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<title>Divine raptvres; or, Piety in poesie digested into a queint diversity of sacred fancies / composed by Tho. Iordan ...</title>
<author>Jordan, Thomas, 1612?-1685?</author>
<extent>Approx. 84 KB of XML-encoded text transcribed from 29 1-bit group-IV TIFF page images.</extent>
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<date when="2003-09">2003-09 (EEBO-TCP Phase 1).</date>
<idno type="DLPS">A46242</idno>
<idno type="STC">Wing J1028</idno>
<idno type="STC">ESTC R10497</idno>
<idno type="EEBO-CITATION">12425162</idno>
<idno type="OCLC">ocm 12425162</idno>
<idno type="VID">61816</idno>
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<title>Early English books online.</title>
<note>(EEBO-TCP ; phase 1, no. A46242)</note>
<note>Transcribed from: (Early English Books Online ; image set 61816)</note>
<note>Images scanned from microfilm: (Early English books, 1641-1700 ; 944:3)</note>
<title>Divine raptvres; or, Piety in poesie digested into a queint diversity of sacred fancies / composed by Tho. Iordan ...</title>
<author>Jordan, Thomas, 1612?-1685?</author>
<extent>[2], 46 [i.e. 54] p. </extent>
<pubPlace>London :</pubPlace>
<note>Reproduction of original in Huntington Library.</note>
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<term>Religious poetry, English -- Early modern, 1500-1700.</term>
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<div type="title_page">
<pb facs="tcp:61816:1" rendition="simple:additions"/>
<pb facs="tcp:61816:1" rendition="simple:additions"/>
<p>DIVINE RAPTVRES OR PIETY IN POESIE; Digested Into a Queint Diversity of sacred FANCIES.</p>
<p>Composed by <hi>Tho. Iordan,</hi> Gent.</p>
<p>Plus <gap reason="illegible" extent="1 letter">
</gap>l<gap reason="illegible" extent="1 letter">
</gap>i quam vini mihi consumptum est.</p>
<hi>LONDON,</hi> Printed by Authoritie, for the use of the Author. 1646.</p>
<div type="preface">
<pb facs="tcp:61816:2"/>
<pb n="1" facs="tcp:61816:2"/>
<head>The Preface.</head>
<seg rend="decorInit">Y</seg>OV wanton Lads, that spend your winged time,</l>
<l>And chant your eares, in reading lustfull rime,</l>
<l>Who like transform'd <hi>Acteon</hi> range about,</l>
<l>And beate the woods to finde <hi>Diana</hi> out,</l>
<l>I'st this you'ld have? then hence: here's no content</l>
<l>For you, my Muse ne're knew what <hi>Venus</hi> meant;</l>
<l>But stay: I may subvert your rude conceit;</l>
<l>And every verse may proove a heavenly baite:</l>
<l>O that ye were such captives! then yould be</l>
<l>Thrice happy: such as these are onely free,</l>
<l>Leave, leave your wanton toyes; and let alone</l>
<hi>Apollo</hi> sporting at his <hi>Helicon,</hi>
<l>Let <hi>Vulcan</hi> deale with <hi>Venus,</hi> whats to thee</l>
<l>Although shee dandle <hi>Cupids</hi> on her knee?</l>
<l>Be not inchanted with her wanton charmes,</l>
<l>Let her not hugge thee in her whorish armes,</l>
<l>But wisely doe (as <hi>Neptune</hi> did) in spite</l>
<l>Of all, spue out the Lady <hi>Aphrodite,</hi>
<l>Come, come fond lad, what? would'st thou faine espye,</l>
<l>A glorious object for thy wandring eye?</l>
<l>And glut thy sight with beauty? would'st behold</l>
<l>A visage that will make thy <hi>Venus</hi> cold?</l>
<l>If this be all, Ile give thy eye delight:</l>
<l>Come see that face that lendes the Sunne his light,</l>
<pb n="2" facs="tcp:61816:3"/>Come see that face that makes the heavens to shine,</l>
<l>Come see that glorious face, that lends thee thine,</l>
<l>Come and behold that face which if thou see,</l>
<l>Aright, t'will make the earth a heaven to thee,</l>
<l>Come see that glistring face from which arise</l>
<l>Such glorious beames that dazels Angels eyes,</l>
<l>What canst have more; but dost thou thinke that such?</l>
<l>A comely visage will not let thee touch?</l>
<l>Or dost thou thinke a Sunne that shines so cleare,</l>
<l>Will scorne to let a lesser Orbe come neere?</l>
<l>No thou mistak'st: say, dost thou t<gap reason="illegible" extent="1 letter">
</gap>uely thirst,</l>
<l>For him?: I dare avouch hee lov'd thee first,</l>
<l>Be not dismaid, It needes no more dispute,</l>
<l>Come give this glorious face a kinde salute.</l>
<div type="poem">
<pb n="3" facs="tcp:61816:3"/>
<seg rend="decorInit">B</seg>Efore all time,<note place="margin">
<hi>The</hi> Chaos.</note> when every thing did lye,</l>
<l>Wrapt in a <hi>Chaos</hi> of deformity,</l>
<l>When all things nothing were, and could pre<g ref="char:EOLhyphen"/>sent</l>
<l>No comely frame, no heaven, no element,</l>
<l>No earth, no water, fire or ayre alone</l>
<l>But all as twere compounded all in one,</l>
<l>Then with a word our <hi>Tri-une Iove</hi> did bring,</l>
<l>This nothing <hi>Chaos</hi> into every thing;</l>
<l>Yea then our great <hi>Iehovah</hi> did present</l>
<l>A severall region to each element,</l>
<l>Then Time, his houres began to measure out,</l>
<l>And he most nimbly garison'd about,</l>
<l>This new created Orbe: he tooke his flight</l>
<l>And hurried restlesse on both day and night,</l>
<l>His motion was so quicke, that scarce twas ey'd,</l>
<l>He for ten thousand worlds won't squint aside,</l>
<l>Nor once turne backe his head; by chance I viewd</l>
<l>His flight, his wings I thought were then renewd,</l>
<pb n="4" facs="tcp:61816:4"/>Yea his unwearied feathers did so soare</l>
<l>Swiftly, as if they never flew before,</l>
<l>As when the <hi>Thracians</hi> from their snaky bow</l>
<l>Did make there featherd darts so swiftly goe,</l>
<l>That they out ranne all sight, so time did flie,</l>
<l>As if he strove with winged <hi>Mercurie</hi>;</l>
<l>No weapon all this while for his defence</l>
<l>He bore, he dealt with none but innocence,</l>
<l>And now those feggy mists that so did lye,</l>
<l>Cloyster'd together from eternity</l>
<l>Were all dispersd; yea now twas very bright</l>
<l>And darkenesse was unfetter'd from the light;</l>
<l>When this was done, our great <hi>Iehovah</hi> lent</l>
<l>The world (as yet scarce made) a firmament,</l>
<l>He separated waters wondrous well,</l>
<l>Then Seas with surging billowes ganne to swell,</l>
<l>And tossed to and fro with every wave,</l>
<l>As if the fretfull region would out brave</l>
<l>Her owne Creator; they were not content</l>
<l>With their but now appointed regiment,</l>
<l>Their watry mountaines did so oft aspire</l>
<l>To Heaven, as if they would be placed higher,</l>
<l>But now great <hi>Iove</hi> lookt on they did not dare</l>
<l>Surpasse their stations, nay, nor once impaire</l>
<l>Their bounds, he quickly queld their lusty prankes,</l>
<l>And causd the waves to crouch within their bankes,</l>
<l>When he had conquerd this unruly stran,</l>
<l>Within two dayes he crownes <hi>Leviathan,</hi>
<l>King of the liquid region, and doth give</l>
<l>Ten thousand thousand more with him to live,</l>
<l>Then fruitfull earth which is the Ocean barres</l>
<gap reason="illegible" extent="1 span">
</gap> and heavens bespangled all with starres</l>
<l>The <gap reason="illegible" extent="1 letter">
</gap>unne begins <gap reason="illegible" extent="1 span">
<l>And proudly danceth up the Orient,</l>
<pb n="5" facs="tcp:61816:4"/>He nor his horses can no longer sleepe,</l>
<l>But gallop from the orientall deepe,</l>
<l>He rid so fast that in few houres was spide</l>
<l>All bravely wrapt in his meridian pride,</l>
<l>But when he clamber'd to the highest brinke,</l>
<l>He view'd the fabricke, then began to sinke,</l>
<l>And all the way as hee did homewards goe,</l>
<l>He laughed, to see so brave a frame below,</l>
<l>Still whipping on his Iades, untill his head</l>
<l>Was safely laid into his Westerne bed.</l>
<l>Silver <hi>Lucina</hi> as yet did not enter,</l>
<l>But lay immured within the reeking center,</l>
<l>Whilst he had mounted on his flaming seate,</l>
<l>And viewd a glorious orbe, wondrous, compleate,</l>
<l>With that the purple Lady straight prepares,</l>
<l>Attended with ten thousand thousand starres,</l>
<l>Shee clambers up in this her rich aray,</l>
<l>And viewes the goodly building all the way,</l>
<l>Sweete smiles shee cast from her admiring eye,</l>
<l>Whilst all her little babes stood twinkling by,</l>
<l>Playing the wantons by their mothers side,</l>
<l>As if they were inamour'd with the pride</l>
<l>Of such a Fabricke: to expresse their mirth,</l>
<l>Some shot from heaven, as though they'd live on Earth,</l>
<l>This done, sweete <hi>Phoebe</hi> soone beganne to drop</l>
<l>Her borrowed beames into her brothers lap,</l>
<l>And ever since to see this glorious sight</l>
<l>One laughes at day; the other smiles at night.</l>
<l>And can you blame them? earth is spread with bowres,</l>
<l>And trees, and proudly deckt with sundry flowers,</l>
<l>Shee that ere while in dunghill <hi>Chaos</hi> lay,</l>
<l>Is now with Vi'lets purp'ld every day,</l>
<pb n="6" facs="tcp:61816:5"/>And damaskt all with Roses, yea shees clad</l>
<l>With sweeter herbes then ever <hi>Ceres</hi> had,</l>
<l>Her fruitfull wombe brings forth most dainty cates,</l>
<l>And lovely fruites, these are her comely brattes,</l>
<l>No rusticke Plowman now doth take the paines</l>
<l>To peirce her entrailes, or to squeeze her veines,</l>
<l>But heaven and shee unites, they scorne to see</l>
<l>A bastard weede, disgrace their pedigree,</l>
<l>Shee's overspread with pinkes and Daffadillies,</l>
<l>Carnations, Roses, and the whitest Lilies,</l>
<l>Those fondlings lolling in her armes doe lye,</l>
<l>Shaking their heads, and in her bosome dye;</l>
<l>These in their mothers sides doe take their rest,</l>
<l>Till they doe drop their leaves into her brest,</l>
<l>And now the little birds doe every day,</l>
<l>Sit singing in the boughs, and chirpe, and play,</l>
<l>The Phesant and the Partridge slowly flye,</l>
<l>Vndaunted even before the Faulcons eye,</l>
<l>Now comes <hi>Behemoth</hi> with his Lordly gate,</l>
<l>Gazing, as if he stood admiring at</l>
<l>So rich a frame, first having fixt his sight</l>
<l>On glorious earth, he alwayes tooke delight</l>
<l>In viewing that; and would not looke on high,</l>
<l>Nay all the glorious spangles of the skye</l>
<l>Could not entice him, ever from his birth</l>
<l>He spent his time in looking on the earth.</l>
<l>All other beasts their greedy eyes did fling</l>
<l>On lovely earth, as did their crowned King:</l>
<l>Yea now the Lion with the Lambe did goe,</l>
<l>And knew not whether blood were sweete or no,</l>
<l>The little Kids to shew their wanton pride,</l>
<l>Came dancing by the loving Tigers side,</l>
<pb n="7" facs="tcp:61816:5"/>The Hare being minded with the Hounds to play,</l>
<l>Would give a sporting touch, and so away,</l>
<l>And then returne, being willing to be found,</l>
