Classic Poem

CHAPTER VII.

What am I? man; O what is man? O nought!
What, am I nought? yes; what? sin and debate:
Three vices all in one, of one life bought:
Man am I not; what then? I am man's hate:
Yes, man I am; man, because mortal, dead;
Mortality my guide, by mischief led.

Man, because like to man, man, because born;
In birth no man, a child, child, because weak;
Weak, because weaken'd by ill-fortune's scorn;
Scorn'd, because mortal, mortal, in wrong's wreak;
My father, like myself, did live on earth;
I, like myself and him, follow his birth.

My mother's matrice was my body's maker,
There had I this same shape of infamies;
Shape? ah, no shape, but substance mischief's taker!
In ten months' fashion; months? ah, miseries!
The shame of shape, the very shape of shame;
Calamity myself, lament my name.

I was conceiv'd with seed, deceiv'd with sin;
Deceiv'd, because my seed was sin's deceit;
My seed deceit, because it clos'd me in,
Hemm'd me about, for sin's and mischief's bait:
The seed of man did bring me into blood,
And now I bring myself, in what? no good.

When I was born, when I was, then I was;
Born? when? yet born I was, but now I bear,
Bear my own vices, which my joys surpass,
Bear mine own burden full of mischief's fear:
When I was born, I did not bear lament;
But now unborn, I bear what birth hath spent.

When I was born, my breath was born to me,
The common air which airs my body's form;
Then fell I on the earth with feeble knee,
Lamenting for my life's ill-fortune's storm;
Making myself the index of my woe,
Commencing what I could, ere I could go.

Fed was I with lament, as well as meat;
My milk was sweet, but tears did make it sour;
Meat and lament, milk and my tears I eat,
As bitter herbs commix'd with sweetest flower;
Care was my swaddling clothes, as well as cloth,
For I was swaddled and cloth'd in both.

Why do I make myself more than I am?
Why say I, I am nourished with cares,
When every one is clothed with the same,
Sith as I fare myself, another fares?
No king hath any other birth than I,
But wail'd his fortune with a watery eye.

Say, what is mirth? an entrance unto woe;
Say, what is woe? an entrance unto mirth;
That which begins with joy doth not end so,
These go by change, because a changing birth;
Our birth is as our death, both barren, bare;
Our entrance wail, our going out with care.

Naked we came into the world, as naked,
We had not wealth nor riches to possess;
Now differ we, which difference riches maked,
Yet in the end we naked ne'ertheless;
As our beginning is, so is our end,
Naked and poor, which needs no wealth to spend.

Thus weighing in the balance of my mind
My state, all states, my birth, all births alike,
My meditated passions could not find
One freed thought which sorrow did not strike;
But knowing every ill is cur'd by prayer,
My mind besought the Lord, my grief's allayer.

Wherefore I pray'd; my prayer took effect,
And my effect was good, my good was gain;
My gain was sacred wisdom's bright aspect,
And her aspect in my respect did reign;
Wisdom, that heavenly spirit of content,
Was unto me from heaven by prayer sent:

A present far more worthy than a crown,
Because the crown of an eternal rest;
A present far more worthy than a throne,
Because the throne of heaven, which makes us blest;
The crown of bliss, the throne of God is she;
Compared unto heaven, not, earth, to thee.

Her footstool is thy face, her face thy shame;
Thy shame her living praise, her praise thy scorn;
Thy scorn her love, her love thy merit's blame;
Thy blame her worth, her worth thy being born:
Thyself art dross to her comparison;
Thy valour weak unto her garrison.

To liken gold unto her radiant face,
Were likening day to night, and night to day,
The king's high seat to the low subject's place,
And heaven's translucent breast to earthly way:
For what is gold? her scorn; her scorn? her ire;
Melting that dross with nought but anger's fire.

