writ in teares Each sillable each accent should afford Plenteous expression as the fullest word Of â—â—ple and unforc'd laments till all I write attend upon thy Funerall As Epice les till every accenâ— be An Epitaph each word an Elegie And wer 't not for the life of this thy Booke Which gives me hopes all life has not forsooke Thy much lov'd Memory I like thee should grow Ashes and never henceforth strive to know â—ifes painted glories but to injoy thee come â—ith eager hast into Elysium But this faire Off-spring of thy fancy which Is great in jâ—â—gement in Invention rich Makes me behold thee glorious and I view By intelâ—â—ctuall eyes in it thy true Vnsâ—ained Idea from her spicie pile â—â—e nâ—w borne Phenix rises to beguile the amazed spectators whose admiring frame the old ones figure and beleeve 't the same â—his difference 'twixt thy Booke and thee must bâ—e â—hou di'dst with it and now it lives for thee H. S. Vieâ— of thy shining and illustrious wit Where all the precious attributes are writ That might adorne thy youth or adde true grace To thy lamented Memorie the face Of the bright rising Sun so fresh appeares When strait t is drown'd in heavens orâ—estowing teares As did thy wit which like a comet gave A suddnime flash then vanished to a grave Where we thy friends and I among the rest As a chiefe mourner in the Ensignes drest Of hearty sorrow sadly seeke to pay This as a gratefull tribute to thy bay Which being watred with our briny dew Shall still spring up more flourishing and new Till in thy Booke thy blest memoriall bee As is thy soule fraught with eternitie And Beedom shall survive in it with glory It being his owne accomplisht perfect story R. W. On the Memory of his most Ingenious friend Master Thomas Beedome and his Poems SO many great names fixt before thy Booke It cannot Beedome now descend to looke For my more humble straines but love in Art Is not compris'd its Mansion is the heart And a small graine of incense which is given With a pure zeale sure better pleaseth heaven Then a vast pile of rich Sabean gums Or Altars smoaking with fat Hecatoms From feignd devotion I must therefore say All that my infant Muse now strives to pay Vnto thy worke shall onely boast to be A sacrifice to thy lov'd memorie Nor doe I hope as others to adorne With my quaint lines thy Booke mine were but borne As subjects to thy worth from whence they strive Their utmost fame and glory to derive Their sole ambition being to attend Thee with the true devotions of a friend Though for thy death I grieve for this I joy That thy faire issue lives which to destroy Time is unable for thy name shall have A glorious life and tryumph ore thy grave J. S. Elegie on his Ingenious friend the deserving Author Master Thomas Beedome HOw silent are the groves No aire doth move To make the boughs each other kisse in love Nor doe the leaves as they had jealous feares Whisper into each others joyning eares Vpon the branches perch no airie quires Whose untaught musicke art it selfe admires And by an imitation of those notes Strain'd from the slender Organes of their throats Adds to it selfe perfection and thereby Shewes natur's weake to artfull industry The listning heard their quicke sense doe apply Not to the wonted use of eare or eye As when harmonious ecchoes doe invite Attention both to wonder and delight All creatures have their act'â—e motiâ—n left As if an apoplexie had berefâ— Their Limbes of use and time meant to conclude His being in a gâ—nerall solitude Such great effects great causes cannot misse And both are â—quall both aâ—ke in this Not Winteâ—s Isâ—e band the câ—illy birth Of blâ—â—ke North-winds hâ—ve gray'd the verdant earth Or shorne the trees eronnes mâ—king them looke old Nor are the tunefull birds grownâ— hoarse with cold But Beedome losse hath wonne on their consent To share a voluntary punishment The Aire in boistrous gustsâ— the stout Oke bends And his large spreading armes from th' body râ—nds That groâ—ne for Beedome as they fall away Who in his barke carv'd many a learned lay The birds are voicelesse 'cause they cannot heare The wonted musicke of his well-inn'd spheare Whence they derive our skill knowing naâ—uâ—e can Lesse wonder shew in them then Art in man For him sense-grieved beasts sad mourners be By an instinct or hidden Sympathie And had all-changing time heard Beedome sing He would have knowne no season but the Spring Nor would he sure have suffered death to be Iudge in the cause of his mortalitie But have repriev'd his lov'd parts from the Bar Till by translation they were made a Star