mercy by the charmes of sweat and blood Canst thou forget that drowsie Mount wherein Thy dull Disciples slept Was not my sinne There punish'd in thy soule Did not this brow Then sweat in thine Were not those drops enow Remember Golgotha where that spring-tide Or'e flow'd thy sov'raigne Sacramentall side There was no sinne there was no guilt in Thee That caus'd those paines Thou sweatst thou bledst for me Was there not blood enough when one small drop Had pow'r to ransome thousands worlds and stop The mâ—uth of Iustice Lord I bled before In thy deep wounds Can Iustice challenge more O doe thou vainly labour to hedge in Thy losses from my sides My blood is thin And thy free bounty scornes such easie thrift No no thy blood came not as lone but gift But must I ever grinde And must I earne Nothing buâ— stripes O wi t thou disalterne The rest thou gav'st Hast thou perus'd the curse Thou laydst on Adams fall and made it worse Canst thou repent of mercy Heav'n thought good Lost man should feed in sweat not work in blood Why dost thou wound th'already wounded brest Ah me my life is but a paine at best I am but dying dust my dayes a span What pleasure tak'st thou in the blood of man Spare spare thy scourge and be not so austere Send fewer stroaks or lend more strength to beare S. BERN. Hom. 81. in Cant. Miserable man Who shall deliver me from the reproach of this shamefull bondage I am a miserable man but a free man free because a man Miserable because a servant In regard of my bondage miserable In regard of my will inexcusable For my will that was free be slaved it selfe to sinne by assenting to sinne for he that commits sin is the servant to sinne EPIG 4. Taxe not thy God Thine owne defaults did urge This twofold punishment the Mill the Scourge Thy sin 's the Author of thy selfe tormenting Thou grind'st for sinning scourg'd for not repenting V. Remember I beseech thee that thou hast made me as the clay wilt thou briâ—â— me into dust againe Iob. 〈…〉 will sâ—â—pâ— V. IOB X.IX. Remember I beseech thee that thou hast made me as the clay and wilt thou bring me to dust againe THus from the bosome of the new-made earth Poore man was delv'd and had his unborne birth The same the stuffe the selfe-same hand does trim The Plant that fades the Beast that dies and Him One was their Syre one was their common mother Plants are his sisters and the Beast his brother The elder too Beasts draw the selfe-same breath Waxe old alike and die the selfe-same death Plants grow as he with fairer robes arraid Alike they flourish and alike they fade The beast in sense exceeds him and in growth The three-ag'd Oake doth thrice exceed them both Why look'st thou then so big thou little span Of earth What art thou more in being man I but my great Creator did inspire My chosen earth with that diviner fire Of Reason gave me Iudgement and a Will That to know good this to chuse good from ill He put the raines of pow'r in my free hand And jurisdiction oversea and land He gave me art to lengthen out my span Of life and made me all in being man I but thy Passion has committed treason Against the sacred person of thy Reason Thy Iudgement is corrupt perverse thy Will That knowes no good and this makes choice of ill The greater height sends downe the deeper fall And good declin'd turnes bad turnes worst of all Say then proud inch of living earth what can Thy greatnesse claime the more in being man O but my soule transcends the pitch of nature Borne up by th' Image of her high Creator Out-braves the life of reason and beats downe Her waxen wings kicks off her brazen Crowne My earth 's a living Temple t' entertaine The King of Glory and his glorious traine How can I mend my Title then where can Ambition find a higher stile than man Ah but that Image is defac'd and soil'd Her Temple 's raz'd her altars all defil'd Her vessels are polluted and distain'd With loathed lust her ornaments prophan'd Her oyle forsaken lamps and hallow'd Tapoure Put out her incense breaths unsav'ry vapours Why swel'st thou then so big thou little span Of earth What art thou more in being man Eternall Porter whose blest hands did lay My course foundation from a sod of clay Thou know'st my slender vessell's apt to leake Thou know'st my brittle Temper 's prone to breake Are my Bones Brazzill or my Flesh of Oake O mend what thou hast made what I have broke Looke looke with gentle eyes and in thy day Of vengeance Lord remember I am clay S. AUGUST Soliloq 32. Shall I ask who made me It was thou that madest me without whom nothing was made Thou art my maker and I thy worke I thanke thee my Lord God by whom I live and by whom all things subsist because thou madest me I thanke thee O my Potter because thy hands have made me because thy hands have formed me EPIG 5. Why swell'st thou Man puft up with Fame and Purse Th' art better earth but borne to dig the worse Thou cam'st from earth to earth thou must returne And art but earth cast from the wombe to th'â—ne VI. What shall I do vnto thee O thow â— preserver of men why hast thou set mee as a marke against thee Iob. 7.2 VI. IOB VII XX I have sinned What shall I doe unto thee O thou preserver of men why hast thou set me as a marke against thee LOrd I have done and Lord I have misdone 'T is folly to contest to strive with one That is too strong 't is folly to assaile Or prove an Arme that will that must prevaile Iv'e done I 've done these trembling hands have throwne Their daring weapons downe The day 's thine owne Forbeare to strike where thou hast won the field The palme the palme is thine I yeeld I yeeld These treach'rous hands that were so vainly bold To try a thrivelesse combat and to hold Selfe-wounding weapons up are now extended For mercy from thy hand that knee that bended Vpon her guardlesse guard does now repent Vpon this naked floore See both are bent And sue for pitie O my ragged wound Is deep and desp'rate it is drench'd and drown'd In blood and briny teares It does begin To stinke without and putrifie within Let that victorious hand that now appeares Iust in my blood prove gracious to my teares Thou great Preserver of presumptuous man What shall I do What satisfaction can Poore dust and ashes make O if that blood That yet remaines unshed were halfe as good As blood of Oxen if my death might be An offring to attone my God and me I would disdaine injurious life and stand A suiter to be wounded from thy hand But may thy wrongs be measur'd by the span Of life or balanc'd with the blood of man
judgement and eternall punishment EPIG 14. What soule no farther yet what nev'r commence Master in Faith Still Bachelour of Sense Is' t insufficiency Or what has made thee Ore slip thy lost degree Thy lusts have staid thee XV. My life is spent with grief my yeeres with Sighing Ps 30 10. W M. sculp XV. PSAL. XXX.X. My life is spent with griefe and my yeares with sighing WHat sullen Starre rul'd my untimely birth That would not lend my dayes one houre of mirth How oft have these bare knees been bent to gaine The slender Almes of one poore smile in vaine How often tir'd with the fastidious light Have my faint lips implor'd the shades of night How often have my nightly Torments praid For lingring twilight glutted with the shade Day worse than night night worse than day appeares In feares I spend my nights my dayes in teares I moane unpitti'd groane without reliefe There is nor end nor measure of my griefe The smiling flow'r salutes the day it growes Vntouch'd with care It neither spins nor sowes O that my tedious life were like this flow'r Or freed from griefe or furlish'd with an houre Why was I borne Why was I borne a man And why proportion'd by so large a Span Or why suspended from the common lot And being borne to die why die I not Ah me why is my sorrow-wasted breath Deny'd the easie priviledge of death The branded Slave that tugs the weary Oare Obtaines the Sabbath of a welcome Shore His ransom'd stripes are heal'd His native soyle â—weetens the mem'ry of his forreigne toyle But ah my sorrowes are not halfe so blest My labour finds no point my paines no rest I barter sighs for teares and teares for Groanes Still vainely rolling Sysiphaean stones Thou just Observer of our flying houres That with thy Adarmantine fangs devours The brazen Monuments of renowned Kings Does thy glasse stand Or be thy moulting wings Vnapt to flie If not why dost thou spare A willing brest a brest that stands so faire A dying brest that has but onely breath To beg a wound and strength to crave a death O that the pleased Heav'ns would once dissolve These fleshly fetters that so fast involve My hampred soule then should my soule be blest From all these ills and wrapher thoughts in rest Till then my dayes are moneths my moneths are yeares My yeares are ages to be spent in teares My Grief 's entayl'd upon my wastfull breath Which no Recov'ry can cut off but death Breath drawne in Cottages pufft out in Thrones Begins continues and concludes in Grones INNOCENT de vilitate condit humanae O who will give mine eyes a fountaine of teares that I may bewaile the miserable ingresse of mans condition the sinfull progresse of mans conversation the damnable egresse in mans dissolution I will consider with teares whereof man was made what man does and what man is to doe Alas he is formed of earth conceived in sinne borne to punishment Hee does evill things which are not lawfull He does filthy things which are not decent He does vaine things which are not expedient EPIG 15. My heart Thy life 's a debt by Bond which beares A secret date The use is Grones and Teares Plead not Vsurious Nature will have all As well the Int'rest as the Princâ—pall THE FOVRTH BOOKE I. My soule hath Coueted to desire thy iudgement psal 119 Will simpson I. ROM VII XXIII I see another Law in my members warring against the Law of my mind bringing me into captivitie to the Law of sin 1 O How my will is hurried to and fro And how my unresolv'd resolves do varie I know not where to fix sometimes I goe This way then that and then the quite contrary I like dislike I lament for what I could not I doe undoe yet still doe what I should not And at the selfe same instant will the Thing I would not 2 Thus are my weather-beaten thoughts opprest With th'earth-bred winds of my prodigious will Thus am I hourely tost from East to West Vpon the rouling streames of Good and Ill Thus am I driv'n upon these slippry Sudds From reall Ills to false apparent Goods My life 's a troubled sea compos'd of Ebbs and Floods 3 The curious Penman having trim'd his Page With the dead language of his dabled Quill Le ts fall a heedlesse drop then in a Rage Cashieres the fruit of his unlucky skill Ev'n so my pregnant soule in th'infant bud Of her best thoughts showres down a Cole-black flood Of unadvised Ills and cancels all her Good 4 Sometimes a sudden flash of sacred heat Warmes my chill soule and sets my thoughts in frame But soone that fire is shouldred from her seat By lustfull Cupids much inferiour flame I feele two flames and yet no flame entire Thus are the Mungrill thoughts of mixt desire Consum'd betweene that heav'nly and this earthly fire 5 Sometimes my trash-disdaining thoughts out-passe The common Period of terrene conceit O then me thinkes I scorne the Thing I was Whilst I stand ravisht at my new Estate But when th'Icarian Wings of my desire Feele but the warmth of their own native fire O then they melt and plunge within their wonted mire 6 I know the nature of my wav'ring mind I know the frailty of my fleshly will My Passion 's Eagle-ey'd my Iudgment blind I know what 's good but yet make choice of ill When th' Ostrich wings of my desires shall be So dull they cannot mount the least degree Yet grant my soule desire but of desiring Thee S. BERN. Med. 9. My heart is a vaine heart a vagabond and instable heart while it is led by its owne judgement and wanting divine counsell cannot subsist in it selfe and whilst it divers wayes seekes rest finds none but remaines miserable through labour and void of peace It agrees not with it selfe it dissents from it selfe it alters resolutions changes the judgement frames new thoughts puls downe the old and builds them up againe It wils and wils not and never remaines in the same state EPIG 1. My soule how are thy thoughts disturb'd confin'd Enlarg'd betwixt thy Members and thy Mind Fix here or there Thy doubt-depending cause Can nev'r expect one verdict twixt two Lawes II. Oh that my wayes were Directed to keepe thy Statutes Ps. 119.5 W. Simpson Sculy II. PSAL. CXIX V O that my wayes were directed to keepe thy statutes 1 THus I the object of the worlds disdaine With Pilgrim-pace surround the weary earth I onely relish what the world counts vaine Her mirth 's my griefe her sullen Griefe my mirth Her light my darknesse and her Truth my Error Her freedome is my Iayle and her delight my Terror 2 Fond earth Proportion not my seeming love To my long stay let not thy thoughts deceive thee Thou art my Prison and my Home's above My life 's a Preparation but to leave thee Like one that seekes a doore I walke about thee With thee I cannot live