<l>And take his turne to chace the wanton Hound.</l>
<l>The busie Mice sat sporting all the day,</l>
<l>Meane while the Cat did smile to see them play.</l>
<l>The Foxe stands still, to see the Geese asleepe,</l>
<l>The harmelesse Wolfe now grazeth with the Sheepe,</l>
<l>Here was no raping, but all beasts did lye</l>
<l>As link'd in one, O Heavenly Sympathy!</l>
<l>The goodly Pastures springing from the Clay,</l>
<l>Did wooe their mouthes to banquet, all the way</l>
<l>Was spread with dainty herbes, and as they found</l>
<l>Occasion, they would oft salute the ground,</l>
<l>Those uncontrouled creatures then begunne</l>
<l>To sport, and all lay basking in the Sunne,</l>
<l>No creature was their Lord, gaine said by none,</l>
<l>As if that Heaven and earth were all their owne.</l>
<l>Thus when this mighty builder did inrobe</l>
<l>Himselfe with night, and <hi>Chaos</hi> to a globe</l>
<l>Convert, of this he tooke a serious view,</l>
<l>And did as twere create it all anew,</l>
<l>He made a little Orbe, cald man; the same,</l>
<l>Onely compacted in a lesser frame,</l>
<l>For what is all this all, that man in one</l>
<l>Doth not enjoy. A man thats onely blowne</l>
<l>With heavens breath, a man that doth present</l>
<l>Life, Spirit, sense, and every element:</l>
<l>Yea in this little world great <hi>Iove</hi> did place</l>
<l>His glorious Image, and this miry face</l>
<l>Was heavens picture, twas this face alone</l>
<l>That still lookt up to his Creators throne,</l>
<pb n="8" facs="tcp:61816:6"/>Then God did make (a place to be admir'd,</l>
<l>Surely twas heaven it selfe had then conspir'd,</l>
<l>To finde it out,) a garden sweetly blowne,</l>
<l>With pleasant fruite, and man's exempt from none,</l>
<l>Of all these plants, except a middle tree,</l>
<l>And what can one among a thousand bee!</l>
<l>O glorious place, that God doth now provide</l>
<l>For durty clay! the earth in all her pride,</l>
<l>He tramples on: and heav'n that's so beset</l>
<l>With spangles and each glistring Chrysolet</l>
<l>Doth give attendance, yea it serves to be</l>
<l>A covering for his head, his Canopie.</l>
<l>Thus man of heaven and earth is all possest,</l>
<l>This span of durt, is Lord of all the rest,</l>
<l>Me think's I see how all the Creatures bring</l>
<l>Their severall Congies to their new made King,</l>
<hi>Behemoth</hi> which ere while did range about</l>
<l>Vncheckt, and tossing up his bony snowt,</l>
<l>Feard none: now having cast his rowling eyes</l>
<l>Vpon his Lord, see how he crouching lyes,</l>
<l>Behind a sheltring bush, he seemes to be,</l>
<l>Imploring aide of every spreading tree,</l>
<l>The Lyon which ere while was in his pride,</l>
<l>Squinting by chance his gogle-eyes aside,</l>
<l>Espies his King, he dares not stay for haste,</l>
<l>Spues out his meate halfe chaw'd, and will not taste</l>
<l>Of his intended food; but sneakes away,</l>
<l>Counting his life to be his chiefest prey,</l>
<l>It was but now the raven was espide,</l>
<l>Sporting her wings upon the Tigars hide,</l>
<l>But now, O how her feather'd sayles doe soare,</l>
<l>As if shee vowd to touch the earth no more!</l>
<pb n="9" facs="tcp:61816:6"/>See how the Goates doe clamber to the top</l>
<l>Of highest mountaines, and the Conies drop</l>
<l>Into their holes, see how the Roebucke flings</l>
<l>himselfe, almost exchanging legs for wings.</l>
<l>Why? what's the matter, that ye haste away,</l>
<l>Ye that ere while, were sporting all the day?</l>
<l>Tell me yee Creatures, say, what fearefull sight</l>
<l>Hath put you to this unexpected flight?</l>
<l>Speake, speake thou giddy lambe, wer't not thou spide</l>
<l>At play but now? why then dost skip aside?</l>
<l>What? is it man that frights you? can his face</l>
<l>Stretch out your legs unto their swiftest pace?</l>
<l>Can one looke daunt you all? what neede this bee?</l>
<l>Are ye not made of Clay, as well as hee?</l>
<l>Have ye not one Creator? are ye not</l>
<l>His elder Brothers, and the first begot?</l>
<l>Why start ye then? is it not strange to see</l>
<l>One weake-one make ten thousand strong ones flee?</l>
<l>But ah I neede not aske, I know it now,</l>
<l>You spied your makers image in his brow.</l>
<l>T'was even so indeed, no time to stay,</l>
<l>Your Lord was comming, fit, he should have way.</l>
<l>And thus these Creatures dares not come in sight;</l>
<l>Surely t'was heavens <hi>Idea,</hi> causd the fright.</l>
<l>Now see how flattering earth doth strive alone</l>
<l>To please this Lord; each tree presents a done,</l>
<l>See how the fruite hangs with a comely grace,</l>
<l>And wooes his hands to rent them from their place,</l>
<l>O how they bow, and would not have him bring</l>
<l>His hands to them, they bend unto their King,</l>
<l>But if by chance he will not plucke and taste,</l>
<l>They breake the boughes, and so for griefe they waste.</l>
<pb n="10" facs="tcp:61816:7"/>See how the little pinkes when they espie</l>
<l>Their Lord, doe Curtsy as he passeth by,</l>
<l>The wanton Dazies shake their leavy heads,</l>
<l>The purple Vilets startle from their beds,</l>
<l>The Primrose sweete and every flowre that growes,</l>
<l>Bestrowes his way with odours as he goes;</l>
<l>Thus did the herbes, the trees, the pleasant flowres</l>
<l>Welcome their Lord into his <hi>Eden</hi> bowres.</l>
<l>But all this while, the earth with all her pride,</l>
<l>Shee nor her store could not aford a bride</l>
<l>Fitting for man, no, no, to end the strife</l>
<l>The man himselfe must yeeld himselfe a wife,</l>
<l>It was not meete for him to be alone.</l>
<l>Then did our one-in-three our three-in-one</l>
<l>Cast him into a sleepe, and did divide</l>
<l>His ribbes, and brought a woman from his side.</l>
<l>When this was done, the devill did entice</l>
<l>The wife from Gods, unto his Paradice,</l>
<l>See how the lying serpent maketh choise</l>
<l>Of the forbidden tree: a tacite voice</l>
<l>It hath indeede most lovely to the eye,</l>
<l>Presents it to her, and shee by and by</l>
<l>Forsooth must taste: and so must <hi>Adam</hi> too.</l>
<l>What cannot women by entreaties doe!</l>
<l>God he intends a wife for mans reliefe,</l>
<l>But oftentimes shee prooves the greatest griefe.</l>
<l>Was there but one forbid? and must shee bee</l>
<l>So base a wretch to taste of such a tree?</l>
<l>Must <hi>Adam</hi> too? Ah see how shee pluckes downe</l>
<l>Her husbands glory, and kickes off his crowne!</l>
<l>O see how angry God himselfe comes downe,</l>
<l>To curse these wretches! heaven begins to frowne,</l>
<pb n="11" facs="tcp:61816:7"/>Alas poore naked soules, me thinkes I see</l>
<l>Transformed <hi>Adam</hi> crouch behind a tree,</l>
<l>T'is time to runne when once God doth reject him,</l>
<l>Tis not his leavy armour can protect him,</l>
<l>Heaven and hell with all the spight they can</l>
<l>Strive for revenge against this monster man.</l>
<l>O how the Creatures frowne, and bend their brow,</l>
<l>As if they all conspir'd and tooke a vow</l>
<l>Against this caytive, hearke how earth complaines</l>
<l>That shee by man is barrd of mod'rate raines,</l>
<l>Shees now become a strumpet, fruitfull seedes,</l>
<l>And dainty flowers, are turn'd to bastard weedes,</l>
<l>Disrob'd of all her glory, lost her pride,</l>
<l>The creatures now lie starving by her side,</l>
<l>O how shee sighes, and sends up hideous cryes,</l>
<l>To see poore cattell fall before her eyes,</l>
<l>For want of foode: they rip their mothers wombe</l>
<l>For meate, but finding none, doe makt their tombe,</l>
<l>Harke how the buls and angry Lyons roare</l>
<l>To heaven, and tell how man decreast their store,</l>
<l>Heare how the little Lambes which yesterday</l>
<l>Did honour to their King, and gave him way,</l>
<l>O how they begge for vengeance to come downe</l>
<l>On man, and dispossesse him of his Crowne,</l>
<l>See, see what raping and what cruell thrall</l>
<l>Is us'd: tis man alone that murders all,</l>
<l>The Lion mild ere while for want of foode,</l>
<l>Doth fill his paunch with unaccustom'd blood,</l>
<l>The wolfe which lately was more apt to keepe</l>
<l>The tender lambes, now prosecutes the sheepe,</l>
<l>Surely the ravenous beasts (did not they spye</l>
<l>The glimpse of heaven within mans purblind eye,)</l>
<pb n="12" facs="tcp:61816:8"/>Would straight devoure him, did not mercy now</l>
<l>Come downe and smooth her fathers wrinkled brow:</l>
<l>The earth would scorne to beare him, but divide</l>
<l>Her selfe, and make this <hi>Dathan</hi> sincke in pride;</l>
<l>The earth would not indure the plough to passe</l>
<l>Into her iron sides, the heavens as brasse</l>
<l>Would soone become, and both doe what they can</l>
<l>To starve up this deformed monster man.</l>
<l>See how this Caytife causeth discontent,</l>
<l>And raiseth discord in each element,</l>
<l>How often have I seene the raging fire</l>
<l>Vnto the top of highest Towres aspire,</l>
<l>And clamber mighty buildings? tis unbound,</l>
<l>Surely t' would burne the fabricke to the ground,</l>
<l>Did not our God looke from his mercy seat,</l>
<l>And make the watry sister quell the heate.</l>
<l>How is the ayre poysned with misty fogges,</l>
<l>And churlish vapours; onely such that clogs</l>
<l>The Corps with deadly humours, such that brings</l>
<l>The Pestilence, yea such that quickely flings</l>
<l>Loathsome diseases alwayes tipt with death,</l>
<l>Did not <hi>Iove</hi> fanne it with his mighty breath.</l>
<l>Harke how the impatient seas beginne to thunder,</l>
<l>As if they'd rent their prison walls in sunder;</l>
<l>See how the mounting waves doe swiftly flye</l>
<l>To heaven, as if they meant to tell the skye</l>
<l>How basely man hath dealt: O how they roare,</l>
<l>Beating their foming waves against the shore,</l>
<l>Chiding their sister earth that dares to beare</l>
<l>So base a wretch; see how the waves doe teare</l>
<l>Her bowels, and with all the spight they can</l>
<l>Strive for to drowne this wretched Caytife man.</l>
<div type="poem">
<pb n="13" facs="tcp:61816:8"/>
<seg rend="decorInit">O</seg> Thou most Sacred Dove that I may write</l>
<l>Thy praises, drop thou from thy soaring flight</l>
<l>A quill: come aide my muse, for shee intends</l>
<l>To sing such love no mortall comprehends,</l>
<l>Guide thou her stamring tongue, and let her be</l>
<l>Strongly protected in her infancy,</l>
<l>Then shee'll tell how the King of Kings by birth</l>
<l>Forsooke his throne, to live on dunghill earth,</l>
<l>Then shee'le declare how great creating <hi>Iove,</hi>
<l>Whose starre-depaved pallace is above</l>
<l>All whose attendance is a glorious troope,</l>
<l>Of glitt'ring cherubs, unto whom doe stoope</l>
<l>Each glorious Angell, flinging himselfe downe,</l>
