Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, AN ESSAY ON DEATH AND A PRISON, by HENRY KING (1592-1669)


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Classic and Contemporary Poetry

AN ESSAY ON DEATH AND A PRISON, by                 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.





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