Muses unite your tearâ—s now he is gone With them creating a new Helicon Whose streames may the defect of yours supply Which Beedome whilst he liv'd dranke almost dry And by the power of his owne active fire Sublim'd to that your selves may well admire Which to his vertue jâ—yn'd conclude him thus Still lâ—ving through them both to heaven and us Tho. Nabbes In obitum Lachrymabilem Thomas Beedome nuper defuncti et in praeclara ingenii sui Monumenta jam primum edita SIccine crudeli cecidisti morte peremptus siccine in extremos juslus es ire rogos Et vix ingressus teneros lanuginis annos Corruis ante diem blande Bedome tuum Quid iuvat ut tremulis cecinisti docta Camaeâ—is â—aâ—mina Threiciae digna legenda lyrae Quiâ—ne quod auricomum cinxisset pennula frontem Vâ—brassâ—â—que tuas laurus amica gâ—nas Omnia cum nostri sint haec monumenta doloris Quantaque virtus erat tantus eritque dolor Sic in Eâ—lthreo pretiosam littore concham Cum perdat Lachâ—ymis prostruit Indus humum Siâ—qâ—e super tumulum plorantia lumina salsis Opprimimus fluviis noxque fit atradles 〈◊〉 tamen irriguis guttas solâ—amus oâ—ellis Curve slâ—it gemitus noster ab ore citus Tene peâ— altithroni sequerentur gaudia luctus Tere peâ— astriâ—eram quaereret unda domum Non pâ—it assiduos sanctorum mansio planctus Convenit haud liquidis stamiseâ— ignis aquis Non opus interea est tantam destere ruinam Opprimet et tantum multa runia virum I nunc magniâ—icos jactato tyranne triumphos Mors et depictis pende trophoea tholis Quam fragiles ictus contemptibilesque sagittae Sunt nec vulneribus laedis ut ante tiuis Dulcisoquis volutans juvenis super aethera scriptis Vivit in aurato nomen opusque libro Atque triumphales redimunt sua tempora vittae Victor adest mortis fame perennâ—s erit Vivit enim certi Immutato pectore amici Nec potuit tumulo nobiliore frul Henry Glapthorne Elegie on the death of his ingenious friend the deserving Author Mastâ—r Thomâ—s Beedome ONce I resolv'd a silence was coment With the rare Fabricke â—f thy Monument View'd it compleat how every
friend had strove T' exceed each other in a zealous loâ—e To thy blest memory and I smilâ—d to see Thy name thus rapâ—in immortalitie Yet paydâ—the 〈◊〉 tribute teares let fall As numerous drops at thy sad Funerall As did that friend whose pregnant Muse dares vie With griefe it selfe to weepe thy Eleâ—ie Yet durst not write my jealousie was such It wisely prompt me I should wrong too much Thy greater meritâ— had me rather mourne In griefe lov'd silence ore thy quiet urne Which I had done had I not seem'd to heare Once at the offering of a tribute teare To thy lov'd ashes a strange murmuring breath Breake forth from the still tenement of death Thy dismall grave and in a Language full Of incens'd anger vow to disanâ—â—ll All former friendship if I should denie Mongst other friends to write thy Elegie When thus ambiguous twixt my love and feares I vented thisâ— attended with my teares Strong course of Fate could he whose generous quill Bestow'd a life on others which else still Had Laine death's ruines die himselfe could he Whose powerfull Art spight of sterne destinie Broake up forgotten Monumentsâ— and made The intomb'd Heroes live againe that swaide Ore others Fates yet could this halfe-god â—â—eepe Into a grave and in cold Marble sleepe What tribe of Angels did invite thee hence Their glorious guest If not what curst offence Hath fond earth given thee That thou needs must â—â—tye So young from us to heavens eternitie Or did thy precious soule shake off its clay Cause nought below was worthy of her stay And being matchlesse here did upward move There to be rank'd with equall Saints above Sure thus it was and undeserving we May tax our merit not thy destinie Yet glorious Beedome though each friend appeares Almost thy Emblem made so by his teares For thy lamented losse yet when we looke On this immortall child of wit thy booke Smiles from our â—hâ—ekes all suner all teares doe drive Seeing in it thy fame shall ever live Time and thy Memory which no fate can sever Shall last like ages both conclude together Em. D. On the Poems of the Author his deare Brother Master Thomas Beedom deceased SIlence would best become me and I feare I spoile the consort by intrusion heere T is true I need not adde unto his praise Nor bring my sprig to complement his bayes But that the neerenesse of our birth and name Calls me to sticke my pinion to his fame Then Reader know we have not us'd our brains To usher in absurd uncivill straines Such as might pale the Paper blacke the Inke And cause the ghost of our dead friend