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+\documentclass{book}
+\usepackage[pagestyles,outermarks,clearempty]{titlesec}[2005/01/22 v2.6]
+\usepackage{titletoc}[2005/01/22 v1.5]
+\usepackage[repeat]{poetry}
+\usepackage{drama}
+\usepackage{example}
+
+\TextHeight {5.5in}
+\TextWidth {4.5in}
+
+
+%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%
+%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%
+%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%
+
+
+ \titleformat {\chapter}[block]
+ {\RelSize{1}\centering}
+ {}
+ {0pt}
+ {\LETTERspace}
+
+ \renewcommand {\contentsname}{Contents}
+
+ \titlecontents {section}[0pt]
+ {\addvspace {1\leading}}
+ {\textsc}
+ {\textsc}
+ {\hfill \OldStyleNums{\thecontentspage}}
+ [\addvspace{.33ex}]
+
+ %%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%
+%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%
+%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%
+
+\newpagestyle {MainMatterPage} {
+
+ \sethead [\oldstylenums{\thepage}]
+ [\textsc{the metaphysical poets}]
+ []
+ {}
+ {\scshape \toptitlemarks \MakeLowercase{\sectiontitle}}
+ {\oldstylenums{\thepage}}
+
+ \Capita {section}{subsection}
+}
+
+%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%
+%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%
+%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%
+
+\Novus \titulus \name
+\Facies {\newpage\thispagestyle{empty}\LETTERspace{#1}}
+\SpatiumSupra {2\leading plus .5\leading \penalty 10000}
+\Caput {\section \indexes[a]}
+
+\Novus \titulus \dates
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+\SpatiumSupra {.25\leading plus .125\leading}
+\SpatiumInfra {1\leading plus .25\leading minus .25\leading}
+
+\newcommand {\poet}[2]{\name{#1}\dates{#2}}
+
+\Novus \titulus \poemtitle
+\Facies {\RelSize{+1}\itshape#1}
+\SpatiumSupra {1.5\leading plus .5\leading minus .5\leading
+ \penalty (.2)}
+\SpatiumInfra {.5\leading plus .25\leading minus .25\leading
+ \penalty 10000}
+\Caput {\indexes}
+
+\SpatiumSupra \stropham {.25\leading plus .125\leading minus .125\leading
+ \penalty -100}
+
+\Locus \numeri {\rightmargin}
+\Facies {\RelSize{-1}\oldstylenums{#1}}
+
+\Locus \textus {\auto}
+
+\Locus \excessus {\textrightedge}
+\Facies {[\,#1}
+\Modus {\aligned{right}}
+
+\BuildIndexes [lat']{yes}
+
+\newenvironment{poem}[1]%
+ {\poemtitle{#1}%
+ \Versus
+ \numerus{1}%
+ }
+ {\endVersus}
+
+\Novum \spatium \LastButOne
+\Facies {\penalty 10000}
+
+\begin{document}
+
+
+\ExampleTitle {The metaphysical poets}{\itshape An Anthology}
+ {The Metaphysical Poets\\[.5ex] Penguin Books, 1966}
+
+\addtocontents{toc}{\protect\thispagestyle{empty}}
+\addtocontents{toc}{\protect\setcounter{tocdepth}{2}}
+\pagenumbering{roman}
+\tableofcontents
+
+\newpage
+\pagestyle {MainMatterPage}
+\pagenumbering{arabic}
+\thispagestyle{empty}
+
+\Indexes
+
+\poet{John Donne\indexes{Donne, John}}{1572\textendash1631}
+
+\begin{poem}{Song\addfirstline} %1
+\Forma \strophae {01010133 \LastButOne 0}
+ Goe, and catche a falling starre, \auto
+ Get with child a mandrake roote,
+ Tell me, where all past yeares are,
+ Or who cleft the Divels foot,
+ Teach me to heare Mermaides singing,
+ Or to keep off envies stinging,
+ And finde
+ What winde
+ Serves to advance an honest minde.
+
+ If thou beest borne to strange sights,
+ Things invisible to see,
+ Ride ten thousand daies and nights,
+ Till age snow white haires on thee,
+ Thou, when thou retorn'st, wilt tell mee
+ All strange wonders that befell thee,
+ And sweare
+ No where
+ Lives a woman true, and faire.
+
+ If thou findst one, let mee know,
+ Such a Pilgrimage were sweet;
+ Yet doe not, I would not goe,
+ Though at next doore wee might meet,
+ Though shee were true, when you met her,
+ And last, till you write your letter,
+ Yet shee
+ Will bee
+ False, ere I come, to two, or three.
+\end{poem}
+
+\begin{poem}{The Sunne Rising} %2
+\Forma \strophae {220022110 \LastButOne 0}
+
+ Busie old foole, unruly Sunne, \NotFirstLine
+ Why dost thou thus,
+ Through windowes, and through curtaines call on us? \auto
+ Must to thy motions lovers seasons run?
+ Sawcy pedantique wretch, goe chide
+ Late schoole boyes, and sowre prentices,
+ Goe tell Court-huntsmen, that the King will ride,
+ Call countrey ants to harvest offices;
+ Love, all alike, no season knowes, nor clyme,
+ Nor houres, dayes, moneths, which are the rags of time.
+
+ Thy beames, so reverend, and strong
+ Why shouldst thou thinke?
+ I could eclipse and cloud them with a winke,
+ But that I would not lose her sight so long:
+ If her eyes have not blinded thine,
+ Looke, and to morrow late, tell mee,
+ Whether both the'India's of spice and Myne
+ Be where thou leftst them, or lie here with mee.
