The Invocation of the Elements, The Longest Night in the Year, 1655

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The Invocation of the Elements, The Longest Night in the Year, 1655

Poem #41

Original Source

Hester Pulter, Poems breathed forth by the nobel Hadassas, University of Leeds Library, Brotherton Collection, MS Lt q 32

Versions

  • Facsimile of manuscript: Photographs provided by University of Leeds, Brotherton Collection

  • Transcription of manuscript: By Leah Knight and Wendy Wall.
  • Elemental edition: By Leah Knight and Wendy Wall.
  • Amplified edition: By Whitney Sperrazza.

How to cite these versions

Conventions for these editions

The Pulter Project: Poet in the Making

  • Created by Leah Knight and Wendy Wall
  • Encoded by Katherine Poland, Matthew Taylor, Elizabeth Chou, and Emily Andrey, Northwestern University
  • Website designed by Sergei Kalugin, Northwestern University
  • IT project consultation by Josh Honn, Northwestern University
  • Project sponsored by Northwestern University, Brock University, and University of Leeds
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X (Close panel)Notes: Transcription

 Editorial note

In these transcriptions we preserve as many details of the original material, textual, and graphic properties of Hester Pulter’s manuscript verse as we have found practical. Whenever possible, for instance, original spelling, punctuation, capitalization, lineation, insertions, deletions, alterations, spacing between words and lines, and indentation are all maintained; abbreviations and brevigraphs are not expanded; and superscript and subscript representations are retained. See full conventions for the transcriptions here.
Line number 6

 Physical note

in left margin: “Water”
Line number 6

 Physical note

“r” appears written over earlier letter, possibly “e”
Line number 11

 Physical note

struck-through with multiple horizontal lines
Line number 11

 Physical note

struck-through with multiple horizontal lines
Line number 14

 Physical note

“a” written over other letter
Line number 19

 Physical note

“t” possibly added later
Line number 29

 Physical note

in left margin: “Ayr”
Line number 33

 Physical note

appears written over imperfectly erased “of”
Line number 41

 Physical note

final “e” erased
Line number 46

 Physical note

remaining half-page blank
Line number 47

 Physical note

in left margin: “ffier”
Line number 49

 Physical note

first minuscule “e” appears corrected from earlier “i”
Line number 50

 Physical note

second “t” may correct other letter, perhaps “c”
Line number 69

 Physical note

in left margin: “Dust, or Earth”; latter two words in different hand from main scribe; first third of page blank
Sorry, but there are no notes associated with any currently displayed witness.
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Transcription

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The invocation of the Elements the longest Night in the Year 1655
The Invocation of the
Gloss Note
fundamental components of the physical world; in ancient philosophy, as in this poem, earth, fire, water, and air
Elements
, The Longest Night in the Year, 1655
The Invocation of the Elements the
Critical Note
Pulter includes a specific time stamp in several of her poems’ titles, such as The Complaint of Thames, 1647 [Poem 4] and This Was Written in 1648, When I Lay in, With my Son John [Poem 45]. In this title, Pulter is hyper-specific, noting both year and date of composition. The “longest night” refers to the winter solstice (or midwinter), always mid-December for the Earth’s Northern Hemisphere. Pulter’s specificity here urges us to think about how the poem’s title offers important framing for its content—a meditation on the relationship among darkness, despair, and death. As we’ll see, the poet pleads for death by water, air, fire, and earth as the poem progresses. But even as this time stamp consequently seems the perfect framing for such a poem, the poem’s central themes are also undermined by this title. The winter solstice is a turning point, part of a yearly cycle. The longest night immediately gives way to the gradual lengthening of daylight and nature’s spring awakening. The poem’s title, then, raises some important questions for reading: Within the poem’s prominent themes of darkness, despair, and death, do we glimpse hope? Are there any signs of light in this seemingly dark poem?
Longest Night
in the Year 1655
In these transcriptions we preserve as many details of the original material, textual, and graphic properties of Hester Pulter’s manuscript verse as we have found practical. Whenever possible, for instance, original spelling, punctuation, capitalization, lineation, insertions, deletions, alterations, spacing between words and lines, and indentation are all maintained; abbreviations and brevigraphs are not expanded; and superscript and subscript representations are retained. See full conventions for the transcriptions here.

— Leah Knight and Wendy Wall
The aim of the elemental edition is to make the poems accessible to the largest variety of readers, which involves modernizing spelling and punctuation as well as adding basic glosses. Spelling and punctuation reflect current standard American usage; punctuation highlights syntax which might otherwise be obscure. Outmoded but still familiar word forms (“thou,” “‘tis,” “hold’st”) are not modernized, and we do not modernize grammar when the sense remains legible. After a brief headnote aimed at offering a “way in” to the poem’s unique qualities and connections with other verse by Pulter or her contemporaries, the edition features a minimum of notes and interpretative framing to allow more immediate engagement with the poem. Glosses clarify synonyms or showcase various possible meanings in Pulter’s time. Other notes identify named people and places or clarify obscure material. We rely (without citation) primarily on the Oxford English Dictionary (OED), the Oxford Reference database, and the King James Version (KJV) of the Bible. When we rely on Alice Eardley’s edition of Pulter’s work, we cite her text generally (“Eardley”); other sources are cited in full. The result is an edition we consider a springboard for further work on Pulter’s poetry. See full conventions for this edition here.

— Leah Knight and Wendy Wall
In my editions of Pulter’s poems, I prioritize accessibility and use my annotations to prompt further exploration. To make the poems accessible to the widest possible audience, I have modernized spelling, punctuation, and capitalization according to American English standards. My editions aim to demonstrate the complexity of Pulter’s thinking, while opening space for the reader’s own analysis and interpretation. I recognize editing as a political act and aim to be as transparent as possible about how I frame Pulter’s poems for the reader. My lengthy annotations are an attempt to reveal my thought processes and make clear the ideological networks that inform my readings.
As an important corollary to Pulter’s conceptual work, I also attend to the material expression of her manuscript object. Her manuscript pages reveal a glimpse of her thinking and writing processes, and I briefly note Pulter’s revisions to the poems in order to foreground her poetic craft. The manuscript features variants and revisions that invite multiple interpretations, and I encourage readers to refer to the manuscript images as they engage with Pulter’s writing. I offer some intertextual references to other early modern texts, but am most interested in drawing out how Pulter’s poems speak to each other as she reflects on clusters of ideas.


— Leah Knight and Wendy Wall
Inscribed beneath the title of this poem is not just a year, as in several other Pulter poems, but a precise indication of the date of composition: the winter solstice, the darkest day of any year. Pulter’s general preoccupation with astronomical observation is thus reflected here, as is her larger concern with—and, often, morbid fixation on—the darkness of the night sky and her corresponding emotional state. This night, though, the speaker invites guests to a wonderful feast: darkness seems, at first, at bay. But we soon realize that the main course she plans to serve is her own body, carved into its constitutive elements of water, air, fire and earth. Those elements are also, paradoxically, her invitees, along with her soul, whose impatience to die motivates the occasion and the poem. Like any good host, the speaker serves up pleasing dishes and chatty flattery at the same time, in a sequence of dramatic monologues implied in her instructions to “ask no more” and “say no more” formulations (echoing Tell Me No More [On the Same] [Poem 11] and Upon the Imprisonment of His Sacred Majesty [Poem 13]). While initially cordial, the speaker’s table-talk at times edges toward indecorous demands to be liquified, vaporized, chilled, and consumed into the earth, increasingly signalling the urgency with which she seeks her death; her sadness at that of her “lovely children”—seven, horribly, by this date—rationalizes her insistence on returning to her own “mother,” the Earth addressed here.

— Leah Knight and Wendy Wall
What is an elegy and how do we know when we’re reading one? The standard definition of an elegy is a lament for the dead, stemming from the Greek word elegos, or “song of mourning.” Pulter’s “Invocation of the Elements” does not explicitly call attention to itself as an elegy; in fact, it reads much more like a philosophical investigation. Like many of Pulter’s poems, it grapples with a range of themes surrounding mortality: nature, cosmology, redemption, and the relationship between body and soul. The poem opens with the poet pleading for death as her soul “rowl[s]” in darkness. The poet then invokes and addresses each of the four elements in turn—water, air, fire, and earth—as she explores the different ways her body and soul could be consumed.
But by line 8, when the poet references her “sad heart,” we glimpse the grief and despair that pervade this poem. Pulter invokes the elements and pleads for death as an antidote to the overwhelming trauma of losing seven children—“seven lovely buds” that have been “drawn dry” (line 21). That trauma and Pulter’s resulting grief drive the poem, which consequently explores how grief can inform and be informed by natural philosophy (a precursor to our modern understanding of science and its various fields of inquiry). Simultaneously lamentation for the dead and philosophical investigation, this poem offers an unusual example of an early modern elegy and a particularly complex aesthetic-scientific object.
In this edition of the poem, I explore several interrelated questions. First, how does Pulter both describe and perform grief throughout the poem? In other words, how does she invite the reader, through language and form, to feel her grief over her children’s deaths? This performance of grief extends to the manuscript’s material features. The ample blank spaces between the poem’s stanzas invite us to consider what roles absence and silence can play in poetic representations of grief. Pulter’s manuscript includes more explicit elegies (Upon the Death of my Dear and Lovely Daughter, Jane Pulter [Poem 10]), and other poems that function more like “Invocation of the Elements”—we might call them elegy-hybrids (see, for instance, On those Two Unparalleled Friends, Sir George Lisle and Sir Charles Lucas, Who Were Shot to Death at Colchester [Poem 7]). How does “Invocation of the Elements” work alongside those others and invite us to extend our understanding of what an elegy is and the kind of work it does? As Frances E. Dolan notes about Pulter’s poem on Lisle and Lucas, “this poem is an anguished lament, but about what exactly?” (see Curation, Commemorating the Dead).
Second, my annotations consider the poem’s intersecting “modes of knowing”—Valerie Traub’s useful phrase for the methods by which things come to be known.
Gloss Note
Traub, “The Nature of Norms in Early Modern England: Anatomy, Cartography, King Lear,” South Central Review 26:1/2 (2009): 42-81.
1
In this poem, Pulter draws on many different modes of knowing that we would now separate into discrete fields, or disciplines: philosophy (“For what is death but cold and night, / Life being only heat and light?”); chemistry (“I into tears am rarified”); and physiology (“Then will my heart forget to beat / And trepidate within my breast”). The poem is also deeply informed by Pulter’s experience as a mother. How are these different modes of knowing displayed and how do they interact throughout the poem? How does this poem’s network of knowledges continue to enhance our understanding of Pulter as both poet and thinker?
The poem’s central conceit—the four elements—provides an important example of how different modes of knowing converge. The elements had philosophical, medical, and spiritual resonances in the early modern period, and we see all of these at work in Pulter’s poem. Inherited from Greek philosophy, early moderns used the four elements to explain nature and the different kinds of matter that exist in nature. Medically, the four elements were linked to the humoral theory of the body. Through the seventeenth-century, the dominant physiological theory was that the human body is made up of fluids. The essential fluids, or humors, corresponded to the four elements and to four distinct stages of life: blood (warm/moist physical qualities linked to air and infancy); yellow bile (warm/dry physical qualities linked to fire and youth); black bile (cold/dry physical qualities linked to earth and adulthood); and phlegm (cold/moist physical qualities linked to water and old age). Spiritually (or, perhaps, cosmologically), the four elements were also an important part of the microcosm-macrocosm understanding of the world—a way to explain humanity’s place in the universe. As Pulter interacts with each element in turn, where and how do we see these different modes of knowing intersect?


— Leah Knight and Wendy Wall
1
Have Patience my aflicted Soul,
Have patience, my afflicted soul:
Have patience, my afflicted soul;
2
Thou Shalt not Long in Darknes Rowl.
Thou shalt not long in darkness
Gloss Note
revolve; proceed; wander; be enveloped
roll
.
Thou shalt not long in darkness
Critical Note
Editors often modernize “rowl” to “roll,” as Leah Knight and Wendy Wall do in their Elemental Edition of the poem. The modernization illuminates several useful connotations for Pulter’s word choice: “roll” can mean revolve, proceed, wander, or be enveloped. Maintaining Pulter’s original spelling, though, reminds us of the term’s important etymological (and aural) connections to the verb “ravel,” particularly its early spellings “rauel” and “rawil.” “Ravel,” in this context, means “to entangle; to confuse, perplex; to render incoherent or muddled” (“ravel, v.1,” OED Online). The feelings of confusion and incoherence evoked by this word are important for some of the later formal features I’ll track in this long poem.
rowl
.
3
I will the Elements implore,
I will the elements implore;
I will the
Critical Note

Pulter capitalizes "Elements" in this opening stanza as she invokes, or summons, the elements for assistance. The capitalization signals the importance of these entities for Pulter, and resonates with early modern understandings of the elements as particularly powerful forces. The four elements—water, air, fire, and earth—were a frequent topic of Renaissance poetry and natural philosophy. See, for instance, John Donne’s “The Dissolution,” which similarly uses the elements to reflect on loss and grief. Another useful comparison is Anne Bradstreet’s “The Four Elements.” Like Pulter, Bradstreet deals with each of the four elements in turn, but imagines the elements competing with each other to determine which is most important to human life. At the time Pulter was writing, the four elements were a familiar part of philosophical and scientific debates about the existence and creation of matter, central to the period’s renewed interest in atomism, for example.

The term “elements” might also be defined more simply as “the constituent parts of a whole.” This definition is particularly useful in thinking about the structure of Pulter’s poem—four stanzas (four “elements”) that each constitute one part of an aesthetic whole. In early modern religious contexts, “elements” could also refer to the “bread and wine used in the Sacrament of the Eucharist” (“element, n.,” OED Online), which directly relates to the poem’s central conceit: death as the “last, best feast” (line 5).

Elements
implore.
4
Then Shall I Need to beg noe More,
Then shall I need to beg no more
Then shall I need to beg no more
5
To come unto my last best feast,
To come unto my last, best feast:
to come unto
Critical Note
Here in the last line of the opening stanza, Pulter introduces the poem’s central conceit: death as the “last, best feast.” The poet is not doing the eating but rather “beg[s]” to be eaten—consumed by death. The poet then invites each of the four elements to be a “guest” at the feast (line 6) and she describes the different ways her body could be consumed by each element.
my last, best feast
.
Water
Water
Water
6
Physical Note
in left margin: “Water”
The
Lymped Lady’es my
Physical Note
“r” appears written over earlier letter, possibly “e”
first
guest,
The
Gloss Note
transparent
limpid
lady’s my first guest;
The
Gloss Note
clear or pure, most often used in relation to fluids
limpid
lady’s my first guest.
7
Cool Cristall Water take thy part,
Cool crystal Water, take
Critical Note
This refers to water’s serving of the speaker’s “feast,” which is a figure for her body.
thy part
:
Cool crystal Water, take thy part:
8
ffirst that which Circles my Sad Heart.
First, that which circles my sad heart;
First,
Critical Note
Pulter refers here to a common theory espoused in both medical and theological texts of the period: the pericardium—the membrane enclosing the heart—was understood to be a thin sac of water. In Thomas Gibson’s The Anatomy of Humane Bodies Epitomized, a lengthy compendium of anatomical knowledge published in several editions throughout the late-seventeenth and early-eighteenth centuries, Gibson helps his reader understand the fluid inside the pericardium by citing John 19.34: “This is that liquor that is supposed to have flown from the side of our Saviour when the soldier pierced it with a spear, for saith the Text (John 19.34.) There came forth blood and water” (London, 1682, Text Creation Partnership digital edition, Early English Books Online, p. 233). In Lewis Bayly’s The Practice of Piety, a hugely popular devotional manual (over 70 editions published by 1821), Bayly references the same story about “blood and water” flowing from Christ’s pierced side, and includes an explanatory marginal note that strikes a distinctly anatomical tone: “There is about man’s heart a skin called Pericardium containing water which cools and moistens the heart, lest it should be scorched with continual motion. This skin once pierced, man cannot live” (London, 1695, Text Creation Partnership digital edition, Early English Books Online, p. 459).
that which circles my sad heart
.
9
Or if my Tears will Satisfie,
Or, if my tears will satisfy,
Or, if my tears will satisfy,
10
To tears Il’e quickly Rariefie,
To tears I’ll quickly
Gloss Note
dissipate
rarefy
.
To tears I’ll quickly
Critical Note
In early modern connotations, “rarefy” most frequently meant “to make thin” or “to make less dense in texture” (“rarefy, v.,” OED Online). Pulter draws on that meaning here as she contemplates how her body might be transformed into tears—the transformation of a solid into a liquid. Pulter explores similar kinds of material transformations in other poems, such as The Revolution [Poem 16], where she considers how her “tears” might “rarefy / to air” (lines 28-29).
rarefy
11
Number them not,
Physical Note
struck-through with multiple horizontal lines
but
count
Physical Note
struck-through with multiple horizontal lines
each
Sand or Star,
Number them not; count sand or star—
Number them
Critical Note
The poem’s first of many medial caesuras—a break or pause in the metrical line that splits the line into two equal parts (in this case, four syllables on either side). Given Pulter’s striking, repeated use of the medial caesura in this stanza (lines 11, 15, 17, 18, 22, and 23), we might consider how her use of this formal feature compares to her contemporary poets. John Donne often uses medial caesuras in his devotional poems: “Thou hast made me, and shall thy work decay? / Repair me now, for now mine end doth haste” (“Thou hast made me,” lines 1-2). Mary Sidney, Countess of Pembroke offers another useful comparison because her psalm translations were such an important model for early modern poets like Pulter writing at the intersection of devotion and politics. In a psalm about God’s omniscience, Pembroke uses medial caesura to emphasize God’s knowledge of the poet’s movements: “if forth I march, thou goest before; / if back I turn, thou com’st behind” (Psalm 139, lines 15-16).
not. Count
sand or
Critical Note
Pulter revised this line in the manuscript. The original line reads: “Number them not, but count each sand or star.” The revised line emphasizes the medial caesura, adding to the midline stops and starts throughout this stanza (see my note on “not. Count”). And the edit from “each sand” to “sand” is crucial for the questions about quantification Pulter raises in these lines. “Each sand” opens the possibility for counting (a collection of grains of sand that can “each” be counted), but “sand” (like “star”) seems an abstraction, a move away from the thing as countable material and a move toward the thing as uncountable idea.
star—
12
You’l Sooner Number them by farr,
You’ll sooner number them by far.
You’ll
Critical Note
We find this theme of excessive weeping in many of Pulter’s poems, such as The Weeping Wish [Poem 61] and On the Horrid Murder Of that Incomparable Prince [Poem 14]. In this poem, weeping is not confined, as we might expect, to the “Water” stanza. Pulter revisits this theme again in the “Air” stanza: “my grief o’erflows / I into tears am rarified” (lines 42-43).
sooner number them by far
.
13
Oh that they had bin Shed for Sin,
O, that they had been shed for sin,
Critical Note
Pulter uses “oh” many times throughout this poem—five times in this stanza alone. Even though she is directly addressing each of the elements, she uses “oh” as an exclamation rather than direct address (or apostrophe), often during moments when she seems overwhelmed by grief. Given the term’s frequent use in apostrophe, though, we might wonder: is this word doing double work throughout the poem?
Oh
Critical Note
With this conditional construction, Pulter draws on a commonplace connection between grief and repentance (she’ll do this again later when she pairs “sin and sorrow” in line 77). If I were weeping in repentance for my sins, the poet reflects, then my tears would be valuable (“in heaven … bottled” [line 14]). Instead, the poet’s tears are shed in grief over the loss of her seven children, first referenced in line 21. This brief nod to repentance, though, raises a useful question about how Pulter links her status as mother to her devotional explorations throughout the manuscript: what kind of relationship does Pulter construct here between the possibility of spiritual redemption and the experience of maternal grief? For more on the connection between grief and repentance, particularly in women’s writing, see Elizabeth Hodgson’s Grief and Women Writers in the English Renaissance (2015), especially pages 8-9.
that they had been shed for sin
,
14
Then they in
Physical Note
“a” written over other letter
heaven
had botle’d bin,
Then they in Heaven had bottled been!
Then they in heaven had bottled been.
15
Why were they Shed? O aſk not why,
Why were they shed? O, ask not why;
Why were they shed?
Critical Note
This and the next eight lines read as a dialogue between the poet and Water. The poet imagines Water asking about the reason for her grief (“why were they [her tears] shed?”). In response, the poet resists repeating the traumatic experiences of her children’s deaths (“If I repeat my woes, I die / a double death” [16-17]). The poet’s responses to Water recall one of Pulter’s poems on her daughter Jane’s death, Tell Me No More [Poem 11]. In both poems Pulter contemplates poetry’s role in articulating grief. Rather than give her reader the details of her children’s deaths, how can she use poetry to mark their absence and her grief? The repetition of “tell me no more” in the poem on Jane’s death is here reprised in the repetition of the exclamatory “Oh”; the echoed phrasing “Oh ask not why” (line 15), “Oh ask no more” (line 17), and “O say no more” (line 42); and the pattern “I die / a n death” (lines 16-17; 22-23).
Oh ask not why
.
16
If I repeat my woes, I dye
If I repeat my woes, I die
If I repeat my woes,
Critical Note
Pulter uses enjambment—the continuation of a sentence or clause through a line break—to emphasize the language of death and dying. “I die” lingers at the end of line 16. Grammatically, the sentence is complete, but Pulter adds the extra weight of “double death” in the next line. How does the formal feature of enjambment contribute to Pulter’s poetic representation of grief throughout the rest of the poem? What effect does it have on the reader, particularly if the poem is read aloud?
I die
17
A dubble Death, O ask noe more,
A double death;
Gloss Note
Pulter’s expression “ask no more” in this line and “say no more” below in l. 42 act as a refrain that she uses to more elaborate effect in Tell Me No More [Poem 11].
O, ask no more
;
A double death. Oh ask no more,
18
Let mee alone, my loſs deplore.
Let me alone my loss deplore.
Let me alone my loss
Gloss Note
weep for, grieve over, lament
deplore
.
19
ffair Nymph thoust
Physical Note
“t” possibly added later
oft
Quencht thirst in mee
Fair nymph,
Gloss Note
thou hast
thou’st
oft quenched thirst in me:
Fair nymph, thou’st oft quenched thirst in me.
20
Retaliate and drink up mee
Retaliate and drink up me!
Retaliate and drink up me.

