as is due Our seales to witnesse that thy word is true But all the praise or profit else redound From our beleeving on our heads rebound We do beleeve because it is thy will But by beleeving our desires fulfill What thou commandest ought to be fulfild But we obeying conquer whiles we yeeld Most gratious God what Lord is like to thee Whose Laws give life and whose commands make free Well my we to thy statutes have regard In keeping which there is such great reward And yet in all thy just commands injoynd This one of all we do most easie find Which is our faith yet this of all the rest Most richly crownes us and doth please thee best Dear faith how deep are thy foundations laid Most glorious things may well of thee be said Could we but in thy nature perfect prove The highest mountaines at our beck Would move Through thee we see our sines are wash'd away To thee the very powers of sin obey By thee we are made heires of things above Yea have an intrest in the God of love And mounted on the sublime wings we fly With boldnesse to the Throne of grace on high The fire and faith agree in these respects The fire hath heat and faith hath its effects Only the heat doth from the fire proceed Even so from faith do other graces breed Faith then is mother of each other grace Those not borne of her are but brats of base For till that faith doth sanctifie our hearts Our highest vertues are but morall parts Faith Lord is then thy stampe upon the coyn To make it currant and acknowledg'd thine Upon our graces wherein thou dost read The very Image of thy selfe indeed Lord melt our hearts then which are else but flint That this thy stamp may therein leave thy print And make the working luster of it bright For we can know it by no other light For as some pretious roots within the ground Can not or can be very hardly found But only when the springtime doth declare Their secret lodgings by the fruit thy beare So faith that plant implanted in our soules Growes so concealed from our sight like moules That we want knowledge to discern that root But by the branches and the fruits that sproot Faith then we must have or we must lose all A living faith too or else die we shall Faiths life appeareth by the fruit it beares It fruit appeareth being grain not tares O pretious fruit may that in us be found We have no cause then to suspect the ground Only it doth belong to us to weed And cast out all that may offend the seed Conscience wounded with sin Psalme 38. MIne iniquities are gone over mine head as an heavy Burthen too heavy for me verse 4. My wounds stinck and are corrupt because of my foolishnesse verse 5. I am troubled I am bowed downe greatly I goe mourning all the day long verse 6. For my loynes are full with a loathsome disease and there is no sound part in my flesh verse 7. I am feeble and sore broken I have roared because of the disquietnesse of my heart verse 7. Oyle and wine powred in Psalme 42. VVHy art thou so cast down oh my soule and why art thou so disquieted within me hope thou in God Psalme 103. THe Lord is mercifull and gratious slow to anger and plentious in goodnesse verse 8. He will not alwaies chide neither will he keepe his anger for ever verse 9. Like as a Father pittieth his children so the Lord pittieth them that feare him verse 13. For hee knoweth our frame he remembreth we are but dust verse 14. Desires of Aid THou good Samaritan thou God of art Good by thy readynesse God by thy skill In powring Oyle and wine into the heart That sin hath wounded oh direct my quill That in that best experience sence of feeling I may discover both to wound and healing We are the wounded Travellers indeed But thou art wounded with compassion more Our wounds do make thy wounded heart to bleed Thy blood applyd doth he ale our bleeding sore Oh pretious balme oh let it be applyd And let my hand be by thy help a guide The Conscience wounded with sin OH my mine iniquities my sin my sin Too heavy for me oh I sinck therein It doth go over as it were my head Intolerable burden no such lead My wounds are putrifi'd corrupt and stinck My foolishnesse is such my teares I drink Troubl'd and pressed with the weight I beare All the day mourning never free from care My loynes are fil'd with loathsomnesse besides There is no soundnesse in my flesh abides My conscience roares within me and the smart Torments me with the anguish of my heart Oyle and wine powred in BUt why art thou thus cast down oh my soule Why dost thou not those fearfull doubts controull Why art thou thus disquieted in my brest Oh trust in God returne unto thy rest The Lord the Lord is mercifull and kind Most slow to wrath and to forgive inclin'd Although offended doth not alwaies chide His anger doth but for a space abide Like a most tender Father to his childe So is he pitifull and much more milde For he considers where our frailty lyes And therefore bears with our infirmities The Authors Epigram COnscience oh conscience how comes this to passe Canst thou be wounded and yet arm'd in brasse Yea in a habit far more hard then steel A conscience seared hath no sense to feel But can sin wound thus hath it such a dart Yea wound thus deeply pricking at the heart Oh cruell weapon can it thus indent Through brasse through steel yea through this adamant And yet sin works not thus upon the soule That it would conscience in the act controll But rather rocks the conscience most asleep When like an aspe it makes the wound most deep Then there is nothing can do conscience good Till it be sprinkled with dissolving blood But then each motion that doth sin apply Doth wound the conscience and doth terrifie The conscience wounded with sin ALas alas the soule that sinsmust die So Scriptures tell me can the Scriptures lie No no the Scriptures never can be broken No word shall fail that is in Scripture spoken Oh then what comfort can remaine for me How scapes my soule my sinfull soule then free For I have sin'd and sin to death betraies Death is the wages that hard master payes Inviolable word of God herein Most miserable wretch that I did sin Most wretched slave that such a Master hath Most cruell wages oh eternall death Oyle and wine powred in VVHy will you dye thus doth our Father call When I delight not in your death at all Why will you dye then Oh returne and live I pardon sin and freely doe forgive My mercies please me I delight remorse But justice comes forth by constraint and force Beleeve and live this God the Son hath brought us And by his death from death eternall