+ Aske for those Kings whom thou saw'st yesterday,
+ And thou shalt heare, All here in one bed lay.
+
+ She'is all States, and all Princes, I,
+ Nothing else is.
+ Princes doe but play us; compar'd to this,
+ All honor's mimique; All wealth alchimie.
+ Thou sunne art halfe as happy'as wee,
+ In that the world's contracted thus;
+ Thine age askes ease, and since thy duties bee
+ To warme the world, that's done in warming us.
+ Shine here to us, and thou art every where;
+ This bed thy center is, these walls, thy spheare.
+\end{poem}
+
+\begin{poem}{Song\addfirstline} %3
+\Forma \strophae {0101200 \LastButOne 1}
+
+ Sweetest love, I do not goe,
+ For wearinesse of thee,
+ Nor in hope the world can show \auto
+ A fitter Love for mee;
+ But since that I
+ Must dye at last, 'tis best,
+ To use my selfe in jest
+ Thus by fain'd deaths to dye;
+
+ Yesternight the Sunne went hence,
+ And yet is here to day,
+ He hath no desire nor sense,
+ Nor halfe so short a way:
+ Then feare not mee,
+ But beleeve that I shall make
+ Speedier journeyes, since I take
+ More wings and spurres then hee.
+
+ O how feeble is mans power
+ That if good fortune fall,
+ Cannot adde another houre,
+ Nor a lost houre recall!
+ But come bad chance,
+ And wee joyne to'it our strength,
+ And wee teach it art and length,
+ It selfe o'r us to'advance.
+
+ When thou sigh'st, thou sigh'st not winde,
+ But sigh'st my soule away,
+ When thou weep'st, unkindly kinde,
+ My lifes blood doth decay.
+ It cannot bee
+ That thou lov'st mee, as thou say'st,
+ If in thine my life thou waste,
+ Thou art the best of mee.
+
+ Let not thy divining heart
+ Forethinke me any ill,
+ Destiny may take thy part,
+ And may thy feares fulfill;
+ But thinke that wee
+ Are but turn'd aside to sleepe;
+ They who one another keepe
+ Alive, ne'r parted bee.
+\end{poem}
+
+
+\begin{poem}{Aire and Angels} %4
+\Forma \strophae {0000101010120 \LastButOne 0}
+
+ Twice or thrice had I loved thee,
+ Before I knew thy face or name;
+ So in a voice, so in a shapelesse flame, \auto
+ affect us oft, and worship'd bee;
+ Still when, to where thou wert, I came,
+ Some lovely glorious nothing I did see.
+ But since my soule, whose child love is,
+ Takes limmes of flesh, and else could nothing doe,
+ More subtile then the parent is,
+ Love must not be, but take a body too,
+ And therefore what thou wert, and who,
+ I bid Love aske, and now
+ That it assume thy body, I allow,
+ And fixe it selfe in thy lip, eye, and brow.
+
+ Whilst thus to ballast love, I thought,
+ And so more steddily to have gone,
+ With wares which would sinke admiration,
+ I saw, I had loves pinnace overfraught,
+ Ev'ry thy haire for love to worke upon
+ Is much too much, some fitter must be sought;
+ For, nor in nothing, nor in things
+ Extreme, and scatt'ring bright, can love inhere;
+ Then as an Angell, face, and wings
+ Of aire, not pure as it, yet pure doth weare,
+ So thy love may be my loves spheare;
+ Just such disparitie
+ As is twixt Aire and Angells puritie,
+ 'Twixt womens love, and mens will ever bee.
+\end{poem}
+
+
+\begin{poem}{The Anniversarie} %5
+\Forma \strophae {110000100 \LastButOne 0}
+ All Kings, and all their favorites,
+ All glory of honors, beauties, wits,
+ The Sun it selfe, which makes times, as they passe, \auto
+ Is elder by a yeare, now, then it was
+ When thou and I first one another saw:
+ All other things, to their destruction draw,
+ Only our love hath no decay;
+ This, no to morrow hath, nor yesterday,
+ Running it never runs from us away,
+ But truly keepes his first, last, everlasting day.
+
+ Two graves must hide thine and my coarse,
+ If one might, death were no divorce.
+ Alas, as well as other Princes, wee,
+ (Who Prince enough in one another bee,)
+ Must leave at last in death, these eyes, and eares,
+ Oft fed with true oathes, and with sweet salt teares;
+ But soules where nothing dwells but love
+ (All other thoughts being inmates) then shall prove
+ This, or a love increased there above,
+ When bodies to their graves, soules from their graves remove.
+
+ And then wee shall be throughly blest,
+ But wee no more, then all the rest;
+ Here upon earth, we'are Kings, and none but wee
+ Can be such Kings, nor of such subjects bee.
+ Who is so safe as wee? where none can doe
+ Treason to us, except one of us two.
+ True and false feares let us refraine,
+ Let us love nobly, and live, and adde againe
+ Yeares and yeares unto yeares, till we attaine
+ To write threescore: this is the second of our raigne.
+\end{poem}
+
+
+\begin{poem}{Twicknam garden} %6
+\Forma \strophae {01101010 \LastButOne 1}
+\Locus \textus {\previous}
+
+ Blasted with sighs, and surrounded with teares,
+ Hither I come to seeke the spring, \auto
+ And at mine eyes, and at mine eares,
+ Receive such balmes, as else cure every thing;
+ But O, selfe traytor, I do bring
+ The spider love, which transubstantiates all,
+ And can convert Manna to gall,
+ And that this place may thoroughly be thought
+ True Paradise, I have the serpent brought.
