The Complete Works of Richard Crashaw, Volume I

Name: The Complete Works of Richard Crashaw, Volume I
Author: Crashaw, Richard

Crashaw, Richard

English poetry -- Early modern, 1500-1700

The roses fresh, conseruèd from the rage,
    And cruell ravishing of frosty age,
    Feare is afraid to tast of: only this,
    He humbly crau'd to banquett on a kisse.
    Poore meagre horror streightwaies was amaz'd,
    And in the stead of feeding stood, & gaz'd.
    Their appetites were gone at th' uery sight;
    But yet theire eyes surfett with sweet delight.
    Only the Pope a stomack still could find;
    But yett they were not powder'd to his mind.
    Forth-with each god stept from his starry throne,
    And snatch'd away the banquett; euery one
    Convey'd his sweet delicious treasury
    To the close closet of æternity:
    Where they will safely keepe it, from the rude,
    And rugged touch of Pluto's multitude.




    =Secular Poetry.=


    I.


    THE DELIGHTS OF THE MUSES

    (1646).


NOTE.

For the title-page of 'The Delights of the Muses' see Note immediately
before the original Preface, and our Preface on the classification of
the several poems. G.




MUSICK'S DUELL.[61]


    Now Westward Sol had spent the richest beams                1
    Of Noon's high glory, when hard by the streams
    Of Tiber, on the sceane of a greene plat,
    Vnder protection of an oake, there sate
    A sweet Lute's-master; in whose gentle aires                5
    He lost the daye's heat, and his owne hot cares.
      Close in the covert of the leaves there stood
    A Nightingale, come from the neighbouring wood:
    (The sweet inhabitant of each glad tree,
    Their Muse, their Syren--harmlesse Syren she!)             10
    There stood she listning, and did entertaine
    The musick's soft report, and mold the same
    In her owne murmures, that what ever mood
    His curious fingers lent, her voyce made good:
    The man perceiv'd his rivall, and her art;                 15
    Dispos'd to give the light-foot lady sport,
    Awakes his lute, and 'gainst the fight to come
    Informes it in a sweet præludium
    Of closer straines, and ere the warre begin,
    He lightly skirmishes on every string,                     20
    Charg'd with a flying touch: and streightway she
    Carves out her dainty voyce as readily,
    Into a thousand sweet distinguish'd tones,
    And reckons up in soft divisions,
    Quicke volumes of wild notes; to let him know              25
    By that shrill taste, she could do something too.
      His nimble hands' instinct then taught each string
    A capring cheerefullnesse; and made them sing
    To their owne dance; now negligently rash
    He throwes his arme, and with a long drawne dash           30
    Blends all together; then distinctly tripps
    From this to that; then quicke returning skipps
    And snatches this again, and pauses there.
    Shee measures every measure, every where
    Meets art with art; sometimes as if in doubt               35
    Not perfect yet, and fearing to be out,
    Trayles her plaine ditty in one long-spun note,
    Through the sleeke passage of her open throat,

Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.

Opening the text

The Complete Works of Richard Crashaw, Volume ICrashaw, Richard

General

The Complete Works of Richard Crashaw, Volume I

Crashaw, Richard

English poetry -- Early modern, 1500-1700

The roses fresh, conseruèd from the rage,
    And cruell ravishing of frosty age,
    Feare is afraid to tast of: only this,
    He humbly crau'd to banquett on a kisse.
    Poore meagre horror streightwaies was amaz'd,
    And in the stead of feeding stood, & gaz'd.
    Their appetites were gone at th' uery sight;
    But yet theire eyes surfett with sweet delight.
    Only the Pope a stomack still could find;
    But yett they were not powder'd to his mind.
    Forth-with each god stept from his starry throne,
    And snatch'd away the banquett; euery one
    Convey'd his sweet delicious treasury
    To the close closet of æternity:
    Where they will safely keepe it, from the rude,
    And rugged touch of Pluto's multitude.




    =Secular Poetry.=


    I.


    THE DELIGHTS OF THE MUSES

    (1646).


NOTE.

For the title-page of 'The Delights of the Muses' see Note immediately
before the original Preface, and our Preface on the classification of
the several poems. G.




MUSICK'S DUELL.[61]


    Now Westward Sol had spent the richest beams                1
    Of Noon's high glory, when hard by the streams
    Of Tiber, on the sceane of a greene plat,
    Vnder protection of an oake, there sate
    A sweet Lute's-master; in whose gentle aires                5
    He lost the daye's heat, and his owne hot cares.
      Close in the covert of the leaves there stood
    A Nightingale, come from the neighbouring wood:
    (The sweet inhabitant of each glad tree,
    Their Muse, their Syren--harmlesse Syren she!)             10
    There stood she listning, and did entertaine
    The musick's soft report, and mold the same
    In her owne murmures, that what ever mood
    His curious fingers lent, her voyce made good:
    The man perceiv'd his rivall, and her art;                 15
    Dispos'd to give the light-foot lady sport,
    Awakes his lute, and 'gainst the fight to come
    Informes it in a sweet præludium
    Of closer straines, and ere the warre begin,
    He lightly skirmishes on every string,                     20
    Charg'd with a flying touch: and streightway she
    Carves out her dainty voyce as readily,
    Into a thousand sweet distinguish'd tones,
    And reckons up in soft divisions,
    Quicke volumes of wild notes; to let him know              25
    By that shrill taste, she could do something too.
      His nimble hands' instinct then taught each string
    A capring cheerefullnesse; and made them sing
    To their owne dance; now negligently rash
    He throwes his arme, and with a long drawne dash           30
    Blends all together; then distinctly tripps
    From this to that; then quicke returning skipps
    And snatches this again, and pauses there.
    Shee measures every measure, every where
    Meets art with art; sometimes as if in doubt               35
    Not perfect yet, and fearing to be out,
    Trayles her plaine ditty in one long-spun note,
    Through the sleeke passage of her open throat,

Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.

The Complete Works of Richard Crashaw, Volume I

The Complete Works of Richard Crashaw, Volume I

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