tryall Of some new Trade Shall mortall hearts grow old In sorrow Shall my weary Armes infold And underprop my panting sides for ever Is there no charitable hand will sever My well-spun Thred that my imprison'd soule May be deliver'd from this dull darke hole Of dungeon flesh O shall I shall I never Be ransom'd but remaine a slave for ever It is the Lot of man but once to dye But ere that death how many deaths have I What humane madnesse makes the world affraid To entertaine heav'ns joy because conveig'd By th' hand of death Will nakednesse refuse Rich change of robes because the man 's not spruse That brought them Or will Poverty send back Full bags of gold because the bringer's black Life is a Bubble blowne with whining breaths Fil'd with the torments of a thousand deaths Which being prickt by death while death deprives One life presents the soule a thousand lives Of frantick mortall how has earth bewich'd Thy Beldam soule which has so fondly pitch'd Vpon her false delights Delights that cease Before enjoyment finds a time to please Her fickle joyes breed doubtfull feares her feares Bring hopfull Grifes her griefes weep fearefull teares Teares coyne deceitfull hopes hopes carefull doubt And surly passion justles passion out To day wee pamper with a full repast Of lavish mirth at night we weepe as fast To night we swim in wealth and lend To morrow We sink in want and find no friend to borrow In what a Climat does my soule reside Where pale-fac'd murther the first borne of pride Sets up her kingdome in the very smiles And plighted faiths of men-like Crocadiles A land where each embroydred Sattin word Is lin'd with Fraud where Mars his lawlesse sword Exiles Astraeas Balance where that hand Now flayes his brother that new-sow'd his land O that my dayes of bondage would expire In this lewd Soyle Lord how my Soule 's on fire To be dissolved that I might once obtaine These long'd for joyes long'd for so oft in vaine If Moses-like I may not live possest Of this faire Land Lord let me see 't at least S. AUGUST Soliloq Cap. 2. My life is a fraile life a corruptible life A life which the more increases the more decreases The farther it goes the nearer it comes to death A deceitfull life and like a shadow full of the snares of death Now I rejoyce now I languish now I flourish now infirme now I live and straight I dye now I seeme happy alwayes miserable now I laugh now I weepe Thus all things are subject to mutability that nothing continues an houre in one state O Ioy above Ioy exceeding all Ioy without which there is no Ioy when shall I enter into thee that I may see my God that dwels in thee EPIG 7. Art thou so weake O canst thou not digest An houre of travell for a night of Rest Cheare up my soule call home thy spir'ts and beare One bad Good-Friday Full-mouth'd Easter's neare VIII O wretched Man that I am who shall deliver me from the body of this Death Rom 7.24 Will simpson sculp VIII ROM VII XXIV O wretched man that I am who shall deliver me from this body of death BEhold thy darling which thy lustfull care Pampers for which thy restlesse thoughts prepare Such early Cates For whom thy bubbling brow So often sweats and bankrupt eyes doe owe Such midnight scores to Nature for whose sake Base earth is Sainted the Infernall Lake Vnfeard the Crowne of glory poorely rated Thy GOD neglected and thy brother hated Behold thy darling whom thy soule affects So dearely whom thy fond Indulgence decks And puppets up in soft in silken weeds With farre-fetch'd delicates the deare-bought gainer Of ill-spent Time the price of halfe thy paines Behold thy darling who when clad by Thee Derides thy nakednesse and when most free Proclaimes her lover slave and being fed Most full then strikes th'indulgent Feeder dead What meanst thou thus my poore deluded soule To love so fondly Can the burning Cole Of thy Affection last without the fuell Of counter-love Is my Compere so cruell And thou so kind to love unlov'd againe Canst thou sow favours and thus reape disdaine Remember O remember thou art borne Of royall Blood remember thou art sworne A Maid of Honour in the Court of Heav'n Remember what a costly price was giv'n To ransome thee from slav'ry thou wert in And wilt thou now my soule turne slave agin The Son and Heire to Heav'ns Triune JEHOVA Would faine become a Suitor for thy Love And offers for thy dow'r his Fathers Throne To sit for Seraphims to gaze upon Hee 'l give thee Honour Pleasure Wealth and Things Transcending farre the Majesty of Kings And wilt thou prostrate to the odious charmes Of this base Scullion Shall his hollow Armes Hugg thy soft sides Shall these course hands untie The sacred Zone of thy Virginity For shame degen'rous soule let thy desire Be quickned up with more heroick fire Be wisely proud let thy ambitious eye Read nobler objects let thy thoughts defie Such am'rous basenesse Let thy soule disdaine Th' ignoble profers of so base a Swaine Or if thy vowes be past and Himens bands Have ceremonyed your unequall hands Annull at least avoid thy lawlesse Act With insufficience or a Prae contract Or if the Act be good yet maist thou plead A second Freedome for the flesh is dead NAZIANZ Orat. 16. How I am joyned to this body I know not which when it is healthfull provokes me to warre and being damaged by warre affects me with griefe which I both love as a fellow servant and hate as an utter enemy It is a pleasant Foe and a perfidious friend O strange conjunction and Alienation What I feare I embrace and what I love I am affraid of Before I make warre I am reconcil'd Before I enjoy peace I am at variance EPIG 8. What need that House be daub'd with flesh and blood Hang'd round with silks and gold repair'd with food Cost idly spent That cost does but prolong Thy thraldome Foole thou mak'st thy I ayle too strong IX I am in a streight betwixt two haueing a Desire to Depart to be w th Christ Phil 5.23 Will Simpson Sculpsit IX PHIL. I. XXIII I am in a streight betweene two having a desire to be dissolved and to be with Christ 1 WHat meant our carefull parents so to weare And lavish out their ill expended houres To purchase for us large possessions here Which though unpurchas'd are too truly ours What meant they ah what meant they to indure Such loads of needlesse labour to procure And make that thing our own which was our own too sure 2 What meane these liv'ries and possessive kayes What meane these bargaines and these needlesse sales What need these jealous these suspitious wayes Of law-divis'd and law-dissolv'd entailes No need to sweat for gold wherewith to buy Estates of high-priz'd land no need to tie Earth to their heires were
TRINITAS EMBLEMES By â—raâ— Quarâ—es LONDON Printed by I.D. for Francis Eglerfeild and 〈…〉 at the 〈◊〉 of the Marigold in St. Pauls Church-yard 1â—7â— Haec Laus hic Apex Sapientiae est ea viventem appetere quae morienti forent appetenda TO MY MVCH HONOVRED AND NO lesse truely beloved Friend EDVV. BENLOVVES Esquire My deare Friend YOu have put the Theorboe into my hand and I have played You gave the Musitian the first encouragement the Musicke returnes to you for Patronage Had it been a light Ayre no doubt but it had taken the most and among them the worst But being a grave Strayne my hopes are that it will please the best and among them You. Toyish Ayres please triviall eares They kisse the fancy and betray it They cry Haile first and after Crucifie Let Dorrs delight to immerd themselves in dung whilst Eagles scorn so poore a Game as Flies Sir you have Art and Candor Let the one judge let the other excuse Your most affectionate Friend FRA. QUARLES TO THE READER AN Embleme is but a silent Parable Let not the tender Eye checke to see the allusion to our blessed SAVIOUR figured in these Types In holy Scripture He is sometimes called a Sower sometimes a Fisher sometimes a Physitian And why not presented so as well to the eye as to the eare Before the knowledge of letters GOD was knowne by Hierogliphicks And indeed what are the Heavens the Earth nay every Creature but Hieroglyphicks and Emblemes of His Glory I have no more to say I wish thee as much pleasure in the reading as I had in the writeing Farewell Reader BY Fathers backt by Holy Writ led on Thou shewst away to Heav'n by Helicon The Muses Font is consecrate by Thee And Poefie baptiz'd Divinitie Blest soule that here embark'st Thou sayl'st a pace 'T is hard to say mov'd more by Wit or Grace Each Muse so plyes her Oare but O the Sayle Is fill'd from heav'n with a Diviner Cale When Poets prove Divines why should not I Approve in Verse this Divine Poetry Let this suffice to licence thee the Presse I must no more nor could the Truth say lesse Sic approbavit RICH. LOVâ— Procan Cantabrigieâ—siâ— Tot Flores QUARLES quot Paradisus habet Lectori bene male-volo Qui legit ex Horto hoc Flores Qui carpit Vterque Jure potest VIOLAS dicere jure ROSAS Non è Parnasso VIOLAM Paestivè ROSETO Carpit Apollo magis quae sit amoena ROSAM Quòt Versus VIOLAS legis Quem verba locutum Credis verba dedit Nam dedit Ille ROSAS Utque Ego non dicam haec VIOLAS suavissima Tuâ—e Ipse facis VIOLAS Livide si violas Nà m veluÌ„tè VIOLIS sibi sugit Aâ—anea virus Vertis ità in succos Hasque ROSASque tuos Quas violas Musas VIOLAS puto quasque reculas Dente tuo rosas has râ—or esse ROSAS Sic rosas facis esse ROSAS dùm Zoile rodis Sic facis has VIOLAS Livide dum violas Brent-Hall 1634. EDVV. BENLOVVES Dum Caesum aspicio Solum despicio 〈◊〉 marshall 〈◊〉 THE FIRST BOOKE The Invocation ROwze thee my soule and dreine thee from the dregs Of vulgar thoughts Skrue up the heightned pegs Of thy Sublime Theorboe foure notes higher And higher yet that so the shrill-mouth'd Quire Of swift wing'd Seraphims may come and joyne And make thy Consort more than halfe divine Invoke no Muse Let heav'n be thy Apollo And let his sacred Influences hallow Thy high-bred Straines Let his full beames inspire Thy ravisht braines with more heroick fire Snatch thee a Quill from the spread Eagles wing And like the morning Lark mount up and sing Cast off these dangling Plummets that so clog Thy lab'ring heart which gropes in this darke fog Of dungeon-earth Let flesh and bloud forbeare To stop thy flight till this base world appeare A thin blew Lanskip Let thy pineons sore So high a pitch that men may seeme no more Than Pismires crawling on this Mole-hill earth Thy eare untroubled with their frantick mirth Let not the frailty of thy flesh disturbe Thy new-concluded peace Let reason curbe Thy â—ot-mouth'd Passion and let heav'ns fire season The flash Conceits of thy corrected Reason Disdaine to warme thee at Lusts smoakie fires Scorne scorne to feed on thy old bloat desires Come come my soule hoyse up thy higher sayles The wind blowes faire Shall we still creepe like Snayles That gild their wayes with their owne native slimes No we must flie like Eagles and our Rhimes Must mount to heav'n and reach th'Olympick eare Our heav'n-blowne fire must seek no other Spheare Thou great Theanthropos that giv'st and crown'st Thy gifts in dust and from our dunghill crown'st Reflected Honour taking by Retayle What thou hast giv'n in grosse from lapsed fraile And sinfull man that drink'st full draughts whereiâ— Thy Childrens leprous fingers scurf'd with Sin Have padled cleanse O cleanse my crafty Soule From secret crimes and let my thoughts controule My thoughts O teach me stoutly to deny My selfe that I may be no longer I Enrich my Fancie clarifie my thoughts Refine my drosse O wink at humane faults And through this slender conduit of my Quill Convey thy Current whose cleare streames may fill The hearts of men with love their tongues with praise Crowne me with Glory Take who list the Bayes I. â—â—us muâ—â—uus in masignâ— mali ligno â—â—tus est 〈◊〉 Marshall sculp I. JAM I.XIV. Every man is tempted when hee is drawne away by his own lust and enticed Serpent Eve Serp. NOt eat Nor tast Not touch Nor cast an eye Upon the fruit of this faire Tree And why Why eat'st thou not what Heav'n ordain'd for food Or canst thou think that bad which heav'n cal'd Good Why was it made if not to be enjoy'd Neglect of favours makes a favour void Blessings unus'd pervert into a Wast As well as Surfeits Woman Do but tast See how the laden boughes make silent Suit To be enjoy'd Looke how their bending Fruit Meet thee halfe way Observe but how they crouch To kisse thy hand Coy woman Do but touch Marke what a pure Vermilian blush has dy'd Their swelling Cheeks and how for shame they hide Their palsie heads to see themselves stand by Neglected Woman Do but cast an eye What bounteous heav'n ordain'd for use refuse not Come pull and eat y'abuse the things ye use not Eve Wisest of Beasts our great Creator did Reserve this Tree and this alone forbid The rest are freely ours which doubtlesse are As pleasing to the Tast to th' eye as faire But touching this his strict commands are such 'T is death to tast no lesse than death to touch Serp. P'sh death 's a fable Did not heav'n inspire Your equall Elements with living Fire Blowne from the spring of life Is not that breath Immortall Come ye are as free from death As He that made ye Can the flames expire Which he has kindled Can ye quench His fire Did not
