of Project Gutenberg™ works.
1.E.9. If you wish to charge a fee or distribute a Project
Gutenberg™ electronic work or group of works on different terms than
are set forth in this agreement, you must obtain permission in writing
from the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation, the manager of
the Project Gutenberg™ trademark. Contact the Foundation as set
forth in Section 3 below.
1.F.
1.F.1. Project Gutenberg volunteers and employees expend considerable
effort to identify, do copyright research on, transcribe and proofread
works not protected by U.S. copyright law in creating the Project
Gutenberg™ collection. Despite these efforts, Project Gutenberg™
electronic works, and the medium on which they may be stored, may
contain “Defects,” such as, but not limited to, incomplete, inaccurate
or corrupt data, transcription errors, a copyright or other
intellectual property infringement, a defective or damaged disk or
other medium, a computer virus, or computer codes that damage or
cannot be read by your equipment.
1.F.2. LIMITED WARRANTY, DISCLAIMER OF DAMAGES - Except for the “Right
of Replacement or Refund” described in paragraph 1.F.3, the Project
Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation, the owner of the Project
Gutenberg™ trademark, and any other party distributing a Project
Gutenberg™ electronic work under this agreement, disclaim all
liability to you for damages, costs and expenses, including legal
fees. YOU AGREE THAT YOU HAVE NO REMEDIES FOR NEGLIGENCE, STRICT
LIABILITY, BREACH OF WARRANTY OR BREACH OF CONTRACT EXCEPT THOSE
PROVIDED IN PARAGRAPH 1.F.3. YOU AGREE THAT THE FOUNDATION, THE
TRADEMARK OWNER, AND ANY DISTRIBUTOR UNDER THIS AGREEMENT WILL NOT BE
LIABLE TO YOU FOR ACTUAL, DIRECT, INDIRECT, CONSEQUENTIAL, PUNITIVE OR
INCIDENTAL DAMAGES EVEN IF YOU GIVE NOTICE OF THE POSSIBILITY OF SUCH
DAMAGE.
1.F.3. LIMITED RIGHT OF REPLACEMENT OR REFUND - If you discover a
defect in this electronic work within 90 days of receiving it, you can
receive a refund of the money (if any) you paid for it by sending a
written explanation to the person you received the work from. If you
received the work on a physical medium, you must return the medium
with your written explanation. The person or entity that provided you
with the defective work may elect to provide a replacement copy in
lieu of a refund. If you received the work electronically, the person
or entity providing it to you may choose to give you a second
opportunity to receive the work electronically in lieu of a refund. If
the second copy is also defective, you may demand a refund in writing
without further opportunities to fix the problem.
1.F.4. Except for the limited right of replacement or refund set forth
in paragraph 1.F.3, this work is provided to you ‘AS-IS’, WITH NO
OTHER WARRANTIES OF ANY KIND, EXPRESS OR IMPLIED, INCLUDING BUT NOT
LIMITED TO WARRANTIES OF MERCHANTABILITY OR FITNESS FOR ANY PURPOSE.
1.F.5. Some states do not allow disclaimers of certain implied
warranties or the exclusion or limitation of certain types of
damages. If any disclaimer or limitation set forth in this agreement
violates the law of the state applicable to this agreement, the
agreement shall be interpreted to make the maximum disclaimer or
limitation permitted by the applicable state law. The invalidity or
unenforceability of any provision of this agreement shall not void the
remaining provisions.
1.F.6. INDEMNITY - You agree to indemnify and hold the Foundation, the
trademark owner, any agent or employee of the Foundation, anyone
providing copies of Project Gutenberg™ electronic works in
accordance with this agreement, and any volunteers associated with the
production, promotion and distribution of Project Gutenberg™
electronic works, harmless from all liability, costs and expenses,
including legal fees, that arise directly or indirectly from any of
the following which you do or cause to occur: (a) distribution of this
or any Project Gutenberg™ work, (b) alteration, modification, or
additions or deletions to any Project Gutenberg™ work, and (c) any
Defect you cause.
Section 2. Information about the Mission of Project Gutenberg™
Project Gutenberg™ is synonymous with the free distribution of
electronic works in formats readable by the widest variety of
computers including obsolete, old, middle-aged and new computers. It
exists because of the efforts of hundreds of volunteers and donations
from people in all walks of life.
Volunteers and financial support to provide volunteers with the
assistance they need are critical to reaching Project Gutenberg™’s
goals and ensuring that the Project Gutenberg™ collection will
remain freely available for generations to come. In 2001, the Project
Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation was created to provide a secure
and permanent future for Project Gutenberg™ and future
generations. To learn more about the Project Gutenberg Literary
Archive Foundation and how your efforts and donations can help, see
Sections 3 and 4 and the Foundation information page at www.gutenberg.org.
Section 3. Information about the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation
The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation is a non-profit
501(c)(3) educational corporation organized under the laws of the
state of Mississippi and granted tax exempt status by the Internal
Revenue Service. The Foundation’s EIN or federal tax identification
number is 64-6221541. Contributions to the Project Gutenberg Literary
Archive Foundation are tax deductible to the full extent permitted by
U.S. federal laws and your state’s laws.
The Foundation’s business office is located at 809 North 1500 West,
Salt Lake City, UT 84116, (801) 596-1887. Email contact links and up
to date contact information can be found at the Foundation’s website
and official page at www.gutenberg.org/contact
Section 4. Information about Donations to the Project Gutenberg
Literary Archive Foundation
Project Gutenberg™ depends upon and cannot survive without widespread
public support and donations to carry out its mission of
increasing the number of public domain and licensed works that can be
freely distributed in machine-readable form accessible by the widest
array of equipment including outdated equipment. Many small donations
($1 to $5,000) are particularly important to maintaining tax exempt
status with the IRS.
The Foundation is committed to complying with the laws regulating
charities and charitable donations in all 50 states of the United
States. Compliance requirements are not uniform and it takes a
considerable effort, much paperwork and many fees to meet and keep up
with these requirements. We do not solicit donations in locations
where we have not received written confirmation of compliance. To SEND
DONATIONS or determine the status of compliance for any particular state
visit www.gutenberg.org/donate.
While we cannot and do not solicit contributions from states where we
have not met the solicitation requirements, we know of no prohibition
against accepting unsolicited donations from donors in such states who
approach us with offers to donate.
International donations are gratefully accepted, but we cannot make
any statements concerning tax treatment of donations received from
outside the United States. U.S. laws alone swamp our small staff.
Please check the Project Gutenberg web pages for current donation
methods and addresses. Donations are accepted in a number of other
ways including checks, online payments and credit card donations. To
donate, please visit: www.gutenberg.org/donate.
Section 5. General Information About Project Gutenberg™ electronic works
Professor Michael S. Hart was the originator of the Project
Gutenberg™ concept of a library of electronic works that could be
freely shared with anyone. For forty years, he produced and
distributed Project Gutenberg™ eBooks with only a loose network of
volunteer support.
Project Gutenberg™ eBooks are often created from several printed
editions, all of which are confirmed as not protected by copyright in
the U.S. unless a copyright notice is included. Thus, we do not
necessarily keep eBooks in compliance with any particular paper
edition.
Most people start at our website which has the main PG search
facility: www.gutenberg.org.
This website includes information about Project Gutenberg™,
including how to make donations to the Project Gutenberg Literary
Archive Foundation, how to help produce our new eBooks, and how to
subscribe to our email newsletter to hear about new eBooks.
