Classic and Contemporary Poetry
UPON THE GUNPOWDER TREASON (1), by RICHARD CRASHAW Poet Analysis Poet's Biography First Line: Grow plumpe, leane death; his holiness a feast Last Line: And rugged touch of pluto's multitude. Subject(s): Gunpowder Plot; Guy Fawkes | ||||||||
Grow plumpe, leane Death; his Holinesse a feast Hath now praepar'd, and you must be his guest. Come grimme destruction, and in purple gore Dye sev'n times deeper than they were before Thy scarlet robes. for heere you must not share A common banquett. noe, heere's princely fare. And least thy bloodshott eyes should lead aside This masse of cruelty, to be thy guide Three coleblack sisters, (whose long sutty haire, And greisly visages doe fright the aire; When Night beheld them, shame did almost turne Her sable cheekes into a blushing morne, Too see some fowler than herselfe) these stand, Each holding forth to light the aery brand, Whose purer flames tremble to be soe nigh, And in fell hatred burning, angry dy. Sly, lurking treason is his bosome friend, Whom faint, and palefac't feare doth still attend. These need noe invitation. onely thou, Black dismall horror, come; make perfect now Th' Epitome of hell: oh lett thy pinions Be' a gloomy Canopy to Pluto's minions. In this infernall Majesty close shrowd Your selves, you Stygian states; a pitchy clowd Shall hang the roome, and for your tapers bright, Sulphureous flames, snatch'd from aeternall night. But rest, affrighted Muse; thy silver wings May not row neerer to these dusky Kings. Cast back some amorous glances on the cates, That heere are dressing by the hasty fates. Nay. stopp thy clowdy eyes. it is not good, To droune thy selfe in this pure pearly flood. But since they are for fire workes, rather prove A Phaenix, and in chastest flames of love Offer thy selfe a Virgin sacrifice To quench the rage of hellish deities. But dares destruction eate these candid breasts, The Muses, and the Graces sugred neasts? Dares hungry death snatch of one cherry lipp? Or thirsty treason offer once to sippe One dropp of this pure Nectar, which doth flow In azure channells warme through mounts of snow? The roses fresh, conserved from the rage, And cruell ravishing of frosty age, Feare is afraid to tast of: only this, He humbly crav'd to banquett on a kisse. Poore meagre horror streightwaies was amaz'd, And in the stead of feeding, stood, and gaz'd. Their appetites were gone at th' very sight; But yet their eyes surfett with sweet delight. Only the Pope a stomack still could find; But yett they were not powder'd to his mind. Forthwith each God stept from his starry throne, And snatch'd away the banquett. every one convey'd his sweet delicious treasury To the close closet of aeternity: Where they will safely keepe it, from the rude, And rugged touch of Pluto's multitude. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...UPON THE GUNPOWDER TREASON (2) 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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