DIVINE PASSIONS Piously and Pathetically expressed in three severall BOOKES Viz. I. Being a Dialogue between Dives and Lazarus with the Authors Epigrams upon that Parable II. A Dialogue between the Prodigall Son and the Pitifull Father with Epigrams on that Parable also III. Contains first an Argument against Atheisme Secondly an admiration of Gods mercy towards mankinde Thirdly the care and cure of a wounded Conscience VVritten and Composed for private Consolation and now thought not unfit to be published to all and presented to certaine worthy Persons of this Kingdome By Edward Calver Gent. LONDON Printed by T. H. for Richard Harper and are to be sold at his shop in Smithfield 1643. In landem Authoris On his DIVINE PASSIONS CHrists Parables were alwaies full of worth Which here in part thy pen hath wel set forth Dives and Lazarus well doe tipifie We should not scorne our brothers poverty Confuting Atheists thou Gods mercy praysest The wounded conscience thou both cur'st raisest Thou shew'st a fathers passion for a son That needs would from him prodigally run And in thy pleasant Epigrams we read We all to God are prodigalls indeed Thy Booke hath so much Passion that who heart Thy Stories must turne Prodigall of teares S. W. To the right Worshipfull Sir Dennor Strut Knight and Baronet to the right Worshipfull William Heveningham a worthy Member of the Honourable House of Commons to the Worshipfull Nicholas Bacon and Henry North Justices of the peace to the Worthy Thomas Baker Nathaniel Thurston and John Bayles Esquires and to Mr. John Mayhew c. Noble Knight and Worshipfull and generous Gentlemen I being bound to some of you in the bonds of affinity to all in affection but above all in duty I cannot but hold it my duty to proffer you the best of my endeavours and for want of any thing worthy I doe here persent you my good will I presume not upon your Patronage but only beg your acceptance considering that if these my endeavours be worth the accepting they shall need the lesse assistance But if any thing here brought forth be deformed it is sure most fit that he which begot it should father it The world peradventure may wonder that I draw so large a circle and then turn it to a cypher that I presume to stamp so many worthy Names in the front of this my unworthy worke and then speake nothing of the worth of your worthy persons in particular But let the world know that it is not for want of worth in your selves that I forbear the same for I doe ingenuously acknowledge I may justly draw your vertues into as large a Volume as any other who have beene most copious in that kinde But I for my part do hold it a labour little usefull to paint over that to make it passe for currant which doth shine most perfect in its owne colour Besides I am resolved your modest eares would be rather offended then fed with the sound of your own prayses though unfained But the chiefest aime of my desires herein is to doe you some service not flatter for assistance Therefore if upon perusall hereof if your more serious imployments will admit the same you shall reap any benefit or at least content I shall in this kind be sufficiently satisfied Only I desire that upon your judicious view hereof you would vouchsafe a favourable censure of which I am the more confident because I know you cannot expect any thing polished from a hand so uninstructed But not to be too full in a Preface to too empty a Sequell I implore your pardon and desire to be imploy'd your Servant in all humility Edward Calver To the Curteous and Capable READER REad Curteous Reader this is for thy sake Through want of knowledge thou canst not mistake And as thou canst not so my trust is built Through want of charity thou never wilt Dives VVHen I in nine moneths had through Virgo run That fruitfull signe and then appear'd a Sun Such fates might from my birth have been collected As if by noble Jupiter aspected So soon as born I had indowments faire Not only born but born my Fathers heire And eke with joy my fainting Mother smild Whose paines were turn'd so pleasure in her child Great preparation with the greatest mirth Was duly made to celebrate my birth Where I received honour with my name Grac'd by the greatest witnessing the same My parents joy with comfort joynd was such No cost was spar'd nor care was thought too much But all conduced readily to prove My earthly blisse decypherd from above Lazarus VVOe child of woe of all the world a scorn Nothing but woe appear'd when I was born Disast'rous Saturn did with Mars comply To make me wretched by nativitie Born onely born that Natures care allowd me But being born had scarce a rag to shrowd me My silly Parents sighing for reliefe One cryd for help the other wept for griefe Distressted Parents who all comfort wanted Must for my sake have now no biding granted Prodigious babe how could the world fore-see I should a burden to her greatnesse be A wretched Infant in my mothers womb But far more wretched in the world become So base yea so unworthy of a name The meanest blush to witnesse me the same The Authors Epigram MOst fatall starres if starres may fates decree Or partfull fate if fates may granted be One swims one sinckes one hath enough and more Another nothing begs from doore to doore The destinies on little Dives smile Poore Lazarus by them destin'd to exile Rich Matrons run when Dives comes to birth But cannot stir when Lazarus should come forth Dives attended in his cradle lying Poore infant Lazarus lies neglected crying Dives his Parents dear and only joy Lazarus his Parents object of annoy Dives hath dainties is in purple drest Lazarus with cold and hunger is opprest Alas poore Lazarus child of woe indeed Kind people take some pitty here is need Dives FOrth from my Nurse as weary of her charmes I view'd the world the world unclasp'd her armes And as another Mother or as kind Imbrac'd me sought to satisfie my mind She set before me all her various joyes As well jewels as her wanton toyes Set open all her Cabinets of price And shew'd me all the pleasures might intice She plaid me musick made me understand And gave me lovely Venus in my hand And when my tender spirits did decline She taught me to revive the same with wine Here I had heav'n or pleasures did excell These suted with my youthfull nature well The world allur'd my senses prov'd betray'd The world besieg'd my senses soon obey'd Lazarus VNtimely born and brought up as untaught With neither wit nor education fraught My friends full poore could little kindnesse shew me My kindred none or none at least would know me But griping hunger forc'd me to intreat The world some leave to labour for my meat For pity sake unto
DIves deny'd what Lazarus beg'd in want Dives now beg's what Lazarus must not grant Impartiall Justice dost thy hand so guide One drop of water may not fall beside Then why are we so in our hearing gul'd With the fond false enchantments of the world To stop our eares when poore men aske and know We must not beg if we will not bestow Dives in hell is now with horrour fill'd Lazarus hath musicke what the heav'ns can yield Dives hence forth shall never hear of joy Lazarus shall never hear the least annoy Let Dives then our daily warning be He once had musicke mirth as sweet as we And wisely working on examples given Let Lazarus now allure our eares to heaven Dives MY eyes which once as windowes did appear Through which the worlds polluted face seem'd cleer By which false view my most fond heart became To fall in love most deeply with the same The world indeed did so my wits surprise Its moale-hills seem'd huge mountaines in mine eies But to this casement sense of mine alas Heav'n seem'd a mote oh most deceitfull glasse But these same eyes shall so wide open'd be In hell that I shall heer be forc'd to see How they were once deluded and confesse Heav'n is the mountain earth a moale or lesse Besides my sight shall be tormented most In hell beholding hells infernall host Where I for ever one of them shall view How ugly fiends shall use that hidious crew Lazarus MY sense of sight which in me as the Sun Doth to the world did shew me what was done This sense most cleer when I on earth indur'd Was clouded most by stormes of tears obscur'd And how could I forbeare such showers to see The world in robes and none but rags for me The world in pleasure I in paine and griefe