George Wither

“ Wither's publications in the reprint of the Spenser Society, especially the Schollers Purgatory, 1625, and Ecchoes from the Sixth Trumpet, 1666. Some further biographical particulars may be gleaned from the following tracts, in which incidents in Wither's political and literary career are adversely criticised: A letter to George Wither, touching his soi-disant Military Exploits in Kent, Surrey, Gloucester, and Middlesex. ”

“ Whereunto is annexed a Paraphrase on the Creed, and the Lords Prayer’ (London, printed by John Beale for Thomas Walkley, 1620, 8vo) . Wither retorted by issuing an authentic collection of his finest works, called ‘Jvvenilia. A collection of those Poemes which were heretofore imprinted, and written by George Wither’ (London, printed for John Budge, 1622, 8vo, with an engraved title) . There was a reissue of 1626 (‘for Robert Allot’) . A new edition of 1633 included ‘Faire Virtue.’ It is mainly on the contents of this volume that Wither's position as a poet depends. ”

“ If ever a man needed resuscitation in our antiquarian times it was George Wither. When most of the Jacobean poets sank into comfortable oblivion, which merely meant being laid with a piece of camphor in cotton-wool to keep fresh for us, Wither had the misfortune to be recollected. He became a byword of contempt, and the Age of Anne persistently called him Withers, a name, I believe, only possessed really by one distinguished person, Cleopatra Skewton's page-boy. Swift, in The Battle of the Books, brings in this poet as the meanest common trooper that he can mention in his modern army. ”

“ Such are the lion-men who extend the frontiers of English commerce.
In the Savoy reposes a true poet, but an unhappy man—George Wither, the satirist and idyllist, who died in 1667, and lies here between the east door and the south end of the chapel. [214] He was one of Cromwell’s major-generals, and had a hard time of it after the Restoration. It was to save Wither’s life that Denham used that humorous petition—“As long as Wither lives I should not be considered the worst poet in England.” ”

“ Death’s to him a strange surprise.’
P. 130, No. cx.—I have detached these two stanzas from a longer poem of which they constitute the only valuable portion. George Wither (‘a most profuse pourer forth of English rhyme’ Phillips calls him) was indeed so intolerable a proser in verse, so overlaid his good with indifferent or bad, that one may easily forget how real a gift he possessed, and sometimes showed that he possessed. ”

“ The former two were, in turn, under the patronage of that most cultured family, the Herberts, Breton being a protégé of "Sidney's sister, Pembroke's mother," whom Browne (and not Ben Jonson, as is commonly said) eulogised thus in elegy. George Wither, being Browne's intimate friend, was presumably not unappreciated by the kinsfolk of George Herbert. Thus do they appear as in a bond of spiritual union.
Breton, a step-son to the poet Gascoigne, and the elder of our fascinating trio, is conspicuous for an unswerving, whole-hearted attachment to nature and rural scenes. ”

“ Mr. Livingston says that there is another copy of this work, in New York. "It is in four volumes, with the title, 'Selections from the Juvenilia and Other Poems of George Wither, with a prefatory Essay by John Matthew Gutch, F.S.A., and His Life, by Robert Aris Wilmott, Esq., Vol. I. [etc.] Typ. Felix Farley: Bristol.' In addition, the first volume has another title-page, 'Poems by George Wither, in four volumes. Vol. I. London: 1839.' On the verso of this is the following Preface:—
"These Poems were many years ago edited and printed at Bristol by Mr. ”

“ Wither was committed to the Marshalsea prison, but the Princess Elizabeth is reported to have intervened on his behalf, and her intervention, supported by a poetic appeal to the king from Wither himself, procured his release after a few months. The poet's appeal was entitled ‘A Satyre: Dedicated to His Most Excellent Maiestie’ (London, printed by Thomas Snodham for George Norton, 1615, sm. 8vo; in some copies ‘written’ is found for ‘dedicated’) . ”

“ Although Wither lived until 2d May 1667, and was constantly active with his pen, his Hallelujah, 1641, another book of sacred verse, is the only production of his that has received or that deserves much praise. The last thirty years of his long life were eventful and unfortunate. After being a somewhat fervent Royalist, he suddenly changed his creed at the outbreak of the great rebellion, sold his estate to raise men for the Parliament, and was active in its cause with pen as well as with sword. ”

