Classic and Contemporary Poetry
AN ESSAY ON DEATH AND A PRISON, by HENRY KING (1592-1669) Poet Analysis Poet's Biography First Line: A prison is in all things like a grave Last Line: Two prisons quits, the body and the jail. Subject(s): Death; Prisons & Prisoners; Dead, The; Convicts | ||||||||
A PRISON is in all things like a grave, Where we no better privileges have Than dead men, nor so good. The soul once fled Lives freer now, than when she was clositered In walls of flesh; and though she organs want To act her swift designs, yet all will grant Her faculties more clear, now separate, Than if the same conjunction, which of late Did marry her to earth, had stood in force, Uncapable of death, or of divorce: But an imprison'd mind, though living, dies, And at one time feels two captivities; A narrow dungeon which her body holds, But narrower body which herself enfolds. Whilst I in prison lie, nothing is free, Nothing enlarg'd, but thought and misery; Though every chink be stopp'd, the doors close barr'd, Despite of walls and locks, through every ward These have their issues forth; may take the air, Though not for health, but only to compare How wretched those men are who freedom want, By such as never suffer'd a restraint. In which unquiet travel could I find Aught that might settle my distemper'd mind, Or of some comfort make discovery, It were a voyage well employ'd: but I, Like our raw travellers that cross the seas To fetch home fashions, or some worse disease, Instead of quiet, a new torture bring Home t' afflict me, malice and murmuring. What is't I envy not? no dog nor fly But my desires prefer, and wish were I; For they are free, or, if they were like me, They had no sense to know calamity. But in the grave no sparks of envy live, No hot comparisons that causes give Of quarrel, or that our affections move Any condition, save their own, to love. There are no objects there but shades and night, And yet that darkness better than the light. There lives a silent harmony; no jar Or discord can that sweet soft consort mar. The grave's deaf ear is clos'd against all noise Save that which rocks must hear, the angel's voice: Whose trump shall wake the world, and raise up men Who in earth's bosom slept, bed-rid till then. What man then would, who on death's pillow slumbers, Be re-inspired with life, though golden numbers Of bliss were pour'd into his breast; though he Were sure in change to gain a monarchy? A monarch's glorious state compar'd with his, Less safe, less free, less firm, less quiet is. For ne'er was any Prince advanc'd so high That he was out of reach of misery: Never did story yet a law report To banish fate or sorrow from his Court; Where ere he moves, by land, or through the main, These go along, sworn members of his train. But he whom the kind earth hath entertain'd, Hath in her womb a sanctuary gain'd, Whose charter and protection arm him so, That he is privileg'd from future woe. The coffin's a safe harbour, where he rides Land-bound, below cross winds, or churlish tides. For grief, sprung up with life, was man's half-brother, Fed by the taste, brought forth by sin, the mother. And since the first seduction of the wife, God did decree to grief a lease for life; Which patent in full force continue must, Till man that disobey'd revert to dust. So that life's sorrows, ratifi'd by God, Cannot expire, or find their period, Until the soul and body disunite, And by two diff'rent ways from each take flight. But they dissolved once, our woes disband, Th' assurance cancell'd by one fatal hand; Soon as the passing bell proclaims me dead, My sorrows sink with me, lie buried In the same heap of dust, the self-same urn Doth them and me alike to nothing turn. If then of these I might election make Whether I would refuse, and whether take, Rather than like a sullen anchorite I would live cas'd in stone, and learn to write A Prisoner's story, which might steal some tears From the sad eyes of him that reads or hears; Give me a peaceful death, and let me meet My freedom seal'd up in my winding sheet. Death is the pledge of rest, and with one bail Two prisons quits, the Body and the Jail. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...SECULAR GAMES by RICHARD HOWARD WHAT DID YOU SEE? by FANNY HOWE JULIA TUTWILER STATE PRISON FOR WOMEN by ANDREW HUDGINS BOTHWELL: PART 4 by WILLIAM EDMONSTOUNE AYTOUN BOTHWELL: PART 4 by WILLIAM EDMONSTOUNE AYTOUN WORK IN PROGRESS by CHARLES MARTIN THE SUBCULTURE OF THE WRONGLY ACCUSED by THYLIAS MOSS A CONTEMPLATION UPON FLOWERS by HENRY KING (1592-1669) |
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