+
+ 'Twere wholsomer for mee, that winter did
+ Benight the glory of this place,
+ And that a grave frost did forbid
+ These trees to laugh, and mocke mee to my face;
+ But that I may not this disgrace
+ Indure, nor yet leave loving, Love let mee
+ Some senslesse peece of this place bee;
+ Make me a mandrake, so I may groane here,
+ Or a stone fountaine weeping out my yeare.
+
+ Hither with christall vyals, lovers come,
+ And take my teares, which are loves wine,
+ And try your mistresse Teares at home,
+ For all are false, that tast not just like mine;
+ Alas, hearts do not in eyes shine,
+ Nor can you more judge womans thoughts by teares,
+ Then by her shadow, what she weares.
+ O perverse sexe, where none is true but shee,
+ Who's therefore true, because her truth kills mee.
+\end{poem}
+
+
+\begin{poem}{The Dreame} %7
+\Forma \strophae {0020*6 \LastButOne 0}
+
+ Deare love, for nothing lesse then thee
+ Would I have broke this happy dreame,
+ It was a theame
+ For reason, much too strong for phantasie,
+ Therefore thou wakd'st me wisely; yet
+ My Dreame thou brok'st not, but continued'st it,
+ Thou art so truth, that thoughts of thee suffice,
+ To make dreames truths; and fables histories;
+ Enter these armes, for since thou thoughtst it best, \auto
+ Not to dreame all my dreame, let's act the rest.
+
+ As lightning, or a Tapers light,
+ Thine eyes, and not thy noise wak'd mee;
+ Yet I thought thee
+ (For thou lovest truth) an Angell, at first sight,
+ But when I saw thou sawest my heart,
+ And knew'st my thoughts, beyond an Angels art,
+ When thou knew'st what I dreamt, when thou knew'st when
+ Excesse of joy would wake me, and cam'st then,
+ I must confesse, it could not chuse but bee
+ Prophane, to thinke thee any thing but thee.
+
+ Comming and staying show'd thee, thee,
+ But rising makes me doubt, that now,
+ Thou art not thou.
+ That love is weake, where feare's as strong as hee;
+ 'Tis not all spirit, pure, and brave,
+ If mixture it of have.
+ Perchance as torches which must ready bee,
+ Men light and put out, so thou deal'st with mee,
+ Thou cam'st to kindle, goest to come; Then I
+ Will dreame that hope againe, but else would die.
+\end{poem}
+
+
+
+\begin{poem}{A Valediction: of weeping} %8
+\Forma \strophae {20002200 \LastButOne 0}
+
+ Let me powre forth
+ My teares before thy face, whil'st I stay here,
+ For thy face coines them, and thy stampe they beare, \auto
+ And by this Mintage they are something worth,
+ For thus they bee
+ Pregnant of thee;
+ Fruits of much griefe they are, emblemes of more,
+ When a teare falls, that thou falst which it bore,
+ So thou and I are nothing then, when on a divers shore.
+
+ On a round ball
+ A workeman that hath copies by, can lay
+ An Europe, Afrique, and an Asia,
+ And quickly make that, which was nothing,
+ So doth each teare,
+ Which thee doth weare,
+ A globe, yea world by that impression grow,
+ Till thy teares mixt with mine doe overflow
+ This world, by waters sent from thee, my heaven dissolved so.
+
+ O more then Moone,
+ Draw not up seas to drowne me in thy spheare,
+ Weepe me not dead, in thine armes, but forbeare
+ To teach the sea, what it may doe too soone;
+ Let not the winde
+ Example finde,
+ To doe me more harme, then it purposeth;
+ Since thou and I sigh one anothers breath,
+ Who e'r sighes most, is cruellest, and hasts the others death.
+\end{poem}
+
+\begin{poem}{A nocturnall upon S. Lucies day,\\ Being the shortest day} %9
+\Forma \strophae {00112000 \LastButOne 0}
+
+ 'Tis the yeares midnight, and it is the dayes, \auto
+ who scarce seaven houres herself unmaskes,
+ The Sunne is spent, and now his flasks
+ Send forth light squibs, no constant rayes;
+ The worlds whole sap is sunke:
+ The generall balme th'hydroptique earth hath drunk,
+ Whither, as to the beds-feet, life is shrunke,
+ Dead and enterr'd; yet all these seeme to laugh,
+ Compar'd with mee, who am their Epitaph.
+
+ Study me then, you who shall lovers bee
+ At the next world, that is, at the next Spring:
+ For I am every dead thing,
+ In whom love wrought new Alchimie.
+ For his art did expresse
+ A quintessence even from nothingnesse,
+ From dull privations, and leane emptinesse:
+ He ruin'd mee, and I am re-begot
+ Of absence, darknesse, death; things which are not.
+
+ All others, from all things, draw all that's good,
+ Life, soule, forme, spirit, whence they beeing have;
+ I, by loves limbecke, am the grave
+ Of all, that's nothing. Oft a flood
+ Have wee two wept, and so
+ Drownd the whole world, us two; oft did we grow
+ To be two Chaosses, when we did show
+ Care to ought else; and often absences
+ Withdrew our soules, and made us carcasses.
+
+ But I am by her death, (which word wrongs her)
+ Of the first nothing, the Elixer grown;
+ Were I a man, that I were one,
+ I needs must know; I should preferre,
+ If I were any beast,
+ Some ends, some means; Yea plants, yea stones detest,
+ And love; All, all some properties invest;
+ If I an ordinary nothing were,
+ As shadow, a light, and body must be here.
+
+ But I am None; nor will my Sunne renew.
