Selected quad for the lemma: cause_n
Text snippets containing the quad
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A30008
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Death dis-sected, or, A fort against misfortune in a cordiall compounded of many pious and profitable meditations on mans mortality / digested into severall poems by T.I.
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Buckler, Edward, 1610-1706.
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1649
(1649)
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Wing B5348; ESTC R170860
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42,019
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132
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cannot see Things divine for yet they be In their naturall condition But sanctified souls have better eyes Each Person in the sacred Trinitie Sends comfort down and such as farre outvies The best delight that is below the skie Father Sonne and holy Ghost Be it spoke with reverence Seem to strive which shall dispense Blessings that do comfort most The Father as his title often writes Himself a God of peace and consolation He sends me comforts by those sacred lights Which bring me errands from his habitation And so firm and full and free Is each promise in his book That on whichsoe'r I look Blessed comforts I do see So firm that first the hugest hills and mountains Shall dance out of their places starres shall fall Streams shall run backward to their mother-fountains The earth shall tumble ere he will recall One of 's promises For why And this gives strong consolation In the middest of temptation He 's a God and cannot lie So full that there 's not any thing left out That I could wish What I would have him be God is Would I be compassed about With mercie find relief in miserie Would I by his Spirit be led And have all my sinnes forgiven And hereafter go to heaven All this God hath promised So free that to deserve that promis'd glory I nothing have but what his mercie gave me 'T is gratis rather then compensatorie Whatever God doth to convert or save me And if any good I do 'T is done by supplies Divine So Gods work and none of mine Grace begins and ends it too What if by nature I was made a sheep And by corruption I am gone astray Whether I think or speak or do or sleep Or wake do ever wander from the way I was set in and am toss'd So by lust that my soul wanders Into many by-meanders Like a sillie sheep that 's lost Yet God 's my shepherd When his mercy spi'd me Wandring it brought me home and ever since It doth watch over feed defend and guide me And ever will do so till I go hence And hereafter in the even When my latest sand is runne And my pasture here is done It will sold my soul in heaven The Sonne doth comfort 'T was his errand down To preach glad tidings to the meek and turn Their wo to ease to earn a glorious crown For sinners and to comfort those that mourn Broken-hearted ones to bind And to set at libertie Pris'ners in captivitie And give eye-sight to the blind There 's comfort in his wounds His sacred stripes Do heal our leprous souls of all their sores 'T is nothing but his pretious bloud that wipes Our guilt away and cancelleth our scores Six times did he shed his bloud And sure our estate did need it That so many times he did it And each drop was for our good Those circumcision-drops of 's infancie Those drops that 's anguish in the garden vented Those drops when he was scourged Jewishly Those drops when 's head with sharpest thorns was tented Those drops when his limbs were nailed To the crosse those when the fierce Souldiers spear his side did pierce Each drop for our good prevailed There 's comfort in his crosse That vile old man That hangs about us to our dying day Is crucified with him that it can Not exercise half of its wonted sway Lessened is its kingly power Surely sinne it struggles so Hath receiv'd a mortall blow And is dying everie houre There 's comfort in his death For us he dy'd For us he felt his Fathers heavie wrath And his impartiall justice satisfi'd And us his alsufficient passion hath Pluck'd from Satan vi armis And his meritorious pain Freed us from sinnes guilt and stain And whatever else might harm us There 's comfort in his resurrection too He rose again that we might be accounted Righteous and just This no man else could do And that our sinnes whose number farre surmounted All the starres that shine in heaven All our hairs and all the sand That lies scattered on the strand For his sake might be forgiven And God the holy Ghost doth comfort bring By speciall office it is his employment To settle in the soul a lively spring From whence doth issue such a sweet enjoyment Of divine heart-pleasing blisse As the world will not believe Nor can any heart conceive But the heart wherein it is It is this blessed Spirit that doth seal Assurance to my conscience of a share In what God in and through his Sonne doth deal To needy sinners that converted are It assures me of Gods love In the free and full remission Of my sinnes and exhibition Of those joyes that are above Let now the world that 's wont to tell a storie Of strange delights shew me but such a pleasure As to be sure of God and Christ and glory And then I 'll hug it as my choicest treasure Thus each Person of the three Is imploy'd if I do live Holy as I ought to give Joy and comfort unto me Grant a man once to be in Christ and he On sublunarie pleasures soon will trample And yet for pleasures who shews best will vie With all the world give him but one example What gets pleasure and what feeds it Whatsoe'r ' mongst earthly things To the mind most pleasure brings He can shew what farre exceeds it Can learning please he is a man of parts Me thinks sure at his very singers end He hath exactly all the liberall arts At least he hath such arts as will commend Any man a great deal more And will sooner bring to heaven Then will any of those seven On which learned men do pore His Logick is so scientificall His Syllogismes are in so blest a mood A thousand arguments his heart le ts fall That rightly from good premises conclude Him a child of God on high And a member of his Sonne And an heir when 's race is runne Of a blest Eternitie His Rhetorick excells He can perswade More then those well-penn'd sweet orations which Demosthenes or Tullie ever made Doth he that prayer-hearing God beseech Presently his eare he gains For fine words it is no matter Let him like a swallow chatter Or a crane yet he obtains And for Arithmetick his numeration Is of his dayes this makes the man applie His heart to wisdome that in any station He may perform his dutie prudently And those sinnes to make them hatefull Which his conscience most do cumber Everie day the man doth number And Gods blessings to be gratefull And for Addition 't is his diligence Vertue to adde to faith to vertue knowledge Love godlinesse peace kindnesse patience One to another that his soul 's a Colledge Filled with divinest graces And not one grace idle lies But all do their exercise In their severall turns and places When he subtracteth 't is not from the poore As most men do not from the King nor Church But from sinnes monstrous bodie More and more