In her respect 'tis dust, in her aspects
Earth, in respect of her 'tis little gravel;
As dust, as earth, as gravel she rejects
The hope, the gain, the sight, the price, the travel;
Silver, because inferior to the other,
Is clay, which two she in one look doth smother.

Her sight I called health, herself my beauty;
Health as my life, and beauty as my light;
Each in performance of the other's duty,
This curing grief, this leading me aright;
Two sovereign eyes, belonging to two places,
This guides the soul, and this the body graces.

The heart-sick soul is cur'd by heart-strong health,
The heart-strong health is the soul's brightest eye
The heart-sick body healed by beauty's wealth;
Two sunny windolets of either's sky,
Whose beams cannot be clouded by reproach,
Nor yet dismounted from so bright a coach.

What dowry could I wish more than I have?
What wealth, what honour, more than I possess?
My soul's request is mine, which I did crave;
For sole redress in soul I have redress:
The bodily expenses which I spend,
Is lent by her which my delight doth lend.

Then I may call her author of my good,
Sith good and goods are portions for my love;
I love her well; who would not love his food,
His joy's maintainer, which all woes remove?
I richest am, because I do possess her;
I strongest am, in that none can oppress her.

It made me glad to think that I was rich,
More gladder for to think that I was strong;
For lowest minds do covet highest pitch,
As highest braves proceed from lowest tongue:
Her first arrival first did make me glad,
Yet ignorant at first, first made me sad.

Joyful I was, because I saw her power,
Woeful I was, because I knew her not;
Glad that her face was in mine eyes-lock'd bower,
Sad that my senses never drew her plot:
I knew not that she was discretion's mother,
Though I professed myself to be her brother.

Like a rash wooer feeding on the looks,
Disgesting beauty, apparition's show,
Viewing the painted outside of the books,
And inward works little regards to know;
So I, feeding my fancies with her sight,
Forgot to make inquiry of her might.

External powers I knew, riches I had,
Internal powers I scarcely had discern'd;
Unfeignedly I learned to be glad,
Feigning I hated, verity I learn'd:
I was not envious-learned to forsake her,
But I was loving-learned for to take her.

And had I not, my treasure had been lost,
My loss my peril's hazard had proclaim'd,
My peril had my life's destruction tost,
My life's destruction at my soul had aim'd:
Great perils hazarded from one poor loss,
As greatest filth doth come with smallest dross.

This righteous treasure whoso rightly useth,
Shall be an heir in heaven's eternity;
All earthly fruits her heritage excuseth,
All happiness in her felicity:
The love of God consists in her embracing,
The gifts of knowledge in her wisdom's placing.

I speak as I am prompted by my mind,
My soul's chief agent, pleader of my cause;
I speak these things, and what I speak I find,
By heaven's judgment, not mine own applause:
God he is judge; I next, because I have her;
God he doth know; I next, because I crave her.

Should I direct, and God subvert my tongue,
I worthy were of an unworthy name,
Unworthy of my right, not of my wrong,
Unworthy of my praise, not of my shame;
But seeing God directs my tongue from missing,
I rather look for clapping than for hissing.

He is the prompter of my tongue and me,
My tongue doth utter what his tongue applies;
He sets before my sight what I should see,
He breathes into my heart his verities;
He tells me what I think, or see, or hear;
His tongue a part, my tongue a part doth bear.

Our words he knows in telling of our hearts,
Our hearts he knows in telling of our words;
All in his hands, words, wisdom, works, and arts,
And every power which influence affords;
He knows what we will speak, what we will do,
And how our minds and actions will go.

The wisdom which I have is heaven's gift,
The knowledge which I have is God's reward;
Both presents my forewarned senses lift,
And of my preservation had regard:
This teaches me to know, this to be wise;
Knowledge is wit's, and wit is knowledge' guise.