to shrinke When judgements eye his Poems shall diseâ—rne No no t is otherwise here thou mayst learne Thy morall duty and it will appeare Mâ—yst please thy God as well as please thine eare He needs must say that will his worth commend He was an Academie in his friend And ready was requested to supply His need with soule or bodies remedy Fran. Beedome THE IEALOUS LOVER OR THE CONSTANT MAID Written by T. B. Sat est pro laude Voluptas LONDON Printed by E. P. for Iohn Sweeting and are to be sold at his Shop at the signe of the Angel in Popes-head-Alley neer Cornhill 1641. THE AUTHOR TO the READER WHen Johnson Drayton and those happier men That can drop wonders from their fluent Pen Have with their miracles of Poetry Feasted thy eares and satisfi'd thy eye Then turne aside and 'mongst the vulgar things Place what my new-borne Muse abruptly sings Which though it be but meane as t is confest 'T hath ventured hard to please thee since t is prest If thou smile on it I shall thinke my braine Hath labour'd for this issue not in vaine If otherwise thou doe contemne my layes My pleasur 's more to me then all thy praise Sat est pro laude Voluptas Vale THOMAS BEEDOME THE IEALOVS LOVER OR THE CONSTANT MAID WHat time the noble Britaine did resist And vaâ—quish Roman Caesar with his hoast Who when he felt their fuâ—y did desist And fled from Albions white-wave-washed coast Where the stout Brittaines dy'd with Roman blood The Sea-greene face of the tumultuous stood There dwelt an antient honourable man Nere Sabrin's shore who was Cremillus hight In two faire twins his Off spring fiâ—st began A son and daughter brought at once to light Whose beauâ—ies with their vertues vy'd in growth Which should most grace their infancy and youth His son Cherillus but his fairer daughter He nam'd Pandora did you never view The liquid Châ—istall of a running water Streame through some guilded field where all things new The spring had made to such a place this Maid Vnhappily now growne a great one stâ—ai'd And while her eyes on the moyst Element Did cast their beâ—mes another shâ—pe she spy'd Far above hers on whom such lives were spent In Troy for whom so many Hero's dy'd This shape the fairest sure that er'e was showne Was but a meere reflexion of her owne While thus she gaz'd on her owne shade she thought Oh that I might leape in and seaze yon prize It were by death an easie purchase bought For who would live if not in yonder eyes Narcissus so himselfe himselfe forsooke Aâ—d dy'd to see his shadow in a brooke As yet the toy we call a Looking-glasse Wherein our siner Dames behold their faces Did rest unknown else t' had not comâ— to passe That this bright Maid repleat with all the graces Had in an Extasie thus stood amaz'd While onely on her lively selfe she gaz'd Still as she lookt she wishâ— some gentle fish Might now as once Arion it did beare Her on the friendly waves but oh her wish Could not implore an ayde from any there For they stood wondring that the earth could show A â—righter Nymph then Neptune could below One while she was resolv'd t' assay the water And so salute the thing she thought alive But then she poiz'd the danger that came after Lest she perhaps might never more survive Thus betweene joy and feare amaz'd she stood Viewing the wonders of the silver stood And as it chanc't to shade her from the Sun Vnto her brighter face she rai'd her hand She thought her shade did beckon her to come To Thetiâ— Aâ—bor and forsâ—ke the Land Who had done so had not a neighbouring brier Seiz'd her lov'd coat and made her so retire Injurious weed quoth she why hast thou staid Me from a happinesse I might have had Receive the just curse of a spotlesse Maid Mayst thou be henceforth held a thing so bad So rough that all may hate thee thus having sed It since remaines with prickles overspred By this Cherillus who had long time since Follow'd sterne Mars in the blacke field of wars Was home return'd from service of his Prince But wearing the true souldiers colours scars And time to doe him now the greater grace Had grafted well-set haires upon his face Who as
