from the ground The Columnes both are crown'd with either Sphere To show Chronology and History beare No other Culmen then the double Art Astronomy Geography impart Or Thus. LEt hoary Time's vast Bowels be the Grave To what his Bowels birth and being gave Let Nature die Phoenix-like from death Revived Nature take a second breath If on Times right hand sâ—t faiâ—e Historie If from the seed of empty Ruine she Can raise so faire an Harvest Let Her be Ne're so farre distant yet Chronologie Sharpe sighted as the Eagles eye that can Out-stare the broad-beam'd Dayes Meridian Will have a Perspicill to find her out And through the Night of error and dark doubt Discerne the Dawne of Truth 's eternall ray As when the rosie Morne budds into Day Now that Time's Empire might be amply fill'd Babels bold Artists strive below to build Ruine a Temple on whose fruitfull fall History reares her Pyramids more tall Then were th' Aegyptian by the life theâ—e give Th' Egyptian Pyramids themselves must live On these she lifts the World and on their base Shewes the two termes and limits of Time's race That the Creation is the Iudgement this That the World's Morning this her Midnight is An Epitaph Vpon Mr. Ashton a conformable Citizen THe modest front of this small floore Beleeve mee Reader can say more Then many a braver Marble can Here lyes a truly honest man One whose Conscience was a thing That troubled neither Church nor King One of those few that in this Towne Honour all Preachers heare their owne Sermons he heard yet not so many As left no time to practise any Hee heard them reverendly and then His practice preach'd them o're agen His Parlour-Sermons rather were Those to the Eye then to the Eare. His prayers tooke their price and strength Not from the lowdnesse nor the length Hee was a Protestant at home Not onely in despight of Rome Hee lov'd his Father yet his zeale Tore not off his Mothers veile To th' Church hee did allow her Dresse True Beauty to true Holinesse Peace which hee lov'd in Life did lend Her hand to bring him to his end When Age and Death call'd for the score No surfets were to reckon for Death tore not therefore but sans strife Gently untwin'd his thread of Life What remaines then but that Thou Write these lines Reader in thy Brow And by his faire Examples light Burne in thy Imitation bright So while these Lines can but bequeath A Life perhaps unto his Death His better Epitaph shall bee His Life still kept alive in Thee Rex Redux I Lle redit redit Hoc populi bona murmura volâ—unt Publicus hoc audin ' plausus ad astra refert Hoc omnâ— sedet in vultu commune serenum Omnibus hinc una est laetitiae facies Rex noster lux nostra redit redeuntis ad ora Aridet totis Anglia laeta genis Quisque suos oculos oculis accendit ab istis Atque novum sacro sumit ab ore diem Forte roges tanto quae digna pericula plausu Evadat Carolus quae mala quósve metus Anne perrerati male fida volumina ponti Ausa illum terris pene negare suis Hospitis an nimii rurcus sibi conscia tellus Vix bene speratum reddat Ibera caput Nil horum nec enim male fida volumina ponti Aut sacrum tellus vidiâ— Ibera caput Verus amor tamen haec sibi falsa pericula fingit Falsa peric'la solet fingere verus amor At Carolo qui falsa timet nec vera timeret Vera peric'la solet temnere verus amor Illi falsa timens sibi vera pericula temnens Non solum est fidus sed quoque fortis amor Interea nostri satis ille est causa triumphi Et satis ah nostri causa doloris erat Causa doloris erat Carolus sospes licet esset Anglia quod saltem discere posset Abest Et satis est nostri Carolus nunc causa triumphi Dicere quod saltem possumus Ille redit Out of Catullus COme and let us live my Deare Let us love and never feare What the sowrest Fathers say Brightest Sol that dyes to day Lives againe as blith to morrow But if we darke sons of sorrow Set ô then how long a Night Shuts the Eyes of our short light Then let amorous kisses dwell On our lips begin and tell A Thousand and a Hundred score An Hundred and a Thousand more Till another Thousand smother That and that wipe of another Thus at last when we have numbred Many a Thousand many a Hundred Wee 'l confound the reckoning quite And lose our selves in wild delight While our joyes so multiply As shall mocke the envious eye Ad Principem nondum natum NAscere nunc ô nunc quid enim puer alme moraris Nulla tibi dederit dulcior hora diem Ergone tot tardos ô lente morabere menses Rex redit Ipse veni dic bone Gratus ades Nam quid Ave nostrum quid nostri verba triumphi Vagitu melius dixeris ista tuo At maneas tamen nobis nova causa triumphi Sic demum fueris nec nova causa tamen Nam quoties Carolo novus aut nova