Sylva Part 7

_Jo. Evelyn_, Fil.

THE GARDEN.

_To _J. Evelyn,_ Esquire._

I never had any other Desire so strong, and so like to Covetousness as that one which I have had always, That I might be Master at last of a small House and large Garden, with very moderate Conveniencies joined to them, and there dedicate the remainder of my Life only to the Culture of them, and study of Nature,

And there (with no Design beyond my Wall) whole and entire to lie, In no unactive Ease, and no unglorious Poverty;

Or as _Virgil_ has said, shorter and better for me, that I might there _Studiis florere ign.o.bilis oti_ (though I could wish that he had rather said, _n.o.bilis otii_, when he spoke of his own:) But several accidents of my ill Fortune have disappointed me hitherto, and do still of that Felicity; for though I have made the first and hardest step to it, by abandoning all Ambitions and Hopes in this World, and by retiring from the noise of all Business and almost Company; yet I stick still in the Inn of a hired House and Garden, among Weeds and Rubbish; and without that pleasantest Work of Human Industry, the Improvement of something which we call (not very properly, but yet we call) our own. I am gone out from _Sodom_, but I am not yet arrived at my little _Zoar_: _O let me escape thither, (is it not a little one?) and my Soul shall live._ I do not look back yet: but I have been forced to stop, and make too many halts. You may wonder, Sir, (for this seems a little too extravagant and Pindarical for _Prose_) what I mean by all this Preface; it is to let you know, That though I have mist, like a Chymist, my great End, yet I account my Affections and Endeavours well rewarded by something that I have met with by the bye; which is, that they have procur'd to me some part in your Kindness and esteem; and thereby the honour of having my Name so advantagiously recommended to Posterity, by the _Epistle_ you are pleased to prefix to the _most useful Book_ that has been written in that kind, and which is to last as long as Months and Years.

Among many other _Arts_ and _Excellencies_ which you enjoy, I am glad to find this Favourite of mine the most predominant, That you choose this for your Wife, though you have hundreds of other Arts for your Concubines; though you know them, and beget Sons upon them all, (to which you are rich enough to allow great Legacies) yet the issue of this seems to be design'd by you to the main of the Estate; you have taken most pleasure in it, and bestow'd most Charges upon its Education; and I doubt not to see that Book, which you are pleased to promise to the World, and of which you have given us a large earnest in your Calendar, as accomplish'd, as any thing can be expected from an _Extraordinary Application_, and no ordinary Expences, and a long Experience. I know no body that possesses more private Happiness than you do in your Garden; and yet no Man who makes his Happiness more publick, by a free communication of the Art and Knowledge of it to others. All that I my self am able yet to do, is only to recommend to Mankind the search of that Felicity, which you instruct them how to find and to enjoy.

1.

Happy art thou whom G.o.d does bless With the full choice of thine own Happiness; And happier yet, because thou'rt blest With Prudence how to choose the best: In Books and Gardens thou hast plac'd aright (Things well which thou dost understand, And both dost make with thy laborious hand) Thy n.o.ble innocent delight: And in thy virtuous Wife, where thou again dost meet Both Pleasures more refin'd and sweet: The fairest Garden in her Looks, And in her Mind the wisest Books.

Oh! who would change these soft, yet solid Joys, For empty Shows and senseless Noise; And all which rank Ambition breeds, Which seem such beauteous Flowers, and are such poisonous Weeds?

2.

When G.o.d did Man to his own Likeness make, As much as Clay, though of the purest kind, By the great Potters Art refin'd, Could the Divine Impression take: He thought it fit to place him, where A kind of Heav'n too did appear, As far as Earth could such a likeness bear: That Man no Happiness might want, Which Earth to her first Master could afford; He did a Garden for him plant By the quick hand of his Omnipotent Word.

As the chief Help and Joy of Humane Life, He gave him the first Gift; first, ev'n before a Wife.

3.