“ That, ev'ry one distinctly knew his owne;
And, many brawles, now rife, were then unknowne.
But, since neglected, sacred Bounders were,
Most men Incroachers, and Intruders are:
They grieve each other, and their Dues they steale,
From Prince, from Parent, and from Common-weale.
Nay, more; these bold Vsurpers are so rude,
That, they, on Christ's Inheritance intrude.
But, that will be aveng'd; and (on his right)
Though such incroach, he will not lose it quite:
For, hee's that Bounder, and that Corner-stone,
Who all confines, and is confin'd, of none. ”

“ Though they as a trifle leave thee
Whose dull thoughts cannot conceive thee,
Though thou be to them a scorn
That to nought but earth are born
Let my life no longer be
Than I am in love with thee. ”

“ Which hath so ruthless torn, so racked, so tortured every vein,
All comfort comes too late to have it ever cured again.
My swimming head begins to dance death's giddy round;
A shuddering chillness doth each sense confound ”

“ Shall I, wasting in despair,
Die, because a woman's fair?
Or make pale my cheeks with care
'Cause another's rosy are?
Be she fairer than the day,
Or the flow'ry meads in May;
⁠If she be not so to me,
⁠What care I how fair she be. ”

“ From a Satire written to King James I
Did I not know a great man's power and might
In spite of innocence can smother right,
Colour his villainies to get esteem,
And make the honest man the villain seem? ”

“ Mists of envy, fogs of spite,
'Twixt men's judgments and her light;
But so much her power may do,
That she can dissolve them too.
If thy verse do bravely tower,
As she makes wing she gets power ”

“ While thus thy lullaby I sing,
⁠For thee great blessings ripening be;
Thine eldest brother is a King,
⁠And hath a kingdom bought for thee.
⁠Sweet baby, then forbear to weep;
⁠Be still, my babe; sweet baby, sleep. ”

“ And evermore be merry.
Now every lad is wondrous trim,
And no man minds his labour;
Our lasses have provided them
A bag-pipe and a tabor;
Young men and maids, and girls and boys,
Give life to one another's joys ”

“ Of more sweetness than all art
Or inventions can impart;
Thoughts too deep to be expressed,
And too strong to be suppressed. . . .
. . . What pearls, what rubies can
Seem so lovely fair to man,
As her lips whom he doth love
When in sweet discourse they move:
Or her lovelier teeth, the while
She doth bless him with a smile!
Stars indeed fair creatures be;
Yet amongst us where is he
Joys not more the whilst he lies
Sunning in his mistress' eyes,
Than in all the glimmering light
Of a starry winter's night? ”

“ That, from your Glasse of life, which is to run,
There's but one step to Death; and, that you tread
At once, among the Living, and, the Dead.
In whatsoever Land, we live or die,
God is the same; And, Heav'n is, there, as nigh
As in that place, wherein, we most desire
Our Soules, with our last breathing, to expire.
Which things, well heeding; let us not delay
Our Iourney, when we summon'd are away,
(As those inforced Pilgrims use to doe,
That know not whither, nor, how farre they goe)
Nor let us dreame that we in Time, or Place,
Are farre from ending our uncertaine Race. ”

“ Or a well-disposèd nature
Joinèd with a lovely creature?
Be she meeker, kinder than
Turtle-dove or pelican:
⁠If she be not so to me,
⁠What care I how kind she be.
Shall a woman's virtues move
Me to perish for her love? ”

“ And yet unscornèd, serve a gentle nymph, the fairest she,
That ever was beloved of man, or eyes did ever see!
Yea, one whose tender heart would rue for my distress;
Yet I, poor I! must perish ne'ertheless.
And (which much more augments my care)
Unmoanèd I must die,
And no man e'er
Know why. ”

“ I have favours where you want,
⁠That would buy respect with treasure.
⁠You have lands lie here and there,
⁠But my wealth is everywhere;
⁠And this addeth to my store—
⁠Fortune cannot make me poor. ”

“ And free access unto that sweet lip lies
⁠From whence I long the rosy breath to draw.
Methinks no wrong it were if I should steal,
⁠From those two melting rubies, one poor kiss.
None sees the theft that would the thief reveal,
⁠Nor rob I her of aught which she can miss. ”

“ WHen I behold the Havocke and the Spoyle,
Which (ev'n within the compasse of my Dayes)
Is made through every quarter of this Ile,
In Woods and Groves (which were this Kingdomes praise)
And, when I minde with how much greedinesse,
We seeke the present Gaine, in every thing;
Not caring (so our Lust we may possesse)
What Dammage to Posterity we bring:
They doe, me-thinkes, as if they did foresee,
That, some of those, whom they have cause to hate,
Should come in Future-times, their Heires to be:
Or else, why should they such things perpetrate?
For, if they thinke their Children shall succeed ”