nascitur infans Revera toties Carolus ipse redit Wishes To his supposed Mistresse WHo ere shee bee That not impossible shee That shall command my heart and mee Where ere shee lye Lock't up from mortall Eye In shady leaves of Destiny Till that ripe Birth Of studied fate stand forth And teach her faire steps to our Earth Till that Divine Idaea take a shrine Of Chrystall flesh through which to shine Meet you her my wishes Be speake her to my blisses And bee yee call'd my absent kisses I wish her Beauty That owes not all his Duty To gaudy Tire or glistring shoo-ty Something more than Taffata or Tissew can Or rampant feather or rich fan More then the spoyle Of shop or silkewormes Toyle Or a bought blush or a set smile A face that 's best By its owne beauty drest And can alone command the rest A face made up Out of no other shop Then what natures white hand sets ope A cheeke where Youth And Blood with Pen of Truth Write what the Reader sweetly ru'th A Cheeke where growes More then a Morning Rose Which to no Boxe his being owes Lipps where all Day A lovers kisse may play Yet carry nothing thence away Lookes that oppresse Their richest Tires but dresse And cloath their simplest Nakednesse Eyes that displaces The Neighbour Diamond and out faces That Sunshine by their owne sweet Graces Tresses that weare Iewells but to declare How much themselves more pretious are Whose native Ray Can tame the wanton Day Of Gems that in their bright shades play Each Ruby there Or Pearle that dare appeare Bee its owne blush bee its owne Teaâ—e A well tam'd Heart For whose more noble smart Love may bee long chusing a Dart. Eyes that bestow Full quivers on
Prophets Tombe and dost bequeath The life thou took'st from him unto his Death Vaine man the stones that on his Tombe doe lye Keepe but the score of them that made him dye Vpon the Infant Martyrs TO see both blended in one flood The Mothers Milke the Childrens blood Makes me doubt if Heaven will gather Roses hence or Lillies rather Joh. 16. Verily I say unto you yee shall weep and lament WElcome my Grife my Ioy how deare's To me my Legacy of Teares I 'le weepe and weepe and will therefore Weepe 'cause I can weepe no moreâ— Thou thou Deare Lord even thou alone Giv'st joy even when thou givest none Joh. 15. Vpon our Lords last comfortable discourse with his Disciples ALL Hybla's honey all that sweetnesse can Flowes in thy Song ô faire ô dying Swan Yet is the joy I take in 't small or none It is too sweet to be a long-liv'd one Luke 16. Dives asking a drop A Drop one drop how sweetly one faire drop Would tremble on my pearle-tipt fingers top My wealth is gone ô goe it where it will Spare this one Iewell I 'le be Dives still Marke 12. Give to Caesar And to God ALL we have is God's and yet Caesar challenges a debt Nor hath God a thinner share What ever Caesar's payments are All is God's and yet 't is true All wee have is Caesar's too All is Caesar's and what ods So long as Caesar's selfe is Gods But now they have seen and hated SEene and yet hated thee they did not see They saw Thee not that saw and hated thee No no they saw the not ô Life ô Love Who saw ought in thee that their hate could move Vpon the Thornes taken downe from our Lords head bloody KNow'st thou this Souldier 't is a much chang'd plant which yet Thy selfe did'st set 'T is chang'd indeed did Autumn e're such beauties bring To shame his Spring O! who so hard an husbandman could ever find A soyle so kind Is not the soile a kind one thinke ye that returnes Roses for Thornes Luc. 7. She began to wash his feet with teares and wipe them with the haires of her head HEer eyes flood lickes his feets faire staâ—ne Her haires flame lickes up that againe This flame thus quench't hath brighter beames This flood thus stained fairer streames On St. Peter cutting of Malchus his eare WEll Peter dost thou wield thy active sword Well for thy selfe I meane not for thy Lord. To strike at eares is to take heed there bee No witnesse Peter of thy perjury Joh. 3. But men loved darknesse rather then Light THe worlds light shines shine as it will The world will love its Darknesse still I doubt though when the World 's in Hell It will not love its Darknesse halfe so well Act. 21. I am ready not onely to be bound but to dye COme death come bands nor do you shrink my eares At those hard words mans cowardise calls feares Save those of feare no other bands feare I Nor other death then this the feare to dye On St. Peter casting away his Nets at our Saviours call THou hast the art on 't Peter and canst tell To cast thy Nets on all occasions well When Christ calls and thy Nets would have thee stâ—â— To cast them well's to