For G.o.d, the universal Architect, 'T had been as easie to erect A Louvre, or Escurial, or a Tower, That might with Heav'n communication hold As _Babel_ vainly thought to do of old: He wanted not the skill or power, In the World's Fabrick those were shown, And the Materials were all his own.

But well he knew what place would best agree With Innocence, and with Felicity: And we elsewhere still seek for them in vain, If any part of either yet remain; If any part of either we expect, This may our judgement in the search direct; G.o.d the first Garden made, and the first City, _Cain_.

4.

O blessed Shades! O gentle cool retreat From all th' immoderate Heat, In which the frantick World does burn and sweat!

This does the Lion Star, Ambitions rage; This Avarice, the Dog-Stars Thirst a.s.swage; Every where else their fatal Power we see, They make and rule Man's wretched Destiny: They neither set, nor disappear, But tyrannize o'er all the Year; Whil'st we ne'er feel their Flame or Influence here.

The Birds that dance from Bough to Bough, And sing above in every Tree, Are not from Fears and Cares more free, Than we who lie, or walk below, And should by right be Singers too.

What Princes Quire of Musick can excel That which within this Shade does dwell?

To which we nothing pay or give, They like all other Poets live, Without Reward, or Thanks for their obliging Pains; 'Tis well if they become not Prey: The Whistling Winds add their less artful Strains, And a grave Base the murmuring Fountains play; Nature does all this Harmony bestow, But to our Plants, Arts, Musick too, The Pipe, Theorbo, and Guitar we owe; The Lute it self, which once was Green and Mute: When _Orpheus_ struck th' inspired Lute, The Trees danc'd round, and understood By Sympathy the Voice of Wood.

5.

These are the Spells that to kind Sleep invite, And nothing does within resistance make, Which yet we moderately take; Who wou'd not choose to be awake, While he's incompa.s.s'd round with such delight, To th' Ear, the Nose, the Touch, the Taste, and Sight?

When _Venus_ wou'd her dear _Ascanius_ keep A Pris'ner in the downy Bands of Sleep, She od'rous Herbs and Flowers beneath him spread As the most soft and sweetest Bed; Not her own Lap would more have charm'd his Head.

Who, that has Reason, and his Smell, Would not among Roses and Jasmin dwell, Rather than all his Spirits choak With Exhalations of Dirt and Smoak?

And all th' uncleanness which does drown In pestilential Clouds a pop'lous Town?

The Earth it self breaths better Perfumes here, Than all the Female Men or Women there, Not without cause about them bear.

6.

When _Epicurus_ to the World had taught, That Pleasure was the Chiefest Good, (And was perhaps i'th' right, if rightly understood) His Life he to his Doctrine brought, And in a Gardens Shade that Sovereign Pleasure sought.

Whoever a true Epicure would be, May there find cheap and virtuous Luxury.

_Vitellius_ his Table, which did hold As many Creatures as the Ark of old: That Fiscal Table, to which every day All Countries did a constant Tribute pay, Could nothing more delicious afford, Than Natures Liberality, Helpt with a little Art and Industry, Allows the meanest Gard'ners board.

The wanton Taste no Fish or Fowl can choose, For which the Grape or Melon she would loose, Though all th' Inhabitants of Sea and Air Be listed in the Gluttons Bill of Fare; Yet still the Fruits of Earth we see Plac'd the third Story high in all her Luxury.

7.

But with no Sense the Garden does comply; None courts or flatters, as it does the Eye: When the great _Hebrew_ King did almost strain The wond'rous Treasures of his Wealth and Brain, His Royal Southern Guest to entertain; Though she on Silver Floors did tread, With bright _a.s.syrian_ Carpets on them spread, To hide the Metals Poverty: Though she look'd up to Roofs of Gold, And nought around her could behold But Silk and rich Embroidery, And _Babylonian_ Tapistry, And wealthy _Hiram's_ Princely Dy: Though _Ophirs_ Starry Stones met every where her Eye; Though she her self and her gay Host were drest With all the s.h.i.+ning Glories of the East; When lavish Art her costly work had done, The honour and the Prize of Bravery Was by the Garden from the Palace won; And every Rose and Lilly there did stand Better attir'd by Natures hand: The case thus judg'd against the King we see, By one that would not be so Rich, though Wiser far than he.