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21
Seaven Lovly Buds thou hast drawn dry,
Gloss Note
The “buds” stand for seven of Pulter’s children who died.
Seven lovely buds thou hast drawn dry:
Seven lovely buds thou hast drawn dry.
22
Oh Spare the Rest, or elce I dye,
O, spare the rest, or else I die
Oh spare the rest, or else I die
23
A treble Death, O heare mee Speake,
A treble death. O hear me speak!
A
Gloss Note
triple
treble
death. Oh hear me speak!
24
Let not my heart Soe often breake
Let not my heart so often break,
Let not my heart so often break
25
But Let Death Strike mee once for all,
But let Death strike me once for all;
But let death strike me once for all—
26
A little blow will make mee ffall.
A little blow will make me fall.
A little blow will make me fall.
27
Thou didst a whole World once involve
Gloss Note
allusion to the biblical flood; see Genesis 7.
Thou didst a whole world once involve;
Thou didst a whole world once
Gloss Note
Pulter ends her address to Water with a biblical reference to the Old Testament flood, narrated in the Book of Genesis, chapter 7. “Involve” here means “to envelop or enfold.” As water enveloped the world during the flood, the poet pleads for Water to engulf her. “Involve” is a particularly rich term throughout the manuscript, often connected to the “dissolution” of the poet’s body (here: “involve” in line 27 rhymes with “dissolve” in line 28). For more on this term in Pulter’s poetry, see Liza Blake, “Hester Pulter’s Particle Physics and the Poetics of Involution,” Journal for Early Modern Cultural Studies 20.2 (2020): 71-98.
involve
.
28
Then let mee into thee diſsolve
Then let me into thee dissolve!
Then let me into thee
Critical Note
In this context, “dissolve” has some particularly grisly connotations: “to destroy the physical integrity; to disintegrate, decompose” and “to melt or reduce into a liquid condition” (“dissolve, v.,” OED Online). Given the highly physical experience of death Pulter evokes in this line, we might consider: how does Pulter’s engagement with death in this poem compare to her representation of death in other poems—The Hope [Poem 65] or The Circle [3] [Poem 25], for example?
dissolve
.
Ayr
Air
Air
29
Physical Note
in left margin: “Ayr”
Sweet
Ayr, Refreſher of Mankind,
Sweet Air, refresher of mankind,
Sweet Air, refresher of mankind,
30
Let mee at last thy ffavour ffind,
Let me at last thy
Gloss Note
possibly figurative, as in the “fragrance” of renown; esteem, reputation; or, as in “savor,” delight, or pleasing quality
flavor
find:
Let me at last thy favor find.
31
Doe but exhast a little vapour,
Do but
Gloss Note
drain; suck up
exhaust
a little vapor,
Do but
Gloss Note
to draw out or expend
exhaust
Critical Note
This line again emphasizes the fragility of the poet’s corporeal form, recalling the end of the “Water” stanza, where the poet notes, “a little blow will make me fall” (26). “Vapor” is an especially important word choice because it suggests a steamy or moist emission as water transforms into air. In John Swan’s Speculum Mundi, a popular seventeenth-century encyclopedia, he links “vapors” to “clouds”: an “exhalation cold and moist, drawn from the earth out of wet or watery places” (Cambridge, 1635, Text Creation Partnership digital edition, Early English Books Online, p. 143). When Pulter was writing, “vapor” was also a word used in relation to scent. Fragrances were still understood to be emitted as smoke or vapor, which connects to Pulter’s description of the garden in this stanza and her reference to odor as “sweet breath” (lines 36-41).
a little vapor
,
32
Thoul’t quickly blow out my lifs tapour,
Gloss Note
Thou wilt
Thou’lt
quickly blow out my life’s
Gloss Note
candle
taper
.
Thou’lt quickly blow out my life’s
Gloss Note
candlewick, or another word for a wax candle used in devotional or penitential contexts
taper
.
33
T’will bee my last request
Physical Note
appears written over imperfectly erased “of”
to
thee
’Twill be my last request to thee;
’Twill be my last request to thee;
34
Thourt free to all, bee Soe to mee,
Thou’rt free to all—be so to me!
Thou’rt free to all, be so to me.
35
I oft have made thee Such a feast
I oft have made thee such a feast
Critical Note
Another kind of “feast” in the poem—this time a feast of smells and odors—that recalls the “last, best feast” of the opening stanza. The poet goes on to describe briefly the “sweet breath” of her garden’s “blossoms” (lines 38-41), but then cuts herself off, overwhelmed again by grief. Pulter uses garden references and metaphors to do interesting work throughout the manuscript. See, for instance, Invitation to the Country [Poem 2], which, as Liza Blake shows us in her Amplified Edition, construes the garden as both an instrument of political agency and a space of political retreat. Or we could look at The Snail, The Tulip, and The Bee [Poem 118], which imagines the garden as a female separatist community. Finally, we might wonder how the manuscript’s most explicit garden poem (The Garden, or The Contention of Flowers [Poem 12]) both informs and is informed by these other representations.
I oft have made thee such a feast
36
That all the Odours, of the east
That all the odors of the east
That all the odors of the East
37
Could not with their Sweet Breath compare,
Could not with their sweet breath compare,
Could not with their sweet breath compare,
38
Bloſſoms Soe Lovly Young and Rare,
Blossoms so lovely, young, and rare:
Blossoms so lovely, young, and rare:
the

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39
The Woodbine, er’e Aurora doth Ariſe,
The woodbine,
Gloss Note
before
ere
Gloss Note
goddess of dawn
Aurora
doth arise,
The
Gloss Note
honeysuckle flowering plant (lonicera periclymenum), which releases fragrance at night
woodbine
, ere Aurora doth arise,
40
The July fflower before the Shadow fflyes,
The
Gloss Note
carnation
gillyflower
before the shadow flies,
The
Gloss Note
Pulter’s preferred term for “gillyflower,” a common name for several varieties of flowering plants, many of which are heavily scented, including the wallflower (Erysimum genus) and the stock (Matthiola genus).
July-flower
before the shadow flies,
41
The dewey Vi’let
Physical Note
final “e” erased
ore
the halfe blown Roſe
The dewy violet, or the
Gloss Note
half-blossomed
half-blown
rose.
The dewy
Gloss Note
The violet (Violacea family) was especially noted for its fragrance in early modern contexts. In The Garden [Poem 12], the violet flower boasts that it “perfume[s] the air with fair Aurora” (line 282). For an excellent account of the violet’s use in perfumes and herbal recipes, see Colleen Kennedy’s post, “Smelling ‘Violet’ in Renaissance Works,” on The Recipes Project.
violet
, or the
Critical Note
Half-bloomed or half-blossomed. Another flower praised for its scent in early modern contexts, the rose was also a primary example of the ephemerality of youth and beauty, here a reminder of Pulter’s children (“seven lovely buds” [line 21]) and the catalyst for her eruption of grief in the subsequent line. For more on the rose’s scent and the political ramifications of its ephemerality, see Holly Dugan’s chapter on roses, rosewater, and English courts in The Ephemeral History of Perfume: Scent and Sense in Early Modern England (2011).
half-blown rose
42
Oh Say noe More—my grief or’e fflowes
Gloss Note
Pulter’s expression “say no more” in this line and “ask no more” in l. 17 above act as a refrain that she uses to more elaborate effect in Tell Me No More [Poem 11].
O say no more!
My grief o’erflows;
O say no more! My grief o’erflows.
43
I into teares am Rarified,
I into tears am
Gloss Note
dissipated
rarefied
,
Gloss Note
This line directly echoes language from the “Water” stanza and reinforces the poem’s attention to material transformations (see my notes at lines 10 and 31). For another exploration of grief in relation to the material transformation of water and air, see the “sad circle” of sighs and tears in The Circle [1] [Poem 17].
I into tears am rarified
,
44
And thou thy part will bee denied
Gloss Note
The speaker implies she will dissolve wholly into watery tears, and thus deny Air any “part” in the feast of her body.
And thou thy part will be denied.
And thou thy part will be denied.
45
Oh take this Sigh then for thy part,
O take this sigh, then, for thy part,
Critical Note
The “sigh” is Air’s “part,” but Air is denied the rest of the poet’s body, which is again consumed by water (“tears”). Sighs are a constant theme in Pulter’s poetry, signalled in the title pages for the manuscript’s poems and emblems: “Poems Breathed Forth by the Noble Hadassas” and “The Sighs of a Sad Soul Emblematically Breathed Forth by the Noble Hadassah.” But these last two lines of the “Air” stanza show us that the sigh is not just of thematic interest to Pulter; rather, these lines start with a literal exhalation of air—oh. Throughout the poem, but especially here, “oh” is both sigh and breath, a formal marker and performance of feeling.
Oh take this sigh
, then, for thy part,
46
ffor Such another breaks my
Physical Note
remaining half-page blank
Heart
.
For such another breaks my heart.
For such another breaks my
Critical Note
In the manuscript this stanza is followed by a large blank space that fills the rest of the page before the “Fire” stanza begins on the facing leaf. Are we meant to imagine that the poet’s feeling sigh in line 45 (both sigh and breath; both written “oh” and aural exhalation) gives way to a moment of silence? How does this material feature of the manuscript—the blank page space—enhance the poetic work of the “sigh” at the stanza’s end?
heart
.

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ffier
Fire
Fire
47
Physical Note
in left margin: “ffier”
Most
Noble and Illustrious ffier
Most noble and illustrious fire,
Most noble and illustrious fire,
48
Whom (though I know not) I admire
Whom (though I know not) I admire:
Whom (though I know not) I admire,
49
If Such an
Physical Note
first minuscule “e” appears corrected from earlier “i”
Ellement
there bee
If such an element there be,
Critical Note
Pulter begins this stanza emphasizing her unfamiliarity with fire—"whom (though I know not) I admire” (line 48)—so this invitation to the “last, best feast,” more than the others, is a “strange petition” (line 50). The “if” is significant, an exploratory tool that introduces the rhetoric of scientific inquiry into Pulter’s poem. Fire’s status as an element was increasingly contested in seventeenth-century natural philosophy. John Donne succinctly cites the debate in his “Anatomy of the World”: “and new philosophy calls all in doubt; / the element of fire is quite put out” (lines 205-206). For more on the use of “if” and the rhetoric of scientific hypothesis in early modern texts, see Chapter 3 of Jonathan P. Lamb’s Shakespeare in the Marketplace of Words (Cambridge University Press, 2017).
If
such an Element there be,
50
My Strange
Physical Note
second “t” may correct other letter, perhaps “c”
petition
is to thee
My strange petition is to thee.
My strange petition is to thee.
51
Oh hearken to my last deſire
O hearken to my last desire
O hearken to my last desire
52
And help my Sad Soul to expire
And help my sad soul to expire!
And help my sad soul to expire.
53
Contract thy vigour hold thy heat
Contract thy vigor, hold thy heat:
Gloss Note
to draw in, condense
Contract
thy vigor, hold thy heat,
54
Then will my heart forget to beat
Then will my heart forget to beat
Then will
Critical Note
Pulter’s emphasis on the heart as the body’s life-giving center recalls her lines in the “Water” stanza about the pericardium (see my note at line 8). These lines can seem a bit opaque: how will fire “hold[ing] its heat” result in the poet’s heart stopping? In William Harvey’s foundational work on the circulatory system (1628)—the first detailed account of how blood circulates through the body—Harvey associated heat with the motion of blood: “the blood, therefore, required to have motion, and indeed such a motion that it should return again to the heart … for we see motion generating and keeping up heat and spirits under all circumstances.” Harvey’s explanation helps us understand Pulter’s line: by holding its heat and, thereby, denying heat to the poet’s body, fire would cause the poet’s blood to stop circulating. See Anatomical Exercise on the Motion of the Heart, Chapter XV, page 69, cited from The Works of William Harvey, trans. Robert Willis, University of Pennsylvania Press, 1989.
my heart forget to beat
55
And trepidate within my Breast
And
Gloss Note
tremble
trepidate
within my breast.
And
Gloss Note
to tremble with fear
trepidate
within my breast.
56
O then how Sweet will bee my rest
O, then, how sweet will be my rest;
O then how sweet will be
Critical Note
Here Pulter draws on the familiar trope of sleep as a kind of death. Shakespeare’s Hamlet includes a famous use of this analogy in Hamlet’s “to be or not to be” soliloquy: “to die, to sleep; to sleep, perchance to dream” (Act 3, Scene 1). Pulter threads this trope through the remainder of this stanza with references to “sweet slumber,” “sad dreams,” and “blessed night.” For an entire poem centered on this trope, see Why Art Thou Sad at the Approach of Night [Poem 47].
my rest
;
57
What a Sweet Slumber Shall I take
What a sweet slumber shall I take
What a sweet slumber shall I take
58
When my Sad Dreams doe mee forſake
When my sad dreams do me forsake
When my sad dreams do me forsake
59
And ceaſe my aflicted Soul t’afright
And cease my afflicted soul t’affright!
And cease my afflicted soul t’afright.
60
Welcome Oh welcome that blesst Night
Welcome, O welcome, that blessed night.
Critical Note
By repeating this line verbatim three lines later, Pulter uses her characteristic doubling to underscore the poet’s desire for death. The enveloped lines between the repetition convey an almost effortless death: the poet will exhale a “short breath” and her “structure” will “fall” to “dust.” Death is not only “welcome,” but easy.
Welcome, O welcome, that blessed night
.
61
Then doe but my Short Breath Exhale
Then do but my short breath
Gloss Note
draw up
exhale
,
Then do but my short breath exhale,
62
My Structure Straight to dust will fall
My structure straight to
Critical Note
finely disintegrated matter, or original formative physical materials; for the latter, see Genesis 2:7: “And the Lord God formed man [of] the dust of the ground, and breathed into his nostrils the breath of life; and man became a living soul.”
dust
will fall.
My structure straight to dust will fall.
63
Welcome Oh welcome that blest Night
Welcome, O welcome, that blessed night,
Welcome, O welcome, that blessed night,
64
Which Ushers in Eternall Light
Which ushers in eternal light!
Which ushers in eternal light.
65
ffor what is Death but Cold and Night
For what is death but cold and night,
Critical Note
Pulter’s definition of death as “cold and night” turns us back to the poem’s title where she records its composition on the “longest night in the year.” We might also think about how this question about the definition of death and life connect to Pulter’s use of “if” at the stanza’s opening. The Fire stanza, more than any of the others, seems truly an exploration, first marked by the conditional “if,” then by Pulter’s reflection on the relationship between blood and heat, and finally here by the interrogative mode at the stanza’s end.
For what is death but cold and night
,
66
Life beeing onely Heat and Light
Life being only heat and light?
Life being only heat and light?
67
Then all my Heat to thee Il’e give
Then all my heat to thee I’ll give,
Then all my heat to thee I’ll give,
68
And though I Die in thee I Live
And though I die, in thee I live.
And though I die, in thee I live.

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Dust, or Earth
Dust, or Earth
Dust, or Earth
69
Physical Note
in left margin: “Dust, or Earth”; latter two words in different hand from main scribe; first third of page blank
Dear
Dust from thee I drew my Birth
Dear Dust, from thee I drew my birth:
Dear
Gloss Note
“Dust” is one of Pulter’s frequent preoccupations throughout the manuscript and she often uses this term to refer to the element of Earth. For some other poems that consider “dust,” see Dear God, From Thy High Throne Look Down [Poem 63] and The Hope [Poem 65].
Dust
, from thee I drew my birth.
70
Then come, and t’is but Earth to Earth
Then come, and ’tis but
Critical Note
a common period phrase alluding to the body’s disintegration at death; see the Book of Common Prayer burial service (London, 1549), Ee 4v: “earth to earth, ashes to ashes, dust to dust.”
earth to earth
.
Then come, and ‘tis but
Critical Note

This stanza’s opening lines introduce the concept of life as a circle, succinctly captured by the phrase “Earth to Earth.” The life/death cycle provides important framing for the stanza’s maternal themes. Even though Pulter draws on her status as mother throughout the rest of the poem, in this stanza she explicitly identifies herself as “mother” (line 72) for the first time and uses that identification as leverage to petition Mother Earth.

An important context underlying Pulter’s themes in this stanza is the very real fear of death that accompanied childbirth in early modern England. Giving birth was a dangerous process and maternal and infant mortality rates were high. How does the connection between death and motherhood function in this stanza compared to, for instance, This Was Written in 1648, When I Lay in, With my Son John [Poem 45]? For more on Pulter’s status as mother and how she contemplates her mortality through her motherhood, see Amanda Zoch, “Rewriting the Lying-In: Hester Pulter, Katherine Philips, and the Felt Mortality of Pregnancy,” Early Modern Women 15.1 (2020): 3-25, and Lying-In in the Curations for Poem 45.

Earth to Earth
.
71
My lovly Children thou hast taken
My lovely children thou hast taken:
My lovely children thou hast taken.
72
Shall their Sad Mother bee forſaken
Shall their sad mother be forsaken?
Shall their sad mother be forsaken?
73
Aye mee thou took’st them^young& faire
Ay me, thou took’st them young and fair,
Aye me,
Critical Note
Revised in the manuscript. The original line reads, “Aye me, thou took’st them faire.” It seems that Pulter’s insertion of “young and” is a practical formal revision to ensure the line fits metrically with the next line. But we might also ask, does this revision do conceptual work too, as we saw in Pulter’s revision to line 11?
thou took’st them young and fair
,
74
And leav’st mee here with Hoarie Haire
And leav’st me here with
Gloss Note
grey or white
hoary
hair.
And leav’st me here with
Gloss Note
grey, white with age
hoary
hair.
75
They Lovly faire with Snowey Skin
They lovely fair, with snowy skin,
They,
Critical Note
Pulter’s language here echoes her elegies on Jane Pulter’s death, Upon the Death of my Dear and Lovely Daughter, Jane Pulter [Poem 10] and Tell Me No More [On the Same] [Poem 11]. In “Upon the Death,” for example, Pulter describes how “fever spot[s]” appeared on Jane’s “snowy skin.” Like this poem, both elegies depict a mother consumed with grief over the loss of her child. The echoes between this poem and Pulter’s more traditional elegies bring us back to my question in the poem’s “Headnote”: what is an elegy and how do we know when we’re reading one?
lovely fair with snowy skin
,
76
Did too too Soone thy favour win
Did too, too soon thy favor win.
Did too, too soon thy favor win.
77
But I involved with Sin and Sorrow
But I, involved with sin and sorrow,
But I, involved with sin and sorrow,
78
Sadly expect thee Night and Morrow
Sadly expect thee night and morrow.
Sadly expect thee night and morrow.
79
I ask noe Piramide nor Stately Tomb
I ask no pyramid nor stately tomb:
I ask no pyramid nor stately tomb;
80
Doe but involve mee in thy Spacious Womb
Do but
Gloss Note
envelop
involve
me in thy spacious womb.
Do but involve me in
Critical Note

Pulter joins many of her contemporary poets in representing Earth as a fertile mother who both gives and takes life. In John Milton’s Paradise Lost, Hell’s demons “rifle[ ] the bowels of their mother Earth” (1.687) and, when Adam bites the fruit from the Tree of Knowledge, Milton describes the Earth “trembl[ing] from her entrails, as again / in pangs” (9.1000). Mary Sidney, Countess of Pembroke, also consistently draws on this metaphor in her psalm translations: “All things in brief, that life in life maintain, / From earth’s old bowels fresh and youngly grows” (Psalm 104, lines 47-48). Both Milton and Pembroke’s uses of this metaphor remind us that this is a common biblical trope, one with which Pulter would have been very familiar. In Pulter’s representation, Earth’s womb is central to the life/death cycle and the Earth’s “bowels” ultimately become the poet’s final desired resting place.

When I read this final stanza, I think about Pulter’s representation of Earth as a living, maternal organism in contrast to increasingly mechanistic representations of nature in seventeenth-century England. Within several decades of Pulter’s writing, changing attitudes toward science and the study of nature would result in widespread attempts to control, contain, and dominate the natural world. English poet Anna Laetitia Barbauld (1743-1825) confronts this shift in her 1773 poem “The Invitation,” where she describes scientists that “pensive creep” and “hunt” nature “to her elemental forms.” For foundational ecofeminist work to read alongside Pulter’s representation, see Carolyn Merchant, The Death of Nature: Women, Ecology and the Scientific Revolution (Harper & Row, 1980).

thy spacious womb
.
81
To Beg thys once dear Mother give mee leave
To beg this once, dear mother, give me leave:
To beg this once, dear mother, give me leave:
82
Oh let thy Bowels yern and mee receive.
O let thy
Gloss Note
intestines or the heart or core; also pity, compassion
bowels
yearn, and me receive.
O let thy bowels
Critical Note
The poem ends with the poet voicing her desire to be incorporated back into the earth. The Earth’s “yearn[ing]” here bookends the poet’s yearning in the poem’s opening stanza (how she “implore[s]” the Elements to attend her “last, best feast”). In early modern connotations, “yearn” could mean both “to have a strong desire or longing for” and “to be deeply moved; to feel something (as compassion, sympathy, etc.) intensely” (“yearn, v.1,” OED Online). The second connotation usefully extends the elegiac work of the poem we’ve traced thus far. How does this poem function not only as elegy, but specifically as a call for collective mourning? An invitation for the poem’s readers to mourn and “yearn” alongside the poet? To continue exploring these questions, we might now turn to one of Pulter’s elegies on her daughter’s death, where the poet asks “all…parents” to “lend one tear” to contribute to her lament (Upon the Death of my Dear and Lovely Daughter, Jane Pulter [Poem 10]).
yearn
and me receive.
X (Close panel)Notes: Elemental Edition
Title note

 Gloss note

fundamental components of the physical world; in ancient philosophy, as in this poem, earth, fire, water, and air

 Editorial note

The aim of the elemental edition is to make the poems accessible to the largest variety of readers, which involves modernizing spelling and punctuation as well as adding basic glosses. Spelling and punctuation reflect current standard American usage; punctuation highlights syntax which might otherwise be obscure. Outmoded but still familiar word forms (“thou,” “‘tis,” “hold’st”) are not modernized, and we do not modernize grammar when the sense remains legible. After a brief headnote aimed at offering a “way in” to the poem’s unique qualities and connections with other verse by Pulter or her contemporaries, the edition features a minimum of notes and interpretative framing to allow more immediate engagement with the poem. Glosses clarify synonyms or showcase various possible meanings in Pulter’s time. Other notes identify named people and places or clarify obscure material. We rely (without citation) primarily on the Oxford English Dictionary (OED), the Oxford Reference database, and the King James Version (KJV) of the Bible. When we rely on Alice Eardley’s edition of Pulter’s work, we cite her text generally (“Eardley”); other sources are cited in full. The result is an edition we consider a springboard for further work on Pulter’s poetry. See full conventions for this edition here.

 Headnote

Inscribed beneath the title of this poem is not just a year, as in several other Pulter poems, but a precise indication of the date of composition: the winter solstice, the darkest day of any year. Pulter’s general preoccupation with astronomical observation is thus reflected here, as is her larger concern with—and, often, morbid fixation on—the darkness of the night sky and her corresponding emotional state. This night, though, the speaker invites guests to a wonderful feast: darkness seems, at first, at bay. But we soon realize that the main course she plans to serve is her own body, carved into its constitutive elements of water, air, fire and earth. Those elements are also, paradoxically, her invitees, along with her soul, whose impatience to die motivates the occasion and the poem. Like any good host, the speaker serves up pleasing dishes and chatty flattery at the same time, in a sequence of dramatic monologues implied in her instructions to “ask no more” and “say no more” formulations (echoing Tell Me No More [On the Same] [Poem 11] and Upon the Imprisonment of His Sacred Majesty [Poem 13]). While initially cordial, the speaker’s table-talk at times edges toward indecorous demands to be liquified, vaporized, chilled, and consumed into the earth, increasingly signalling the urgency with which she seeks her death; her sadness at that of her “lovely children”—seven, horribly, by this date—rationalizes her insistence on returning to her own “mother,” the Earth addressed here.
Line number 2

 Gloss note

revolve; proceed; wander; be enveloped
Line number 6

 Gloss note

transparent
Line number 7

 Critical note

This refers to water’s serving of the speaker’s “feast,” which is a figure for her body.
Line number 10

 Gloss note

dissipate
Line number 17

 Gloss note

Pulter’s expression “ask no more” in this line and “say no more” below in l. 42 act as a refrain that she uses to more elaborate effect in Tell Me No More [Poem 11].
Line number 19

 Gloss note

thou hast
Line number 21

 Gloss note

The “buds” stand for seven of Pulter’s children who died.
Line number 27

 Gloss note

allusion to the biblical flood; see Genesis 7.
Line number 30

 Gloss note

possibly figurative, as in the “fragrance” of renown; esteem, reputation; or, as in “savor,” delight, or pleasing quality
Line number 31

 Gloss note

drain; suck up
Line number 32

 Gloss note

Thou wilt
Line number 32

 Gloss note

candle
Line number 39

 Gloss note

before
Line number 39

 Gloss note

goddess of dawn
Line number 40

 Gloss note

carnation
Line number 41

 Gloss note

half-blossomed
Line number 42

 Gloss note

Pulter’s expression “say no more” in this line and “ask no more” in l. 17 above act as a refrain that she uses to more elaborate effect in Tell Me No More [Poem 11].
Line number 43

 Gloss note

dissipated
Line number 44

 Gloss note

The speaker implies she will dissolve wholly into watery tears, and thus deny Air any “part” in the feast of her body.
Line number 55

 Gloss note

tremble
Line number 61

 Gloss note

draw up
Line number 62

 Critical note

finely disintegrated matter, or original formative physical materials; for the latter, see Genesis 2:7: “And the Lord God formed man [of] the dust of the ground, and breathed into his nostrils the breath of life; and man became a living soul.”
Line number 70

 Critical note

a common period phrase alluding to the body’s disintegration at death; see the Book of Common Prayer burial service (London, 1549), Ee 4v: “earth to earth, ashes to ashes, dust to dust.”
Line number 74

 Gloss note

grey or white
Line number 80

 Gloss note

envelop
Line number 82

 Gloss note

intestines or the heart or core; also pity, compassion
Sorry, but there are no notes associated with any currently displayed witness.
X (Close panel)Elemental Edition
Elemental Edition

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The invocation of the Elements the longest Night in the Year 1655
The Invocation of the
Gloss Note
fundamental components of the physical world; in ancient philosophy, as in this poem, earth, fire, water, and air
Elements
, The Longest Night in the Year, 1655
The Invocation of the Elements the
Critical Note
Pulter includes a specific time stamp in several of her poems’ titles, such as The Complaint of Thames, 1647 [Poem 4] and This Was Written in 1648, When I Lay in, With my Son John [Poem 45]. In this title, Pulter is hyper-specific, noting both year and date of composition. The “longest night” refers to the winter solstice (or midwinter), always mid-December for the Earth’s Northern Hemisphere. Pulter’s specificity here urges us to think about how the poem’s title offers important framing for its content—a meditation on the relationship among darkness, despair, and death. As we’ll see, the poet pleads for death by water, air, fire, and earth as the poem progresses. But even as this time stamp consequently seems the perfect framing for such a poem, the poem’s central themes are also undermined by this title. The winter solstice is a turning point, part of a yearly cycle. The longest night immediately gives way to the gradual lengthening of daylight and nature’s spring awakening. The poem’s title, then, raises some important questions for reading: Within the poem’s prominent themes of darkness, despair, and death, do we glimpse hope? Are there any signs of light in this seemingly dark poem?
Longest Night
in the Year 1655
In these transcriptions we preserve as many details of the original material, textual, and graphic properties of Hester Pulter’s manuscript verse as we have found practical. Whenever possible, for instance, original spelling, punctuation, capitalization, lineation, insertions, deletions, alterations, spacing between words and lines, and indentation are all maintained; abbreviations and brevigraphs are not expanded; and superscript and subscript representations are retained. See full conventions for the transcriptions here.

