An Anatomy of the World, Poem

An Anatomy of the World · Poem

AN ANATOMY OF THE WORLD.

WHē that rich soule w ^ch to her Heauen is gone,

Whom all they celebrate, who know they hauehave one,

(For who is sure he hath a soule, vnlesse

It see, and Iudge, and follow worthinesse,

And by Deedes praise it? He who doth not this,

May lodge an in-mate soule, but tis not his.)

When that Queene ended here her progresse time,

And, as t'her standing house, to heauen did clymbe,

Where, loth to make the Saints attend her long,

Shee's now a part both of the Quire, and Song,

This world, in that great earth-quake languished;

For in a common Bath of teares it bled,

Which drew the strongest vitall spirits out:

But succour'd then with a perplexed doubt,

Whether the world did loose or gaine in this,

(Because since now no other way there is

But goodnes, to see her, whom all would see,

All must endeuour to be good as shee,)

This great consumption to a feuer turn'd,

And so the world had fits; it ioy'd, it mournd.

And, as men thinke, that Agues physicke are,

And th' Ague being spent, giuegive ouer care,

So thou, sicke world, mistak'st thy selfe to bee

Well, when alas, thou'rt in a Letargee.

Her death did wound, and tame thee than, and than

Thou mightst hauehave better spar'd the Sunne, or Man;

That wound was deepe, but 'tis more misery,

That thou hast lost thy sense and memory.

T'was heauy then to heare thy voyce of mone,

But this is worse, that thou art speechlesse growne.

Thou hast forgot thy name, thou hadst; thou wast

Nothing but she, and her thou hast o'repast.

For as a child kept from the Font, vntill

A Prince, expected long, come to fulfill

The Ceremonies, thou vnnam'd hadst laid,

Had not her comming, thee her Palace made:

Her name defin'd thee, gaue thee forme and frame,

And thou forgetst to celebrate thy name.

Some moneths she hath beene dead (but being dead,

Measures of times are all determined)

But long shee'ath beene away, long, long, yet none

Offers to tell vsus who it is that's gone.

But as in states doubtfull of future heyres,

When sickenes without remedy, empayres

The present Prince, they're loth it should be said,

The Prince doth languish, or the Prince is dead:

So mankind feeling now a generall thaw,

A strong example gone equall to law,

The Cyment which did faithfully compact

And glue all vertues, now resolu'd, and slack'd,

Thought it some blasphemy to say sh'was dead;

Or that our weakenes was discouered

In that confession; therefore spoke no more

Then tongues, the soule being gone, the losse deplore.

But though it be too late to succour thee,

Sicke world, yea dead, yea putrified, since shee

Thy'ntrinsique Balme, and thy preseruatiue,

Can neuer be renew'd, thou neuer liue,

I (since no man can make thee liue) will trie,

What we may gaine by thy Anatomy.

Her death hath taught vsus dearely, that thou art

Corrupt and mortall in thy purest part.

Let no man say, the world it selfe being dead,

'Tis labour lost to hauehave discouered

The worlds infirmities, since there is none

Aliue to study this dissectione;

For there's a kind of world remaining still,

Though shee which did inanimate and fill

The world, be gone, yet in this last long night,

Her Ghost doth walke; that is, a glimmering light,

A faint weake louelove of vertue and of good

Refl…cts from her, on them which vnderstood

Her worth; And though she hauehave shut in all day,

The twi-light of her memory doth stay;

Which, from the carcasse of the old world, free,

Creates a new world; and new creatures be

Produc'd: The matter and the stuffe of this,

Her vertue, and the forme our practise is.

And though to be thus Elemented, arme

These Creatures, from hom-borne intrinsique harme,

(For all assum'd vntounto this Dignitee,

So many weedlesse Paradises bee,

Which of themselues produce no venemous sinne,

Except some forraine Serpent bring it in)

Yet, because outward stormes the strongest breake,

And strength it selfe by confidence growes weake,

This new world may be safer, being told

The dangers and diseases of the old:

For with due temper men do then forgoe,

Or couet things, when they their true worth know.

There is no health; Physitians say that we

At best, enioy, but a neutralitee.