world it selfe and all the worlds Command Is but a Bubble The strong desires of mans insatiate brest May stand possest Of all that earth can give but earth can give no Rest 4 The world 's a seeming Par'dise but her owne And Mans Tormenter Appearing fixt yet but a rolling Stone Without a Tenter It is a vast Circumference where none Can find a Center Of more than earth can earth make none possest and he that least Regards this restlesse world shall in this world find Rest 5 True Rest consists not in the oft revying Of worldly drosse Earths myry Purchase is not worth the buying Her gaine is losse Her rest but giddy toyle if not relying Upon her Crosse How worldlings droyle for trouble That fond brest That is possest Of earth without a Crosse has earth without a Rest CASS. in Ps The Crosse is the invincible Sanctuary of the humble The dejection of the proud the victory of Christ the destruction of the devill the confirmation of the faithfull the death of the unbeleever the life of the just DAMASCEN The Crosse of Christ is the key of Paradise the weake mans staffe the Converts Convoy the upright mans perfection the soule and bodies health the prevention of all evill and the procurer of all Good EPIG 9. Worldling whose whimpâ—ing folly holds the losses Of honour Pleasure health and wealth such Crosses Looke here and tell me what your Armes engrosse When the best end of what ye hugg's a crosse VII Latet hostis et otia ducis W. Marshall sculp VII I PET. V. VIII Be sober Be vigilant because your adversary the devill as a roaring Lion walketh about seeking whom he may devoure 1 WHy dost thou suffer lustfull sloth to creepe Dull Cypâ—ian lad into thy wanton browes Is this a time to pay thine idle vowes At Morpheus Shrine Is this a time to steepe Thy braines in wastfull slumbers up and rouze Thy leaden spirits Is this a time to sleepe Adjourne thy sanguine dreames Awake arise Call in thy Thoughts and let them all advise Hadst thou as many Heads as thou hast wounded Eyes 2 Looke looke what horrid Furies doe await Thy flattring slumbers If thy drowzie head But chance to nod thou fal'st into a Bed Of sulph'rous flames whose Torments want a date Fond Boy be wise let not thy thoughts be fed With Phrygian wisedome Fooles are wise too late Beware betimes and let thy Reason sever Those Gates which passion clos'd wake now or never For if thou nod'st thou fal'st and falling fal'st for ever 3 Mark how the ready hands of death prepare His Bow is bent and he has noch'd his dart He aimes he levels at thy slumbring heart The wound is posting O be wise Beware What has the voice of danger lost the art To raise the spirit of neglected Care Well sleep thy fill and take thy soft reposes But know withall sweet tasts have sower closes And he repents in Thornes that sleeps in Beds of roses 4 Yet sluggard wake and gull thy soule no more With earths false pleasure and the worlds delight Whose fruit is faire and pleasing to the sight But sowre in tast false at the putrid Core Thy flaring Glasse is Gemms at her halfe light She makes thee seming rich but truly poore She boasts a kernell and bestowes a Shell Performes an Inch of her faire promis'd Ell Her words protest a Heav'n Her works produce a Hell 5 O thou the fountaine of whose better part Is earth'd and gravail'd up with vaine desire That daily wallow'st in the fleshly mire And base pollution of a lustfull heart That feel'st no passion but in wanton fire And own'st no torment but from Cupids dart Behold thy Type Thou sitst upon this Baâ—l Of earth secure while death that flings at all Stands ar'md to strike thee down where flames attend thy fall S. BERN. Security is no where It is neither in heaven nor in Paradise much lesse in the world In heaven the Angels fell from the divine presence in Paradise Adam fell from his place of pleasure in the world Iudas fel from the Schoole of our Saviour HUGO J eat secure I drink secure I sleep secure even as though I had past the day of death avoided the day of judgment and escaped the torments of hell fire I play and laugh as though I were already triumphing in the Kingdome of heaven EPIG 7. Get up my soule Redeeme thy slavish eyes From drowzy bondage O beware Be wise Thy Foe 's before thee thou must fight or flieâ— Life lies most open in a closed Eye VIII Et risu necat W. Marshall sc VIII LVKE VI. XXV Woe be to you that laugh now for yee shall mourne and weepe THe world 's a popular disease that raignes Within the froward heart and frantick braines Of poore distemper'd mortals oft arising From ill digestion through th'unequall poysing Of ill-weigh'd Elements whose light directs Malignant humours to maligne Effects One raves and labours with a boyling Liver Rends haire by handfuls cursing Cupids Quiver Another with a Bloody-fluxe of oathes Vowes deepe Revenge one dotes the other loathes One frisks and sings and vyes a Flagon more To drench dry cares and makes the Welkin roare Another droopes the sunshine makes him sad Heav'n cannot please One's moap'd the tother's mad One huggs his Gold Another let sit flie He knowing not for whom nor tother why One spends his day in Plots his night in Play Another sleeps and slugs both night and day One laughs at this thing tother cries for that But neither one nor tother knowes for what Wonder of wonders What we ought t'evite As our disease we hugg as our delight T is held a Symptome of approaching danger When disacquainted Sense becomes a stranger And takes no knowledge of an old disease But when a noysome Griefe begins to please The unresisting sense it is a feare That death has parlyed and compounded there As when the dreadfull Thund'rers awefull hand Powres forth a Viall on th' infected land At first th' affrighted Mortals quake and faeare And ev'ry noise is thought the Thunderer But when the frequent Soule-departing Bell Has pav'd their eares with her familiar knell It is reputed but a nine dayes wonder They neither feare the Thundre'r nor his Thunder So when the world a worse disease began To smart for sinne poore new-created Man Could seek for shelter and his gen'rous Son Knew by his wages what his hands had done But bold-fac'd Mortals in our blushlesse times Can sin and smile and make a sport of Crimes Transgresse of Custome and rebell in ease We false-joy'd fooles can triumph in disease And as the carelesse Pilgrim being bit By the Tarantula begins a Fit Of life-concluding laughter wast our breath In lavish pleasure till we laugh to death HUGO de anima What profit is there in vaine Gloryâ— momentary mirth the worlds power the fleshes pleasure full riches noble descent and great desires Where is their laughter Where is their
are our Traffick and ensnare Our soules the threefold subject of our Care We toyle for Trash we barter solid Ioyes For ayry Triffes sell our Heav'n for Toyes We snatch at Barly graines whilst Pearles stand by Despis'd Such very Fooles are Thou and I Aym'st thou at Honour Does not th'Ideot shake it In his left hand Fond man step forth and take it Or wouldst thou Wealth See how the foole presents thee With a full Basket if such Wealth contents thee Wouldst thou take pleasure If the Foole unstride His prauncing Stallion thou mayst up and ride Fond man Such is the Pleasure Wealth and Honour The earth affords such Fooles as dote upon her Such is the Game whereat earths Ideots flie Such Ideots ah such Fooles are thou and I Had rebell-mans Foole-hardinesse extended No further than himselfe and there had ended It had beene Iust but thus enrag'd to flie Vnon th' eternall eyes of Majesty And drag the Son of Glory from the brest Of his indulgent Father to arrest His great and sacred Person in disgrace To spit and spaule upon his Sun-bright face To taunt him with base termes and being bound To scourge his soft his trembling sides to wound His head with Thornes his heart with humane feares His hands with nayles and his pale Flanck with speares And then to paddle in the purer streame Of his spilt Blood is more than most extreame Great Builder of mankind canst thou propound All this to thy bright eyes and not confound Thy handy-worke O canst Thou choose but see That mad'st the Eye Can ought be hid from Thee Thou seest our persons LORD and not our Guilt Thou seest not what thou maist but what thou wilt The Hand that form'd us is enforc'd to be A Screene set up betwixt thy Work and Thee Look looke upon that Hand and thou shalt spy An open wound a Through-fare for thine Eye Or if that wound be clos'd that passage be Deny'd betweene Thy gracious eyes and me Yet view the Scarre That Starre will countermand Thy Wrath O read my Fortune in thy Hand S. CHRYS Hom. 4. Ioan. Fooles seeme to abound in wealth when they want all things they seeme to enjoy happinesse when indeed they are onely most miserable neither doe they understand that they are deluded by their fancy till they be delivered from their folly S. GREG. in Mor. By so much the more are we inwardly foolish by how much we strive to seeme outwardly wise EPIG 2. Rebellious foole what has thy Folly done Controld thy GOD and crucified His Son How sweetly has the LORD of life deceiv'd thee Thou shedst His Blood and that shed Blood has sav'd thee III. Haue mercy on me o L d for I am weake o L d heale me for my bones are vexed Ps â—2 III. PSAL. VI.II. Have mercy Lord upon me for I am weake O Lord heale me for my bones are vexed Soule Iesuâ— Soul AH Son of David help Ies What sinfull crie Implores the Son of David Soul It is I Ies Who art thou Soul Oh a deepely wounded brest That 's heavy laden and would faine have rest Ies I have no scraps and dogs must not be fed Like houshold Children with the childrens bread Soul True Lord yet tolerate a hungry whelp To lick their crums O Son of David help Ies Poore Soule what ail'st thou Soul O I burne I fry I cannot rest I know not where to fly To find some case I turne my blubber'd face From man to man I roule from place to place T' avoid my tortures to obtaine reliefe But still am dogg'd and haunted with my griefe My midnight torments call the sluggish light And when the morning 's come they woo the night Ies Surcease thy teares and speake thy free desires Soul Quench quench my flames swage these scorching fires Ies Canst thou believe my hand can cure thy griefe Soul Lord I believe Lord helpe my unbeliefe Ies Hold forth thy Arme and let my fingers try Thy Pulse where chiefly does thy torment lie Soul From head to foot it raignes in ev'ry part But playes the selfe-law'd Tyrant in my heart Ies Canst thou digest canst relish wholesome food How stands thy tast Soul To nothing that is good All sinfull trash and earths unsav'ry stuffe I can digest and relish well enough Ies Is not thy blood as cold as hot by turnes Soul Cold to what 's good to what is bad it burnes Ies How old 's thy griefe Soul I tooke it at the Fall With eating Fruit. Ies 'T is Epidemicall Thy blood 's infected and th' Infection sprung From a bad Liver 'T is a feaver strong And full of death unlesse with present speed A veine be op'ned Thou must die or bleed Soul O I am faint and spent That Launce that shall Let forth my blood le ts forth my life withall My soule wants Cordials and has greater need Of blood than being spent so farre to bleed I faint already If I bleed I die Ies 'T is either thou must bleed sick soule or I My blood 's a Cordiall He that sucks my veines Shall cleanse his owne and conquer greater paines Than these Cheere up this precious Blood of mine Shall cure thy Griefe my heart shall bleed for thine Believe and view me with a faithfull eye Thy soule shall neither languish bleed nor die S. AUGUST lib. 10. Confess Lord Be mercifull unto me Ah me Behold I hide not my wounds Thou art a Physician and I am sicke Thou art mercifull and I am miserable S. GREG. in Pastoral O Wisedome with how sweet an art does thy wine and oyle restore health to my healthlesse soule How powerfully mercifull how mercifully powerfull art thou Powerfull for me Mercifull to me EPIG 3. Canst thou be sick and such a Doctor by Thou canst not live unlesse thy Doctor die Strange kind of griefe that finds no med'cine good To swage her paines but the Physicians Blood IV. Looke â—pon my AfflictioÌ„ miâ—â—â—y forgiue mee all my Sinne 〈…〉 IV. PSAL. XXV XVIII Looke upon my affliction and my paine and forgive all my sinnes BOth worke and stroakes Both lash and labour too What more could Edom or proud Ashur doe Stripes after stripes and blowes succeeding blowes Lord has thy scourge no mercy and my woes No end My paines no ease No intermission Is this the state Is this the sad condition Of those that trust thee Will thy goodnesse please T' allow no other favours None but these Will not the Rethrick of my torments move Are these the symptoms these the signes of love Is' t not enough enough that I fulfill The toylsome task of thy laborious Mill May not this labour expiate and purge My sinne without th' addition of thy scourge Looke on my cloudy brow how fast it raines Sad showers of sweat the fruites of fruitlesse paines Behold these ridges see what purple furrowes Thy plow has made O thinke upon those sorrowes That once were thine wilt wilt thou not be woo'd To
