Satisfaction For Sleepe.[77]

What succour can I hope my Muse shall send Whose drowsinesse hath wrong'd the Muses' friend? What hope, Aurora, to propitiate thee, Vnlesse the Muse sing my apologie? O in that morning of my shame! when I Lay folded up in Sleepe's captivity, How at the sight did'st thou draw back thine eyes, Into thy modest veyle? how didst thou rise Twice dy'd in thine owne blushes! and did'st run To draw the curtaines, and awake the sun! Who, rowzing his illustrious tresses, came, And seeing the loath'd object, hid for shame His head in thy faire bosome, and still hides Mee from his patronage; I pray, he chides: And pointing to dull Morpheus, bids me take My owne Apollo, try if I can make His Lethe be my Helicon: and see If Morpheus have a Muse to wait on mee. Hence 'tis, my humble fancie finds no wings, No nimble rapture starts to Heaven, and brings Enthusiasticke flames, such as can give Marrow to my plumpe genius, make it live Drest in the glorious madnesse of a Muse, Whose feet can walke the milky way, and chuse Her starry throne; whose holy heats can warme The grave, and hold up an exalted arme To lift me from my lazy vrne, to climbe Vpon the stooped shoulders of old Time, And trace Eternity--But all is dead, All these delicious hopes are buried In the deepe wrinckles of his angry brow, Where Mercy cannot find them: but O thou Bright lady of the Morne! pitty doth lye So warme in thy soft brest, it cannot dye. Have mercy then, and when he next shall rise O meet the angry God, invade his eyes, And stroake his radiant cheekes; one timely kisse Will kill his anger, and revive my blisse. So to the treasure of thy pearly deaw, Thrice will I pay three teares, to show how true My griefe is; so my wakefull lay shall knocke At th' orientall gates, and duly mocke The early larkes' shrill orizons, to be An anthem at the Daye's nativitie. And the same rosie-finger'd hand of thine, That shuts Night's dying eyes, shall open mine. But thou, faint God of Sleepe, forget that I Was ever known to be thy votary. No more my pillow shall thine altar be, Nor will I offer any more to thee My selfe a melting sacrifice; I'me borne Againe a fresh child of the buxome Morne, Heire of the sun's first beames. Why threat'st thou so? Why dost thou shake thy leaden scepter? goe, Bestow thy poppy upon wakefull Woe, Sicknesse, and Sorrow, whose pale lidds ne're know Thy downie finger; dwell upon their eyes, Shut in their teares: shut out their miseries.

NOTES AND ILLUSTRATIONS.

In 1646, line 1, for 'shall' reads 'will:' ib. in HARLEIAN MS. as before, 'my' for 'the Muse;' which I adopt here, but not in next line: line 9, ib. 'thy:' line 11, illustrious is = lustrous, radiant: HARLEIAN MS. as before, line 19, 'this my humble:' line 20, 1646 misprints 'raptures:' line 27, 1670 has 'and climb:' line 28, 1646 has 'stooped' for 'stooping' of 1648; infinitely superior, and therefore adopted: 1670 misprints 'stopped:' the SANCROFT MS. has 'stooping:' line 45, HARLEIAN MS. as before, 'thy altar.' Further: in the SANCROFT MS. this poem is headed 'Ad Auroram Somnolentiae expiatio. R. CR.,' and it supplies these various readings: line 1, 'will:' line 7, 'call back:' line 16, 'my' for 'mine;' line 20-21, 'winge' and 'bringe:' line 40, 'treasures:' other orthographic differences only. See Essay, as in last poem. G.