And can there be worse sickenesse, then to know

That we are neuer well, nor can be so?

We are borne ruinous: poore mothers crie,

That children come not right, nor orderly,

Except they headlong come, and fall vponupon

An ominous precipitation.

How witty's ruine? how importunate

VponUpon mankinde? It labour'd to frustrate

Euen Gods purpose; and made woman, sent

For mans reliefe, cause of his languishment.

They were to good ends, and they are so still,

But accessory, and principall in ill.

For that first mariage w…s our funerall:

One woman at one blow, then kill'd vsus all,

And singly, one by one, they kill vsus now.

We doe delightfully our selues allow

To that consumption; and profusely blinde,

We kill our selues, to propagate our kinde.

And yet we doe not that; we are not men:

There is not now that mankinde, which was then

When as the Sunne, and man, did seeme to striue,

(…y…t tenants of the world) who should suruiue.

When Stag, and Rauen, and the long-liu'd tree,

Compar'd with man d…de in minoritee.

When, if a s…o… pac… starre had stolne away

From the obseruers marking, he might stay

Two or three hundred yeares to see't againe,

And then make vp his obseruation plaine;

When, as the age was long, the sise was great:

Mans grouth confess'd, and recompenc'd the meat:

So spacious and large, that eueryevery soule

Did a faire Kingdome, and large Realme controule:

And when the very stature thus erect,

Did that soule a good way towards Heauen direct.

Where is this mankind now? who liues to age,

Fit to be made Methusalem his page?

Alas, we scarse liue long enough to trie;

Whether a new made clocke runne right, or lie.

Old Grandsires talke of yesterday with sorrow,

And for our children we reserue to morrow.

So short is life, that eueryevery peasant striues,

In a torne house, or field, to hauehave three liues.

And as in lasting, so in length is man

Contracted to an inch, who w…s a span.

For had a man at first, in Forrests stray'd,

Or shipwrack'd in the Sea, one would hauehave laid

A wager that an Elephant, or Whale

That met him, would not hastily assaile

A thing so equall to him: now alas,

The Fayries, and the Pigmies well may passe

As credible; mankind decayes so soone,

We're scarse our Fathers shadowes cast at noone.

OnelyOnly death addes t'our length: nor are we growne

In stature to be men, till we are none.

But this were light, did our lesse volume hold

All the old Text; or had we chang'd to gold

Their siluer; or dispos'd into lesse glas,

Spirits of vertue, which then scattred was.

But 'tis not so: w'are not retir'd, but dampt;

And as our bodies, so our mindes are cramp't:

'Tis shrinking, not close-weaning, that hath thus,

In minde and body both bedwarfed vsus.

We seeme ambitious, Gods whole worke t'vndoe;

Of nothing he made vsus, and we striue too,

To bring our selues to nothing backe; and we

Do what we can, to do't so soone as hee.

With new diseases on our selues we warre,

And with new phisicke, a worse Engin farre.

Thus man, this worlds Vice-Emperor, in whom

All faculties, all graces are at home;

And if in other Creatures they appeare,

They're but mans ministers, and Legats there,

To worke on their rebellions, and reduce

Them to Ciuility, and to mans vse.

This man, whom God did wooe, and loth t'attend

Till man came vp, did downe to man descend,

This man, so great, that all that is, is his,

Oh what a trifle, and poore thing he is!

If man were any thing, he's nothing now:

Helpe, or at least some time to wast, allow

T'his other wants, yet when he did depart

With her whom we lament he lost his hart.

She, of whom th' Auncients seem'd to proph…sie,

When they call'd vertues by the … of shee,

She in whom vertue … so much …efi…d,

That for Allay vntounto so pure a minde

Shee tooke the weaker Sex, …h that co…ld d…ue

The poysonous tincture, and the stayne of Eue,

Out of her thoughts, and deeds; and purifie

All, by a true religious Alchimy;

Shee, shee is dead; shee's dead: when thou knowest this,

Thou knowest how poore a trifling thing man is.

And learn'st thus much by our Anatomee,

The heart being perish'd, no part can be free.

