soules as if that piercing sight That viewes all secrets in the darkest night That tries the thoughts of every heart and stares Into each soule is now as blind as theirs Thus was he basely us'd but all 's not done The hell-invented fury is to come By vulgar slaves the very Sonne of God Is falsely scourg'd and forc'd to kisse the rod Yea he whose nostrils able are to cast Out flame and burne the world at every blast Whose mighty breath is able for to fanne Ten thousand worlds and puffe out every man Like chaffe and make the flanting world to tosse Like waves is now compeld to beare his crosse Whereon his body in a vulgar streete Hung naked pierc'd with nayles both hands and feete The well of water he that gave the first To all his creatures now 's himselfe a thirst Yea he to whom all thirsty creatures call For drinke must now drinke vinegar with gall They pierc'd his side from whence came watry blood More soveraigne farre then all Bethesda's flood These tyrants thus though to themselves denide Did make a way to heaven through his side Alas my muse for sighes can scarce prolong The fatall tuning of so dire a song To see heavens faire Idea seeme so foule Sobbing and sighing out his burdned soule Those eyes which now seeme dim were once so bright From hence it was that Phoebus begd his light Those armes which now hang weake did from their birth Support the tottring vaults of heaven and earth That tongue that now lyes speechlesse in his head A word of that would soone revive the dead One touch of those Pale fingers would suffice To heale the sicke and make the dead man rise Those legges which now are peircd by abject slaves were kindly entertaind amongst the waves The coate whose warmth did give his sides reliefe The hem the very hem could cure a griefe But now strength 's weake th'omnipotent's a crying For aid health's sicke and life it selfe 's a dying His head hangs drooping and his eyes are fixt His weakned armes growne pale the sunne's eclipst O boundlesse love thus thus thou didst expose Thy selfe no damned paines to save thy foes Hell fought against him heaven began to frowne And justice soone sent vengeance posting downe Who clad with fury being angry shakes Her ugly head whose haire doth nurture snakes Shee layes about her greedy of her prey Quencheth hâ—r tâ—irst with blood and so away And mercy now lies cover'd in a cloud And will not heare although his sighes are loud Although his cries are such that cause a stone To heare yet sinne makes heav'n forget her owne Heav'n frownes as if shee had her owne forgot Mercy lookes off as if shee knew him not He suffred paines that hell it selfe devisd So much that justice cride I am suffic'd His tortures were so high so great so sore That hell cride out I can inflict no more Which done the heavens closd up their lamping light And turn'd the day into a dismall night Bright Phoebus vaild his face and would not see Wormes actors of so bloody treachery And quivering earth her wonted rigour lackt And straight stood trembling at so dire a fact The buri'd Saints arose to see betwixt Two dusky clouds their glorious Sunne eclipst Thus heav'n it selfe with the terrestriall Ball Doth joyne to celebrate his funerall The Landlord of the globe who first did raise Earths fabricke was a tenant for three dayes But when once Christ did cease to be turmoyld Heaven and he was gladly reconcil'd Mercy came dancing from the angry denne Tost off her cloudy mantle smild againe Pearch'd on her brightest throne and makes a vow To smooth the wrinckled furrowes of her brow And grim fac'd vengeance shee that 's onely fed With poyson dares nor shew her snaky head For feare all angers banisht cleane away Sterne justice now hath not a word to say And now the Fathers anger being done Double imbraces entertaine the Sonne As when a tender mother sometime beates Her wanton boy for his unruly feates Shee wipes his blubberd face and by and by Presents a thousand gugoyes to his eye Shee angry with her selfe beginnes to seeke His former love teares trickling downe her cheeke Quickly forgetting what was done amisse Ending her anger in a lovely kisse Doubtlesse her fondling burnes the rod and then Come peace my babe kisse and be friends agen Iust so when God inflicted on his Sonne His bittrest wrath the anger being done O then how soone he doubled his renowne Adorn'd his Temple with a richer Crowne Angry with those that would not heare his moane Ready to fling grim vengeance from his throne And chide with mercy shee that once did runne To hide her selfe from this his dying Sonne And for this fact would surely overthrow The fabricke did not Iustice hold the blow Thus heaven was friends againe but sordid man Poore mortall dust whose dayes are but a span Doth strive against his God like dogges that storme And barke and brawle and fome at Phoebes horne Ah Lord why are they so extreame to thee What is the cause thou madst their blindmen see Or why didst thou their fury thus