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YOU that can look through Heaven, and tell the stars, | |
Observe their kind conjunctions, and their wars; | |
Find out new lights, and give them where you please, | |
To these men honors, pleasures, to those ease; | |
You that are God’s surveyors, and can show | 5 |
How far, and when, and why the wind doth blow; | |
Know all the charges of the dreadful thunder, | |
And when it will shoot over, or fall under: | |
Tell me, by all your art I conjure ye, | |
Yes, and by truth, what shall become of me? | 10 |
Find out my star, if each one, as you say, | |
Have his peculiar Angel, and his way; | |
Observe my fate, next fall into your dreams, | |
Sweep clean your houses, and new line your seams, | |
Then say your worst: or have I none at all? | 15 |
Or is it burnt out lately? or did fall? | |
Or am I poor, not able, no full flame? | |
My star, like me, unworthy of a name? | |
Is it, your art can only work on those | |
That deale with dangers, dignities, and cloathes? | 20 |
With love, or new opinions? you all lye, | |
A fishwife hath a fate, and so have I, | |
But far above your finding; He that gives, | |
Out of his providence, to all that lives; | |
He that made all the stars, you daily read, | 25 |
And from thence filch a knowledge how to feed; | |
Hath hid this from you, your conjectures all | |
Are drunken things, not how, but when they fall; | |
Man is his own star, and the soul that can | |
Render an honest, and a perfect man | 30 |
Commands all light, all influence, all fate, | |
Nothing to him falls early or too late. | |
Our acts our Angels are, or good, or ill, | |
Our fatal shadows that walk by us still, | |
And when the stars are laboring we believe | 35 |
It is not that they govern, but they grieve | |
Our stubborn ignorance; all things that are | |
Made for our general uses are at war, | |
Even we among ourselves, and from the strife | |
Your first unlike opinions got a life. | 40 |
O man, thou image of thy Maker’s good, | |
What canst thou fear, when breathed into thy blood | |
His spirit is, that built thee? what dull sense | |
Makes thee suspect, in need, that providence? | |
Who made the morning, and who placed the light | 45 |
Guide to thy labors? who called up the night, | |
And bid her fall upon thee, like sweet showers | |
In hollow murmurs, to lock up thy powers? | |
Who gave thee knowledge? who so trusted thee, | |
To let thee grow so near himself, the Tree? | 50 |
Must he then be distrusted? shall his frame | |
Discourse with him, why thus, and thus I am? | |
He made the Angels thine, thy fellows all, | |
Nay, even thy servants, when devotions call. | |
Oh canst thou be so stupid then, so dim, | 55 |
To seek a saving influence, and lose him? | |
Can Stars protect thee? or can poverty, | |
Which is the light to Heaven, put out his eye? | |
He is my star; in him all truth I find, | |
All influence, all fate, and when my mind | 60 |
Is furnished with his fullnesse, my poor story | |
Shall outlive all their Age, and all their glory. | |
The hand of danger cannot fall amiss, | |
When I know what, and in whose power it is. | |
Nor want, the cause of man, shall make me groan; | 65 |
A holy hermit is a mind alone. | |
Doth not experience teach us all we can | |
To work ourselves into a glorious man? | |
Love’s but an exhalation to best eyes | |
The matter’s spent, and then the fool’s fire dyes? | 70 |
Were I in love, and could that bright star bring | |
Increase to wealth, honor, and every thing: | |
Were she as perfect good as we can aim,— | |
The first was so, and yet she lost the Game. | |
My mistress then be knowledge and faire truth; | 75 |
So I enjoy all beauty and all youth, | |
And though to Time her lights and laws she lends, | |
She knows no Age that to corruption bends. | |
Friends’ promises may lead me to believe, | |
But he that is his own friend knows to live. | 80 |
Affliction, when I know it, is but this, | |
A deep alloy whereby man tougher is | |
To bear the hammer; and the deeper still,— | |
We still arise more image of his will. | |
Sickness an humorous cloud ’twixt us and light, | 85 |
And Death, at longest but another night. | |
Man is his own Star, and that soul that can | |
Be honest is the only perfect man. |
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