The world in plenty I without reliefe But this my sense or those my very eyes Restor'd my body when it shall arise Above all clouds shall from ecclipse be free'd All tears shall then be wip'd away indeed Then I shall in my body both behold My body more resplendent made then gold And ever view that heav'nly vision sweet Wherein conjoin'd all heav'nly joyes doe meet The Authors Epigram LAzarus on earth by earthly sorrowes driven To loath the earth did lift his eyes to heav'n We upon earth by earthly joyes inchanted Conceive no other heav'nly are not wanted Lazarus in heav'n doth now injoy that mirth Which unto heav'n he look'd for upon earth Our eyes asleep with earthly beauties lul'd Lose the Creator by the creature gul'd Dives on earth with earthly Saints in love Look'd not for objects fairer far above If we here living looke not having sight For heaven we dying shall not then have light But Dives now his cursed soule acquaints In hell with such as here he made his Saints If we hereafter better mates require We must looke here to get acquaintancâ— higher The Authors Petition to the Throne of Grace DIvinest powers thus by your aid inspir'd My restlesse muse with quenchlesse sparkles fir'd Dosts through the world each fragrant garden views And plucks those flowers she thinks most fit to use Thus safely mounted on her hovering wings I taste some sweetnesse of those higher springs Which from the pipes of sacred fountaines flow By oddes more pleasant then the streams below Thus whiles the doter upon earthy toyes Delights in trifles or more earthly joyes My thoughts are towring not downe stooping here I take my pleasure in a higher sphere Thus whiles the worldling night and day is tost To gain that wealth which must againe be lost I reap such gaine as theeves cannot betray Nor time nor fate nor tyrants take away Thus I of wealth in poverty may vant Of mentall wealth though otherwise in want But oh you Authors of divinest thrift Doe you inrich me with some further gift Thus leave me not but give me power to strive To reach a strain beyond contemplative Oh teach my heart doe that in temper bring To strike more fully on the practique string Thus give me power that I my selfe may tread Those active measures I my selfe have made That what I proffer to the publicke view May in my selfe be secretly found true Not thus with sweets fill others hands with posies And in my bosome cankers stead of Roses Not by my lines thus limit out a way For others steps and run my selfe astray But make my action such as in some part May give some life to my unpolish'd art That these my labours so may fruitfull be If not to others yet at least to me And others by that concord sweet invited Shall with the musicke be at least delighted THE PRODIGALL SONNE AND THE PITTIFVLL FATHER The second Booke The prodigall Son MY restles thoughts what move you thus to rome Why rest you not what would you doe from home What doth incite you have you found some prey Worth your adventure that you needs would stray Yes yes rich treasures are abroad no doubt My stragling thoughts have found some jewels out But I am tender travels rough and yet My skill but small for travells much unfit But wherefore should I thus restraine my will I have my portion that shall purchase skill Discreetest Fathers do not much deny We yonger Brothers should our fortunes try Besides my sailes thus fil'd with motion strong Most sweet companions do intice along With earnest proffers of an equall share In treasures pleasures and contentments rare The Pitifull Father MY Son my Son who art to me so neer And whom I tender as a child most dear What worme is crept into thy troubled head Or by what serpent art become misled Whither my child oh whither would'st thou go What is the reason thou would'st leave me so Dost thou suppose it is no griefe to me Thus of a Son to disregarded be Alas my Son thou art too yong indeed To make a venture will such danger breed What favour canst thou looke to find in lands Most strange to thee and at meere strangers hands Strange lands and people and from me as far As Egypt is or Sodoms people were Where thou shalt find thy hopes but mock'd vaine trust For freedome bondage and for fruit but dust The Authors Epigram MOst sinfull sons rebellious we below If that a son such disobedience shew A son too by the woman that is free How desperate must the feed of Hagar be Too venturous children from our Father stray To make our selves unto our fees a prey Our sin a monster but our grace a brat And yet we will be prodigall of that Our tender Father who best knows our frame Our weaknesse sees and warns us of the same We are so wilfull though most weak indeed That we will trust unto our strength that reed Our Father sees what snares abroad are laying And therefore seeks to keep t is in from straying We by the worlds alluring wiles mistooke Suck down the bait suspecting not
the hook The prodigall Son VVHat shall I doe my Fathers head doth shake Against the course I goe about to take But doth he see occasion of such care Is there such danger and I see no snare Fathers I know are fearfull and indeed Are oft more fearfull in this case then need But that is out of tendernesse and love Which sons must therefore suffer not reprove But I have found my tender Father kinde And unto pity ever much inclinde And though I some forbidden pleasure take He will not punish for compassions sake Besides my youthfull blooming years are such As doe by nature chalenge freedome much Fly then my thoughts and seise upon such prey As shall admit you pleasure in your way The pitifull Father MY tender son I see thy tempted heart I see therein how thou distemper'd art What forces fight and enemies perswade Against thy little weake resistance made I moan thy case and in a fathers care I curb thy foes and with thy weaknesse beare Yea though they sometimes in thee doe remove All filiall feare yet I have fathers love But oh my son doe not my love abuse That was the fault of the forsaken Jewes Be thou not like the spider in his looms Suck thou not poyson from these hony combs Because thou seest my tendernesse is great More apt to grant then thou art to intreat Let that not breed presumption in thy minde Not fault thee more because that I am kinde The Authors Epigram MOst tender Father gentle God indeed Whose matchlesse love doth mothers love exceed How sweetly sing'st thou with most nursing charmes To keep thy children quieted in thy armes How loath art thou to let us off thy hand Because thou seest our backwardnesse to stand And when we weake and heedlesse babes are downe Thou tak'st us up bemoan'st our sals not frowne Shall we be won then with meer toyes or worse Out of the armes of such a tender nurse Toyes proffer'd too by strangers and our foes Allure us from this bosome of repose Or yet more fond shall we our selves defile Because our nurse will wash away the soile Or worst of all for sake our loving guide Our God because we finde him slow to chide The prodigall Son NO doubt but fathers in affection burn Heat of affection into flames will turne From whence full oft though often more then needs The quenchlesse sparkes of jealousie proceeds This tender care I ought not to forget Nor will I hope in any thing is fit But sometimes pearles in fathers eyes appear But dim which are to yonger eyes most clear Those youthfull beauties objects to the eye Which aged fathers cannot well discry Could