Wel-meaning readers! you that come as freinds
And catch the pretious name this peice pretends;
Make not too much hast to admire
That fair-cheek't fallacy of fire.
That is a seraphim, they say
And this the great Teresia.
Readers, be rul'd by me; and make
Here a well-plact and wise mistake:
You must transpose the picture quite,
And spell it wrong to read it right;
Read him for her, and her for him,
And call the saint the seraphim.
Painter, what didst thou vnderstand
To put her dart into his hand?
See, euen the yeares and size of him
Showes this the mother seraphim.
This is the mistresse flame; and duteous he
Her happy fire-works here, comes down to see.
O most poor-spirited of men!
Had thy cold pencil kist her pen,
Thou couldst not so vnkindly err
To show vs this faint shade for her.
Why, man, this speakes pure mortall frame;
And mockes with female frost Loue's manly flame.
One would suspect thou meant'st to paint
Some weak, inferiour, woman-saint.
But had thy pale-fac't purple took
Fire from the burning cheeks of that bright booke,
Thou wouldst on her haue heap't vp all
That could be found seraphicall;
What e're this youth of fire, weares fair,
Rosy fingers, radiant hair,
Glowing cheek, and glistering wings,
All those fair and fragrant things
But before all, that fiery dart
Had fill'd the hand of this great heart.
Doe then, as equall right requires,
Since his the blushes be, and her's the fires,
Resume and rectify thy rude design,
Vndresse thy seraphim into mine;
Redeem this iniury of thy art,
Giue him the vail, giue her the dart.
Giue him the vail; that he may couer
The red cheeks of a riuall'd louer.
Asham'd that our world now can show
Nests of new seraphims here below.
Giue her the dart, for it is she
(Fair youth) shootes both thy shaft, and thee;
Say, all ye wise and well-peirc't hearts
That liue and dy amidst her darts,
What is't your tastfull spirits doe proue
In that rare life of her, and Loue?
Say, and bear witnes. Sends she not
A seraphim at euery shott?
What magazins of immortall armes there shine!
Heaun's great artillery in each loue-spun line.
Giue then the dart to her who giues the flame;
Giue him the veil, who giues the shame.
But if it be the frequent fate
Of worst faults to be fortunate;
If all's praescription; and proud wrong
Hearkens not to an humble song;
For all the gallantry of him,
Giue me the suffring seraphim.
His be the brauery of all those bright things,
The glowing cheekes, the glistering wings;
The rosy hand, the radiant dart;
Leaue her alone the flaming heart.
Leaue her that; and thou shalt leaue her
Not one loose shaft but Loue's whole quiver.
For in Loue's feild was neuer found
A nobler weapon then a wovnd.
Loue's passiues are his actiu'st part,
The wounded is the wounding heart.
O heart! the aequall poise of Loue's both parts
Bigge alike with wound and darts.
Liue in these conquering leaues; liue all the same,
And walk through all tongues one triumphant flame.
Liue here, great heart; and loue and dy and kill;
And bleed and wound; and yeild and conquer still.
Let this immortall life wherere it comes
Walk in a crowd of loues and martyrdomes.
Let mystick deaths wait on't; and wise soules be
The loue-slain wittnesses of this life of thee.
O sweet incendiary! shew here thy art,
Vpon this carcasse of a hard, cold hart;
Let all thy scatter'd shafts of light, that play
Among the leaues of thy larg books of day.
Combin'd against this brest at once break in
And take away from me my self and sin;
This gratious robbery shall thy bounty be,
And my best fortunes such fair spoiles of me.
O thou vndanted daughter of desires!
By all thy dowr of lights and fires;
By all the eagle in thee, all the doue;
By all thy liues and deaths of loue;
By thy larg draughts of intellectuall day,
And by thy thirsts of loue more large then they;
By all thy brim-fill'd bowles of feirce desire,
By thy last morning's draught of liquid fire;
By the full kingdome of that finall kisse
That seiz'd thy parting soul, and seal'd thee His;
By all the Heau'n thou hast in Him
(Fair sister of the seraphim!)
By all of Him we have in thee;
Leaue nothing of my self in me.
Let me so read thy life, that I
Vnto all life of mine may dy.
NOTES AND ILLUSTRATIONS.
The title in 1648 omits the words 'the seraphical saint,' and the text
there lacks the last twenty-four lines.
Various readings from 1648.
Line 3, 'so' for 'too.'
" 11, 'And' for 'read.'
" 18, 'happier.'
Line 31 misreads 'But e're,' and 'were' for 'weares.'
" 33, 'cheekes.'
" 34 flagrantly misreads 'flagrant' for 'fragrant,' which
TURNBULL as usual blindly repeats.
Line 48, 'shafts.'