cast them quite away Our Lord in his Circumcision to his Father TO thee these first fruits of my growing death For what else is my life â—o I bequeath Tast this and as thou lik'st this lesser flood Expect a Sea my heart shall make it good Thy wrath that wades heere now e're long shall swim The flood-gate shall be set wide ope for him Then let him drinke and drinke and doe his worst To drowne the wantonnesse of his wild thirst No'ws but the Nonage of my paines my feares Are yet both in their hopes not come to yeares The day of my darke woes is yet but morne My teares but tender and my death new-borne Yet may these unfledg'd griefes give fate some guesse These Cradle-torments have their towardnesse These purple buds of blooming death may bee Erst the full stature of a fatall tree And till my riper woes to age are come This knife may be the speares Praeludium On the wounds of our crucified Lord. O These wakefull wounds of thine Are they Mouthes or are they eyes Be they Mouthes or be they eyne Each bleeding part some one supplies Lo a mouth whose full-bloom'd lips At two deare a rate are roses Lo a blood-shot eye that weepes And many a cruell teare discloses O thou that on this foot hast laid Many a kisse and many a Teare Now thou shal't have all repaid Whatsoe're thy charges were This foot hath got a Mouth and lippes To pay the sweet summe of thy kisses To pay thy Teares an Eye that weeps In stead of Teares Such Gems as this is The difference onely this appeares Nor can the change offend The debt is paid in Ruby-Teares Which thou in Pearles did'st lend On our crucified Lord Naked and bloody Th' have left thee naked Lord O that they had This Garment too I would they had deny'd Thee wâ—th thy selfe they have too richly clad Opening the purple wardrobe of thy side O never could bee found Garments too good For thee to weare but these of thine owne blood Easter day RIse Heire of fresh Eternity From thy Vâ—rgin Tombe Rise mighty man of wonders and thy world with thee Thy Tombe the universall East Natures new wombe Thy Tombe faire Immortalities perfumed Nest Of all the Gloryes Make Noone gay This is the Morne This rocke buds forth the fountaine of the streames of Day In joyes white Annals live this houre When life was borne No cloud scoule on his radiant lids no tempest lowre Life by this light 's Nativity All creatures have Death onely by this Dayes just Doome is forc't to Dye Nor is Death forc't for may hee ly Thron'd in thy Grave Death will on this condition be content to Dy. On the bleeding wounds of our crucified Lord. IEsu no more it is full tide From thy hands and from thy feet From thy head and from thy side All thy Purple Rivers meet Thy restlesse feet they cannot goe For us and our eternall good As they are wont what though They swim alas in their owne flood Thy hand to give thou canst not lift Yet will thy hand still giving bee It gives but ô itself 's the Guift It drops though bound though bound 't is free But ô thy side thy deepe dig'd side That hath a double Nilus going Nor ever was the Pharian tâ—de Halfe so fruitfull halfe so flowing What need thy faire head beare a part In Teares as if thine eyes had none What need they helpe to drowne thine heart That strives in Torrents of its owne Water'd by the showres they bring The thornes that thy blest browes encloses A cruell and a costly spring Conceive proud hopes of proving Roses Not a haire but payes his River To this Red
Sea of thy blood Their little channels can deliver Something to the generall flood But while I speake whither are run All the Rivers nam'd before I counted wrong there is but one But ô that one is one all'ore Raine-swolne Rivers may rise proud Threatning all to overflow But when indeed all 's overflow'd They themselves are drowned too This thy Bloods deluge a dire chance Deare Lord to thee to us is found A deluge of deliverance A deluge least we should be drown'd Nere was 't thou in a sence so sadly true The well of living Waters Lord till now Sampson to his Dalilah COuld not once blinding me cruell suffâ—ce When first I look't on thee I lost mine eyes Psalme 23. HAppy me ô happy sheepe Whom my God vouchsafes to keepe Even my God even he it is That points me to these wayes of blisse One whose pastures cheerefull spring All the yeare doth sit and sing And rejoycing smiles to see Their greene backs were his liverie Pleasure sings my soule to rest Plenty weares me at her brest Whose sweet temper teaches me Nor wanton nor in want to be At my feet the blubb'ring Mountaine Weeping melts into a Fountaine Whose soft silver-sweating streames Make high Noone forget his beames When my waiward breath is flying Hee