— Leah Knight and Wendy Wall
The aim of the elemental edition is to make the poems accessible to the largest variety of readers, which involves modernizing spelling and punctuation as well as adding basic glosses. Spelling and punctuation reflect current standard American usage; punctuation highlights syntax which might otherwise be obscure. Outmoded but still familiar word forms (“thou,” “‘tis,” “hold’st”) are not modernized, and we do not modernize grammar when the sense remains legible. After a brief headnote aimed at offering a “way in” to the poem’s unique qualities and connections with other verse by Pulter or her contemporaries, the edition features a minimum of notes and interpretative framing to allow more immediate engagement with the poem. Glosses clarify synonyms or showcase various possible meanings in Pulter’s time. Other notes identify named people and places or clarify obscure material. We rely (without citation) primarily on the Oxford English Dictionary (OED), the Oxford Reference database, and the King James Version (KJV) of the Bible. When we rely on Alice Eardley’s edition of Pulter’s work, we cite her text generally (“Eardley”); other sources are cited in full. The result is an edition we consider a springboard for further work on Pulter’s poetry. See full conventions for this edition here.

— Leah Knight and Wendy Wall
In my editions of Pulter’s poems, I prioritize accessibility and use my annotations to prompt further exploration. To make the poems accessible to the widest possible audience, I have modernized spelling, punctuation, and capitalization according to American English standards. My editions aim to demonstrate the complexity of Pulter’s thinking, while opening space for the reader’s own analysis and interpretation. I recognize editing as a political act and aim to be as transparent as possible about how I frame Pulter’s poems for the reader. My lengthy annotations are an attempt to reveal my thought processes and make clear the ideological networks that inform my readings.
As an important corollary to Pulter’s conceptual work, I also attend to the material expression of her manuscript object. Her manuscript pages reveal a glimpse of her thinking and writing processes, and I briefly note Pulter’s revisions to the poems in order to foreground her poetic craft. The manuscript features variants and revisions that invite multiple interpretations, and I encourage readers to refer to the manuscript images as they engage with Pulter’s writing. I offer some intertextual references to other early modern texts, but am most interested in drawing out how Pulter’s poems speak to each other as she reflects on clusters of ideas.


— Leah Knight and Wendy Wall
Inscribed beneath the title of this poem is not just a year, as in several other Pulter poems, but a precise indication of the date of composition: the winter solstice, the darkest day of any year. Pulter’s general preoccupation with astronomical observation is thus reflected here, as is her larger concern with—and, often, morbid fixation on—the darkness of the night sky and her corresponding emotional state. This night, though, the speaker invites guests to a wonderful feast: darkness seems, at first, at bay. But we soon realize that the main course she plans to serve is her own body, carved into its constitutive elements of water, air, fire and earth. Those elements are also, paradoxically, her invitees, along with her soul, whose impatience to die motivates the occasion and the poem. Like any good host, the speaker serves up pleasing dishes and chatty flattery at the same time, in a sequence of dramatic monologues implied in her instructions to “ask no more” and “say no more” formulations (echoing Tell Me No More [On the Same] [Poem 11] and Upon the Imprisonment of His Sacred Majesty [Poem 13]). While initially cordial, the speaker’s table-talk at times edges toward indecorous demands to be liquified, vaporized, chilled, and consumed into the earth, increasingly signalling the urgency with which she seeks her death; her sadness at that of her “lovely children”—seven, horribly, by this date—rationalizes her insistence on returning to her own “mother,” the Earth addressed here.

— Leah Knight and Wendy Wall
What is an elegy and how do we know when we’re reading one? The standard definition of an elegy is a lament for the dead, stemming from the Greek word elegos, or “song of mourning.” Pulter’s “Invocation of the Elements” does not explicitly call attention to itself as an elegy; in fact, it reads much more like a philosophical investigation. Like many of Pulter’s poems, it grapples with a range of themes surrounding mortality: nature, cosmology, redemption, and the relationship between body and soul. The poem opens with the poet pleading for death as her soul “rowl[s]” in darkness. The poet then invokes and addresses each of the four elements in turn—water, air, fire, and earth—as she explores the different ways her body and soul could be consumed.
But by line 8, when the poet references her “sad heart,” we glimpse the grief and despair that pervade this poem. Pulter invokes the elements and pleads for death as an antidote to the overwhelming trauma of losing seven children—“seven lovely buds” that have been “drawn dry” (line 21). That trauma and Pulter’s resulting grief drive the poem, which consequently explores how grief can inform and be informed by natural philosophy (a precursor to our modern understanding of science and its various fields of inquiry). Simultaneously lamentation for the dead and philosophical investigation, this poem offers an unusual example of an early modern elegy and a particularly complex aesthetic-scientific object.
In this edition of the poem, I explore several interrelated questions. First, how does Pulter both describe and perform grief throughout the poem? In other words, how does she invite the reader, through language and form, to feel her grief over her children’s deaths? This performance of grief extends to the manuscript’s material features. The ample blank spaces between the poem’s stanzas invite us to consider what roles absence and silence can play in poetic representations of grief. Pulter’s manuscript includes more explicit elegies (Upon the Death of my Dear and Lovely Daughter, Jane Pulter [Poem 10]), and other poems that function more like “Invocation of the Elements”—we might call them elegy-hybrids (see, for instance, On those Two Unparalleled Friends, Sir George Lisle and Sir Charles Lucas, Who Were Shot to Death at Colchester [Poem 7]). How does “Invocation of the Elements” work alongside those others and invite us to extend our understanding of what an elegy is and the kind of work it does? As Frances E. Dolan notes about Pulter’s poem on Lisle and Lucas, “this poem is an anguished lament, but about what exactly?” (see Curation, Commemorating the Dead).
Second, my annotations consider the poem’s intersecting “modes of knowing”—Valerie Traub’s useful phrase for the methods by which things come to be known.
Gloss Note
Traub, “The Nature of Norms in Early Modern England: Anatomy, Cartography, King Lear,” South Central Review 26:1/2 (2009): 42-81.
1
In this poem, Pulter draws on many different modes of knowing that we would now separate into discrete fields, or disciplines: philosophy (“For what is death but cold and night, / Life being only heat and light?”); chemistry (“I into tears am rarified”); and physiology (“Then will my heart forget to beat / And trepidate within my breast”). The poem is also deeply informed by Pulter’s experience as a mother. How are these different modes of knowing displayed and how do they interact throughout the poem? How does this poem’s network of knowledges continue to enhance our understanding of Pulter as both poet and thinker?
The poem’s central conceit—the four elements—provides an important example of how different modes of knowing converge. The elements had philosophical, medical, and spiritual resonances in the early modern period, and we see all of these at work in Pulter’s poem. Inherited from Greek philosophy, early moderns used the four elements to explain nature and the different kinds of matter that exist in nature. Medically, the four elements were linked to the humoral theory of the body. Through the seventeenth-century, the dominant physiological theory was that the human body is made up of fluids. The essential fluids, or humors, corresponded to the four elements and to four distinct stages of life: blood (warm/moist physical qualities linked to air and infancy); yellow bile (warm/dry physical qualities linked to fire and youth); black bile (cold/dry physical qualities linked to earth and adulthood); and phlegm (cold/moist physical qualities linked to water and old age). Spiritually (or, perhaps, cosmologically), the four elements were also an important part of the microcosm-macrocosm understanding of the world—a way to explain humanity’s place in the universe. As Pulter interacts with each element in turn, where and how do we see these different modes of knowing intersect?


— Leah Knight and Wendy Wall
1
Have Patience my aflicted Soul,
Have patience, my afflicted soul:
Have patience, my afflicted soul;
2
Thou Shalt not Long in Darknes Rowl.
Thou shalt not long in darkness
Gloss Note
revolve; proceed; wander; be enveloped
roll
.
Thou shalt not long in darkness
Critical Note
Editors often modernize “rowl” to “roll,” as Leah Knight and Wendy Wall do in their Elemental Edition of the poem. The modernization illuminates several useful connotations for Pulter’s word choice: “roll” can mean revolve, proceed, wander, or be enveloped. Maintaining Pulter’s original spelling, though, reminds us of the term’s important etymological (and aural) connections to the verb “ravel,” particularly its early spellings “rauel” and “rawil.” “Ravel,” in this context, means “to entangle; to confuse, perplex; to render incoherent or muddled” (“ravel, v.1,” OED Online). The feelings of confusion and incoherence evoked by this word are important for some of the later formal features I’ll track in this long poem.
rowl
.
3
I will the Elements implore,
I will the elements implore;
I will the
Critical Note

Pulter capitalizes "Elements" in this opening stanza as she invokes, or summons, the elements for assistance. The capitalization signals the importance of these entities for Pulter, and resonates with early modern understandings of the elements as particularly powerful forces. The four elements—water, air, fire, and earth—were a frequent topic of Renaissance poetry and natural philosophy. See, for instance, John Donne’s “The Dissolution,” which similarly uses the elements to reflect on loss and grief. Another useful comparison is Anne Bradstreet’s “The Four Elements.” Like Pulter, Bradstreet deals with each of the four elements in turn, but imagines the elements competing with each other to determine which is most important to human life. At the time Pulter was writing, the four elements were a familiar part of philosophical and scientific debates about the existence and creation of matter, central to the period’s renewed interest in atomism, for example.

The term “elements” might also be defined more simply as “the constituent parts of a whole.” This definition is particularly useful in thinking about the structure of Pulter’s poem—four stanzas (four “elements”) that each constitute one part of an aesthetic whole. In early modern religious contexts, “elements” could also refer to the “bread and wine used in the Sacrament of the Eucharist” (“element, n.,” OED Online), which directly relates to the poem’s central conceit: death as the “last, best feast” (line 5).

Elements
implore.
4
Then Shall I Need to beg noe More,
Then shall I need to beg no more
Then shall I need to beg no more
5
To come unto my last best feast,
To come unto my last, best feast:
to come unto
Critical Note
Here in the last line of the opening stanza, Pulter introduces the poem’s central conceit: death as the “last, best feast.” The poet is not doing the eating but rather “beg[s]” to be eaten—consumed by death. The poet then invites each of the four elements to be a “guest” at the feast (line 6) and she describes the different ways her body could be consumed by each element.
my last, best feast
.
Water
Water
Water
6
Physical Note
in left margin: “Water”
The
Lymped Lady’es my
Physical Note
“r” appears written over earlier letter, possibly “e”
first
guest,
The
Gloss Note
transparent
limpid
lady’s my first guest;
The
Gloss Note
clear or pure, most often used in relation to fluids
limpid
lady’s my first guest.
7
Cool Cristall Water take thy part,
Cool crystal Water, take
Critical Note
This refers to water’s serving of the speaker’s “feast,” which is a figure for her body.
thy part
:
Cool crystal Water, take thy part:
8
ffirst that which Circles my Sad Heart.
First, that which circles my sad heart;
First,
Critical Note
Pulter refers here to a common theory espoused in both medical and theological texts of the period: the pericardium—the membrane enclosing the heart—was understood to be a thin sac of water. In Thomas Gibson’s The Anatomy of Humane Bodies Epitomized, a lengthy compendium of anatomical knowledge published in several editions throughout the late-seventeenth and early-eighteenth centuries, Gibson helps his reader understand the fluid inside the pericardium by citing John 19.34: “This is that liquor that is supposed to have flown from the side of our Saviour when the soldier pierced it with a spear, for saith the Text (John 19.34.) There came forth blood and water” (London, 1682, Text Creation Partnership digital edition, Early English Books Online, p. 233). In Lewis Bayly’s The Practice of Piety, a hugely popular devotional manual (over 70 editions published by 1821), Bayly references the same story about “blood and water” flowing from Christ’s pierced side, and includes an explanatory marginal note that strikes a distinctly anatomical tone: “There is about man’s heart a skin called Pericardium containing water which cools and moistens the heart, lest it should be scorched with continual motion. This skin once pierced, man cannot live” (London, 1695, Text Creation Partnership digital edition, Early English Books Online, p. 459).
that which circles my sad heart
.
9
Or if my Tears will Satisfie,
Or, if my tears will satisfy,
Or, if my tears will satisfy,
10
To tears Il’e quickly Rariefie,
To tears I’ll quickly
Gloss Note
dissipate
rarefy
.
To tears I’ll quickly
Critical Note
In early modern connotations, “rarefy” most frequently meant “to make thin” or “to make less dense in texture” (“rarefy, v.,” OED Online). Pulter draws on that meaning here as she contemplates how her body might be transformed into tears—the transformation of a solid into a liquid. Pulter explores similar kinds of material transformations in other poems, such as The Revolution [Poem 16], where she considers how her “tears” might “rarefy / to air” (lines 28-29).
rarefy
11
Number them not,
Physical Note
struck-through with multiple horizontal lines
but
count
Physical Note
struck-through with multiple horizontal lines
each
Sand or Star,
Number them not; count sand or star—
Number them
Critical Note
The poem’s first of many medial caesuras—a break or pause in the metrical line that splits the line into two equal parts (in this case, four syllables on either side). Given Pulter’s striking, repeated use of the medial caesura in this stanza (lines 11, 15, 17, 18, 22, and 23), we might consider how her use of this formal feature compares to her contemporary poets. John Donne often uses medial caesuras in his devotional poems: “Thou hast made me, and shall thy work decay? / Repair me now, for now mine end doth haste” (“Thou hast made me,” lines 1-2). Mary Sidney, Countess of Pembroke offers another useful comparison because her psalm translations were such an important model for early modern poets like Pulter writing at the intersection of devotion and politics. In a psalm about God’s omniscience, Pembroke uses medial caesura to emphasize God’s knowledge of the poet’s movements: “if forth I march, thou goest before; / if back I turn, thou com’st behind” (Psalm 139, lines 15-16).
not. Count
sand or
Critical Note
Pulter revised this line in the manuscript. The original line reads: “Number them not, but count each sand or star.” The revised line emphasizes the medial caesura, adding to the midline stops and starts throughout this stanza (see my note on “not. Count”). And the edit from “each sand” to “sand” is crucial for the questions about quantification Pulter raises in these lines. “Each sand” opens the possibility for counting (a collection of grains of sand that can “each” be counted), but “sand” (like “star”) seems an abstraction, a move away from the thing as countable material and a move toward the thing as uncountable idea.
star—
12
You’l Sooner Number them by farr,
You’ll sooner number them by far.
You’ll
Critical Note
We find this theme of excessive weeping in many of Pulter’s poems, such as The Weeping Wish [Poem 61] and On the Horrid Murder Of that Incomparable Prince [Poem 14]. In this poem, weeping is not confined, as we might expect, to the “Water” stanza. Pulter revisits this theme again in the “Air” stanza: “my grief o’erflows / I into tears am rarified” (lines 42-43).
sooner number them by far
.
13
Oh that they had bin Shed for Sin,
O, that they had been shed for sin,
Critical Note
Pulter uses “oh” many times throughout this poem—five times in this stanza alone. Even though she is directly addressing each of the elements, she uses “oh” as an exclamation rather than direct address (or apostrophe), often during moments when she seems overwhelmed by grief. Given the term’s frequent use in apostrophe, though, we might wonder: is this word doing double work throughout the poem?
Oh
Critical Note
With this conditional construction, Pulter draws on a commonplace connection between grief and repentance (she’ll do this again later when she pairs “sin and sorrow” in line 77). If I were weeping in repentance for my sins, the poet reflects, then my tears would be valuable (“in heaven … bottled” [line 14]). Instead, the poet’s tears are shed in grief over the loss of her seven children, first referenced in line 21. This brief nod to repentance, though, raises a useful question about how Pulter links her status as mother to her devotional explorations throughout the manuscript: what kind of relationship does Pulter construct here between the possibility of spiritual redemption and the experience of maternal grief? For more on the connection between grief and repentance, particularly in women’s writing, see Elizabeth Hodgson’s Grief and Women Writers in the English Renaissance (2015), especially pages 8-9.
that they had been shed for sin
,
14
Then they in
Physical Note
“a” written over other letter
heaven
had botle’d bin,
Then they in Heaven had bottled been!
Then they in heaven had bottled been.
15
Why were they Shed? O aſk not why,
Why were they shed? O, ask not why;
Why were they shed?
Critical Note
This and the next eight lines read as a dialogue between the poet and Water. The poet imagines Water asking about the reason for her grief (“why were they [her tears] shed?”). In response, the poet resists repeating the traumatic experiences of her children’s deaths (“If I repeat my woes, I die / a double death” [16-17]). The poet’s responses to Water recall one of Pulter’s poems on her daughter Jane’s death, Tell Me No More [Poem 11]. In both poems Pulter contemplates poetry’s role in articulating grief. Rather than give her reader the details of her children’s deaths, how can she use poetry to mark their absence and her grief? The repetition of “tell me no more” in the poem on Jane’s death is here reprised in the repetition of the exclamatory “Oh”; the echoed phrasing “Oh ask not why” (line 15), “Oh ask no more” (line 17), and “O say no more” (line 42); and the pattern “I die / a n death” (lines 16-17; 22-23).
Oh ask not why
.
16
If I repeat my woes, I dye
If I repeat my woes, I die
If I repeat my woes,
Critical Note
Pulter uses enjambment—the continuation of a sentence or clause through a line break—to emphasize the language of death and dying. “I die” lingers at the end of line 16. Grammatically, the sentence is complete, but Pulter adds the extra weight of “double death” in the next line. How does the formal feature of enjambment contribute to Pulter’s poetic representation of grief throughout the rest of the poem? What effect does it have on the reader, particularly if the poem is read aloud?
I die
17
A dubble Death, O ask noe more,
A double death;
Gloss Note
Pulter’s expression “ask no more” in this line and “say no more” below in l. 42 act as a refrain that she uses to more elaborate effect in Tell Me No More [Poem 11].
O, ask no more
;
A double death. Oh ask no more,
18
Let mee alone, my loſs deplore.
Let me alone my loss deplore.
Let me alone my loss
Gloss Note
weep for, grieve over, lament
deplore
.
19
ffair Nymph thoust
Physical Note
“t” possibly added later
oft
Quencht thirst in mee
Fair nymph,
Gloss Note
thou hast
thou’st
oft quenched thirst in me:
Fair nymph, thou’st oft quenched thirst in me.
20
Retaliate and drink up mee
Retaliate and drink up me!
Retaliate and drink up me.

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21
Seaven Lovly Buds thou hast drawn dry,
Gloss Note
The “buds” stand for seven of Pulter’s children who died.
Seven lovely buds thou hast drawn dry:
Seven lovely buds thou hast drawn dry.
22
Oh Spare the Rest, or elce I dye,
O, spare the rest, or else I die
Oh spare the rest, or else I die
23
A treble Death, O heare mee Speake,
A treble death. O hear me speak!
A
Gloss Note
triple
treble
death. Oh hear me speak!
24
Let not my heart Soe often breake
Let not my heart so often break,
Let not my heart so often break
25
But Let Death Strike mee once for all,
But let Death strike me once for all;
But let death strike me once for all—
26
A little blow will make mee ffall.
A little blow will make me fall.
A little blow will make me fall.
27
Thou didst a whole World once involve
Gloss Note
allusion to the biblical flood; see Genesis 7.
Thou didst a whole world once involve;
Thou didst a whole world once
Gloss Note
Pulter ends her address to Water with a biblical reference to the Old Testament flood, narrated in the Book of Genesis, chapter 7. “Involve” here means “to envelop or enfold.” As water enveloped the world during the flood, the poet pleads for Water to engulf her. “Involve” is a particularly rich term throughout the manuscript, often connected to the “dissolution” of the poet’s body (here: “involve” in line 27 rhymes with “dissolve” in line 28). For more on this term in Pulter’s poetry, see Liza Blake, “Hester Pulter’s Particle Physics and the Poetics of Involution,” Journal for Early Modern Cultural Studies 20.2 (2020): 71-98.
involve
.
28
Then let mee into thee diſsolve
Then let me into thee dissolve!
Then let me into thee
Critical Note
In this context, “dissolve” has some particularly grisly connotations: “to destroy the physical integrity; to disintegrate, decompose” and “to melt or reduce into a liquid condition” (“dissolve, v.,” OED Online). Given the highly physical experience of death Pulter evokes in this line, we might consider: how does Pulter’s engagement with death in this poem compare to her representation of death in other poems—The Hope [Poem 65] or The Circle [3] [Poem 25], for example?
dissolve
.
Ayr
Air
Air
29
Physical Note
in left margin: “Ayr”
Sweet
Ayr, Refreſher of Mankind,
Sweet Air, refresher of mankind,
Sweet Air, refresher of mankind,
30
Let mee at last thy ffavour ffind,
Let me at last thy
Gloss Note
possibly figurative, as in the “fragrance” of renown; esteem, reputation; or, as in “savor,” delight, or pleasing quality
flavor
find:
Let me at last thy favor find.
31
Doe but exhast a little vapour,
Do but
Gloss Note
drain; suck up
exhaust
a little vapor,
Do but
Gloss Note
to draw out or expend
exhaust
Critical Note
This line again emphasizes the fragility of the poet’s corporeal form, recalling the end of the “Water” stanza, where the poet notes, “a little blow will make me fall” (26). “Vapor” is an especially important word choice because it suggests a steamy or moist emission as water transforms into air. In John Swan’s Speculum Mundi, a popular seventeenth-century encyclopedia, he links “vapors” to “clouds”: an “exhalation cold and moist, drawn from the earth out of wet or watery places” (Cambridge, 1635, Text Creation Partnership digital edition, Early English Books Online, p. 143). When Pulter was writing, “vapor” was also a word used in relation to scent. Fragrances were still understood to be emitted as smoke or vapor, which connects to Pulter’s description of the garden in this stanza and her reference to odor as “sweet breath” (lines 36-41).
a little vapor
,
32
Thoul’t quickly blow out my lifs tapour,
Gloss Note
Thou wilt
Thou’lt
quickly blow out my life’s
Gloss Note
candle
taper
.
Thou’lt quickly blow out my life’s
Gloss Note
candlewick, or another word for a wax candle used in devotional or penitential contexts
taper
.
33
T’will bee my last request
Physical Note
appears written over imperfectly erased “of”
to
thee
’Twill be my last request to thee;
’Twill be my last request to thee;
34
Thourt free to all, bee Soe to mee,
Thou’rt free to all—be so to me!
Thou’rt free to all, be so to me.
35
I oft have made thee Such a feast
I oft have made thee such a feast
Critical Note
Another kind of “feast” in the poem—this time a feast of smells and odors—that recalls the “last, best feast” of the opening stanza. The poet goes on to describe briefly the “sweet breath” of her garden’s “blossoms” (lines 38-41), but then cuts herself off, overwhelmed again by grief. Pulter uses garden references and metaphors to do interesting work throughout the manuscript. See, for instance, Invitation to the Country [Poem 2], which, as Liza Blake shows us in her Amplified Edition, construes the garden as both an instrument of political agency and a space of political retreat. Or we could look at The Snail, The Tulip, and The Bee [Poem 118], which imagines the garden as a female separatist community. Finally, we might wonder how the manuscript’s most explicit garden poem (The Garden, or The Contention of Flowers [Poem 12]) both informs and is informed by these other representations.
I oft have made thee such a feast
36
That all the Odours, of the east
That all the odors of the east
That all the odors of the East
37
Could not with their Sweet Breath compare,
Could not with their sweet breath compare,
Could not with their sweet breath compare,
38
Bloſſoms Soe Lovly Young and Rare,
Blossoms so lovely, young, and rare:
Blossoms so lovely, young, and rare:
the