inrage Because thou didst revive their dead mens age Me thinkes t is strange good God thou shouldst enflame Their anger by restoring legges too lame How is it Lord thou sowedst glorious seedes And loe a harvest all compact of weedes Thou gavest them life and spentst thy dearest breath For them and now thou art repaid with death What griefe was ere like thine would not thy mone Quickly dissolve an adamantine stone Wold not those sighs which could not peirce their eares Have turnd a rocke into a sea of teares Would not those wrongs thou bor'st without reliefe Make every cave to echo out thy griefe For greedy Lions are more kind then men They entertaind thy limbe within their denne Forget their wonted humours and became As carefull shepherdes to thy tender Lambe The croking raven shee whose natures wilde Became a tender nurse unto thy Childe And to obey thy voice the stony rocke Became a springing fountaine to thy flocke Yea rather then thy babes shall live in thrall The very sea it selfe provides a wall The flames forget their force through thy constraint Lose heate and know not how to burne a Saint Yea when thy souldiers wanted day to fight The Sun stood still and lent them longer light When boistrous seas did shew their lusty prancks Scorning to be imprison'd in their banckes And with their billowes vaulted up so high As if they meant to scale the starry sky And boundlesse Boreas from his frozen Cave Rusht out and proudly challeng'd every wave One nod of thine did quell those seas agen And sent proud Boreas to his sullen denne Thus thou the senselesse creatures oft did'st checke And mad'st the proudest pliant to thy becke For devils trembled and that breath of thine Made them seeke shelter in a heard of swine They knew thy greatnesse and confest thy
name Hell sent forth Heraulds to divulge thy fame But man Lord what 's he made of stupid soule Is now more greedy then the raping foule Harder then slint his nature is so grimme That questionlesse the Lyon chang'd with him Hotter then flame more boystrous then the winde More fierce then waves and hels not more unkinde Yet thou O match lesse love didst undergoe An undeserved curse to save thy foe Yea guiltlesse thou because thou would'st suffice For guilty man becom'st a Sacrifice Thou Grand Physitian for thy patients good Didst mixe thy Physicke with thy dearest blood Man from the sweetest flower did sucke his griefe But thou from venome didst extract reliefe From pleasures limbecke man distild his paine Thou out of sorrow pleasure drawd againe Sweete Eden was the garden where there grew Such sugred flowers yet there our poyson blew Sad Gethseman the arbour where was pluckt Though bitter herbes yet thence was hony suckt So have I seene the busie Bee to feed Extracting honey from the sowrest weed Whilst Spiders wandring through a pleasant bowre Sucke deadly poyson from the sweetest flower Thus thus sweete Christ thy sicknesse was our health Thy death our life thy poverty our wealth Thy griefe our mirth our freedome was thy thrall Thus thou by being conquerd conquerest all CANT. 8.7 Much water cannot quench love neither can the floods drowne it O How my heart is ravisht thoughts aspire To thinke on thee my Christ my zeales on fire What shall I doe my love me thinkes mine eyes Behold thee still yet still I Tantalize Ten thousand lets stand arm'd and all agree Conspiring how to part my love and me Presumption like Olympus scales the skye A mountaine for to part my Love and I. Despaire presents a gulfe a greedy grave Much like the jawes of the internall Cave But what of this though hils are nere so high Whose sunne-confronting tops upbraide the skye I le trample o're and make them know t is meete Their proudest heads should stoope and kisse my feete I le stride o're cares deeper then Neptunes well Whose threatning jawes doe yawne as wide as hell Although the sea boyles in her angry tides And watry mountaines knocke at Heavens sides Though every puffe of Neptunes angry breath Should raise a wave and every wave a death I le scorne his threates should stop my course or quell My pace though every death presents a hell Yea I le adventure through those swelling stormes Whose billowes seemes to quench great Phoebes hornes Mountaines shall be as molehilles every wave Tost in the fretfull region shall outbrave No more then streames that shew their wanton pranckes Gliding along by Thames his petty banckes But grant that seas should swell and tossing tides With stormes should crush my waving vessels sides Suppose for footemen mountaines are too steepe Each hill too high and every cave too deepe Suppose all earth conspire to stop care I My faith will lend me wings and then I le flye O how I le laugh to see that mounting clay O how I le smile at that that stopt my way O how I laugh to see the Ocean straine Her banckes for to oppose and all in vaine And can you blame me when I 'me once above I le care for none for none but thou my Love Thou art my