8.

Nor does this happy place only dispense Such various Pleasures to the Sense, Here Health it self does live, That Salt of Life which does to all a relish give, Its standing Pleasure, and intrinsick Wealth, The Bodies Virtue, and the Souls good Fortune, Health.

The Tree of Life, when it in _Eden_ stood, Did its Immortal Head to Heaven rear; It lasted a tall Cedar till the Flood; Now a small th.o.r.n.y Shrub it does appear; Nor will it thrive too every where: It always here is freshest seen; 'Tis only here an Ever-green.

If through the strong and beauteous Fence Of Temperance and Innocence, And wholesome Labours, and a quiet Mind, Diseases Pa.s.sage find, They must not think here to a.s.sail A Land unarmed, or without a Guard; They must fight for it, and dispute it hard, Before they can prevail: Scarce any Plant is growing here Which against Death some Weapon does not bear.

Let Cities boast, that they provide For Life the Ornaments of Pride; But 'tis the Country and the Field, That furnish it with Staff and s.h.i.+eld.

9.

Where does the Wisdom and the Power Divine In a more bright and sweet Reflection s.h.i.+ne?

Where do we finer Strokes and Colours see Of the Creator's real Poetry, Than when we with attention look Upon the third days Volume of the Book?

If we could open and intend our Eye, We all like _Moses_ should espy Ev'n in a Bush the radiant Deity.

But we despise these his inferior ways, (Though no less full of Miracle and Praise) Upon the Flowers of Heaven we gaze; The Stars of Earth no wonder in us raise, Though these perhaps do more than they, The Life of Mankind sway.

Although no part of mighty Nature be More stor'd with Beauty, Power, and Mystery; Yet to encourage human Industry, G.o.d has so ordered, that no other Part Such s.p.a.ce, and such Dominion leaves for Art.

10.

We no where Art do so triumphant see, As when it Grafts or Buds the Tree; In other things we count it to excel, If it a Docile Scholar can appear To Nature, and but imitate her well; It over-rules, and is her Master here.

It imitates her Makers Power Divine, And changes her sometimes, and sometimes does refine: It does, like Grace, the fallen Tree restore To its blest State of Paradise before: Who would not joy to see his conquering hand O'er all the vegetable World command?

And the wild Giants of the Wood receive What Law he's pleas'd to give?

He bids th' ill-natur'd Crab produce The gentle Apples Winy Juice; The golden Fruit that worthy is Of _Galetea_'s purple Kiss; He does the savage Hawthorn teach To bear the Medlar and the Pear, He bids the rustick Plumb to rear A n.o.ble Trunk, and be a Peach, Ev'n _Daphnes_ Coyness he does mock, And weds the Cherry to her stock, Though she refus'd _Apollo_'s suit; Ev'n she, that chast and Virgin-tree Now wonders at her self, to see That she's a Mother made, and blushes in her fruit.

11.

Methinks I see Great _Diocletian_ walk In the _Salonian_ Gardens n.o.ble Shade, Which by his own Imperial hands was made: I see him smile, methinks, as he does talk With the Amba.s.sadors, who come in vain T' entice him to a Throne again: If I, my Friends (said he) should to you show All the Delights, which in these Gardens grow; 'Tis likelier much, that you should with me stay, Than 'tis that you should carry me away: And trust me not, my Friends, if every day, I walk not here with more delight, Than ever after the most happy fight, In Triumph to the Capitol I rod, To thank the G.o.ds, and to be thought my self almost a G.o.d.

_Chertsea, Aug 16, 1666._ _Abraham Cowley._

DENDROLOGIA

THE FIRST BOOK