<l>Presenting at his feete his pearely crowne,</l>
<l>To be his pallace heaven it selfe's not meete,</l>
<l>And dunghill earth's too little for his feete;</l>
<l>Yet this great King-creating King did slide</l>
<l>To earth, and laid his Diadem aside,</l>
<l>Exchanging it for thornes, and did untire</l>
<l>His glorious selfe, and clad himselfe in mire;</l>
<pb n="14" facs="tcp:61816:9"/>At whose appearance singing Angels shot</l>
<l>Like starres from heaven (newes nere to be forgot)</l>
<l>Yea winged Cherubs from the highest came</l>
<l>As Heavens Heralds to divulge his fame.</l>
<l>All heaven did obeysance but for earth</l>
<l>(Vngratefull soile unworthy of the birth</l>
<l>Of such a babe) twas readier to intombe</l>
<l>The dying Lord, then to afford a roome,</l>
<l>Proud <hi>Salem</hi> was too high to entertaine</l>
<l>Poore <hi>Maries</hi> babe, twas kept for <hi>Herods</hi> traine,</l>
<l>And <hi>Rome</hi> that seavenhild Citty was too greate</l>
<l>To lodge this Child, tis <hi>Caesars</hi> royall seate,</l>
<l>T'is <hi>Bethlem,</hi> little <hi>Bethlem</hi> must suffice</l>
<l>To lighten <hi>Iosephs</hi> Consorts weary thighes,</l>
<l>And thats almost too proud to lodge him in,</l>
<l>No private house, but even a vulgar Inne,</l>
<l>And tha're not harbourd in the choisest roomes,</l>
<l>No, not so well as with the common groomes,</l>
<l>But this (ah most unworthy) worthy guests</l>
<l>Is thrust (and gladly too) among the beasts,</l>
<l>He that before was wont to take his rest,</l>
<l>All coverd in his fathers silken breast,</l>
<l>Is now constrained to lay his worthy head,</l>
<l>Vpon an undeserved strawy bed,</l>
<l>He that was wont to heare the pleasant tones</l>
<l>Of sweete-voyc'd Angels, now the saddest grones</l>
<l>Of dolefull <hi>Mary,</hi> mixt with brinish teares,</l>
<l>These onely these are harbour'd in his eares,</l>
<l>The Babe is scarcely borne, but sought to dye,</l>
<l>As yet not learn'd to goe, but forc'd to flye,</l>
<l>And to avoid the Tetrarchs furious Curse,</l>
<l>Hard hearted <hi>Egypt's</hi> now become a Nurse,</l>
<pb n="15" facs="tcp:61816:9"/>He that can make both Heaven and earth to dread,</l>
<l>Loe patiently takes all, and hides his head,</l>
<l>Yet hee'le returne, no, not the bitter wrongs,</l>
<l>Nor spightfull usage, nor the smarting thongs,</l>
<l>Nor sharpest scourges, no nor blackest hell,</l>
<l>Can quench the boundlesse love, nor yet expell</l>
<l>His strong affections, let the traitors set</l>
<l>A thorny crowne on's head, and also wet</l>
<l>His glorious face with spittle, and deride,</l>
<l>And scourge till blood falls trickling downe his side,</l>
<l>Nay though he be constrain'd to leave his breath,</l>
<l>And's dying soule is heavy unto death,</l>
<l>He can't but smile upon his bitter foe,</l>
<l>And love the traitors whe're they will or no,</l>
<l>Yet see how <gap reason="illegible" extent="1 letter">
</gap>ordid man repayeth all</l>
<l>His kindnesse, with an undeserved thrall,</l>
<l>Whil'st he (sad soule) lay prostrate all alone,</l>
<l>Fast fixing both his eyes at heavens throne,</l>
<l>And sending up such sighes, as though he'd make</l>
<l>The weakned vaults of heaven and earth to shake,</l>
<l>His sweate dropt downe like dew, and as he stood</l>
<l>He staind Mount Olives with his Crimson blood,</l>
<l>Whilst all his sad Disciples drowsy lye,</l>
<l>Scarce able to hold up a sluggish eye,</l>
<l>Now he's betraid by <hi>Iudas,</hi> he that bore</l>
<l>The bagge, and was intrusted with the store,</l>
<l>He that did scorne the traitors name, and cry,</l>
<l>Who shall betray thee Lord? Lord speake? is't I?</l>
<l>Yet now an abject Christ becomes, to be,</l>
<l>And thirty pence is valu'd more then he,</l>
<l>The bloody steward with a treacherous kisse</l>
<l>Forsooke his Master and eternall blisse,</l>
<pb n="16" facs="tcp:61816:10"/>And sould the body of a Lord so good</l>
<l>To souldiers, such as thirsted after blood,</l>
<l>And then for feare the Innocent should passe</l>
<l>Vntoucht, was straight accused by <hi>Caiaphas,</hi>
<l>Condemn'd by <hi>Pontius Pilate,</hi> to expell</l>
<l>The guilt, he washt his hands, and all was well,</l>
<l>O see what force weake water had to quench</l>
<l>His sparkling Conscience, and his flaming sence!</l>
<l>Alas not <hi>Nilus,</hi> no nor <hi>Iordans</hi> flood</l>
<l>Can cleanse the staines of such a Crimson blood;</l>
<l>No tis the streames of a repenting eye</l>
<l>Tis onely this takes out a scarlet dye,</l>
<l>Thus our <hi>Astrea</hi> stands arraign'd to dye</l>
<l>And nothing's to be heard but <hi>Crucifye</hi>:</l>
<l>When this alarum sounded to the hight</l>
<l>And heav'n and hell conspired both to fight</l>
<l>Against this Captaine, then his daunted troope</l>
<l>Forsooke their Lord, each soule began to droope;</l>
<l>Yet gracious he imparted his renowne</l>
<l>He wonne the battell and gave them the Crowne,</l>
<l>Yea he became a curse that knew no sinne</l>
<l>He was inrob'd and disinrob'd ag'in;</l>
<l>His temples crown'd with thornes, his glorious face</l>
<l>Was spit upon and beate with all disgrace</l>
<l>That abject slaves could use, and then they cry,</l>
<l>To blinded Christ who beate thee? prophecy.</l>
<l>Ah stupid soules as if that piercing sight</l>
<l>That viewes all secrets in the darkest night,</l>
<l>That tries the thoughts of every heart, and stares</l>
<l>Into each soule is now as blind as theirs;</l>
<l>Thus was he basely us'd, but all's not done</l>
<l>The hell-invented fury is to come,</l>
<pb n="17" facs="tcp:61816:10"/>By vulgar slaves the very Sonne of God</l>
<l>Is falsely scourg'd and forc'd to kisse the rod,</l>
<l>Yea he whose nostrils able are to cast</l>
<l>Out flame, and burne the world at every blast,</l>
<l>Whose mighty breath is able for to fanne</l>
<l>Ten thousand worlds, and puffe out every man</l>
<l>Like chaffe, and make the flanting world to tosse</l>
<l>Like waves, is now compeld to beare his crosse;</l>
<l>Whereon his body in a vulgar streete</l>
<l>Hung naked pierc'd with nayles both hands and feete:</l>
<l>The well of water, he that gave the first</l>
<l>To all his creatures, now's himselfe a thirst,</l>
<l>Yea he to whom all thirsty creatures call</l>
<l>For drinke, must now drinke vinegar with gall,</l>
<l>They pierc'd his side from whence came watry blood,</l>
<l>More soveraigne farre then all <hi>Bethesda's</hi> flood,</l>
<l>These tyrants thus (though to themselves denide)</l>
<l>Did make a way to heaven through his side.</l>
<l>Alas my muse for sighes can scarce prolong</l>
<l>The fatall tuning of so dire a song,</l>
<l>To see heavens faire <hi>Idea</hi> seeme so foule</l>
<l>Sobbing and sighing out his burdned soule,</l>
<l>Those eyes which now seeme dim, were once so bright,</l>
<l>From hence it was that <hi>Phoebus</hi> begd his light,</l>
<l>Those armes which now hang weake did from their birth</l>
<l>Support the tottring vaults of heaven and earth,</l>
<l>That tongue that now lyes speechlesse in his head,</l>
<l>A word of that would soone revive the dead,</l>
<l>One touch of those Pale fingers would suffice</l>
<l>To heale the sicke and make the dead man rise:</l>
<l>Those legges which now are peircd by abject slaves</l>
<l>were kindly entertaind amongst the waves:</l>
<pb n="18" facs="tcp:61816:11"/>The coate whose warmth did give his sides reliefe</l>
<l>The hem, the very hem could cure a griefe;</l>
<l>But now strength's weake, th'omnipotent's a crying</l>
<l>For aid, health's sicke and life it selfe's a dying,</l>
<l>His head hangs drooping and his eyes are fixt,</l>
<l>His weakned armes growne pale, the sunne's eclipst</l>
<l>(O boundlesse love, thus thus thou didst expose</l>
<l>Thy selfe no damned paines to save thy foes)</l>
<l>Hell fought against him, heaven began to frowne</l>
<l>And justice soone sent vengeance posting downe,</l>
<l>Who clad with fury, being angry shakes</l>
<l>Her ugly head whose haire doth nurture snakes,</l>
<l>Shee layes about her greedy of her prey</l>
<l>Quencheth h<gap reason="illegible" extent="1 letter">
</gap>r t<gap reason="illegible" extent="1 letter">
</gap>irst with blood and so away,</l>
<l>And mercy now lies cover'd in a cloud</l>
<l>And will not heare although his sighes are loud</l>
<l>(Although his cries are such that cause a stone</l>
<l>To heare, yet sinne makes heav'n forget her owne)</l>
<l>Heav'n frownes as if shee had her owne forgot,</l>
<l>Mercy lookes off as if shee knew him not,</l>
<l>He suffred paines that hell it selfe devisd,</l>
<l>So much, that justice cride I am suffic'd:</l>
<l>His tortures were so high, so great, so sore,</l>
<l>That hell cride out: I can inflict no more:</l>
<l>Which done the heavens closd up their lamping light</l>
<l>And turn'd the day into a dismall night;</l>
<l>Bright <hi>Phoebus</hi> vaild his face and would not see,</l>
<l>Wormes actors of so bloody treachery:</l>
<l>And quivering earth her wonted rigour lackt</l>
<l>And straight stood trembling at so dire a fact:</l>
<l>The buri'd Saints arose to see betwixt</l>
<l>Two dusky clouds, their glorious Sunne eclipst:</l>
<pb n="19" facs="tcp:61816:11"/>Thus heav'n it selfe with the terrestriall <hi>Ball</hi>
<l>Doth joyne to celebrate his funerall:</l>
<l>The Landlord of the globe who first did raise</l>
<l>Earths fabricke, was a tenant for three dayes;</l>
<l>But when once Christ did cease to be turmoyld</l>
<l>Heaven and he was gladly reconcil'd,</l>
<l>Mercy came dancing from the angry denne</l>
<l>Tost off her cloudy mantle, smild againe,</l>
<l>Pearch'd on her brightest throne, and makes a vow</l>
<l>To smooth the wrinckled furrowes of her brow:</l>
<l>And grim fac'd vengeance shee thats onely fed</l>
<l>With poyson, dares nor shew her snaky head</l>
<l>For feare: all angers banisht cleane away,</l>
<l>Sterne justice now hath not a word to say,</l>
<l>And now the Fathers anger being done</l>
<l>Double imbraces entertaine the Sonne:</l>
<l>As when a tender mother sometime beates</l>
<l>Her wanton boy for his unruly feates</l>
<l>Shee wipes his blubberd face and by and by</l>
<l>Presents a thousand gugoyes to his eye,</l>
<l>Shee angry with her selfe beginnes to seeke</l>
<l>His former love teares trickling downe her cheeke,</l>
<l>Quickly forgetting what was done amisse,</l>
<l>Ending her anger in a lovely kisse,</l>
<l>Doubtlesse her fondling burnes the rod and then</l>
<l>Come peace my babe kisse and be friends agen.</l>
<l>Iust so when God inflicted on his Sonne</l>
<l>His bittrest wrath, the anger being done</l>
<l>O then how soone he doubled his renowne?</l>
<l>Adorn'd his Temple with a richer Crowne?</l>
<l>Angry with those that would not heare his moane</l>
<l>Ready to fling grim vengeance from his throne,</l>