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39
The Woodbine, er’e Aurora doth Ariſe,
The woodbine,
Gloss Note
before
ere
Gloss Note
goddess of dawn
Aurora
doth arise,
The
Gloss Note
honeysuckle flowering plant (lonicera periclymenum), which releases fragrance at night
woodbine
, ere Aurora doth arise,
40
The July fflower before the Shadow fflyes,
The
Gloss Note
carnation
gillyflower
before the shadow flies,
The
Gloss Note
Pulter’s preferred term for “gillyflower,” a common name for several varieties of flowering plants, many of which are heavily scented, including the wallflower (Erysimum genus) and the stock (Matthiola genus).
July-flower
before the shadow flies,
41
The dewey Vi’let
Physical Note
final “e” erased
ore
the halfe blown Roſe
The dewy violet, or the
Gloss Note
half-blossomed
half-blown
rose.
The dewy
Gloss Note
The violet (Violacea family) was especially noted for its fragrance in early modern contexts. In The Garden [Poem 12], the violet flower boasts that it “perfume[s] the air with fair Aurora” (line 282). For an excellent account of the violet’s use in perfumes and herbal recipes, see Colleen Kennedy’s post, “Smelling ‘Violet’ in Renaissance Works,” on The Recipes Project.
violet
, or the
Critical Note
Half-bloomed or half-blossomed. Another flower praised for its scent in early modern contexts, the rose was also a primary example of the ephemerality of youth and beauty, here a reminder of Pulter’s children (“seven lovely buds” [line 21]) and the catalyst for her eruption of grief in the subsequent line. For more on the rose’s scent and the political ramifications of its ephemerality, see Holly Dugan’s chapter on roses, rosewater, and English courts in The Ephemeral History of Perfume: Scent and Sense in Early Modern England (2011).
half-blown rose
42
Oh Say noe More—my grief or’e fflowes
Gloss Note
Pulter’s expression “say no more” in this line and “ask no more” in l. 17 above act as a refrain that she uses to more elaborate effect in Tell Me No More [Poem 11].
O say no more!
My grief o’erflows;
O say no more! My grief o’erflows.
43
I into teares am Rarified,
I into tears am
Gloss Note
dissipated
rarefied
,
Gloss Note
This line directly echoes language from the “Water” stanza and reinforces the poem’s attention to material transformations (see my notes at lines 10 and 31). For another exploration of grief in relation to the material transformation of water and air, see the “sad circle” of sighs and tears in The Circle [1] [Poem 17].
I into tears am rarified
,
44
And thou thy part will bee denied
Gloss Note
The speaker implies she will dissolve wholly into watery tears, and thus deny Air any “part” in the feast of her body.
And thou thy part will be denied.
And thou thy part will be denied.
45
Oh take this Sigh then for thy part,
O take this sigh, then, for thy part,
Critical Note
The “sigh” is Air’s “part,” but Air is denied the rest of the poet’s body, which is again consumed by water (“tears”). Sighs are a constant theme in Pulter’s poetry, signalled in the title pages for the manuscript’s poems and emblems: “Poems Breathed Forth by the Noble Hadassas” and “The Sighs of a Sad Soul Emblematically Breathed Forth by the Noble Hadassah.” But these last two lines of the “Air” stanza show us that the sigh is not just of thematic interest to Pulter; rather, these lines start with a literal exhalation of air—oh. Throughout the poem, but especially here, “oh” is both sigh and breath, a formal marker and performance of feeling.
Oh take this sigh
, then, for thy part,
46
ffor Such another breaks my
Physical Note
remaining half-page blank
Heart
.
For such another breaks my heart.
For such another breaks my
Critical Note
In the manuscript this stanza is followed by a large blank space that fills the rest of the page before the “Fire” stanza begins on the facing leaf. Are we meant to imagine that the poet’s feeling sigh in line 45 (both sigh and breath; both written “oh” and aural exhalation) gives way to a moment of silence? How does this material feature of the manuscript—the blank page space—enhance the poetic work of the “sigh” at the stanza’s end?
heart
.

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ffier
Fire
Fire
47
Physical Note
in left margin: “ffier”
Most
Noble and Illustrious ffier
Most noble and illustrious fire,
Most noble and illustrious fire,
48
Whom (though I know not) I admire
Whom (though I know not) I admire:
Whom (though I know not) I admire,
49
If Such an
Physical Note
first minuscule “e” appears corrected from earlier “i”
Ellement
there bee
If such an element there be,
Critical Note
Pulter begins this stanza emphasizing her unfamiliarity with fire—"whom (though I know not) I admire” (line 48)—so this invitation to the “last, best feast,” more than the others, is a “strange petition” (line 50). The “if” is significant, an exploratory tool that introduces the rhetoric of scientific inquiry into Pulter’s poem. Fire’s status as an element was increasingly contested in seventeenth-century natural philosophy. John Donne succinctly cites the debate in his “Anatomy of the World”: “and new philosophy calls all in doubt; / the element of fire is quite put out” (lines 205-206). For more on the use of “if” and the rhetoric of scientific hypothesis in early modern texts, see Chapter 3 of Jonathan P. Lamb’s Shakespeare in the Marketplace of Words (Cambridge University Press, 2017).
If
such an Element there be,
50
My Strange
Physical Note
second “t” may correct other letter, perhaps “c”
petition
is to thee
My strange petition is to thee.
My strange petition is to thee.
51
Oh hearken to my last deſire
O hearken to my last desire
O hearken to my last desire
52
And help my Sad Soul to expire
And help my sad soul to expire!
And help my sad soul to expire.
53
Contract thy vigour hold thy heat
Contract thy vigor, hold thy heat:
Gloss Note
to draw in, condense
Contract
thy vigor, hold thy heat,
54
Then will my heart forget to beat
Then will my heart forget to beat
Then will
Critical Note
Pulter’s emphasis on the heart as the body’s life-giving center recalls her lines in the “Water” stanza about the pericardium (see my note at line 8). These lines can seem a bit opaque: how will fire “hold[ing] its heat” result in the poet’s heart stopping? In William Harvey’s foundational work on the circulatory system (1628)—the first detailed account of how blood circulates through the body—Harvey associated heat with the motion of blood: “the blood, therefore, required to have motion, and indeed such a motion that it should return again to the heart … for we see motion generating and keeping up heat and spirits under all circumstances.” Harvey’s explanation helps us understand Pulter’s line: by holding its heat and, thereby, denying heat to the poet’s body, fire would cause the poet’s blood to stop circulating. See Anatomical Exercise on the Motion of the Heart, Chapter XV, page 69, cited from The Works of William Harvey, trans. Robert Willis, University of Pennsylvania Press, 1989.
my heart forget to beat
55
And trepidate within my Breast
And
Gloss Note
tremble
trepidate
within my breast.
And
Gloss Note
to tremble with fear
trepidate
within my breast.
56
O then how Sweet will bee my rest
O, then, how sweet will be my rest;
O then how sweet will be
Critical Note
Here Pulter draws on the familiar trope of sleep as a kind of death. Shakespeare’s Hamlet includes a famous use of this analogy in Hamlet’s “to be or not to be” soliloquy: “to die, to sleep; to sleep, perchance to dream” (Act 3, Scene 1). Pulter threads this trope through the remainder of this stanza with references to “sweet slumber,” “sad dreams,” and “blessed night.” For an entire poem centered on this trope, see Why Art Thou Sad at the Approach of Night [Poem 47].
my rest
;
57
What a Sweet Slumber Shall I take
What a sweet slumber shall I take
What a sweet slumber shall I take
58
When my Sad Dreams doe mee forſake
When my sad dreams do me forsake
When my sad dreams do me forsake
59
And ceaſe my aflicted Soul t’afright
And cease my afflicted soul t’affright!
And cease my afflicted soul t’afright.
60
Welcome Oh welcome that blesst Night
Welcome, O welcome, that blessed night.
Critical Note
By repeating this line verbatim three lines later, Pulter uses her characteristic doubling to underscore the poet’s desire for death. The enveloped lines between the repetition convey an almost effortless death: the poet will exhale a “short breath” and her “structure” will “fall” to “dust.” Death is not only “welcome,” but easy.
Welcome, O welcome, that blessed night
.
61
Then doe but my Short Breath Exhale
Then do but my short breath
Gloss Note
draw up
exhale
,
Then do but my short breath exhale,
62
My Structure Straight to dust will fall
My structure straight to
Critical Note
finely disintegrated matter, or original formative physical materials; for the latter, see Genesis 2:7: “And the Lord God formed man [of] the dust of the ground, and breathed into his nostrils the breath of life; and man became a living soul.”
dust
will fall.
My structure straight to dust will fall.
63
Welcome Oh welcome that blest Night
Welcome, O welcome, that blessed night,
Welcome, O welcome, that blessed night,
64
Which Ushers in Eternall Light
Which ushers in eternal light!
Which ushers in eternal light.
65
ffor what is Death but Cold and Night
For what is death but cold and night,
Critical Note
Pulter’s definition of death as “cold and night” turns us back to the poem’s title where she records its composition on the “longest night in the year.” We might also think about how this question about the definition of death and life connect to Pulter’s use of “if” at the stanza’s opening. The Fire stanza, more than any of the others, seems truly an exploration, first marked by the conditional “if,” then by Pulter’s reflection on the relationship between blood and heat, and finally here by the interrogative mode at the stanza’s end.
For what is death but cold and night
,
66
Life beeing onely Heat and Light
Life being only heat and light?
Life being only heat and light?
67
Then all my Heat to thee Il’e give
Then all my heat to thee I’ll give,
Then all my heat to thee I’ll give,
68
And though I Die in thee I Live
And though I die, in thee I live.
And though I die, in thee I live.

Facsimile Image Placeholder

Facsimile Image Placeholder

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Dust, or Earth
Dust, or Earth
Dust, or Earth
69
Physical Note
in left margin: “Dust, or Earth”; latter two words in different hand from main scribe; first third of page blank
Dear
Dust from thee I drew my Birth
Dear Dust, from thee I drew my birth:
Dear
Gloss Note
“Dust” is one of Pulter’s frequent preoccupations throughout the manuscript and she often uses this term to refer to the element of Earth. For some other poems that consider “dust,” see Dear God, From Thy High Throne Look Down [Poem 63] and The Hope [Poem 65].
Dust
, from thee I drew my birth.
70
Then come, and t’is but Earth to Earth
Then come, and ’tis but
Critical Note
a common period phrase alluding to the body’s disintegration at death; see the Book of Common Prayer burial service (London, 1549), Ee 4v: “earth to earth, ashes to ashes, dust to dust.”
earth to earth
.
Then come, and ‘tis but
Critical Note

This stanza’s opening lines introduce the concept of life as a circle, succinctly captured by the phrase “Earth to Earth.” The life/death cycle provides important framing for the stanza’s maternal themes. Even though Pulter draws on her status as mother throughout the rest of the poem, in this stanza she explicitly identifies herself as “mother” (line 72) for the first time and uses that identification as leverage to petition Mother Earth.

An important context underlying Pulter’s themes in this stanza is the very real fear of death that accompanied childbirth in early modern England. Giving birth was a dangerous process and maternal and infant mortality rates were high. How does the connection between death and motherhood function in this stanza compared to, for instance, This Was Written in 1648, When I Lay in, With my Son John [Poem 45]? For more on Pulter’s status as mother and how she contemplates her mortality through her motherhood, see Amanda Zoch, “Rewriting the Lying-In: Hester Pulter, Katherine Philips, and the Felt Mortality of Pregnancy,” Early Modern Women 15.1 (2020): 3-25, and Lying-In in the Curations for Poem 45.

Earth to Earth
.
71
My lovly Children thou hast taken
My lovely children thou hast taken:
My lovely children thou hast taken.
72
Shall their Sad Mother bee forſaken
Shall their sad mother be forsaken?
Shall their sad mother be forsaken?
73
Aye mee thou took’st them^young& faire
Ay me, thou took’st them young and fair,
Aye me,
Critical Note
Revised in the manuscript. The original line reads, “Aye me, thou took’st them faire.” It seems that Pulter’s insertion of “young and” is a practical formal revision to ensure the line fits metrically with the next line. But we might also ask, does this revision do conceptual work too, as we saw in Pulter’s revision to line 11?
thou took’st them young and fair
,
74
And leav’st mee here with Hoarie Haire
And leav’st me here with
Gloss Note
grey or white
hoary
hair.
And leav’st me here with
Gloss Note
grey, white with age
hoary
hair.
75
They Lovly faire with Snowey Skin
They lovely fair, with snowy skin,
They,
Critical Note
Pulter’s language here echoes her elegies on Jane Pulter’s death, Upon the Death of my Dear and Lovely Daughter, Jane Pulter [Poem 10] and Tell Me No More [On the Same] [Poem 11]. In “Upon the Death,” for example, Pulter describes how “fever spot[s]” appeared on Jane’s “snowy skin.” Like this poem, both elegies depict a mother consumed with grief over the loss of her child. The echoes between this poem and Pulter’s more traditional elegies bring us back to my question in the poem’s “Headnote”: what is an elegy and how do we know when we’re reading one?
lovely fair with snowy skin
,
76
Did too too Soone thy favour win
Did too, too soon thy favor win.
Did too, too soon thy favor win.
77
But I involved with Sin and Sorrow
But I, involved with sin and sorrow,
But I, involved with sin and sorrow,
78
Sadly expect thee Night and Morrow
Sadly expect thee night and morrow.
Sadly expect thee night and morrow.
79
I ask noe Piramide nor Stately Tomb
I ask no pyramid nor stately tomb:
I ask no pyramid nor stately tomb;
80
Doe but involve mee in thy Spacious Womb
Do but
Gloss Note
envelop
involve
me in thy spacious womb.
Do but involve me in
Critical Note

Pulter joins many of her contemporary poets in representing Earth as a fertile mother who both gives and takes life. In John Milton’s Paradise Lost, Hell’s demons “rifle[ ] the bowels of their mother Earth” (1.687) and, when Adam bites the fruit from the Tree of Knowledge, Milton describes the Earth “trembl[ing] from her entrails, as again / in pangs” (9.1000). Mary Sidney, Countess of Pembroke, also consistently draws on this metaphor in her psalm translations: “All things in brief, that life in life maintain, / From earth’s old bowels fresh and youngly grows” (Psalm 104, lines 47-48). Both Milton and Pembroke’s uses of this metaphor remind us that this is a common biblical trope, one with which Pulter would have been very familiar. In Pulter’s representation, Earth’s womb is central to the life/death cycle and the Earth’s “bowels” ultimately become the poet’s final desired resting place.

When I read this final stanza, I think about Pulter’s representation of Earth as a living, maternal organism in contrast to increasingly mechanistic representations of nature in seventeenth-century England. Within several decades of Pulter’s writing, changing attitudes toward science and the study of nature would result in widespread attempts to control, contain, and dominate the natural world. English poet Anna Laetitia Barbauld (1743-1825) confronts this shift in her 1773 poem “The Invitation,” where she describes scientists that “pensive creep” and “hunt” nature “to her elemental forms.” For foundational ecofeminist work to read alongside Pulter’s representation, see Carolyn Merchant, The Death of Nature: Women, Ecology and the Scientific Revolution (Harper & Row, 1980).

thy spacious womb
.
81
To Beg thys once dear Mother give mee leave
To beg this once, dear mother, give me leave:
To beg this once, dear mother, give me leave:
82
Oh let thy Bowels yern and mee receive.
O let thy
Gloss Note
intestines or the heart or core; also pity, compassion
bowels
yearn, and me receive.
O let thy bowels
Critical Note
The poem ends with the poet voicing her desire to be incorporated back into the earth. The Earth’s “yearn[ing]” here bookends the poet’s yearning in the poem’s opening stanza (how she “implore[s]” the Elements to attend her “last, best feast”). In early modern connotations, “yearn” could mean both “to have a strong desire or longing for” and “to be deeply moved; to feel something (as compassion, sympathy, etc.) intensely” (“yearn, v.1,” OED Online). The second connotation usefully extends the elegiac work of the poem we’ve traced thus far. How does this poem function not only as elegy, but specifically as a call for collective mourning? An invitation for the poem’s readers to mourn and “yearn” alongside the poet? To continue exploring these questions, we might now turn to one of Pulter’s elegies on her daughter’s death, where the poet asks “all…parents” to “lend one tear” to contribute to her lament (Upon the Death of my Dear and Lovely Daughter, Jane Pulter [Poem 10]).
yearn
and me receive.
X (Close panel)Notes: Amplified Edition
Title note

 Critical note

Pulter includes a specific time stamp in several of her poems’ titles, such as The Complaint of Thames, 1647 [Poem 4] and This Was Written in 1648, When I Lay in, With my Son John [Poem 45]. In this title, Pulter is hyper-specific, noting both year and date of composition. The “longest night” refers to the winter solstice (or midwinter), always mid-December for the Earth’s Northern Hemisphere. Pulter’s specificity here urges us to think about how the poem’s title offers important framing for its content—a meditation on the relationship among darkness, despair, and death. As we’ll see, the poet pleads for death by water, air, fire, and earth as the poem progresses. But even as this time stamp consequently seems the perfect framing for such a poem, the poem’s central themes are also undermined by this title. The winter solstice is a turning point, part of a yearly cycle. The longest night immediately gives way to the gradual lengthening of daylight and nature’s spring awakening. The poem’s title, then, raises some important questions for reading: Within the poem’s prominent themes of darkness, despair, and death, do we glimpse hope? Are there any signs of light in this seemingly dark poem?

 Editorial note

In my editions of Pulter’s poems, I prioritize accessibility and use my annotations to prompt further exploration. To make the poems accessible to the widest possible audience, I have modernized spelling, punctuation, and capitalization according to American English standards. My editions aim to demonstrate the complexity of Pulter’s thinking, while opening space for the reader’s own analysis and interpretation. I recognize editing as a political act and aim to be as transparent as possible about how I frame Pulter’s poems for the reader. My lengthy annotations are an attempt to reveal my thought processes and make clear the ideological networks that inform my readings.
As an important corollary to Pulter’s conceptual work, I also attend to the material expression of her manuscript object. Her manuscript pages reveal a glimpse of her thinking and writing processes, and I briefly note Pulter’s revisions to the poems in order to foreground her poetic craft. The manuscript features variants and revisions that invite multiple interpretations, and I encourage readers to refer to the manuscript images as they engage with Pulter’s writing. I offer some intertextual references to other early modern texts, but am most interested in drawing out how Pulter’s poems speak to each other as she reflects on clusters of ideas.

 Headnote

What is an elegy and how do we know when we’re reading one? The standard definition of an elegy is a lament for the dead, stemming from the Greek word elegos, or “song of mourning.” Pulter’s “Invocation of the Elements” does not explicitly call attention to itself as an elegy; in fact, it reads much more like a philosophical investigation. Like many of Pulter’s poems, it grapples with a range of themes surrounding mortality: nature, cosmology, redemption, and the relationship between body and soul. The poem opens with the poet pleading for death as her soul “rowl[s]” in darkness. The poet then invokes and addresses each of the four elements in turn—water, air, fire, and earth—as she explores the different ways her body and soul could be consumed.
But by line 8, when the poet references her “sad heart,” we glimpse the grief and despair that pervade this poem. Pulter invokes the elements and pleads for death as an antidote to the overwhelming trauma of losing seven children—“seven lovely buds” that have been “drawn dry” (line 21). That trauma and Pulter’s resulting grief drive the poem, which consequently explores how grief can inform and be informed by natural philosophy (a precursor to our modern understanding of science and its various fields of inquiry). Simultaneously lamentation for the dead and philosophical investigation, this poem offers an unusual example of an early modern elegy and a particularly complex aesthetic-scientific object.
In this edition of the poem, I explore several interrelated questions. First, how does Pulter both describe and perform grief throughout the poem? In other words, how does she invite the reader, through language and form, to feel her grief over her children’s deaths? This performance of grief extends to the manuscript’s material features. The ample blank spaces between the poem’s stanzas invite us to consider what roles absence and silence can play in poetic representations of grief. Pulter’s manuscript includes more explicit elegies (Upon the Death of my Dear and Lovely Daughter, Jane Pulter [Poem 10]), and other poems that function more like “Invocation of the Elements”—we might call them elegy-hybrids (see, for instance, On those Two Unparalleled Friends, Sir George Lisle and Sir Charles Lucas, Who Were Shot to Death at Colchester [Poem 7]). How does “Invocation of the Elements” work alongside those others and invite us to extend our understanding of what an elegy is and the kind of work it does? As Frances E. Dolan notes about Pulter’s poem on Lisle and Lucas, “this poem is an anguished lament, but about what exactly?” (see Curation, Commemorating the Dead).
Second, my annotations consider the poem’s intersecting “modes of knowing”—Valerie Traub’s useful phrase for the methods by which things come to be known.
Gloss Note
Traub, “The Nature of Norms in Early Modern England: Anatomy, Cartography, King Lear,” South Central Review 26:1/2 (2009): 42-81.
1
In this poem, Pulter draws on many different modes of knowing that we would now separate into discrete fields, or disciplines: philosophy (“For what is death but cold and night, / Life being only heat and light?”); chemistry (“I into tears am rarified”); and physiology (“Then will my heart forget to beat / And trepidate within my breast”). The poem is also deeply informed by Pulter’s experience as a mother. How are these different modes of knowing displayed and how do they interact throughout the poem? How does this poem’s network of knowledges continue to enhance our understanding of Pulter as both poet and thinker?
The poem’s central conceit—the four elements—provides an important example of how different modes of knowing converge. The elements had philosophical, medical, and spiritual resonances in the early modern period, and we see all of these at work in Pulter’s poem. Inherited from Greek philosophy, early moderns used the four elements to explain nature and the different kinds of matter that exist in nature. Medically, the four elements were linked to the humoral theory of the body. Through the seventeenth-century, the dominant physiological theory was that the human body is made up of fluids. The essential fluids, or humors, corresponded to the four elements and to four distinct stages of life: blood (warm/moist physical qualities linked to air and infancy); yellow bile (warm/dry physical qualities linked to fire and youth); black bile (cold/dry physical qualities linked to earth and adulthood); and phlegm (cold/moist physical qualities linked to water and old age). Spiritually (or, perhaps, cosmologically), the four elements were also an important part of the microcosm-macrocosm understanding of the world—a way to explain humanity’s place in the universe. As Pulter interacts with each element in turn, where and how do we see these different modes of knowing intersect?
Line number 2

 Critical note

Editors often modernize “rowl” to “roll,” as Leah Knight and Wendy Wall do in their Elemental Edition of the poem. The modernization illuminates several useful connotations for Pulter’s word choice: “roll” can mean revolve, proceed, wander, or be enveloped. Maintaining Pulter’s original spelling, though, reminds us of the term’s important etymological (and aural) connections to the verb “ravel,” particularly its early spellings “rauel” and “rawil.” “Ravel,” in this context, means “to entangle; to confuse, perplex; to render incoherent or muddled” (“ravel, v.1,” OED Online). The feelings of confusion and incoherence evoked by this word are important for some of the later formal features I’ll track in this long poem.
Line number 3

 Critical note


Pulter capitalizes "Elements" in this opening stanza as she invokes, or summons, the elements for assistance. The capitalization signals the importance of these entities for Pulter, and resonates with early modern understandings of the elements as particularly powerful forces. The four elements—water, air, fire, and earth—were a frequent topic of Renaissance poetry and natural philosophy. See, for instance, John Donne’s “The Dissolution,” which similarly uses the elements to reflect on loss and grief. Another useful comparison is Anne Bradstreet’s “The Four Elements.” Like Pulter, Bradstreet deals with each of the four elements in turn, but imagines the elements competing with each other to determine which is most important to human life. At the time Pulter was writing, the four elements were a familiar part of philosophical and scientific debates about the existence and creation of matter, central to the period’s renewed interest in atomism, for example.