those Who speake of love in tame prose Beleeve our joyes but dully censure usâ— Onely for loving thus Ah! how I smile that doubtly blest we doe Injoy our selves and all their envie too The Choyce WHat care I though she be 〈◊〉 Haire snow-like hand or Sun-like eye If in that beauty I not share Were she deformed what care I. What care I though shee be foule Haire swaâ—thy hand or sunne burnt eye So long as I enjoy her soule Let her be so why what care I. Dimme sight is cosened with a glasse Of gaudy gowne or humerous haire Such gold in melting leave more drosse Than some unpolish't prices share Be she â—aire or soule or either Or made up of both together Be her heart mine have hand or eye Be what it will why what care I. EPITAPHS Epitaphium Regis Swedorum HEre sleepes hee who was and is The subject of eternall blisse Religion and no other end Caus'd him his blood means to spend He conquer'd all onely his breath He lost by which he conquer'd death Now would'st thou know whom we deplore 'T is Sweaden Reader husht no more â— est while thou read thou and this stone Be both alike by death made one For death and griefe are neare of kinne So thou might'st die being griev'd for him 〈…〉 Tho. â—eedome An Elegy on the death of the renowned and victorious Guâ—tavâ—s Adolphus King of Sweathland Can the dry sound Hee 's dead no more affright The world with terâ—our than had some meane knight Languish't to death in downe or can the sound That Sweaden hath received a fatall wound Passe by and like the bullet hurt no more Than his stout brest that felt the mortall sore Oh no! it rankles in each weak'ned part And strikes a chill amazement to the heart Of feeble Christendome that by his losse Puts on it's titles badge The Christian Crosse And 't was a great one too yet let none wonder That heaven forboâ—â— to ring his knell in thunder Or thaâ— some angry Meteor did not stare And to the world their publique losse declare No no some such Ambassador as this Had beene too mercifull land made us misse Our just deserved punishment â—or wee Knowing our sinne begot this misery Might by a faign'd repentance have procur'd A pardon for the Prince but now assur'd Of our owne weaknesse we with teares may say We are losers though our army wonne the day His death begot his conquest and his foes Mourn'd at his fate witnesse those death wing'd blows Which heaven by meanes of his impressure steele Did make their bleeding carcasses to feele Then what remaines but that ouâ— prayers gaine This be the latest losse we may sustaine And that no more of Heavens great Champions fall Through our default to so sad funerall To the truly worthy and his worthily honoured friend Mris Judith Dyke on the death of her brother Mr John Dyke obiit ult. Martii 1636. TAmely and soft as the Prophetique breath That pants the â—atall passing bull of death Move my sad soule and to his happy hearse Pay the deserved tribute of thy verse And you blest maid whose griefe hath almost wonne Death by your griefe to make you both but one Cease your laments for how can you be crost In this since what God finds can neâ—râ— be lost And wisely thinke you may offend in this Love hath its errours and may doe amisse Death may looke dreadfull in an ill mans eye 'T is no great thing to live but lesse to die To die indeed as Common people doe That with perplexed soules bid earth adieu And by necessity of late compeld Their strugling spirits to the Coffin yeeld Were matter worthy griefe and onely they Are like the houses that entombe them clay But where the soule like his rapt with desire Disdaines dull earth and aymes at glories higher And by a bright Angelicke fire inflam'd Mounts towards heaven as oâ—t as heares it nam'd Like a sweete odor upward as it goes It yeelds a persume to th' Almighties nose And hence ascended 't is ' not just that wee Lament at its exalted dignity And sure no matter if wee must away Whether it be to morrow or to day And if to day at morne or night or noone So wee die well what need we care how soone I know the fertile soyle of his pure heart Gave warmth to every vertuous roote of Ait And had the August of his age bin come They had bin crown'd with a blest harvest home But now hee 's clouded from your eyes to show That none but Angels worthy are to know What hee shall aged be Oh! 't is a â—aâ—e VVorth your best thankes that day deserves it's date Be registred to Glory when his Maker Made him of him and all his blisse partaker Now dare you loose a teare unlesse it bee Because you are not happie yet as hee 'T is charity to wish you so but then As you know how yet God knowes better when Death comes to call yet not to call as one Though all men die yet good men well alone The Sunne 's not lost but set the approaching day Shall make it's light more glorious by delay If then in death such differences consist Desire so to dissolve to be with Christ So prayes for you your true friend The Beedome Encomium Poetarum ad fratrem Galiel Scot TWice I began and twice my trembling hand Startled from what my Genius did command Lest harmelâ—sse â— should