<pb n="20" facs="tcp:61816:12"/>And chide with mercy shee that once did runne</l>
<l>To hide her selfe from this his dying Sonne,</l>
<l>And for this fact would surely overthrow</l>
<l>The fabricke, did not Iustice hold the blow.</l>
<l>Thus heaven was friends againe, but sordid man</l>
<l>Poore mortall dust whose dayes are but a span</l>
<l>Doth strive against his God, like dogges that storme</l>
<l>And barke and brawle and fome at <hi>Phoebes</hi> horne:</l>
<l>Ah Lord, why are they so extreame to thee?</l>
<l>What is the cause thou madst their blindmen see?</l>
<l>Or why didst thou their fury thus inrage?</l>
<l>Because thou didst revive their dead mens age?</l>
<l>Me thinkes tis strange good God thou shouldst enflame</l>
<l>Their anger by restoring legges too lame.</l>
<l>How is it Lord thou sowedst glorious seedes</l>
<l>And loe a harvest all compact of weedes?</l>
<l>Thou gavest them life, and spentst thy dearest breath</l>
<l>For them, and now thou art repaid with death:</l>
<l>What griefe was ere like thine? would not thy mone</l>
<l>Quickly dissolve an adamantine stone?</l>
<l>Wold not those sighs (which could not peirce their eares)</l>
<l>Have turnd a rocke into a sea of teares?</l>
<l>Would not those wrongs thou bor'st without reliefe,</l>
<l>Make every cave, to echo out thy griefe?</l>
<l>For greedy Lions are more kind then men,</l>
<l>They entertaind thy limbe within their denne:</l>
<l>Forget their wonted humours and became</l>
<l>As carefull shepherdes to thy tender Lambe,</l>
<l>The croking raven, shee whose natures wilde</l>
<l>Became a tender nurse unto thy Childe,</l>
<l>And to obey thy voice the stony rocke</l>
<l>Became a springing fountaine to thy flocke,</l>
<pb n="21" facs="tcp:61816:12"/>Yea rather then thy babes shall live in thrall,</l>
<l>The very sea it selfe provides a wall,</l>
<l>The flames forget their force, through thy constraint</l>
<l>Lose heate and know not how to burne a Saint,</l>
<l>Yea when thy souldiers wanted day to fight,</l>
<l>The Sun stood still and lent them longer light:</l>
<l>When boistrous seas did shew their lusty prancks,</l>
<l>Scorning to be imprison'd in their banckes,</l>
<l>And with their billowes vaulted up so high,</l>
<l>As if they meant to scale the starry sky,</l>
<l>And boundlesse <hi>Boreas</hi> from his frozen Cave</l>
<l>Rusht out and proudly challeng'd every wave,</l>
<l>One nod of thine did quell those seas agen,</l>
<l>And sent proud <hi>Boreas</hi> to his sullen denne:</l>
<l>Thus thou the senselesse creatures oft did'st checke,</l>
<l>And mad'st the proudest pliant to thy becke,</l>
<l>For devils trembled and that breath of thine</l>
<l>Made them seeke shelter in a heard of swine,</l>
<l>They knew thy greatnesse and confest thy name.</l>
<l>Hell sent forth Heraulds to divulge thy fame</l>
<l>But man (Lord whats he made of?) stupid soule</l>
<l>Is now more greedy then the raping foule:</l>
<l>Harder then slint, his nature is so grimme,</l>
<l>That questionlesse the Lyon chang'd with him:</l>
<l>Hotter then flame, more boystrous then the winde,</l>
<l>More fierce then waves, and hels not more unkinde.</l>
<l>Yet thou (O match lesse love) didst undergoe</l>
<l>An undeserved curse to save thy foe:</l>
<l>Yea guiltlesse thou because thou would'st suffice</l>
<l>For guilty man, becom'st a Sacrifice.</l>
<l>Thou Grand Physitian for thy patients good</l>
<l>Didst mixe thy Physicke with thy dearest blood:</l>
<pb n="22" facs="tcp:61816:13"/>Man from the sweetest flower did sucke his griefe</l>
<l>But thou from venome didst extract reliefe,</l>
<l>From pleasures <hi>limbecke</hi> man distild his paine</l>
<l>Thou out of sorrow pleasure drawd againe,</l>
<l>Sweete <hi>Eden</hi> was the garden where there grew</l>
<l>Such sugred flowers, yet there our poyson blew,</l>
<l>Sad <hi>Gethseman</hi> the arbour where was pluckt,</l>
<l>Though bitter herbes, yet thence was hony suckt:</l>
<l>So have I seene the busie Bee to feed,</l>
<l>Extracting honey from the sowrest weed,</l>
<l>Whilst Spiders wandring through a pleasant bowre</l>
<l>Sucke deadly poyson from the sweetest flower,</l>
<l>Thus, thus sweete Christ, thy sicknesse was our health,</l>
<l>Thy death, our life, thy poverty our wealth,</l>
<l>Thy griefe our mirth, our freedome was thy thrall,</l>
<l>Thus thou by being conquerd conquerest all.</l>
<div type="poem">
<head>CANT. 8.7. Much water cannot quench love, neither can the floods drowne it.</head>
<l>O How my heart is ravisht! thoughts aspire</l>
<l>To thinke on thee my Christ: my zeales on fire,</l>
<l>What shall I doe my love? me thinkes mine eyes</l>
<l>Behold thee still, yet still I Tantalize;</l>
<l>Ten thousand lets stand arm'd and all agree,</l>
<l>Conspiring how to part my love and me.</l>
<l>Presumption like <hi>Olympus</hi> scales the skye,</l>
<l>A mountaine for to part my Love and I.</l>
<pb n="23" facs="tcp:61816:13"/>Despaire presents a gulfe, a greedy grave</l>
<l>Much like the jawes of the internall Cave:</l>
<l>But what of this? though hils are nere so high</l>
<l>Whose sunne-confronting tops upbraide the skye</l>
<l>Ile trample o're, and make them know tis meete</l>
<l>Their proudest heads should stoope and kisse my feete:</l>
<l>Ile stride o're cares deeper then <hi>Neptunes</hi> well,</l>
<l>Whose threatning jawes doe yawne as wide as hell:</l>
<l>Although the sea boyles in her angry tides</l>
<l>And watry mountaines knocke at Heavens sides,</l>
<l>Though every puffe of <hi>Neptunes</hi> angry breath</l>
<l>Should raise a wave and every wave a death,</l>
<l>Ile scorne his threates should stop my course, or quell</l>
<l>My pace, though every death presents a hell:</l>
<l>Yea Ile adventure through those swelling stormes</l>
<l>Whose billowes seemes to quench great <hi>Phoebes</hi> hornes,</l>
<l>Mountaines shall be as molehilles, every wave</l>
<l>Tost in the fretfull region, shall outbrave</l>
<l>No more then streames that shew their wanton pranckes,</l>
<l>Gliding along by Thames his petty banckes:</l>
<l>But grant that seas should swell, and tossing tides</l>
<l>With stormes should crush my waving vessels sides:</l>
<l>Suppose for footemen mountaines are too steepe,</l>
<l>Each hill too high, and every cave too deepe:</l>
<l>Suppose all earth conspire to stop: care I?</l>
<l>My faith will lend me wings and then Ile flye:</l>
<l>O how Ile laugh to see that mounting clay!</l>
<l>O how Ile smile at that that stopt my way!</l>
<l>O how I laugh to see the Ocean straine</l>
<l>Her banckes for to oppose and all in vaine!</l>
<l>And can you blame me? when I'me once above</l>
<l>Ile care for none, for none but thou my Love.</l>
<pb n="24" facs="tcp:61816:14"/>Thou art my path: I shall not goe awry:</l>
<l>My sight shall never faile: thou art my eye:</l>
<l>Thou art my clothing: I shan't naked be:</l>
<l>I am no bondman: thou hast made me free;</l>
<l>I am not pin'd with sickenesse: thou art health:</l>
<l>I am no whit impoverisht, thou art wealth.</l>
<div type="poem">
<head>Mans naturall infirmity.</head>
<l>WHat meanes my God? why dost present to me</l>
<l>Such glorious objects? can a blind man see?</l>
<l>Why dost thou call? why dost thou becken so?</l>
<l>Wouldst have me come? Lord can a Cripple go?</l>
<l>Or why dost thou expect that I should raise</l>
<l>Thy glory with my voice? the dumbe can't praise.</l>
<l>Vnscale my duskye eyes, then Ile expresse</l>
<l>Thy glorious objects strong attractivenesse:</l>
<l>Dip thou my limbes in thy <hi>Bethesdaes</hi> lake,</l>
<l>Ile scorne my earthly crutches, Ile forsake</l>
<l>My selfe: touch thou my tongue and then Ile sing</l>
<l>An <hi>Allelujah</hi> to my glorious King.</l>
<l>Raise me from this my grave, then I shall be</l>
<l>Alive, and Ile bestow my life on thee</l>
<l>Till thou <hi>Eliah</hi>-like dost overspread</l>
<l>My limbs, I'me blind, I'me lame, I'me dumbe, I'me dead:</l>
<div type="poem">
<head>The Melancholicke Soules comfort.</head>
<l>O That I had a sweete melodious voice!</l>
<l>O that I could obtaine the chiefest choice</l>
<pb n="25" facs="tcp:61816:14"/>Of sweetest musicke! pre-three <hi>David</hi> lend</l>
<l>Thy well-resounding harpe, that I may send</l>
<l>Some praises to my God: I know not how</l>
<l>To pay by songs my heart-resolved vow:</l>
<l>How shall I sing good God? thou dost afford</l>
<l>Ten thousand mercies, trebled songs O Lord</l>
<l>Cannot requite thee! O that I could pay</l>
<l>With lifetime songs the mercies of one day!</l>
<l>I oft beginne to sing, and then before</l>
<l>My songs halfe finisht, God gives sense for more.</l>
<hi>Alas poore soule art puzzeld? canst not bring</hi>
<hi>Thy God some honour though thou strive to sing?</hi>
<hi>The Cause is this, thou art become his debter</hi>
<hi>Heele make thee play on musicke that is better.</hi>
<l>I Cannot play, my sobs doe stop my course,</l>
<l>My grones doe make my musicke sound the worse.</l>
<hi>What nought but grones? ah shall th' Almighties eares</hi>
<hi>Be fild with sighes all vsherd in with teares?</hi>
<l>I this is <hi>musicke</hi>: such a tune prolongs</l>
<l>Gods love, and makes him listen to thy songs:</l>
<l>Tis this that makes his ravisht soule draw nigher,</l>
<l>Tis this outstrips the <hi>Thracian</hi> with his <hi>Lyre,</hi>
<l>Tis this <hi>inchants</hi> thy God, tis this alone</l>
<l>That <hi>drags</hi> thy spouse from heaven to heare thy tone:</l>
<hi>No better Musicke then thy sobs and cries,</hi>
<hi>If not a Davids harpe, get Peters eyes.</hi>
<div type="poem">
<head>The Soule in love with Christ.</head>
<l>WHat though my Love doth neate appeare?</l>
<l>And makes <hi>Aurora</hi> blush to see her?</l>
<pb n="26" facs="tcp:61816:15"/>Though <hi>nature</hi> paints her cheekes with red</l>
<l>And makes proud <hi>Venus</hi> hide her head?</l>
<l>What though her crimson lips so mute</l>
<l>Doe alwayes <hi>wooe</hi> a new salute,</l>
<l>What though her wan<gap reason="illegible" extent="1 letter">
</gap>on eyes doe shine</l>
<l>Like glistring starres and <hi>dazell</hi> mine?</l>
<hi>Tis Christ alone,</hi>
<hi>Shall be my owne,</hi>
<hi>Tis him I will embrace,</hi>
<hi>Tis he shall be</hi>
<hi>A Spouse to me,</hi>
<hi>All beauty's in his face.</hi>
<l>What though the <hi>earth</hi> for me prepares</l>
<l>A <hi>present</hi> from her golden <hi>Quarres,</hi>
<l>And braggeth of her earely gaines,</l>
<l>Exhausted from her silver vaines?</l>
<l>What though shee shew her <hi>painted brates</hi>
<l>And bids me smell her <hi>Violates</hi>?</l>
<l>And deckes her selfe in spring attire,</l>
<l>To make my ravisht soule admire?</l>
<hi>Yet all this shant</hi>
<hi>My Soule inchant</hi>
<hi>Ile smile to see her pride</hi>
<hi>I know where lies</hi>
<hi>A better prize</hi>
