  LIBRO PRIMO. ARGOMENTO.Casting the times with their strong signes, Death's master his owne death divines: Strugling for helpe, his best hope is Herod's suspition may heale his. Therefore he sends a fiend to wake foolish The sleeping tyrant's fond mistake; Who feares (in vaine) that He Whose birth Meanes Heav'n, should meddle with his Earth. I.Muse, now the servant of soft loves no more, Hate is thy theame, and Herod, whose unblest Hand (O what dares not jealous greatnesse?) tore A thousand sweet babes from their mothers' brest: Of language to my infant lips, yee best Of confessours: whose throates answering his swords, Gave forth your blood for breath, spoke soules for words. II.Great Anthony! Spain's well-beseeming pride, Thou mighty branch of emperours and kings; The beauties of whose dawne what eye may bide? Which with the sun himselfe weigh's equall wings; Mappe of heroick worth! whom farre and wide To the beleeving world, Fame boldly sings: Deigne thou to weare this humble wreath, that bowes To be the sacred honour of thy browes. III.Nor needs my Muse a blush, or these bright flowers Other than what their owne blest beauties bring: That drink the deaw of life, whose deathlesse spring, Nor Sirian flame nor Borean frost deflowers: From whence heav'n-labouring bees with busie wing, Suck hidden sweets, which well-digested proves Immortall hony for the hive of loves. IV.Thou, whose strong hand with so transcendent worth, Holds high the reine of faire Parthenope, That neither Rome nor Athens can bring forth A name in noble deeds rivall to thee! Thy fame's full noise, makes proud the patient Earth, Farre more then, matter for my Muse and mee. The Tyrrhene Seas and shores sound all the same And in their murmurs keepe thy mighty name. V.Below the bottome of the great Abysse, There where one center reconciles all things: The World's profound heart pants; there placÈd is Mischiefe's old master. Close about him clings A curl'd knot of embracing snakes, that kisse His correspondent cheekes: these loathsome strings Hold the perverse prince in eternall ties Fast bound, since first he forfeited the skies. VI.The judge of torments and the king of teares, He fills a burnisht throne of quenchlesse fire: A gloomy mantle of darke flames; the tire That crownes his hated head on high appeares: Where seav'n tall hornes (his empire's pride) aspire. And to make up Hell's majesty, each horne Seav'n crested Hydras, horribly adorne. VII.His eyes, the sullen dens of Death and Night, Startle the dull ayre with a dismall red: Such his fell glances, as the fatall light Of staring comets, that looke kingdomes dead. From his black nostrills, and blew lips, in spight Of Hell's owne stinke, a worser stench is spread. His breath Hell's lightning is: and each deepe groane Disdaines to think that Heav'n thunders alone. VIII.His flaming eyes' dire exhalation, Vnto a dreadfull pile gives fiery breath; Whose unconsum'd consumption preys upon The never-dying life of a long death. In this sad house of slow destruction, (His shop of flames) hee fryes himself, beneath A masse of woes; his teeth for torment gnash, While his steele sides sound with his tayle's strong lash. IX.Three rigourous virgins waiting still behind, Assist the throne of th' iron-sceptred king. With whips of thornes and knotty vipers twin'd They rouse him, when his ranke thoughts need a sting. Their lockes are beds of uncomb'd snakes that wind About their shady browes in wanton rings. Thus reignes the wrathfull king, and while he reignes, His scepter and himselfe both he disdaines. X.Disdainefull wretch! how hath one bold sinne cost Thee all the beauties of thy once bright eyes! How hath one black eclipse cancell'd, and crost The glories that did gild thee in thy rise! Proud morning of a perverse day! how lost Art thou unto thy selfe, thou too selfe-wise Narcissus! foolish Phaeton! who for all Thy high-aym'd hopes, gaind'st but a flaming fall. XI.From Death's sad shades to the life-breathing ayre, This mortall enemy to mankind's good, Lifts his malignant eyes, wasted with care, To become beautifull in humane blood. Where Iordan melts his chrystall, to make faire The fields of Palestine, with so pure a flood, There does he fixe his eyes: and there detect New matter, to make good his great suspect. XII.He calls