The shepheards oracles delivered in certain eglogues. By Fra: Quarles.
About this Item
Title
The shepheards oracles delivered in certain eglogues. By Fra: Quarles.
Author
Quarles, Francis, 1592-1644.
Publication
London :: printed by M.F. for John Marriot and Richard Marriot, and are to be sold at their shop in S. Dunstans Church-yard Fleetstreet, under the Dyall,
1646. [i.e. 1645]
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Subject terms
Charles -- I, -- King of England, 1600-1649 -- Poetry -- Early works to 1800.
Great Britain -- Church history -- 17th century -- Poetry -- Early works to 1800.
Cite this Item
"The shepheards oracles delivered in certain eglogues. By Fra: Quarles." In the digital collection Early English Books Online. https://name.umdl.umich.edu/A56839.0001.001. University of Michigan Library Digital Collections. Accessed May 1, 2024.
Pages
descriptionPage 117
EGLOGVE X.
...Orthodoxus.
...Catholicus.
...Nuncius.
ORTH.
WHat news, Catholicus? You lately cameFrom the great City: what's the voice of Fame?
CATH.
The greatest part of what my sense receives,Is the least part of what my Faith believes:I search for none: If ought, perchance, I hearUnaskt, it often dies within my eare,Untold; What this man, or what that man saith,Can hardly make a Packhorse on my Faith:But, now I think on't; There's great talk aboutA strange predictious Star, long since, found outBy learned Ticho-brachy, whose portentsReach, to these Times, they say, and tels th' events
descriptionPage 118
Of strange adventures, whose successe shall bringIllustrious fame, to a victorious King,Born in Northern parts; whose glorious armeShall draw a sword, a sword that shall be warmWith Austrian blood, & whose loud beaten drumShall send, beyond the walls of Christendome,Her royall-conquering Marches, to controle(Even from the Artick, to th' Antartick pole)The spaun of Antichrist, and to engoreThose Bald-pate Panders of proud Babels Whore.
ORTH.
May these portents be sure, as they are great;And may that drum ne're sound her faint retreat,Till these things take effect: But tell me, Swaine,How hapt this lucky Comet to remaineSo long in silence, and, at length, to blazeWith us, and be the rumor of our daies.
CATH.
There is a Prince, new risen from the North,Of mighty spirit, and renowned worth;Prudent and pious; for heroick deeds,At least a Caesar; in whose heart, the seedsOf true Religion were so timely sown,That they are sprung to height, and he is grownThe wonder of his daies; whose louder nameHas blast enough to split the Trump of Fame:Hast thou beheld the heavens greater eye,Maskt in a swarthy cloud, how, by and by,
descriptionPage 119
It breaketh forth; and, with his glorious ray,Gives glory to the discontented day?So this illustrious Prince, scarce nam'd amongThe rank of common Princes, bravely sprungFrom his dark Throne; and with his brighter storyHast soil'd the lustre of preceding glory:This is that Man, on whom the common eyeIs turn'd; on his adventure does relyeThe worlds discourse; this is that flame of fireWe hope shall burn (we hope as we desire)Proud Babel: this, the arme that shall unhengeTh' incestuous gates of Sodom, and revengeThe blood of blessed Martyrs spilt, and fryingIn flames; (blood, that has been this age a cryingFor slow-pac'd vengeance) this is he, whose ThroneThis blazing Prophet bent his eye upon.
ORTH.
And well it may; The kalender, wherebyWe rurall Shepheards calculate, and forespyThings future, Good or Evill, hath late descry'dThat evill affected planet Mars, ally'dTo temporizing Mercury, conjoyn'dI'th' house of Death; whereby we Shepheards findStrange showres of blood, arising from the North,And flying Southward, likely to breake forthVpon the Austrian parts, and raise a flood,To overwhelm that bloody House, with Blood:That House; which like a Sun in this our Orbe,Whiffes up the Belgick fumes, and does absorbeFrom every Soile rich vapours, and exhale
descriptionPage 120
From Sea and Land, within our Christian pale;A Sun, the beams of whose Meridian gloryFill eyes with wonder, and all tongues with story.
CATH.