+ You lovers, for whose sake, the lesser Sunne
+ At this time to the Goat is runne
+ To fetch new lust, and give it you,
+ Enjoy your summer all;
+ Since shee enjoyes her long nights festivall,
+ Let mee prepare towards her, and let mee call
+ This houre her Vigill, and her Eve, since this
+ Both the yeares, and the dayes deep midnight is.
+\end{poem}
+
+\begin{poem}{A Valediction: forbidding mourning} %10
+\Forma \strophae {010 \LastButOne 1}
+
+ As virtuous men passe mildly away,
+ And whisper to their soules, to goe,
+ Whilst some of their sad friends doe say, \auto
+ The breath goes now, and some say, no:
+
+ So let us melt, and make no noise,
+ No teare-floods, nor sigh-tempests move,
+ T'were prophanation of our joyes
+ To tell the layetie our love.
+
+ Moving of th'earth brings harmes and feares,
+ Men reckon what it did and meant,
+ But trepidation of the spheares,
+ Though greater farre, is innocent.
+
+ Dull sublunary lovers love
+ (Whose soule is sense) cannot admit
+ Absence, because it doth remove
+ Those things which elemented it.
+
+ But we by a love, so much refin'd,
+ That our selves know not what it is,
+ Inter-assured of the mind,
+ Care lesse, eyes, lips, and hands to misse.
+
+ Our two soules therefore, which are one,
+ Though I must goe, endure not yet
+ A breach, but an expansion,
+ Like gold to ayery thinnesse beate.
+
+ If they be two, they are two so
+ As stiffe twin compasses are two,
+ Thy soule the fixt foot, makes no show
+ To move, but doth, if the'other doe.
+
+ And though it in the center sit,
+ Yet when the other far doth rome,
+ It leanes, and hearkens after it,
+ And growes erect, as that comes home.
+
+ Such wilt thou be to mee, who must
+ Like th'other foot, obliquely runne;
+ Thy firmnes makes my circle just,
+ And makes me end, where I begunne.
+\end{poem}
+
+
+\begin{poem}{The Extasie} %11
+\Forma \strophae {010 \LastButOne 1}
+
+ Where, like a pillow on a bed,
+ A Pregnant banke swel'd up, to rest \auto
+ The violets reclining head,
+ Sat we two, one anothers best.
+ Our hands were firmely cimented
+ With a fast balme, which thence did spring,
+ Our eye-beames twisted, and did thred
+ Our eyes, upon one double string;
+ So to'entergraft our hands, as yet
+ Was all the meanes to make us one,
+ And pictures in our eyes to get
+ Was all our propagation.
+ As 'twixt two equall Armies, Fate
+ Suspends uncertaine victorie,
+ Our soules, (which to advance their state,
+ Were gone out,) hung 'twixt her, and mee.
+ And whil'st our soules negotiate there,
+ Wee like sepulchrall statues lay;
+ All day, the same our postures were,
+ And wee said nothing, all the day.
+ If any, so by love refin'd,
+ That he soules language understood,
+ And by good love were growen all minde,
+ Within convenient distance stood,
+ He (though he knew not which soule spake,
+ Because both meant, both spake the same)
+ Might thence a new concoction take,
+ And part farre purer then he came.
+ This Extasie doth unperplex
+ (We said) and tell us what we love,
+ Wee see by this, it was not sexe,
+ Wee see, we saw not what did move:
+ But as all severall soules containe
+ Mixture of things, they know not what,
+ Love, these mixt soules, doth mixe againe,
+ And makes both one, each this and that.
+ A single violet transplant,
+ The strength, the colour, and the size,
+ (All which before was poore, and scant,)
+ Redoubles still, and multiplies.
+ When love, with one another so
+ Interinanimates two soules,
+ That abler soule, which thence doth flow,
+ Defects of lonelinesse controules.
+ Wee then, who are this new soule, know,
+ Of what we are compos'd, and made,
+ For, th'Atomies of which we grow,
+ Are soules, whom no change can invade.
+ But O alas, so long, so farre
+ Our bodies why doe wee forbeare?
+ They are ours, though they are not wee, Wee are
+ The intelligences, they the spheare.
+ We owe them thankes, because they thus,
+ Did us, to us, at first convay,
+ Yeelded their forces, sense, to us,
+ Nor are drosse to us, but allay.
+ On man heavens influence workes not so,
+ But that it first imprints the ayre,
+ Soe soule into the soule may flow,
+ Though it to body first repaire.
+ As our blood labours to beget
+ Spirits, as like soules as it can,
+ Because such fingers need to knit
+ That subtile knot, which makes us man:
+ So must pure lovers soules descend
+ T'affections, and to faculties,
+ Which sense may reach and apprehend,
+ Else a great Prince in prison lies.
+ To'our bodies turne wee then, that so
+ Weake men on love reveal'd may looke;
+ Loves mysteries in soules doe grow,
+ But yet the body is his booke.
+ And if some lover, such as wee,
+ Have heard this dialogue of one,
+ Let him still marke us, he shall see
+ Small change, when we'are to bodies gone.
+\end{poem}
+
+
+\begin{poem}{The Relique} %12
+\Forma \strophae {1111202000 \LastButOne 0}
+
+ When my grave is broke up againe \auto
+ Some second ghest to entertaine,
+ (For graves have learn'd that woman-head
+ To be to more then one a Bed)
+ And he that digs it, spies
+ A bracelet of bright haire about the bone,
+ Will he not let'us alone,
+ And thinke that there a loving couple lies,
+ Who thought that this device might be some way
+ To make their soules, at the last busie day,
+ Meet at this grave, and make a little stay?