And that except thou seed (not banquet) on

The supernaturall food, Religion,

Thy better Grouth growes withered, and scant;

Be more then man, or thou'rt lesse then an Ant.

Then, as mankind…, so is the worlds whole frame

Quite out of ioynt, almost created lame:

For, before God had made vp all the rest,

Corruption entred, and deprau'd the best:

It seis'd Angels, and then first of all

The world did in her Cradle take a fall,

And turn'd her braines, and tooke a generall maime

Wronging each ioynt of th'vniversall frame.

The noblest part, man, felt it first; and than

Both beasts and plants, curst in the curse of man.

So did the world from the first houre decay,

That euening was beginning of the day,

And now the Springs and Sommers which we see,

Like sonnes of women after fifty bee.

And new Philosophy cals all in doubt,

The Element of fire is quite put out;

The Sunne is lost, and th'earth, and no mans wit

Can well direct him, where to looke for it.

And freely men confesse, that this world's spent,

When in the Planets, and the Firmament

They seeke so many new; they see that this

Is crumbled out againe to his Atomis.

'Tis all in pieces, all cohaerence gone;

All iust supply, and all Relation:

Prince, Subiect, Father, Sonne, are things forgot,

For eueryevery man alone thinkes he hath got

To be a Phoenix, and that then can bee

None of that kinde, of which he is, but hee.

This is the worlds condition now, and now

She that should all parts to reunion bow,

She that had all Magnetique force alone,

To draw, and fasten sundred parts in one;

She whom wise nature had inuented then

When she obseru'd that eueryevery sort of men

Did in their voyage in this worlds Sea stray,

And needed a new compasse for their way;

Shee that was best, and first originall

Of all faire copies; and the generall

Steward to Fate; shee whose rich eyes, and brest,

Guilt the West Indies, and perfum'd the East;

Whose hauing breath'd in this world, did bestow

Spice on those Isles, and bad them still smell so,

And that rich Indie which doth gold interre,

Is but … single money, coyn'd from her:

She to whom this world must it selfe refer,

As Suburbs, or the Microcosme of her,

Shee, shee is dead; shee's dead: when thou knowst this,

Thou knowst how lame a cripple this world is.

And learnst thus much by our Anatomy,

That this worlds generall sickenesse doth not lie

In any humour, or one certaine part;

But, as thou sawest it rotten at the hart,

Thou seest a Hectique feuer hath got hold

Of the whole substance, not to be contrould.

And that thou hast but one way, not t'admit

The worlds infection, to be none of it.

For the worlds subtilst immateriall parts

Feele this consuming wound, and ages darts.

For the worlds beauty is decayd, or gone,

Beauty, that's colour, and proportion.

We thinke the heauens enioy their Sphericall

Their round proportion embracing all.

But yet their various and perplexed course,

Obseru'd in diuers ages doth enforce

Men to finde out so many Eccentrique parts,

Such diuers downe-right lines, such ouerthwarts,

As disproportion that pure forme. It teares

The Firmament in eight and fortie sheeres,

And in those constellations then arise

New starres, and old do vanish from our eyes:

As though heau'n suffred earth-quakes, peace or war,

When new Towres rise, and olde demolish'd are.

They hauehave empayld within a Zodiake

The free-borne Sunne, and keepe twelue signes awake

To watch his steps; the Goat and Crabbe controule,

And fright him backe, who els to eyther Pole,

(Did not these Tropiques fetter him) might runne:

For his course is not round; nor can the Sunne

Perfit a Circle, or maintaine his way

One inche direct; but where he rose to day

He comes no more, but with a cousening line,

Steales by that point, and so is Serpentine:

And seeming weary with his recling thus,

He meanes to sleepe, being now falne nearer vsus.

So, of the stares which boast that they do runne

In Circle still, none ends where he begunne.

All their proportion's lame, it sinks, it swels.

For of Meridians, and Parallels,

Man hath weau'd out a net, and this net throwne

VponUpon the Heauens, and now they are his owne.

Loth to goe vp the hill, or labor thus

To goe to heauen, we make heauen come to vsus.