But there's a Viall, to be emptyed outVpon this glorious Planet; which, no doubt,Thine eye and mine shall see, within these fewApproaching days; (if Shepheards signes be true)No doubt, the lingring times are sliding on,Wherein, this House shall flame, and this bright SunShall lose his light, shall lose his light, and neverShine more, but be eclips'd, eclips'd for ever:O Shepheard; If the pray'rs of many a SwainHave audience, and our hopes be not in vain,This is that Prince, whose conqu'ring Drum shal beatThrough the proud streets of Room, and shall unseatThe Man of sin; and, with his sword unthroneThe Beast, and trample on his triple Crown:This is that Angel, whose full hand does graspThat threatned Viall, and whose fingers claspThis flaming Fauchin, which shall hew and burnThe lims of Antichrist, and nere returnInto his quiet sheath, till that proud Whore,That perks so high, lye groveling on the Flore.
ORTH.
Shepheard; Me thinks, when my glad ears attendsVpon his fair successe, his Actions, Ends,His Valour, Wisdome, Piety, when I scan
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All this, me thinks, I think on more then Man:O, how my soul lies down before the feetOf this brave Prince! O, how my blessings greetEach obvious action, whose loud breath I dareNot hear, unprosper'd with my better pray'r:I must forget the peace of Sion, whenI cease to honour this brave Man of men:Had Plutarch liv'd till now, to blazon forthHis life, (as sure he would) what Prince of worth,Or Greek, or Roman, had his single storySelected out to parallel his Glory?
CATH.
O Shepheard, he, whose service is employ'dIn heavens high battels, can doe nothing voidOf fame, and wonder; nothing, lesse then glorious:Heavens Champion must prevail; must be victorious:But, O, what hap! what happinesse have wee,The last, and dregs of Ages, thus to seeThese hopefull Times; nay more, of sit beneath,Beneath our quiet Vines, and think of deathBy leisure, when Spring-tides of blood o'rewhelmsThe interrupted peace of forain Realms!Our painfull Oxen plough our peacefull grounds;Our quiet streets nere startle at the soundsOf Drums or Trumpets; neither Wolf, nor FoxDisturb the Folds of our encreasing Flocks:Our Kids, and sweet-fac'd Lambs can frisk, and feedIn our fresh Pastures, whilst our Oaten ReedCan breath her merry strains, and voice can singHer frolick Past'rals to our Shepheard-King.
descriptionPage 122
ORTH.
'Tis not for our deserts; or that our waysAre more upright, then theirs of former days:We lay the Pelion of our new TransgressionsUpon our Fathers Ossa: The ConfessionsOf our offences; nay, our very pray'rsAre more corrupt then the worst sins of theirs:Sure, Swain, the streams of Mercy run more clearThen they were wont; Her smiling eyes appearMore gracious now, in these our Borean climes,Then other Nations, or in former times.
CATH.
Shepheard; Perchance, some fifty righteous men,Perchance, but thirty; Peradventure, tenHave made our peace: Perchance, th' Almighties eareHas found a Moses, or some Phineas, here.
ORTH.
Vengeance, that threatned sinfull Israels crime,For Davids sake, nere stirr'd all Davids time:'Twas Davids piety did suspend the blowOf Vengeance: Have not we a David too?A Prince; whose worth, what our poor tongues can scatter,May rather wrong for want of height, then flatter;A pious Prince; whose very Actions preachRare Doctrines; does, what others doe but teach:A Prince; whom neither flames of youth can fire,Nor beauty adde the least to his desire;Whose eyes are like the eyes of Turtles, chast;Can view ten thousand dainties, and yet tast
descriptionPage 123
But one; but in that dainty, can digestThe perfect Quintessence of all the rest:A Prince, that (briefly to characterize him)Wants nothing, but a People, how to prize him.Evill Princes, oft, draw plagues upon the Times,Whereas good Princes salve their peoples Crimes.
CATH.