<hi>For Christ hath broch'd his side.</hi>
<l>What though the world doth me invite</l>
<l>And daily play the <hi>Parasite</hi>?</l>
<l>Or with her gilded tales intice</l>
<l>Me, to a seeming <hi>Paradise?</hi>
<l>And <hi>paints</hi> her face and all day long</l>
<l>Sits breathing out a <hi>Syrens</hi> song?</l>
<pb n="27" facs="tcp:61816:15"/>And shewes her pompe, and then in fine</l>
<l>Tells me, that shee and hers are mine?</l>
<hi>Yet none of this,</hi>
<hi>Shall be my blisse,</hi>
<hi>Ile scorne the painted whore</hi>
<hi>I will deride</hi>
<hi>Her and her pride</hi>
<hi>For Christ is this and more.</hi>
<l>What though insinuating <hi>pleasure,</hi>
<l>Preferres me to her chiefest treasure</l>
<l>And every day, and every night</l>
<l>Doth <hi>feede</hi> me with a new delight</l>
<l>And slumbers me with lullaby</l>
<l>Dandling me on her <hi>whorish thigh</hi>?</l>
<l>What though with her sublime pretences</l>
<l>Shee strives <hi>t'imprison all</hi> my senses?</l>
<hi>Yet shee shant be</hi>
<hi>A trap to me</hi>
<hi>Her freedome is but thrall,</hi>
<hi>Her greatest coy</hi>
<hi>Will but annoy,</hi>
<hi>Till Christ doth sweeten all.</hi>
<l>Or what though profit with her <hi>Charmes</hi>
<l>Grasping the <hi>world</hi> within her armes</l>
<l>Vnlades her selfe? and bids me see</l>
<l>What paines shee takes, and all for me;</l>
<l>And then invites me to her bower</l>
<l>Filling my coffers every houre?</l>
<l>What though shee thus inlarge my store</l>
<l>With every day a <hi>thousand</hi> more?</l>
<hi>Yet let her packe</hi>
<hi>And turne her backe,</hi>
<pb n="28" facs="tcp:61816:16"/>
<hi>Her purest gold's but drosse</hi>
<hi>Her greatest paines</hi>
<hi>Produce no gaines</hi>
<hi>Till Christ come all is losse.</hi>
<l>Or what though <hi>Fortune</hi> should present</l>
<l>Her high Olympicke regiment.</l>
<l>And never my <hi>Ambition</hi> checke,</l>
<l>But still be <hi>pliant</hi> to my becke?</l>
<l>What though she lends me wings to flie</l>
<l>Vnto the top of Dignity,</l>
<l>And make proud <hi>Monarches</hi> with her wheele</l>
<hi>Vncrowne</hi> their heads to <hi>Crowne</hi> my heele,</l>
<hi>Ile not depend</hi>
<hi>On such a friend,</hi>
<hi>Tis Christ is all my stay:</hi>
<hi>Shee can revoke</hi>
<hi>The highest spoke,</hi>
<hi>Her wheeles turnd every day.</hi>
<l>Let none of these in me take place:</l>
<l>Fond <hi>Venus</hi> hath a <hi>Vulcans</hi> face:</l>
<l>And so till <hi>heaven</hi> be pleasd to <hi>smile</hi>
<l>Poore <hi>earth</hi> sits <hi>barren</hi> all the while:</l>
<l>The <hi>world</hi> thats apt to winne a foole</l>
<l>It is my burden, not my stoole:</l>
<l>Nor <hi>pleasure</hi> shall enchant my mind,</l>
<l>Shees <hi>smooth</hi> before, but <hi>stings</hi> behind:</l>
<hi>I will disdaine</hi>
<hi>Their greatest gaine,</hi>
<hi>And fortun's but a feather,</hi>
<hi>Tis none of these</hi>
<hi>Can give me ease,</hi>
<hi>But Christ's the same for ever.</hi>
<div type="poem">
<pb n="29" facs="tcp:61816:16"/>
<head>Lord why hidest thou thy face from me.</head>
<l>WHat drowsie weather's this? the angry skies</l>
<l>Doe threaten stormes, and heav'n it selfe denies</l>
<l>Her lovely visage, ah these darkned dayes</l>
<l>Doe make my vitals drowsie, and decayes</l>
<l>My soules delight: good God can I controule</l>
<l>Or drive these pensive humours from my soule?</l>
<l>Ah no I can't my lively spirits keepe,</l>
<l>Such drowsie weather's fit for nought but sleepe.</l>
<hi>O thou eternall light</hi> that hast the sway</l>
<l>In <hi>Ioves</hi> broad wals, thou scepter of the day,</l>
<l>Thou heav'ns bright torch, thou glistring worlds bright eye,</l>
<l>Why dost thou hide and so obscurely lye?</l>
<l>Come wrap thy selfe in thy compleate attire,</l>
<l>Shew forth thy glory, make my soule admire</l>
<l>Thy splendor, come and doe no longer stay</l>
<l>But with thy glorious beames <hi>bestrow my way,</hi>
<l>Extirpe these foggy <hi>mists</hi> from out mine eyes,</l>
<l>That I may plainly see where heaven lyes.</l>
<l>Then Ile awake, sweete Christ, doe thou display</l>
<l>Thy <hi>glittering beames,</hi> send out a <hi>Summers day,</hi>
<l>I'le rub my slumbring eyes, O then I'le roame</l>
<l>A <hi>life-time journey</hi> from my <hi>native home:</hi>
<hi>The soule will sleepe and can't hold up her eyes</hi>
<hi>Vntill the sunne of righteousnesse arise.</hi>
<div type="poem">
<pb n="30" facs="tcp:61816:17"/>
<head>Christs Resurrection.</head>
<l>COme <hi>Rise my heart,</hi> thy <hi>Master's</hi> risen,</l>
<l>Why slug'st thou in thy <hi>grave?</hi>
<l>Dost thou not know he broke the prison?</l>
<l>Thou art no more a slave.</l>
<l>He rowled of the sealed <hi>stone</hi>
<l>That once so pondrous lay,</l>
<l>And left the <hi>watchmen</hi> all alone</l>
<l>And bravely scapt away.</l>
<l>When <hi>flesh,</hi> the <hi>world,</hi> and <hi>Satan</hi> too</l>
<l>Wont suffer thee to quatch,</l>
<l>Learne of thy <hi>Master</hi> what to doe</l>
<l>And cozen all the watch.</l>
<l>Let not these clogging earthly things</l>
<l>Make thee (poore soule) forsake him,</l>
<l>Goe, ask of <hi>Faith,</hi> she'le lend thee <hi>wings,</hi>
<l>Haste, fly, and <hi>overtake him.</hi>
<l>But harke my <hi>soule,</hi> I'le tell thee where</l>
<l>Thy <hi>Master</hi> sits in state:</l>
<l>Goe knocke at heavens dore, for there:</l>
<l>He entred in of late.</l>
<l>If <hi>Peter</hi> now had kept the key</l>
<l>Thou mightst get in with ease,</l>
<l>But <hi>Iustice</hi> onely beares the sway</l>
<l>And lets in whom shee please.</l>
<pb n="31" facs="tcp:61816:17"/>
<l>Shee's wondrous sterne and suffers not</l>
<l>A passenger to enter,</l>
<l>Without thy <hi>Masters ticket</hi> got</l>
<l>Thou mayst not touch her <hi>Center.</hi>
<l>But come my <hi>soule,</hi> let me advise,</l>
<l>What needst thou to implore</l>
<l>The <hi>Saints</hi> for ayde? I know where lies</l>
<l>For thee a <hi>private doore.</hi>
<l>Dost not remember since the pride</l>
<l>Of base perfidious men</l>
<l>Did thrust thy Master through the side</l>
<l>(Wert not thou wounded then.)</l>
<l>When <hi>Iustice</hi> is so sterne that thou</l>
<l>Vnto a straight art driven,</l>
<l>(Come hearke and I will tell thee now)</l>
<hi>Creepe through that wound to heaven.</hi>
<div type="poem">
<l>O My <hi>head,</hi> alas my <hi>bones,</hi>
<l>O my wounded joynts doe <hi>smart,</hi>
<l>Flesh ere while as hard as stones,</l>
<l>Now it <hi>akes</hi> in every part:</l>
<l>Lord 'tis thy Art.</l>
<l>All thy <hi>Iudgements</hi> could not scare</l>
<l>Me, nor make my soule to fly,</l>
<l>Now one <hi>angry looke</hi> can reare</l>
<l>Me, and make me pensive lye</l>
<l>In misery.</l>
<pb n="32" facs="tcp:61816:18"/>
<l>Lord there where I tooke my rise,</l>
<l>There did I begin to reele,</l>
<hi>Surfetted</hi> in Paradise,</l>
<l>And there I got a <hi>bruised heele,</hi>
<l>Which now I feele.</l>
<l>Surely my disease was great,</l>
<hi>Sicke,</hi> and yet I felt no <hi>paine</hi>;</l>
<hi>Hungry,</hi> yet I could not <hi>eate</hi>:</l>
<hi>Sore,</hi> yet could I not <hi>complaine:</hi>
<l>Yet all was gaine.</l>
<l>For, good God, thy care was such<g ref="char:punc">▪</g>
<l>That thou gavest me much reliefe,</l>
<l>Yea thou lendedst me a <hi>Crutch,</hi>
<l>And didst make me know my griefe:</l>
<l>Lord thou art chiefe.</l>
<l>Thou hast made the <hi>rocke</hi> to weepe</l>
<l>And my <hi>stony heart</hi> to groane,</l>
<l>Thou hast rais'd me from my sleepe,</l>
<l>And dost smile to heare my tone;</l>
<l>And lov'st my mone.</l>
<l>But what need'st thou lend a <hi>Crutch,</hi>
<l>Thou canst make me <hi>perfect</hi> whole?</l>
<l>Thou canst heale me with a <hi>touch,</hi>
<l>By this thou know'st a woman stole,</l>
<l>Cure for her dole.</l>
<l>When leave I this halting pace?</l>
<l>When shall I most perfect be?</l>
<hi>When thou shalt my glistring face,</hi>
<hi>In the land of glory see.</hi>
<l>Lord perfect me.</l>
<div type="poem">
<pb n="33" facs="tcp:61816:18"/>
<head>A Meditation on a Mans shadow.</head>
<l>WHen as the <hi>Sunne</hi> flings downe his richest rayes,</l>
<l>And with his shining beames adornes my wayes,</l>
<l>See how my <hi>shadow</hi> trackes me where I goe,</l>
<l>I <hi>stop,</hi> that <hi>stops</hi>; I <hi>walke,</hi> and that doth so:</l>
<l>I <hi>runne</hi> with winged flight, and still I spye</l>
<l>My waiting <hi>shadow</hi> runne as fast as I.</l>
<l>But when a <hi>sable cloud</hi> doth disaray</l>
<l>The Sunne, and robs me of my smiling day:</l>
<l>My <hi>shadow</hi> leaves me <hi>helpelesse</hi> all alone,</l>
<l>And when I most neede comfort I have none:</l>
<l>Iust so it is; let him that hath the hight</l>
<l>Of outward pompe, expect a <hi>parasite:</hi>
<l>If thou art great, thy <hi>honours</hi> will draw nigh:</l>
<l>These are the <hi>shadowes</hi> to prosperity:</l>
<l>O how the <hi>worldlings</hi> make pursuite to thee,</l>
<l>With cap in hand and with a bended knee:</l>
<l>But if <hi>disastrous fate</hi> should come betwixt</l>
<l>Thee and thy Sunne, thy splendor's all eclipst:</l>
<l>Thy <hi>friends</hi> forsake thee, and thy shadow's gone,</l>
<l>And thou (poore sunne-lesse thou) art left alone,</l>
<l>This is thy <hi>Soules</hi> estate, the worldly gaine</l>
<l>And greatest pompe, in stormy times are vaine:</l>
<l>They are but <hi>shadowes</hi> when distresse comes nigh,</l>
<l>They are as nothing to a faithfull eye.</l>
<l>Yet here's my comfort Lord, if I can see</l>
<l>My <hi>shadow,</hi> I must needes a <hi>substance</hi> be.</l>
<hi>O let me not with worldly shadowes clogge</hi>
<hi>My selfe, grant me more wit then Esops dogge.</hi>
<div type="poem">
<pb n="34" facs="tcp:61816:19"/>
<head>A Meditation on Childrens rashnesse.</head>
<l>WHen Mothers are desirous for to play</l>
<l>The wantons with their babes, and shew the way</l>
<l>To finde their feete: to give their brats content,</l>
<l>They wagge their sporting fingers, and present</l>
<l>A <hi>penny</hi> in the forehead, or some <hi>pap,</hi>
<l>To win the Children to the <hi>Mothers lap</hi>:</l>
<l>How soone will they their little grissels stretch,</l>
<l>And runne apace, aspiring for to fetch</l>
<l>This petty object? never caring though</l>
<l>Their way be full of stumbling blockes below:</l>
<l>Thou art that <hi>Mother Lord,</hi> thou usest charmes,</l>
<l>And still art dandling, Christ within thine armes</l>
<l>Presents most glorious objects to our eyes,</l>
<l>And shewes us where thy choisest mercies lies;</l>
<l>Why then are we so backward? why so slow?</l>
<l>Or why so loth into thy armes to goe?</l>
<l>Small molehils seeme as mountaines in our way,</l>
<l>And every <hi>light affliction</hi> makes us stay:</l>
<l>Why should we stop at petty strawes below?</l>