they but view them as they are no doubt They would not curbe us busi'd there about Sweet beauties faces fairer then the Sun Where stars like chrystall too and fro doe run Whence sparkes like Fayries father such a dart As flies and hits inflames and burns my heart The pitifull Father DEluded infant wilt thou be thus cheated My tender son wilt thou not be intreated Wilt thou oh wilt thou stop thy ears unto Thy tender Father listen to thy foe Can fading beauty like a bait intice Thee from thy Father and all good advice Can a meer colour and of all most fading Be in thy bosome most of all perswading My wanton son t is thou art weak of sight Thy infant eyes cannot discerne aright Thou dot'st on shells but dost the curnell lose Thou leav'st the substance dost the shadow chuse But stubborne childe although thou stop'st thy ears At my perswasions yet regard my tears Let not a fainting carefull Father weep Over a sullen carelesse son a sleep The Authors Epigram OH gracious Father can thy care be such Oh gracelesse children can we erre so much Canst thou lament when we in mirth are mad Can we be merry when thou art so sad Wilt thou pursue us when we from thee run Wilt thou thus wooe when we will not be won Shall we forsake thee who in love pursues Shall we with scorne thy tender care abuse Oh ignorant children and most apt to fall How earnest is our carefull Fathers call And yet we stray as if we were so young We did not know our tender Fathers tongue But thou our Shepheard who dost still behold Thy silly sheep thus straying from thy fold Forsake us not thus in our way mistook But bring us back though it be by thy hooke The prodigall Son YOu my companions my associates sweet Who with most courtly kinde imbraces greet With whom I count my selfe at home and best By whom my fancies are become possest What shall I doe oh doe your answer frame My carefull Father doth my courses blame He would perswade me you doe but delude And that such pleasures will with griefe conclude But sweet contentments is it so indeed Doe you betray me will you fail at need Oh tell me truly doe you but beguile Thus make me frown'd on only for a smile Sweet voice me thinks I heare you answer no You have no purpose to delude me so You will be constant and I yet shall finde Increase of pleasure greater joyes behinde The pitifull Father DIstressed Father just as Scriptures tell I brought up children and they now rebell I gave them being nurs'd them up and loe They turne their backs as soon as they can goe The savage suckling when his feet he feels Against his breeder can but turne his heels But none so savage nature never frames Such Monsters as do quite reject their dames But thou my child with whom I grieve to chide For whom I have all means of pity try'd To whom hath given a portion may suffice On whom hath labour'd that thou might'st be Wise Wilt thou revolt art thou so simple grown To seek for wisdome having lost thine owne At strangers counsell and besides of those Which are me or cheaters and thy chiefest foes The Authors Epigram MOst sad relation from the savage 〈◊〉 True births appear but monsterous sons of men Of men oh most depraved natures rod But what is this then monsterous sons of God Most holy Father from whose streams we know The least corruption can not ever flow How canst thou looke downe as a Father milde Vpon such sons thus by our selves defil'd Defil'd indeed we must be so reputed How can we chuse who joyne with the polluted The sinâ—st piece doth soonest take a staine The fairest colour shewes a scar most plaine But why doe we so low polluted ly And can derive a pedigret so high Meer beasts doe not beneath their nature fall Can we be most degenerate of all The prodigall Son VVEll I must travell I must crosse the Seas My awfull father is too hard to please His age so much civility requires That he forgets what tender youth desires Perhaps if I were further off imploy'd My Father would be nearer pacifi'd Or at the least wise then his frequent checks Should not my youthfull disposition vex Come
then companions let us get on boord Whiles tyde doth opportunity affoord And safely sally on the Ocean flood With sailes all spreading whiles the winds are good That we thus surg'd on Neptunes billows soon May passe through those dominions of the Moon Arriving at those Indian banks of treasure The shoares of sweet security and pleasure The pitifull Father VNhappy childe now what means all this speed What art for Tarsus wilt thou flee indeed Wilt thou be so deluded art so blinde Canst thou forsake thy Father in this kinde Oh how have I offended thee my son What wrong or what unkindnesse have I done Or rather what most fatherly endeavour Have I left undone to protect thee ever Only with gentle admonitions due Drawne from the center of affection true I labour'd to reduce thee in thy way Who art thus subject to be led astray Remember Jonach in the raging deep When once he was awaked out of sleep How was his soule tormented with the woe His wilfull straying then had brought him to The Authors Epigram MOst loving Father dost thou thus perswade Poore dust and ashes which thy hands have made Dost thou thus draw us with thy cords of love Who might'st most justly with a rod reprove Thou with one touch canst crumble downe this frame Our wals of clay to rubbish Whence they came And in an instant utterly subvert The most rebellious castle of the heart Shall we poore children then who cannot stand Resist thy just and fatherly command Thy gracious will most willingly resist Who at thy will can scourge us as thou list Nay yet more heavy when thou seemst to hide Thy grievous rod nay griev'st that thou must chide Shall we then for that plaster make a sore Because thou favour'st we offend the more The prodigall Son MOst pleasant course oh with what winged motion On this indented pavement of the Ocean Glide we along Or rather swiftly run As mounted in the chariots of the Sun Successive sure no expectation fails Most prosp'rous windes doe fill our lofty sails The ayre is gentle and our vessell strong All promising a happy shoare ere long A happy shoare indeed oh see behold Are yonder not the hils where men dig gold Sure yes the same let downe your plumets sound The banks appeare where pleasures do abound Come then some skilfull Pilot with your oares And tole us in unto your happy shoares Your flowry banks sufficiently declare What sweet contentments in your confines are The pitifull Father FOrsaken Father is my son on float Now whither will he in his cockle boat What fatall winde doth now thus constant wait To transport such a transpossessed fraight Unhappy voyage it must needs be so Where head-strong will doth heedlesse master go The ship the shell of reasons fraile fore-cast Fond sense the sailes and most proud flesh the mast The seas the streams of sensuall pleasures flowing The winds untam'd affections strongly blowing False Syrens charm'd security the calme Blind judgement Pilot Satan steers the helme The haven where to this vessell makes this speed Is hells owne channell though not hell indeed The seeming pleasures which are thence accruing Conclude in sorrow if not utter ruine The Authors Epigram Most prudent Father who dost thus disclose The sublile malice of our secret foes Our inbred traitors joyn'd with Satans force To hale us on in a rebellious course How justly might'st thou in our straying leave us Or over-boord with stray Jonah heave