Marvell, Andrew, 1621-1678:  Fleckno, an English Priest at Rome. [from Miscellaneous poems (1681)]

 

 

1           Oblig'd by frequent visits of this man,

2           Whom as Priest, Poet, and Musician,

3           I for some branch of Melchizedeck took,

4           (Though he derives himself from my Lord Brooke)

5           I sought his Lodging; which is at the Sign

6           Of the sad Pelican; Subject divine

7           For Poetry: There three Stair-Cases high,

8           Which signifies his triple property,

9           I found at last a Chamber, as 'twas said,

10         But seem'd a Coffin set on the Stairs head.

11         Not higher then Seav'n, nor larger then three feet;

12         Only there was nor Seeling, nor a Sheet,

13         Save that th'ingenious Door did as you come

14         Turn in, and shew to Wainscot half the Room.

15         Yet of his State no man could have complain'd;

16         There being no Bed where he entertain'd:

17         And though within one Cell so narrow pent,

18         He'd Stanza's for a whole Appartement.

 

19         Straight without further information,

20         In hideous verse, he, and a dismal tone,

21         Begins to exercise; as if I were

22         Possest; and sure the Devil brought me there.

23         But I, who now imagin'd my self brought

24         To my last Tryal, in a serious thought

25         Calm'd the disorders of my youthful Breast,

26         And to my Martyrdom prepared Rest.

27         Only this frail Ambition did remain,

28         The last distemper of the sober Brain,

29         That there had been some present to assure

30         The future Ages how I did indure:

31         And how I, silent, turn'd my burning Ear

32         Towards the Verse; and when that could ne'er

33         Held him the other; and unchanged yet,

34         Ask'd still for more, and pray'd him to repeat:

35         Till the Tyrant, weary to persecute,

36         Left off, and try'd t'allure me with his Lute.

 

37         Now as two Instruments, to the same key

38         Being tun'd by Art, if the one touched be

39         The other opposite as soon replies,

40         Mov'd by the Air and hidden Sympathies;

41         So while he with his gouty Fingers craules

42         Over the Lute, his murmuring Belly calls,

43         Whose hungry Guts to the same streightness twin'd

44         In Echo to the trembling Strings repin'd.

 

45         I, that perceiv'd now what his Musick ment,

46         Ask'd civilly if he had eat this Lent.

47         He answered yes; with such, and such an one.

48         For he has this of gen'rous, that alone

49         He never feeds; save only when he tryes

50         With gristly Tongue to dart the passing Flyes.

51         I ask'd if he eat flesh. And he, that was

52         So hungry that though ready to say Mass

53         Would break his fast before, said he was Sick,

54         And th'Ordinance was only Politick.

55         Nor was I longer to invite him: Scant

56         Happy at once to make him Protestant,

57         And Silent. Nothing now Dinner stay'd

58         But till he had himself a Body made.

59         I mean till he were drest: for else so thin

60         He stands, as if he only fed had been

61         With consecrated Wafers: and the Host

62         Hath sure more flesh and blood then he can boast.

63         This Basso Relievo of a Man,

64         Who as a Camel tall, yet easly can

65         The Needles Eye thread without any stich,

66         (His only impossible is to be rich)

67         Lest his too suttle Body, growing rare,

68         Should leave his Soul to wander in the Air,

69         He therefore circumscribes himself in rimes;

70         And swaddled in's own papers seaven times,

71         Wears a close Jacket of poetick Buff,

72         With which he doth his third Dimension Stuff.

73         Thus armed underneath, he over all

74         Does make a primitive Sotana fall;

75         And above that yet casts an antick Cloak,

76         Worn at the first Counsel of Antioch;

77         Which by the Jews long hid, and Disesteem'd,

78         He heard of by Tradition, and redeem'd.

79         But were he not in this black habit deck't,

80         This half transparent Man would soon reflect

81         Each colour that he past by; and be seen,

82         As the Chamelion, yellow, blew, or green.

 