We spur, we raine the stars, and in their race

They're diuersly content t'obey our pace.

But keepes the earth her round proportion still?

Doth not a Tenarif, or higher Hill

Rise so high like a Rocke, that one might thinke

The floating Moone would shipwracke there, and sink?

Seas are so deepe, that Whales being strooke to day,

Perchance to morrow, scarse at middle way

Of their wish'd iourneys end, the bottom, dye.

And men, to sound depths, so much line vntie,

As one might iustly thinke, that there would rise

At end thereof, one of th'Antipodies:

If vnderunder all, a Vault infernall be,

(Which sure is spacious, except that we

Inuent another torment, that there must

Millions into a strait hote roome be thrust)

Then solidnes, and roundnes hauehave no place.

Are these but warts, and pock-holes in the face

Of th'earth? Thinke so. But yet confesse, in this

The worlds proportion disfigured is,

That those two legges whereon it doth relie,

Reward and punishment are bent awrie.

And, Oh, it can no more be questioned,

That beauties best, proportion, is dead,

Since euen griefe it selfe, which now alone

Is left vsus, is without proportion.

Shee by whose lines proportion should bee

Examin'd, measure of all Symmetree,

Whom had that Ancient seen, who thought soules made

Of Harmony, he would at next hauehave said

That Harmony was shee, and thence infer,

That soules were but Resultances from her,

And did from her into our bodies go,

As to our eyes, the formes from obiects flow:

Shee, who if those great Doctors truely said

That th'Arke to mans proportions was made,

Had beene a type for that, as that might be

A type of her in this, that contrary

Both Elements, and Passions liu'd at peace

In her, who caus'd all Ciuill warre to cease.

Shee, after whom, what forme soe're we see,

Is discord, and rude incongruitee,

Shee, shee is dead, shee's dead; when thou knowst this,

Thou knowst how vgly a monster this world is:

And learnst thus much by our Anatomie,

That here is nothing to enamor thee:

And that, not onelyonly faults in inward parts,

Corruptions in our braines, or in our harts,

Poysoning the fountaines, whence our actions spring,

Endanger vsus: but that if eueryevery thing

Be not done fitly'nd in proportion,

To satisfie wise, and good lookers on,

(Since most men be such as most thinke they bee)

They're lothsome too, by this Deformitee.

For good, and well, must in our actions meete:

Wicked is not much worse then indiscreet.

But beauties other second Element,

Colour, and lustre now, is as neere spent.

And had the world his iust proportion,

Were it a ring still, yet the stone is gone.

As a compassionate Turcoyse which doth tell

By looking pale, the wearer is not well,

As gold fals sicke being …lung with Mercury,

All the worlds parts of such complexion bee.

When nature was most busie, the first weeke,

Swadling the new-borne earth, God seemd to like,

That she should sport herselfe sometimes, and play,

To mingle, and vary colours eueryevery day.

And then, as though she could not make i now,

Himselfe his various Rainbow did allow.

Sight is the noblest sense of any one,

Yet sight hath onelyonly color to feed on,

And color is decayd: summers robe growes

Duskie, and like an oft dyed garment showes.

Our blushing redde, which vs'd in cheekes to spred,

Is inward sunke, and onelyonly our soules are redde.

Perchance the world might hauehave recouered,

If she whom we lament had not beene dead:

But shee, in whom all white, and redde, and blue

(Beauties ingredients) voluntary grew,

As in an vnuext Paradise; from whom

Did all things verdure, and their lustre come,

Whose composition was miraculous,

Being all color, all Diaphanous,

(For Ayre, and Fire but thicke grosse bodies were,

And liueliest stones but drowsie, and pale to her,)

Shee, shee is dead; shee's dead: when thou knowst this,

Thou knowst how wan a Ghost this our world is:

And learnst thus much by our Anatomee,

That it should more affright, then pleasure thee.

And that, since all faire color then did sinke,

Tis now but wicked vanity to thinke,

To color vitious deeds with good pretence,

Or with bought colors to illude mens sense.

Nor in ought more this worlds decay appeares,

Then that her influence the heau'n forbeares,

Or that the Elements doe not feele this,

The father, or the mother barren is.