us And make us who will here not hear thy call Cry out unto thee in the boyling Whale Oh foolish children yea inchanted we Who in this danger will no danger see But rather doe endeavour yea devise To cherish these our chiefest enemies Our wils are stubborne and we will resist Our reason blinded and we love the mist Our hearts unjust and we delight deceit Our eyes are wanton and we lay a bait The prodigall Son MOst pleasant borders where am I on shore Your sands are silver banks are golden oare The gates within your marble wals are those Which open to the gardens of repose No other sure then Paradice below See heere what various fruits of pleasure grow How full with clusters doth the tender vine About the trees of golden Apples twine Under whose shadowes as most pleasant bowers Doth safely sit the choice of beauties flowers Whose sweet perfumes and colours of delight To highest raptures of content invite Are Edens pleasures greater or so much Most pretious fruits may I presume to touch Your lovely beauties do with smiles expresse Your gentle natures will afford no lesse The pitifull Father DEluded child of judement thus depriv'd And duty voyd where art thou now arriv'd Just on the banks of flowing Nilus cast Where thou shalt woefull bondage find at last Those grapes thou dot'st on yield but dreggs of wine Whereon thou drinking mak'st thy selfe a swine Those golden Apples but the Serpents baite Which proffer pleasure but performe deceit Those blazing beauties which thou think'st such stars Are but meere flames to brand thy soule with scars Those flowers of pleasure which do so perswade Intice to ruine and most quickly fade Those freedomes which thou dost presume on there Are under Pharaoh or the King of Sear Whose fairest speech and sweetest smiles are all But nets to draw thee to perpetuall thrall The Authors Epigram FOreseeing Father who dost thus discerne Thy childrens follies and dost thus fore-warn How justly art thou in thy justice freed If mercy will not move us to take heed Can can a Father seeing in this kinde Have children which are altogether blinde No no we from thee do derive such light As can by no means be extinguish'd quite What then oh what then so obscures those raies We grope in darknesse thus at high-noon dayes Surely oh surely it comes thus to passe Our eyes those casements are inchanted glasse Through which we are deluded in our sight Or else our understanding is not right Both sure abus'd our judgement is defeated By sense our sense by false appearance cheated The prodigall Son FAint heart what fail'st canst thou dejected be Revive thy spirits pleasures here are free Seest thou not how they flourish in this I le As if they would intice thee with a smile When sweet contentment no desire restraines Shalt thou be bashfull give desire the raines Thou sit'st as Queen within my tender breast What fate shall then thy awfull force resist Call home thy thoughts then which are gone astray Rouze thy affections here is richest prey And let it in this Paradise be seen By thy attendance that thou art a Queen A Queen then thou may'st questionlesse command No subject may a Sovereigne pow'r withstand Then like a Princesse keep thy foes in awe And take thy pleasure make thy will thy law The pitifull Father SAd Father thus inforced to bewray A sons rebellion running thus astray Can you suppose I without griefe can see Or tell these sorrows no it cannot be He
now may thinke he being now remote He now unseen may set his shell on float Let loose affection and unlimit will But I with sorrow do behold him still I see the bondage of his better part By giving power unto his wanton heart I see the thraldomes of his heart beside By making of his stubborne will its guide I see how vain the worthlesse pleasures be For which he gives away his heart from me I see how those his pleasures doe deprave him In those indowments I his Father gave him The Authors Epigram MOst gentle Father tender hearted God What mother like thee could forbear the rod Thou dost in bowels of compassion yern When we run from thee and will not returne Shall we then desperate we without remorse Run headlong still in a rebellious course Can any childe those pearly drops despise Who sees the tears stand in his fathers eyes Oh senslesse creatures silly children right Who having goe out of our fathers sight Doe thinke our selves then most secure when we Poore infants then in greatest danger be In greatest danger it must needs be so When we lye open to the greatest foe The heavy sequels are full sad bewraying The wofull dangers of a wilfull straying The prodigall Son YOu flowing pleasures which like streames distill From purest fountaines let me drinke my fill I tast your sweetnes and it gives delight Oh let me fully take my appetite Your taste reviveth more then Phaebus beames How happy is he bathes him in these streames These streames which so refresheth with a tast Here let me swim or let me wade at least Sweet currents viewing of whose flowing tide Sits glorious Flora in her blooming pride About whose beds of roses fresh and greene Sits beauties Nimphs attiring with their Queen Is here not heaven or Paradice below The garden where the fruits of pleasure grow And these the Angels or the Saints most dear Which I should honour if not worship here The pitifull Father PRodigious sure had ever father child Became so vain unnaturall defil'd My Son hath now no thought at all of me He quite forgets how tender Parents be But can a childes forgetfullnesse be such And Parents never-resting care so much My heart is heavy and my hands I wring His heart is merry he doth laugh and sing Nay yet more desperat he doth now indeavour To leave me quite to cast me off for ever And will have new affinity new Father New gods indeed or cursed Idols rather Oh most perverse I shall I with favour yet Remember him who doth me thus forget Can sparks from such a quenched coale revive Abused patience thus for ever strive The Authors Epigram MOst constant Father who art still most stable Though we thy children be most variable Wert thou like us to restles change inclind There were no hope that we should pardon find But howsoever we unto our shame Are still transported thou art still the same But can we careles children be declind Thus from a Father thus for ever kind Thus kind indeed when we offend he grieves When we do want he presently releeves Nay when we urge him to revoke his will He then takes pity and is patient still Most gratious Father but most graceles we Shall such a Father without honour be Shall we for ever thus bis patience urge Most tender Fathers may be forc'd to scourge The Prodigall Son MY ravish'd thoughts here take your fill in pleasure For here is fulnesse here is ample measure Here nothing wants here nothing is restrain'd No coynes found nor kindnes shown disdain'd Here beauty burnish'd in virmilion glowes Whose beams dart lightning from most youthful browes Oh let me take the comfort of this fire These flames consume not but do feed desire Most pretious jewels what rare prize is here Such pearles as these cannot be bought too deer Shall I be sparing of a little drosse To purchase jewells oh it were too grosse Cheer then my thoughts and usher in content What gives more courage then a free consent The prey is certain be but you on wing Such pleasant pastime fits our cheerfull spring The pitifull Father DEluded child whose heart is gon a stray