+
+ If this fall in a time, or land,
+ Where mis-devotion doth command,
+ Then, he that digges us up, will bring
+ Us, to the Bishop, and the King,
+ To make us Reliques; then
+ Thou shalt be a Mary Magdalen, and I
+ A something else thereby;
+ All women shall adore us, and some men;
+ And since at such time, miracles are sought,
+ I would have that age by this paper taught
+ What miracles wee harmelesse lovers wrought.
+
+ First, we lov'd well and faithfully,
+ Yet knew not what wee lov'd, nor why,
+ Difference of sex no more wee knew,
+ Then our Guardian Angells doe;
+ Comming and going, wee
+ Perchance might kisse, but not between those meales;
+ Our hands ne'r toucht the seales,
+ Which nature, injur'd by late law, sets free:
+ These miracles wee did; but now alas,
+ All measure, and all language, I should passe,
+ Should I tell what a miracle shee was.
+\end{poem}
+
+
+\poet{George Herbert\indexes{Herbert, George}}{1593\textendash1633}
+
+\begin{poem}{The Collar} %13
+\Forma \strophae {03101211130212031310030130330323031 \LastButOne 3\\2em}
+ I struck the board, and cry'd, No more.
+ I will abroad.
+ What? shall I ever sigh and pine?
+ My lines and life are free; free as the rode,
+ Loose as the winde, as large as store.
+ Shall I be still in suit?
+ Have I no harvest but a thorn
+ To let me bloud, and not restore
+ What I have lost with cordiall fruit?
+ Sure there was wine
+ Before my sighs did drie it: there was corn
+ Before my tears did drown it.
+ Is the yeare onely lost to me?
+ Have I no bayes to crown it?
+ No flowers, no garlands gay? all blasted?
+ All wasted?
+ Not so, my heart: but there is fruit,
+ And thou hast hands.
+ Recover all thy sigh-blown age
+ On double pleasures: leave thy cold dispute
+ Of what is fit, and not; forsake thy cage,
+ Thy rope of sands,
+ Which pettie thoughts have made, and made to thee
+ Good cable, to enforce and draw,
+ And be thy law,
+ While thou didst wink and wouldst not see.
+ Away; take heed:
+ I will abroad.
+ Call in thy deaths head there: tie up thy fears.
+ He that forbears
+ To suit and serve his need,
+ Deserves his load.
+ But as I rav'd and grew more fierce and wilde
+ At every word,
+ Me thoughts I heard one calling, \textit{Childe!}
+ And I reply'd, \textit{My Lord}.
+\end{poem}
+\begin{poem}{Aaron}
+\Forma \strophae {2101 \LastButOne 2\\2em}
+
+ Holinesse on the head,
+ Light and perfections on the breast,
+ Harmonious bells below, raising the dead
+ To leade them unto life and rest.
+ Thus are true Aarons drest.
+ Profanenesse in my head,
+ Defects and darknesse in my breast,
+ A noise of passions ringing me for dead
+ Unto a place where is no rest.
+ Poore priest thus am I drest.
+ Onely another head
+ I have, another heart and breast,
+ Another musick, making live not dead,
+ Without whom I could have no rest:
+ In him I am well drest.
+ Christ is my onely head,
+ My alone onely heart and breast,
+ My onely musick, striking me ev'n dead;
+ That to the old man I may rest,
+ And be in him new drest.
+
+ So holy in my head,
+ Perfect and light in my deare breast,
+ My doctrine tun'd by Christ, (who is not dead,
+ But lives in me while I do rest)
+ Come people; Aaron 's drest.
+
+
+\end{poem}
+\begin{poem}{Discipline}
+\Forma \strophae {003 \LastButOne 0}
+
+ Throw away thy rod,
+ Throw away thy wrath: \auto
+ O my God,
+ Take the gentle path.
+
+ For my hearts desire
+ Unto thine is bent:
+ I aspire
+ To a full consent.
+
+ Not a word or look
+ I affect to own,
+ But by book,
+ And thy book alone.
+
+ Though I fail, I weep:
+ Though I halt in pace,
+ Yet I creep
+ To the throne of grace.
+
+ Then let wrath remove;
+ Love will do the deed:
+ For with love
+ Stonie hearts will bleed.
+
+ Love is swift of foot;
+ Love 's a man of warre,
+ And can shoot,
+ And can hit from farre.
+
+ Who can scape his bow?
+ That which wrought on thee,
+ Brought thee low,
+ Needs must work on me.
+
+ Throw away thy rod;
+ Though man frailties hath,
+ Thou art God:
+ Throw away thy wrath.
+
+\end{poem}
+\begin{poem}{Redemption}
+\Forma \strophae {0110011001101 \LastButOne 1}
+
+ Having been tenant long to a rich Lord, \auto
+ Not thriving, I resolved to be bold,
+ And make a suit unto him, to afford
+ A new small-rented lease, and cancell th' old.
+
+ In heaven at his manour I him sought:
+ They told me there, that he was lately gone
+ About some land, which he had dearly bought
+ Long since on earth, to take possession.
+
+ I straight return'd, and knowing his great birth,
+ Sought him accordingly in great resorts;
+ In cities, theatres, gardens, parks, and courts:
+ At length I heard a ragged noise and mirth
+
+ Of theeves and murderers: there I him espied,
+ Who straight, \textit{Your suit is granted}, said, \& died.