The term “elements” might also be defined more simply as “the constituent parts of a whole.” This definition is particularly useful in thinking about the structure of Pulter’s poem—four stanzas (four “elements”) that each constitute one part of an aesthetic whole. In early modern religious contexts, “elements” could also refer to the “bread and wine used in the Sacrament of the Eucharist” (“element, n.,” OED Online), which directly relates to the poem’s central conceit: death as the “last, best feast” (line 5).

Line number 5

 Critical note

Here in the last line of the opening stanza, Pulter introduces the poem’s central conceit: death as the “last, best feast.” The poet is not doing the eating but rather “beg[s]” to be eaten—consumed by death. The poet then invites each of the four elements to be a “guest” at the feast (line 6) and she describes the different ways her body could be consumed by each element.
Line number 6

 Gloss note

clear or pure, most often used in relation to fluids
Line number 8

 Critical note

Pulter refers here to a common theory espoused in both medical and theological texts of the period: the pericardium—the membrane enclosing the heart—was understood to be a thin sac of water. In Thomas Gibson’s The Anatomy of Humane Bodies Epitomized, a lengthy compendium of anatomical knowledge published in several editions throughout the late-seventeenth and early-eighteenth centuries, Gibson helps his reader understand the fluid inside the pericardium by citing John 19.34: “This is that liquor that is supposed to have flown from the side of our Saviour when the soldier pierced it with a spear, for saith the Text (John 19.34.) There came forth blood and water” (London, 1682, Text Creation Partnership digital edition, Early English Books Online, p. 233). In Lewis Bayly’s The Practice of Piety, a hugely popular devotional manual (over 70 editions published by 1821), Bayly references the same story about “blood and water” flowing from Christ’s pierced side, and includes an explanatory marginal note that strikes a distinctly anatomical tone: “There is about man’s heart a skin called Pericardium containing water which cools and moistens the heart, lest it should be scorched with continual motion. This skin once pierced, man cannot live” (London, 1695, Text Creation Partnership digital edition, Early English Books Online, p. 459).
Line number 10

 Critical note

In early modern connotations, “rarefy” most frequently meant “to make thin” or “to make less dense in texture” (“rarefy, v.,” OED Online). Pulter draws on that meaning here as she contemplates how her body might be transformed into tears—the transformation of a solid into a liquid. Pulter explores similar kinds of material transformations in other poems, such as The Revolution [Poem 16], where she considers how her “tears” might “rarefy / to air” (lines 28-29).
Line number 11

 Critical note

The poem’s first of many medial caesuras—a break or pause in the metrical line that splits the line into two equal parts (in this case, four syllables on either side). Given Pulter’s striking, repeated use of the medial caesura in this stanza (lines 11, 15, 17, 18, 22, and 23), we might consider how her use of this formal feature compares to her contemporary poets. John Donne often uses medial caesuras in his devotional poems: “Thou hast made me, and shall thy work decay? / Repair me now, for now mine end doth haste” (“Thou hast made me,” lines 1-2). Mary Sidney, Countess of Pembroke offers another useful comparison because her psalm translations were such an important model for early modern poets like Pulter writing at the intersection of devotion and politics. In a psalm about God’s omniscience, Pembroke uses medial caesura to emphasize God’s knowledge of the poet’s movements: “if forth I march, thou goest before; / if back I turn, thou com’st behind” (Psalm 139, lines 15-16).
Line number 11

 Critical note

Pulter revised this line in the manuscript. The original line reads: “Number them not, but count each sand or star.” The revised line emphasizes the medial caesura, adding to the midline stops and starts throughout this stanza (see my note on “not. Count”). And the edit from “each sand” to “sand” is crucial for the questions about quantification Pulter raises in these lines. “Each sand” opens the possibility for counting (a collection of grains of sand that can “each” be counted), but “sand” (like “star”) seems an abstraction, a move away from the thing as countable material and a move toward the thing as uncountable idea.
Line number 12

 Critical note

We find this theme of excessive weeping in many of Pulter’s poems, such as The Weeping Wish [Poem 61] and On the Horrid Murder Of that Incomparable Prince [Poem 14]. In this poem, weeping is not confined, as we might expect, to the “Water” stanza. Pulter revisits this theme again in the “Air” stanza: “my grief o’erflows / I into tears am rarified” (lines 42-43).
Line number 13

 Critical note

Pulter uses “oh” many times throughout this poem—five times in this stanza alone. Even though she is directly addressing each of the elements, she uses “oh” as an exclamation rather than direct address (or apostrophe), often during moments when she seems overwhelmed by grief. Given the term’s frequent use in apostrophe, though, we might wonder: is this word doing double work throughout the poem?
Line number 13

 Critical note

With this conditional construction, Pulter draws on a commonplace connection between grief and repentance (she’ll do this again later when she pairs “sin and sorrow” in line 77). If I were weeping in repentance for my sins, the poet reflects, then my tears would be valuable (“in heaven … bottled” [line 14]). Instead, the poet’s tears are shed in grief over the loss of her seven children, first referenced in line 21. This brief nod to repentance, though, raises a useful question about how Pulter links her status as mother to her devotional explorations throughout the manuscript: what kind of relationship does Pulter construct here between the possibility of spiritual redemption and the experience of maternal grief? For more on the connection between grief and repentance, particularly in women’s writing, see Elizabeth Hodgson’s Grief and Women Writers in the English Renaissance (2015), especially pages 8-9.
Line number 15

 Critical note

This and the next eight lines read as a dialogue between the poet and Water. The poet imagines Water asking about the reason for her grief (“why were they [her tears] shed?”). In response, the poet resists repeating the traumatic experiences of her children’s deaths (“If I repeat my woes, I die / a double death” [16-17]). The poet’s responses to Water recall one of Pulter’s poems on her daughter Jane’s death, Tell Me No More [Poem 11]. In both poems Pulter contemplates poetry’s role in articulating grief. Rather than give her reader the details of her children’s deaths, how can she use poetry to mark their absence and her grief? The repetition of “tell me no more” in the poem on Jane’s death is here reprised in the repetition of the exclamatory “Oh”; the echoed phrasing “Oh ask not why” (line 15), “Oh ask no more” (line 17), and “O say no more” (line 42); and the pattern “I die / a n death” (lines 16-17; 22-23).
Line number 16

 Critical note

Pulter uses enjambment—the continuation of a sentence or clause through a line break—to emphasize the language of death and dying. “I die” lingers at the end of line 16. Grammatically, the sentence is complete, but Pulter adds the extra weight of “double death” in the next line. How does the formal feature of enjambment contribute to Pulter’s poetic representation of grief throughout the rest of the poem? What effect does it have on the reader, particularly if the poem is read aloud?
Line number 18

 Gloss note

weep for, grieve over, lament
Line number 23

 Gloss note

triple
Line number 27

 Gloss note

Pulter ends her address to Water with a biblical reference to the Old Testament flood, narrated in the Book of Genesis, chapter 7. “Involve” here means “to envelop or enfold.” As water enveloped the world during the flood, the poet pleads for Water to engulf her. “Involve” is a particularly rich term throughout the manuscript, often connected to the “dissolution” of the poet’s body (here: “involve” in line 27 rhymes with “dissolve” in line 28). For more on this term in Pulter’s poetry, see Liza Blake, “Hester Pulter’s Particle Physics and the Poetics of Involution,” Journal for Early Modern Cultural Studies 20.2 (2020): 71-98.
Line number 28

 Critical note

In this context, “dissolve” has some particularly grisly connotations: “to destroy the physical integrity; to disintegrate, decompose” and “to melt or reduce into a liquid condition” (“dissolve, v.,” OED Online). Given the highly physical experience of death Pulter evokes in this line, we might consider: how does Pulter’s engagement with death in this poem compare to her representation of death in other poems—The Hope [Poem 65] or The Circle [3] [Poem 25], for example?
Line number 31

 Gloss note

to draw out or expend
Line number 31

 Critical note

This line again emphasizes the fragility of the poet’s corporeal form, recalling the end of the “Water” stanza, where the poet notes, “a little blow will make me fall” (26). “Vapor” is an especially important word choice because it suggests a steamy or moist emission as water transforms into air. In John Swan’s Speculum Mundi, a popular seventeenth-century encyclopedia, he links “vapors” to “clouds”: an “exhalation cold and moist, drawn from the earth out of wet or watery places” (Cambridge, 1635, Text Creation Partnership digital edition, Early English Books Online, p. 143). When Pulter was writing, “vapor” was also a word used in relation to scent. Fragrances were still understood to be emitted as smoke or vapor, which connects to Pulter’s description of the garden in this stanza and her reference to odor as “sweet breath” (lines 36-41).
Line number 32

 Gloss note

candlewick, or another word for a wax candle used in devotional or penitential contexts
Line number 35

 Critical note

Another kind of “feast” in the poem—this time a feast of smells and odors—that recalls the “last, best feast” of the opening stanza. The poet goes on to describe briefly the “sweet breath” of her garden’s “blossoms” (lines 38-41), but then cuts herself off, overwhelmed again by grief. Pulter uses garden references and metaphors to do interesting work throughout the manuscript. See, for instance, Invitation to the Country [Poem 2], which, as Liza Blake shows us in her Amplified Edition, construes the garden as both an instrument of political agency and a space of political retreat. Or we could look at The Snail, The Tulip, and The Bee [Poem 118], which imagines the garden as a female separatist community. Finally, we might wonder how the manuscript’s most explicit garden poem (The Garden, or The Contention of Flowers [Poem 12]) both informs and is informed by these other representations.
Line number 39

 Gloss note

honeysuckle flowering plant (lonicera periclymenum), which releases fragrance at night
Line number 40

 Gloss note

Pulter’s preferred term for “gillyflower,” a common name for several varieties of flowering plants, many of which are heavily scented, including the wallflower (Erysimum genus) and the stock (Matthiola genus).
Line number 41

 Gloss note

The violet (Violacea family) was especially noted for its fragrance in early modern contexts. In The Garden [Poem 12], the violet flower boasts that it “perfume[s] the air with fair Aurora” (line 282). For an excellent account of the violet’s use in perfumes and herbal recipes, see Colleen Kennedy’s post, “Smelling ‘Violet’ in Renaissance Works,” on The Recipes Project.
Line number 41

 Critical note

Half-bloomed or half-blossomed. Another flower praised for its scent in early modern contexts, the rose was also a primary example of the ephemerality of youth and beauty, here a reminder of Pulter’s children (“seven lovely buds” [line 21]) and the catalyst for her eruption of grief in the subsequent line. For more on the rose’s scent and the political ramifications of its ephemerality, see Holly Dugan’s chapter on roses, rosewater, and English courts in The Ephemeral History of Perfume: Scent and Sense in Early Modern England (2011).
Line number 43

 Gloss note

This line directly echoes language from the “Water” stanza and reinforces the poem’s attention to material transformations (see my notes at lines 10 and 31). For another exploration of grief in relation to the material transformation of water and air, see the “sad circle” of sighs and tears in The Circle [1] [Poem 17].
Line number 45

 Critical note

The “sigh” is Air’s “part,” but Air is denied the rest of the poet’s body, which is again consumed by water (“tears”). Sighs are a constant theme in Pulter’s poetry, signalled in the title pages for the manuscript’s poems and emblems: “Poems Breathed Forth by the Noble Hadassas” and “The Sighs of a Sad Soul Emblematically Breathed Forth by the Noble Hadassah.” But these last two lines of the “Air” stanza show us that the sigh is not just of thematic interest to Pulter; rather, these lines start with a literal exhalation of air—oh. Throughout the poem, but especially here, “oh” is both sigh and breath, a formal marker and performance of feeling.
Line number 46

 Critical note

In the manuscript this stanza is followed by a large blank space that fills the rest of the page before the “Fire” stanza begins on the facing leaf. Are we meant to imagine that the poet’s feeling sigh in line 45 (both sigh and breath; both written “oh” and aural exhalation) gives way to a moment of silence? How does this material feature of the manuscript—the blank page space—enhance the poetic work of the “sigh” at the stanza’s end?
Line number 49

 Critical note

Pulter begins this stanza emphasizing her unfamiliarity with fire—"whom (though I know not) I admire” (line 48)—so this invitation to the “last, best feast,” more than the others, is a “strange petition” (line 50). The “if” is significant, an exploratory tool that introduces the rhetoric of scientific inquiry into Pulter’s poem. Fire’s status as an element was increasingly contested in seventeenth-century natural philosophy. John Donne succinctly cites the debate in his “Anatomy of the World”: “and new philosophy calls all in doubt; / the element of fire is quite put out” (lines 205-206). For more on the use of “if” and the rhetoric of scientific hypothesis in early modern texts, see Chapter 3 of Jonathan P. Lamb’s Shakespeare in the Marketplace of Words (Cambridge University Press, 2017).
Line number 53

 Gloss note

to draw in, condense
Line number 54

 Critical note

Pulter’s emphasis on the heart as the body’s life-giving center recalls her lines in the “Water” stanza about the pericardium (see my note at line 8). These lines can seem a bit opaque: how will fire “hold[ing] its heat” result in the poet’s heart stopping? In William Harvey’s foundational work on the circulatory system (1628)—the first detailed account of how blood circulates through the body—Harvey associated heat with the motion of blood: “the blood, therefore, required to have motion, and indeed such a motion that it should return again to the heart … for we see motion generating and keeping up heat and spirits under all circumstances.” Harvey’s explanation helps us understand Pulter’s line: by holding its heat and, thereby, denying heat to the poet’s body, fire would cause the poet’s blood to stop circulating. See Anatomical Exercise on the Motion of the Heart, Chapter XV, page 69, cited from The Works of William Harvey, trans. Robert Willis, University of Pennsylvania Press, 1989.
Line number 55

 Gloss note

to tremble with fear
Line number 56

 Critical note

Here Pulter draws on the familiar trope of sleep as a kind of death. Shakespeare’s Hamlet includes a famous use of this analogy in Hamlet’s “to be or not to be” soliloquy: “to die, to sleep; to sleep, perchance to dream” (Act 3, Scene 1). Pulter threads this trope through the remainder of this stanza with references to “sweet slumber,” “sad dreams,” and “blessed night.” For an entire poem centered on this trope, see Why Art Thou Sad at the Approach of Night [Poem 47].
Line number 60

 Critical note

By repeating this line verbatim three lines later, Pulter uses her characteristic doubling to underscore the poet’s desire for death. The enveloped lines between the repetition convey an almost effortless death: the poet will exhale a “short breath” and her “structure” will “fall” to “dust.” Death is not only “welcome,” but easy.
Line number 65

 Critical note

Pulter’s definition of death as “cold and night” turns us back to the poem’s title where she records its composition on the “longest night in the year.” We might also think about how this question about the definition of death and life connect to Pulter’s use of “if” at the stanza’s opening. The Fire stanza, more than any of the others, seems truly an exploration, first marked by the conditional “if,” then by Pulter’s reflection on the relationship between blood and heat, and finally here by the interrogative mode at the stanza’s end.
Line number 69

 Gloss note

“Dust” is one of Pulter’s frequent preoccupations throughout the manuscript and she often uses this term to refer to the element of Earth. For some other poems that consider “dust,” see Dear God, From Thy High Throne Look Down [Poem 63] and The Hope [Poem 65].
Line number 70

 Critical note


This stanza’s opening lines introduce the concept of life as a circle, succinctly captured by the phrase “Earth to Earth.” The life/death cycle provides important framing for the stanza’s maternal themes. Even though Pulter draws on her status as mother throughout the rest of the poem, in this stanza she explicitly identifies herself as “mother” (line 72) for the first time and uses that identification as leverage to petition Mother Earth.

An important context underlying Pulter’s themes in this stanza is the very real fear of death that accompanied childbirth in early modern England. Giving birth was a dangerous process and maternal and infant mortality rates were high. How does the connection between death and motherhood function in this stanza compared to, for instance, This Was Written in 1648, When I Lay in, With my Son John [Poem 45]? For more on Pulter’s status as mother and how she contemplates her mortality through her motherhood, see Amanda Zoch, “Rewriting the Lying-In: Hester Pulter, Katherine Philips, and the Felt Mortality of Pregnancy,” Early Modern Women 15.1 (2020): 3-25, and Lying-In in the Curations for Poem 45.

Line number 73

 Critical note

Revised in the manuscript. The original line reads, “Aye me, thou took’st them faire.” It seems that Pulter’s insertion of “young and” is a practical formal revision to ensure the line fits metrically with the next line. But we might also ask, does this revision do conceptual work too, as we saw in Pulter’s revision to line 11?
Line number 74

 Gloss note

grey, white with age
Line number 75

 Critical note

Pulter’s language here echoes her elegies on Jane Pulter’s death, Upon the Death of my Dear and Lovely Daughter, Jane Pulter [Poem 10] and Tell Me No More [On the Same] [Poem 11]. In “Upon the Death,” for example, Pulter describes how “fever spot[s]” appeared on Jane’s “snowy skin.” Like this poem, both elegies depict a mother consumed with grief over the loss of her child. The echoes between this poem and Pulter’s more traditional elegies bring us back to my question in the poem’s “Headnote”: what is an elegy and how do we know when we’re reading one?
Line number 80

 Critical note


Pulter joins many of her contemporary poets in representing Earth as a fertile mother who both gives and takes life. In John Milton’s Paradise Lost, Hell’s demons “rifle[ ] the bowels of their mother Earth” (1.687) and, when Adam bites the fruit from the Tree of Knowledge, Milton describes the Earth “trembl[ing] from her entrails, as again / in pangs” (9.1000). Mary Sidney, Countess of Pembroke, also consistently draws on this metaphor in her psalm translations: “All things in brief, that life in life maintain, / From earth’s old bowels fresh and youngly grows” (Psalm 104, lines 47-48). Both Milton and Pembroke’s uses of this metaphor remind us that this is a common biblical trope, one with which Pulter would have been very familiar. In Pulter’s representation, Earth’s womb is central to the life/death cycle and the Earth’s “bowels” ultimately become the poet’s final desired resting place.

When I read this final stanza, I think about Pulter’s representation of Earth as a living, maternal organism in contrast to increasingly mechanistic representations of nature in seventeenth-century England. Within several decades of Pulter’s writing, changing attitudes toward science and the study of nature would result in widespread attempts to control, contain, and dominate the natural world. English poet Anna Laetitia Barbauld (1743-1825) confronts this shift in her 1773 poem “The Invitation,” where she describes scientists that “pensive creep” and “hunt” nature “to her elemental forms.” For foundational ecofeminist work to read alongside Pulter’s representation, see Carolyn Merchant, The Death of Nature: Women, Ecology and the Scientific Revolution (Harper & Row, 1980).

Line number 82

 Critical note

The poem ends with the poet voicing her desire to be incorporated back into the earth. The Earth’s “yearn[ing]” here bookends the poet’s yearning in the poem’s opening stanza (how she “implore[s]” the Elements to attend her “last, best feast”). In early modern connotations, “yearn” could mean both “to have a strong desire or longing for” and “to be deeply moved; to feel something (as compassion, sympathy, etc.) intensely” (“yearn, v.1,” OED Online). The second connotation usefully extends the elegiac work of the poem we’ve traced thus far. How does this poem function not only as elegy, but specifically as a call for collective mourning? An invitation for the poem’s readers to mourn and “yearn” alongside the poet? To continue exploring these questions, we might now turn to one of Pulter’s elegies on her daughter’s death, where the poet asks “all…parents” to “lend one tear” to contribute to her lament (Upon the Death of my Dear and Lovely Daughter, Jane Pulter [Poem 10]).
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The invocation of the Elements the longest Night in the Year 1655
The Invocation of the
Gloss Note
fundamental components of the physical world; in ancient philosophy, as in this poem, earth, fire, water, and air
Elements
, The Longest Night in the Year, 1655
The Invocation of the Elements the
Critical Note
Pulter includes a specific time stamp in several of her poems’ titles, such as The Complaint of Thames, 1647 [Poem 4] and This Was Written in 1648, When I Lay in, With my Son John [Poem 45]. In this title, Pulter is hyper-specific, noting both year and date of composition. The “longest night” refers to the winter solstice (or midwinter), always mid-December for the Earth’s Northern Hemisphere. Pulter’s specificity here urges us to think about how the poem’s title offers important framing for its content—a meditation on the relationship among darkness, despair, and death. As we’ll see, the poet pleads for death by water, air, fire, and earth as the poem progresses. But even as this time stamp consequently seems the perfect framing for such a poem, the poem’s central themes are also undermined by this title. The winter solstice is a turning point, part of a yearly cycle. The longest night immediately gives way to the gradual lengthening of daylight and nature’s spring awakening. The poem’s title, then, raises some important questions for reading: Within the poem’s prominent themes of darkness, despair, and death, do we glimpse hope? Are there any signs of light in this seemingly dark poem?
Longest Night
in the Year 1655
In these transcriptions we preserve as many details of the original material, textual, and graphic properties of Hester Pulter’s manuscript verse as we have found practical. Whenever possible, for instance, original spelling, punctuation, capitalization, lineation, insertions, deletions, alterations, spacing between words and lines, and indentation are all maintained; abbreviations and brevigraphs are not expanded; and superscript and subscript representations are retained. See full conventions for the transcriptions here.

— Whitney Sperrazza
The aim of the elemental edition is to make the poems accessible to the largest variety of readers, which involves modernizing spelling and punctuation as well as adding basic glosses. Spelling and punctuation reflect current standard American usage; punctuation highlights syntax which might otherwise be obscure. Outmoded but still familiar word forms (“thou,” “‘tis,” “hold’st”) are not modernized, and we do not modernize grammar when the sense remains legible. After a brief headnote aimed at offering a “way in” to the poem’s unique qualities and connections with other verse by Pulter or her contemporaries, the edition features a minimum of notes and interpretative framing to allow more immediate engagement with the poem. Glosses clarify synonyms or showcase various possible meanings in Pulter’s time. Other notes identify named people and places or clarify obscure material. We rely (without citation) primarily on the Oxford English Dictionary (OED), the Oxford Reference database, and the King James Version (KJV) of the Bible. When we rely on Alice Eardley’s edition of Pulter’s work, we cite her text generally (“Eardley”); other sources are cited in full. The result is an edition we consider a springboard for further work on Pulter’s poetry. See full conventions for this edition here.

— Whitney Sperrazza
In my editions of Pulter’s poems, I prioritize accessibility and use my annotations to prompt further exploration. To make the poems accessible to the widest possible audience, I have modernized spelling, punctuation, and capitalization according to American English standards. My editions aim to demonstrate the complexity of Pulter’s thinking, while opening space for the reader’s own analysis and interpretation. I recognize editing as a political act and aim to be as transparent as possible about how I frame Pulter’s poems for the reader. My lengthy annotations are an attempt to reveal my thought processes and make clear the ideological networks that inform my readings.
As an important corollary to Pulter’s conceptual work, I also attend to the material expression of her manuscript object. Her manuscript pages reveal a glimpse of her thinking and writing processes, and I briefly note Pulter’s revisions to the poems in order to foreground her poetic craft. The manuscript features variants and revisions that invite multiple interpretations, and I encourage readers to refer to the manuscript images as they engage with Pulter’s writing. I offer some intertextual references to other early modern texts, but am most interested in drawing out how Pulter’s poems speak to each other as she reflects on clusters of ideas.