Now know I how the world was first created,
How every motion of the air was fram'd,
How man was made, the devil's pride abated,
How time's beginning, midst, and end was nam'd;
Now know I time, time's change, time's date, time's show,
And when the seasons come, and when they go:

I know the changing courses of the years,
And the division of all differing climes,
The situation of the stars and spheres,
The flowing tides, and the flow-ebbing times;
I know that every year hath his four courses,
I know that every course hath several forces.

I know that nature is in everything,
Beasts furious, winds rough, men wicked are,
Whose thoughts their scourge, whose deeds their judgment's sting,
Whose words and works their peril and their care;
I know that every plant hath difference,
I know that every root hath influence.

True knowledge have I got in knowing truth,
True wisdom purchased in wisest wit;
A knowledge fitting age, wit fitting youth,
Which makes me young, though old with gain of it:
True knowledge have I, and true wisdom's store,
True hap, true hope; what wish, what would I more?

Known things I needs must know, sith not unknown,
My care is knowledge, she doth hear for me;
All secrets know I more because not shown;
My wisdom secret is, and her I see:
Knowledge hath taught me how to hear known causes,
Wisdom hath taught me secrecy's applauses.

Knowledge and wisdom known in wisest things
Is reason's mate, discretion's sentinel;
More than a trine of joys from virtues springs,
More than one union, yet in union dwell:
One for to guide the spring, summer the other;
One harvest's nurse, the other winter's mother.

Four mounts and four high mounters, all four one,
One holy union, one begotten life,
One manifold affection, yet alone,
All one in peace's rest, all none in strife;
Sure, stable, without care, having all power,
Not hurtful, doing good, as one all four.

This peaceful army of four-knitted souls
Is marching unto peace's endless war,
Their weapons are discretion's written rolls,
Their quarrel love, and amity their jar:
Wisdom director is, captain and guide;
All other take their places side by side.

Wisdom divides the conflict of her peace
Into four squadrons of four mutual loves;
Each bent to war, and never means to cease;
Her wings of shot her disputation moves:
She wars unseen, and pacifies unseen;
She is war's victory, yet peace's queen.

She is the martial trumpet of alarms,
And yet the quiet rest in peace's night;
She guideth martial troops, she honours arms,
Yet joins she fight with peace, and peace with fight;
She is the breath of God's and heaven's power,
Yet peace's nurse in being peace's flower.

A flowing in of that which ebbeth out,
An ebbing out of that which floweth in;
Presumption she doth hate in being stout,
Humility, though poor, her favours win:
She is the influence of heaven's flow;
No filth doth follow her where'er she go.

She is that spring which never hath an ebb,
That silver-colour'd brook which hath no mud,
That loom which weaves and never cuts the web,
That tree which grows and never leaves to bud;
She constant is, inconstancy her foe;
She doth not flow and ebb, nor come and go.

Phaebus doth weep when watery clouds approach,
She keeps her brightness everlastingly;
Phaebe, when Phaebus shines, forsakes night's coach,
Her day is night and day immortally;
The undefiled mirror of renown,
The image of God's power, her virtue's crown.

Discretion, knowledge, wit, and reason's skill,
All four are places in one only grace;
They wisdom are, obedient to her will,
All four are one, one in all four's place;
And wisdom being one, she can do all,
Sith one hath four, all subject to one call.

Herself remaining self, the world renews,
Renewing ages with perpetual youth,
Entering into the souls which death pursues,
Making them God's friends which were friends to truth:
If wisdom doth not harbour in thy mind,
God loves thee not, and that thy soul shall find.

For how canst thou be led without thy light?
How can thy eyeless soul direct her way,
If wanting her which guides thy steps aright,
Thy steps from night into a path of day?
More beautiful then is the eye of heaven,
Gilding herself with her self-changing steven.

The stars are twinkling handmaids to the moon,
Both moon and stars handmaids to wisdom's sun;
These shine at middest night, this at midnoon,
Each new-begins their light when each hath done;
Pale-mantled night follows red-mantled day,
Vice follows both, but to her own decay.