hazzard all my fame And my attempt win nothing but selfe shame It deem'd the praise of Poets worth the pen Rather of Angels than of mortall men My bolder heart bâ—d on for blind men may Although not see yet know there is a day And said perhaps my credit I might save The proverbe sayes nought venter nothing have Then come yea Muses were you nine times nine I could imploy you in this worke of mine Fill my wide â—ailes that while you stand my friend I may swimme safe unto my journey's end Since the first Mistique Chaos did entombe The earths faire sabricke in confusions wombe There is no art can plead antiquity Before the heavenly birth of Poesie I speake of those arts which this day we call As witnesse to their nature Liberall Next by th' ffect the worth of things is knowne They in respect of this seeme to have none The end of verse is to preserve from death VVhat ever from a Poet tooke its breath VVitnesse that golden age whose fame lives still By some few drops from Naso's golden quill He rescued Satuâ—nes Godhead from the ground And by his lines his aged temples crown'd He in a brasse-outlasting paper page Created thee Great Jove a silver age Apollo for his Daphne to his Layes Owes a rich wreath of thunder-scorning bayes One petty blast from his immortall breath Preserv'd Diana's chastity from death Nor need Actâ—on take it much in scorne That Ovid did coâ—nute him with a horne Homer yet lives whose pen for
else but what is thine inherit If e're which heaven desend and still uphold Our league should breake Oh! horror to be told And that the knot of our strong amity Should be dissolv'd by any crime in mee Then count mee lighter than my fleeting breath Show by this paper and I 'le blush to death But I feare no such mischiefe since ouâ— love So aptly in each others soules doth move No Rhetoricke can my zeale to thee impart So well I love thee that thou hast my heart And that my action may concord with time Be this thy New-yeares guift and call mee thine Ever till death T. B. The Corner stone 'T Was a faire stone though it was abus'd And by the senselesse builder was refus'd Alas their sinne blind soules and blinder eyes Sought by the pride of all their industries To polish maâ—tle porphery or that On which proud folly set so high a * rare And with such earth-bred trifles to refine Materiall Temples to the powre divine Whilst that bright stone from th' heavenly square taken Lies on the mountaine by these fooles forshaken Ah! had they knowne the value of this Jem It had not beene so under priz'd by them Oh! when that Babell building of their sinne Shall ruin'd dash upon themselves agin And wanting props to under-set it shall Uppon the builders head with teâ—â—our fall How will they wish this abject stone had beene By faith well laid them and their sinnes betweene Then had it like a storme-contemning rocke Secur'd their Mansions from their heavy shocke Of wrath and judgement both the which unjust Shall make them roare with woe Oh! had I wist Lord be the Basts of my hopes high Throne And then I 'le build on that strong Corner-stone The Royall Navy WHat 's breath a vapor glory a vaine chat What 's man a span what 's life shorter than that What 's death a key for what to ope heavens dore Who keepes it time for whom both rich and poore What 's heaven a haven what 's ships anchor there Hope faith and love with one small pinnace feare What are those men of warre how fraught with armes What burthen weighty suiting their alarum Whose ships the Kings what colours the red crosse What ensignes bloody from their Princes losse And whither bound to earth Oh! what 's their strife To conquer breath and glory man and life Oh! I foresee the storme Lord I confesse Then vapour or vaine chat or span I 'm lesse Save a relenting â—oe thy glories are More excellent in peace than death and warre For to that time that time his key shall lend And to thy tent my yeelding spirit send I will strike saile to these and strive to prove Thy Captive in my hope faith feaâ—e and love EPIGRAMS Epigram 1. To my deare friend William Harrington T Is true my Will and I confesse I owe Thy friendship more than this yet to beâ—â—ow A 〈◊〉 upon a â—rend hath sometimes bin A 〈◊〉 worth th' acceptance of a â—ing Though my pen-seathâ—r'd Muse yet cannot teach My feeble quill to that â—ap't height to reach 'T will be no lesse content to mee if shee Be but well entertain'd deare friend of thee Thou art a King in friendship and I may Then thus to my no little comfort say That too good Wills my worthlesse Muse hath won My Scot and my no lesse-lov'd Harrington