| |
| THIS twilight of two years, not past, nor next, | |
| Some emblem is of me, or I of this; | |
| Who—meteor-like, of stuff and form perplex’d, | |
| Whose what and where in disputation is— | |
| If I should call me anything, should miss. | 5 |
| |
| I sum the years, and me, and find me not | |
| Debtor to th’ old, nor creditor to th’ new. | |
| That cannot say, “My thanks I have forgot,” | |
| Nor trust I this with hopes; and yet scarce true | |
| This bravery is, since these times show’d me you. | 10 |
| |
| In recompense I would show future times | |
| What you were, and teach them to urge towards such. | |
| Verse embalms virtue; and tombs, or thrones, of rhymes | |
| Preserve frail transitory fame, as much | |
| As spice doth bodies from corrupt airs’ touch. | 15 |
| |
| Mine are short-lived; the tincture of your name | |
| Creates in them, but dissipates as fast, | |
| New spirits; 1 for strong agents with the same | |
| Force, that doth warm and cherish us, do waste; 2 | |
| Kept hot with strong extracts, no bodies last. | 20 |
| |
| So, my verse, built of your just praise, might want | |
| Reason and likelihood, the firmest base; | |
| And made of miracle, now faith is scant, | |
| Will vanish soon, and so possess no place; | |
| And you, and it, too much grace might disgrace. | 25 |
| |
| When all—as truth commands assent—confess | |
| All truth of you, yet they will doubt how I | |
| —One corn of one low ant-hill’s dust, and less— | |
| Should name, know, or express a thing so high, | |
| And—not an inch—measure infinity. | 30 |
| |
| I cannot tell them, nor myself, nor you, | |
| But leave, lest truth be endanger’d by my praise, | |
| And turn to God, who knows I think this true, | |
| And useth oft, when such a heart mis-says, | |
| To make it good, for such a praiser prays. 3 | 35 |
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| He will best teach you, how you should lay out | |
| His stock of beauty, learning, favour, blood; | |
| He will perplex security with doubt, | |
| And clear those doubts; hide from you, and show you good; | |
| And so increase your appetite and food. | 40 |
| |
| He will teach you, that good and bad have not | |
| One latitude in cloisters, and in court; | |
| Indifferent there the greatest space hath got; | |
| Some pity ’s not good there; some vain disport, | |
| On this side sin, with that place may comport. | 45 |
| |
| Yet He, as He bounds seas, will fix your hours, | |
| Which pleasure and delight may not ingress; | |
| And, though what none else lost be truliest yours, | |
| He will make you, what you did not, possess, | |
| By using others’ (not vice, but) weakness. | 50 |
| |
| He will make you speak truths, and credibly, | |
| And make you doubt that others do not so; | |
| He will provide you keys, and locks, to spy, | |
| And ’scape spies, to good ends, and He will show | |
| What you may not acknowledge, what not know. | 55 |
| |
| For your own conscience, He gives innocence, | |
| But, for your fame, a discreet wariness; | |
| And—though to ’scape, than to revenge offence | |
| Be better—He shows both, and to repress | |
| Joy, when your state swells, sadness, when ’tis less. | 60 |
| |
| From need of tears He will defend your soul, | |
| Or make a re-baptizing of one tear; | |
| He cannot—that ’s, He will not—dis-enroll | |
| Your name; and when with active joy we hear | |
| This private gospel, then ’tis our New Year. | 65 |