Needs must his sences then be led away For this must by necessity appear The fountaine foule the streame cannot be cleer Are all my gentle admonitions vaine My teares too fruitlesse will no meanes restraine But yet unmoved but rebellious still Rebellion is like witchcraft or more ill What shall I do who have thus kindly don Shall I be forced to reject a Son And with more sorrow quite forsake infine A Son so neer and naturally mine Oh what a burden doth a Father beare To what a straite am I inforc'd with care To lose a member is a griefe but sure To lose a Son what Father can indure The Authors Epigram MOst tender Father pitifullest nurse Most stubborne we whom pity make the worse Thou sooth'st and singst us proffer'st us the brest We turne we spurne and frowardly resist Thou seek'st with patience to reclaime us still We seeke the more to have our froward will Thou shak'st thy rod but shak'st to give a stroke We shake not but thy shaking hand provoke Thy heart is moved at our desperat course Our hearts unmoved are without remorse Thou sighing saist must I reject a Son We laugh and sing and further from thee run Kind Father canst thou thus keepe natures lawes And can no law no bridle hold our jawes Wert thou not certaine in thy love begun Vncertaine we were certainly undone The prodigall Son OH Sweet what rare felicity is here Where nought offends where all things fit appear Where natures shop full furnisht with supply Stands alwaies open to the passers by My thoughts what thinke you of these streames so cleere My senses can you not suck hony here Affections can you here not feed desire And with contentment to the heart retire Here are the beds where sweetest roses grow Here are the bancks where purest streames do flow Here are the only instruments of mirth Here are the only jewels upon earth My stragling thoughts then here set up your stay My striving senses seek no richer prey Affections here your fancies may be quieted My tender heart then rest thou here delighted The pitifull Father DIsquieted yea discourag'd Father what All duty yea humanity forgot Are all those neere relations now exil'd Betweene the tender parent and the child Transformed children may become thus strange But Parents love is not so apt to change Although my Son can with his Father part Yet this word Son comes neer my tender heart Oh careles child a very child indeed But children will be childish without heed But Parents are by laws of justice tide If fair meanes faile to use the rod and chide Then let me leave no meanes unsought to gain A child thus lost though faire meanes be in vain And chiding fruitlesse yet his stubborn heart Will yeeld it may be when he
feeles it smart The Authors Epigram HArd hearts of ours where nothing will indent At least no faire meanes but are like the flint Whose fire wil by no gentle blowing burn But struck with force will into sparkles turn Is there such marble in our bosomes heel'd As must be hamer'd or it will not yeeld Or in the same such Adamant indeed As cannot be dissolved till we bleed Oh thou most skilfull Alchymist of all Who canst extract pure hony out of gall Oh make thy knowledge here be understood Dissolve this stone thou hast the only blood But were the hardnes of our hearts so great They would not soften yet thou canst creat Then either do thy art of working shew In melting these or making of them new The prodigall Son FAir Phaebus rights darke shut in shop adorning By setting ope the windowes of the morning What glorious objects drest against I rise Prepar'st thou to salute my waking eies Resplendent beauties which do shine so bright Got from beneath the Canopie of night Vouchsafe a blessing from your lips which may Fore-tell successe for the succeeding day You almost Angels may I not adore you Let no displeasure draw a vaile before you Your piercing beauties like Cupids pow'rfull dart Shot through mine eies not wound but warm my heart But what begin you to withdraw your rayes As though black fate envy'd my happy dayes Accurst be the occasion that shall shrow'd Such Suns by day such beauties in a cloud The pitifull Father OH what an endles travell is our care When children borne are yet againe to bear When we welform'd have brought them forth they then Transforme to monsters when they should be men From which prodigious nature to reduce Or change those formes made naturall by use We finde more hard and tedious then the smart Of first producing and more neer the heart So soone as forth the potters hand they fall Oh feeble clay which cannot stand at all And being down have no desire to rise But sleep like swine in most polluted sties But can a child of mine thus blinded keep Or shall I let him thus for ever sleep No let me rather with the rod reprove Correction sometimes doth make way for love The Authors Epigram OH foolish children why are we thus idle Why give we thus our vain desires the bridle Our fancies fond with shadows thus fulfill To lose the substance of our Fathers will Can we account a Fathers kindnes slight Who doth thus tender-fatherly invite Or shall we prize his patrimony poore Who to bestow hath infinit in store No no we cannot but confesse t is known Our Fathers love doth far exceed our own His portions laid up for each child a part Ten thousand times exceed each childs desert What then can move us to neglect so much A Father tender having riches such Who labours thus unto us to convay A state which never never shall decay The prodigall Son OH what a cloud is this which doth appeare Which darkens thus my day which was so cleer Can such a sun-shine be obscur'd so soone Shall night incroch upon my day at noone Late smiling fate beginst thou now to frown As if thou didst intend to throw me down Dost thou who seem'd so sure begin to reele Wilt thou in thy displeasure turne thy wheele Oh you my pleasures and contentments sweet Which did with such most kind imbraces greet Will you now fold your late unfolded armes Becoming churlish who bewitch'd with charmes But you faire faces natures choycesti art Whose tender beauties shew a gentle heart Can you prove cruell do you too seeme nice Will you reject now who did late intice The pitifull Father HArke harke methinks I heare my straved Son Begins to lose the pleasure he had won Those painted outsides of delight begin To let him see they are deceit within Deceit indeed which is but made to shine With the meer drosse and refuse of good coyâ—â— Which worthlesse gilding being worne away It shewes how painted shadowes do betray My blinded child doth now begin to view Those pleasures false he once accounted true And to his shame and sorrow may conclude They did but at the best of all delude But let them mock and more deride him yet Him thus befooling they may teach more wit He on them hath so deeply set his love It will not without violence remove The Authors Epigram OH blinded reason and corrupted stain Of once pure nature now exceeding vain Can we rest captive in this base subjection Thus live in thraldome to untam'd affection We read of strangers and meer bondmen too Who conquer'd passion could that wonder do And shall we children and by birth made free In bondage thus to brutish passion be But shall we then take pleasure in this thrall And count it sweetest liberty off all And will not without violence be freed Oh this is sordid slavery indeed And yet these are the heavy chaâ—â—â—s we beare We gon astray are taken in this snare