Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, TO HIS READER, by SAMUEL DANIEL


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Classic and Contemporary Poetry

TO HIS READER, by             Poem Explanation     Poet Analysis     Poet's Biography
First Line: Behold, once more with serious labour here
Last Line: But only to have in mine own again.
Subject(s): Writing & Writers


Behold, once more with serious labour here
Have I refurnished out this little frame,
Repaired some parts defective here and there,
And passages new added to the same,
Some rooms enlarged, made some less than they were;
Like to the curious builder who this year
Pulls down and alters what he did the last,
As if the thing in doing were more dear
Than being done, and nothing likes that's past
For that we ever make the latter day
The scholar of the former, and we find
Something is still amiss that must delay
Our business, and leave work for us behind.
As if there were no sabbath of the mind.
And howsoever be it well or ill
What I have done, it is mine own, I may
Do whatsoever therewithal I will.
I may pull down, raise, and re-edify;
It is the building of my life, the fee
Of Nature, all th' inheritance that I
Shall leave to those which must come after me;
And all the care I have is but to see
These lodgings of my affections neatly dressed,
Wherein so many noble friends there be,
Whose memories with mine must therein rest.
And glad I am that I have lived to see
This edifice renewed, who do but long
To live to amend. For man is a tree
That hath his fruit late ripe, and it is long
Before he come t' his taste; there doth belong
So much t' experience, and so infinite
The faces of things are, as hardly we
Discern which looks the likest unto right.
Besides, these curious times, stuffed with the store
Of compositions in this kind, do drive
Me to examine my defects the more,
And oft would make me not myself believe,
Did I not know the world wherein I live,
Which neither is so wise as that would seem,
Nor certain judgement of those things doth give
That it dislikes, nor that it doth esteem.
I know no work from man yet ever came
But had his mark, and by some error showed
That it was his, and yet what in the same
Was rare, and worthy, evermore allowed
Safe convoy for the rest; the good that's sowed,
Though rarely, pays our cost, and who so looks
T' have all things in perfection and in frame
In men's inventions, never must read books.
And howsoever here detraction may
Disvalue this my labour, yet I know
There will be found therein that which will pay
The reckoning for the errors which I owe,
And likewise will sufficiently allow
T' an undistasted judgement fit delight;
And let presumptuous self-opinion say
The worst it can, I know I shall have right.
I know I shall be read, among the rest,
So long as men speak English, and so long
As verse and virtue shall be in request,
Or grace to honest industry belong:
And England, since I use thy present tongue,
Thy form of speech, thou must be my defence
If to new ears it seems not well expressed,
For, though I hold not accent, I hold sense.
And since the measures of our tongue we see
Confirmed by no edict of power doth rest,
But only underneath the regency
Of use and fashion, which may be the best
Is not for my poor forces to contest,
But as the Peacock, seeing himself too weak,
Confessed the Eagle fairer far to be,
And yet not in his feathers, but his beak.
Authority of powerful censure may
Prejudicate the form wherein we mould
The matter of our spirit, but if it pay
The ear with substance, we have what we would,
For that is all which must our credit hold.
The rest (however gay or seeming rich
It be in fashion, wise men will not weigh)
The stamp will not allow it, but the touch.
And would to God that nothing faulty were
But only that poor accent in my verse,
Or that I could all other reckonings clear
Wherewith my heart stands charged, or might reverse
The errors of my judgement passed here
Or elsewhere, in my books, and unrehearse
What I have vainly said, or have addressed
Unto neglect mistaken in the rest.
Which I do hope to live yet to retract
And crave that England never will take note
That it was mine. I'll disavow mine act,
And wish it may for ever be forgot;
I trust the world will not of me exact
Against my will, that hath all else I wrote;
I will ask nothing therein for my pain,
But only to have in mine own again.






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