The clouds conceiue not raine, or doe not powre

In the due birth-time, downe the balmy showre.

Th'Ayre doth not motherly sit on the earth,

To hatch her seasons, and giuegive all things birth.

Spring-times were common cradles, but are toombes

And false-conceptions fill the generall wombs.

Th'Ayre showes such Meteors, as none can see,

Not onelyonly what they meane, but what they bee.

Earth such new wormes, as would hauehave troubled me

Th'Egyptian Mages to hauehave made more such.

What Artist now dares boast that he can bring

Heauen hither, or constellate any thing,

So as the influence of those starres may bee

Imprisond in an Herbe, or Charme, or Tree,

And doe by touch, all which those starres could do?

The art is lost, and correspondence too.

For heauen giues little, and the earth takes lesse,

And man least knowes their trade, and purposes.

If this commerce twixt heauen and earth were not

Embarr'd, and all this trafique quite forgot,

Shee, for whose losse we hauehave lamented thus,

Would worke more fully' and pow'rfully on vsus.

Since herbes, and roots by dying, lose not all,

But they, yea Ashes too, are medicinall,

Death could not quench her vertue so, but that

It would be (if not follow'd) wondred at:

And all the world would be one dying Swan,

To sing her funerall prayse, and vanish than.

But as some Serpents poison hurteth not,

Except it be from the liue Serpent shot,

So doth her vertue need her here, to fit

That vntounto vsus; she working more then it.

But she, in whom, to such maturity,

Vertue was growne, past growth, that it must die,

She from whose influence all Impressions came,

But, by Receiuers impotencies, lame,

Who, though she could not transubstantiate

All states to gold, yet guilded eueryevery state,

So that some Princes hauehave some temperance;

Some Counsaylors some purpose to aduance

The common profite; and some people hauehave

Some stay, no more then Kings should giuegive, to craue;

Some women hauehave some taciturnity;

Some Nunneries, some graines of chastity.

She that did thus much, and much more could doe,

But that our age was Iron, and rusty too,

Shee, shee is dead; shee's dead: when thou knowst this,

Thou knowest how drie a Cinder this world is.

And learnst thus much by our Anatomy,

That 'tis in vaine to dew, or mollifie

It with thy Teares, or Sweat, or Bloud: no thing

Is worth our trauaile, griefe, or perishing,

But those rich ioyes, which did possesse her hart,

Of which shee's now partaker, and a part.

But as in cutting vp a man that's dead,

The body will not last out to hauehave read

On eueryevery part, and therefore men direct

Their speech to parts, that are of most effect;

So the worlds carcasse would not last, if I

Were punctuall in this Anatomy.

Nor smels it well to hearers, if one tell

Them their disease, who faine would think they're wel.

Here therefore be the end: And, blessed maid,

Of whom is meant what euer hath beene said,

Or shall be spoken well by any tongue,

Whose name refines course lines, & makes prose song,

Accept this tribute, and his first yeares rent,

Who till his darke short tapers end be spent,

As oft as thy feast sees this widowed earth,

Will yearely celebrate thy second birth,

That is, thy death. For though the soule of man

Be got when man is made, 'tis borne but than

When man doth die. Our body's as the wombe,

And as a mid-wife death directs it home.

And you her creatures, whom she workes vponupon

And hauehave your last, and best concoction

From her example, and her vertue, if you

In reuerence to her, doe thinke it due,

That no one should her prayses thus reherse,

As matter fit for Chronicle, not verse,

Vouchsafe to call to minde, that God did make

A last, and lastingst peece, a song. He spake

To Moses, to deliuer vntounto all,

That song: because he knew they would let fall,

The Law, the Prophets, and the History,

But keepe the song still in their memory.

Such an opinion (in due measure) made

Me this great Office boldly to in…ade.

Nor could incomprehensiblenesse deterre

Me, from thus trying to emprison her.

Which when I saw that a strict graue could do,

I saw not why verse might not doe so too.

Verse hath a middle nature: heauen keepes soules,

The graue keeps bodies, verse the same enroules.