to mind th' old quarrell, and what sparke Set the contending sons of Heav'n on fire: Oft in his deepe thought he revolves the darke Sibill's divining leaves: he does enquire Into th' old prophesies, trembling to marke How many present prodigies conspire, To crowne their past predictions, both he layes Together, in his pondrous mind both weighs. XIII.Heaven's golden-wingÈd herald, late he saw To a poore Galilean virgin sent: How low the bright youth bow'd, and with what awe Immortall flowers to her faire hand present. He saw th' old Hebrewe's wombe, neglect the law Of age and barrennesse, and her babe prevent anticipate His birth by his devotion, who began Betimes to be a saint, before a man. XIV.He saw rich nectar-thawes, release the rigour Of th' icy North; from frost-bound Atlas hands, His adamantine fetters fall: green vigour Gladding the Scythian rocks and Libian sands. He saw a vernall smile, sweetly disfigure Winter's sad face, and through the flowry lands Of faire Engaddi, hony-sweating fountaines With manna, milk, and balm, new-broach the mountaines. XV.He saw how in that blest Day-bearing Night, The Heav'n-rebukÈd shades made hast away; How bright a dawne of angels with new light Amaz'd the midnight world, and made a Day Of which the Morning knew not. Mad with spight He markt how the poore shepheards ran to pay Their simple tribute to the Babe, Whose birth Was the great businesse both of Heav'n and Earth. XVI.XLV.Here Diomed's horses, Phereus' dogs appeare, With the fierce lyons of Therodamas. Busiris has his bloody altar here: Here Sylla his severest prison has: The Lestrigonians here their table reare: Here strong Procrustes plants his bed of brasse: Here cruell Scyron boasts his bloody rockes And hatefull Schinis his so fearÈd oakes. XLVI.What ever schemes of blood, fantastick Frames Of death, Mezentius or Geryon drew; Phalaris, Ochus, Ezelinus: names Mighty in mischiefe; with dread Nero too; Here are they all, here all the swords or flames Assyrian tyrants or Egyptian knew. Such was the house, so furnisht was the hall, Whence the fourth Fury answer'd Pluto's call. XLVII.Scarce to this monster could the shady king The horrid summe of his intentions tell; But shee (swift as the momentary wing Of lightning, or the words he spoke) left Hell. She rose, and with her to our World did bring Pale proofe of her fell presence; th' aire too well With a chang'd countenance witnest the sight, And poore fowles intercepted in their flight. XLVIII.Heav'n saw her rise, and saw Hell in the sight: The fields' faire eyes saw her, and saw no more, But shut their flowry lids for ever: Night And Winter strow her way: yea, such a sore Is she to Nature, that a generall fright, An universal palsie spreading o're The face of things, from her dire eyes had run, Had not her thick snakes hid them from the sun. XLIX.Now had the Night's companion from her dew, Where all the busie day she close doth ly, With her soft wing wipt from the browes of men Day's sweat; and by a gentle tyranny And sweet oppression, kindly cheating them Of all their cares, tam'd the rebellious eye Of Sorrow, with a soft and downy hand, Sealing all brests in a LethÆan band. L.When the Erinnys her black pineons spread, And came to Bethlem, where the cruell king Had now retyr'd himselfe, and borrowed His brest a while from Care's unquiet sting; Such as at Thebes' dire feast she shew'd her head, Her sulphur-breathÈd torches brandishing: Such to the frighted palace now she comes, And with soft feet searches the silent roomes. LI.By Herod___________________now was borne The scepter, which of old great David swaid; lineage Whose right by David's linage so long worne, Himselfe a stranger to, his owne had made; And from the head of Judah's house quite torne The crowne, for which upon their necks he laid A sad yoake, under which they sigh'd in vaine, And looking on their lost state sigh'd againe. LII.Vp, through the spatious pallace passÈd she, To where the king's proudly-reposÈd head (If any can be soft to Tyranny And selfe-tormenting sin) had a soft bed. She thinkes not fit, such, he her face should see, As it is seene in Hell, and seen with dread. To change her face's stile she doth devise, And in a pale ghost's shape to spare his eyes. LIII.Her selfe a while she layes aside, and makes Ready