Within which mill we by deceit made blind Do like most grosse contented Assesgrind The prodigall Son BUt you the objects of my youthfull joy Who thus would try me by your being coy You have my heart then do not thus persist But smile agine you need not be in jeast The fountaine of my love doth overflow Which jeasted at will quickly jealous grow Then be not coy but smile and coole that smart Before it workes combustion in my heart But what still frowne you and yet answer no Can you thus leave me will you gull me so Have I prefer'd you above heav'n oh vaine And will you now require me with disdaine You that have pluck'd the blossomes of my youth Will you with falshood now requite my truth You that have suck'd my fountaine of supply Can you now scorne me having suck'd it dry The pitifull Father So so my Son doth now begin to prove Those courses vaine I told him of in love He thought my counsell then might slighted be But now he findes what I did then fore-see Rash headed youth presuming on their skill Will take their course against their parents will As if they thought their wisedomes were the best Who silly soules with folly are possest My Son upon my Fatherly advice Did turn his back as too severe or nice But now he doth to his confusion find That Fathers see when foolish Sons are blind But as he left me and would have his will So let me let him strugle with it still No meanes doth more reclaime a child resisting Then to be whip'd with cords of his own twisting The Authors Epigram OH thou our God and Father too most just Who gav'st us all our being out of dust And having fram'd us by thy matchles skill Dost like a Father nurse and feed us still How full of wonder finde we all thy deeds And yet thy kindnesse most of all exceeds How could'st thou else so full of pitty be To children so undutifull as
we Thou canst give quailes if we stand need of meat And thereby too canst teach us how to eate And when we have the baits of pleasure took Canst thereby curb us when we feele the hook Oh thou who canst bring day thus out of night And make our shadowes vanish with the light Make thou who thus discover'st all deceit The hooke appeare before we take the bait The prodigall Son OH most unhappy miserable wretch Whom most false joyes most deeply did bewitch False joyes indeed I may most truly say Which did but smile upon me to betray Those my companions who when I had store I made most now mock me being poore My late full cheekes which were delighted in Proud beauty scornes by sicknes now made thin Most desperat wretch to whom shall I betake me When those I thought my dearest friends forsake me And cursed pleasures I may call them so Which thus infine take pleasure in my woe I now want food who food abus'd of late Which want with sicknesse doth my strength abate Distressed creature thus inforc'd infine To want the husks which are bestow'd on swine The pitifull Father THere there my rod begins my child to bleed It is not matter make it smart indeed And yet I trust thy stroaks may be the lesse Because he is already in distresse Nor can I thus return him his desert And rest my selfe unfeeling of the smart For howsover I might be in mood I would not give one stroak but for his good But he hath been unruly make him â—ame And make him likewise to confesse the same Yet be not rough though he hath badly done He is though a rebellious yet a Son But oh he hath forgot his Father quite But oh that was but childish oversight Yet touch him till he thinke on me again That yerk I know will not be given in vain The Authors Epigram MEere Prodigalls we must that title grant Who in our plenty never thinke of want But winde up from the Cistern of our store Till silly Asses we can wind no more But when we find by making of this speed Our buckets doe come empty up at need We then can see but not till then alas What too rash drawing brings too soone to passe Then then when it is almost then too late We can accuse our courses curse our fate And curse those pleasures causes of our care Which once we thought the only joyes that were But oh how watchfull is our Fathers eye To make a vertue of necessitie Who when we fooles have thus our selves undon Doth like a Father there by call a Son The prodigall Son ALL wanton youth take warning by my woes And see in me the summe of vaine repose Which like a bud frost bitten ere it bloomes Appeares but unto no perfection comes All earthly pleasures are but like a bubble Straight turn to nothing which were rais'd with trouble The fairest faces soonest change their dye The sweetest charmers are most apt to lye Thus mov'd with sorrowes I may tell the same And make the world take notice of my shame But till I had experience of this woe No meanes could make me think it would be so But now I think upon my Father here Whose fore-sight now I find exceeding cleere He often told me and with many a teare What would befall but then I would not heare The pitifull Father HArk hark again what voyce is this I heare Is this which makes such musick in my eare Which thus tunes Father hath my Son that strain Is he restor'd unto that life again He which indeed was dead and bury'd deep In grave-like grosse security asleep Hath that lost child the name of Father found Can he that heav'n awaking trumpet sound And can I stop my eare then to his voice Where at the heav'ns inhabitants rejoyce Reject an infant calling upon me That am his Father no it cannot be Nor can he be more ready to declare His wants in calling then I am to heare Though I indeed might justly make him steep His eyes in teares who would not see me weep The Authors Epigram MOst carefull Father but most careles we Who are most blind in what thou dost fore-see Thou knowst our folly we will trust our skill Thou wouldst direct us we will have our will Thou see'st our danger we are therein blind Thou dost bemoane us we are not so kind Thou still giv'st warning still we give no care Thou dost allure us but we will not heare Thou shew'st the rod we at such shadowes scoffe Thou shak'st the same we shake the danger off Thus urg'd thou strik'st we strive to have our will Thou strik'st again we strugle with thee still At length thou wound'st we then begin to fall Thou wound'st more deep we then dear Father call Thou hear'st our cry we yeeld to thy command Thou burn'st the rod we feel thy stroaking hand The prodigall Son POore silly Pilgrim by deceit betray'd Thus from my Country and my Father stray'd Where I in plenty might have been secure I here undone must slavery indure Oh heavy yoak intolerable weight Are these the chaines so gilded by deceit Which seem'd to proffer liberties so sweet But now become such fetters to my feet Poore captive thus in miserable need Whiles poorest servants of my Fathers feed Oh now how happy should I think my state Were I but servant where a Son of late But I for ever justly am exil'd But justice ties no Father from his child But I have plaid the rebell prov'd no Son But rebells yeelding have some favour won The pitifull Father MY Son my Son repentant sighs are loud I heare thy voice though from beneath a cloud No distance place nor darknesse can deny My speedy hearing when my children ery T is true my Son t is true I do confesse I might insult now thou art in distresse But thus to heare thee thus far homward brought Doth banish all displeasure from my thought Returne returne then linger not the time Thy recantation shall acquit thy crime I do receive such losses as my gaine I take no pleasure to prolong thy paine Thou only beg'st to have a bondmans place I do not do my children that disgrace Then feare not Fathers joy in such returnes Distrust disheartens where affection burnes The Authors Epigram MOst gentle Father pitifull indeed Thy heart is wounded when our hearts do bleed And yet most wounded then when thou dost see Our hearts so hard they will not wounded be We from thee run thou callst us back againe We are undone yet thou dost not disdaine Thou giv'st that motion to return we lack And yet with praise dost crown our coming back Oh thou that dost thus Fatherly respect And workest both the will and the effect Make us more able to return at least Make us more willing when thou dost assist Thou art the potter we are but the clay Thou art the Shepheard we the sheep astray Though we be vain yet lose