— Whitney Sperrazza
Inscribed beneath the title of this poem is not just a year, as in several other Pulter poems, but a precise indication of the date of composition: the winter solstice, the darkest day of any year. Pulter’s general preoccupation with astronomical observation is thus reflected here, as is her larger concern with—and, often, morbid fixation on—the darkness of the night sky and her corresponding emotional state. This night, though, the speaker invites guests to a wonderful feast: darkness seems, at first, at bay. But we soon realize that the main course she plans to serve is her own body, carved into its constitutive elements of water, air, fire and earth. Those elements are also, paradoxically, her invitees, along with her soul, whose impatience to die motivates the occasion and the poem. Like any good host, the speaker serves up pleasing dishes and chatty flattery at the same time, in a sequence of dramatic monologues implied in her instructions to “ask no more” and “say no more” formulations (echoing Tell Me No More [On the Same] [Poem 11] and Upon the Imprisonment of His Sacred Majesty [Poem 13]). While initially cordial, the speaker’s table-talk at times edges toward indecorous demands to be liquified, vaporized, chilled, and consumed into the earth, increasingly signalling the urgency with which she seeks her death; her sadness at that of her “lovely children”—seven, horribly, by this date—rationalizes her insistence on returning to her own “mother,” the Earth addressed here.

— Whitney Sperrazza
What is an elegy and how do we know when we’re reading one? The standard definition of an elegy is a lament for the dead, stemming from the Greek word elegos, or “song of mourning.” Pulter’s “Invocation of the Elements” does not explicitly call attention to itself as an elegy; in fact, it reads much more like a philosophical investigation. Like many of Pulter’s poems, it grapples with a range of themes surrounding mortality: nature, cosmology, redemption, and the relationship between body and soul. The poem opens with the poet pleading for death as her soul “rowl[s]” in darkness. The poet then invokes and addresses each of the four elements in turn—water, air, fire, and earth—as she explores the different ways her body and soul could be consumed.
But by line 8, when the poet references her “sad heart,” we glimpse the grief and despair that pervade this poem. Pulter invokes the elements and pleads for death as an antidote to the overwhelming trauma of losing seven children—“seven lovely buds” that have been “drawn dry” (line 21). That trauma and Pulter’s resulting grief drive the poem, which consequently explores how grief can inform and be informed by natural philosophy (a precursor to our modern understanding of science and its various fields of inquiry). Simultaneously lamentation for the dead and philosophical investigation, this poem offers an unusual example of an early modern elegy and a particularly complex aesthetic-scientific object.
In this edition of the poem, I explore several interrelated questions. First, how does Pulter both describe and perform grief throughout the poem? In other words, how does she invite the reader, through language and form, to feel her grief over her children’s deaths? This performance of grief extends to the manuscript’s material features. The ample blank spaces between the poem’s stanzas invite us to consider what roles absence and silence can play in poetic representations of grief. Pulter’s manuscript includes more explicit elegies (Upon the Death of my Dear and Lovely Daughter, Jane Pulter [Poem 10]), and other poems that function more like “Invocation of the Elements”—we might call them elegy-hybrids (see, for instance, On those Two Unparalleled Friends, Sir George Lisle and Sir Charles Lucas, Who Were Shot to Death at Colchester [Poem 7]). How does “Invocation of the Elements” work alongside those others and invite us to extend our understanding of what an elegy is and the kind of work it does? As Frances E. Dolan notes about Pulter’s poem on Lisle and Lucas, “this poem is an anguished lament, but about what exactly?” (see Curation, Commemorating the Dead).
Second, my annotations consider the poem’s intersecting “modes of knowing”—Valerie Traub’s useful phrase for the methods by which things come to be known.
Gloss Note
Traub, “The Nature of Norms in Early Modern England: Anatomy, Cartography, King Lear,” South Central Review 26:1/2 (2009): 42-81.
1
In this poem, Pulter draws on many different modes of knowing that we would now separate into discrete fields, or disciplines: philosophy (“For what is death but cold and night, / Life being only heat and light?”); chemistry (“I into tears am rarified”); and physiology (“Then will my heart forget to beat / And trepidate within my breast”). The poem is also deeply informed by Pulter’s experience as a mother. How are these different modes of knowing displayed and how do they interact throughout the poem? How does this poem’s network of knowledges continue to enhance our understanding of Pulter as both poet and thinker?
The poem’s central conceit—the four elements—provides an important example of how different modes of knowing converge. The elements had philosophical, medical, and spiritual resonances in the early modern period, and we see all of these at work in Pulter’s poem. Inherited from Greek philosophy, early moderns used the four elements to explain nature and the different kinds of matter that exist in nature. Medically, the four elements were linked to the humoral theory of the body. Through the seventeenth-century, the dominant physiological theory was that the human body is made up of fluids. The essential fluids, or humors, corresponded to the four elements and to four distinct stages of life: blood (warm/moist physical qualities linked to air and infancy); yellow bile (warm/dry physical qualities linked to fire and youth); black bile (cold/dry physical qualities linked to earth and adulthood); and phlegm (cold/moist physical qualities linked to water and old age). Spiritually (or, perhaps, cosmologically), the four elements were also an important part of the microcosm-macrocosm understanding of the world—a way to explain humanity’s place in the universe. As Pulter interacts with each element in turn, where and how do we see these different modes of knowing intersect?


— Whitney Sperrazza
1
Have Patience my aflicted Soul,
Have patience, my afflicted soul:
Have patience, my afflicted soul;
2
Thou Shalt not Long in Darknes Rowl.
Thou shalt not long in darkness
Gloss Note
revolve; proceed; wander; be enveloped
roll
.
Thou shalt not long in darkness
Critical Note
Editors often modernize “rowl” to “roll,” as Leah Knight and Wendy Wall do in their Elemental Edition of the poem. The modernization illuminates several useful connotations for Pulter’s word choice: “roll” can mean revolve, proceed, wander, or be enveloped. Maintaining Pulter’s original spelling, though, reminds us of the term’s important etymological (and aural) connections to the verb “ravel,” particularly its early spellings “rauel” and “rawil.” “Ravel,” in this context, means “to entangle; to confuse, perplex; to render incoherent or muddled” (“ravel, v.1,” OED Online). The feelings of confusion and incoherence evoked by this word are important for some of the later formal features I’ll track in this long poem.
rowl
.
3
I will the Elements implore,
I will the elements implore;
I will the
Critical Note

Pulter capitalizes "Elements" in this opening stanza as she invokes, or summons, the elements for assistance. The capitalization signals the importance of these entities for Pulter, and resonates with early modern understandings of the elements as particularly powerful forces. The four elements—water, air, fire, and earth—were a frequent topic of Renaissance poetry and natural philosophy. See, for instance, John Donne’s “The Dissolution,” which similarly uses the elements to reflect on loss and grief. Another useful comparison is Anne Bradstreet’s “The Four Elements.” Like Pulter, Bradstreet deals with each of the four elements in turn, but imagines the elements competing with each other to determine which is most important to human life. At the time Pulter was writing, the four elements were a familiar part of philosophical and scientific debates about the existence and creation of matter, central to the period’s renewed interest in atomism, for example.

The term “elements” might also be defined more simply as “the constituent parts of a whole.” This definition is particularly useful in thinking about the structure of Pulter’s poem—four stanzas (four “elements”) that each constitute one part of an aesthetic whole. In early modern religious contexts, “elements” could also refer to the “bread and wine used in the Sacrament of the Eucharist” (“element, n.,” OED Online), which directly relates to the poem’s central conceit: death as the “last, best feast” (line 5).

Elements
implore.
4
Then Shall I Need to beg noe More,
Then shall I need to beg no more
Then shall I need to beg no more
5
To come unto my last best feast,
To come unto my last, best feast:
to come unto
Critical Note
Here in the last line of the opening stanza, Pulter introduces the poem’s central conceit: death as the “last, best feast.” The poet is not doing the eating but rather “beg[s]” to be eaten—consumed by death. The poet then invites each of the four elements to be a “guest” at the feast (line 6) and she describes the different ways her body could be consumed by each element.
my last, best feast
.
Water
Water
Water
6
Physical Note
in left margin: “Water”
The
Lymped Lady’es my
Physical Note
“r” appears written over earlier letter, possibly “e”
first
guest,
The
Gloss Note
transparent
limpid
lady’s my first guest;
The
Gloss Note
clear or pure, most often used in relation to fluids
limpid
lady’s my first guest.
7
Cool Cristall Water take thy part,
Cool crystal Water, take
Critical Note
This refers to water’s serving of the speaker’s “feast,” which is a figure for her body.
thy part
:
Cool crystal Water, take thy part:
8
ffirst that which Circles my Sad Heart.
First, that which circles my sad heart;
First,
Critical Note
Pulter refers here to a common theory espoused in both medical and theological texts of the period: the pericardium—the membrane enclosing the heart—was understood to be a thin sac of water. In Thomas Gibson’s The Anatomy of Humane Bodies Epitomized, a lengthy compendium of anatomical knowledge published in several editions throughout the late-seventeenth and early-eighteenth centuries, Gibson helps his reader understand the fluid inside the pericardium by citing John 19.34: “This is that liquor that is supposed to have flown from the side of our Saviour when the soldier pierced it with a spear, for saith the Text (John 19.34.) There came forth blood and water” (London, 1682, Text Creation Partnership digital edition, Early English Books Online, p. 233). In Lewis Bayly’s The Practice of Piety, a hugely popular devotional manual (over 70 editions published by 1821), Bayly references the same story about “blood and water” flowing from Christ’s pierced side, and includes an explanatory marginal note that strikes a distinctly anatomical tone: “There is about man’s heart a skin called Pericardium containing water which cools and moistens the heart, lest it should be scorched with continual motion. This skin once pierced, man cannot live” (London, 1695, Text Creation Partnership digital edition, Early English Books Online, p. 459).
that which circles my sad heart
.
9
Or if my Tears will Satisfie,
Or, if my tears will satisfy,
Or, if my tears will satisfy,
10
To tears Il’e quickly Rariefie,
To tears I’ll quickly
Gloss Note
dissipate
rarefy
.
To tears I’ll quickly
Critical Note
In early modern connotations, “rarefy” most frequently meant “to make thin” or “to make less dense in texture” (“rarefy, v.,” OED Online). Pulter draws on that meaning here as she contemplates how her body might be transformed into tears—the transformation of a solid into a liquid. Pulter explores similar kinds of material transformations in other poems, such as The Revolution [Poem 16], where she considers how her “tears” might “rarefy / to air” (lines 28-29).
rarefy
11
Number them not,
Physical Note
struck-through with multiple horizontal lines
but
count
Physical Note
struck-through with multiple horizontal lines
each
Sand or Star,
Number them not; count sand or star—
Number them
Critical Note
The poem’s first of many medial caesuras—a break or pause in the metrical line that splits the line into two equal parts (in this case, four syllables on either side). Given Pulter’s striking, repeated use of the medial caesura in this stanza (lines 11, 15, 17, 18, 22, and 23), we might consider how her use of this formal feature compares to her contemporary poets. John Donne often uses medial caesuras in his devotional poems: “Thou hast made me, and shall thy work decay? / Repair me now, for now mine end doth haste” (“Thou hast made me,” lines 1-2). Mary Sidney, Countess of Pembroke offers another useful comparison because her psalm translations were such an important model for early modern poets like Pulter writing at the intersection of devotion and politics. In a psalm about God’s omniscience, Pembroke uses medial caesura to emphasize God’s knowledge of the poet’s movements: “if forth I march, thou goest before; / if back I turn, thou com’st behind” (Psalm 139, lines 15-16).
not. Count
sand or
Critical Note
Pulter revised this line in the manuscript. The original line reads: “Number them not, but count each sand or star.” The revised line emphasizes the medial caesura, adding to the midline stops and starts throughout this stanza (see my note on “not. Count”). And the edit from “each sand” to “sand” is crucial for the questions about quantification Pulter raises in these lines. “Each sand” opens the possibility for counting (a collection of grains of sand that can “each” be counted), but “sand” (like “star”) seems an abstraction, a move away from the thing as countable material and a move toward the thing as uncountable idea.
star—
12
You’l Sooner Number them by farr,
You’ll sooner number them by far.
You’ll
Critical Note
We find this theme of excessive weeping in many of Pulter’s poems, such as The Weeping Wish [Poem 61] and On the Horrid Murder Of that Incomparable Prince [Poem 14]. In this poem, weeping is not confined, as we might expect, to the “Water” stanza. Pulter revisits this theme again in the “Air” stanza: “my grief o’erflows / I into tears am rarified” (lines 42-43).
sooner number them by far
.
13
Oh that they had bin Shed for Sin,
O, that they had been shed for sin,
Critical Note
Pulter uses “oh” many times throughout this poem—five times in this stanza alone. Even though she is directly addressing each of the elements, she uses “oh” as an exclamation rather than direct address (or apostrophe), often during moments when she seems overwhelmed by grief. Given the term’s frequent use in apostrophe, though, we might wonder: is this word doing double work throughout the poem?
Oh
Critical Note
With this conditional construction, Pulter draws on a commonplace connection between grief and repentance (she’ll do this again later when she pairs “sin and sorrow” in line 77). If I were weeping in repentance for my sins, the poet reflects, then my tears would be valuable (“in heaven … bottled” [line 14]). Instead, the poet’s tears are shed in grief over the loss of her seven children, first referenced in line 21. This brief nod to repentance, though, raises a useful question about how Pulter links her status as mother to her devotional explorations throughout the manuscript: what kind of relationship does Pulter construct here between the possibility of spiritual redemption and the experience of maternal grief? For more on the connection between grief and repentance, particularly in women’s writing, see Elizabeth Hodgson’s Grief and Women Writers in the English Renaissance (2015), especially pages 8-9.
that they had been shed for sin
,
14
Then they in
Physical Note
“a” written over other letter
heaven
had botle’d bin,
Then they in Heaven had bottled been!
Then they in heaven had bottled been.
15
Why were they Shed? O aſk not why,
Why were they shed? O, ask not why;
Why were they shed?
Critical Note
This and the next eight lines read as a dialogue between the poet and Water. The poet imagines Water asking about the reason for her grief (“why were they [her tears] shed?”). In response, the poet resists repeating the traumatic experiences of her children’s deaths (“If I repeat my woes, I die / a double death” [16-17]). The poet’s responses to Water recall one of Pulter’s poems on her daughter Jane’s death, Tell Me No More [Poem 11]. In both poems Pulter contemplates poetry’s role in articulating grief. Rather than give her reader the details of her children’s deaths, how can she use poetry to mark their absence and her grief? The repetition of “tell me no more” in the poem on Jane’s death is here reprised in the repetition of the exclamatory “Oh”; the echoed phrasing “Oh ask not why” (line 15), “Oh ask no more” (line 17), and “O say no more” (line 42); and the pattern “I die / a n death” (lines 16-17; 22-23).
Oh ask not why
.
16
If I repeat my woes, I dye
If I repeat my woes, I die
If I repeat my woes,
Critical Note
Pulter uses enjambment—the continuation of a sentence or clause through a line break—to emphasize the language of death and dying. “I die” lingers at the end of line 16. Grammatically, the sentence is complete, but Pulter adds the extra weight of “double death” in the next line. How does the formal feature of enjambment contribute to Pulter’s poetic representation of grief throughout the rest of the poem? What effect does it have on the reader, particularly if the poem is read aloud?
I die
17
A dubble Death, O ask noe more,
A double death;
Gloss Note
Pulter’s expression “ask no more” in this line and “say no more” below in l. 42 act as a refrain that she uses to more elaborate effect in Tell Me No More [Poem 11].
O, ask no more
;
A double death. Oh ask no more,
18
Let mee alone, my loſs deplore.
Let me alone my loss deplore.
Let me alone my loss
Gloss Note
weep for, grieve over, lament
deplore
.
19
ffair Nymph thoust
Physical Note
“t” possibly added later
oft
Quencht thirst in mee
Fair nymph,
Gloss Note
thou hast
thou’st
oft quenched thirst in me:
Fair nymph, thou’st oft quenched thirst in me.
20
Retaliate and drink up mee
Retaliate and drink up me!
Retaliate and drink up me.

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21
Seaven Lovly Buds thou hast drawn dry,
Gloss Note
The “buds” stand for seven of Pulter’s children who died.
Seven lovely buds thou hast drawn dry:
Seven lovely buds thou hast drawn dry.
22
Oh Spare the Rest, or elce I dye,
O, spare the rest, or else I die
Oh spare the rest, or else I die
23
A treble Death, O heare mee Speake,
A treble death. O hear me speak!
A
Gloss Note
triple
treble
death. Oh hear me speak!
24
Let not my heart Soe often breake
Let not my heart so often break,
Let not my heart so often break
25
But Let Death Strike mee once for all,
But let Death strike me once for all;
But let death strike me once for all—
26
A little blow will make mee ffall.
A little blow will make me fall.
A little blow will make me fall.
27
Thou didst a whole World once involve
Gloss Note
allusion to the biblical flood; see Genesis 7.
Thou didst a whole world once involve;
Thou didst a whole world once
Gloss Note
Pulter ends her address to Water with a biblical reference to the Old Testament flood, narrated in the Book of Genesis, chapter 7. “Involve” here means “to envelop or enfold.” As water enveloped the world during the flood, the poet pleads for Water to engulf her. “Involve” is a particularly rich term throughout the manuscript, often connected to the “dissolution” of the poet’s body (here: “involve” in line 27 rhymes with “dissolve” in line 28). For more on this term in Pulter’s poetry, see Liza Blake, “Hester Pulter’s Particle Physics and the Poetics of Involution,” Journal for Early Modern Cultural Studies 20.2 (2020): 71-98.
involve
.
28
Then let mee into thee diſsolve
Then let me into thee dissolve!
Then let me into thee
Critical Note
In this context, “dissolve” has some particularly grisly connotations: “to destroy the physical integrity; to disintegrate, decompose” and “to melt or reduce into a liquid condition” (“dissolve, v.,” OED Online). Given the highly physical experience of death Pulter evokes in this line, we might consider: how does Pulter’s engagement with death in this poem compare to her representation of death in other poems—The Hope [Poem 65] or The Circle [3] [Poem 25], for example?
dissolve
.
Ayr
Air
Air
29
Physical Note
in left margin: “Ayr”
Sweet
Ayr, Refreſher of Mankind,
Sweet Air, refresher of mankind,
Sweet Air, refresher of mankind,
30
Let mee at last thy ffavour ffind,
Let me at last thy
Gloss Note
possibly figurative, as in the “fragrance” of renown; esteem, reputation; or, as in “savor,” delight, or pleasing quality
flavor
find:
Let me at last thy favor find.
31
Doe but exhast a little vapour,
Do but
Gloss Note
drain; suck up
exhaust
a little vapor,
Do but
Gloss Note
to draw out or expend
exhaust
Critical Note
This line again emphasizes the fragility of the poet’s corporeal form, recalling the end of the “Water” stanza, where the poet notes, “a little blow will make me fall” (26). “Vapor” is an especially important word choice because it suggests a steamy or moist emission as water transforms into air. In John Swan’s Speculum Mundi, a popular seventeenth-century encyclopedia, he links “vapors” to “clouds”: an “exhalation cold and moist, drawn from the earth out of wet or watery places” (Cambridge, 1635, Text Creation Partnership digital edition, Early English Books Online, p. 143). When Pulter was writing, “vapor” was also a word used in relation to scent. Fragrances were still understood to be emitted as smoke or vapor, which connects to Pulter’s description of the garden in this stanza and her reference to odor as “sweet breath” (lines 36-41).
a little vapor
,
32
Thoul’t quickly blow out my lifs tapour,
Gloss Note
Thou wilt
Thou’lt
quickly blow out my life’s
Gloss Note
candle
taper
.
Thou’lt quickly blow out my life’s
Gloss Note
candlewick, or another word for a wax candle used in devotional or penitential contexts
taper
.
33
T’will bee my last request
Physical Note
appears written over imperfectly erased “of”
to
thee
’Twill be my last request to thee;
’Twill be my last request to thee;
34
Thourt free to all, bee Soe to mee,
Thou’rt free to all—be so to me!
Thou’rt free to all, be so to me.
35
I oft have made thee Such a feast
I oft have made thee such a feast
Critical Note
Another kind of “feast” in the poem—this time a feast of smells and odors—that recalls the “last, best feast” of the opening stanza. The poet goes on to describe briefly the “sweet breath” of her garden’s “blossoms” (lines 38-41), but then cuts herself off, overwhelmed again by grief. Pulter uses garden references and metaphors to do interesting work throughout the manuscript. See, for instance, Invitation to the Country [Poem 2], which, as Liza Blake shows us in her Amplified Edition, construes the garden as both an instrument of political agency and a space of political retreat. Or we could look at The Snail, The Tulip, and The Bee [Poem 118], which imagines the garden as a female separatist community. Finally, we might wonder how the manuscript’s most explicit garden poem (The Garden, or The Contention of Flowers [Poem 12]) both informs and is informed by these other representations.
I oft have made thee such a feast
36
That all the Odours, of the east
That all the odors of the east
That all the odors of the East
37
Could not with their Sweet Breath compare,
Could not with their sweet breath compare,
Could not with their sweet breath compare,
38
Bloſſoms Soe Lovly Young and Rare,
Blossoms so lovely, young, and rare:
Blossoms so lovely, young, and rare:
the

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39
The Woodbine, er’e Aurora doth Ariſe,
The woodbine,
Gloss Note
before
ere
Gloss Note
goddess of dawn
Aurora
doth arise,
The
Gloss Note
honeysuckle flowering plant (lonicera periclymenum), which releases fragrance at night
woodbine
, ere Aurora doth arise,
40
The July fflower before the Shadow fflyes,
The
Gloss Note
carnation
gillyflower
before the shadow flies,
The
Gloss Note
Pulter’s preferred term for “gillyflower,” a common name for several varieties of flowering plants, many of which are heavily scented, including the wallflower (Erysimum genus) and the stock (Matthiola genus).
July-flower
before the shadow flies,
41
The dewey Vi’let
Physical Note
final “e” erased
ore
the halfe blown Roſe
The dewy violet, or the
Gloss Note
half-blossomed
half-blown
rose.
The dewy
Gloss Note
The violet (Violacea family) was especially noted for its fragrance in early modern contexts. In The Garden [Poem 12], the violet flower boasts that it “perfume[s] the air with fair Aurora” (line 282). For an excellent account of the violet’s use in perfumes and herbal recipes, see Colleen Kennedy’s post, “Smelling ‘Violet’ in Renaissance Works,” on The Recipes Project.
violet
, or the
Critical Note
Half-bloomed or half-blossomed. Another flower praised for its scent in early modern contexts, the rose was also a primary example of the ephemerality of youth and beauty, here a reminder of Pulter’s children (“seven lovely buds” [line 21]) and the catalyst for her eruption of grief in the subsequent line. For more on the rose’s scent and the political ramifications of its ephemerality, see Holly Dugan’s chapter on roses, rosewater, and English courts in The Ephemeral History of Perfume: Scent and Sense in Early Modern England (2011).
half-blown rose
42
Oh Say noe More—my grief or’e fflowes
Gloss Note
Pulter’s expression “say no more” in this line and “ask no more” in l. 17 above act as a refrain that she uses to more elaborate effect in Tell Me No More [Poem 11].
O say no more!
My grief o’erflows;
O say no more! My grief o’erflows.
43
I into teares am Rarified,
I into tears am
Gloss Note
dissipated
rarefied
,
Gloss Note
This line directly echoes language from the “Water” stanza and reinforces the poem’s attention to material transformations (see my notes at lines 10 and 31). For another exploration of grief in relation to the material transformation of water and air, see the “sad circle” of sighs and tears in The Circle [1] [Poem 17].
I into tears am rarified
,
44
And thou thy part will bee denied
Gloss Note
The speaker implies she will dissolve wholly into watery tears, and thus deny Air any “part” in the feast of her body.
And thou thy part will be denied.
And thou thy part will be denied.
45
Oh take this Sigh then for thy part,
O take this sigh, then, for thy part,
Critical Note
The “sigh” is Air’s “part,” but Air is denied the rest of the poet’s body, which is again consumed by water (“tears”). Sighs are a constant theme in Pulter’s poetry, signalled in the title pages for the manuscript’s poems and emblems: “Poems Breathed Forth by the Noble Hadassas” and “The Sighs of a Sad Soul Emblematically Breathed Forth by the Noble Hadassah.” But these last two lines of the “Air” stanza show us that the sigh is not just of thematic interest to Pulter; rather, these lines start with a literal exhalation of air—oh. Throughout the poem, but especially here, “oh” is both sigh and breath, a formal marker and performance of feeling.
Oh take this sigh
, then, for thy part,
46
ffor Such another breaks my
Physical Note
remaining half-page blank
Heart
.
For such another breaks my heart.
For such another breaks my
Critical Note
In the manuscript this stanza is followed by a large blank space that fills the rest of the page before the “Fire” stanza begins on the facing leaf. Are we meant to imagine that the poet’s feeling sigh in line 45 (both sigh and breath; both written “oh” and aural exhalation) gives way to a moment of silence? How does this material feature of the manuscript—the blank page space—enhance the poetic work of the “sigh” at the stanza’s end?
heart
.

