Tixall Poetry/To Mrs E. T. Saying She Could Not be Affraide of My Ghost

by unknown author

To Mrs E. T.

Saying She Could Not Be Affraide of My Ghost.

 

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O that you were all voyce, and I all eare,
You nothing else but speake, I only heare,
When in such accents you so kind appeare.

In such soft whispers, and so sweetly kind
Are messages convey'd to soules resign'd,
By angels, from the Great Eternal mind.

If I were dead you would not feare my ghost!
The greatest favour I could ever boast
For all my services and labour lost.

Lost not to me, but you, to whom they're meant;
They crowne my merrit to its wisht extent,
Though your just scorne their best effect prevent.

But now you've freed me from this life's pretence,
I'le joyful quit all that I have of sence,
To meet in death my long'd-for recompence.

When I a happy ghost about you walke,
See that your promise you doe never balke,
But let me with full freedom to you talke.

Bid servile feare and reverence farewell,
What I dislike, or like, directly tell,
Where you soar'd nobly, where you flag'd, where fell.

In your omissions and commissions too,
Your angell-guardian's office I would doe,
None else more carefull, more concern'd for you.

Your beautye's fear'd effects you first shall know,
Like Phaeton, no middle course would goe,
But fyr'd the stars, then scorcht the earth below.

Your vertues next, even to yourselfe proclay me,
(You hide them now as you would doe a shame)
And warme succeeding ages by their fame.

Then leade you to sad solitary groves,
Where we whole ages will discourse of love's
Various disasters, ev'n till time removes.

How vayne ambition swells the idle heart,
Pleasure corrupts, and gilds the wanton's dart,
And where base proud lucre playes his part,

There Fancy wholly leads the mind astray;
Strength of imagination beares the sway,
Till Reason's empire dwindles cleane away.

All these so free from love's exalted fire
As vice from vertue, and as soon expire,
As greasy meteors, quencht with their owne mire.

Prodigious unions fate to some assignes,
So toade to tulip, inke to paper joynes,
And cherub's beauty to the devill's coynes.

Amongst these strange events, we'le mingle those
Whose happy love with milke and honey flowes,
Whilst broods of joycs their halcion calmes disclose.

Hands ever claspt, and hearts as straitely tyde,
Cemented knots, which nothing can divide,
So firmly in each other they abide.

Their mingled soules they with one rudder steere,
The self same hate, the like aversion beare,
And sympathizing cause of hope and feare.

Their intermixed thoughts pass to and fro,
Give each intelligence of all they know,
Like twins, their soules unto each other grow.

Their minds concentring banish as offence
The least propriety in any sense,
Or any joy, that hath his rise from thence.

Like two bright lamps they burn with equal fires,
Each life takes breath from th' other, and expires;
Their interest but one as their desires.

No storms rise here, no not the least contest,
They reign securely in each other's breast,
Reciprocal fruition still a feast.

The kind results of such a vertuous strife,
Such emulations between man and wife,
Is angells' glory fixt to human life.

Without which, wedlock's but a dirty tye,
A profanation, an ungodly lye,
Where fortunes jugle conscience to comply.

Such friendship's a sweet bread, without all leaven,
Love's strongest chayne, a yoake that's sweet and even,
And leads two soules the easyest way to heaven.

Love's proper spheare, the region of his bliss,
Where nothing else ever transacted is,
And peace and truth eternally doe kiss.

Like Jacob's angells, I will active prove,
Ascend, descend, desire will speed improve,
To beare you sweetest messages of love.