No no eternall sin expects for guerdon Eternall penance or eternall pardon Lay downe thy weapons turne thy wrath away And pardon him that hath no price to pay Enlarge that soule which base presumption binds Thy justice cannot loose what mercy finds O thou that wilt not bruise the broken reed Rub not my sores nor prick the wounds that bleed Lord if the peevish Infant fights and flies With unpar'd weapons at his mothers eyes Her frownes halfe mixt with smiles may chance to shew An angry love-trick on his arme or so Where if the babe but make a lip and cry Her heart begins to melt and by and by She coakes his deawy cheekes her babe she blisses And choaks her language with a thousand kisses I am that child loe here I prostrate lie Pleading for mercy I repent and cry For gracious pardon let thy gentle eares Heare that in words what mothers judge in teares See not my frailties Lord but through my feare And looke on ev'ry trespasse through a teare Then calme thy anger and appeare more mild Remember th' art a Father I a child S. BERN. Ser. 21. in Cant. Miserable man Who shall deliver me from the reproach of this shamefull bondage I am a miserable man but a free man Free because like to God miserable because against God O keeper of mankind why hast thou set me as a marke against thee Thou hast set me because thou hast not hindred me It is just that thy enemy should be my enemy and that he who repugnes thee should repugne me I who am against thee am against my selfe EPIG 6. But form'd and fight But borne and then rebell How small a blast will make a bubble swell But dare the floore affront the hand that laid it So apt is dust to fly in 's face that made it VII Wherefore hidest thou thy face holdest mee for thine Enemy Iob â—3 24 W. S. sc VII IOB XIII XXIV Wherefore hidest thou thy face and holdest me for thine enemie WHy dost thou shade thy lovely face O why Does that ecclipsing hand so long deny The Sun-shining of thy soule-enliv'ning eye Without that Light what light remaines in me Thou art my Life my Way my Light in Thee I live I move and by thy beames I see Thou art my Life If thou but turne away My life 's a thousand deaths thou art my Way Without thee Lord I travell not but stray My Light thou art without thy glorious sight Mine eyes are darkned with perpetuall night My God thou art my Way my Life my Light Thou art my Way I wander if thou flie Thou art my Light It hid how blind am I Thou art my Life If thou withdraw I die Mine eyes are blind and darke I cannot see To whom or whether should my daâ—kenesse flee But to the Light And who 's that Light but Thee My path is lost my wandring steps do stray I cannot safely go nor safely stay Whom should I seek but Thee my Path my Way O I am dead To whom shall I poore I Repaire To whom shall my sad Ashes fly But Life And where is Life but in thine eye And yet thou turn'st away thy face and fly'st me And yet I sue for Grace and thou deny'st me Speake art thou angry Lord or onely try'st me Vnskreene those heav'nly lamps or tell me why Thou shad'st thy face Perhaps thou think'st no eye Can view those flames and not drop downe and die If that be all shine forth and draw thee nigher Let me behold and die for my desire Is Phoenix-like to perish in that Fire Death conquer'd Laz'rus was redeem'd by Thee If I am dead Lord set deaths pris'ner free Am I more spent or stink I worse than he If my pufft light be out give leave to tine My flamelesse snuffe at that bright Lamp of thine O what 's thy Light the lesse for lighting mine If I have lost my Path great Shepheard say Shall I still wander in a doubtfull way Lord shall a Lamb of Isr'els sheepfold stray Thou art the Pilgrims Path the blind mans Eye The dead mans Life on thee my hopes rely If thou remove I erre I grope I die Disclose thy Sun-beames close thy wings and stay See see how I am blind and dead and stray O thou that art my Light my Life my Way S. AUGUST Soliloq cap. 1. Why dost thou hide thy face Happily thou wilt say none can see thy face and live Ah Lord let me die that I may see thee let me see thee that I may die I would not live but die That I may see Christ I desire death that I may live with Christ I despise life ANSELM Med. cap. 5. O excellent hiding which is become my perfection My God thou hidest thy treasure to kindle my desire Thou hidest thy pearle to inflame the seeker thou delay'st to give that thou maist teach me to importune seem'st not to heare to make me persever EPIG 7. If heav'ns all-quickning Eyes vouchsafe to shine Vpon our soules we slight If not we whine Our Equinoctiall hearts can never lie Secure beneath the Tropicks of that eye VIII O that my Head were waters and mine eyes a fountaine of teares Ier 9. â— Will. Marshall sculpsit VIII IER IX.I. O that my head were waters and mine eyes a fountaine of teares that I might weepe day and night O That mine eyes were springs and could transforme Their drops to seas My sighs into a storme Of Zeale and sacred Violence wherein This lab'ring vessell laden with her sinne Might suffer sudaine shipwracke and be split Vpon that Rock where my drench'd soule may sit Orewhelm'd with plenteous passion O and there Drop drop into an everlasting teare Ah me that ev'ry sliding veine that wanders Through this vast Isle did worke her wild Meanders In brackish teares in stead of blood and swell This flesh with holy Dropsies from whose Well Made warme with sighs may fume my wasting breath Whilst I dissolve in streames and reeke to death These narrow sluces of my dribling eyes Are much too streight for those quick springs that rise And hourely fill my Temples to the top I cannot shed for ev'ry sin a drop Great builder of mankind why hast thou sent Such swelling floods anâ—â—ade so small a vent O that this flesh had beene compos'd of snow Instead of earth and bones of Ice that so Feeling the Fervor of my sin and loathing The fire I feele I might be thaw'd to nothing O thou that didst with hopefull joy entombe Me thrice three Moones in thy laborious wombe And then with joyfull paine broughtst forth a Son What worth thy labour has thy labour done What was there Ah! what was there in my birth That could deserve the easiest smile of mirth A man was borne Alas and what 's a man A scuttle full of dust a measur'd span Of flitting Time a furnish'd Pack whose wares Are sullen Griefs and soule-tormenting Cares A vale of teares a vessell tunn'd with breath By
If thou becloud the Sun-shine of thine eye I freeze to death and if it shine I frie Which like a Fever that my soule has got Makes me to burne too cold or freeze too hot Alas I cannot beare so sweet a smart Nor canst thou be lesse glorious than thou art Hast then and let thy winged steps out-goe The frighted Roe-buck and his flying Roe But goe not farre beyond the reach of breath Too large a distance makes another death My youth is in her Sping Autumnall vowes Will make me riper for so sweet a Spouse When after-times have burnish'd my desire I 'le shoot thee flames for flames and fire for fire O leave me not nor turne thy beauty from me Looke looke upon me though thy flames ov'rcome me Author sealae Paradisi Tom. 9. Aug Cap 8. Feare not O Bride nor despaire Thinke not thy selfe contemn'd if thy Bridegroome withdraw his face a while All things co-operate for the best Both from his absence and his presence thou gainest light He comes to thee and he goes from thee He comes to make thee consolate He goes to make thee cautious lest thy abundant consolation puffe thee up He comes that thy languishing soule may be comforted He goes left his familiarity should be contemned and being absent to be more desired and being desired to be more earnestly sought and being long sought to be more acceptably found EPIG 15. My soule sinnes monster whom with greater ease Ten thousand fold thy GOD could make than pleases What wouldst thou have Nor pleas'd with Sun nor shade Heav'n knowes not what to make of what He made â—â— Fidesque Coronat aâ— araâ— Will marshall-sculp THE FAREWELL REVEL II.X. Be thou faithfull unto death and I will give thee the crowne of life 1 BE faithfull LORD what 's that Believe 'T is easie to Believe But what That He whom thy hard heart has wounded And whom thy scorne has spit upon Has paid thy Fine and has compounded For those soule deeds thy hands have done Believe that He whose gentle palmes Thy needle-pointed Sinnes have nail'd Hath borne thy slavish load of Almes And made supply where thou hast fail'd Did ever mis'ry find so strange Reliefe It is a Love too strong for mans Beliefe 2 Believe that He whose side Thy crimes have pierc'd with their rebellions di'd To save thy guilty soule from dying Ten thousand horrid deaths from whence There was no scape there was no flying But through his dearest bloods expence Believe this dying Friend requires No other thanks for all his paine But ev'n the truth of weake desires And for his love but love againe Did ever mis'ry find so true a Friend It is a love too vast to comprehend 3 With Floods of teares baptize And drench these dry these unregen'rate eyes LORD whet my dull my blunt beliefe And break this fleshly rock in sunder That from this heart this hell of griefe May spring a Heav'n of love and wonder O if thy mercies will remove And melt this lead from my beliefe My griefe will then refine my love My love will then refresh my griefe Then weepe mine eyes as He has bled vouchsafe To drop for ev'ry drop an Epitaph 4 But is the Crowde of Glory The wages of a lamentable Story Or can so great a purchase rise From a salt Humour Can mine eye Run fast enough t' obtaine this Prize If so LORD who 's so mad to die Thy Teares are Trifles Thou must doe Alas I cannot Then endeavour I will But will a tugg or two Suffice the turne Thou must persever I le strive till death And shall my feeble strife Be crown'd I le crowne it with a Crowne of life 5 But is there such a dearth That thou must buy what is thy due by birth He whom Thy hands did forme of dust And gave him breath upon Condition To love his great Creator must He now be thine by Composition Art thou a gracious GOD and mild Or head-strong man rebellious rather O man 's a base rebellious Child And thou a very gracious Father The Gift is Thine we strive thou crown'st our strife Thou giv'st us Faith and Faith a Crowne of Life THE END The minde of the Frontispeece This Bubble's Man Hope Feare False Ioy and Trouble Are those Foure Winds which daily tosse this Bubble Hieroglyphica haec de vitâ hominis perlegi digna censeo quae typis mandentur Ian. 9. 1637. Tho Wykes R. P. Episc Lond. Capell domest Hieroglyphikes of the life of Man Fra. Quarles LONDON Printed by Iohn Dawson for Francis Eglessield and are to be sold by him at the signe of the Marigold in Pauls Church-yard 1639. TO THE RIGHT HONORABLE both in Blood and Virtue and most accomplisht LADIE MARY COVNTESS OF DORSET LADY GOVERNESS to the most Illustrious CHARLES Prince of great BRITAIN and IAMES Duke of YORKE Excellent Lady I Present these Tapours to burne under the safe Protection of your honorable Name where I presume they stand secure from the Damps of Ignorance and blasts of Censure It is a small part of that abundant service which my thankefull heart owes your incomparable Goodness Be pleased to honour it with your noble Acceptance which shall bee nothing but what your own esteem shall make it Madam Your La pps most humble servant FRA QVARLES To The Reader IF you are satisfied with my Emblems I here set before you a second service It is an Aegyptian dish drest on the English fashion They at their Feasts used to present a Deaths-head at their second course This will serve for both You need not feare a surfet Here is but little And that light of digestion If it but please your Palate I question not your stomack Fall too and much good may 't doe you Covivio addit Minerval E. B. Rem Regem Regimen Regionem Relligionem Exornat celebrat laudat honorat amat BENEVOLUS Sine Lumine inane Behold I was shapen in Iniquity and in sinne did my mother conceive me PSAL. 51.5 MAn is mans ABC There is none that can Reade God aright unlesse he first spell Man Man is the Stayres whereby his knowledge climes To his Creator though it oftentimes Stumbles for want of light and sometimes trippes For want of carefull heed and sometimes slips Through unadvised hast and when at length His weary steps have reach'd the top his strength Oft fayles to stand his giddy braines turne round And Phaeton-like falls headlong to the ground These stayres are often darke and full of danger To him whom want of practice makes a stranger To this blind way The Lamp of nature lends But a false Light and lights to her owne ends These be the wayes to Heav'n These paths require A Light that springs from that diviner fire Whose humane soule-enlightning sunbeames dart Through the bright Crannies of th' immortall part And here thou great Originall of Light Whose error-chaceing Beames do unbenight The very soule of Darknesse and untwist The Clouds of
minits flee On wheeles more swift theÌ„ Eagles wings Our life 's a Clocke and ev'ry gaspe of breath Breathes forth a warning grief till Time shall strike a death 7 How soone Our new-borne Light Attaines to full-ag'd noone And this how soon to gray-hayr'd night Wee spring we bud we blossome and we blast E're we can count our daies Our daies they flee so fast 8 They end When scarce begun And ere wee apprehend That we begin to live our life is don Man Count thy daies And if they flee too fast For thy dull thoughts to count count ev'rie day thy last Our Infancy is consumed in eating and sleeping in all which time what differ we from beasts but by a possibility of reason and a necessity of sinne O misery of man kind in whom no sooner the Image of God appeares in the act of his Reason but the Devill blurs it in the corruption of his will EIPG. 9. To the decrepit man Thus was the first seaventh part of thy few daies Consum'd in sleep in food in Toyish plaies Knowst thou what teares thine eies imparted then Review thy losse and weep them o're agen Preles tua Maia Iuventus Will. Marshall sculpâ— His bones are full of the sinnes of his youth IOB 20.11 1 THe swift-foot Post of Time hath now begun His second Stage The dawning of our Age Is lost and spent without a Sun The light of Reason did not yet appeare Within th' Horizon of this Hemispheare 2 The infant Will had yet none other guide But twilight Sense And what is gayn'd from thence But doubtfull Steps that tread aside Reason now draws her Curtaines Her clos'd Begin to open and she calls to rise 3 Youths now disclosing Bud peeps out and shower Her Aprill head And from her grasse greene bed Her virgin Primerose early blowes Whil'st waking Philomel prepares to sing Her warbling Sonets to the wanton Spring 4 His Stage is pleasant and the way seemes short All strow'd with flowers The dayes appeare but howers Being spent in time-beguiling sport Here griefes do neither presse nor doubts perplex Here 's neither feare to curb nor care to vex 5 His downie Cheek growes proud and now disdaines The Tutors hand He glories to command The proud neckt Steed with prouder Reynes The strong breath'd Horne must now salute his eare With the glad downefall of the falling Deare 6 His quicknos'd Armie with their deepmouth'd sounds Must now prepare To chase the tim'rous Hare About his