to personate a mortall part. Ioseph, the king's dead brother's shape, she takes: What he by nature was, is she by art. She comes to th' king, and with her cold hand slakes His spirits (the sparkes of life) and chills his heart, Life's forge; fain'd is her voice, and false too, be Her words: 'sleep'st thou, fond man? sleep'st thou?' said she. LIV.So sleeps a pilot, whose poore barke is prest With many a mercylesse o're-mastring wave; For whom (as dead) the wrathfull winds contest Which of them deep'st shall digge her watry grave. Why dost thou let thy brave soule lye supprest In death-like slumbers, while thy dangers crave A waking eye and hand? looke vp and see The Fates ripe, in their great conspiracy. LV.Know'st thou not how of th' Hebrewes' royall stemme (That old dry stocke) a despair'd branch is sprung: A most strange Babe! Who here conceal'd by them In a neglected stable lies, among Beasts and base straw: Already is the streame Quite turn'd: th' ingratefull rebells, this their young Master (with voyce free as the trumpe of Fame) Their new King, and thy Successour proclame. LVI.What busy motions, what wild engines stand On tiptoe in their giddy braynes! th' have fire Already in their bosomes, and their hand Already reaches at a sword; they hire Poysons to speed thee; yet through all the Land What one comes to reveale what they conspire? Goe now, make much of these; wage still their wars And bring home on thy brest, more thanklesse scarrs. LVII.Why did I spend my life, and spill my blood, That thy firme hand for ever might sustaine A well-pois'd scepter? does it now seeme good Thy brother's blood be spilt, life spent in vaine? 'Gainst thy owne sons and brothers thou hast stood In armes, when lesser cause was to complaine: And now crosse Fates a watch about thee keepe, Can'st thou be carelesse now? now can'st thou sleep? LVIII.Where art thou man? what cowardly mistake Of thy great selfe, hath stolne king Herod from thee? O call thy selfe home to thy self, wake, wake, And fence the hanging sword Heav'n throws upon thee. Redeeme a worthy wrath, rouse thee, and shake Thy selfe into a shape that may become thee. Be Herod, and thou shalt not misse from mee Immortall stings to thy great thoughts, and thee. LIX.So said, her richest snake, which to her wrist For a beseeming bracelet she had ty'd (A speciall worme it was as ever kist The foamy lips of Cerberus) she apply'd To the king's heart: the snake no sooner hist, But Vertue heard it, and away she hy'd: Dire flames diffuse themselves through every veine: This done, home to her Hell she hy'd amaine. LX.He wakes, and with him (ne're to sleepe) new feares: His sweat-bedewed bed hath now betraid him To a vast field of thornes; ten thousand speares All pointed in his heart seem'd to invade him: So mighty were th' amazing characters With which his feeling dreame had thus dismay'd him, He his owne fancy-framÈd foes defies: In rage, My armes, give me my armes, he cryes. LXI.As when a pile of food-preparing fire, The breath of artificiall lungs embraves, The caldron-prison'd waters streight conspire And beat the hot brasse with rebellious waves; He murmurs, and rebukes their bold desire; Th' impatient liquor frets, and foames, and raves, Till his o're-flowing pride suppresse the flame Whence all his high spirits and hot courage came. LXII.So boyles the firÈd Herod's blood-swolne brest, Not to be slak't but by a sea of blood: His faithlesse crowne he feeles loose on his crest, Which a false tyrant's head ne're firmely stood. The worme of jealous envy and unrest To which his gnaw'd heart is the growing food, Makes him, impatient of the lingring light, Hate the sweet peace of all-composing Night. LXIII.A thousand prophecies that talke strange things Had sowne of old these doubts in his deepe brest. And now of late came tributary kings, Bringing him nothing but new feares from th' East, More deepe suspicions, and more deadly stings, With which his feav'rous cares their cold increast. And now his dream (Hel's fireband) still more bright, Shew'd him his feares, and kill'd him with the sight. LXIV.No sooner therefore shall the Morning see (Night hangs yet heavy on the lids of Day) But all the counsellours must summon'd bee, To meet their troubled lord: without delay Heralds and messengers immediately Are