calls home my soule from dying Strokes and tames my rabid Griefe And does woe me into life When my simple weaknesse strayes Tangled in forbidden wayes Hee my Shepheard is my Guide Hee 's before me on my side And behind me he beguiles Craft in all her knotty wiles Hee expounds the giddy wonder Of my weary steps and under Spreads a Path cleare as the Day Where no churlish rub saies nay To my joy-conducted Feet Whil'st they Gladly goe to meet Grace and peace to meet new laies Tun'd to my great Shepheards praise Come now all yee terrors sally Muster forth into the valley Where triumphant darknesse hovers With a sable wing that covers Brooding Horror Come thou Death Let the damps of thy dull Breath Overshadow even the shade And make darknesse selfe afraid There my feet even there shall find Way for a resolved mind Still my Shepheard still my God Thou art with me Still thy rod And thy staffe whose influence Gives direction gives defence At the whisper of thy Word Crown'd abundance spreads my Bord While I feast my foes doe feed Their rank malice not their need So that with the self-same bread They are starv'd and I am fed How my head in ointment swims How my cup orelooks her Brims So even so still may I move By the Line of thy deare Love Still may thy sweet mercy spread A shady Arme above my head About my Paths so shall I find The faire Center of my mind Thy Temple and those lovely walls Bright ever with a beame that falls Fresh from the pure glance of thine eye Lighting to Eternity There I 'le dwell for ever there Will I find a purer aire To feed my Life with there I 'le sup Balme and Nectar in my Cup And thence my ripe soule will I breath Warme into the Armes of Death Psalme 137. ON the proud bankes of great Euphrates flood There we sate and there we wept Our Harpes that now no Musicke understood Nodding on the Willowes slept While unhappy captiv'd wee Lovely Sion thought on thee They they that snatcht us from our Countries brest Would have a Song carv'd to their Eares In Hebrew numbers then ô cruell jest When Harpes and hearts were drown'd in Teares Come they cry'd come sing and play On of Sions songs to day Sing play to whom ah shall we sing or play If not Ierusalem to thee Ah thee Ierusalem ah sooner may This hand forget the mastery Of Musicks dainty touch then I The Musicke of thy memory Which when I lose ô may at once my Tongue Lose this same busie speaking art Vnpearcht her vocall Arteries unstâ—ung No more acquainted with my Heart On my dry pallats roofe to rest A wither'd Leafe an idle Guest No no thy good Sion alone must crowne The head of all my hope-nurst joyes But Edom cruell thou thou cryd'st ddowne downe Sinke Sion downe and never rise Her falling thou did'st urge and thrust And haste to dash her into dust Dost laugh proud Babels Daughter do laugh on Till thy ruine teach thee Teares Even such as these laugh till a venging throng Of woes too late doe rouze thy feares Laugh till thy childrens bleeding bones Weepe pretious Teares upon the stones A Hymne of the Nativity sung by the Shepheards Chorus COme wee Shepheards who have seene Dayes King deposed by Nights Queene Come lift we up our lofty song To wake the Sun that sleeps too long Hee in this our generall joy Slept and dreampt of no such thing While we found out the fair-ey'd Boy And kist the Cradle of our King Tell him hee rises now too late To shew us ought worth looking at Tell him wee now can shew him more Then hee e're shewd to mortall sight Then hee himselfe e're saw before Which to be seene needs not his light Tell him Tityrus where th' hast been Tell him Thyrsis what th' hast seen Tytirus Gloomy Night embrac't the place Where the noble Infant lay The Babe lookt up and shew'd his face In spight of Darknesse it was Day It was thy Day Sweet and did râ—se Not from the East but from thy eyes Thyrsis Winter chid the world and sent The angry North to wage his warres The North forgot his fierce intent And lest perfumes in stead of scarres By those sweet Eyes persuasive Powers Where he meant frosts he scattered Flowers Bâ—th We saw thee in thy Balmy Nest Bright Dawne of our Eternall Day Wee saw thine Eyes-break from the East And chase the trembling shades away Wee saw thee and wee blest the sight Wee saw thee by thine owne sweet Light Tityrus I saw the curl'd drops soft and slow Come hovering o're the places head Offring their whitest sheets of snow To furnish the faire Infants Bed Forbeare said I be not too bold Your fleece is white but 't is too cold Thyrsis I saw th'officious Angels bring The downe that their soft brests did strow For well they now can spare their wings When Heaven it selfe lyes here below Faire Youth said I be not too rough Thy Downe though soft's not soft enough Tityrus The Babe no sooner 'gan to seeke Where to lay his lovely head But streight his eyes advis'd his Cheeke 'Twixt Mothers Brests to goe to bed Sweet choise said I no way but so Not to lye cold yet sleepe in snow All. Welcome to our wondring sight Eternity shut in a span Summer in Winter Day in Night Chorus Heaven in Earth and God in Man Great litle one whose glorious Birth Lifts Earth to Heaven stoops heaven to earth Welcome though not to Gold nor Silke To more then Caesars Birthright is Two sister-Seas of virgins Milke With many a rarely-temper'd kisse That breathes at once both Maid and
