----- Original Message -----
Sent: Monday, June 25, 2001 6:14 PM
Subject: Oh! make thy Chrystall Buts of
Red Wine bleed
Regarding the poetics of "butts" and "tuns," how about the last four
stanzas of the Rev. Edward Taylor's Meditation 1.10 (1684; on John 6.55, "My
Blood is Drinke indeed")? Out on the frontier of Massachusetts, Taylor was an
unusual Puritan. His verse can startle scholars steeped in the English
Puritanism of John Milton. Here Taylor meditates on the communion
wine:
This Liquour brew'd, thy sparkling Art Divine
Lord, in thy
Chrystall Vessells did up tun,
(Thine Ordinances,) which all Earth o're
shine
Set in thy rich Wine Cellars out to run.
Lord, make thy Butlar
draw, and fill with speed
My Beaker full: for this is drink
indeed.
Whole Buts of this blesst Nectar shining stand
Lockt up with
Saph'rine Taps, whose splendid Flame
Too bright do shine for brightest
Angells hands
To touch, my Lord. Do thou untap the same.
Oh! make thy
Chrystall Buts of Red Wine bleed
Into my Chrystall Glass this
Drink-Indeed.
How shall I praise thee then? My blottings Jar
And
wrack my Rhymes to pieces in thy praise.
Thou breath'st thy Vean still in
my Pottinger
To lay my thirst, and fainting spirits raise.
Thou makest
Glory's Chiefest Grape to bleed
Into my cup: And this is
Drink-Indeed.
Nay, though I make no pay for this Red Wine,
And
scarce do say I thank-ye-for't; strange thing!
Yet were thy silver skies my
Beer bowle fine
I finde my Lord, would fill it to the brim.
Then make my
life, Lord, to thy praise proceed
For thy rich blood, which is my Drink-Indeed.
-- Jon
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