Thy friend Th. Beed Epigram 2. Of one Mary Fraile who lay with Mr Reason MAry was long desirous for to marry And vow'd that past fifteene she would not tarry I am suâ—e this vow of modesty did faile Alas yet pardon her for flesh is Fraile No suitors came nor could her longing eyes Meeâ—e any that might seaze her as his prize But making conscience not to breake her vow Shee is as then the promist no maid now Though thou know'st not why she so young did sport I 'de have thee thinke Fraile had some Reason â—or't Epigram 3. On the same Mary a great lover of Mary-bones WHy she doth Mary-â—ones afâ—ect would'st know I thinke the reason is not hard to show The bone she cannot eaâ—e that 's hard as flinâ— Oh then I guesse the cause there 's something in'tâ— Well what 's that something Oh my Muse there sticke She that loves marrow likely loves a Epigram 4. To the excellent Poets Mr George Withersâ— I Never saw thee but should grossely lie To say I know thee not for â—illy I Or one that is more stupid well may guesse At what thou art by what thoâ— dost expresse Oh that blest day when first my willing hand Opt the remembrance of this Sinsicke land Trust mee I griev'd to thinke that now my age Had sixteene summers acted on this stage Yet was a stranger to so raâ—e a soule As thine whose heaven-bred boldnesse durst controle Without respect of persons every sinne That to thy knowledge had committed bin Then next thy Satyres and thy Motto I Made hast to purchase where I might espio How some too base for earth not worth a name Sought by their mire and dirt to clâ—y thy same And credit mee I hardly could forbeare Upon these pittied lines to drop a teare But that I know vertue oppos'd by fate Lookes greatest like the Sunne in lowest stare When other wits who have in some base time Imploy'd of â—ate that they might conquer time Shall like those paper toyes in which they trust Be eate by wormes or molded into dust And want a name thou by thy vertues grac't Shall live till earth by fire be imbâ—ac't Thy unknown well-wisher Th. Beed Epigram 5. By way of consolation to his deare friend William Scot on the death of his brother Gilman Scot SUffer mee dearest friend to bring a verse Though uninvited to attend the hearse Of him whose memory death cannot bloâ— Since hee yet lives in thee my friendly Scot I know the â—ertile soyle of his pure heart Gave warmth to every vertuous roote of Art And had the August of his age bin come Y' had seene him crown'd with a rich harvest home But now he 's clouded from your eyes to show That none but angels worthy are to know What hee shall aged be Oh! 't is a fate Worth your best thankes that day deserves its date Be registred to glory when heaven pleas'd Him of his earthly flesh-encumbrance eas'd Yet daâ—e you lose a teare unlesse for joy That heaven in mercy gave him for the toy Which wee call breath a life that shall outlive What e're dull earth or all your love could give I know the fates have lop't off from your tree Many faiâ—e branches which I doubt not bee Againe sarre fairer than his muddy â—oyle Could suffer them to grow too for the â—oyle Of living was their trouble but that care They wisely did contemne and so repaire To that blest pallace which for pious men The maker fram'd and now is opt agen For this new entrance do not then once more Spend any uselesse teare behold
timelesse hearse My soule which now is not but where thou art Stayes but to tell the world we will noâ— part And the glad Casket which thy ashes beares Shâ—ll tide me after thee in miâ—e owne teares And then rejoyce that we whose hearts were one In death shall celebrate Communion Wisedome of fate that earely did remove Thee hence that I in heaven might seeke my love And so assure me that time thou couldst dye No beauty but must taste mortality I know my bounded every Grace In the strict limits of thy well built face And thought those principles of beauty there Unchangable as bodies in their sphere But I recant and tell the world this truth There is no priviledge in blood or youth Else how could'st thou whose every smile or breath Was a suâ—ficient antidote 'gainst death Have met a grave and like a drooping flowre Have wiâ—hered to nothing in an houre Sleepe while some Angell with a peaceâ—ull wing Courtaines thy ashes here and hovering O're thy innocuous breast by that display Informes mee where my dust must take its way Then my infranchis'd spirit up shall fly To our just wedding for eternity And pitty all those enmities below That did with hold us from uniting so And smile to know that all our envious friends