No More Learning

Art would more neatly have defae'd
What she had laid so sweetly waste
In fragrant gardens, shady woods,
Deep meadows, and transparent floods.

While, with slow eyes, we these survey.
And on each pleasant footstep stay,
We opportunely may relate
The progress of this house's fate.
A nunnery first gave it birth,
(For virgin buildings oft brought forth,)
And all that neighbour-ruin shows
The quarries whence this dwelling rose.
Near to this gloomy cloister's gates.
There dwelt the blooming virgin Thwates,
Fair beyond measure, and an heir,
Which might deformity make fair ;
And oft she spent the summer's suns
Discoursing with the subtle Nuns,
Whence, in these words, one to her weav'd,
As 'twere by chance, thoughts long conceiv'd :
' Within this holy leisure, we

* Live innocently, as you see.

' These walls restrain the world without,
' But hedge our liberty about ;

* These bars inclose that wider den

' Of those wild creatures, called men ;
' The cloister outward shuts its gates,

* And, from us, locks on them the grates.
' Here we, in shining armour white,



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OF MARVELL. 11

* Like virgin amazons do fight,

* And our chaste lamps we hourly trim,

* Lest the great bridegroom find them dim.

* Our orient breaths perfumed are

* With incense of incessant prayV ; iw

* And holy-water of our tears

' Most strangely our complexion clears ;

* Not tears of grief, — but such as those

* With which calm pleasure overflows,

* Or pity, when we look on you n»

* That live without this happy vow.

* How should we grieve must we be seen,
^ (Each one a spouse, and each a queen,)

* Who can in heaven hence behold

* Our brighter robes and crowns of gold! i»

* When we have prayed all our beads,

* Some one the holy legend reads,

* While all the rest with needles paint

* The face and graces of the Saint,

* But what the linen can't receive, t»

* They in their lives do interweave.

* This work the Saints best represents

* That serves for altar's ornaments.

* But much it to our work would add,

* If here your hand, your face, we had : i3o

* By it we would our Lady touch ;

* Yet thus she you resembles much.

* Some of your features, as we sewed,

* Through every shrine should be bestow'd,

* And in one beauty we would take »»



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12 THE P0E3IS

^ Enough a thousand Saints to make.
* And (for I dare not quench the fire

* That me does for your good inspire) * 'Twere sacrilege a man to admit

* To holy things, for heaven fit.

* I see the angels, in a crown,

* On you the lilies showering down ;

* And TOund about you, glory breaks,

* That something more than human speaks.

* All beauty, when at such a height,

* Is so already consecrate.

* Fairfax I know, and long ere this

* Have mark'd the youth, and what he is ;

* But can he such a rival seem,

* For whom you heaven should disesteem ?

* Ah, no! and 'twould more honour prove

* He your devoto were than Love.
' Here live beloved and obeyed^

' Each one your sister, each your maid,

* And, if our rule seem strictly penned,

* The rule itself to you shall bend.

* Our Abbess, too, now far in age,

* Doth your succession near presage.

* How soft the yoke on us would lie,

* Might such fair hands as yours it tie !

* Your voice, the sweetest of the choir,

* Shall draw heaven nearer, raise us higher,

* And your example, if our head,

* Will soon us to perfection lead.

* Those virtues to us all so dear,



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OF MARVBLL. 13

* Will straight grow sanctity when here ;
^ And that, once sprung, increase so fast,

* Till miracles it work at last.

* Nor is our order yet so nice,

* Delight to banish as a vice : iw
< Here Pleasure Piety doth meet,

* One perfecting the other sweet ;

* So through the mortal fruit we boil
*The sugar's uncoiTupting oil,

'^ And that which perished while we pull, m

* Is thus preserved clear and full.

^ For such indeed are all our arts,
^ Still handling Nature's finest parts :

* Flowers dress the altars ; for the clothes

* The sea-bom amber we compose ; im
^ Balms for the griev'd w« draw ; and pastes

^ We mould as baits for curioils tastes.

* What need is here of man, unless

* These as sweet sins we should confess ?

*' Each night among us to your side i»

* Appoint a fresh and virgin bride,

* Whom, if our Lord at midnight find,

* Yet neither should be left behind !