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ffier
Fire
Fire
47
Physical Note
in left margin: “ffier”
Most
Noble and Illustrious ffier
Most noble and illustrious fire,
Most noble and illustrious fire,
48
Whom (though I know not) I admire
Whom (though I know not) I admire:
Whom (though I know not) I admire,
49
If Such an
Physical Note
first minuscule “e” appears corrected from earlier “i”
Ellement
there bee
If such an element there be,
Critical Note
Pulter begins this stanza emphasizing her unfamiliarity with fire—"whom (though I know not) I admire” (line 48)—so this invitation to the “last, best feast,” more than the others, is a “strange petition” (line 50). The “if” is significant, an exploratory tool that introduces the rhetoric of scientific inquiry into Pulter’s poem. Fire’s status as an element was increasingly contested in seventeenth-century natural philosophy. John Donne succinctly cites the debate in his “Anatomy of the World”: “and new philosophy calls all in doubt; / the element of fire is quite put out” (lines 205-206). For more on the use of “if” and the rhetoric of scientific hypothesis in early modern texts, see Chapter 3 of Jonathan P. Lamb’s Shakespeare in the Marketplace of Words (Cambridge University Press, 2017).
If
such an Element there be,
50
My Strange
Physical Note
second “t” may correct other letter, perhaps “c”
petition
is to thee
My strange petition is to thee.
My strange petition is to thee.
51
Oh hearken to my last deſire
O hearken to my last desire
O hearken to my last desire
52
And help my Sad Soul to expire
And help my sad soul to expire!
And help my sad soul to expire.
53
Contract thy vigour hold thy heat
Contract thy vigor, hold thy heat:
Gloss Note
to draw in, condense
Contract
thy vigor, hold thy heat,
54
Then will my heart forget to beat
Then will my heart forget to beat
Then will
Critical Note
Pulter’s emphasis on the heart as the body’s life-giving center recalls her lines in the “Water” stanza about the pericardium (see my note at line 8). These lines can seem a bit opaque: how will fire “hold[ing] its heat” result in the poet’s heart stopping? In William Harvey’s foundational work on the circulatory system (1628)—the first detailed account of how blood circulates through the body—Harvey associated heat with the motion of blood: “the blood, therefore, required to have motion, and indeed such a motion that it should return again to the heart … for we see motion generating and keeping up heat and spirits under all circumstances.” Harvey’s explanation helps us understand Pulter’s line: by holding its heat and, thereby, denying heat to the poet’s body, fire would cause the poet’s blood to stop circulating. See Anatomical Exercise on the Motion of the Heart, Chapter XV, page 69, cited from The Works of William Harvey, trans. Robert Willis, University of Pennsylvania Press, 1989.
my heart forget to beat
55
And trepidate within my Breast
And
Gloss Note
tremble
trepidate
within my breast.
And
Gloss Note
to tremble with fear
trepidate
within my breast.
56
O then how Sweet will bee my rest
O, then, how sweet will be my rest;
O then how sweet will be
Critical Note
Here Pulter draws on the familiar trope of sleep as a kind of death. Shakespeare’s Hamlet includes a famous use of this analogy in Hamlet’s “to be or not to be” soliloquy: “to die, to sleep; to sleep, perchance to dream” (Act 3, Scene 1). Pulter threads this trope through the remainder of this stanza with references to “sweet slumber,” “sad dreams,” and “blessed night.” For an entire poem centered on this trope, see Why Art Thou Sad at the Approach of Night [Poem 47].
my rest
;
57
What a Sweet Slumber Shall I take
What a sweet slumber shall I take
What a sweet slumber shall I take
58
When my Sad Dreams doe mee forſake
When my sad dreams do me forsake
When my sad dreams do me forsake
59
And ceaſe my aflicted Soul t’afright
And cease my afflicted soul t’affright!
And cease my afflicted soul t’afright.
60
Welcome Oh welcome that blesst Night
Welcome, O welcome, that blessed night.
Critical Note
By repeating this line verbatim three lines later, Pulter uses her characteristic doubling to underscore the poet’s desire for death. The enveloped lines between the repetition convey an almost effortless death: the poet will exhale a “short breath” and her “structure” will “fall” to “dust.” Death is not only “welcome,” but easy.
Welcome, O welcome, that blessed night
.
61
Then doe but my Short Breath Exhale
Then do but my short breath
Gloss Note
draw up
exhale
,
Then do but my short breath exhale,
62
My Structure Straight to dust will fall
My structure straight to
Critical Note
finely disintegrated matter, or original formative physical materials; for the latter, see Genesis 2:7: “And the Lord God formed man [of] the dust of the ground, and breathed into his nostrils the breath of life; and man became a living soul.”
dust
will fall.
My structure straight to dust will fall.
63
Welcome Oh welcome that blest Night
Welcome, O welcome, that blessed night,
Welcome, O welcome, that blessed night,
64
Which Ushers in Eternall Light
Which ushers in eternal light!
Which ushers in eternal light.
65
ffor what is Death but Cold and Night
For what is death but cold and night,
Critical Note
Pulter’s definition of death as “cold and night” turns us back to the poem’s title where she records its composition on the “longest night in the year.” We might also think about how this question about the definition of death and life connect to Pulter’s use of “if” at the stanza’s opening. The Fire stanza, more than any of the others, seems truly an exploration, first marked by the conditional “if,” then by Pulter’s reflection on the relationship between blood and heat, and finally here by the interrogative mode at the stanza’s end.
For what is death but cold and night
,
66
Life beeing onely Heat and Light
Life being only heat and light?
Life being only heat and light?
67
Then all my Heat to thee Il’e give
Then all my heat to thee I’ll give,
Then all my heat to thee I’ll give,
68
And though I Die in thee I Live
And though I die, in thee I live.
And though I die, in thee I live.

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Dust, or Earth
Dust, or Earth
Dust, or Earth
69
Physical Note
in left margin: “Dust, or Earth”; latter two words in different hand from main scribe; first third of page blank
Dear
Dust from thee I drew my Birth
Dear Dust, from thee I drew my birth:
Dear
Gloss Note
“Dust” is one of Pulter’s frequent preoccupations throughout the manuscript and she often uses this term to refer to the element of Earth. For some other poems that consider “dust,” see Dear God, From Thy High Throne Look Down [Poem 63] and The Hope [Poem 65].
Dust
, from thee I drew my birth.
70
Then come, and t’is but Earth to Earth
Then come, and ’tis but
Critical Note
a common period phrase alluding to the body’s disintegration at death; see the Book of Common Prayer burial service (London, 1549), Ee 4v: “earth to earth, ashes to ashes, dust to dust.”
earth to earth
.
Then come, and ‘tis but
Critical Note

This stanza’s opening lines introduce the concept of life as a circle, succinctly captured by the phrase “Earth to Earth.” The life/death cycle provides important framing for the stanza’s maternal themes. Even though Pulter draws on her status as mother throughout the rest of the poem, in this stanza she explicitly identifies herself as “mother” (line 72) for the first time and uses that identification as leverage to petition Mother Earth.

An important context underlying Pulter’s themes in this stanza is the very real fear of death that accompanied childbirth in early modern England. Giving birth was a dangerous process and maternal and infant mortality rates were high. How does the connection between death and motherhood function in this stanza compared to, for instance, This Was Written in 1648, When I Lay in, With my Son John [Poem 45]? For more on Pulter’s status as mother and how she contemplates her mortality through her motherhood, see Amanda Zoch, “Rewriting the Lying-In: Hester Pulter, Katherine Philips, and the Felt Mortality of Pregnancy,” Early Modern Women 15.1 (2020): 3-25, and Lying-In in the Curations for Poem 45.

Earth to Earth
.
71
My lovly Children thou hast taken
My lovely children thou hast taken:
My lovely children thou hast taken.
72
Shall their Sad Mother bee forſaken
Shall their sad mother be forsaken?
Shall their sad mother be forsaken?
73
Aye mee thou took’st them^young& faire
Ay me, thou took’st them young and fair,
Aye me,
Critical Note
Revised in the manuscript. The original line reads, “Aye me, thou took’st them faire.” It seems that Pulter’s insertion of “young and” is a practical formal revision to ensure the line fits metrically with the next line. But we might also ask, does this revision do conceptual work too, as we saw in Pulter’s revision to line 11?
thou took’st them young and fair
,
74
And leav’st mee here with Hoarie Haire
And leav’st me here with
Gloss Note
grey or white
hoary
hair.
And leav’st me here with
Gloss Note
grey, white with age
hoary
hair.
75
They Lovly faire with Snowey Skin
They lovely fair, with snowy skin,
They,
Critical Note
Pulter’s language here echoes her elegies on Jane Pulter’s death, Upon the Death of my Dear and Lovely Daughter, Jane Pulter [Poem 10] and Tell Me No More [On the Same] [Poem 11]. In “Upon the Death,” for example, Pulter describes how “fever spot[s]” appeared on Jane’s “snowy skin.” Like this poem, both elegies depict a mother consumed with grief over the loss of her child. The echoes between this poem and Pulter’s more traditional elegies bring us back to my question in the poem’s “Headnote”: what is an elegy and how do we know when we’re reading one?
lovely fair with snowy skin
,
76
Did too too Soone thy favour win
Did too, too soon thy favor win.
Did too, too soon thy favor win.
77
But I involved with Sin and Sorrow
But I, involved with sin and sorrow,
But I, involved with sin and sorrow,
78
Sadly expect thee Night and Morrow
Sadly expect thee night and morrow.
Sadly expect thee night and morrow.
79
I ask noe Piramide nor Stately Tomb
I ask no pyramid nor stately tomb:
I ask no pyramid nor stately tomb;
80
Doe but involve mee in thy Spacious Womb
Do but
Gloss Note
envelop
involve
me in thy spacious womb.
Do but involve me in
Critical Note

Pulter joins many of her contemporary poets in representing Earth as a fertile mother who both gives and takes life. In John Milton’s Paradise Lost, Hell’s demons “rifle[ ] the bowels of their mother Earth” (1.687) and, when Adam bites the fruit from the Tree of Knowledge, Milton describes the Earth “trembl[ing] from her entrails, as again / in pangs” (9.1000). Mary Sidney, Countess of Pembroke, also consistently draws on this metaphor in her psalm translations: “All things in brief, that life in life maintain, / From earth’s old bowels fresh and youngly grows” (Psalm 104, lines 47-48). Both Milton and Pembroke’s uses of this metaphor remind us that this is a common biblical trope, one with which Pulter would have been very familiar. In Pulter’s representation, Earth’s womb is central to the life/death cycle and the Earth’s “bowels” ultimately become the poet’s final desired resting place.

When I read this final stanza, I think about Pulter’s representation of Earth as a living, maternal organism in contrast to increasingly mechanistic representations of nature in seventeenth-century England. Within several decades of Pulter’s writing, changing attitudes toward science and the study of nature would result in widespread attempts to control, contain, and dominate the natural world. English poet Anna Laetitia Barbauld (1743-1825) confronts this shift in her 1773 poem “The Invitation,” where she describes scientists that “pensive creep” and “hunt” nature “to her elemental forms.” For foundational ecofeminist work to read alongside Pulter’s representation, see Carolyn Merchant, The Death of Nature: Women, Ecology and the Scientific Revolution (Harper & Row, 1980).

thy spacious womb
.
81
To Beg thys once dear Mother give mee leave
To beg this once, dear mother, give me leave:
To beg this once, dear mother, give me leave:
82
Oh let thy Bowels yern and mee receive.
O let thy
Gloss Note
intestines or the heart or core; also pity, compassion
bowels
yearn, and me receive.
O let thy bowels
Critical Note
The poem ends with the poet voicing her desire to be incorporated back into the earth. The Earth’s “yearn[ing]” here bookends the poet’s yearning in the poem’s opening stanza (how she “implore[s]” the Elements to attend her “last, best feast”). In early modern connotations, “yearn” could mean both “to have a strong desire or longing for” and “to be deeply moved; to feel something (as compassion, sympathy, etc.) intensely” (“yearn, v.1,” OED Online). The second connotation usefully extends the elegiac work of the poem we’ve traced thus far. How does this poem function not only as elegy, but specifically as a call for collective mourning? An invitation for the poem’s readers to mourn and “yearn” alongside the poet? To continue exploring these questions, we might now turn to one of Pulter’s elegies on her daughter’s death, where the poet asks “all…parents” to “lend one tear” to contribute to her lament (Upon the Death of my Dear and Lovely Daughter, Jane Pulter [Poem 10]).
yearn
and me receive.
X (Close panel) All Notes
Elemental Edition
Title note

 Gloss note

fundamental components of the physical world; in ancient philosophy, as in this poem, earth, fire, water, and air
Amplified Edition
Title note

 Critical note

Pulter includes a specific time stamp in several of her poems’ titles, such as The Complaint of Thames, 1647 [Poem 4] and This Was Written in 1648, When I Lay in, With my Son John [Poem 45]. In this title, Pulter is hyper-specific, noting both year and date of composition. The “longest night” refers to the winter solstice (or midwinter), always mid-December for the Earth’s Northern Hemisphere. Pulter’s specificity here urges us to think about how the poem’s title offers important framing for its content—a meditation on the relationship among darkness, despair, and death. As we’ll see, the poet pleads for death by water, air, fire, and earth as the poem progresses. But even as this time stamp consequently seems the perfect framing for such a poem, the poem’s central themes are also undermined by this title. The winter solstice is a turning point, part of a yearly cycle. The longest night immediately gives way to the gradual lengthening of daylight and nature’s spring awakening. The poem’s title, then, raises some important questions for reading: Within the poem’s prominent themes of darkness, despair, and death, do we glimpse hope? Are there any signs of light in this seemingly dark poem?
Transcription

 Editorial note

In these transcriptions we preserve as many details of the original material, textual, and graphic properties of Hester Pulter’s manuscript verse as we have found practical. Whenever possible, for instance, original spelling, punctuation, capitalization, lineation, insertions, deletions, alterations, spacing between words and lines, and indentation are all maintained; abbreviations and brevigraphs are not expanded; and superscript and subscript representations are retained. See full conventions for the transcriptions here.
Elemental Edition

 Editorial note

The aim of the elemental edition is to make the poems accessible to the largest variety of readers, which involves modernizing spelling and punctuation as well as adding basic glosses. Spelling and punctuation reflect current standard American usage; punctuation highlights syntax which might otherwise be obscure. Outmoded but still familiar word forms (“thou,” “‘tis,” “hold’st”) are not modernized, and we do not modernize grammar when the sense remains legible. After a brief headnote aimed at offering a “way in” to the poem’s unique qualities and connections with other verse by Pulter or her contemporaries, the edition features a minimum of notes and interpretative framing to allow more immediate engagement with the poem. Glosses clarify synonyms or showcase various possible meanings in Pulter’s time. Other notes identify named people and places or clarify obscure material. We rely (without citation) primarily on the Oxford English Dictionary (OED), the Oxford Reference database, and the King James Version (KJV) of the Bible. When we rely on Alice Eardley’s edition of Pulter’s work, we cite her text generally (“Eardley”); other sources are cited in full. The result is an edition we consider a springboard for further work on Pulter’s poetry. See full conventions for this edition here.
Amplified Edition

 Editorial note

In my editions of Pulter’s poems, I prioritize accessibility and use my annotations to prompt further exploration. To make the poems accessible to the widest possible audience, I have modernized spelling, punctuation, and capitalization according to American English standards. My editions aim to demonstrate the complexity of Pulter’s thinking, while opening space for the reader’s own analysis and interpretation. I recognize editing as a political act and aim to be as transparent as possible about how I frame Pulter’s poems for the reader. My lengthy annotations are an attempt to reveal my thought processes and make clear the ideological networks that inform my readings.
As an important corollary to Pulter’s conceptual work, I also attend to the material expression of her manuscript object. Her manuscript pages reveal a glimpse of her thinking and writing processes, and I briefly note Pulter’s revisions to the poems in order to foreground her poetic craft. The manuscript features variants and revisions that invite multiple interpretations, and I encourage readers to refer to the manuscript images as they engage with Pulter’s writing. I offer some intertextual references to other early modern texts, but am most interested in drawing out how Pulter’s poems speak to each other as she reflects on clusters of ideas.
Elemental Edition

 Headnote

Inscribed beneath the title of this poem is not just a year, as in several other Pulter poems, but a precise indication of the date of composition: the winter solstice, the darkest day of any year. Pulter’s general preoccupation with astronomical observation is thus reflected here, as is her larger concern with—and, often, morbid fixation on—the darkness of the night sky and her corresponding emotional state. This night, though, the speaker invites guests to a wonderful feast: darkness seems, at first, at bay. But we soon realize that the main course she plans to serve is her own body, carved into its constitutive elements of water, air, fire and earth. Those elements are also, paradoxically, her invitees, along with her soul, whose impatience to die motivates the occasion and the poem. Like any good host, the speaker serves up pleasing dishes and chatty flattery at the same time, in a sequence of dramatic monologues implied in her instructions to “ask no more” and “say no more” formulations (echoing Tell Me No More [On the Same] [Poem 11] and Upon the Imprisonment of His Sacred Majesty [Poem 13]). While initially cordial, the speaker’s table-talk at times edges toward indecorous demands to be liquified, vaporized, chilled, and consumed into the earth, increasingly signalling the urgency with which she seeks her death; her sadness at that of her “lovely children”—seven, horribly, by this date—rationalizes her insistence on returning to her own “mother,” the Earth addressed here.
Amplified Edition

 Headnote

What is an elegy and how do we know when we’re reading one? The standard definition of an elegy is a lament for the dead, stemming from the Greek word elegos, or “song of mourning.” Pulter’s “Invocation of the Elements” does not explicitly call attention to itself as an elegy; in fact, it reads much more like a philosophical investigation. Like many of Pulter’s poems, it grapples with a range of themes surrounding mortality: nature, cosmology, redemption, and the relationship between body and soul. The poem opens with the poet pleading for death as her soul “rowl[s]” in darkness. The poet then invokes and addresses each of the four elements in turn—water, air, fire, and earth—as she explores the different ways her body and soul could be consumed.
But by line 8, when the poet references her “sad heart,” we glimpse the grief and despair that pervade this poem. Pulter invokes the elements and pleads for death as an antidote to the overwhelming trauma of losing seven children—“seven lovely buds” that have been “drawn dry” (line 21). That trauma and Pulter’s resulting grief drive the poem, which consequently explores how grief can inform and be informed by natural philosophy (a precursor to our modern understanding of science and its various fields of inquiry). Simultaneously lamentation for the dead and philosophical investigation, this poem offers an unusual example of an early modern elegy and a particularly complex aesthetic-scientific object.
In this edition of the poem, I explore several interrelated questions. First, how does Pulter both describe and perform grief throughout the poem? In other words, how does she invite the reader, through language and form, to feel her grief over her children’s deaths? This performance of grief extends to the manuscript’s material features. The ample blank spaces between the poem’s stanzas invite us to consider what roles absence and silence can play in poetic representations of grief. Pulter’s manuscript includes more explicit elegies (Upon the Death of my Dear and Lovely Daughter, Jane Pulter [Poem 10]), and other poems that function more like “Invocation of the Elements”—we might call them elegy-hybrids (see, for instance, On those Two Unparalleled Friends, Sir George Lisle and Sir Charles Lucas, Who Were Shot to Death at Colchester [Poem 7]). How does “Invocation of the Elements” work alongside those others and invite us to extend our understanding of what an elegy is and the kind of work it does? As Frances E. Dolan notes about Pulter’s poem on Lisle and Lucas, “this poem is an anguished lament, but about what exactly?” (see Curation, Commemorating the Dead).
Second, my annotations consider the poem’s intersecting “modes of knowing”—Valerie Traub’s useful phrase for the methods by which things come to be known.
Gloss Note
Traub, “The Nature of Norms in Early Modern England: Anatomy, Cartography, King Lear,” South Central Review 26:1/2 (2009): 42-81.
1
In this poem, Pulter draws on many different modes of knowing that we would now separate into discrete fields, or disciplines: philosophy (“For what is death but cold and night, / Life being only heat and light?”); chemistry (“I into tears am rarified”); and physiology (“Then will my heart forget to beat / And trepidate within my breast”). The poem is also deeply informed by Pulter’s experience as a mother. How are these different modes of knowing displayed and how do they interact throughout the poem? How does this poem’s network of knowledges continue to enhance our understanding of Pulter as both poet and thinker?
The poem’s central conceit—the four elements—provides an important example of how different modes of knowing converge. The elements had philosophical, medical, and spiritual resonances in the early modern period, and we see all of these at work in Pulter’s poem. Inherited from Greek philosophy, early moderns used the four elements to explain nature and the different kinds of matter that exist in nature. Medically, the four elements were linked to the humoral theory of the body. Through the seventeenth-century, the dominant physiological theory was that the human body is made up of fluids. The essential fluids, or humors, corresponded to the four elements and to four distinct stages of life: blood (warm/moist physical qualities linked to air and infancy); yellow bile (warm/dry physical qualities linked to fire and youth); black bile (cold/dry physical qualities linked to earth and adulthood); and phlegm (cold/moist physical qualities linked to water and old age). Spiritually (or, perhaps, cosmologically), the four elements were also an important part of the microcosm-macrocosm understanding of the world—a way to explain humanity’s place in the universe. As Pulter interacts with each element in turn, where and how do we see these different modes of knowing intersect?
Elemental Edition
Line number 2

 Gloss note

revolve; proceed; wander; be enveloped
Amplified Edition
Line number 2

 Critical note

Editors often modernize “rowl” to “roll,” as Leah Knight and Wendy Wall do in their Elemental Edition of the poem. The modernization illuminates several useful connotations for Pulter’s word choice: “roll” can mean revolve, proceed, wander, or be enveloped. Maintaining Pulter’s original spelling, though, reminds us of the term’s important etymological (and aural) connections to the verb “ravel,” particularly its early spellings “rauel” and “rawil.” “Ravel,” in this context, means “to entangle; to confuse, perplex; to render incoherent or muddled” (“ravel, v.1,” OED Online). The feelings of confusion and incoherence evoked by this word are important for some of the later formal features I’ll track in this long poem.
Amplified Edition
Line number 3

 Critical note


Pulter capitalizes "Elements" in this opening stanza as she invokes, or summons, the elements for assistance. The capitalization signals the importance of these entities for Pulter, and resonates with early modern understandings of the elements as particularly powerful forces. The four elements—water, air, fire, and earth—were a frequent topic of Renaissance poetry and natural philosophy. See, for instance, John Donne’s “The Dissolution,” which similarly uses the elements to reflect on loss and grief. Another useful comparison is Anne Bradstreet’s “The Four Elements.” Like Pulter, Bradstreet deals with each of the four elements in turn, but imagines the elements competing with each other to determine which is most important to human life. At the time Pulter was writing, the four elements were a familiar part of philosophical and scientific debates about the existence and creation of matter, central to the period’s renewed interest in atomism, for example.