Have lost their plot and we obtain'd our ends But wee will marry here in spight of those That would our much wish't meeting interpose Death shall be prest lye closer sweete make roome That wee may make our marriage bed thy Tombe My sonne give mee thy heart ANd why my heart since I have none Or if I have perhaps 't is stone And rather than have such a one Better have none Lord canst thou chuâ—e no other partâ— The world alas hath stole my heaâ—â— Pleasure intis't it by strange Art From mee to part One Angell lust and all the rest Possesses it or else as bad a guest And in the midd'st there is a neast For sloath to rest Envie would have it all but pride Disdaining any should divide Possession there Enter and then as tyrants who By bloud are rais'd their states undoe Doth domineeâ—e The Petition HEate mee my God and heare mee soone Because my morning toucheth noone Nor can I looke for their delight Because my noone layes hold on night I am all circle my morne night and noone Are individable then heare mee soone Thou art all time my God and I Am part of that eternity Yet being made I want that might To be as thou art Infinite As in thy flesh so he thou Lord to mee That is both infinite and eternity But I am dust at most but man That dust extended to a span A span indeed â—or in thy hand Stretcht or contracted Lord I stand Contract and stretch mee too that I may be Straightned on earth to be enlarg'd to thee But I am nothing then how can I call my selfe or dust or man Yet thou from nothing all didst frame That all things might exalt thy name Make mee but something then my God to thee Then shall thy praise be all in all to mee VVHen first of linne I tooke survey Sinne that first wrought poore mans decay Mee thought the seeming pleasures that it wore Betray'd a face So full of grace That I desir'd it more and more As raâ—â—les babies and such â—oyes Are the â—ull bundles of childhoods joyes I rested in appearance little knowing That such vaine things Which sorrow bring An alteration in their growing As warning once descri'd from sarre Through some darke cloud a glimeting starre That lead mee on to seeke its lustre out Hee that makes all Answer'd his call Had turn'd my erâ—or quiâ—e about Did'st thou not God divide those ' seas AEgypt and Israels death and ease When sepaâ—ated waves like Mountaines sweld On either side To quench their pride That 'gainst thy edict did â—ebell God didst not thou â—ebuke those seas Natures great burthen and disease When Peters Faith his failing strength did cherish When calling loud I' th watery cloud He cry'd â—ave Master or I perish Thou did'st my God and thou the world And sinne my beaten Barke have hâ—l'd In a more desperate storme yet still I see And heare the say To thy poore clay Is any thing too hard â—or mee The Inquisition 1. VVHere art thoâ— God or where is hee That can discover thee to mee The worlds without thee sure for here Doth domineere Hell flesh and sinne thou art not there 2. Doth Aire thy blessed spirit hold And â—â—om our eyes thy sight unsold Thou art not there my God for here Doth domineere Satan aires Prince thou art not there 3. Or doth thy sacâ—ed essence keepe Court in the Chamber oâ— the deepe No sure my God â— not so for here Doth domineere Leviathan thou art not there 4. Doth flames too subtill for our â—ence So spy impaild thy excellence No sure my God not so for here Doth domineere The fiery Prince thou art not there In none of these confind yet thou dost scatter Thy presence through both earth aire fire wateâ— 5. Each place containes thee God yet thou Art no where no where dost remaine Though every place wee thee allow No place we know can thee containe Then I have found thee now though here Nor here thou art not yet thou art Both there and here be anywhere So thou bee in my heart Where being Lord let that thy closet bee To keepe thee safe in mee and mee in thee A Proud man Vile worme of dust vaine clay how durst thou venteâ— To â—well thy selfe above the earth thy center Vapors exhal'd and lifted to the skies Or dissipare or else prove prodigies Why being nothing art thou Bold to d'on The ingloriouâ— itch of exaltation And by a peâ—ulant pride disdainst to bee More heightn'd by a selfe humility As if the Babell of thy thoughts could shroud Th' aspiâ—ing battlements within a cloud And so the mighty machin safely stand Whose weaker basis is but mosse and sand Strange mystery of sinne that drives us on As farie as heaven to â—ind perdition For wert thou there and prov'd to bee so then Heaven would â—ast downe a devill once agen Yet thus perhaps