yet unmorgag'd Grounds The ev'll he hates is Counsell and delay And feares no mischief but a rainie day 7 The thought he takes is how to take no thought For bale nor blisse And late Repentance is The last deare Pen'worth that he bought He is a daintie Morning and he may If lust'ore cast him not b' as faire a Day 8 Proud Blossom use thy Time Times head strong Horse Will post away Trust not the foll'wing day For ev'rie day brings forth a worse Take time at best believe 't thy daies will fall From good to bad From bad to worst of all S. AMBR. Humility is a rare thing in a young man therefore to be admired When youth is vigorous when strength is firme when blood is hot when Cares are strangers when mirth is free then Pride swells and humility is despised EPIG 10. To the old Man Thy yeares are newly gray His newly Greene His youth may live to see what thine hath seene He is thy Parallel His present Stage And thine are the two Tropicks of Mans Age. Iam ruit in Venerem Will Marshall sculpsit Rejoyce O young man and let thy heart cheare Thee but know c. ECCLES 11.9 HOw flux how alterable is the date Of transitory things How hurry'd on the clipping wings Of Time and driv'n upon the wheeles of Fate How one Condition brings The leading Prologue to another State No transitory things can last Change waits on Time and Time is wing'd with hast Time presents but the Ruins of Time past 2 Behold how Change hath incht away thy Span And how thy light does burne Nearer and nearer to thy Vrne For this deare wast what satisfaction can Injurious time returne Thy shortned daies but this the stile of Man And what 's a Man A cask of Care New tunn'd and working Hee 's a middle Staire Twixt birth and death A blast of ful ag'd Ayre 3 His brest is Tinder apt to entertaine The sparkes of Cupids fire Whose new-blowne flames must now enquire A wanton Juilippe out which may restraine The Rage of his desire Whose painefull pleasure is but pleasing paine His life 's a sicknesse that doth rise From a hot Liver whilst his passion lies Expecting Cordials from his Mistresse eyes His Stage is strowd with Thornes and deckt with Flowers His yeare sometimes appeares A Minit and his Minits yeares His doubtfull Weather's sun-shine mixt with showers His traffique Hopes and Feares His life 's a Medly made of sweets and sowers His paines reward is Smiles and Pouts His diet is faire language mixt with Flouts He is a Nothing all compos'd of Doubts 5 Doe wast thy Inch proud Span of living earth Consume thy golden daies In slavish freedome Let thy wayes Take best advantage of thy frolick mirth Thy Stock of Time decayes And lavish plenty still foreruns a Dearth The bird that 's flowne may turne at last And painefull labour may repaire a wast But paines nor price can call thy minits past SEN. Expect great joy when thou shalt lay downe the mind of a Child and deserve the stile of a wise man for at those yeares childhood is past but oftentimes childishness remaines and what is worse thou hast the Authority of a Man but the vices of a Childe EPIG 11. To the declining Man Why standst thou discontented Is not he As equall distant from the Toppe as thee What then may cause thy discontented frowne Hee 's mounting up the Hill Thou plodding downe Vt Sol ardore Virilj Will Marshall sculpâ—â—t As thy daies so shall thy strength be DEUT. 33.25 The Post Of swift foot Time Hath now at length begun The Kalends of our middle Stage The number'd Steps that we have gone do show The number of those Steps wee are to goe The Buds and blossomes of our Age Are blowne decay'd and gone And all our prime Is lost And what wee boast too much wee have least cause to boast Ah mee There is no Rest Our Time is alwaies fleeing What Rein can curb our headstrong hours They post away They passe wee know not how Our Now is gone before wee can say Now Time past and futur's none of ours That hath as yet no Being And This hath ceast To bee What is is onely ours How short a Time have Wee And now Apolloes eare Expects harmonious straines New minted froÌ„ the Thracian Lyre For now the Virtue of the twiforkt Hill Inspires the ravisht fancy and doth fill The veines with Pegasean fire And now those sterill braines That
cannot show Nor beare Some fruits shall never weare Apollos sacred Bow Excesse And surfet uses To wait upon these daies Full feed and flowing cups of wine Conjure the fancy forcing up a Spright By the base Magick of deboyâ—d delight Ah pittie twiseborne Bacchus Vine should starve Apollo's Bayes And drown those Muses That blesse And calme the peacefull soule when storms of cares oppâ— Strong light Boast not those beames That can but onely rise And blaze a while and then away There is no Solstice in thy day Thy midnight glory lies Betwixt th' extrems Of night A Glory foyld with shame and foold with false delight Hast thou climbd up to the full age of thy few daies Look backwards and thou shalt see the frailty of thy youth the folly of thy Childhood and the waste of thy Infancy Looke forwards thou shalt see the cares of the world the troubles of thy mind the diseases of thy body EPIG 12. To the middle ag'd Thou that art prauncing on the lustie Noone Of thy full Age boast not thy selfe too soone Convert that breath to wayle thy fickle state Take heed thou l't brag too soone or boast too late Et Martem spirat et arma Will Marshall sculpsit He must encrease but I must decrease IOH. 3.30 TIme voyds the Table Dinner 's done And now our daies declining Sun Hath hurried his diurnall Loade To th'Borders of the Westerne roade Fierce Phlegon with his fellow Steeds Now puffes and pants and blowes and bleeds And froths and fumes remembring still Their lashes up th'Olympick Hill Which having conquerd now disdaine The whip and champs the frothy reyn And with a full Career they bend Their paces to their Iournies end Our blazing Tapour now hath lost Her better halfe Nature hath crost Her forenoone book and cleard that score But scarce gives trust for so much more And now the gen'rous Sappe forsakes Her seir-grown twig A breath ev'n shakes The down-ripe fruit fruit soone divorc'd From her deare Branch untouchd unforc'd Now sanguine Venus doth begin To draw her wanton colours in And flees neglected in disgace Whil'st Mars supplies her luke warme place Blood turnes to Choler What this Age Loses in strength it fines in Rage That rich Ennamell which of old Damaskt the downy Cheeke and told A harmelesse guilt unaskt is now Worne off from the audacious brow Luxurious Dalliance midnight Revells Loose Ryot and those veniall evils Which inconsiderate youth of late Could pleade now wants an Advocate And what appeard in former times Whispring as faults now roare as crimes And now all yee whose lippes were wont To drench their Currall in the Font Of forkt Parnassus you that be The Sons of Phoebus and can flee On wings of Fancy to display The Flagge of high Invention stay Repose your Quills Your veines grow sower Tempt not your Salt beyond her power If your pall'd Fancies but decline Censure will strike at every line And wound your names The popular eare Weighs what you are not what you were Thus hackney like we tire our Age Spurgall'd with Change from Stage to Stage Seest thou the daily light of the greater world When attaind to the highest pitch of Meridian glory it staieth not but by the same degrees it ascended it descends And is the light of the lesser world more premanent Continuance is the Child of Eternity not of Time EPIG 13 To the young Man Young man rejoyce And let thy rising daies Cheare thy glad heart Thinkst thou these uphill waies Leade to deaths dungeon No but know withall Arising is but Prologue to a Fall Invidiosa Senectus Will Marshall sculpsit Yet a little while is the light with you IOH. 12.35 1 THe day growes old The low pitcht Lamp hath made No lesse than treble shade And the descending damp does now prepare T'uncurle bright Titans haire Whose Westerne Wardrobe now begins t' unfold Her purples fring'd with gold To cloath his evening glory when th' alarmes Of Rest shall call to rest in restlesse Thetis armes 2 Nature now calls to Supper to refresh The spirits of all flesh The toyling ploughman drives his Thirsty Teames To tast the slipp'ry Streames The droyling Swineheard knocks away and feasts His hungry-whining guests The boxbill Ouzle and the dappled Thrush Like hungry Rivals meet at their beloved bush 3 And now the cold Autumnall dewes are seene To copwebbe every Greene And by the low-shorne Rowins doth appeare The fast-declining yeare The Saplesse Branches d'off their summer Suits And waine their winter fruits And stormy blasts hare forc'd the quaking Trees To wrap their trembling limbs in Suits of mossie Freeze 4 Our wasted Tapour now hath brought her light To the next dore to night Her sprightlesse flame grown great with snuffe does turn Sad as her neigbr'ring Vrne Her slender Inch that yet unspent remaines Lights but to further paines And in a silent language bids her guest Prepare his wearie limbes to take eternall Rest 5 Now carkfull Age hath pitcht her painefull plough Vpon the surrow'd brow And snowie blasts of discontented Care Hath blancht the falling haire Suspitious envie mixt with jealous Spight Disturb's his wearie night He threatens youth with age And now alas He ownes not what he is but vaunts the Man he was 6 Gray haires peruse thy dayes And let thy past Reade lectures to thy last Those hastie wings that hurri'd them away Will give these dayes no Day The constant wheeles of Nature scorne to tyre Vntill her works expire That blast that nipt thy youth will ruine Thee That hand that shooke the branch will quickly strike the Tree S. CHRYS Gray hayres are honorable when the behaviour suits with gray hayres But when an ancient man hath childish manners he becomes more rediculous than a child SEN. Thou art in vaine attained to old yeares that repeatest thy youthfulnesse EPIG 14. To the Youth Seest thou this good old man He represents Thy Future Thou his Preterperfect Tense Thou go'st to labour He prepares to Rest Thou break'st thy Fast He suppes Now which is best Plumbeus in terram Will Marshall sculpsit The dayes of our yeares are threescore years and ten PSAL. 90.10 1 SO have I seene th' illustrious Prince of Light Rising in glory from his Crocean bed And trampling downe the horrid shades of night Advancing more and more his conq'ring head Pause first decline at length begin to shroud His fainting browes within a cole black cloud 2 So have I seene a well built Castle stand Vpon the Tiptoes of a lofty Hill Whose active pow'r commands both Sea and Land And curbs the pride of the Beleag'rers will At length her ag'd Foundation failes her trust And layes her tottring ruines in the Dust 3 So have I seene the blazing Tapour shoot Her golden head into the feeble Ayre Whose shadow-gilding Ray spread round about Makes the foule face of black brow'd darkenesse faire Till at the length her wasting glory fades And leaves the night to her invet'rate shades 4 Ev'n so this little world of living Cloy The pride of Nature glorified by Art Whom earth adores and all her hosts obay Ally'd to Heav'n by his Diviner part Triumphs a while then droops and then decayes And worne by Age death cancells all his dayes 5 That glorious Sun that whilom shone so bright Is now ev'n ravisht from our darkned eyes That sturdy Castle man'd with so much might Lyes now a Monument of her owne disguize That blazing Tapour that disdain'd the puffe Of troubled Ayre scarce ownes the name of Snuffe 6 Poore bedrid Man where is that glory now Thy Youth so vaunted Where that Majesty Which sat enthron'd upon thy manly brow Where where that braving Arme that daring eye Those buxom tunes Those Bacchanalian Tones Those swelling veynes those marrow-flaming bones 7 Thy drooping Glory 's blurrd and prostrate lyes Grov'ling in dust And frightfull Horror now Sharpens the glaunces of thy gashfull eyes Whilst feare perplexes thy distracted brow Thy panting brest vents all her breath by groanes And Death enervs thy marrow-wasted bones 8 Thus Man that 's borne of woman can remaine But a short tine His dayes are full of sorrow His life 's a penance and his death 's a paine Springs like a flow'r to day and fades to morrow His breath 's a bubble and his dayes a Span T is glorious misery to be borne a Man CYPR. When eyes are dimme eares deafe visage pale teeth decaied skin withered breath tainted pipes furred knees trembling hands fumbling feet fayling the sudden downefall of thy fleshy house is neare at hand S. AUGUST All vices wax old by Age Covetousnesse done growes young EPIG 15. To the Infant What he doth spending in groanes thou spendst in teares Iudgement and strength 's alike in both your yeares Hee 's helpesse so art thou What difference than Hee 's an old Infant Thou a young old Man THE END