advance And serves my purer sight onely to beat Downe my proud Thought and leave it in a Trance Frowne I and can great Nature keep her seat And the gay starrs lead on their Golden dance Can his attempts above stâ—ll prosp'rous be Auspicious still in spâ—ght of Hell and me 27. Hee has my Heaven what would he more whose bright And radiant Scepter this bold hand should beare And for the never-fading fields of Light My faire Inheritance hee confines me here To this darke House of shades horrour and Night To draw a long-liv'd Death where all my cheere Is the solemnity my sorrow weares That Mankinds Torment waits upon my Teares 28. Darke dusky Man he needs would single forth To make the partner of his owne pure â—ay And should we Powers of Heav'n Spirits of worth Bow our bright Heads before a King of clay It shall not be said I and clombe the North Where never wing of Angell yet made way What though I mâ—st my blow yet I strooke high And to dare something is some victory 29. Is hee not satisfied meanes he to wrest Hell from me too and sack my Territories Vile humane Nature means he not t' invest O my despight with his divinest Glories And rising with rich spoiles upon his Brest With his faire Triumphs fill all â—uture stories Must the bright armes of Heav'n rebuke these eyes Mocke me and dazle my darke Mysteries 30. Art thou not Lucifer hee to whom the droves Of stars that guild the Morne in charge were given The nimblest of the lightning-winged Loves The fairest and the first-borne smile of Heav'n Looke in what Pompe the Mistresse Planet moves Rev'rently circled by the lesser seaven Such and so rich the flames that from thine eyes O prest the common-people of the skyes 31. Ah wretch what bootes thee to cast back thy eyes Where dawning hope no beame of comfort showes While the reflection of thy forepast joyes Renders thee double to thy present woes Rather make up to thy new miseries And meet the mischiefe that upon thee growes If Hell must mourne Heav'n sure shall sympathize What force cannot effect fraud shall devise 32. And yet whose force feare I have I so lost My selfe my strength too with my innocence Come try who dares Heav'n Earth what ere dost boast A borrowed being make thy bold defence Come thy Creator too what though it cost Mee yet a second fall wee 'd try our strengths Heav'n saw us struggle once as brave a sight Earth now should see and tremble at the sight 33. Thus spoke th'impatient Prince and made a pause His foule Hags rais'd their heads clapt their hands And all the Powers of Hell in full applause Flourisht their Snakes and tost their flaming brands Wee said the horrid sisters wait thy lawes Th' obsequious handmaids of thy high commands Be it thy part Hells mighty Lord to lay On us thy dread commands ours to obey 34. What thy Alecto what these hands can doe Thou mad'st bold proofe upon the brow of Heav'n Nor should'st thou bate in pride because that now To these thy sooty Kingdomes thou art driven Let Heav'ns Lord chide above lowder then thou In language of his Thunder thou art even With him below here thou art Lord alone Boundlesse and absolute Hell is thine owne 35. If usuall wit and strength will doe no good Vertues of stones nor herbes use stronger charmes Anger and love best hookes of humane blood If all faâ—le wee 'l put on our proudest Armes And pouring on Heav'ns face the Seas huge flood Quench his curl'd fires wee 'l wake wâ—th our Alarmes Ruâ—ne where e're she sleepes at Natures feet And crush the world till his wide corners meet 36. Reply'd the proud King O my Crownes Defence Stay of my strong hopes you of whose brave worth The frighted stars tooke faint experience When 'gainst the Thunders mouth wee marched forth Still you are prodigal of your Love's expence In our great projects both 'gainst Heav'n and Earth I thanke you all but one must single out Cruelty she alone shall cure my doubt 37. Fourth of the cursed knot of Hags is shee Or rather all the other three in one Hells shop of slaughter