ON A FOULE MORNING, BEING THEN TO

TAKE A JOURNEY.1

WHERE art thou Sol, while thus the blind-fold Day 1 Staggers out of the East, loses her way

Stumbling on Night? Rouze thee illustrious youth, And let no dull mists choake thy Light's faire growth. Point here thy beames: O glance on yonder flocks, 5 And make their fleeces golden as thy locks.

Vnfold thy faire front, and there shall appeare

Full glory, flaming in her owne free spheare.
Gladnesse shall cloath the Earth, we will instile
The face of things, an universall smile.

Say to the sullen Morne, thou com'st to court her;
And wilt command proud Zephirus to sport her
With wanton gales: his balmy breath shall licke
The tender drops which tremble on her checke ;
Which rarified, and in a gentle raine

On those delicious bankes distill'd againe,
Shall rise in a sweet Harvest, which discloses
Two ever-blushing bed[s] of new-borne roses,

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15

1 Appeared originally in 'Steps) of 1646 (pp. 45 6) was reprinted in Delights' of 1648 (pp. 28-9) and 1670 (pp. 101 2). Our text in that of 1644, as before; but see Notes and Bustrations at close of the poem. G.

Heel fan her bright locks, teaching them to flow,
And friske in curl'd maæanders: hee will throw
A fragrant breath suckt from the spicy nest
O' th' pretious phoenix, warme upon her breast.
Hee with a dainty and soft hand will trim
And brush her azure mantle, which shall swim
In silken volumes; wheresoe're shee'l tread,
Bright clonds like golden fleeces shall be spread.

Rise then (faire blew-ey'd maid!) rise and discover
Thy silver brow, and meet thy golden lover.
See how hee runs, with what a hasty flight,
Into thy bosome, bath'd with liquid light.

Fly, fly prophane fogs, farre hence fly away,
Taint not the pure streames of the springing Day,
With your dull influence; it is for you

To sit and seoule upon Night's heavy brow,

30

20

Not on the fresh cheekes of the virgin Morne,

35

Where nought but smiles, and ruddy joyes are worne.

Fly then, and doe not thinke with her to stay;
Let it suffice, shee'l weare no maske to day.

NOTES AND ILLUSTRATIONS.

In the SANCROFT MS. this is headed An Invitation to faire weather. In itinere adurgeretur matutinum cœlum tali carmine invitabatur serenitas. R. CR. In line 12 the Ms. reads 'smooth for proud (TUINBULL here, after 1670, as usual misreads demand for command'): line 18 corrects the misreading of all the editions, which is To every blushing....:' line 23 reads soft and dainty: line 36, is for are: other orthographie differences only.

237

The opening lines of this poem seem to be adapted from remembrance of the Friar's in Romeo and Juliet:

"The grey-eyed Mor. smiles on the frowning Night

.

And flecked Darkness like a drunkard reels

From forth Day's path and Titan's burning wheels.' (ii. 3.)

Line 4, in HARLEIAN MS. 6917-18 reads, as I have adopted, 'thy' for 'the.'

Line 5, ib. on yond faire.'

7, ib. Unfold thy front and then . . . .

9, instile is instill, used in Latinate sense of drop

into or upon: HARLEIAN MS., as before, isenstile.'

Line 14, HARLEIAN MS., as before, thy' for her.'

16, ib. these.'
17-18, ib.

' and disclose

the new-born rose.'

See our Essay for critical remarks. G.

!

TO THE MORNING:

SATISFACTION FOR SLEEPE.1

WHAT succour can I hope my Muse shall send
Whose drowsinesse hath wrong'd the Muses' friend!
What hope, Aurora, to propitiate thee,

Vnlesse the Muse sing my apologie?

O in that morning of my shame! when I

Lay folded up in Sleepe's captivity,

How at the sight did'st thou draw back thine eyes.
Into thy modest veyle how didst thou rise

1 Appeared originally in "Steps" of 1646 (pp. 47-8): was reprinted in 1648 Delights (pp. 30-1) and 1679 (pp. 102-4). Our text is that of 1648, as before: but see Notes and Illustrations at close of the poem. G.

5

Twice dy'd in thine owne blushes! and did'st run
To draw the curtaines, and awake the sun!
Who, rowzing his illustrious tresses, came,
And seeing the loath'd object, hid for shame
His head in thy faire bosome, and still hides
Mee from his patronage: I pray, he chides:
And pointing to dull Morpheus, bids me take
My owne Apollo, try if I can make

His Lethe be my Helicon: and see

If Morpheus have a Muse to wait on mee.
Hence 'tis, my humble fancie finds no wings,

No nimble rapture starts to Heaven, and brings
Enthusiasticke flames, such as can give
Marrow to my plumpe genius, make it live
Drest in the glorious madnesse of a Muse,
Whose feet can walke the milky way, and chuse

Her starry throne; whose holy heats can warme
The grave, and hold up an exalted arme
To lift me from my lazy vrne, to climbe
Vpon the stooped shoulders of old Time,
And trace Eternity -- But all is dead,
All these delicious hopes are buried
In the deepe wrinckles of his angry brow,
Where Mercy cannot find them: but ✪ thou
Bright lady of the Morne! pitty doth lye

ΙΟ

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30

So warme in thy soft brest, it cannot dye.

Have merey then, and when he next shall rise

35

O meet the angry God, invade his eyes,