The term “elements” might also be defined more simply as “the constituent parts of a whole.” This definition is particularly useful in thinking about the structure of Pulter’s poem—four stanzas (four “elements”) that each constitute one part of an aesthetic whole. In early modern religious contexts, “elements” could also refer to the “bread and wine used in the Sacrament of the Eucharist” (“element, n.,” OED Online), which directly relates to the poem’s central conceit: death as the “last, best feast” (line 5).

Amplified Edition
Line number 5

 Critical note

Here in the last line of the opening stanza, Pulter introduces the poem’s central conceit: death as the “last, best feast.” The poet is not doing the eating but rather “beg[s]” to be eaten—consumed by death. The poet then invites each of the four elements to be a “guest” at the feast (line 6) and she describes the different ways her body could be consumed by each element.
Transcription
Line number 6

 Physical note

in left margin: “Water”
Transcription
Line number 6

 Physical note

“r” appears written over earlier letter, possibly “e”
Elemental Edition
Line number 6

 Gloss note

transparent
Amplified Edition
Line number 6

 Gloss note

clear or pure, most often used in relation to fluids
Elemental Edition
Line number 7

 Critical note

This refers to water’s serving of the speaker’s “feast,” which is a figure for her body.
Amplified Edition
Line number 8

 Critical note

Pulter refers here to a common theory espoused in both medical and theological texts of the period: the pericardium—the membrane enclosing the heart—was understood to be a thin sac of water. In Thomas Gibson’s The Anatomy of Humane Bodies Epitomized, a lengthy compendium of anatomical knowledge published in several editions throughout the late-seventeenth and early-eighteenth centuries, Gibson helps his reader understand the fluid inside the pericardium by citing John 19.34: “This is that liquor that is supposed to have flown from the side of our Saviour when the soldier pierced it with a spear, for saith the Text (John 19.34.) There came forth blood and water” (London, 1682, Text Creation Partnership digital edition, Early English Books Online, p. 233). In Lewis Bayly’s The Practice of Piety, a hugely popular devotional manual (over 70 editions published by 1821), Bayly references the same story about “blood and water” flowing from Christ’s pierced side, and includes an explanatory marginal note that strikes a distinctly anatomical tone: “There is about man’s heart a skin called Pericardium containing water which cools and moistens the heart, lest it should be scorched with continual motion. This skin once pierced, man cannot live” (London, 1695, Text Creation Partnership digital edition, Early English Books Online, p. 459).
Elemental Edition
Line number 10

 Gloss note

dissipate
Amplified Edition
Line number 10

 Critical note

In early modern connotations, “rarefy” most frequently meant “to make thin” or “to make less dense in texture” (“rarefy, v.,” OED Online). Pulter draws on that meaning here as she contemplates how her body might be transformed into tears—the transformation of a solid into a liquid. Pulter explores similar kinds of material transformations in other poems, such as The Revolution [Poem 16], where she considers how her “tears” might “rarefy / to air” (lines 28-29).
Transcription
Line number 11

 Physical note

struck-through with multiple horizontal lines
Transcription
Line number 11

 Physical note

struck-through with multiple horizontal lines
Amplified Edition
Line number 11

 Critical note

The poem’s first of many medial caesuras—a break or pause in the metrical line that splits the line into two equal parts (in this case, four syllables on either side). Given Pulter’s striking, repeated use of the medial caesura in this stanza (lines 11, 15, 17, 18, 22, and 23), we might consider how her use of this formal feature compares to her contemporary poets. John Donne often uses medial caesuras in his devotional poems: “Thou hast made me, and shall thy work decay? / Repair me now, for now mine end doth haste” (“Thou hast made me,” lines 1-2). Mary Sidney, Countess of Pembroke offers another useful comparison because her psalm translations were such an important model for early modern poets like Pulter writing at the intersection of devotion and politics. In a psalm about God’s omniscience, Pembroke uses medial caesura to emphasize God’s knowledge of the poet’s movements: “if forth I march, thou goest before; / if back I turn, thou com’st behind” (Psalm 139, lines 15-16).
Amplified Edition
Line number 11

 Critical note

Pulter revised this line in the manuscript. The original line reads: “Number them not, but count each sand or star.” The revised line emphasizes the medial caesura, adding to the midline stops and starts throughout this stanza (see my note on “not. Count”). And the edit from “each sand” to “sand” is crucial for the questions about quantification Pulter raises in these lines. “Each sand” opens the possibility for counting (a collection of grains of sand that can “each” be counted), but “sand” (like “star”) seems an abstraction, a move away from the thing as countable material and a move toward the thing as uncountable idea.
Amplified Edition
Line number 12

 Critical note

We find this theme of excessive weeping in many of Pulter’s poems, such as The Weeping Wish [Poem 61] and On the Horrid Murder Of that Incomparable Prince [Poem 14]. In this poem, weeping is not confined, as we might expect, to the “Water” stanza. Pulter revisits this theme again in the “Air” stanza: “my grief o’erflows / I into tears am rarified” (lines 42-43).
Amplified Edition
Line number 13

 Critical note

Pulter uses “oh” many times throughout this poem—five times in this stanza alone. Even though she is directly addressing each of the elements, she uses “oh” as an exclamation rather than direct address (or apostrophe), often during moments when she seems overwhelmed by grief. Given the term’s frequent use in apostrophe, though, we might wonder: is this word doing double work throughout the poem?
Amplified Edition
Line number 13

 Critical note

With this conditional construction, Pulter draws on a commonplace connection between grief and repentance (she’ll do this again later when she pairs “sin and sorrow” in line 77). If I were weeping in repentance for my sins, the poet reflects, then my tears would be valuable (“in heaven … bottled” [line 14]). Instead, the poet’s tears are shed in grief over the loss of her seven children, first referenced in line 21. This brief nod to repentance, though, raises a useful question about how Pulter links her status as mother to her devotional explorations throughout the manuscript: what kind of relationship does Pulter construct here between the possibility of spiritual redemption and the experience of maternal grief? For more on the connection between grief and repentance, particularly in women’s writing, see Elizabeth Hodgson’s Grief and Women Writers in the English Renaissance (2015), especially pages 8-9.
Transcription
Line number 14

 Physical note

“a” written over other letter
Amplified Edition
Line number 15

 Critical note

This and the next eight lines read as a dialogue between the poet and Water. The poet imagines Water asking about the reason for her grief (“why were they [her tears] shed?”). In response, the poet resists repeating the traumatic experiences of her children’s deaths (“If I repeat my woes, I die / a double death” [16-17]). The poet’s responses to Water recall one of Pulter’s poems on her daughter Jane’s death, Tell Me No More [Poem 11]. In both poems Pulter contemplates poetry’s role in articulating grief. Rather than give her reader the details of her children’s deaths, how can she use poetry to mark their absence and her grief? The repetition of “tell me no more” in the poem on Jane’s death is here reprised in the repetition of the exclamatory “Oh”; the echoed phrasing “Oh ask not why” (line 15), “Oh ask no more” (line 17), and “O say no more” (line 42); and the pattern “I die / a n death” (lines 16-17; 22-23).
Amplified Edition
Line number 16

 Critical note

Pulter uses enjambment—the continuation of a sentence or clause through a line break—to emphasize the language of death and dying. “I die” lingers at the end of line 16. Grammatically, the sentence is complete, but Pulter adds the extra weight of “double death” in the next line. How does the formal feature of enjambment contribute to Pulter’s poetic representation of grief throughout the rest of the poem? What effect does it have on the reader, particularly if the poem is read aloud?
Elemental Edition
Line number 17

 Gloss note

Pulter’s expression “ask no more” in this line and “say no more” below in l. 42 act as a refrain that she uses to more elaborate effect in Tell Me No More [Poem 11].
Amplified Edition
Line number 18

 Gloss note

weep for, grieve over, lament
Transcription
Line number 19

 Physical note

“t” possibly added later
Elemental Edition
Line number 19

 Gloss note

thou hast
Elemental Edition
Line number 21

 Gloss note

The “buds” stand for seven of Pulter’s children who died.
Amplified Edition
Line number 23

 Gloss note

triple
Elemental Edition
Line number 27

 Gloss note

allusion to the biblical flood; see Genesis 7.
Amplified Edition
Line number 27

 Gloss note

Pulter ends her address to Water with a biblical reference to the Old Testament flood, narrated in the Book of Genesis, chapter 7. “Involve” here means “to envelop or enfold.” As water enveloped the world during the flood, the poet pleads for Water to engulf her. “Involve” is a particularly rich term throughout the manuscript, often connected to the “dissolution” of the poet’s body (here: “involve” in line 27 rhymes with “dissolve” in line 28). For more on this term in Pulter’s poetry, see Liza Blake, “Hester Pulter’s Particle Physics and the Poetics of Involution,” Journal for Early Modern Cultural Studies 20.2 (2020): 71-98.
Amplified Edition
Line number 28

 Critical note

In this context, “dissolve” has some particularly grisly connotations: “to destroy the physical integrity; to disintegrate, decompose” and “to melt or reduce into a liquid condition” (“dissolve, v.,” OED Online). Given the highly physical experience of death Pulter evokes in this line, we might consider: how does Pulter’s engagement with death in this poem compare to her representation of death in other poems—The Hope [Poem 65] or The Circle [3] [Poem 25], for example?
Transcription
Line number 29

 Physical note

in left margin: “Ayr”
Elemental Edition
Line number 30

 Gloss note

possibly figurative, as in the “fragrance” of renown; esteem, reputation; or, as in “savor,” delight, or pleasing quality
Elemental Edition
Line number 31

 Gloss note

drain; suck up
Amplified Edition
Line number 31

 Gloss note

to draw out or expend
Amplified Edition
Line number 31

 Critical note

This line again emphasizes the fragility of the poet’s corporeal form, recalling the end of the “Water” stanza, where the poet notes, “a little blow will make me fall” (26). “Vapor” is an especially important word choice because it suggests a steamy or moist emission as water transforms into air. In John Swan’s Speculum Mundi, a popular seventeenth-century encyclopedia, he links “vapors” to “clouds”: an “exhalation cold and moist, drawn from the earth out of wet or watery places” (Cambridge, 1635, Text Creation Partnership digital edition, Early English Books Online, p. 143). When Pulter was writing, “vapor” was also a word used in relation to scent. Fragrances were still understood to be emitted as smoke or vapor, which connects to Pulter’s description of the garden in this stanza and her reference to odor as “sweet breath” (lines 36-41).
Elemental Edition
Line number 32

 Gloss note

Thou wilt
Elemental Edition
Line number 32

 Gloss note

candle
Amplified Edition
Line number 32

 Gloss note

candlewick, or another word for a wax candle used in devotional or penitential contexts
Transcription
Line number 33

 Physical note

appears written over imperfectly erased “of”
Amplified Edition
Line number 35

 Critical note

Another kind of “feast” in the poem—this time a feast of smells and odors—that recalls the “last, best feast” of the opening stanza. The poet goes on to describe briefly the “sweet breath” of her garden’s “blossoms” (lines 38-41), but then cuts herself off, overwhelmed again by grief. Pulter uses garden references and metaphors to do interesting work throughout the manuscript. See, for instance, Invitation to the Country [Poem 2], which, as Liza Blake shows us in her Amplified Edition, construes the garden as both an instrument of political agency and a space of political retreat. Or we could look at The Snail, The Tulip, and The Bee [Poem 118], which imagines the garden as a female separatist community. Finally, we might wonder how the manuscript’s most explicit garden poem (The Garden, or The Contention of Flowers [Poem 12]) both informs and is informed by these other representations.
Elemental Edition
Line number 39

 Gloss note

before
Elemental Edition
Line number 39

 Gloss note

goddess of dawn
Amplified Edition
Line number 39

 Gloss note

honeysuckle flowering plant (lonicera periclymenum), which releases fragrance at night
Elemental Edition
Line number 40

 Gloss note

carnation
Amplified Edition
Line number 40

 Gloss note

Pulter’s preferred term for “gillyflower,” a common name for several varieties of flowering plants, many of which are heavily scented, including the wallflower (Erysimum genus) and the stock (Matthiola genus).
Transcription
Line number 41

 Physical note

final “e” erased
Elemental Edition
Line number 41

 Gloss note

half-blossomed
Amplified Edition
Line number 41

 Gloss note

The violet (Violacea family) was especially noted for its fragrance in early modern contexts. In The Garden [Poem 12], the violet flower boasts that it “perfume[s] the air with fair Aurora” (line 282). For an excellent account of the violet’s use in perfumes and herbal recipes, see Colleen Kennedy’s post, “Smelling ‘Violet’ in Renaissance Works,” on The Recipes Project.
Amplified Edition
Line number 41

 Critical note

Half-bloomed or half-blossomed. Another flower praised for its scent in early modern contexts, the rose was also a primary example of the ephemerality of youth and beauty, here a reminder of Pulter’s children (“seven lovely buds” [line 21]) and the catalyst for her eruption of grief in the subsequent line. For more on the rose’s scent and the political ramifications of its ephemerality, see Holly Dugan’s chapter on roses, rosewater, and English courts in The Ephemeral History of Perfume: Scent and Sense in Early Modern England (2011).
Elemental Edition
Line number 42

 Gloss note

Pulter’s expression “say no more” in this line and “ask no more” in l. 17 above act as a refrain that she uses to more elaborate effect in Tell Me No More [Poem 11].
Elemental Edition
Line number 43

 Gloss note

dissipated
Amplified Edition
Line number 43

 Gloss note

This line directly echoes language from the “Water” stanza and reinforces the poem’s attention to material transformations (see my notes at lines 10 and 31). For another exploration of grief in relation to the material transformation of water and air, see the “sad circle” of sighs and tears in The Circle [1] [Poem 17].
Elemental Edition
Line number 44

 Gloss note

The speaker implies she will dissolve wholly into watery tears, and thus deny Air any “part” in the feast of her body.
Amplified Edition
Line number 45

 Critical note

The “sigh” is Air’s “part,” but Air is denied the rest of the poet’s body, which is again consumed by water (“tears”). Sighs are a constant theme in Pulter’s poetry, signalled in the title pages for the manuscript’s poems and emblems: “Poems Breathed Forth by the Noble Hadassas” and “The Sighs of a Sad Soul Emblematically Breathed Forth by the Noble Hadassah.” But these last two lines of the “Air” stanza show us that the sigh is not just of thematic interest to Pulter; rather, these lines start with a literal exhalation of air—oh. Throughout the poem, but especially here, “oh” is both sigh and breath, a formal marker and performance of feeling.
Transcription
Line number 46

 Physical note

remaining half-page blank
Amplified Edition
Line number 46

 Critical note

In the manuscript this stanza is followed by a large blank space that fills the rest of the page before the “Fire” stanza begins on the facing leaf. Are we meant to imagine that the poet’s feeling sigh in line 45 (both sigh and breath; both written “oh” and aural exhalation) gives way to a moment of silence? How does this material feature of the manuscript—the blank page space—enhance the poetic work of the “sigh” at the stanza’s end?
Transcription
Line number 47

 Physical note

in left margin: “ffier”
Transcription
Line number 49

 Physical note

first minuscule “e” appears corrected from earlier “i”
Amplified Edition
Line number 49

 Critical note

Pulter begins this stanza emphasizing her unfamiliarity with fire—"whom (though I know not) I admire” (line 48)—so this invitation to the “last, best feast,” more than the others, is a “strange petition” (line 50). The “if” is significant, an exploratory tool that introduces the rhetoric of scientific inquiry into Pulter’s poem. Fire’s status as an element was increasingly contested in seventeenth-century natural philosophy. John Donne succinctly cites the debate in his “Anatomy of the World”: “and new philosophy calls all in doubt; / the element of fire is quite put out” (lines 205-206). For more on the use of “if” and the rhetoric of scientific hypothesis in early modern texts, see Chapter 3 of Jonathan P. Lamb’s Shakespeare in the Marketplace of Words (Cambridge University Press, 2017).
Transcription
Line number 50

 Physical note

second “t” may correct other letter, perhaps “c”
Amplified Edition
Line number 53

 Gloss note

to draw in, condense
Amplified Edition
Line number 54

 Critical note

Pulter’s emphasis on the heart as the body’s life-giving center recalls her lines in the “Water” stanza about the pericardium (see my note at line 8). These lines can seem a bit opaque: how will fire “hold[ing] its heat” result in the poet’s heart stopping? In William Harvey’s foundational work on the circulatory system (1628)—the first detailed account of how blood circulates through the body—Harvey associated heat with the motion of blood: “the blood, therefore, required to have motion, and indeed such a motion that it should return again to the heart … for we see motion generating and keeping up heat and spirits under all circumstances.” Harvey’s explanation helps us understand Pulter’s line: by holding its heat and, thereby, denying heat to the poet’s body, fire would cause the poet’s blood to stop circulating. See Anatomical Exercise on the Motion of the Heart, Chapter XV, page 69, cited from The Works of William Harvey, trans. Robert Willis, University of Pennsylvania Press, 1989.
Elemental Edition
Line number 55

 Gloss note

tremble
Amplified Edition
Line number 55

 Gloss note

to tremble with fear
Amplified Edition
Line number 56

 Critical note

Here Pulter draws on the familiar trope of sleep as a kind of death. Shakespeare’s Hamlet includes a famous use of this analogy in Hamlet’s “to be or not to be” soliloquy: “to die, to sleep; to sleep, perchance to dream” (Act 3, Scene 1). Pulter threads this trope through the remainder of this stanza with references to “sweet slumber,” “sad dreams,” and “blessed night.” For an entire poem centered on this trope, see Why Art Thou Sad at the Approach of Night [Poem 47].
Amplified Edition
Line number 60

 Critical note

By repeating this line verbatim three lines later, Pulter uses her characteristic doubling to underscore the poet’s desire for death. The enveloped lines between the repetition convey an almost effortless death: the poet will exhale a “short breath” and her “structure” will “fall” to “dust.” Death is not only “welcome,” but easy.
Elemental Edition
Line number 61

 Gloss note

draw up
Elemental Edition
Line number 62

 Critical note

finely disintegrated matter, or original formative physical materials; for the latter, see Genesis 2:7: “And the Lord God formed man [of] the dust of the ground, and breathed into his nostrils the breath of life; and man became a living soul.”
Amplified Edition
Line number 65

 Critical note

Pulter’s definition of death as “cold and night” turns us back to the poem’s title where she records its composition on the “longest night in the year.” We might also think about how this question about the definition of death and life connect to Pulter’s use of “if” at the stanza’s opening. The Fire stanza, more than any of the others, seems truly an exploration, first marked by the conditional “if,” then by Pulter’s reflection on the relationship between blood and heat, and finally here by the interrogative mode at the stanza’s end.
Transcription
Line number 69

 Physical note

in left margin: “Dust, or Earth”; latter two words in different hand from main scribe; first third of page blank
Amplified Edition
Line number 69

 Gloss note

“Dust” is one of Pulter’s frequent preoccupations throughout the manuscript and she often uses this term to refer to the element of Earth. For some other poems that consider “dust,” see Dear God, From Thy High Throne Look Down [Poem 63] and The Hope [Poem 65].
Elemental Edition
Line number 70

 Critical note

a common period phrase alluding to the body’s disintegration at death; see the Book of Common Prayer burial service (London, 1549), Ee 4v: “earth to earth, ashes to ashes, dust to dust.”
Amplified Edition
Line number 70

 Critical note


This stanza’s opening lines introduce the concept of life as a circle, succinctly captured by the phrase “Earth to Earth.” The life/death cycle provides important framing for the stanza’s maternal themes. Even though Pulter draws on her status as mother throughout the rest of the poem, in this stanza she explicitly identifies herself as “mother” (line 72) for the first time and uses that identification as leverage to petition Mother Earth.

An important context underlying Pulter’s themes in this stanza is the very real fear of death that accompanied childbirth in early modern England. Giving birth was a dangerous process and maternal and infant mortality rates were high. How does the connection between death and motherhood function in this stanza compared to, for instance, This Was Written in 1648, When I Lay in, With my Son John [Poem 45]? For more on Pulter’s status as mother and how she contemplates her mortality through her motherhood, see Amanda Zoch, “Rewriting the Lying-In: Hester Pulter, Katherine Philips, and the Felt Mortality of Pregnancy,” Early Modern Women 15.1 (2020): 3-25, and Lying-In in the Curations for Poem 45.

Amplified Edition
Line number 73

 Critical note

Revised in the manuscript. The original line reads, “Aye me, thou took’st them faire.” It seems that Pulter’s insertion of “young and” is a practical formal revision to ensure the line fits metrically with the next line. But we might also ask, does this revision do conceptual work too, as we saw in Pulter’s revision to line 11?
Elemental Edition
Line number 74

 Gloss note

grey or white
Amplified Edition
Line number 74

 Gloss note

grey, white with age
Amplified Edition
Line number 75

 Critical note

Pulter’s language here echoes her elegies on Jane Pulter’s death, Upon the Death of my Dear and Lovely Daughter, Jane Pulter [Poem 10] and Tell Me No More [On the Same] [Poem 11]. In “Upon the Death,” for example, Pulter describes how “fever spot[s]” appeared on Jane’s “snowy skin.” Like this poem, both elegies depict a mother consumed with grief over the loss of her child. The echoes between this poem and Pulter’s more traditional elegies bring us back to my question in the poem’s “Headnote”: what is an elegy and how do we know when we’re reading one?
Elemental Edition
Line number 80

 Gloss note

envelop
Amplified Edition
Line number 80

 Critical note


Pulter joins many of her contemporary poets in representing Earth as a fertile mother who both gives and takes life. In John Milton’s Paradise Lost, Hell’s demons “rifle[ ] the bowels of their mother Earth” (1.687) and, when Adam bites the fruit from the Tree of Knowledge, Milton describes the Earth “trembl[ing] from her entrails, as again / in pangs” (9.1000). Mary Sidney, Countess of Pembroke, also consistently draws on this metaphor in her psalm translations: “All things in brief, that life in life maintain, / From earth’s old bowels fresh and youngly grows” (Psalm 104, lines 47-48). Both Milton and Pembroke’s uses of this metaphor remind us that this is a common biblical trope, one with which Pulter would have been very familiar. In Pulter’s representation, Earth’s womb is central to the life/death cycle and the Earth’s “bowels” ultimately become the poet’s final desired resting place.

When I read this final stanza, I think about Pulter’s representation of Earth as a living, maternal organism in contrast to increasingly mechanistic representations of nature in seventeenth-century England. Within several decades of Pulter’s writing, changing attitudes toward science and the study of nature would result in widespread attempts to control, contain, and dominate the natural world. English poet Anna Laetitia Barbauld (1743-1825) confronts this shift in her 1773 poem “The Invitation,” where she describes scientists that “pensive creep” and “hunt” nature “to her elemental forms.” For foundational ecofeminist work to read alongside Pulter’s representation, see Carolyn Merchant, The Death of Nature: Women, Ecology and the Scientific Revolution (Harper & Row, 1980).

Elemental Edition
Line number 82

 Gloss note

intestines or the heart or core; also pity, compassion
Amplified Edition
Line number 82

 Critical note

The poem ends with the poet voicing her desire to be incorporated back into the earth. The Earth’s “yearn[ing]” here bookends the poet’s yearning in the poem’s opening stanza (how she “implore[s]” the Elements to attend her “last, best feast”). In early modern connotations, “yearn” could mean both “to have a strong desire or longing for” and “to be deeply moved; to feel something (as compassion, sympathy, etc.) intensely” (“yearn, v.1,” OED Online). The second connotation usefully extends the elegiac work of the poem we’ve traced thus far. How does this poem function not only as elegy, but specifically as a call for collective mourning? An invitation for the poem’s readers to mourn and “yearn” alongside the poet? To continue exploring these questions, we might now turn to one of Pulter’s elegies on her daughter’s death, where the poet asks “all…parents” to “lend one tear” to contribute to her lament (Upon the Death of my Dear and Lovely Daughter, Jane Pulter [Poem 10]).
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