Thou hast not spoken many things, but much;Such is our People, and our Prince is such:Such fierce temptations still attend uponThe glitt'ring Pompe of the Imperiall Throne,I, either wonder Princes should be good,Or else conceive them not of Flesh and Blood:What change of pleasure can his soul command,And not obtain, being Lord of all the Land?What bold? what ventrous spirit dare enquireInto the lawfulnesse of his desire?What Crown-controlling Nathan dare beginTo question Vice? or call his sin, a sin?Who is't, that will not undertake to beHis sins Attorney? Nay, what man is heThat will not temporize, and fan the fireT' encrease the flames of his unblown desire?What place may not be secret? or what eyeDare (under pain of putting out) once pryInto his Closet? or what season willNot wait upon his pleasure, to fulfillHis royall lust? what chast Sophronia wouldWound her own heart, for fear her Soverain should?O Shepheard, what a Prince have we, that can
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Continue just, and yet continue Man!No doubt, but vengeance would confound these times,Were not his Goodnesse far above our crimes:Alas; Our happy Age (that has enjoy'dThe best, the best of Princes, and is cloy'dWith prosp'rous Plenty, and the sweet increaseOf right-hand Blessings) in this glut of peace,Loaths very Quails and Manna; we are strangersTo those hard evils, to those continuall dangersThat cleave to States, wherein poor subjects groneBeneath the Vices of th' Imperiall Throne:They cannot prize good Princes, that nere hadThe too too dear experience of a bad:Who knows not Pharoh? Or the plagues, that brakeUpon the people for hard Pharohs sake?
ORTH.
The Acts of Princes mount with Eagle-wings:Few know th' Alliance between God and Kings.
CATH.
Look, Shepheard, look! Whose hasty feet are theyThat trace the Plains so quick? They bend this way.
ORTH.
His steps divide apace; Pray God, his hastBe good: Good tidings seldome come so fast.
descriptionPage 125
CATH.
I think 'tis Nuncius.
ORTH.
Nuncius never usesTo come unnews'd.
CATH.
I wonder what the news is?
ORTH.
See, how he strikes his breast!
CATH.
Good Lord, how sadHis countenance seems!
ORTH.
What, Nuncius, good or bad?
CA••H.
Bad! Worse! The worst of worsts! The heaviest newsThat lips ere broach'd, or language can diffuse!O, earths bright Sun's eclips'd! Ah me! is drench'dIn blood! His flames are quench'd, for ever quench'd:That light, which wondring Shepheards did adore,Is out; will never shine on Shepheard more:Expect no Sunshine from the beams of Suede;Sueden, the glory of the world, is dead:Our strength is broke, and all our hopes are vain;Sueden, the glory of the world, is slain:Our Sun is set, and earth now wants a Sun;
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Sueden, the glory of the earth is gone:Gone, gone for ever to eternall night;Earth wants her Sueden; and the world, her light.
CATH.
Fond hopes! why damp ye not my dull belief,To lend a little respite to my grief?What ailes my passion to beleeve so soonThe Evill it feares? Can Phoebus, in the noonOf his Meridian glory, cease to shine,Before his Solstice leaves him to declineThe least degree? Can brave Adolphus fall,And heaven not give us warning? none at all?There was no Comet blaz'd: no apparitionOf kindled Meteors, lent the least suspition:Me thinks, the heavens should flame, and earths foun∣dation,Should shake, against so great an alteration.
ORTH.
But is it certain, Nuncius?
NUN.
I, too sure:The wounds of death admit no hopes of cure:
ORTH.
God knows his own designs: His sacred brestKnows where to propagate his glory best:His hidden ways agree not with our eyes:His wars must prosper, though his Champion dyes:
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We must not question Fate: where heaven thinks fitTo doe, we must be silent, and submit:We must not look too near; we must not prye;Perhaps, young Joshuah lives, though Moses dye:Give Suede his honour, and enroll his nameAmong the Worthies, in the book of Fame:Give him the honour of his double story,Begun in Grace, and perfected in Glory:But let our fond Indulgence be adviz'd,In hon'ring Sueden, heaven be not dispriz'd:We must not languish, in a morall thirst,T' advance the second Cause, and sleight the first;We must not droop, for want of Suedes Alarm,As if that heaven were bound to Suedens Arm:That God, that hath recall'd our Sueden, canMake a new Sueden of a common Man.
CATH.
But see! The drooping day begins to do'nHis mourning weeds; The sullen night draws on:'Tis time to fold our sheep; They little know,Or feel those sorrows, their poor Shepheards do:Shepheards, farewell; Perchance the morrow lightMay shine forth better news:
ORTH.
God night.
NUN.
God night.
FINIS.
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