path I shall not goe awry My sight shall never faile thou art my eye Thou art my clothing I shan't naked be I am no bondman thou hast made me free I am not pin'd with sickenesse thou art health I am no whit impoverisht thou art wealth Mans naturall infirmity WHat meanes my God why dost present to me Such glorious objects can a blind man see Why dost thou call why dost thou becken so Wouldst have me come Lord can a Cripple go Or why dost thou expect that I should raise Thy glory with my voice the dumbe can't praise Vnscale my duskye eyes then I le expresse Thy glorious objects strong attractivenesse Dip thou my limbes in thy Bethesdaes lake I le scorne my earthly crutches I le forsake My selfe touch thou my tongue and then I le sing An Allelujah to my glorious King Raise me from this my grave then I shall be Alive and I le bestow my life on thee Till thou Eliah-like dost overspread My limbs I 'me blind I 'me lame I 'me dumbe I 'me dead The Melancholicke Soules comfort O That I had a sweete melodious voice O that I could obtaine the chiefest choice Of sweetest musicke pre-three David lend Thy well-resounding harpe that I may send Some praises to my God I know not how To pay by songs my heart-resolved vow How shall I sing good God thou dost afford Ten thousand mercies trebled songs O Lord Cannot requite thee O that I could pay With lifetime songs the mercies of one day I oft beginne to sing and then before My songs halfe finisht God gives sense for more Alas poore soule art puzzeld canst not bring Thy God some honour though thou strive to sing The Cause is this thou art become his debter Hee le make thee play on musicke that is better I Cannot play my sobs doe stop my course My grones doe make my musicke sound the worse What nought but grones ah shall th' Almighties eares Be fild with sighes all vsherd in with teares I this is musicke such a tune prolongs Gods love and makes him listen to thy songs T is this that makes his ravisht soule draw nigher T is this outstrips the Thracian with his Lyre T is this inchants thy God t is this alone That drags thy spouse from heaven to heare thy tone No better Musicke then thy sobs and cries If not a Davids harpe get Peters eyes The Soule in love with Christ WHat though my Love doth neate appeare And makes Aurora blush to see her Though nature paints her cheekes with red And makes proud Venus hide her head What though her crimson lips so mute Doe alwayes wooe a new salute What though her wanâ—on eyes doe shine Like glistring starres and dazell mine T is Christ alone Shall be my owne T is him I will embrace T is he shall be A Spouse to me All beauty 's in his face What though the earth for me prepares A present from her golden Quarres And braggeth of her earely gaines Exhausted from her silver vaines What though shee shew her painted brates And bids me smell her Violates And deckes her selfe in spring attire To make my ravisht soule admire Yet all this shant My Soule inchant I le smile to see her pride I know where lies A better prize For Christ hath broch'd his side What though the world doth me invite And daily play the Parasite Or with her gilded tales intice Me to a seeming Paradise And paints her face and all day long Sits breathing out a Syrens song And shewes her pompe and then in fine Tells me that shee and hers are mine Yet none of this Shall be my blisse I le scorne the painted
hand that strikes the kayes O Lord from me the sweetest musicke raise If thou don't strike at all how can I speake Thy worthy prayses if too hard I breake Strike mildly Lord strike soft and then I le sing And charoll out the glory of my King A Meditation on an Apes love WHen once the foolish Ape hath fild her nest With little brats there 's one among the rest Shee most affects to shelter this from harmes Shee alwayes hugges it in her wanton armes Vntill at length shee squeezeth out the breath Of this her fondling Loves the cause of death The Worlds this wanton Ape that still delights In hugging some peculiar favourites Of those that are thus dandled by this Ape There doth not one among a thousand scape On contempt of the World A Loft O Soule soare up doe not turmoyle Thy selfe by grabbling on a dunghill soyle Tosse up thy wings and make thy soaring plumes Outreach the loathsome stench and noysome fumes That spring from sordid earth come come and see Thy birth and learne to know thy pedigree What wast thou made of Clay or dost thou owe Homage to earth say is thy blisse below Dost know thy beauty dost thou not excell Can the Creation yeeld a parallel The world can't give a glasse to represent Thy shape and shall a durty element Bewitch thee thinke is not thy birth most high Blowne from the mouth of all the trinity The breath of all-creating Iove the best Of all his workes yea thee of all the rest He chose to be his Picture where can I But in thy selfe see Immortality 'Mong all his earthly creatures Thou art chiefe Of all his workes and shall the world turne