shafts already made And seeking Hone to set up thy Trade True Embleme of hy sweets Thy Bees do bring Hony in their moutâ—es but in their tailes a sting IV. Quis leuior cui phis ponderis adds amor Will Marshall sculpsit IV. PSAL. LXII IX To be laid in the ballance it is altogether lighter than vanitie 1 PUt in another weight 'T is yet too light And yet Fond Cupid put another in And yet another Still there 's under weight Put in another Hundred Put agin Add world to world then heape a thousand more To that then to renew thy wasted store Take up more worlds on trust to draw thy Balance lower 2 Put in the flesh with all her loades of pleasure Put in great Mammons endlesse Inventory Put in the pondrous Acts of mighty Caesar Put in the greater weight of Swedens Glory Add Scipio's gauntlet put in Plato's Gowne Put Circes Charmes put in the Triple Crowne Thy Balance will not draw thy Balance will not downe 3 LORD what a world is this which day and night Men seek with so much toyle with so much trouble Which weigh'd in equall Scales is found so light So poorely over-balanc'd with a Bubble Good GOD that frantick mortals should destroy Their higher Hopes and place their idle Ioy Vpon such ayry Trash upon so light a Toy 4 Thou bold Imposture how hast thou befool'd The Tribe of Man with counterfeit desire How has the breath of thy false bellowes cool'd He wâ—ns free-borne flames and kindled bastard fire How hast thou vented Drosse instead of treasure And cheated man with thy false weights and measure Proclaiming Bad for good and gilding death with pleasure 5 The woâ—ld's a crafty Strumpet most affecting And closely following those that most reject her But seeming carelesse nicely disrespecting And coyly flying those that most affect her If thou be free shee 's strange if strange shee 's free Fled and she followes Follow and shee 'l flee Than she there 's none more coy ther 's none more fond than she 6 O what a Crocodilian world is this Compos'd of trech'ries and ensnaring wiles She cloathes destruction in a form all kisse And lodges death in her deceitfull smiles She huggs the soule she hates and there does prove The veryest Tyrant where she vowes to love And is a Serpent most when most she seemes a Dove 7 Thrice happy he whose nobler thoughts despise To make an Object of so easie Gaines Thrice happy he who scornes so poore a Prize Should be the C own of his heroick paines Thrice happy he that nev'r was borne to trie Her frownes or smiles or being borne did lie In his sad Nurses Armes an houre or two and die S. AUGUST lib. Confess O you that dote upon this world for what victory do you fight Your hopes can be crown'd with no greater reward than the world can give and what is the world but a brittle thing ful of dangers wherein we travell from lesser to greater periis O let all her vaine light and momentary glory perish with her self and let us be conversant with more eternall things Alas this world is miserable life is short and death is sure EPIG 4. My soule What 's lighter than a feather Wind Than wind The fire And what then fire The mind What 's lighter than the mind A thought Than Thought This bubble-world What than this Bubble Nought V. His veâ—titue orbis Will. Marshall sculpfit V. I COR. VII XXXI The fashion of this world passeth away 1 GOne are those golden dayes wherein Pale conscience started not at ugly sin When good old Saturnes peacefull Throne Was usurped by his beardlesse Sonne When jealous Ops nev'r fear'd th' abuse Of her chast bed or breach oâ— nuptiall Truce When just Astraea poys'd her Scales In mortall hearts whose absence earth bewailes When froth-borne Venus and her brat With all that spurious brood young Iove begat In horrid shapes were yet unknowne Those Halcyon dayes that golden age is gone There was no Clyent then to wait The leisure of his long tayl'd Advocate The Talion Law was in request And Chaunc'ry courts were kept in ev'ry brest Abused Statutes had no Tenters And men could deale secure without indentures There was no pâ—eping hole to cleare The Wittols eye from his incarnate feare There were no lustfull Cinders then To broyle the Carbonado'd hearts of men The rosie Cheeke did then proclaime A shame of Guilt but not a guilt of shame There was no whining soule to start At Cupids twang or curse his flaming dart The Boy had then but callow wings And fell Erynnis Scorpions had no stings The better acted world did move Upon the fixed Poles of Truth and Love Love essenc'd in the hearts of men Then Reason rul'd There was no Passion then Till Lust and rage began to enter Love the Circumf'rence was and love the Center Untill the wanton dayes of Iove The simple world was all compos'd of Love But Iove grew fleshly false unjust Inferiour beauty fil'd his veines with Lust And Cucqueane Iunos Fury hurld Fierce Balls of Rage into th' incestuous World Astraea fled and love return'd From earth Earth boyl'd with Lustâ— with Rage it burn'd And ever since the world has beene Kept going with the scourge of Lust and Spleene S. AMBROS Lust is a sharpe spurre to vice which alwayes puts the affections into a false Gallop HUGO Lust is an immoderate wantonnesse of the stesh a sweet poyson a cruell pestilence a pernicious potion which weakens the body of man and effeminates the strength of an heroick mind S. AUGUST Envy is the hatred of anothers felicity in respect of Superiours because they are not equall 〈◊〉 them in respect of Inferiours lest they should be equall to them in respect of equals because they are equall to them Through Envy proceeded the fall of the world and the death of Christ EPIG 5. What Cupid must the world be â—â—iht so soone But made at morning and be whipt at noone 'T is like the Wagg that plaâ—es with Venus Doves The more 't is lasht the more perverse it proves VI. In ceuce tuta quies Will Marshall Sculpsit VI. ECCLES II. XVII All is vanitie and vexation of spirit 1 HOw is the anxious soule of man befool'd In his desire That thinks a Hectick Fever may be cool'd In flames of fire Or hopes to rake full heapes of burnisht gold From nasty mire A whining Lover may as well request A scorne full brest To melt in gentle teares as woo the world for rest 2 Let wit and all her studied plots effect The best they can Let smiling Fortune prosper and perfect What wit began Let earth advise with both and so project A happy man Let wit or fawning Fortune vie their best He may be blest With all that earth can give but earth can give no Rest 3 Whose Gold is double with a carefull hand His cares are double The pleasure Honour Wealth of Sea and Land Bring but a trouble Tbe
mirth Where their Insolence their Arrogance From how much joy to how much sadnesse After how much mirth how much misery From how great glory are they fallen to how great torments What hath fallen to them may befal thee because thou art a man Thou art of earth thou livest of earth thou shalt returne to earth Death expects thee every where be wise therefore and expect death every where EPIG 8. What ayles the foole to laugh Does somthing please His vaine conceit Or is 't a meere disease Foole giggle on And wast thy wanton breath Thy morning laughter breeds an ev'ning death IX Fâ—ytâ— quis stâ—â—iâ—em figat in orbe â—â—adien Will Marshall 〈◊〉 IX I IOHN II. XVII The world passeth away and all the lusts thereof 1 DRraw neare brave sparks whose spirits scorne to light Your hallow'd Tapours but at honours flame You whose heroick Actions take delight To varnish over a new painted name Whose high-bred thoughts disdaine to take their flight But on th'Icarian wings of babbling Fame Behold how tottring are your high-built stories Of earth wheron you trust the groundwork of your Glories 2 And you more brain-sick Lovers that can prize A wanton smile before eternall Ioyes That know no heav'n but in your Mistresse eyes That feele no pleasure but what sense enjoyes That can like crowne-distemper'd fooles despise True riches and like Babies whine for Toyes Think ye the Pageants of your hopes are able To stand secure on earth when earth it self 's unstable 3 Come dunghill worldlings you that root like swine And cast up golden Trenches where ye come Whose onely pleasure is to undermine And view the secrets of your mothers wombe Come bring your Saint pouch'd in his leather Shrine And summon all your griping Angels home Behold your world the Bank of all your store The world ye so admire the world ye so adore 4 A feeble world whose hot-mouth'd pleasures tyre Before the Race before the start retrait A faithlesse world whose false delights expire Before the terme of halfe their promis'd Date A fickle world not worth the least desire Where ev'ry Chance proclajmes a Change of State A feeble faithlesse fickle world wherein Each motion proves a vice and ev'ry act a Sin 5 The beauty that of late was in her flowre Is now a ruine not to raise a Lust He that was lately drench'd in Danaes showre Is Master now of neither Gold nor Trust Whose Honour late was mann'd with princely pow'r His glory now lies buried in the dust O who would trust this world or prize what 's in it That gives and takes and chops and changes ev'ry minit 6 Not length of dayes nor solid strength of Braine Can find a place wherein to rest secure The world is various and the Earth is vaine Ther 's nothing certaine here ther 's nothing sure We trudge we travell but from paine to paine And what 's our onely grief 's our onely Cure The World 's a Torment hee that would endeaver To find the way to Rest must seek the way to leave her S. GREG. in ho. Behold the world is withered in it selfe yet flourisheth in our hearts every where death every where griefe every where desolation On every side wee are smitten on every side fill'd with bitternesse and yet with the blind minde of carnall desire we love her bitternesse It flies and we follow it it falls yet we sticke to it And because we cannot enioy it fallen wee fall with it and enjoy it fallen EPIG 9. If Fortune hale or envious Time but spurne The world turnes round and with the world we turne When Fortune sees and Lynx-ey'd Time is blind I l'e trust thy joyes O world Till then the Wind. X. Vtriusque crepundia Merces Will. Marshall Sculptit X IOH. VIII XLIV Yee are of your father the devill and the lusts of your Father yee will doe HEre 's your right ground Wagge gently ore this Black Ti 's a short cast y' are quickly at the Iack Rubbe rubbe an Inch or two Two Crownes to one On this Boules side blow wind T 's fairely throwne The next Boul's worse that comes Come boule away Mammon you know the ground untutor'd Play Your last was gone a yard of strength well spar'd Had touch'd the Block your hand is still too hard Brave pastime Readers to consume that day Which without pastime flyes too swift away See how they labour as if day and night Were both too short to serve their loose delight See how their curved bodies wreath and skrue Such antick shapes as Proteus never knew One raps an oath another deales a curse Hee never better bould this never worse One rubbes his itchlesse Elbow shrugges and laughs The tother bends his beetle-browes and chafes Sometime they whoope sometimes their Stigian cries Send their Black Santos to the blushing Skies Thus mingling Humors in a mad confusion They make bad Premises and worse conclusion But wher 's the Palme that Fortunes hand allowes To blesse the victors honourable Browes Come Reader come I le light thine eye the way To view the Prize the While the Gamesters play Close by the Iack Behold Gill fortune stands To wave the game see in her partiall hands The glorious Garland's held in open show To cheare the Ladds and crowne the Conq'rers brow The world 's the Jack The Gamsters that contend Are Cupid Mammon That juditious Friend That gives the ground is Satan and the Boules Are sinfull Thoughts The Prize a Crowne for Fooles Who breathes that boules not what bold tongue can say Without a blush he hath not bould to day It is the trade of man and every Sinner Has plaid his Rubbers Every Soule 's a winner The vulgar Proverb 's crost He hardly can Be a good Bouler and an honest man Good God turne thou my Brazil thoughts a new New soale my Boules and make their Bras true I 'le cease to game till fairer Ground be given Nor wish to winne untill the Marke be heaven S. BERNARD lib. de Consid O you Sonnes of Adam you covetous Generation what have yee to do with earthly Riches which are neither true nor yours Gold and silver are reall earth red and white which the onely error of man makes or rather reputes pretious Jn short if they be yours carry them with you S. HIEROME in Ep. O Lust thou infernall fire whose Fuell is Gluttony whose Flame is Pride wose sparkles are wanton words whose smoke is Infamie whose Ashes are uncleanesse whose end is Hell EPIG 10. Mammon wel follow'd Cupid brauely leddeâ— oth Touchers Equall Fortunes makes a deadâ— No Reed can measure where the Conquest lies Take my advise Compound and share the Prize XI Munâ—â— in 〈…〉 Will Marshal sculpsâ— XI EPH. II.II. Yee walked according to the course of this world according to the Prince of the Aire 1 O Whether will this mad-braine world at last Be driv'n where will her restlesse wheeles arive Why hurries on her ill match'd payre so fast