“ How firmly setled, Vertues reall bee.
For, as the raging Seas, although they roare,
Can make no breach upon the Rockie shore;
And, as a true triangled Pyramide,
Stands fast, and shewes alike, on ev'ry side:
So, howsoever Fortune, turnes or winds,
Those men, which are indow'd with vertuous minds,
It is impossible, to drive them from
Those Formes, or Stations, which those minds become.
And, as the raging Sea, with foming threats,
Against the Rockie-shore, but vainely beats;
So, Envie shall in vaine, loud blustrings make,
When vertuous resolutions they would shake. ”

“ How when he down declines, she droops and mourns,
Bedewed, as 'twere with tears, till he returns;
And how she veils her flowers when he is gone,
As if she scornèd to be lookèd on
By an inferior eye; or did contemn
To wait upon a meaner light than him.
When this I meditate, methinks the flowers
Have spirits far more generous than ours,
And give us fair examples to despise
The servile fawnings and idolatries,
Wherewith we court these earthly things below,
Which merit not the service we bestow. . . . ”

“ We are all Travellers; and, all of us
Have many passages, as dangerous,
As Frozen-lakes; and, Slippery-wayes, we tread,
In which our Lives may soone be forfeited,
(With all our hopes of Life-eternall, too)
Unlesse, we well consider what we doe.
There is no private Way, or publicke Path,
But rubs, or holes, or slipp'rinesse it hath,
Whereby, wee shall with Mischiefes meet; unlesse,
Wee walke it, with a stedfast-warinesse.
The steps to Honour, are on Pinacles
Compos'd of melting Snow, and Isicles;
And, they who tread not nicely on their tops,
Shall on a suddaine slip from all their hopes. ”

“ With most of all my Hopes have beene in vaine;
And to the World-ward, I am like to wast
My time in fruitlesse labours, till the last.
However, I have still my Hopes as faire
As hee, that hath no temptings to Despaire;
And, change I will not, my last howres for theirs,
Whose Fortune, more desirable appeares;
Nor cease to Hope and Labour, though, of most,
My Hope and Labour be adjudged lost:
For, though I lose the shaddow of my Paines,
The stubstance of it, still, in God, remaines.
[151]
Man's life, no Temper, more doth blesse,
Then Simple-prudent-harmelessenesse.
Illvstr. XVII. Book. ”

“ North-east, not far from this great pool, there lies
A tract of beechy mountains, that arise,
With leisurely ascending, to such height
As from their tops the warlike Isle of Wight
You in the ocean's bosom may espy,
Though near two furlongs thence it lie.
The pleasant way, as up those hills you climb,
Is strewed o'er with marjoram and thyme,
Which grows unset. The hedgerows do not want
The cowslip, violet, primrose, nor a plant
That freshly scents: as birch, both green and tall ”

“ The Fiery-Tryall, which like Wood and Hay,
Consumes the Workes of ev'ry Wicked-one;
(And maketh all their Hopes to fume away)
Doth purifie what Faithfull-men have done.
They triumph in the Flames, and shall obtaine
The glorious Crowne of Endless-Happinesse,
When all that show of Blisse appeareth vaine,
Which Worldly men have seemed to possesse.
For, though some Sinnes and Follies, gilded are,
And shine like purest Gold, and Pretious-Stones ”

“ For, he that soweth Vanitie, shall finde,
At reaping-time, no better fruit then Winde.
Your houres, in serions matters, if you spend,
Or, such, as to a lasting purpose tend,
The purchase of your paines will ever last;
And, bring you Pleasure, when the Labour's past.
Yea, though in teares, your Seed-time, you imploy,
Your Harvest shall be fetched home, with ioy.
If much be wrought, much profit will ensue;
If little, but a little meede is due.
Of nothing, nothing comes: On evill deedes
An evill conscience, and, ill fame succeedes:
An honest-life, still findes prepared for't,
Sweet Hopes in Death ”

“ Thy Vertues he may wrong, that sayes
Thou spend'st thy selfe, in wanton wayes;
But, some have thought, and sayd of late,
That, those thou lov'st, consume thy state:
Yet, spare nor Time, nor Substance, tho,
Where, them, thou oughtest to bestow;
But, to thine Emblem turne, and, see
When Life, and Wealth, well ventur'd bee.
See, Emb. XV. 16
Though Troubles, you may have (or had)
Enough, to make some others mad;
Yet, be content: for, they, that are
As weake, have had as much to beare;
And, that, which Malice did contrive,
To make them poore, hath made them thrive. ”