not thou thy cost Though we be stray'd yet do not see us lost The prodigall Son FAther dear Father I would utter fain But feare doth that word Father dear restrain Father I faine would have my grievance shown But oh I am asham'd to make it known But it is fit I should confesse the same But thou canst take no pleasure in my shame Thy greatnesse doth in robes of glory shine Then canst thou looke upon such raggs as mine But why should I these troubled Seas propound I sayling in whose surges must be drownd Why feare I thus the fetters which inthrall me When thus my Father doth from prison call me Thy call deare Father cannot but suffice To shake off all my shackls bolts and tyes Then at thy call which thus doth call for speed I come to meet thee trusting to be freed The pitifull Father VVElcome my Son thrice welcome i' st not meet Thou shouldst bee welcom'd with imbraces sweet Thou who wert lost and now art found remain Thou who wert dead and art alive againe Long have I long'd for this thy safe return Whereat my bowells of compassion yern Why shak'st thou then why blushest being poore Thy feare is past thou shalt have raggs no more Revive my Son be cheerfull then my child And cease thy sorrowes I am reconcil'd Oh let those teares be taken from thine eyes They stir the Fountaine where compassion lyes Come tast my dainties I have choicest fare And sweetest musick to delight thy eare This is my pleasure I will have it done In spite of envy for thou art my Son The Authors Epigram THou Father of all fatherly respects Whose pittie this all parents thus directs What duty then for this thy kindnesse shown Is due to thee from children of thine own Most happy children happy we indeed Whose Fathers kindnes doth thus far exceed Who when our follies in our faces flying Returns us weeping scekes to still our crying Oh then how silly sensles I may say Are we if we from such a Father stray Can all the worth can in the world appear Make us set light a Fathers love so dear But then shall trifles shall meer painted toyes Shadowes of pleasures and but dreames of joyes Or ought detaine us that shall labour for it From such a Father let us Sons abhor it Let us not seeking lose our selves to gain Such husks abroad and may at home have graine An Epitome FAther I have offended but alas Shame stops my voice here will not let it passe Son cease thy sorrow let my joyes appease thee T is not thy teares but thy return that please me Father but canst thou thus be pleas'd with me Who have thus sin'd both against heav'n and thee Son this thy sin is vanish'd as lamented I take delight to pardon sin repented Father but such offenders are too base To raign as Sons grant me a servants place Son know my Servants are as sons to me So highly honour'd all my Saints shall be Father then let me be for ever bound To serve where service is such freedom found Son welcome Son no bondman thou shalt be But shalt inherit with my Sons made tree Free then indeed when the testator lives To make that freedome certain which he gives BREATHINGS After DIVINE AYRE The third Booke The foolish man hath said in his heart tush there is no God Psal. 14. 1. Desires of ayde MOst gracious God and yet a God most meeke Above the heav'ns yet stoup'st to earth below Beyond our reatch yet giv'st us leave to seek past our conceit yet wouldst have us to know To seeke and know thee as thou dost appeare But further knowledge is not granted here As then we ought not to presume to pry Into those secrets must be yet conceal'd So thou hast given us licence yea a tye To seeke and know thee as thou art reveal'd Oh let me read thee in thy copies then But stay my thoughts where thou hast stay'd thy pen Thy largest booke is in thy works indented Thy lesser copy in our soules ingraven Thy sacred volumes are the Scriptures printed Thy secret lines are sent by grace from heaven Which secret lines Lord center in my breast Those are the keyes to open all the rest I do confesse that I am much unfit To pry into thy Mysteries Divine Besides the starres will not of sparks admit To zoare into those circles where they shine Though thou the Sun from whence those starres have light Disdain'st not sparks but mak'st them burn more bright Oh then thou Sun yea light it selfe indeed Who dost not quench muchles disdainst the same The smoking flax nor break'st the brused reed Turn thou my spark into so pure a flame As may both warme my chilled soule within And burst out to the light of other men Thou dost confound things mightie by the weake Out of the mouths of babes ordainest praise Mak'st the unlearned yea the dumb to speake Rejectest none but who rejects thy waies That hate to be reform'd Lord helpe me here And in my weaknesse let thy strength appeare Breathings after Divine Ayre EArth stand amazed stand amaz'd and move And be you heav'ns astonished above A man and yet no maker hells abisse Yea tremble earth and heav'n and hell at this Superiour powers who fram'd this matchlesse frame This man and form'd your Image in the same What fretting time or what infernall powers Have rac'd or thus defac'd that worke of yours You made him holy he defiles his race You gave him honour he hath lost that grace You lent him knowledge he abus'd that light Yours by creation he denies you quite Unhappie chance unhappie change alas What brought this most unhappie change to passe Who turn'd this perfect good to perfect evill But he that turn'd from Angell to a divell That hatefull hurtfull enemy indeed Who whiles man slept cast tares amongst the seed Or rather only in that peece of clay Cast tares and stole the pretious seed away Presumptuous theefe and enemy to man Whose hidious theft in heav'n above began He there aspir'd to steale from the most high And there most justly rob'd himselfe thereby For this his fact thrown down from heav'n to hell He lost himselfe and maker as he fell And ever since his restlesse selfe hath tost To steale from man what he by stealing lost But silly man shall such a hatefull foe Rob thee of God prevaile upon thee so Shall hells black vapours so thy soule benight To put out of thee all celestiall light But sensles man or rather savage beast Canst thou thus at the God-head make a jeast The fiends in hell more fealtie declare For they confesse there is a God and feare Oh horid hellish blasphemy or worse The damn'd in hell deny not God though curse And such as here against him dare dispute Shall find hereafter hell will them confute But silly man or monster of that name In mind a monster though a man in frame Resolve this