83         He drest, and ready to disfurnish now

84         His Chamber, whose compactness did allow

85         No empty place for complementing doubt,

86         But who came last is forc'd first to go out;

87         I meet one on the Stairs who made me stand,

88         Stopping the passage, and did him demand:

89         I answer'd he is here Sir; but you see

90         You cannot pass to him but thorow me.

91         He thought himself affronted; and reply'd,

92         I whom the Pallace never has deny'd

93         Will make the way here; I said Sir you'l do

94         Me a great favour, for I seek to go.

95         He gathring fury still made sign to draw;

96         But himself there clos'd in a Scabbard saw

97         As narrow as his Sword's; and I, that was

98         Delightful, said there can no Body pass

99         Except by penetration hither, where

100       Two make a crowd, nor can three Persons here

101       Consist but in one substance. Then, to fit

102       Our peace, the Priest said I too had some wit:

103       To prov't, I said, the place doth us invite

104       But its own narrowness, Sir, to unite.

105       He ask'd me pardon; and to make me way

106       Went down, as I him follow'd to obey.

107       But the propitiatory Priest had straight

108       Oblig'd us, when below, to celebrate

109       Together our attonement: so increas'd

110       Betwixt us two the Dinner to a Feast.

 

111       Let it suffice that we could eat in peace;

112       And that both Poems did and Quarrels cease

113       During the Table; though my new made Friend

114       Did, as he threatned, ere 'twere long intend

115       To be both witty and valiant: I loth,

116       Said 'twas too late, he was already both.

 

117       But now, Alas, my first Tormentor came,

118       Who satisfy'd with eating, but not tame

119       Turns to recite; though Judges most severe

120       After th'Assizes dinner mild appear,

121       And on full stomach do condemn but few:

122       Yet he more strict my sentence doth renew;

123       And draws out of the black box of his Breast

124       Ten quire of paper in which he was drest.

125       Yet that which was a greater cruelty

126       Then Nero's Poem he calls charity:

127       And so the Pelican at his door hung

128       Picks out the tender bosome to its young.

 

129       Of all his Poems there he stands ungirt

130       Save only two foul copies for his shirt:

131       Yet these he promises as soon as clean.

132       But how I loath'd to see my Neighbour glean

133       Those papers, which he pilled from within

134       Like white fleaks rising from a Leaper's skin!

135       More odious then those raggs which the French youth

136       At ordinaries after dinner show'th,

137       When they compare their Chancres and Poulains.

138       Yet he first kist them, and after takes pains

139       To read; and then, because he understood

140       Not one Word, thought and swore that they were good.

141       But all his praises could not now appease

142       The provok't Author, whom it did displease

143       To hear his Verses, by so just a curse,

144       That were ill made condemn'd to be read worse:

145       And how (impossible) he made yet more

146       Absurdityes in them then were before.

147       For he his untun'd voice did fall or raise

148       As a deaf Man upon a Viol playes,

149       Making the half points and the periods run

150       Confus'der then the atomes in the Sun.

151       Thereat the Poet swell'd, with anger full,

152       And roar'd out, like Perillus in's own Bull;

153       Sir you read false. That any one but you

154       Should know the contrary. Whereat, I, now

155       Made Mediator, in my room, said, Why?

156       To say that you read false Sir is no Lye.

157       Thereat the waxen Youth relented straight;

158       But saw with sad dispair that was too late.

159       For the disdainful Poet was retir'd

160       Home, his most furious Satyr to have fir'd

161       Against the Rebel; who, at this struck dead

162       Wept bitterly as disinherited.

163       Who should commend his Mistress now? Or who

164       Praise him? both difficult indeed to do

165       With truth. I counsell'd him to go in time,

166       Ere the fierce Poets anger turn'd to rime.

 

167       He hasted; and I, finding my self free,

168       As one scap't strangely from Captivity,

169       Have made the Chance be painted; and go now

170       To hang it in Saint Peter's for a Vow.