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Title: To Amoret Weeping
Author: Henry Vaughan [
More Titles by Vaughan]
Leave Amoret, melt not away so fast
Thy eyes' fair treasure; Fortune's wealthiest cast
Deserves not one such pearl; for these, well spent,
Can purchase stars, and buy a tenement
For us in heaven; though here the pious streams
Avail us not; who from that clue of sunbeams
Could ever steal one thread? or with a kind
Persuasive accent charm the wild loud wind?
Fate cuts us all in marble, and the Book
Forestalls our glass of minutes; we may look
But seldom meet a change; think you a tear
Can blot the flinty volume? shall our fear
Or grief add to their triumphs? and must we
Give an advantage to adversity?
Dear, idle prodigal! is it not just
We bear our stars? What though I had not dust
Enough to cabinet a worm? nor stand
Enslav'd unto a little dirt, or sand?
I boast a better purchase, and can show
The glories of a soul that's simply true.
But grant some richer planet at my birth
Had spied me out, and measur'd so much earth
Or gold unto my share: I should have been
Slave to these lower elements, and seen
My high-born soul flag with their dross, and lie
A pris'ner to base mud, and alchemy.
I should perhaps eat orphans, and suck up
A dozen distress'd widows in one cup;
Nay, further, I should by that lawful stealth,
Damn'd usury, undo the commonwealth;
Or patent it in soap, and coals, and so
Have the smiths curse me, and my laundress too;
Geld wine, or his friend tobacco; and so bring
The incens'd subject rebel to his king;
And after all--as those first sinners fell--
Sink lower than my gold, and lie in hell.
Thanks then for this deliv'rance! blessed pow'rs,
You that dispense man's fortune and his hours,
How am I to you all engag'd! that thus
By such strange means, almost miraculous,
You should preserve me; you have gone the way
To make me rich by taking all away.
For I--had I been rich--as sure as fate,
Would have been meddling with the king, or State,
Or something to undo me; and 'tis fit,
We know, that who hath wealth should have no wit,
But, above all, thanks to that Providence
That arm'd me with a gallant soul, and sense,
'Gainst all misfortunes, that hath breath'd so much
Of Heav'n into me, that I scorn the touch
Of these low things; and can with courage dare
Whatever fate or malice can prepare:
I envy no man's purse or mines: I know
That, losing them, I've lost their curses too;
And Amoret--although our share in these
Is not contemptible, nor doth much please--
Yet, whilst content and love we jointly vie,
We have a blessing which no gold can buy.
[The end]
Henry Vaughan's poem: To Amoret Weeping
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