Classic Poem

UPON HIS EXCELLENT PARAPHRASE ON THE PSALMS .

Had I no blushes left, but were of those
Who praise in verse what they despise in prose;
Had I this vice from vanity or youth,
Yet such a subject would have taught me truth:
Hence it were banish'd where of flattery
There is nor use nor possibility.
Else thou hadst cause to fear, lest some might raise
An argument against thee from my praise.
I therefore know thou canst expect from me
But what I give, historic poetry.
Friendship for more could not a pardon win;
Nor think I numbers make a lie no sin.
And need I say more than my thoughts indite,
Nothing were easier than not to write;
Which now were hard, for wheresoe'er I raise
My thoughts, thy several pains extort my praise.
First, that which doth the pyramids display,
And in a work much lastinger than they,
And more a wonder, scorns at large to show
What were indifferent if true or no:
Or from its lofty flight stoop to declare
What all men might have known, had all been there.
But by thy learned industry and art,
To those who never from their studies part,
Doth each land's laws, belief, beginning show;
Which of the natives but the curious know:
Teaching the frailty of all human things;
How soon great kingdoms fall, much sooner kings;
Prepares our souls, that chance cannot direct
A machine at us more than we expect.
We know that town is but with fishers fraught
Where Theseus govern'd, and where Plato taught;
That spring of knowledge, to which Italy
Owes all her arts and her civility,
In vice and barbarism supinely rolls,
Their fortunes not more slavish than their souls.
Those churches which from the first heretics wan
All the first fields, or led, at least, the van;
In whom those notes, so much requir'd, be —
Agreement, miracles, antiquity:
Which can a never-broke succession show
From the apostles down; (here bragg'd of so:)
So best confute her most immodest claim,
Who scarce a part, yet to be all doth aim;
Lie now distress'd between two enemy pow'rs,
Whom the west damns, and whom the east devours.
What state than theirs can more unhappy be,
Threaten'd with hell, and sure of poverty?
The small beginning of the Turkish kings,
And their large growth, show us that diff'rent things
May meet in one third; what most disagree
May have some likeness; for in this we see
A mustard seed may be resembled well
To the two kingdoms, both of heav'n and hell.
Their strength and wants this work hath both unwound;
To teach how these t'increase, and that confound:
Relates their tenets, scorning to dispute
With errors, which to tell is to confute:
Shews how ev'n there, where Christ vouchsaf'd to teach,
Their dervises dare an impostor preach;
For whilst with private quarrels we decay'd,
We way for them and their religion made,
And can but wishes now to heav'n prefer,
May they gain Christ, or we His sepulchre.
Next Ovid calls me; which, though I admire
For equalling the author's quick'ning fire,
And his pure phrase; yet more, rememb'ring it
Was by a mind so much distracted writ:
Business and war, ill midwives to produce
The happy offspring of so sweet a Muse:
Whilst ev'ry unknown face did danger threat;
For ev'ry native there was twice a Gete.
More; when, return'd, thy work review'd, expos'd
What pith before the hiding bark enclos'd:
And with it that essay, which lets us see
Well by the foot, what Hercules would be.
All fitly offer'd to his princely hands,
By whose protection learning chiefly stands;
Whose virtue moves more pens than his pow'r swords,
And theme to those, and edge to these affords.
Who could not be displeas'd that his great fame
So pure a Muse so loudly should proclaim:
With his queen's praise in the same model cast,
Which shall not less than all their annals last.
Yet, though we wonder at thy charming voice,
Perfection still was wanting in thy choice;
And of a soul, which so much pow'r possess'd.
That choice is hardly good which is not best.
But though thy Muse were ethnically chaste,
When mostfault could be found; yet now thou hast
Diverted to a purer path thy quill,
And chang'd Parnassus mount to Sion's hill;
So that blest David might almost desire
To hear his harp thus echo'd by thy lyre.
Such eloquence, that though it were abus'd,
Could not but be (though not allow'd) excus'd.
Join'd to a work so choice, that though ill-done,
So pious an attempt praise could not shun.
How strangely doth it darkest texts disclose
In verses of such sweetness, that ev'n those
From whom the unknown tongue conceals the sense,
Ev'n in the sound must find an eloquence.
For though the most bewitching music could
Move men no more than rocks, thy language would.
Those who make wit their curse, who spend their brain,
Their time, and art, in looser verse, to gain
Damnation and a mistress, till they see
How constant that is, how inconstant she,
May from this great example learn to sway
The parts they're blest with, some more blessed way.
Fate can against thee but two foes advance,
Sharp-sighted Envy and blind Ignorance:
The first, by Nature like a shadow, near
To all great acts, I rather hate than fear:
For them, since whatsoever most they raise
In private, that they most in throngs dispraise;
And know the ill they act condemn'd within,
Who envies thee, may no man envy him.
The last I fear not much, but pity more;
For though they cannot the least fault explore,
Yet, if they might the high tribunal climb,
To them thy excellence would be thy crime;
For eloquence with things profane they join,
Nor count it fit to mix with what's divine;
Like art and paintings laid upon a face,
Of itself sweet, which more deform than grace;
Yet, as the Church with ornaments is fraught,
Why may not that be too which there is taught?
And sure that vessel of election, Paul,
Who Judais'd with Jews, was all to all;
So to gain some would be, at least, content,
Some for the curious should be eloquent;
For since the way to heav'n is rugged, who
Would have the way to that way be so too?
Or thinks it fit we should not leave obtain
To learn with pleasure what we act with pain?
Since then some stop, unless their path be even,
Nor will be led by solecisms to heaven;
And, through a habit scarce to be controll'd,
Refuse a cordial when not bought in gold,
Much like to them to that disease inur'd,
Which can be no way but by music cur'd;
I joy in hope that no small piety
Will in their colder hearts be warm'd by thee;
For as none could more harmony dispense,
So neither could thy flowing eloquence
So well in any task be us'd as this,
To sound His praises forth whose gift it is.

— — Cui non certaverit ulla
Aut tantum fluere, aut totidem durare per annos.