thy pride might â—â—â—ed bee The Prince of Devils doth but equall thee Change but the subject and some sins admit To hâ—mble minds a happy benefit To kill the man oâ— sin to coveâ— grace To â—resse by violence to Gods holy place Câ—ntention for a Crowne for blessing strife Are sins that â—â—ll mortalyty with life But to be proud not to be proud addes more Sinne to that pride than pride had sinne before Meditation 1. MY God came downe in thunder once but then The sonnes of men Affrighted at the dreadfull cracke Sounded fell backe Desiring not his presence so agen 2. My God came downe in whirlewinds too and flame But his great Name So blazon'd did astonish more Than heretofore When pointed thunder his loud Herrald came 3. My God came downe in
joyes expresse That 's the good land this but the Wildernesse Onyons and Garlicke and the flesh-poâ—stoo Let them desire that have a list to eateâ— My pallat cannot rellish what they doe Manna my God I know is Angels meaâ—e But if this place affords it not to me Take me to Canaan since it is with thee Art thou not beauty Lord to whom the Sunne At height of glory is so darke a blot That when thoâ— didst obscure thy blessed Sonne The other had his wonted light forgot Yet in that blest Ecclipse this turn d such light That earth saw heaven though heaven was hid in night To the Angels 1. A Safe humility is wise Both to it selâ—e and others to I know there 's starres but use mine eyes To finde out what they cannot doe For though they both partake of light Both have not equall sence in â—ight 2. And is it safe you glorâ—ous lights That this dull glimering sparke my soule Aâ—â—ect to know those boundlesse heights Where your exalâ—ed spirits rule Or were my wisedome better spent To â—each my heart at home content 3. Yet as in dungeons we behold Through some small chinke a glimering ray And thence assured we are bold To thinke without there is a day So you discover to our sence Your excellence by your influence 4. Blest Children of a more blâ—st Father I le not discouâ—se your story For my affections had much rather Partake than speake your glory Speake your owne glory you that can Which no man ere shall know as man 5. And yet I care not I what Quite Of Cheâ—ub's Seraphin's or Thrones Or Angels lower are or higher Since all I know are holy ones If I keepe time with any Quiâ—e I like the seate I le with no higher 6. Farewell sweete Quiâ—e farewell I say This glimpse at distance doth confute All my discourse and makes me pray To know you there without dispute And since I long to meete least I shall stray Guide you your Lovet on upon his way T.B. On AEternity GOod God! eternity what can Aâ—â—onish more the faith of man When it shall please thee God that I On my unfriendly sicke bed lye And those about me shall descry In my pale face deaths livery When breath shall fleete and leave for me The relique of deaths victory A grim sad coarse oh must my light Astonisht â—oâ—le then take her flight To that long home where it shall seeâ— Or blest or curst AEternity Shall shee for ever ever dwell Or Saint in heaven or fiend in hell When ages numberlesse are gone Shal't be â—s if wee had past none 'T is so my God which when I thinke My staggard reason 'gins to sinke My braine turnes giddy and weake I Am rapt in wonders extasie Forgive mee Lord that thus presume To question thy eternall doome And since our minute life must gaine Pleasures eternall or such paine Asâ—ist mee so my God that when I shall for sake the sonnes of men My jocond soule may sainted bee In heaven and thy eternity Em. D. On the death of M M. T. MIstaken virgins do not drop a teare She is not dead beleev 't I 'le make 't appeare That which you call a hearse is nought beside A heavenly charet in 't a glorious bride And that which you more fondly â—eâ—ne a grave Mysterious heaven for her bride-bed gave Thus you mistaken to a â—unerall haste When you 're invited to a marriage â—east Heaven was her lover would not be deny'd The welcome promise of so faire a Bride Which long since having hee now thought it best T' espouse and take her to his happy rest And as wee see great Princes ere they take Their royall consorts they by proxie make The ceremonious marriage so did hee By proxie death wed her immoâ—tally And now inthron'd she doth â—it anâ— singâ— Divinest Anthems to her Lord and King 'Mongst quires of Angels she doth fill the skies With sweete tun'd notes of heavenly rapsidies Thus gloriously happy doth shee still live Whose death you â—ondly and unkindly grieve Em. D. FINIS * Her lips * Diamonds or other pretious stones