O whether meanes her furious Groome to drive What will her rambling Fits be never past For ever ranging never once retrive Will earths perpetuall Progresse nere expire Her Teame continuing in their fresh Careire And yet they never rest And yet they never tyre 2 Sols hot-mouth'd Steeds whose nostrils vomit flame And brazen lungs belch forth quotidian fire Their twelve houres taske perform'd grow stiffe and lame And their immortall Spirits faint and tyre At th' Azure mountaines foot their labours claime The priviledge of Rest where they retyre To quench their burning Fetlocks and to steepe Their flaming nostrils in the Westerne deepe And fresh there tyred soules with strength-restoring sleepe 3 But these prodigious Hackneyes basely got T'wixt men and Devils made for Race not flight CaÌ„n dragge the idle world expecting not The bed of Rest but travell with delight Who neither weighing way nor weather trott Through dust and dirt and droyle both night and day Thus droyle these fâ—ends incarnate whose free paines Are fed with dropsies and veneriall Blaines No need to use the whip but strength to rule the raynes 4 Poore Captive world How has thy lightnesse given A just occasion to thy foes illusion O how art thou betray'd thus fairely driven In seeming Triumph to thy owne confusion How is thy empty universe bereiven Of all true joyes by one false Joyes delusion So have I seene an unblowne virgin fed With suga'rd words so full that shee is fed A faire attended Bride to a false Bankrupts Bed 5 Pull gracious LORD Let not thine Arme forsake The world impounded in her owne devises Thinke of that pleasure that thou once did take Amongst the Lillies and sweet Beds of spices Haâ—e strongly thou whose hand has pow'r to slake The swift foot Fury of ten thousand Vices Let not that dust-devouring Dragon boast His craft has wonne what Judahs Lyon lost Remember what it crav'd Recount the price it cost ISIDOR lib. 1. De summo bono By how much the nearer Satan perceives the world to an end by so much the more fiercely he troubles it with persecution that knowing himselfe is to be damned hee may get company in his damnation CIPRIAN in ep Broad and spatious is the road to infernall life there are enticements and death bringing pleasures There the Devil flatters that hee may deceive Smiles that he may endamage allures that he may destroy EPIG II. Nay soft and faire good world post not too fast Thy journeyes end requires not halfe this hast Unlesse that Arme thou so disdainst reprives thee Alas thou needs must goe the devil drives thee XII Gnoâ—em m◠〈…〉 Will. Marshall Sculpsit XII ISAY LXVI XI Yee may sucke but not be satisfied with the breast of her Consolation 1 WHat never fill'd Be thy lips skre'wd so fast To th' earths full breast For shame for shame unseise thee Thou tak'st a surfeit where thou shouldst but tast And mak'st too much not halfe enough to please thee Ah foole forbeare Thou swallow'st at one breath Both food poyson down Thou draw'st both milk death 2 The ub'rous breasts when fairely drawne repast The thriving Infant with their milkie flood But being overstraind returne at last Unholsome Gulps compos'd of wind and blood A mod'rate use does both repast and please Who straines beyond a meane draws in and gulps disease 3 But O that meane whose good the least abuse Makeâ— bad is too too hard to be directed Can Thornes bring grapes or Crabs a pleasing juce Ther 's nothing wholesome where the whole's infected Unseise thy lips Earths milk's a ripned Core That drops from her disease that matters from her Sore 4 Think'st thou that Paunch that burlyes out thy Coate Is thriving Fat or flesh that seemes so brawny Thy Paunch is dropfied and thy Cheeâ— s are bloat Thy lips are white and thy complexion tawny Thy skin 's a Bladder blowne with watry tumors Thy flesh a trembling Bogge a Quagmire full of humors 5 And thou whose thrivelesse hands are ever straining Earths fluent Brests into an empty Sive That alwaies hast yet alwaies art complaining And whin'st for more then earth has pow'r to give Whose treasure flowes and flees away as fast That ever hast and hast yet hast not what thou hast 6 Goe choose a Substance foole that will remaine within the limits of thy leaking Measure Or else goe seeke an Urne that will retaine The liquid Body of thy slipp'ry Treasure Alas how poorely are thy labours crown'd Thy liquor 's neither sweet nor yet thy vessell sound 7 What lesse then foole is Man to progge and plot And lavish out the Creame of all his care To gaine poore seeming goods which being got Make firme possession but a Thorow-fare Or if they stay they furrow thoughts the deeper And being kept with care they loose their carefull keeper S. GREG. Hom 3. secund parte Ezech. If wee give more to the flesh then wee ought wee nourish an Enemy If we give not to her necessity what we ought we destroy a Citizen The flesh is to bee satisfied so farre as suffices to our good whosoever allowes so much to her as to make her proud knowes not how to be satisfied To be satisfied is a great Art least by the society of the flesh we breake forth into the Iniquity of her folly HUGO de Anima The heart is a small thing but desires great matters It is not sufficient for a Kites dinner yet the whole world is not sufficient for it EPIG 12. What makes thee foole so fat Foole thee so Bare Yee sucke the selfe-same milke the selfe-same aire No meane betwixt all Paunch and skinne and bone The meane's a vertue and the world has none XIII Da mihi froena tiâ—or Da mihi calcar amor Roâ—Vaugahn fâ—cit XIII IOH. III. XIX Men love darknesse rather then light because their deeds are evill LORD when we leave the World and come to Thee How dull how slugge are wee How backward how praeposterous is the motion Of our ungaine devotion Our thoughts are Milstones and our soules are lead And our desires are dead Our vowes are fairely promis'd faintly paid Or broken or not made Our better worke if any good attends Upon our private ends In whose performance one pooâ—e worldly scoffe Foyles us or beates us off If thy sharpe scourge finde out some secret fault Wee grumble or revolt And if thy gentle hand forbeare wee stray Or idly lose the way Is the Roade faire wee loyter cloggd with myre Wee sticke or else retyre A Lambe appeares a Lyon and we feare Each bush we see 's a Beare When our dull soules direct their thoughts to Thee The soft-pac'd Snayle is not so slow as we But when at earth we dart our wing'd desire We burne we burne like fire Like as the am'rous needle joyes to bend To her Magneticke Friend Or as the greedy Lovers eye-balls flye At his faire Mistres eye So we cling to earth we fly and puff Yet fly
not fast enough If pleasure becken with her balmey hand Her becke's a strong command If Honour call us with her courtly breath An houres delay is death If profits golden finger'd Charmes enveigle's We clip more swift then Eagles Let Auster weep or blustring Boreas rore Till eyes or lungs be sore Let Neptune swell untill his dropsie-sides Burst into broken Tides Nor threatning Rockes nor windes nor waves nor Fire Can curbe our fierce desire Nor Fire nor Rocks can stop our furious mindes Nor waves nor winds How fast and fearelesse do our footsteps flee The lightfoot Roe-buck's not so swift as wee S. AUGUST sup psal 64. Two severall Lovers built two severall Cities The love of God builds a Ierusalem The love of the world builds a Babylon Let every one enquire of himselfe what he loves and hee shal resolve himselfe of whence he is a Citizen S. AUGUST lib 3. Confess All things are driven by their owne weight and tend to their owne Center My weight is my love By that I am driven whithersoever I am driven Ibidem LORD he loves thee the lesse that loves any thing with thee which hee loves not for thee EPIG 13. Lord scourge my Asse if she should make no hast And curbe my Stagge if he should flee too fast If hee be overswift or shee should prove idle Let Love lend him a spurre Feare her a Bridle XVI Pâ—oâ—â—ce redde diem Will Marshall 〈◊〉 XIV PSAL. XIII III Lighten mine eyes O Lord lest I sleepe the sleepe of death WIl't nere be morning Will that promis'd light Nere breake and cleare these Clouds of nightâ— Sweet Phospher bring the day Whose conqu'ring Ray May chase these fogges Sweet Phospher bring the day How long how long shall these be nighted eyes Languish in shades like feeble Flies Expecting Spring How long shall darknesse soyle The face of earth and thus beguise Our soÌ„ules of rightfull action when will day Begin to dawne whose new-borne Ray May gild the Wether-cocks of our devotion And give out unsoul'd soules new motion Sweet Phospher bring the day Thy light will fray These horrid Mists Sweet Phospher bring the day Let those have night that slily â—ove t'immure Their cloyster'd Crimes and sinne secure Let those have night that blush to let men know The basenesse they nere blush to do Let those have night that love to take a Nappe And loll in Ignorances lappe Let those whose eyes like Oules abhorre the light Let those have Night that love the Night Sweet Phospher bring the day How sad delay Afflicts dull hopes Sweet Phospher bring the day Alas my light-invaine-expecting eyes Can find no Objects but what rise From this poore morall blaze a dying sparke Of Vulcans forge whose flames are darke And dangerous a dull blue burning light As melancholly as the night Here 's all the Sunnes that glister in the Spheare Of earth Ah me what comfort 's here Sweet Phospher bring the day Haste haste away Heav'ns loytring lampe Sweet Phospher bring the day Blow ignorance O thou whose idle knee Rocks earth into a Lethargie And with thy footy fingers hast bedight The worlds faire cheekes blow blow thy spite Since thou hast pufft our greater Tapour doe Puffe on and out the lesser too If ere that breath-exiled flame returne Thou hast not blowne as it will burne Sweet Phospher bring the day Light will repay The wrongs of night Sweet Phospher bring the day S. AUGUST in Ioh. ser 19. God is all to thee If thou be hungry he is bread If thirstie he is water If in darkenesse he is light If naked he is a Robe of Immortality ALANVS de conq nat God is a light that is never darkned An unwearied life that cannot die a Fountaine alwaies flowing a garden of life a Seminary of wisedome a radicall beginning of all goodnesse EPIG 14. My Soule if Ignorance puffe out this light Shee 'l do a favour that intends a spight 'T seemes darke abroad But take this light away Thy windowes will discover breake a day XV. Debilitata fides Terras Astraea reliquit W M scul XV. REVEL XII XII The Devill is come unto you having great wrath because he knoweth that he hath but a short time 1 LORD canst thou see and suffer is thy hand Still bound to th'peace Shall earths black Monarch take A full possession of thy wasted land O will slumbring vengeance never wake Till full-ag'd law-resisting Custome shake The pillours of thy right by false command Unlocke thy Clouds great Thund'rer and come down Behold whose Temples weare thy sacred Crowne Redresse redresse our wrongs revenge revenge thy owne 2 See how the bold Usurper mounts the seat Of royall Majestie How overstrawing Perils with pleasure pointing ev'ry threat With bugbeare death by torments over-awing Thy frighted subjects or by favours drawing Their tempted hearts to his unjust retreat Lord canst thou be so mild and be so bold Or can thy flockes be thriving when the fold Js govern'd by a Fox Lord canst thou see and hold 3 That swift-wing'd Advocate that did commence Our welcome Suits before the King of Kings That sweet Embassadour that hurries hence What Ayres th'harmonious soule or sighs or sings See how shee flutters with her idle wings Her wings are clipt and eyes put out by Sense Sense conq'ring Faith is now growne blind and cold And basely cravend that in times of old Did conquer heav'n it selfe do what th' Almighty could 4 Behold how double fraud does scourge and teare Astraeas wounded sides plough'd up and rent With knotted cords whose fury has no eare See how she stands a Pris'ner to be sent A Slave into eternall banishment I know not whither O I know not where Her Patent must be cancel'd in disgrace And sweet-lipt Fraud with her divided face Must act Astraeas part must take Astraeas place 5 Faiths pineons clipt And faire Astraea gone Quick seeing Faith now blind And Iustice see Has Iustice now found wings And has Faith none What doe we here who would not wish to bee Dissolv'd from earth and with Astraea flee From this blinde dungeon to that Sunne-bright Throne Lord is thy Scepter lost or laid aside Is hell broke loose and all her Fiends untyed Lord rise and rowze and rule and crush their furious Pride PETR RAV in Math. The Devill is the author of evill the fountaine of wickednesse the Adversary of the Truth the corrupter of the world mans perpetuall Enemy He plants snares digs ditches spurres bodies he goads soules He suggests thoughts belches Anger exposes vertue to hatred makes vices beloved sowes Errors nourishes contention disturbes peace and scatters Affections MACAR Let us suffer with those that suffer and be crucified with those that are crucified that we may be glorified with those that are glorified SAVANAR If there he no enemy no fight if no fight no victory if no victory no crowne EPIG 15. My Soule sit thou a patient looker on Iudge not the Play before the Play is done Her