fruitfull'st fields Fattest oxen throng your stall Tenants tumble in your rent Those to whom you mony lent Bring both use and principall This cannot chuse but comfort But the man That lay upon his easelesse death-bed sprawling Made this replie If any of you can By marks infallible make sure my calling To my soul and my election If from any text divine You could prove that Christ is mine This would be a good refection Or if you could assure my parting ghost Of seeing God to all Eternitie Of being one amongst that heavenly host Whose blisse it is to praise him endlessely This were comfort that accordeth With his case that is distrest As now I am but the rest On a death-bed none affoordeth There was another man whose occupation Was to passe time away he made a trade Of that which men do call a recreation He was indeed a very merry blade Taverns bowling-alleys playes Dauncing fishing fowling racing Hawking hunting coursing tracing Took up all his healthfull dayes But on a time a sudden sicknesse came And seised him in each extremer part This grudging did begin to spoil his game But at the length it fast'ned on his heart There it plung'd him wofully And forthwith the man is led Home and laid upon his bed Think him now at point to die A little after came into the room A gallant troup of necessarie stuff His coachman falconer huntsman page and groom His mistresse with her hands both in a muff Sorie all to see him so But see how these fools invent To give a sick man content And to ease him ere they go One breaks a jest another tells a tale One strikes the lute another sings a dittie But neither of them pray to God at all Another tells what news is in the citie Everie man is in his vein And all jointly do contrive Pleasant passages to drive Out of doore their masters pain They ask'd him if he pleas'd to take the air Or call for 's coach and ride to see a play And whether he would hunt the buck or hare Or to a tavern go to drive away Or to drown times tediousnesse Or else to a tennis-court Whither gallants do resort Or else play a game at chesse The man reply'd Ye know I must be gone The way of all I cannot tell how soon And I have other things to think upon Already it is with me afternoon Erelong my declining sunne Needs must set Oh! my life hangs On a thred these mortall pangs Crack it Out my glasse is runne Time was I doted on these idle toyes Now can they not a dram of comfort yield Too late I see they are not death-bed joyes No refuge from soul-vexing storms no shield When a mortall blow is given Prate no more let not a man Open 's mouth unlesse he can Tell me how to get to heaven There was another that for nothing car'd It was a woman but for vain excesse In bravery of clothes no cost was spar'd Nor art nor care that served to expresse To the full a female pride But 〈◊〉 length it came to passe That this spruce and gallant lasse Fell extremely sick and di'd But I must tell you that whilst like a lion Pains tore her bones in pieces ere she sent Her last breath out imagine her of Sion A matchlesse daughter to her chamber went Weeping ripe her good handmaiden Purposing as much as may be To chear up her dying Ladie For with comforts was she laden Thus she began and spake it with a grace Be comforted good Madame never let A little sicknesse spoil so good a face Your Ladyship cannot so soon forget Your contents If ever any Gentlewoman liv'd that might Find materialls of delight You good Madame have as many Here for your feeet are tinkling ornaments Here are your bonnets and your net-work-cauls Fine linen too that every eye contents Your head-bands tablets eare-rings chains and falls Your nose-jewels and your rings Your hoods crisping-pâ—…nes wimples Glasses that bewray â—…ur pimples Vails and other pretty things Here are your dainty mantles and your sutes Of changeable apparel and your tires Round like the moon your bracelets finger-fruits Of busie houres mufflers and golden wires And so many more that no man Can repeat nor yet remember From October to September This would comfort any woman Suppose her if you will an English Lady And think you heare her waiting-gentlewoman Bespeak her thus Madame here is a gawdy And glorious shew these fashions are not common Here 's your beaver and your feather Here are silver-ribband knots Trunks full of rich riding-coats Gallant shelters ' gainst the weather Here are your holland and your cambrick-smocks Your gowns of velvet satten taffatie Irons to curvisie your flaxen locks And spangled roses that outshine the skie For your head here 's precious geere Bonelace-cros-cloths squares shadows Dressings which your Worship made us Work upon above a yeare Rich chains of pearl to tie your hair together And others to adorn your snowie breast Silk stockings starre-like shoes of Spanish leather And that which farre excelleth all the rest And begets most admiration Of your clothes is not their matter Though the world affords not better But it is their Frenchest fashion Madame believe 't the fairest of the Graces Subscribes to you Whenever you appear Adorned with your gold and silver-laces Your presence makes the greedi'st eye good chear This consideration In time past was wont to please you Now then Madame let it ease you And afford you consolation The dying woman when this speech was done After a grone or two made this replie Doth such a curtain-lecture suit with one That everie houre doth look when she should die 'T is not congruous Wer'st thou able My poore naked soul to dresse With a Saviours righteousnesse This indeed were comfortable But all the rest is not Oh! how I grieve To think upon my former vanitie Alas I feel these toyes cannot relieve Nor ease nor comfort Thus let luxurie Pitch on what it will its joyes Are but painted nor can bring us Ease when pangs of Death do wring us Much lesse can they make our dayes Eternall here Thy servant Lord beseecheth The presence of thy spirit that discovers How vain that carnall joy is which bewitcheth With pleasant poison all her sottish lovers Let not earth-delights forestall me Help thy servant to provide Pleasures that will then abide When thou sendest Death to call me Meditation 2. FArewell those pleasures which the creatures breed These carnall comforts shall be none of mine They slink away in time of greatest need I 'll get me comforts that are more divine Such as God provided for us By his Spirit and in his word They are such as will afford Joy unspeakable and glorious Unsanctified palates cannot find A relish in Gods service 't is their follie That nothing in it suiteth with their mind That they account religion melancholie And the cause of their misprision Is because they