Some poets, if debarr’d profaness, wantoness and Satiricalness, (that they may neither abuse God, themselves, nor their neighbours) have their tongues cut out in effect. Others onely trade in wit at the second hand, being all for translations, nothing for invention. Our Quarles was free from the faults of the first, as if he has drank of his Jordan in stead of Helicon, and slept on mount Olivet for his Parnassus, and was happy in his own invention. His visible Poetry (I mean his Emblemes) is excellent, catching therein the eye and fancy at one draught […].
THOMAS FULLER: The History of the Worthies of England (1662)
Born near Romford in Essex, the son of a surveyor-general of victualling for the Navy, Quarles was educated at Christ’s College, Cambridge, before entering Lincoln’s Inn. A strong supporter of the Royalist cause, he found favour at court, and was part of the Princess Elizabeth’s entourage when she travelled to Germany for her marriage to the Elector Palatine. When the Parliamentary party came to power, his star waned, his property was sequestered and his manuscripts were destroyed. He was appointed chronologer to the City of London in 1639. On his death, his wife and nine children lived on in extreme poverty. Although he made a name for himself with a series of biblical paraphrases, A Feast for Worms (1620), he is now mostly remembered for Emblemes (1635), Hieroglyphicks of the Life of Man (1638) and Enchiridion (1640), a collection of moral aphorisms. Eclogues (1646) and The Virgin Widow (1649) were published posthumously. In the Preface to his Emblemes, he attempts a definition of the genre:
An Embleme is but a silent Parable. Let not the tender Eye check, to see the allusion to our blessed Saviour figured in these Types. In holy Scripture, He is sometimes called a Sower; sometimes a Fisher; sometimes a Physician. And why not presented so as well to the eye as to the eare? Before the knowledge of letters God was known by Hieroglyphicks: And, indeed, what are the Heavens, the Earth, nay every Creature, but Hieroglyphicks and Emblemes of His Glory? I have no more to say. I wish thee as much pleasure in the reading, as I had in writing. Farewell, Reader.
The earth did tremble; and heav’n’s closed eye
Was loth to see the Lord of Glory dye:
The Skyes were clad in mourning, and the Spheares
Forgat their harmony; the Clouds dropt teares:
Th’ambitious Dead arose to give him roome;
And ev’ry Grave did gape to be his Tombe;
Th’affrighted heav’ns sent down elegious2 Thunder;
The World’s Foundation loos’d, to lose their Founder;
Th’impatient Temple rent her Vaile in two,
To teach our hearts what our sad hearts should do:
Shall senselesse things doe this, and shall not I
Melt one poore drop to see my Saviour dye?
Drill forth my Teares, and trickle one by one,
Till you have peirc’d this heart of mine, this Stone.
CANTICLES 2. 16.
My beloved is mine, and I am his; He feedeth among the lillies.
Ev’n like two little bank-dividing brooks,
That wash the pebbles with their wanton streams,
And having rang’d and search’d a thousand nooks,
Meet both at length in silver-breasted Thames,
Where in a greater current they conjoin:
So I my best beloved’s am; so he is mine.
Ev’n so we met; and after long pursuit,
Ev’n so we joyn’d; we both became entire;
No need for either to renew a suit,
For I was flax and he was flames of fire:
Our firm-united souls did more then twine;
So I my best beloved’s am; so he is mine.
If all those glitt’ring Monarchs that command
The servile quarters of this earthly ball
Should tender, in exchange, their shares of land,
I would not change my fortunes for them all:
Their wealth is but a counter to my coin:
The world’s but theirs; but my beloved’s mine.
[Nay more; If the fair Thespian Ladies all
Should heap together their diviner treasure:
That treasure should be deem’d a price too small
To buy a minute’s lease of half my pleasure.
’Tis not the sacred wealth of all the nine
Can buy my heart from him, or his, from being mine.]
Nor Time, nor Place, nor Chance, nor Death can bow
My least desires unto the least remove;
He’s firmly mine by oath; I his by vow;
He’s mine by faith, and I am his by love;
He’s mine by water, I am his by wine;
Thus I my best beloved’s am; thus he is mine.
He is my Altar; I, his Holy Place;
I am his guest, and he my living food;
I’m his by penitence; he mine by grace;
I’m his by purchase; he is mine, by bloud!
He’s my supporting elm; and I his vine:
Thus I my best beloved’s am; thus he is mine.
He gives me wealth, I give him all my vows:
I give him songs, he gives me length of dayes;
With wreaths of grace he crowns my conqu’ring brows:
And I his Temples with a crown of Praise,
Which he accepts as an ev’rlasting signe
That I my best beloved’s am; that he is mine.