Page:Oxford Book of English Verse 1250-1918.djvu/405

 RICHARD CRASHAW

Ripe men of martyrdom, that could reach down

With strong arms their triumphant crown:

Such as could with lusty breath

Speak loud, unto the face of death,

Their great Lord's glorious name; to none

Of those whose spacious bosoms spread a throne

For love at large to fill. Spare blood and sweat*

We'll see Him take a private seat,

And make His mansion in the mild

And milky soul of a soft child.

Scarce has she learnt to lisp a name

Of martyr, yet she thinks it shame

Life should so long play with that breath

Which spent can buy so brave a death.

She never undertook to know

What death with love should have to do.

Nor has she e'er yet understood

Why, to show love, she should shed blood;

Yet, though she cannot tell you why,

She can love, and she can die.

Scarce has she blood enough to make

A guilty sword blush for her sake;

Yet has a heart dares hope to piove

How much less strong is death than love. . ..

Since 'tis not to be had at home,

She'll travel for a martyrdom.

No home for her, confesses she,

But where she may a martyr be.

She'll to the Moors, and trade with them

For this unvalued diadem;

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