+
+\end{poem}
+
+\newpage
+\begin{poem}{Easter-wings}
+\Forma \strophae [10]{c{.5ex}}
+\Locus \textus {+0pt}
+Lord, who createdst man in wealth and store,
+Though foolishly he lost the same,
+Decaying more and more,
+Till he became
+Most poore
+With thee
+O let me rise
+As larks, harmoniously,
+And sing this day thy victories:
+Then shall the fall further the flight in me.
+My tender age in sorrow did beginne:
+And still with sicknesses and shame
+Thou didst so punish sinne,
+That I became
+Most thinne.
+With thee
+Let me combine,
+And feel this day thy victorie:
+For, if I imp my wing on thine,
+Affliction shall advance the flight in me.
+\end{poem}
+
+\poet{Richard Crashaw\indexes{Crashaw, Richard}}{1612\textendash1649}
+
+\begin{poem}{Hymn of the Nativity\\Sung as by the Shepheards}
+\Drama
+\Facies\personae{\textsc{#1}}
+\Locus\personae{\centre}
+\SpatiumSupra\personam{1ex plus .25ex minus .25ex\penalty -100}
+\SpatiumInfra\personam{.33ex plus .11ex\penalty 10000}
+\persona*[1]{Chorus}
+\persona*[2]{Tityrus}
+\persona*[3]{Thyrsis}
+\persona*[4]{Both}
+\persona*[5]{Full Chorus}
+\Forma \strophae {010 \LastButOne 1}
+\Locus \textus {\auto}
+
+ \1 Come we shepheards whose blest Sight \auto
+ Hath mett love's Noon in Nature's night;
+ Come lift we up our loftyer Song
+ And wake the \textit{Sun} that lyes too long.
+
+\Forma \strophae {01010 \LastButOne 0}
+
+ To all our world of well-stoln joy
+ He slept; and dream't of no such thing;
+ While we found out Heavn's fairer eye
+ And Kis't the Cradle of our \textit{King}.
+ Tell him He rises now too late
+ To show us ought worth looking at.
+
+ Tell him we now can show Him more
+ Then He e're show'd to mortall Sight;
+ Then he Himselfe e're saw before;
+ Which to be seen needes not His light.
+ Tell him, Tityrus, where th' hast been,
+ Tell him, Thyrsis, what th' hast seen.
+
+ \2 Gloomy night embrac't the Place
+ Where The Noble Infant lay.
+ The \textit{Babe} look't up \& shew'd his Face;
+ In spite of Darknes, it was DAY.
+ It was \textit{Thy} day, \textit{Sweet}! \& did rise
+ Not from the \textit{East}, but from thine \textit{Eyes}.
+
+{\Forma \strophae {}
+ \1 It was \textit{Thy} day, Sweet, \&c.
+}
+
+ \3 \textit{Winter} chidde aloud; \& sent
+ The angry North to wage his warres.
+ The North forgott his feirce Intent;
+ And left perfumes in stead of scarres.
+ By those sweet eyes persuasive powrs
+ Where he mean't frost, he scatter'd flowrs.
+
+{\Forma \strophae {}
+ \1 By those sweet eyes, \&c.
+}
+
+ \4 We saw thee in thy baulmy Nest,
+ Young dawn of our eternall \textit{Day}!
+ We saw thine eyes break from their \textit{East}
+ And chase the trembling shades away.
+ We saw thee; \& we blest the sight,
+ We saw thee by thine own sweet light.
+
+ \2 Poor \textit{World} (said I) what wilt thou doe
+ To entertain this starry \textit{Stranger}?
+ Is this the best thou canst bestow?
+ A cold, and not too cleanly, manger?
+ Contend ye powres of heav'n \& earth
+ To fitt a bed for this huge birthe.
+
+{\Forma \strophae {}
+ \1 Contend ye powers, \&c.
+}
+
+ \3 Proud world, said I; cease your contest,
+ And let the \textit{Mighty} \textit{Babe} alone.
+ The Phoenix builds the Phoenix' nest.
+ Lov's architecture is his own.
+ The \textit{Babe} whose birth embraves this morn,
+ Made his own bed e're he was born.
+
+{\Forma \strophae {}
+ \1 The \textit{Babe} whose, \&c.
+}
+
+ \2 I saw the curl'd drops, soft \& slow,
+ Come hovering o're the place's head;
+ Offring their whitest sheets of snow
+ To furnish the fair \textit{Infant}'s bed:
+ Forbear, said I; be not too bold.
+ Your fleece is white, But t'is too cold.
+
+{\Forma \strophae {}
+ \1 Forbear, sayd I, \&c.
+}
+
+ \3 I saw the obsequious \textit{Seraphins}
+ Their rosy fleece of fire bestow,
+ For well they now can spare their wings,
+ Since \textit{Heaven} it self lyes here below.
+ Well done, said I: but are you sure
+ Your down so warm, will passe for pure?
+
+{\Forma \strophae {}
+ \1 Well done sayd I, \&c.
+}
+
+ \2 No no, your \textit{King}'s not yet to seeke
+ Where to repose his Royall \textit{Head},
+ See see, how soon his new-bloom'd \textit{Cheek}
+ Twixt's mother's brests is gone to bed.
+ Sweet choise, said we! no way but so
+ Not to ly cold, yet sleep in snow.
+
+{\Forma \strophae {}
+ \1 Sweet choise, said we, \&c.
+}
+
+ \4 We saw thee in thy baulmy nest,
+ Bright dawn of our eternall Day!
+ We saw thine eyes break from their \textit{East}
+ And chase the trembling shades away.
+ We saw thee: \& we blest the sight.
+ We saw thee, by thine own sweet light.