shee do's oversee And still assist the Execution But chiefly there do's shee delight to be Where Hells capacious Cauldron is set on And while the black soules boile in their owne gore To hold them down and looke that none seethe o're 38. Thrâ—ce howl'd the Caves of Night and thrice the sound Thundring upon the bankes of those black lakes Rung through the hollow vaults of Hell profound At last her lâ—stning Eares the noise o'retakes Shee lifts her sooty lampes and looking round A gen'rall hâ—sse from the whole Tire of snakes Rebounding through Hells inmost Cavernes came In answer to her formidable Name 39. Mongst all the Palaces in Hells command No one so mercilesse as this of hers The Adamantine Doors for ever stand Impenetrable both to prai'rs and Teares The walls inexorable steele no hand Of Time or Teeth of hungry Ruine feares Their ugly ornaments are the bloody staines Of ragged limbs torne sculls dasht our Braines 40. There has the purple Vengeance a proud seat Whose ever-brandisht Sword is sheath'd in blood About her Hate Wrath Warre and slaughter sweat Bathing their hot limbs in life's pretious flood There rude impetuous Rage do's storme and fret And there as Master of this murd'ring brood Swinging a huge Sith stands impartiall Death With endlesse businesse almost out of Breath 41. For Hangings and for Curtaines all along The walls abominable ornaments Are tooles of wrath Anvills of Torments hung Fell Executioners of foule intents Nailes hammers hatchets sharpe and halters strong Swords Speares with all the fatall Instruments Of sin and Death twice dipt in the dire staines Of Brothers mutuall blood and Fathers braines 42. The Tables furnisht with a cursed Feast Which Harpyes with leane Famine feed upon Vnfill'd for ever Here among the rest Inhumane Erisi-â—thon too makes one Tantalus Atreus Progne here are guests Wolvish Lyâ—aon here a place hath won The cup they drinke in is Medusa's scull Which mixt with gall blood they quaffe brim full 43. The foule Queens most abhorred Maids of Honour Medaea Iezabell many a meager Witch With Circe Scylla stand to wait upon her But her best huswifes are the Parcae which Still worke for her and have their wages from her They prick a bleeding heart at every stitch Her cruell cloathes of costly threds they weave Which short-cut lives of murdred Infants leave 44. The house is hers'd about with a black wood Which nods with many a heavy headed tree Each flowers a pregnant poyson try'd and good Each herbe a Plague The winds sighes timed-bee By a black Fount which weeps into a flood Through the thick shades obscurely might you see Minotaures Cyclopses with a darke drove Of Dragons Hydraes Sphinxes fill the Grove 45. Here Diomed's Horses Phereus dogs appeare With the fierce Lyons of
Bee posed with the maturest feares Man trembles at wee straight shall find Love knowes no nonage nor the mind T is love not yeares or Limbes that can Make the martyr or the man Love toucht her heart and loe it beats High and burnes with such brave heats Such thirst to dye as dare drinke up A thousand coled deaths in one cup. Good reason for shee breaths all fire Her weake breast heaves with strong desire Of what shee may with fruitlesse wishes Seeke for amongst her mothers kisses Since t is not to bee had at home Shee l travell to a martyrdome No home for her confesses shee But where shee may A martyr bee Shee l to the Moores and trade with them For this unvalued Diadem Shee offers them her dearest breath With Christs name â—nt in change for death Shee l bargain with them and will give Them God and teach them how to live In him or if they this denye For him shee l teach them how to dye So shall shee leave amongst them sowne Her Lords blood or at lest her owne Farewell then all the world adeiu Teresa is no more for you Farewell all pleasures sports and joyes Never till now esteemed toyes Farewell what ever deare may bee Mothers armes or fathers knee Farewell house and farwell home Shee s for the Moores and Martyrdome Sweet not so fast Loe thy faire spouse Whom thou seek'st with so swift vowes Calls thee back and biâ—s thee como T' embrace a milder Martyrdome Blest powers forbid thy tender life Should bleed upon a barbarous knife Or some base hand have power to race Thy Breasts chast cabinet and uncase A soule kept there so sweet O no Wise heaven will never have it so Thou art Loves victim and must dye A death more misticall and high Into Loves hand thou shalt let fall A still surviving funerall His is the dart must make the death Whose stroake shall taste thy hallowed breath A dart thrice dipt in that rich Hame Which writes thy spowses radiant name Vpon the