Classic and Contemporary Poetry
ON A TREATISE OF CHARITY, by RICHARD CRASHAW Poet Analysis Poet's Biography First Line: Rise then, immortall maid! Religion rise Last Line: To be a true protestant, 's but to hate the pope. Variant Title(s): Upon The Ensuing Treatises [or Mr. Shelford] | ||||||||
Rise then, immortall maid! Religion rise! Put on thy selfe in thine own looks: t' our eyes Be what thy beauties, not our blots, have made thee, Such as (ere our dark sinnes to dust betrayd thee) Heav'n set thee down new drest; when thy bright birth Shot thee like lightning, to th'astonisht earth. From th' dawn of thy faire eyelids wipe away Dull mists and melancholy clouds: take day And thine owne beams about thee: bring the best Of whatsoe're perfum'd thy Eastern nest. Girt all thy glories to thee: then sit down, Open this booke, faire Queen, and take thy crown. These learned leaves shall vindicate to thee Thy holyest, humblest, handmaid Charitie. She'l dresse thee like thy self, set thee on high Where thou shalt reach all hearts, command each eye. Lo where I see thy Altars wake, and rise From the pale dust of that strange sacrifice Which they themselves were; each one putting on A majestie that may beseem thy throne. The holy youth of heav'n, whose golden rings Girt round thy awfull Altars, with bright wings Fanning thy fair locks (which the world beleeves As much as sees) shall with these sacred leaves Trick their tall plumes, and in that garb shall go If not more glorious, more conspicuous tho. -- Be it enacted then By the fair laws of thy firm-pointed pen, Gods services no longer shall put on A sluttishnesse, for pure religion: No longer shall our Churches frighted stones Lie scatter'd like the burnt and martyr'd bones Of dead Devotion; nor faint marbles weep In their sad ruines; nor Religion keep A melancholy mansion in those cold Urns. Like Gods Sanctuaries they lookt of old: Now seem they Temples consecrate to none, Or to a new God Desolation. No more the hypocrite shall th'upright be Because he's stiffe, and will confesse no knee: While others bend their knee, no more shalt thou (Disdainfull dust and ashes) bend thy brow; Nor on Gods Altar cast two scorching eyes Bak't in hot scorn, for a burnt sacrifice: But (for a Lambe) thy tame and tender heart New struck by love, still trembling on his dart; Or (for two Turtle doves) it shall suffice To bring a pair of meek and humble eyes. This shall from hence-forth be the masculine theme Pulpits and pennes shall sweat in; to redeem Vertue to action, that life-feeding flame That keeps Religion warme: not swell a name Of faith, a mountaine word, made up of aire, With those deare spoiles that wont to dresse the fair And fruitfull Charities full breasts (of old) Turning her out to tremble in the cold. What can the poore hope from us, when we be Uncharitable ev'n to Charitie? Nor shall our zealous ones still have a fling At that most horrible and horned thing, Forsooth the Pope: by which black name they call The Turk, the Devil, Furies, Hell and all, And something more. O he is Antichrist: Doubt this, and doubt (say they) that Christ is Christ. Why, 'tis a point of Faith. What e're it be, I'm sure it is no point of Charitie. In summe, no longer shall our people hope, To be a true Protestant, 's but to hate the Pope. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...A SONG [OF DIVINE LOVE] by RICHARD CRASHAW AN EPITAPH UPON HUSBAND AND WIFE WHO DIED AND WERE BURIED by RICHARD CRASHAW CHARITAS NIMIA; OR THE DEAR BARGAIN by RICHARD CRASHAW IN THE HOLY NATIVITY [OF OUR LORD GOD]; AS SUNG BY SHEPHERDS by RICHARD CRASHAW ON GEORGE HERBERT'S BOOK, THE TEMPLE, SENT TO A GENTLEWOMAN by RICHARD CRASHAW THE FLAMING HEART by RICHARD CRASHAW WISHES TO HIS SUPPOSED MISTRESS by RICHARD CRASHAW A HYMN IN THE GLORIOUS EPIPHANIE OF OUR LORD, GOD by RICHARD CRASHAW AN ELEGIE ON THE DEATH OF DR. PORTER by RICHARD CRASHAW AN ELEGY UPON THE DEATH OF MR. STANNINOW, FELLOW OF QUEENE'S by RICHARD CRASHAW AN EPITAPH UPON DOCTOR BROOKE by RICHARD CRASHAW AN EPITAPH UPON MR. ASHTON A COMFORTABLE CITIZEN by RICHARD CRASHAW |
|