THE ANAGRAM "HE WAS CAR."
AS Car then Crashaw, or was Crashaw Car,
Since both within one name combinèd are?
Yes, Car's Crashaw, he Car; 'tis love
Which melts two hearts, of both composing one
So Crashaw's still the same: so much desired
By strongest wits; so honour'd, so admired;
Car was but he that enter'd as a friend
With whom he shared his thoughts, and did commend,
While yet he lived, this work; they loved each other:
Sweet Crashaw was his friend: he Crashaw's brother;
So Car hath title then; 'twas his intent
That what his riches penn'd, poor Car should print;
Nor fears he check, praising that happy one
Who was beloved by all; disprais'd by none.
To wit, being pleased with all things, he pleased all :
Nor would he give nor take offence; befall
What might, he would posses himself, and live
As dead, devoid of interest, t' all might give
Diseased his well-composèd mind, forestall'd
With heavenly riches, which had wholly call'd
His thoughts from earth, to live above in th' air
bird of paradise. No care
A very
Had he of earthly trash.
What might suffice
To fit his soul to heavenly exercise,
Sufficed him; and may we guess his heart
By what his lips bring forth, his only part
Is God and godly thoughts. Leaves doubt to none
But that to whom one God is all, all's one.
What he might eat or wear he took no thought,
His needful food he rather found than sought.
He seeks no downs, no sheets, his bed's still made;
If he can find a chair or stool, he's laid;
When day peeps in, he quits his restless rest;
And still, poor soul, before he's up, he's dress'd.
Thus dying did he live, yet lived to die
In th' Virgin's lap, to whom he did apply
His virgin thoughts and words, and thence was styled
By foes, the chaplain of the virgin mild,
While yet he lived without his modesty
Imparted this to some, and they to me.
Live happy, then, dear soul! enjoy thy rest
Eternally by pains thou purchasedst,
While Car must live in care, who was thy friend,
Nor cares he how he live, so in the end
He may enjoy his dearest Lord and thee;
And sit and sing more skilful songs eternally.
Upon the Pictures in the following Poems which the Author first made with his own hand admirably well, as may be seen in his Manuscript dedicated
to the Right Honourable Lady the
Lady Denbigh.
WIXT pen and pencil rose a holy strife
Which might draw virtue better to the life;
But wits gave votes to that: but painters
They never saw pieces so sweet before
As these fruits of pure nature; where no art
Did lead the untaught pencil, nor had part
The hand grown bold, with wit will needs contest.
Doth it prevail? ah, wo! say each is best.
This to the ear speaks wonders; that will try
To speak the same, yet louder, to the eye.
Both their aims are holy, both conspire
To wound, to burn the heart with heavenly fire.
This then's the doom, to do both parties right:
This, to the ear speaks best; that, to the sight!*
THOMAS CAR.
* Printed only in the edition of 1652.
TO THE NOBLEST AND BEST OF LADIES
THE COUNTESS OF DENBIGH:
Persuading her to resolution in Religion, and to render herself without further delay into the communion of the Catholic Church.
HAT heaven-entreated heart is this
Stands trembling at the gate of bliss?
Holds fast the door, yet dares not venture
Fairly to open it and enter?
Whose definition is a doubt
"Twixt life and death, 'twixt in and out?
Say, ling'ring fair! why comes the birth
Of your brave soul so slowly forth?
Plead your pretences, O you strong
In weakness, why you choose so long
In labour of yourself to lie,
Nor daring quite to live nor die.
Ah, linger not, loved soul! a slow
And late consent was a long no;
Who grants at last, long time had tried
And did his best to have denied.
What magic bolts, what mystic bars
Maintain the will in these strange wars!
What fatal, what fantastic bands
Keep the free heart from its own hands
So, when the year takes cold, we see
Poor waters their own prisoners be;
Fetter'd and lock'd up fast they lie
In a sad self-captivity;
Th' astonish'd nymphs their floods' strange fate deplore,
To see themselves their own severer shore.
Thou that alone canst thaw this cold,
And fetch the heart from its strong hold,
Almighty Love! end this long war,
And of a meteor make a star.
O, fix this fair indefinite,
And 'mongst thy shafts of sovereign light
Choose out that sure decisive dart,
Which has the key of this close heart,
Knows all the corners of't, and can control
The self-shut cabinet of an unsearch'd soul !
O, let it be at last Love's hour;
Raise this tall trophy of thy pow'r;
Come once the conquering way, not to confute,
But kill this rebel-word--Irresolute;
That so, in spite of all this peevish strength
Of weakness, she may write-Resolved at length!
Unfold at length, unfold fair flow'r,
And use the season of Love's show'r;
Meet his well-meaning wounds, wise heart!
And haste to drink the wholesome dart;
That healing shaft, which heav'n till now
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