theefe And steale away thy love wert not for thee The heav'n aspiring mountaine should not bee The heavens should have no glistring starre no light No Sunne to rule the day no Moone the night The Globe had bin 'twas not the makers will To make it for it selfe a Chaos still Thou art Ioves priestly Aaron to present The creatures service while they give assent By serving thee why then 's the world thy rest 'T is but thy servants servant at the best It gives attendance to refined mire That Iove hath wrapt thee in as thy attire For what 's the body but a lumpe of clay Carv'd neatly out in which the soule beares sway T is servant to the soule what limbe can stirre Nay darst to quatch if once shee make demurre See how the captiv'd members trembling stand Wondrous submissive to her dire command O how the legs doe runne with eager flight To overtake the object of delight See how the armes doe graspe as if they 'd rent To hold the thing that gives the soule content Why what 's the body when the soule 's away Nought but a stincking carkasse made of clay What 's heav'n without a God or what 's the skye If once bright Phoebus close his radiant eye The world was for our bodies they for none But for our soules our soules for God alone What madnesse then for men of such a birth To nuzell all their dayes on dunghill earth Still hunting after with an eager sent An object which can never give content For what contentment in the world can lye That 's onely constant in inconstancy It ebbes and flowes each minuie thou maist brag This day of thousands and to morrow bâ—g The greatest wealth is subject for to reele The globe is plac'd on Fortunes tottering wheele As when the gladding sunne begins to show And scatter all his golden beames below A churlish cloud soone meetes him in the way And sads the beauty of the smiling day Or as a stately ship a while behaves Her selfe most bravely on the slumbring waves And like a Swanne sailes nimbly in her pride The helpefull windes concording with the tide To mend her pace but by and by the wind The fretfull Seas the heav'ns and all combin'd Against this bragging barke O how they fling Her corkey sides to heaven and then they bring Her backe shee that ere while did sayle so brave Cutting the floods now 's tost with every wave Iust so the waving world gives joy and sorrow This day a Croesus and a Iob to morrow How often have I seene the miser blesse Himselfe in wealth and count it for no lesse Then his adored God straight comes a frowne Flying from unhappy fate and whirleth downe Him and his heapes of gold and all that prize Is lost which he but now did Idolize But grant the world as never 't will to be A thing most sure most full of constancy What is thy wealth unlesse thy God doth blesse Thy store and turne it to a happinesse What though thy Table be compleatly spread With farre-fetcht dainties and the purest bread That fruitfull earth can yeeld all this may bee If thou no stomacke hast what 's all to thee What though thy habitation should excell In beauty and were Edens parallel Thou being pesterd with some dire disease How can thy stately dwelling give thee ease Thy joyes will turne thy griefe thy freedome thrall Vnlesse thy God above doth sweeten all When thou poore soule liest ready to depart And hear'st thy Conscience snarling at thine heart Though heapes of gold should in thy coffers lye And all thy worthlesse friends stand whining by 'T is none 't is none of these can give thee health But thou must languish in the midst of wealth Then cease thou mad man and pursue no more The world and know shee 's but a painted whore Thou catchest shadowes labourst in thy dreames And thirst's amongst th' imaginary streames A Meditation on a meane LOrd in excesse I see there often lies Great dangers and in wants great miseries Send me a meane doe thou my wayes preserve For I may surfet Lord as well as starve On Sathans tempting Eve ARt thou turn'd Fencer Sathan prethee say Surely thou art not active at thy play Challenge a Woman fie thou art to blame Suppose thou getst the day thou getst no fame But prethee speake hast any cause to prate Thou bruis'd her heele what though shee broke thy pate On a Spunge THe Spunge it selfe drinkes water till it swell it But never empties till some strength expell it Lord of our selves we 're apt to soake in sinne But thou art faine to squeeze it out agin A Meditation on a chime of Bells HArke what harmonious Musicke fils mine eare What pleasant raptures yet me thinkes I heare Each Bell that 's rung to beare a various sound Had all one note how quickely t would confound The tune a discord in the bels arise And yet they disagreeing sympathize T is not the greatest makes the sweetest noyse No but the skilfull Ringer still imployes The small as well as great t is every bell Together rung that makes them sound so well Thus t is in Common-weale if every man Kept time and place proportiond to him than How sweetly would our musicke sound t would