<l>Make us thy <hi>Children Lord</hi> we shant doe so.</l>
<div type="poem">
<head>A Meditation on a good Father having a bad Sonne.</head>
<hi>QVerkus</hi> of late was minded to dispute</l>
<l>Of this, <hi>A tree thats good brings forth good fruite.</hi>
<l>Hence he concludes such parents that have bin</l>
<l>Converted, bring forth children void of sinne.</l>
<pb n="35" facs="tcp:61816:19"/>Peace <hi>Querkus</hi> peace, and hold thy tongue for shame</l>
<l>Dost not perceive that thy conclusion's lame?</l>
<l>May <hi>not a graine thats free from chaffe and cleare</hi>
<hi>Cast in the ground, bring forth a chaffy care.</hi>
<div type="poem">
<head>A Meditation on a Weathercocke.</head>
<l>SEe how the trembling <hi>Weathercocke</hi> can find</l>
<l>Noe setled place, but turnes with every wind,</l>
<l>If <hi>blustring Zephyr</hi> blowes and gives a checke,</l>
<l>How soon's this cocke made pliant to his becke,</l>
<l>If <hi>Boreas</hi> gets the day, twill change its side,</l>
<l>And turne in spite of <hi>bragging Zephyrs</hi> pride:</l>
<l>Thus <hi>temporizers turne</hi> at every puffe,</l>
<l>And yet forsooth they thinke they're good enough,</l>
<l>If stand, they stand: if he that seemes to be</l>
<l>The greatest turne, they turne as fast as he,</l>
<l>I wonder at such wav'ring feathers, did I</l>
<l>So often turne t'would make me wondrous giddy.</l>
<hi>Lord let that wind that blowes upon thy flocke,</hi>
<hi>Turne me, and make me Lord thy weathercocke.</hi>
<div type="poem">
<head>A Meditation on Cockfighting.</head>
<l>SEe how those angry creatures disagree,</l>
<l>Whilst the spectators sit and laugh to see.</l>
<hi>Doe not two neighbours often doe the same,</hi>
<hi>Whilst that the Lawyers laugh to see the game?</hi>
<div type="poem">
<pb n="36" facs="tcp:61816:20"/>
<head>A Meditation on an Echo and a Picture.</head>
<l>SEe how <hi>Apelles</hi> with his curious art,</l>
<hi>Pourtraies</hi> the picture out in every part:</l>
<l>If he can give't a <hi>voyce,</hi> no doubt he can</l>
<l>Compleatly make the shape a living man:</l>
<l>Surely his worke would to his praise redound,</l>
<l>Could he but give the shape he made, a <hi>sound:</hi>
<l>What wants the Echo of a living creature</l>
<l>But <hi>Shape</hi>? and what but <hi>voice</hi> this comely feature?</l>
<l>Yet <hi>both can't meete together: God alone,</hi>
<hi>Will have this secret Art to be his owne.</hi>
<div type="poem">
<head>A Meditation on Noahs Dove.</head>
<l>WHen God the floods from lands did undivide?</l>
<l>And made the skye aspiring mountaines hide,</l>
<l>When heaven raind seas, and fountaines were unbound,</l>
<l>And all mankind except eight soules were drownd;</l>
<l>Then did <hi>Ioves Pilot Noah</hi> make an Arke</l>
<l>And thrust this little world into a barke:</l>
<l>Yea then he sent a <hi>Dove</hi> to range about</l>
<l>The Floods, to answer his uncertaine doubt:</l>
<l>O how shee wanders up and downe the Seas,</l>
<l>Fluttring her weary wings but findes no ease!</l>
<l>Shee sees no food, no resting place, no parke,</l>
<l>But soone returnes into her wished Arke.</l>
<l>Observe how tender <hi>Noah,</hi> full of Love,</l>
<l>Opens the window to this weary Dove.</l>
<pb n="37" facs="tcp:61816:20"/>Puts forth his hands to meete her, takes her in,</l>
<l>But by and by shee flutters out agin:</l>
<l>Shee findes an <hi>Olive leafe,</hi> and that shee brings</l>
<l>Betweene her bill, hov'ring her tyred wings</l>
<l>Vpon the Arke: still <hi>Noah</hi> is the same,</l>
<l>Lets in his wandring Dove thats now made tame</l>
<l>With restlesse flight; once more shee gets away,</l>
<l>And now shee spies the earth (that lately lay</l>
<l>Sok'd in the impartiall deluge) in her pride,</l>
<l>Adornd with dainty hearbes on every side;</l>
<l>When food is plenty, this ungratefull Dove</l>
<l>Forgets her <hi>Noah,</hi> and his former love:</l>
<l>Minds nothing but her selfe, shee that before</l>
<l>Did crouch unto thee Arke, returnes no more.</l>
<hi>Thou art that Noah Lord, and Christ the boate,</hi>
<hi>Afflictions are the waters that doe floate:</hi>
<hi>Man is that wandring Dove, that often flies</hi>
<hi>Vnto his Christ for shelter, else he dyes.</hi>
<l>How apt are we good God to use our wings,</l>
<l>And flye to thee when all these <hi>outward things</hi>
<l>With floods are drowned up, though we have bin</l>
<l>So vile, how apt art thou to catch us in?</l>
<l>O how our God when we have bin astray</l>
<l>Puts forth his armes to meete us in the way,</l>
<l>And take us home! we are no sooner in</l>
<l>But by and by we flutter out agin:</l>
<l>This time by chance like <hi>Noahs</hi> Dove we see,</l>
<l>The upper branches of some <hi>Olive</hi> tree,</l>
<l>I <hi>meane some petty shelter</hi>: still we flye</l>
<l>Vnto our God for aide or else we dye.</l>
<l>How apt are we, when outward things forsake us,</l>
<l>To haste to God? how apt's our God to take us?</l>
<pb n="38" facs="tcp:61816:21"/>The third time we are gone, now floods are husht</l>
<l>The Sun-confronting mountaines bravely washt,</l>
<l>The Seas give place, the lowest vallies seene,</l>
<l>Yea all the earth most sweetly deckt in greene:</l>
<l>Now we forget our God and post away,</l>
<l>And after make an everlasting stay?</l>
<hi>When worldly wealth comes in, and we can rest</hi>
<hi>Vpon the creature: O how we detest</hi>
<hi>Our former refuge! if we find a Parke,</hi>
<hi>We ne're returne unto our wonted arke.</hi>
<div type="poem">
<head>A Meditation on a Shippe.</head>
<l>MArke how the <hi>floting vessell</hi> shewes her <hi>pride</hi>
<l>And is extold with every <hi>lofty tide</hi>;</l>
<l>But when it <hi>ebbes,</hi> and all the floods retire</l>
<l>See how the bragging barke is <hi>plungd in mire</hi>:</l>
<l>Iust so good God, how apt are we to <hi>swim</hi>
<l>When mercies fill our banckes unto the brim?</l>
<l>When worldly wealth appeares, and we can see</l>
<l>Such outward blessings flow: <hi>then who but we</hi>?</l>
<l>But when it <hi>ebbes,</hi> and thou dost once unlinke</l>
<l>These mercies from us: O <hi>how soone we sinke</hi>;</l>
<hi>Good God let not the great estate possesse</hi>
<hi>Me with presumption, nor despaire the lesse:</hi>
<hi>Let me not sinke when such an ebbe appeares,</hi>
<hi>No, let me swim in true repentant teares:</hi>
<div type="poem">
<pb n="39" facs="tcp:61816:21"/>
<head>A Meditation on a Windmill.</head>
<l>OBserve it alwaies tis the makers skill</l>
<l>To place the <hi>windmill</hi> on the <hi>highest hill</hi>;</l>
<l>It stands <hi>unusefull</hi> till the <hi>potent windes</hi>
<l>Puffe up the lofty sayles and <hi>then it grinds:</hi>
<l>Iust thus it is: the <hi>hypocrite's</hi> the mill,</l>
<l>His <hi>actions sayles, ambition is the hill,</hi>
<l>The <hi>wind</hi> that <hi>drives</hi> him is a <hi>blast of fame,</hi>
<l>If blowne with this he runnes, if not hee's tame:</l>
<l>He stirres not till a puffe of <hi>praise</hi> doth fill</l>
<l>His sailes: but then, O how he turnes the mill!</l>
<hi>Lord drive me with thy Spirit, then Ile be</hi>
<hi>Thy windmill, and will grind a grist for thee.</hi>
<div type="poem">
<head>A Meditation on Organs.</head>
<l>HArke how the <hi>Organist</hi> most sweetely plaies</l>
<l>His <hi>Psalmes</hi> upon the tone-divided Kayes:</l>
<l>Each <hi>touch</hi> a sound, but if the hand don't come</l>
<l>And strike the kayes, how soon's the musicke dumbe?</l>
<l>A mod'rate stroke doth well, but if too hard</l>
<l>The Organ's broke, and all the raptures mard.</l>
<l>I am that Organ <hi>Lord,</hi> and thou alone</l>
<l>Canst play, each <hi>prayer</hi> is a pleasant tone,</l>
<hi>Affliction</hi> is the hand that strikes the kayes:</l>
<l>(O Lord from me the sweetest musicke raise:)</l>
<l>If thou don't <hi>strike</hi> at all how can I speake</l>
<l>Thy worthy prayses, if too <hi>hard</hi> I breake:</l>
<hi>Strike mildly Lord, strike soft, and then Ile sing,</hi>
<hi>And charoll out the glory of my King.</hi>
<div type="poem">
<pb n="40" facs="tcp:61816:22"/>
<head>A Meditation on an Apes love.</head>
<l>WHen once the foolish <hi>Ape</hi> hath fild her nest</l>
<l>With little brats, there's one among the rest,</l>
<l>Shee most <hi>affects</hi>: to shelter this from harmes,</l>
<l>Shee alwayes hugges it in her wanton armes.</l>
<l>Vntill at length shee squeezeth out the breath,</l>
<l>Of this her fondling, <hi>Loves the cause of death:</hi>
<l>The <hi>Worlds</hi> this wanton <hi>Ape,</hi> that still delights</l>
<l>In hugging some peculiar <hi>favourites,</hi>
<l>Of those that are thus dandled by this <hi>Ape,</hi>
<hi>There doth not</hi> one among a thousand scape.</l>
<div type="poem">
<head>On contempt of the World.</head>
<l>A Loft O <hi>Soule</hi>; soare up, doe not turmoyle</l>
<l>Thy selfe by grabbling on a dunghill soyle:</l>
<l>Tosse up thy wings, and make thy soaring plumes</l>
<l>Outreach the loathsome stench and noysome fumes</l>
<l>That spring from sordid earth: come, come, and see</l>
<hi>Thy birth, and</hi> learne to know thy pedigree:</l>
<l>What? wast thou made of Clay? or dost thou owe</l>
<l>Homage to earth? say, is thy blisse below?</l>
<l>Dost know thy beauty? dost thou not excell?</l>
<l>Can the Creation yeeld a <hi>parallel</hi>?</l>
<l>The world can't give a glasse to represent</l>
<l>Thy shape, and shall a durty element</l>
<l>Bewitch thee? thinke, is not thy birth most high?</l>
<l>Blowne from the mouth of <hi>all the trinity,</hi>
<pb n="41" facs="tcp:61816:22"/>The breath of <hi>all-creating Iove,</hi> the best</l>
<l>Of all his workes, yea thee of all the rest</l>
<l>He chose to be his <hi>Picture</hi>: where can I</l>
<l>But in thy selfe see Immortality</l>
<l>'Mong all his earthly creatures? Thou art chiefe</l>
<l>Of all his workes: and shall the <hi>world</hi> turne theefe</l>
<l>And steale away thy love? wert not for thee</l>
<l>The heav'n aspiring mountaine should not bee,</l>
<l>The heavens should have no glistring starre, no light,</l>
<l>No <hi>Sunne</hi> to rule the day, no <hi>Moone</hi> the night:</l>
<l>The Globe had bin ('twas not the makers will</l>
<l>To make it for it selfe) a <hi>Chaos</hi> still:</l>
<l>Thou art <hi>Ioves priestly Aaron</hi> to present</l>
<l>The creatures service, while they give assent</l>
<l>By serving thee, why then's the world thy rest?</l>
<l>'Tis but thy servants servant at the best:</l>
<l>It gives attendance to refined mire,</l>
<l>That <hi>Iove</hi> hath wrapt thee in as thy attire;</l>
<l>For whats the body but a <hi>lumpe of clay</hi>
<hi>Carv'd neatly out,</hi> in which the soule beares sway?</l>
<l>Tis servant to the soule: what limbe can stirre,</l>
<l>Nay darst to quatch, if once shee make demurre?</l>
<l>See how the captiv'd members trembling stand</l>