roofe of heaven where ay It shines and with a soveraigne ray Beats bright upon the burning faces Of soules which in that names sweet graces Find everlasting smiles So rare So spirituall pure and faire Must be the immortall instrument Vpon whose choice point shall be spent A life so loved and that there bee Fit executioners for thee The fairest and the first borne Loves of fire Blest Seraphims shall leave their quire And turne Loves souldiers upon thee To exercise their Archerie O how oft shalt thou complaine Of a sweet and subtile paine Of intollerable joyes Of a death in which who dyes Loves his death and dyes againe And would for ever so be slaine And lives and dyes and knowes not why To live but that he still may dy How kindly will thy gentle heart Kisse the sweetly killing dart And close in his embraces keep Those delicious wounds that weep Balsome to heale themselves with thus When these thy deaths so numerous Shall all at last dye into one And melt thy soules sweet mansion Like a soft lumpe of Incense hasted By too hot a fire and wasted Into perfuming cloudes So fast Shalt thou exhale to heaven at last In a disolving sigh and then O what aske not the tongues of men Angells cannot tell suffice Thy selfe that feel thine owne full joyes And hold them fast for ever there So soone as thou shalt first appeare The moone of maiden starres thy white Mistresse attended by such bright Soules as thy shining selfe shall come And in her first rankes make thee roome Where mongst her snowy family Immortall wellcomes wait on thee O what delight when shee shall stand And teach thy Lipps heaven wâ—th her hand On which thou now maist to thy wishes Heap up thy consecrated kisses What joy shall seize thy soule when shee Bending her blessed eyes on thee Those second smiles of heaven shall dart Her mild rayes through thy melting heart Angeâ—ls thy old friends there shall greet thee Glad at their owne home now to meet thee All thy good workes which went before And waited for thee at the doore Shall owne thee there and all in one Weave a Constellation Of Crownes with which the King thy spouse Shall build up thy triumphant browes All thy old woes shall now smile on thee And thy pains set bright upon thee All thy sorrows here shall shine And thy sufferings bee devine Teares shall take comfort and turne Gems And wrongs repent to diadems Even thy deaths shall live and new Drosse the soule which late they slew Thy wounds shall blush to such bright scarres As keep account of the Lambes warres Those rare workes where thou shalt leave witt Loves noble history with witt Taught thee by none but him while here They feed our soules shall cloath thine there Each heavenly word by whose hid flame Our hard hearts shall strike fire the same Shall flourish on thy browes and bee Both fire to us and flame to thee Whose light shall live bright in thy face By glory in our hearts by grace Thou shalt looke round about and see Thousand of crownd soules throng to bee Themselves thy crowne sonnes of thy nowes The Virgin births with which thy spowse Made fruitfull thy faire soule Goe now And with them all about thee bow To him put on heel say put on My Rosy Love that thy rich Zone Sparkeling with the sacred Hames Of thousand soules whose happy names Heaven keeps upon thy score thy bright Life brought them first to kisse the light That kindled them to starres and so Thou with the Lambe thy Lord shall goe And where so e're hee sitts his white Steps walke with him those wayes of Light Which who in death would live to see Must learne in life to dye like thee An Apologie for the precedent Hymne THus have I back againe to thy bright name Faire sea of holy fires transfused the flame I tooke from reading thee 't is to thy wrong I know that in my weak and worthlesse song Thou here art set to shine where thy full day Scarce dawnes ô pardon if I dare to say Thine own deare books are guilty for from thence I learnt to know that Love is eloquence That heavenly maxim gave me heart to try If what to other tongues is tun'd so high Thy praise might not speak English too forbid by all thy mysteries that there lye hid Forbid it mighty Love let no fond hate Of names and words so farre prejudicate Soules are not Spaniards too one frendly flood Of Baptisme blends them all into one blood Christs Faith makes but one body of all soules And loves that bodies soule no Law controules Our free trafick for heaven we may maintaine Peace sure with piety though it dwell in Spaine What soule soever in any Language can Speake heaven like hers is my soules country-man O 't is not Spanish but 't is heaven she speakes 'T is heaven that lies in ambush there and