sent about, who poasting every way To th' heads and officers of every band, Declare who sends, and what is his command. LXV.Why art thou troubled, Herod? what vaine feare Thy blood-revolving brest to rage doth move? Heaven's King, Who doffs Himselfe weak flesh to weare, Comes not to rule in wrath, but serve in love. Nor would He this thy fear'd crown from thee teare, But give thee a better with Himselfe above. Poor jealousie! why should He wish to prey Vpon thy crowne, Who gives His owne away? LXVI.Make to thy reason, man, and mock thy doubts, Looke how below thy feares their causes are; Thou art a souldier, Herod; send thy scouts, See how Hee's furnish't for so fear'd a warre? What armour does He weare? A few thin clouts. His trumpets? tender cries; His men to dare So much? rude shepheards: what His steeds? alas Poore beasts! a slow oxe and a simple asse. Il fine del primo Libro. NOTES AND ILLUSTRATIONS. See our Essay for critical remarks on the original and Crashaw's interpretation. These things may be recorded: St. viii. line 6. '(His shop of flames) he fries himself.' This verb 'fries,' like 'stick' and some others, had not in Elizabethan times and later, that colloquial, and therefore in such a context ludicrous, sound that it has to us. In Marlowe's or Jonson's translation of Ovid's fifteenth elegy (book i.) the two lines which originally ran thus, 'Lofty Lucretius shall live that hour That Nature shall dissolve this earthly bower,' were afterwards altered by Jonson himself to, 'Then shall Lucretius' lofty numbers die, When earth and seas in fire and flame shall frie.' In another way one of our most ludicrous-serious experiences of printers' errors was in a paper contributed by us to an American religious periodical. The subject was Affliction, and we remarked that God still, as of old with the 'three children' (so-called) permits His people to be put into the furnace of 'fiery trials,' wherein He tries them whether they be ore or dross. To our horror we found the t changed into f, and so read sensationally 'fries'—all the worse that some might think it the author's own word. St. xxviii. and xxx. The star Lucifer or Phosporos, to whom 'the droves of stars that guild the morn, in charge were given,' St. xxxvi. line 2. Turnbull perpetuates the misprint of 'whose' for 'my' from 1670. St. li. line 3, 'linage' = 'lineage.' For once 1670 is correct in reading 'linage' for the misprint 'image' of 1646 and 1648. The original is literally as follows: 'Herod the liege of Augustus, a man now agÈd, Then ruled over the royal courts of David: Not of the royal line ...' St. lix. line 3, 'a special worm:' so Shakespeare (Ant. and Cleopatra, v. 2), 'the pretty worm' and 'the worm.' St. lx. Every one will be reminded of the tent-scene in Richard III. At end of this translation Peregrine Phillips adds 'cetera desunt—heu! heu!' Marino and Crashaw have left proper names in the poem unannotated. They are mostly trite; but these may be noticed: st. xlii. l. 4, Erisichton (see Ovid, Met. viii. 814 &c.); he offended Ceres, and was by her punished with continual hunger, so that he devoured his own limbs: line 5, Tantalus the fabled son of Zeus and Pluto, whose doom in the 'lower world,' has been celebrated from Homer (Od. xi. 582) onward: ib. Atreus, grandson of Tantalus, immortalised in infamy with his brother Thyestes: ib. Progne = Procne, wife of Tereus, who was metamorphosed into a swallow (Apollod. iii. 14, 8): l. 6, Lycaon, like Tantalus, with his sons changed by Zeus into wolves (Ovid; Paus. viii. 3, § 1): st. xliii. line 2, Medea, most famous of the mythical sorcerers: ib. Jezebel, 2 Kings ix. 10, 36: line 3, Circe, another mythical sorceress: Scylla, daughter of Typho and rival of Circe, who transformed her (Ovid, Met. xiv. 1-74); cf. Paradise Lost: line 4, the ParÆ = the Fates, ever spinning: st. xliv. lines 7-8, all classic monsters: st. xlv. line 1, 'Diomed's horses' = the fabled 'mares' fed on human flesh (Apollod. ii. 5, § 8): 'Phereus' dogs,' or Fereus of mythical celebrity: line 2, Therodamas or Theromedon, king of Scythia, who fed lions with human blood (Ovid, Ibis 385, Pont. i. 2, 121): line 3, Busiris, associated with Osiris of Egypt; but Herodotus denies that the Egyptians Decoration J |
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