<l>Wondrous submissive to her dire command!</l>
<l>O how the legs doe runne with eager flight</l>
<l>To overtake the object of delight!</l>
<l>See how the armes doe graspe as if they'd rent</l>
<l>To hold the thing that gives the soule content.</l>
<l>Why whats the body when the soule's away?</l>
<l>Nought but a stincking <hi>carkasse made of clay.</hi>
<l>What's heav'n without a God? or what's the skye</l>
<l>If once bright <hi>Phoebus</hi> close his radiant eye?</l>
<pb n="42" facs="tcp:61816:23"/>The world was for our <hi>bodies,</hi> they for none</l>
<l>But for our <hi>soules,</hi> our soules for <hi>God</hi> alone:</l>
<l>What madnesse then for men of such a birth</l>
<l>To nuzell all their dayes on dunghill earth,</l>
<l>Still hunting after with an eager sent</l>
<l>An object which can never give content;</l>
<l>For what contentment in the world can lye,</l>
<l>That's onely <hi>constant in inconstancy?</hi>
<l>It <hi>ebbes</hi> and <hi>flowes</hi> each minuie: thou maist brag</l>
<l>This day of thousands, and to morrow b<gap reason="illegible" extent="1 letter">
<l>The greatest wealth is subject for to reele,</l>
<l>The globe is plac'd on <hi>Fortunes</hi> tottering wheele:</l>
<l>As when the gladding sunne begins to show</l>
<l>And scatter all his golden beames below,</l>
<l>A <hi>churlish</hi> cloud soone meetes him in the way,</l>
<l>And sads the beauty of the smiling day:</l>
<l>Or as a <hi>stately ship</hi> a while behaves</l>
<l>Her selfe most bravely on the slumbring waves,</l>
<l>And like a <hi>Swanne</hi> sailes nimbly in her pride</l>
<l>The helpefull windes concording with the tide</l>
<l>To mend her pace: but by and by, the wind</l>
<l>The fretfull Seas, the heav'ns and all combin'd</l>
<l>Against this bragging barke, O how they fling</l>
<l>Her corkey sides to heaven, and then they bring</l>
<l>Her backe: shee that ere while did sayle so brave</l>
<l>Cutting the floods, now's tost with every wave:</l>
<l>Iust so, the waving world gives joy and sorrow,</l>
<l>This day a <hi>Croesus,</hi> and a <hi>Iob</hi> to morrow:</l>
<l>How often have I seene the <hi>miser</hi> blesse</l>
<l>Himselfe in wealth, and count it for no lesse</l>
<l>Then his adored God: straight comes a frowne</l>
<l>Flying from unhappy fate, and whirleth downe</l>
<pb n="43" facs="tcp:61816:23"/>Him, and his heapes of gold, and all that prize</l>
<l>Is lost, which he but now did <hi>Idolize.</hi>
<l>But grant the world (as never 'twill) to be</l>
<l>A thing most sure most full of constancy,</l>
<l>What is thy wealth unlesse thy God doth blesse</l>
<l>Thy store, and turne it to a happinesse?</l>
<l>What though thy <hi>Table</hi> be compleatly spread</l>
<l>With farre-fetcht dainties, and the purest bread</l>
<l>That fruitfull earth can yeeld? all this may bee,</l>
<l>If thou no <hi>stomacke</hi> hast, what's all to thee?</l>
<l>What though thy <hi>habitation</hi> should excell</l>
<l>In beauty, and were <hi>Edens</hi> parallel?</l>
<l>Thou being pesterd with some dire <hi>disease,</hi>
<l>How can thy stately dwelling give thee ease?</l>
<l>Thy joyes will turne thy griefe, thy freedome thrall,</l>
<l>Vnlesse thy God above doth sweeten all:</l>
<l>When thou (poore soule) liest ready to depart,</l>
<l>And hear'st thy <hi>Conscience</hi> snarling at thine heart,</l>
<l>Though heapes of gold should in thy coffers lye,</l>
<l>And all thy worthlesse friends stand whining by,</l>
<l>'Tis none, 'tis none of these can give thee health,</l>
<l>But thou must languish in the midst of wealth.</l>
<l>Then cease thou mad man and pursue no more</l>
<l>The world, and know shee's but a painted whore,</l>
<l>Thou catchest <hi>shadowes,</hi> labourst in thy <hi>dreames,</hi>
<l>And thirst's amongst th' <hi>imaginary streames.</hi>
<div type="poem">
<pb n="44" facs="tcp:61816:24"/>
<head>A Meditation on a meane.</head>
<l>LOrd in excesse I see there often lies</l>
<hi>Great dangers,</hi> and in wants <hi>great miseries:</hi>
<l>Send me a <hi>meane,</hi> doe thou my wayes preserve,</l>
<l>For I may <hi>surfet</hi> Lord, as well as <hi>starve.</hi>
<div type="poem">
<head>On Sathans tempting Eve.</head>
<l>ARt thou turn'd Fencer <hi>Sathan</hi>? prethee say?</l>
<l>Surely thou art not active at thy play.</l>
<l>Challenge a <hi>Woman</hi>? fie thou art to blame,</l>
<l>Suppose thou getst the day, thou getst no fame.</l>
<l>But prethee speake, hast any cause to prate?</l>
<l>Thou <hi>bruis'd her heele,</hi> what though? shee <hi>broke thy pate.</hi>
<div type="poem">
<head>On a Spunge.</head>
<l>THe <hi>Spunge</hi> it selfe drinkes water till it swell it,</l>
<l>But never empties till some strength <hi>expell</hi> it:</l>
<hi>Lord,</hi> of our selves we're apt to <hi>soake in sinne,</hi>
<l>But thou art faine to <hi>squeeze it out agin.</hi>
<div type="poem">
<pb facs="tcp:61816:24"/>
<head>A Meditation on a chime of Bells.</head>
<l>HArke; what <hi>harmonious Musicke</hi> fils mine eare?</l>
<l>What pleasant <hi>raptures</hi>? yet me thinkes I heare</l>
<l>Each <hi>Bell</hi> thats rung, to beare a various sound,</l>
<l>Had <hi>all</hi> one <hi>note,</hi> how quickely twould <hi>confound</hi>
<l>The tune; a <hi>discord</hi> in the bels arise,</l>
<l>And yet they disagreeing, <hi>sympathize</hi>:</l>
<l>Tis not the <hi>greatest</hi> makes the sweetest <hi>noyse,</hi>
<l>No, but the skilfull <hi>Ringer</hi> still imployes</l>
<l>The <hi>small</hi> as well as <hi>great,</hi> tis every bell</l>
<l>Together rung, that makes them sound so <hi>well</hi>;</l>
<l>Thus tis in <hi>Common-weale:</hi> if every man</l>
<l>Kept <hi>time,</hi> and <hi>place</hi> proportiond to him, than</l>
<l>How sweetly would our <hi>musicke sound</hi>? twould be</l>
<l>The <hi>emblem</hi> of an <hi>Heavenly harmony,</hi>
<l>Where each man would be <hi>great,</hi> the land enjoyes</l>
<l>No <hi>musicke,</hi> but a base <hi>prepostrous noyse,</hi>
<l>Each Bell sounds well: what though the <hi>tenor</hi> be</l>
<l>The <hi>big'st</hi>? the <hi>treble</hi> seemes as <hi>sweete</hi> to me:</l>
<l>Lets not aspire too high, experience tels</l>
<l>The choisest chimes makes use of <hi>petty bels</hi>:</l>
<l>But howsoever Lord, least I disgrace</l>
<l>Thy sweet-voic'd chime, make me keepe time, and place.</l>
<div type="poem">
<head>A Meditation on the burning a torch at noone day.</head>
<l>WHen <hi>Sol</hi> doth in his <hi>flaming throne</hi> remaine,</l>
<l>My <hi>Blazing torch</hi> doth <hi>spend</hi> it selfe in vaine,</l>
<pb facs="tcp:61816:25"/>But when the <hi>sunne</hi> goes downe, and once tis <hi>night,</hi>
<l>O then how welcome is my <hi>torches Light,</hi>
<hi>Sols</hi> radient <hi>beames</hi> at noone doe so <hi>surmount</hi>
<l>They make my tapers light of <hi>small accompt</hi>;</l>
<l>So <hi>Lord</hi> when thou dost great abundance send</l>
<l>We cannot then so well <hi>esteeme</hi> a friend,</l>
<l>We slight their helpes: <hi>they alwaies seeme most bright</hi>
<hi>When dire affliction sends a dismall night.</hi>
<div type="poem">
<head>A Meditation on the sound of a crackt Bell.</head>
<l>HArke how the <hi>Hoarsemouth'd Bell</hi> extends a tone</l>
<l>Into mine eares; delightfull unto none,</l>
<l>The <hi>Mettal's</hi> good, tis some unwelcome <hi>skar,</hi>
<l>Some fatall <hi>cracke</hi> that makes the musicke <hi>jarre,</hi>
<l>But what of this? although the sound be <hi>rough</hi>
<l>Twill call me to the <hi>temple</hi> well enough:</l>
<l>Such are those <hi>ill-lived Teachers</hi> who confound</l>
<l>The sweetnesse of their soule converting <hi>sound</hi>
<l>By <hi>flawes</hi> seene in their unbeseeming <hi>lives,</hi>
<l>By which their heavenly <hi>calling</hi> lesser <hi>thrives:</hi>
<l>Yet <hi>Lord,</hi> I know they're able for to bring</l>
<l>My <hi>Soule</hi> to heaven, though with so hoarse a ring.</l>
<l>But since thou dost such <hi>jarring tunes</hi> disdaine,</l>
<hi>Melt thou this mettall, cast these bels againe.</hi>
<div type="poem">
<head>A Meditation on a silly Sheepe.</head>
<l>WHen all the <hi>Winds</hi> shew forth their boystrous pride,</l>
<l>And every <hi>cloud</hi> unloads his spungy side,</l>
<pb facs="tcp:61816:25"/>When <hi>Boreus</hi> blowes, and all the Heavens <hi>weepe,</hi>
<l>And with their <hi>stormes</hi> disturbe the grazing <hi>sheepe</hi>:</l>
<l>See how the <hi>harmelesse creature,</hi> much dismaide,</l>
<l>Doth <hi>crouch</hi> unto the <hi>bramble bush</hi> for <hi>aide:</hi>
<l>'Tis true, the <hi>bramble</hi> hides her from the <hi>winde,</hi>
<l>But yet it makes her leave her <hi>fleece behinde.</hi>
<l>Who can but smile at such that knowes not how</l>
<l>To take the frownings of an angry brow;</l>
<l>Whose base revengefull spirits strive to crush</l>
<l>Their foes, though <hi>fleece</hi> themselves at <hi>law'ers bush.</hi>
<hi>Guide me good God, let me revenge no more,</hi>
<hi>When once the cure growes worse then the sore.</hi>
<div type="poem">
<head>A Meditation on the Flowers of the Sunne.</head>
<l>MArke how the flowers at <hi>night</hi> doe hang their <hi>heads</hi>
<l>As if they'd drop their leaves into their <hi>beds,</hi>
<l>But when the <hi>morning sunne</hi> doth once arise</l>
<l>They represent their glory to mine eyes,</l>
<l>Then they <hi>unvaile</hi> their <hi>tops,</hi> and doe <hi>attire</hi>
<l>Themselves in <hi>beauty,</hi> as the <hi>Sunne</hi> goes higher.</l>
<l>Thus Lord thy <hi>Saints</hi> on earth, when thou do'st <hi>hide,</hi>
<l>They <hi>cover</hi> all <gap reason="illegible" extent="1 letter">
</gap>he <hi>glory</hi> of their <hi>pride,</hi>
<l>Their drooping soules doe <hi>wither,</hi> all their mirth.</l>
<l>Is gone, they finde no <hi>pleasure</hi> in the earth:</l>
<l>But when the <hi>Sunne of righteousnesse</hi> appeares,</l>
<l>Then they display their beauty, and their feares</l>
<l>Are all extinct: <hi>O Lord doe thou make me</hi>
<hi>Thy Saint, that I may fall and rise with thee.</hi>
<div type="poem">
<pb facs="tcp:61816:26"/>
<head>A Meditation on a Loadstone, and Iet.</head>
<l>WHen once the <hi>Loadstone</hi> shewes it selfe, then straight</l>
<l>The <hi>Iron</hi> carelesse of its wonted waight,</l>
<l>Vnto its wished <hi>object</hi> doth <hi>aspire,</hi>
<l>As if it did enjoy the sense, <hi>Desire,</hi>
<l>And thus the blacke-fac'd <hi>Iet</hi> is apt to draw</l>
<l>The dust, and to inchant the wanton <hi>straw,</hi>
<l>This <hi>Iet</hi> and <hi>Loadstone</hi> well me thinkes imparts</l>
<l>An embleme of our fond-attractiv'd hearts,</l>
<l>The <hi>Spirit</hi> is that <hi>Loadstone</hi> that doth plucke</l>
<l>Our <hi>Iron hearts,</hi> that once so fast were stucke</l>
<l>Plung'd in the <hi>depth of sinne,</hi> and sets them <hi>sure,</hi>
