The First Anniversary, Illustration – Poem 2
This was for youth, Strength, Mirth, and wit that Time
Most count their golden Age; but t'was not thine.
Thine was thy later yeares, so much refind
From youths Drosse, Mirth, & wit; as thy pure mind
Thought (like the Angels) nothing but the Praise
Of thy Creator, in those last, best Dayes.
Witnes this Booke, (thy Embleme) which begins
With Love; but endes, with Sighes, & Teares for sin̄s.
Will: Marshall. sculpsit. IZ: WA:
The First Anniuersarie. AN ANATOMIE of the World. Wherein, BY OCCASION OF the vntimely death of Mistris ELIZABETH DRVRY, the frailtie and the decay of this whole World is represented.
LONDON, Printed by M. Bradwood for S. Macham, and are to be sold at his shop in Pauls Church-yard at the signe of the Bull-head. 1612.
TO THE PRAISE of the Dead, and the ANATOMY.
WEll dy'de the World, that we might liue to see
This World of wit, in his Anatomee:
No euill wants his good: so wilder heyres;
Bedew their fathers Toombes, with forced teares,
Whose state requites their losse: whiles thus we gaine
Well may we walke in blacks, but not complaine.
Yet how can I consent the world is dead
While this Muse liues? which in his spirits stead
Seemes to informe a world: and bids it bee,
In spight of losse, or fraile mortalitee?
And thou the subiect of this welborne thought,
Thrise noble maid; couldst not hauehave found nor sought
A fitter time to yeeld to thy sad Fate,
Then whiles this spirit liues; that can relate
Thy worth so well to our last nephews eyne,
That they shall wonder both at his, and thine:
Admired match! where striues in mutuall grace
The cunning Pencill, and the ceomly face:
A taske, which thy faire goodnesse made too much
For the bold pride of vulgar pens to tuch;
Enough is vsus to praise them that praise thee,
And say that but enough those praises bee,
Which had'st thou liu'd, had hid their fearefull head
From th'angry checkings of thy modestred:
Death bars reward and shame: when enuy's gone,
And gaine; 'tis safe to giuegive the dead their owne.
As then the wise Egyptians wont to lay
More on their Tombes, then houses: these of clay,
But those of brasse, or marble were; so wee
GiueGive more vntounto thy Ghost, then vntounto thee.
Yet what we giuegive to thee, thou gauest to vsus,
And maiest but thanke thy selfe, for being thus:
Yet what thou gau'st, and wert, O happy maid,
Thy grace profest all due, were'tis repayd.
So these high songs that to thee suited bine,
Serue but to sound thy makers praise, in thine,
Which thy deare soule as sweetly sings to him
Amid the Quire of Saints and Seraphim,
As any Angels tongue can sing of thee;
The subiects differ, thothe skill agree:
For as by infant-yeeres men iudge of age,
Thy early louelove, thy vertues, did presage
What an hie part thou bear'st in those best songs
Whereto no burden, nor no end belongs.
Sing on thou Virgin soule, whose lossefull gaine
Thy louelove-sicke Parents hauehave bewayl'd in vaine;
Neuer may thy name be in our songs forgot
Till we shall sing thy ditty, and thy note.
The First Anniuersary. AN ANATOMIE of the World.
WHen that rich soule which to her heauen is gone,The entrie into the worke.
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 earthquake 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 goodnesse, 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 Fount, 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 sickenesse 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 weaknesse 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;What life the world hath ….
For there's a kind of world remaining still,
Though shee which did in animate and fill
The world, be gone, yet in this last long night,
Her Ghost doth walke; that is, a glimmerig light,
A faint weake louelove of vertue and of good
Reflects 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 bee
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:The sicknesses of the world.
For with due temper men do then forgoe,
Or couet things, when they their true worth know.
There is no health; Phisitians say that weeImpossibility of health.
At best, enioy, but a neutralitee.
And can there be worse sicknesse, 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 was 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,
(Ioynt tenants of the world) who should suruie.Shortnesse of life.
When Stag, and Rauen, and the long-liu'd tree.
Compar'd withman, dy'de in minoritee.
When, if a slow-pac'd starre had stolne away
From the obseruers marking, he might stay
Two or three hundred yeeres to see't againe,
And then make vp his obseruation plaine;
When, as the age was long, the 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 true made clocke run 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 was a span,Smalnesse of stature.
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 equal to him: now alas.
The Fayries, and the Pigmies well may passe
As credible; mankind decayes so soone,
We're searse 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 heart.
She, of whom th'Ancients seem'd to prophesie,
When they call'd vertues by the name of shee,
She in whom vertue was so much refin'd,
That for Allay vntounto so pure a minde
Shee tooke the weaker Sex, she that could driue
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 feed (not banquet) on
The supernaturall food, Religion
Thy better Grouth growes withered, and scant;
Be more than man, or thou'rt lesse then an Ant.
Then, as mankinde, 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 the Angels, and then first of all
The world did in her Cradle take a fall,
And turn'd her brains, and tooke a generall maime
Wronging each ioynt of th'vniuersall frame.
The noblest part, man, felt it first; and than
Both beasts and plants, curst in the curse of man.Decay of nature in other parts.
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 wel 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 every sort of men
Did in their voyage in this worlds Sea stray,
And needed a new compasse fo 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 as 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 knowest this,
Thou knowst how lame a cripple this world is.
And learnst thus much by our Anatomy,
That this worlds generall sickenes doth not lie
In any humour, or one certaine part;
But as thou sawest it rotten at the heart,
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 immaterial parts
Feele this consuming wound, and ages darts.
For the worlds beauty is decayd, or gone,
Disformity of parts.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 forty sheeres,
And in these constillations then arise
New starres, and old doe vanish from our eyes:
As though heau'n suffred earthquakes, peace or war,
When new Towers rise, and old 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 reeleing thus,
He meanes to sleepe, being now falne nearer vsus.
So, of the starres which boast that they doe 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 labour thus
To go to heauen, we make heauen come to vsus.
We spur, we raigne the stars, and in their race
They're diuersly content t'obey our peace,
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 sinke?
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 hot roome be thrust)
Then solidnesse, and roundnesse hauehave no place.
Are these but warts, and pockholes 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 rely,Disorder in the world.
Reward and punishment are bent awry.
And, Oh, it can no more be questioned,
That beauties best, proportion, is dead,
Since euen griefe itselfe, 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 seene, 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 Douctors 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 war 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 knowest this,
Thou knowst how vgly a monster this world is:
And learnst thus much by our Anatomee,
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 stung 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 inow,
Himselfe his various Rainbow did allow,
Sight is the noblest sense of any one,
Yet sight hath onelyonly colour to feed on,
And colour 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 red, and blew
(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 colour, 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 knowest 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 colour vitious deeds with good pretence,Weaknesse in the want of correspondence of heauen and earth
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 much,
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
Imprisoned in an Hearbe, or Charme, or Tree,
And doe by touch, all which those starres could doe?
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 praise, 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 Impression 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 knowest 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 heart,
Of which shee's now partaker, and a part.
But as in cutting vp a man that's dead,Conclusion.
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 thinke 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, and makes prose song,
Accept this tribute, and his first yeeres 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 inuade.
Nor could incomprehensiblenesse deterre
Me, from thus trying to emprison her.
Which when I saw that a strict graue could doe,
I saw not why verse might not doe so too.
Verse hath a middle nature: Heauen keepes soules,
The Graue keepes bodies, Verse the same enroules.