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APOLOGIE FOR THE HYMNE IN MEMORY OF LADY MADRE DE TERESA (2), by                 Poet Analysis     Poet's Biography
First Line: Thus have I back again to thy bright name
Last Line: May drink it self up, and forget to dy.
Variant Title(s): An Apologie For The Fore-goving Hymne
Subject(s): Teresa, Saint (1515-1582); Teresa Of Jesus, Saint; Teresa Of Avila, Saint; Theresa, Saint


Thus have I back again to thy bright name
(Fair floud of holy fires!) transfus'd the flame
I took from reading thee; tis to thy wrong
I know, that in my weak and worthlesse song
Thou here art sett to shine where thy full day
Scarse dawnes. O pardon if I dare to say
Thine own dear bookes are guilty. For from thence
I learn't to know that love is eloquence.
That hopefull maxime gave me hart to try
If, what to other tongues is tun'd so high,
Thy praise might not speak English too; forbid
(By all thy mysteryes that here ly hidde)
Forbid it, mighty Love! let no fond Hate
Of names and wordes, so farr praejudicate.
Souls are not SPANIARDS too, one friendly floud
Of BAPTISM blends them all into a blood.
CHRIST'S faith makes but one body of all soules
And love's that body's soul, no law controwlls
Our free traffique for heav'n, we may maintaine
Peace, sure, with piety, though it come from SPAIN.
What soul so e're, in any language, can
Speak heav'n like her's is my souls country-man.
O 'tis not spanish, but 'tis heav'n she speaks!
'Tis heav'n that lyes in ambush there, and breaks
From thence into the wondring reader's brest;
Who feels his warm HEART hatch'd into a nest
Of little EAGLES and young loves, whose high
Flights scorn the lazy dust, and things that dy.
There are enow, whose draughts (as deep as hell)
Drink up al SPAIN in sack. Let my soul swell
With thee, strong wine of love! let others swimme
In puddles; we will pledge this SERAPHIM
Bowles full of richer blood then blush of grape
Was ever guilty of, Change we too 'our shape
(My soul,) Some drink from men to beasts, o then
Drink we till we prove more, not lesse, then men,
And turn not beasts, but Angels. Let the king
Me ever into these his cellars bring
Where flowes such wine as we can have of none
But HIM who trod the wine-presse all alone:
Wine of youth, life, and the sweet Deaths of love;
Wine of immortall mixture; which can prove
It's Tincture from the rosy nectar; wine
That can exalt weak EARTH; and so refine
Our dust, that at one draught, mortality
May drink it self up, and forget to dy.





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