Than e'er the fruitful Phoebus' flaming kisses
Kindled on their cold lips. O, had my wishes,
And the dear merits of your Muse, their due,
The year had found some fruit early as you;
Ripe as those rich composures, time computes
Blossoms, but our blest taste confesses fruits.
How does thy April-autumn-meek those cold
Progressions 'twixt whose terms poor Time grows
With thee alone he wears no beard; thy brain
Gives him the morning world's fresh gold again.
'Twas only Paradise, 'tis only thou,

old!

Whose fruit and blossoms both bless the same bough.

Proud in the pattern of thy precious youth,
Nature, methinks, might easily mend her growth.
Could she in all her births but copy thee,

Into the public year's proficiency,

No fruit should have the face to smile on thee,
Young master of the world's maturity!

But such whose sun-born beauties what they borrow
Of beams to-day, pay back again to-morrow,
Nor need be double-gilt. How, then, must these
Poor fruits look pale at thy Hesperides!

Fain would I chide their slowness, but in their
Defects I draw mine own dull character.
Take them, and me in them, acknowledging
How much h my summer waits upon thy spring!*

* From the edition of 1648.

CARMEN DEO NOSTRO,

TE DECET HYMNUS.

SACRED POEMS,

COLLECTED,

CORRECTED,

AUGMENTED,

Most humbly PRESENTED,

TO MY LADY THE COUNTESS OF DENBIGH.

BY HER MOST DEVOTED SERVANT

RICH. CRASHAW.

In hearty acknowledgement of his immortal obligation to her goodness and charity.

CRASHA WE,

THE ANAGRAM "HE WAS CAR."

AS Car then Crashaw, or was Crashaw Car,
Since both within one name combined are?
Yes, Car's Crashaw, he Car; 'tis love

alone

Which melts two hearts, of both composing one;
So Crashaw's still the same: so much desired

By strongest wits; so honour'd, so admired;
Car was but he that enter'd as a friend

With whom he shared his thoughts, and did commend,
While yet he lived, this work; they loved each other:
Sweet Crashaw was his friend: he Crashaw's brother;
So Car hath title then; 'twas his intent

That what his riches penn'd, poor Car should print;
Nor fears he check, praising that happy one
Who was beloved by all; disprais'd by none.
To wit, being pleased with all things, he pleased all.
Nor would he give nor take offence; befall
What might, he would possess himself, and live
As dead, devoid of interest, t' all might give