<l>In spight of devillish mallice to <hi>indure.</hi>
<l>The <hi>World's</hi> the <hi>Iet</hi> that often doth controule</l>
<l>Vaine frothy man, and steale away his soule</l>
<l>With her inchanting trickes; thus <hi>Iet</hi> can bring</l>
<l>Light <hi>strawes,</hi> submissive to so <hi>vaine</hi> a thing:</l>
<hi>Be thou my Loadstone Lord, then thou shalt see</hi>
<hi>My Iron heart will quickely cleave to thee.</hi>
<div type="poem">
<head>A Meditation on false lookin-glasses.</head>
<l>MAdam looke off; why peep'st thou? O forbeare,</l>
<l>Twill either make thee <hi>proud</hi> or else <hi>despaire!</hi>
<l>Th'one glasse doth <hi>flatter</hi> thee above <hi>desart,</hi>
<l>The other makes thee <hi>blacker</hi> then thou art,</l>
<l>Tell me sweete <hi>Lady,</hi> now thou hast both there,</l>
<l>Dost not most love the <hi>glasse</hi> that makes thee <hi>faire?</hi>
<pb facs="tcp:61816:26"/>Tis our condition, we can seldome see</l>
<l>A man that tels us <hi>truely</hi> what we be;</l>
<l>Our <hi>friends</hi> doe often <hi>flatter,</hi> and present</l>
<l>Too fine a shape, and all to give content:</l>
<l>Our rough-mouth'd <hi>foes</hi> do strive to lay a <hi>skar</hi>
<l>On us, and make us <hi>worser</hi> then we are,</l>
<l>But yet of both, our lofty nature's such</l>
<l>Indeed, we love our <hi>flattering friends</hi> too much:</l>
<hi>Give me a perfect Glasse, Lord cleare my sight,</hi>
<hi>That I may see my selfe, and thee aright.</hi>
<div type="poem">
<head>A Meditation on hunting the <hi>Hare.</hi>
<l>OBserve how <hi>nature</hi> tutors senslesse <hi>Beasts,</hi>
<l>How quickly will they poste into their <hi>nests</hi>
<l>For feare of harme; O how the trembling Hare</l>
<l>Will shunne the <hi>dogge,</hi> and ev'ry <hi>bird</hi> the <hi>snare,</hi>
<l>See how the crafty <hi>Fox</hi> doth take his rounds,</l>
<l>And clamber mountaines to avoid the <hi>hounds,</hi>
<l>If <hi>Nature</hi> shewes this; to such creatures too,</l>
<l>O what doth <hi>Reason</hi> and <hi>Religion</hi> doe?</l>
<l>How is it then, that <hi>Man</hi> so little feares</l>
<l>The plots of <hi>Sathan</hi> and those dev'lish snares?</l>
<l>How apt are we good God to trample in,</l>
<l>Nay t'urge occasions for to act our sinne?</l>
<hi>Vnlesse we by thy spirit are possest,</hi>
<hi>We are more stupid then the senslesse beast.</hi>
<div type="poem">
<pb facs="tcp:61816:27"/>
<head>A Meditation on the pride of Womens apparrell.</head>
<l>SEe how some borrow'd off cast vaine <hi>attire,</hi>
<l>Can puffe up pamper'd <hi>clay,</hi> and dirty <hi>mire:</hi>
<l>Tell me whence had'st thy cloath's that makes thee fine,</l>
<l>Wast not the silly <hi>Sheeps</hi> before twas thine?</l>
<l>Doth not the <hi>Silke worme</hi> and the <hi>Oxes hide</hi>
<l>Serve to maintaine thee in thy cheefest <hi>pride?</hi>
<l>Do'st not thou often with those <hi>feathers</hi> vaile</l>
<l>Thy <hi>face,</hi> with which the <hi>Ostridge</hi> hides her <hi>taile?</hi>
<l>What art thou <hi>proud</hi> of then? me thinks 'tis fit</l>
<l>Thou should'st be <hi>humble</hi> for the wearing it:</l>
<l>Tell me <hi>proud Madam</hi>; thou that art so nise,</l>
<l>How were thy <hi>parents</hi> clad in <hi>Paradise?</hi>
<l>At first they wore the <hi>armour</hi> of <hi>defence</hi>
<l>And were compleatly wrapt in <hi>innocence:</hi>
<l>Had not they <hi>sin'd,</hi> they ne're had beene <hi>dismaid</hi>
<l>Nor <hi>needed</hi> not the <hi>Fig-trees</hi> leavy <hi>ayde</hi>!</l>
<hi>What ever state O Lord thou place me in</hi>
<hi>Let me not glory in th' effect of sinne.</hi>
<div type="poem">
<head>A Meditation on a Wax Candle lighted.</head>
<l>SEe how my burning <hi>Taper</hi> gives his <hi>light,</hi>
<l>And <hi>guids</hi> my wayes in the obscurest <hi>night,</hi>
<l>It <hi>wasts</hi> it selfe for <hi>me,</hi> and when tis <hi>spent</hi>
<l>The <hi>snuffe</hi> doth <hi>leave</hi> behind a wholsome <hi>sent</hi>:</l>
<l>Thus doe thy <hi>Pastors</hi> Lord who shine most bright,</l>
<l>They <hi>spend</hi> themselves to give thy <hi>people light,</hi>
<l>And when by thee their posting time's <hi>confind,</hi>
<hi>They dye</hi> and leave a lovely <hi>smell behind.</hi>
<div type="poem">
<pb facs="tcp:61816:27"/>
<head>A Meditation on an Elephant.</head>
<l>THe <hi>Elephant</hi> doth alwayes chuse to drinke</l>
<l>In <hi>durty ponds,</hi> and makes his paw to sinke</l>
<l>And raise the <hi>mud,</hi> that so he may escape,</l>
<l>Without the <hi>shadow</hi> of his ugly <hi>shape</hi>:</l>
<l>Thus tis with <hi>guilty soules,</hi> who dare not <hi>peepe</hi>
<l>Into themselves, but make their <hi>conscience sleepe</hi>;</l>
<hi>Cleanse me O Lord, and then I shall surpasse</hi>
<hi>In beauty, and won't feare the looking glasse.</hi>
<div type="poem">
<head>A Meditation on a Bird in a Cage.</head>
<l>SEe how my <hi>little prisoner</hi> hops about</l>
<l>Her wyrie <hi>Cage,</hi> and sweetly <hi>ditties</hi> out</l>
<l>Her various tunes: and since shee cannot <hi>flee</hi>
<l>Abroad, shee looks for <hi>meate</hi> from none but <hi>me</hi>:</l>
<l>But if I <hi>ope</hi> my Cage, her lofty wings</l>
<l>Supports her to the <hi>Forrest,</hi> where shee fings</l>
<l>Some <hi>rustick notes,</hi> and when my <hi>bird</hi> can see</l>
<l>Some meat <hi>abroad,</hi> shee <hi>seeks</hi> for none to <hi>me.</hi>
<l>Tis thus, (good God) whilst thou on us dost bring</l>
<l>Thy great <hi>afflictions,</hi> O how well we <hi>sing</hi>
<l>Thy <hi>prayse,</hi> whilst we thus <hi>imprisned</hi> be,</l>
<l>Our <hi>faiths</hi> more active and our <hi>hop's</hi> on thee:</l>
<l>But if thou let us <hi>loose,</hi> we quickly <hi>flye</hi>
<l>Abroad, and lose our wonted <hi>harmony.</hi>
<l>Our <hi>faiths</hi> more <hi>uselesse,</hi> if <hi>elsewhere</hi> we see</l>
<l>Some <hi>foode,</hi> we seldome come for meate to <hi>thee,</hi>
<hi>If thou wilt feede, and teach me Lord to praise,</hi>
<hi>Then let me be thy prisoner all my daies.</hi>
<div type="poem">
<pb facs="tcp:61816:28"/>
<head>A Meditation on the fire.</head>
<l>KEepe but an <hi>equall distance,</hi> then the <hi>fire</hi>
<l>Will give thee <hi>warmth</hi> unto thine hearts desire,</l>
<l>But if thy daring spirit once presumes</l>
<l>To <hi>cronch</hi> too <hi>nigh,</hi> it <hi>warmes</hi> not, but <hi>consumes,</hi>
<l>Tis thus in things divine: <hi>Search</hi> thou Gods <hi>will</hi>
<l>Reveal'd, and then twill <hi>warme,</hi> but never <hi>kill</hi>:</l>
<l>But <hi>pry</hi> into his <hi>secrets,</hi> then the <hi>ire</hi>
<l>Of God will <hi>burne</hi> thee like consuming <hi>sire</hi>:</l>
<hi>O Lord so warme me with thy sacred breath,</hi>
<hi>That I may neither burne nor freeze to death.</hi>
<div type="poem">
<head>A meditation on boyes swimming with bladders.</head>
<l>SEe what extreame delight some <hi>boyes</hi> have tooke</l>
<l>Playing the wantons in some <hi>gliding brooke</hi>
<l>Vpon their <hi>bladders</hi> tumbling up and downe</l>
<l>Though ne're so <hi>deepe,</hi> in spight of <hi>Neptunes</hi> frowne:</l>
<l>They seldome <hi>learne</hi> to <hi>swimme</hi>: doe but <hi>unlincke</hi>
<l>Them from their <hi>bladders,</hi> then they quickely <hi>sincke,</hi>
<l>This <hi>Worlds</hi> a tossing <hi>Sea,</hi> fild to the brim</l>
<l>With waves, where ev'ry <hi>man</hi> doth <hi>sincke</hi> or <hi>swim,</hi>
<l>These <hi>Bladderd Lads</hi> are such that still <hi>rely</hi>
<l>Vpon the <hi>creature,</hi> which gone, by and by</l>
<l>Their drooping <hi>spirits faile</hi>: the <hi>faithfull man</hi>
<l>Is he that <hi>swims</hi> aright, and alwaies can</l>
<hi>Support</hi> himselfe, and with his <hi>art</hi> outbraves</l>
<l>The fretfull <hi>Sea,</hi> though fild with angry <hi>waves:</hi>
<hi>Lord give me faith, that I may still depend</hi>
<hi>On thee, and sw<gap reason="illegible" extent="3 letters">
</gap>, what ever stormes thou send.</hi>
<div type="poem">
<pb n="45" facs="tcp:61816:28"/>
<head>On <hi>Cain</hi> and <hi>Abels</hi> offerings.</head>
<l>ARt angry <hi>Cain?</hi> what doe thy thoughts repine?</l>
<l>Is <hi>Abels</hi> offring better tooke then thine?</l>
<l>Didst not thou bring thy God a lovely prize</l>
<l>And <hi>crowne</hi> his Altar with a sacrifice,</l>
<l>Art not thou elder? did not thy offring too</l>
<l>Come from thy God? what more could <hi>Abell</hi> doe?</l>
<l>Ile tell thee <hi>Cain</hi> how <hi>Abel</hi> got the start,</l>
<l>He with his offring, offered up his heart.</l>
<div type="poem">
<head>On an Apprentices Boxe.</head>
<l>THe Prentise after all his yearely paine<g ref="char:cmbAbbrStroke">̄</g>s,</l>
<l>Filleth his small mouth'd box with <hi>Christmas</hi> gaines,</l>
<l>Yet though he fill his box unto the brim</l>
<l>Vnlesse he breake it up, whats all to him?</l>
<l>A <hi>miser's such a Boxe,</hi> thats nothing worth,</l>
<l>Till <hi>death doth breake</hi> it up, then all comes forth:</l>
<hi>Convert good God, or strike with some disease,</hi>
<hi>Breake up such small mouth'd boxes, Lord as these.</hi>
<div type="poem">
<head>On <hi>Eves</hi> Apple.</head>
<hi>EVE</hi> for thy fruite thou gav'st too deare a price,</l>
<l>What? for an Apple give a <hi>Paradise</hi>?</l>
<l>If now a dayes of fruite such gaines were made</l>
<hi>A</hi> Costermonger <hi>were</hi> a devillish trade.</l>
<div type="poem">
<pb n="46" facs="tcp:61816:29"/>
<head>On a faire house having ill passage to it.</head>
<l>A House to which the builders did impart</l>
<l>The full perfection of their curious art,</l>
<l>Most bravely furnisht, in whose roomes did lye,</l>
<l>Foote clothes of Velvet, and of tapestry;</l>
<l>I wondred at (as who could not but doe it)</l>
<l>To see so rough so hard a passage to it:</l>
<l>So <hi>Lord</hi> I know thy heaven's a glorious place,</l>
<l>Wherein the beauty of thy glistring face</l>
<l>Inlightens all: thou in the wals dost fixe,</l>
<l>The <hi>Iasper</hi> and the <hi>purest sardonyx,</hi>
<l>Thy gates are <hi>pearles,</hi> and every dore beset</l>
<l>With <hi>Saphires, Emeralds,</hi> and the <hi>Chrysolet:</hi>
<l>Each Subject weares a crowne, the which he brings</l>
<l>And flings it downe to thee, the King of Kings.</l>
<l>But why's the way so thorny? tis great pitty</l>
<l>The passage is no wider to thy Citty,</l>
<l>Poore <hi>Daniel</hi> through his den and <hi>Shadrake's</hi> driven</l>
<l>With his associates through the <hi>fire</hi> to Heaven,</l>
<l>But yet we can't complaine, we may recall</l>
<l>The time to minde when there was none at all,</l>
<l>T'was <hi>Christ</hi> that made this way, and shall we be</l>
<l>Who are his Servants, farre more nice then he?</l>
<hi>No, Ile adventure too, nay, Ile get in,</hi>
<hi>Ile tracke my Captaine thorow thicke and thin.</hi>
<pb facs="tcp:61816:29"/>