+
+{\Forma \strophae {}
+ \1 We saw thee, \&c.
+}
+
+
+ \5 Wellcome, all \textit{Wonders} in one sight!
+ Eternity shutt in a span.
+ Sommer in Winter. Day in Night.
+ Heaven in earth, \& \textit{God} in \textit{Man}.
+ Great little one! whose all-embracing birth
+ Lifts earth to heaven, stoopes heav'n to earth.
+
+ \textit{Wellcome}. Though nor to gold nor silk.
+ To more then Caesar's birth right is;
+ Two sister-seas of Virgin-Milk,
+ With many a rarely-temper'd kisse
+ That breathes at once both \textit{Maid} \& \textit{Mother},
+ Warmes in the one, cooles in the other.
+
+ \textit{Wellcome}, though not to those gay flyes
+ Guilded ith' Beames of earthly kings;
+ Slippery soules in smiling eyes;
+ But to poor Shepherds, home-spun things:
+ Whose Wealth 's their flock; whose witt, to be
+ Well read in their simplicity.
+
+ Yet when young April's husband showrs
+ Shall blesse the fruitfull Maia's bed,
+ We'l bring the First-born of her flowrs
+ To kisse thy \textit{Feet} \& crown thy \textit{Head}.
+ To thee, dread Lamb! whose love must keep
+ The shepheards, more then they the sheep.
+
+ To \textit{Thee} meek Majesty! soft \textit{King}
+ Of simple \textit{Graces} \& sweet \textit{Loves}.
+ Each of us his lamb will bring
+ Each his pair of sylver Doves;
+ Till burnt at last in fire of Thy fair eyes,
+ Our selves become our own best \textit{Sacrifice}.
+\endDrama
+\end{poem}
+
+\poet{Andrew Marvell\indexes{Marvell, Andrew}}{1621\textendash1678}
+
+\begin{poem}{A Dialogue between\\ The Resolved Soul, and Created Pleasure}
+
+Courage my Soul, now learn to wield \auto
+The weight of thine immortal Shield.
+Close on thy Head thy Helmet bright.
+Ballance thy Sword against the Fight.
+See where an Army, strong as fair,
+With silken Banners spreads the air.
+Now, if thou bee'st that thing Divine,
+In this day's Combat let it shine:
+And shew that Nature wants an Art
+To conquer one resolved Heart.
+
+\Drama
+\Facies \personae {\textsc{#1}}
+\Locus {\centre}
+\SpatiumSupra {1ex plus .25ex minus .25ex\penalty -100}
+\SpatiumInfra {.33ex plus .11ex\penalty 10000}
+\persona*[1]{pleasure}
+\persona*[2]{soul}
+\persona*[3]{chorus}
+
+\1 Welcome the Creations Guest,
+Lord of Earth, and Heavens Heir.
+Lay aside that Warlike Crest,
+And of Nature's banquet share:
+Where the Souls of fruits and flow'rs
+Stand prepar'd to heighten yours.
+
+\2 I sup above, and cannot stay
+To bait so long upon the way.
+
+\1 On these downy Pillows lye,
+Whose soft Plumes will thither fly:
+On these Roses strow'd so plain
+Lest one Leaf thy Side should strain.
+
+\2 My gentler Rest is on a Thought,
+Conscious of doing what I ought.
+
+\1 If thou bee'st with Perfumes pleas'd,
+Such as oft the Gods appeas'd,
+Thou in fragrant Clouds shalt show
+Like another God below.
+
+\2 A Soul that knowes not to presume
+Is Heaven's and its own perfume.
+
+\1 Every thing does seem to vie
+Which should first attract thine Eye:
+But since none deserves that grace,
+In this Crystal view thy face.
+
+\2 When the Creator's skill is priz'd,
+The rest is all but Earth disguis'd.
+
+\1 Heark how Musick then prepares
+For thy Stay these charming Aires ;
+Which the posting Winds recall,
+And suspend the Rivers Fall.
+
+\2 Had I but any time to lose,
+On this I would it all dispose.
+Cease Tempter. None can chain a mind
+Whom this sweet Chordage cannot bind.
+
+{\itshape
+\3 Earth cannot shew so brave a Sight
+As when a single Soul does fence
+The Batteries of alluring Sense,
+And Heaven views it with delight.
+Then persevere: for still new Charges sound:
+And if thou overcom'st thou shalt be crown'd.
+}
+
+\1 All this fair, and cost, and sweet,
+Which scatteringly doth shine,
+Shall within one Beauty meet,
+And she be only thine.
+
+\2 If things of Sight such Heavens be,
+What Heavens are those we cannot see?
+
+\1 Where so e're thy Foot shall go
+The minted Gold shall lie;
+Till thou purchase all below,
+And want new Worlds to buy.
+
+\2 Wer't not a price who 'ld value Gold?
+And that's worth nought that can be sold.
+
+\1 Wilt thou all the Glory have
+That War or Peace commend?
+Half the World shall be thy Slave
+The other half thy Friend.
+
+\2 What Friends, if to my self untrue?
+What Slaves, unless I captive you?
+
+\1 Thou shalt know each hidden Cause;
+And see the future Time:
+Try what depth the Centre draws;
+And then to Heaven climb.
+
+\2 None thither mounts by the degree
+Of Knowledge, but Humility.
+
+{\itshape
+\3 Triumph, triumph, victorious Soul;
+The World has not one Pleasure more:
+The rest does lie beyond the pole,
+And is thine everlasting Store.
