The Complete Works of Richard Crashaw Volume I Part 25

The tables furnisht with a cursed feast Which Harpyes, with leane Famine feed upon, Vnfill'd for ever. Here among the rest, Inhumane Erisicthon too makes one; Tantalus, Atreus, Progne, here are guests: Wolvish Lycaon here a place hath won.

The cup they drinke in is Medusa's scull, Which mixt with gall and blood they quaffe brim-full.

XLIII.

The foule queen's most abhorred maids of honour, Medaea, Jezabell, many a meager witch, With Circe, Scylla, stand to wait upon her: But her best huswife's are the Parcae, which Still worke for her, and have their wages from her: They p.r.i.c.k a bleeding heart at every st.i.tch.

Her cruell cloathes of costly threds they weave, Which short-cut lives of murdred infants leave.

XLIV.

The house is hers'd about with a black wood, _hea.r.s.ed_ Which nods with many a heavy-headed tree: Each flowers a pregnant poyson, try'd and good, Each herbe a plague. The wind's sighes timed bee By a black fount, which weeps into a flood.

Through the thick shades obscurely might you see Minotaures, Cyclopses, with a darke drove Of Dragons, Hydraes, Sphinxes, fill the grove.

XLV.

Here Diomed's horses, Phereus' dogs appeare, With the fierce lyons of Therodamas.

Busiris has his b.l.o.o.d.y altar here: Here Sylla his severest prison has: The Lestrigonians here their table reare: Here strong Procrustes plants his bed of bra.s.se: Here cruell Scyron boasts his b.l.o.o.d.y rockes And hatefull Schinis his so feared oakes.

XLVI.

What ever schemes of blood, fantastick Frames Of death, Mezentius or Geryon drew; Phalaris, Ochus, Ezelinus: names Mighty in mischiefe; with dread Nero too; Here are they all, here all the swords or flames a.s.syrian tyrants or Egyptian knew.

Such was the house, so furnisht was the hall, Whence the fourth Fury answer'd Pluto's call.

XLVII.

Scarce to this monster could the shady king The horrid summe of his intentions tell; But shee (swift as the momentary wing Of lightning, or the words he spoke) left h.e.l.l.

She rose, and with her to our World did bring Pale proofe of her fell presence; th' aire too well With a chang'd countenance witnest the sight, And poore fowles intercepted in their flight.

XLVIII.

Heav'n saw her rise, and saw h.e.l.l in the sight: The fields' faire eyes saw her, and saw no more, But shut their flowry lids for ever: Night And Winter strow her way: yea, such a sore Is she to Nature, that a generall fright, An universal palsie spreading o're The face of things, from her dire eyes had run, Had not her thick snakes hid them from the sun.

XLIX.

Now had the Night's companion from her dew, Where all the busie day she close doth ly, With her soft wing wipt from the browes of men Day's sweat; and by a gentle tyranny And sweet oppression, kindly cheating them Of all their cares, tam'd the rebellious eye Of Sorrow, with a soft and downy hand, Sealing all brests in a Lethaean band.

L.

When the Erinnys her black pineons spread, And came to Bethlem, where the cruell king Had now retyr'd himselfe, and borrowed His brest a while from Care's unquiet sting; Such as at Thebes' dire feast she shew'd her head, Her sulphur-breathed torches brandis.h.i.+ng: Such to the frighted palace now she comes, And with soft feet searches the silent roomes.

LI.

By Herod___________________now was borne The scepter, which of old great David swaid; Whose right by David's linage so long worne, _lineage_ Himselfe a stranger to, his owne had made; And from the head of Judah's house quite torne The crowne, for which upon their necks he laid A sad yoake, under which they sigh'd in vaine, And looking on their lost state sigh'd againe.

LII.

Vp, through the spatious pallace pa.s.sed she, To where the king's proudly-reposed head (If any can be soft to Tyranny And selfe-tormenting sin) had a soft bed.

She thinkes not fit, such, he her face should see, As it is seene in h.e.l.l, and seen with dread.

To change her face's stile she doth devise, And in a pale ghost's shape to spare his eyes.

LIII.

Her selfe a while she layes aside, and makes Ready to personate a mortall part.

Ioseph, the king's dead brother's shape, she takes: What he by nature was, is she by art.

She comes to th' king, and with her cold hand slakes His spirits (the sparkes of life) and chills his heart, Life's forge; fain'd is her voice, and false too, be Her words: 'sleep'st thou, fond man? sleep'st thou?' said she.

LIV.

So sleeps a pilot, whose poore barke is prest With many a mercylesse o're-mastring wave; For whom (as dead) the wrathfull winds contest Which of them deep'st shall digge her watry grave.

Why dost thou let thy brave soule lye supprest In death-like slumbers, while thy dangers crave A waking eye and hand? looke vp and see The Fates ripe, in their great conspiracy.

LV.

Know'st thou not how of th' Hebrewes' royall stemme (That old dry stocke) a despair'd branch is sprung: A most strange Babe! Who here conceal'd by them In a neglected stable lies, among Beasts and base straw: Already is the streame Quite turn'd: th' ingratefull rebells, this their young Master (with voyce free as the trumpe of Fame) Their new King, and thy Successour proclame.

LVI.

What busy motions, what wild engines stand On tiptoe in their giddy braynes! th' have fire Already in their bosomes, and their hand Already reaches at a sword; they hire Poysons to speed thee; yet through all the Land What one comes to reveale what they conspire?

Goe now, make much of these; wage still their wars And bring home on thy brest, more thanklesse scarrs.

LVII.

Why did I spend my life, and spill my blood, That thy firme hand for ever might sustaine A well-pois'd scepter? does it now seeme good Thy brother's blood be spilt, life spent in vaine?

'Gainst thy owne sons and brothers thou hast stood In armes, when lesser cause was to complaine: And now crosse Fates a watch about thee keepe, Can'st thou be carelesse now? now can'st thou sleep?

LVIII.

Where art thou man? what cowardly mistake Of thy great selfe, hath stolne king Herod from thee?

O call thy selfe home to thy self, wake, wake, And fence the hanging sword Heav'n throws upon thee.

Redeeme a worthy wrath, rouse thee, and shake Thy selfe into a shape that may become thee.

Be Herod, and thou shalt not misse from mee Immortall stings to thy great thoughts, and thee.

LIX.