Classic and Contemporary Poetry
UPON THE GUNPOWDER TREASON (2), by RICHARD CRASHAW Poet Analysis Poet's Biography First Line: Reach me a quill, pluckt from the flaming wing Last Line: The light's faire face, but still abortive bee. Subject(s): Gunpowder Plot; Guy Fawkes | ||||||||
Reach me a quill, pluckt from the flaming wing Of Pluto's Mercury, that I may sing Death to the life. My inke shall be the blood Of Cerberus, or Alecto's viperous brood. Unmated malice! Oh unpeer'd despight! Such as the sable pinions of the night Never durst hatch before: Extracted see The very Quintessence of villanie. I feare to name it; least that he, which heares, Should have his soule frighted beyond the sphaeres. Heaven was asham'd, to see our mother Earth Engender with the Night, and teeme a birth Soe foule, one minutes light had it but seene, The fresh face of the morne had blasted beene. Her rosy cheekes you should have seene noe more Dy'd in vermilion blushes, as before: But in a vaile of clouds mufling her head A solitary life she would have led. Affrighted Phaebus would have lost his way, Giving his wanton palfreys leave to play Olympick games in the 'Olympian plaines, His trembling hands loosing the golden raines. The Queene of night gott the greene sicknes then, Sitting soe long at ease in her darke denne, Not daring to peepe forth, least that a stone Should beate her headlong from her jetty throne. Joves twinckling tapers, that doe light the world, Had beene puft out. and from their stations hurl'd. AEol kept in his wrangling sonnes, least they With this grand blast should have bin bloune away. Amazed Triton with his shrill alarmes Bad sporting Neptune to pluck in his armes, And leave embracing of the Isles, least hee Might be an actor in this Tragaedy: Nor should wee need thy crisped waves, for wee An Ocean could have made t' have drowned thee. Torrents of salt teares from our eyes should runne, And raise a deluge, where the flaming sunne Should coole his fiery wheeles, and never sinke Soe low to give his thirsty stallions drinke. Each soule in sighes had spent its dearest breath, As glad to waite upon their King in death. Each winged Chorister would swan-like sing A mournfull Dirge to their deceased King. The painted meddowes would have laught noe more For joye of their neate coates; but would have tore Their shaggy locks, their floury mantles turn'd Into dire sable weeds, and sate, and mourn'd. Each stone had streight a Niobe become, And wept amaine; then rear'd a costly tombe, T' entombe the lab'ring earth. for surely shee Had died just in her delivery. But when Joves winged Heralds this espied, Upp to th' Almighty thunderer they hied, Relating this sad story. streightway hee The monster crusht, maugre their midwiferie. And may such Pythons never live to see The light's faire face, but still abortive bee. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...UPON THE GUNPOWDER TREASON (1) by RICHARD CRASHAW UPON THE POWDER DAY by RICHARD CRASHAW EPIGRAM: TO WILLIAM, LORD MONTEAGLE by BEN JONSON ECCLESIASTICAL SONNETS: PART 2: 42. GUNPOWDER PLOT by WILLIAM WORDSWORTH GUNPOWDER PLOT DAY by ANONYMOUS THE GUNPOWDER PLOT by ANONYMOUS A HYMN [TO THE NAME AND] IN HONOR OF SAINT TERESA by RICHARD CRASHAW 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 |
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