+}
+\end{poem}
+
+\begin{poem}{On a Drop of Dew}
+\Forma\strophae{0010011001012{-1}0110200222002*{10}0*3 \LastButOne 0}%
+See how the Orient Dew,
+Shed from the Bosom of the Morn \auto
+Into the blowing Roses,
+Yet careless of its Mansion new;
+For the clear Region where 'twas born
+Round in its self incloses:
+And in its little Globes Extent,
+Frames as it can its native Element.
+How it the purple flow'r does slight,
+Scarce touching where it lyes,
+But gazing back upon the Skies,
+Shines with a mournful Light;
+Like its own Tear,
+Because so long divided from the Sphear.
+Restless it roules and unsecure,
+Trembling lest it grow impure:
+Till the warm Sun pitty it's Pain,
+And to the Skies exhale it back again.
+So the Soul, that Drop, that Ray
+Of the clear Fountain of Eternal Day,
+Could it within the humane flow'r be seen,
+Remembring still its former height,
+Shuns the sweat leaves and blossoms green;
+And, recollecting its own Light,
+Does, in its pure and circling thoughts, express
+The greater Heaven in an Heaven less.
+In how coy a Figure wound,
+Every way it turns away:
+So the World excluding round,
+Yet receiving in the Day.
+Dark beneath, but bright above:
+Here disdaining, there in Love.
+How loose and easie hence to go:
+How girt and ready to ascend.
+Moving but on a point below,
+It all about does upwards bend.
+Such did the Manna's sacred Dew destil;
+White, and intire, though congeal'd and chill.
+Congeal'd on Earth: but does, dissolving, run
+Into the Glories of th' Almighty Sun.
+\endDrama
+\end{poem}
+\begin{poem}{The Coronet}
+\Forma\strophae{0110101001101111\LastButOne0}%
+
+ When for the Thorns with which I long, too long, \auto
+ With many a piercing wound,
+ My Saviours head have crown'd,
+ I seek with Garlands to redress that Wrong:
+ Through every Garden, every Mead,
+ I gather flow'rs (my fruits are only flow'rs)
+ Dismantling all the fragrant Towers
+ That once adorn'd my Shepherdesses head.
+ And now when I have summ'd up all my store,
+ Thinking (so I my self deceive)
+ So rich a Chaplet thence to weave
+ As never yet the king of Glory wore:
+ Alas I find the Serpent old
+ That, twining in his speckled breast,
+ About the flow'rs disguis'd does fold,
+ With wreaths of Fame and Interest.
+\Forma\strophae{}%
+ Ah, foolish Man, that would'st debase with them,
+ And mortal Glory, Heavens Diadem!
+ But thou who only could'st the Serpent tame,
+ Either his slipp'ry knots at once untie,
+ And disintangle all his winding Snare:
+ Or shatter too with him my curious frame:
+ And let these wither, so that he may die,
+ Though set with Skill and chosen out with Care.
+ That they, while Thou on both their Spoils dost tread,
+ May crown thy Feet, that could not crown thy Head.
+\end{poem}
+\endDrama
+\clearpage
+
+%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%
+%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%
+%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%
+
+
+\newpagestyle {IndexAuthorsPage} {
+
+ \sethead [\oldstylenums{\thepage}]
+ [\textsc{index of authors}]
+ []
+ {}
+ {\textsc{index of authors}}
+ {\oldstylenums{\thepage}}
+}
+
+\TypesetIndex [a] {% The index of authors
+
+\pagestyle {IndexAuthorsPage}
+
+\Facies \tituli {\thispagestyle {empty}\MakeUppercase{#1}}
+\SpatiumInfra {2\leading plus 1\leading minus .5\leading}
+\Caput {\section}
+
+\titulus {Index of Authors}
+
+\Facies \aIndexEntryText {#1}
+\Modus {\leaders}
+
+\Facies \aIndexEntryPage {\oldstylenums{#1}}
+
+}{\clearpage}
+
+%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%
+
+\newpagestyle {IndexTitlesPage} {
+
+ \sethead [\oldstylenums{\thepage}]
+ [\textsc{index of titles}]
+ []
+ {}
+ {\textsc{index of titles}}
+ {\oldstylenums{\thepage}}
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+
+\TypesetIndex {% The index of titles
+
+\pagestyle {IndexTitlesPage}
+
+\Facies \tituli {\thispagestyle {empty}\MakeUppercase{#1}}
+\SpatiumInfra {2\leading plus 1\leading minus .5\leading}
+\Caput {\section}
+
+\titulus {Index of Titles}
+
+\Facies \tIndexEntryText {#1}
+\Modus {\leaders}
+
+\Facies \tIndexEntryPage {\oldstylenums{#1}}
+
+\Facies \lIndexEntryText {#1}
+\Modus {\leaders}
+
+\Facies \lIndexEntryPage {\oldstylenums{#1}}
+
+}{\clearpage}
+
+%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%
+
+\newpagestyle {IndexFirstPage} {
+
+ \sethead [\oldstylenums{\thepage}]
+ [\textsc{index of first lines}]
+ []
+ {}
+ {\textsc{index of first lines}}
+ {\oldstylenums{\thepage}}
+}
+
+\TypesetIndex [l] {% The index of of first lines
+
+\pagestyle {IndexFirstPage}
+
+\Facies \tituli {\thispagestyle {empty}\MakeUppercase{#1}}
+\SpatiumInfra {2\leading plus 1\leading minus .5\leading}
+\Caput {\section}
+
+\titulus {Index of First Lines}
+
+\Facies \lIndexEntryText {#1}
+
+\Facies \lIndexEntryPage {\oldstylenums{#1}}
+
+}{\clearpage}
+
+
+\end{document}
+