this wooes thee to th' eternall curse O charming Tyrant how hast thou befool'd And slav'd poore man that would not if he could Avoid thy Line thy Lure nay could not if he would 4 Alas thy sweet perfidious voice betrayes His wanton eares with thy Syrenian baits Thou wrapft his eyes in mists then boldly layes Thy Lethall Ginns before their Christall Gaâ—s Thou lock'st up ev'ry Sense with thy false kayes All willing Pris'ners to thy close deceits His eare most nimble whereit deafe should be His eye most blind where most it ought to see And when his heart 's most bound then thinks it self most free 5 Thou grand Imposter how hast thou obtain'd The wardship of the world Are all men turn'd Ideots and Lunaticks Are all retain'd Beneath thy servile bands Is none return'd To his forgotten selfe Has none regain'd His senses Are their senses all adjourn'd What none dismist thy Court will no plumpe Fee Bribe thy false fists to make a glad Decree T'unfoole whom thou hast fool'd and set thy pris'ners free S. BERN. in Ser. In this world is much treacherie little truth here all things are traps here every thing is be set with snares here soules are endanger'd bodies are afflicted Here all things are vanity and vexation of spirit EPIG 3. Nay Cupid pitch thy Trammill where thou please Thou canst not faile to take such fish as these Thy thriving sport will nev'r be spent no need To feare when ev'ry Corck's a world Thou 'lt speed IV. Cuam graue seruitium est quod scuis esca parit IV. HOS XIII III They shal be as the chaffe that is driven with a whirlewind out of the floore and as the smoke out of the chimney FLint-hearted Stoicks you whose marble eyes Contemne a wrinckle and whose soules despise To follow Natures too affected Fashion Or travell in the Regent-walk of Passion Whose rigid hearts disdaine to shrink at Feares Or play at fast and loose with Smiles and Teares Come burst your spleenes with laughter to behold A new found vanity which ' dayes of old Nev'r knew A vanitie that has beset The world and made more slaves then Mahomet That has condemn'd us to the servile yoke Of slavery and made us slaves to smoke But stay why taxe I thus our moderne times For new-blowne Follies and for new-borne Crimes Are we sole guilty and the first Age free No they were smoak'd and slav'd as well as we What 's sweet-lipt Honours blast but smoke What 's treasure But very smoke And what more smoke than pleasure Alas they 'r all but shadowes Fumes and blasts That vanishes this fades the other wasts The restlesse Merchant he that loves to steepe His braines in wealth and layes his soule to sleepe In bags of Bullion sees th' immortall Crowne And faine would mount but Ingots keep him downe He brags today perchance and begs to morrow He lent but now wants Credit now to borrow Blow windes the Treasur's gone the Merchant 's brok A slave to silver 's but a slave to smoke Behold the Glory-vying Childe of Fame That from deep wounds sucks forth an honour'd name Thaâ— thinks no purchase worth the stile of good But what is sold for sweat and seal'd with blood That for a Point a blast of empty breath Vndaunted gazes in the face of death Whose deare bought Bubble fild with vaine renowne Breaks with a Phillip or a Gen'ralls frowne His stroke got Honour staggers with a stroke A Slave to Honour is a Slave to Smoke And that fond soule which wasts his idle dayes In loose delights and sports about the Blaze Of Cupids Candle he that daily spies Twin Babies in his Mistresse Gemenies Whereto his sad devotion does impart The sweet burnt offring of a bleeding heart See how his wings are sing'd in Cyprian fire Whose flames consume with youth in Age expire The world 's a Bubble all the pleasures in it Like morning vapours vanish in a minit The vapours vanish and the Bubble's broke A slave to pleasure is a slave to smoke Now Stoick cease thy laughter and repast Thy pickled cheeks with Teares and weep as fast S. HIEROM That rich man is great who thinkes not himselfe great because he is richâ— the proud man who is the poore man brags outwardly but begs inwardly He is blowne up but not full PETR RAV Vexation and anguish accompany riches and honour The pompe of the world and the favour of the people are but smoake and a blast suddenly vanishing which if they commonly please commonly bring repentance and for a minut of joy they bring an age of sorrow EPIG 4. Cupid thy diet 's strange It dulls It rowzes It cooles It heats it binds and then it looses Dull-sprightly-cold-hot Foole if ev'r it winds thee Into a loosenesse once take heed It binds thee V. Non omne quod hîc micat aurum est Will Marshall sculpsit V PRO. XXIII V Wilt thou set thine eyes upon that which is not for riches make themselves wings they flie away as an Eagle 1 FAlse world thou ly'st Thou canst not lend The least delight Thy favours cannot gaine a Friend They are so sleight Thy morning pleasures make an end To please at night Poore are the wants that thou supply'st And yet thou vaun'st and yet thou vy'st With heav'n Fond earth thou boasts False world thou ly'st 2 Thy babbling Tongue tels golden Tales Of endlesse Treasure Thy bountie offers easie sales Of lasting pleasure Thou asks the Conscience what she ailes And swear'st to ease her Ther 's none can want where thou supply'st There 's none can give where thou deny'st Alas fond world thou boasts false world thou ly'st 3 What well advised eare regards What earth can say Thy words are Gold but thy rewards Are painted Clay Thy cunning can but pack the Cards Thou canst not play Thy game at weakest still thou vy'st If seen and then revy'd deny'st Thou art not what thou seem'st False world thou ly'st 4 Thy tinsill boosome seemes a Mint Of new-coynd treasure A Paradise that has no stint No change no measure A painted Cask but nothing in 't Nor wealth nor pleasure Vaine earth that falsly thus comply'st With man Vaine man that thus rely'st On earth Vaine man thou dot'st Vaine earth thou ly'st 5 What meane dull soules in this high measure To haberdash In earths base wares whose greatest treasure Is drosse and trash The height of whose inchaunting pleasure Is but a Flash Are these the goods that thou supply'st Vs mortalls with Are these the high'st Can these bring cordiall peace False world thou ly'st PET. BLES This world is deceitfull Her end is doubtfull Her conclusion is horrible Her judge is terrible And her punishment is intolerable S. AUGUST lib. Confess The vaine glory of this world is a deceitfull sweetnesse a fruitlesse labour a perpetuall feare a dangerous honour Her beginning is without providence end her and not without repentance EPIG 5. World th' art a Traytor Thou hast stampt thy
base And Chymick metall with great Caesars face And with thy bastard Bullion thou hast barterd For wares of price How justly drawne and quarterd VI. Sic decipit orbis Will Marshall sculpsit VI. IOB XV. XXXI Let not him that is deceived trust in vanity for vanity shall be his recompence 1 BElieve her not Her Glasse diffuses False Portraitures Thou canst espie No true reflection She abuses Her mis-inform'd beholders eye Her Chrystal's falsly steel'd It scatters Deceitfull beames Beleeve her not She flatters 2 This flaring Mirrour representes No right Proportion heiw nor Feature Her very looks are Complements They make thee fairer goodlier greater The skilfull Glosse of her reflection But paints the Context of thy course Complexion 3 Were thy dimension but a stride Nay wert thou statur'd but a span Such as the long-bill'd Troopes defi'd A very Fragment of a Man Shee 'l make thee Mimas which ye will The love-slaine Tyrant or th' Ionick Hill 4 Had surfeits or th'ungratious Starre Conspir'd to make one Common place Of all deformities that are Within the Volume of thy face Shee 'd lend thee favour should out-move The Troy-bane Hellen or the Queen of Love 5 Were thy consum'd estate as poore As Lazars or afflicted Iobs Shee 's change thy wants to seeming store And turne thy Raggs to purple Robes Shee 'l make thy hide-bound flanck appeare As plump as theirs that feast it all the yeare 6 Looke off let not thy Opticks be Abus'd thou seest not what thou shouldst Thy selfe 's the Object thou should'st see But 't is thy shadow thou behold'st And shadowes thrive the more in stature The nearer we approach the light of nature 7 Where heav'ns bright beames looke more direct The shadow shrinks as they grow stronger But when they glaunce their faire aspect The bold-fac'd shade growes larger longer And when their lamp begins to fall Th' increasing shadowes lengthen most of all 8 The soule that seeks the noone of Grace Shrinks in but swels if Grace retreat As heav'n lifts up or veiles his Face Our selfe-esteemes grow lesse or great The least is greatest And who shall Appeare the greatest are the least of all HVGO lib. 3. de anima In vaine he lifts up the eye of his heart to behold his God who is not first rightly advised to behold himselfe First thou must see the viâ—â—ble things of thy selfe before thou canst be prepared to know the invisible things of God for if thou canst not apprehend the things within thee thou canst not comprehend the things above thee The best looking-glasse wherein to see thy God is perfectly to see thy selfe EPIG 6. Be not deceiv'd great Foole There is no losse In being small Great bulks but swell with drosse Man is heav'ns Master-peece If it appeare More great the valu's lesse If lesse more deare VII She pesâ—ima die oâ—tima seviat Will Marshall sculpsit VII DEVT. XXX XIX I have set before thee life and death blessin and cursing therefore choose life that thou and thy seede may live 1 THe world 's a Floore whose swelling heapes retaine The mingled wages of the Ploughmans toyle The world 's a Heape whose yet unwinnowed graine Is lodg'd with chaffe and buried in her soyle All things are mixt the usefull with the vaine The good with bad the noble with the vile The world 's an Ark wherein things pure and grosse Present their lossefull gaine and gainefull losse Where ev'ry dram of Gold containes a pound of drosse 2 This furnisht Ark presents the greedy view With all that earth can give or heav'n can add Here lasting joyes here pleasures hourely new And hourely fading may be wisht and had All points of Honour counterfeit and true Salute thy soule and wealth both good and bad Here maist thou open wide the two-leav'd doore Of all thy wishes to receive that store Which being empty most does overflow the more 3 Come then my soule approach this royall Burse And see what wares our great Exchange retaines Come come here 's that shall make a firme divorse Betwixt thy Wants and thee if want complaines No need to sit in councell with thy purse Here 's nothing good shall cost more price than paines But O my soule take heed If thou relie Vpon thy faithlesse Opticks thou wilt buy Too blind a bargaine know Fooles onely trade by th' Eye 4 The worldly wisedome of the foolish man Is like a Sive that does alone retaine The grosser substance of the worthlesse Bran But thou my soule let thy brave thoughts disdaine So course a purchase O be thou a Fan To purge the Chaffe and keepe the winnow'd Graine Make cleane thy thoughts and dresse thy mixt desires Thou art heav'ns Tasker and thy GOD requires The purest of thy Floore as well as of thy fires 5 Let grace conduct thee to the paths of peace And wisedome blesse thy soules umblemisht wayes No matter then how short or long 's the Lease Whose date determins thy selfe-numbred dayes No need to care for wealths or Fames increase Nor Mars his Palme nor high Apollo's Bayes LORD if thy gracious bounty please to fill The floore of my desires and teach me skill To dresse and chuse the Corn take those the Chaffe that will S. AUGUST lib 1. de doct Christi Temporall things more ravish in the expectation than in fruition but things eternall more in the fruition than expectation Ibidem The life of a man is the middle betweene Angels and beasts If man takes pleasure in carnall things hee is compared to beasts But if he delights in spirituall things he is suited with Angels EPIG 7. Art thou a Child Thou wilt not then be fed But like a Child and with the Childrens bread But thou art fed with chaffe or corne undrest My soule thou savour'st too much of the Brest VIII Haec animanâ—â—â—ueâ—os cymâ—ala at illa 〈◊〉 Will Marshall sculpsit VIII PHIL. III. XIX They minde earthly things but our conversation is in heaven Venus Div. Cupid Ve. WHat meanes this peevish Brat Whish Lullaby What ayles my Babe What ayles my Babe to cry Will nothing still it will it neither be Pleas'd with the Nurses breast nor Mothers knee What ayles my Bird What moves my froward Boy To make such whimpring faces Peace my Ioy Will nothing doe Come come this pettish Brat Thus cry and bawle and cannot tell for what Come busse and friends my lambe whish lullaby What ayles my Babe What ayles my Babe to cry Peace peace my deare alas thy early yeares Had never faults to merit halfe these teares Come smile upon me Let thy mother spie Thy Fathers Image in her Babies eye Husband these guiltlesse drops against the rage Of harder fortunes and the gripes of Age Thine eye 's not ripe for teares whish lullaby What ayles my Babe mine sweet-fac'd Babe to cry Looke looke what 's here A dainty Golden thing See how the dauncing Bells turn round and ring To please my Bantling Here 's a knack will breed A
hundred kisses Here 's a knack indeed So now my bird is white and looks as faire As Pelops shoulder or my milke-white paire Here 's right the Fathers smile when Mars beguil'd Sick Venus of her heart just thus he smil'd DIVIN CVPID Well may they smile alike Thy base-bred Boy And his base Syre had both one Cause A Toy How well their subjects and their smiles agree Thy Cupid finds a Toy and Mars found thee False Queene of Beauty Queene of false delights Thy knee presents an Embleme that invites Man to himselfe whose selfe-transported heart Ov'rwhelm'd with native sorrowes and the smart Of purchas'd griefes lies whining night and day Not knowing why till heavy-heeld delay The dull-brow'd Pander of despaire layes by His leaden Buskins and presents his eye With antick Trifles which th'indulgent earth Makes proper Objects of mans childish mirth These be the coyne that passe the sweets that please There 's nothing good there 's nothing great but these These be the Pipes that base-borne minds daunce after And turne immod'rate teares to lavish laughter Whilst heav'nly Raptures passe without regard Their strings are harsh and their high straines unheard The plough mans Whistle or the triviall Flute Find more respect than great Apollo's Lute Wee 'l looke to heav'n and trust to higher Ioyes Let Swine love Husks and children whine for Toyes S. BERN. That is the true and chiefe joy which is not conceived from the creature but received from the Creator which being once possest thereof none can take from thee whereto all pleasure being compared is torment all joy is griefe sweet things are bitter all glory is basenesse and all delectable things are despicable S. BERN. Ioy in a changeable subject must necessarily change as the subject changes EPIG 8. Peace childish Cupid peace Thy finger'd eye But cries for what in time will make thee cry But are thy peevish wranglings thus appeas'd Well maist thou cry that art so poorely pleas'd IX Venturum exhorresco diem Will Marshal sculpsit IX ESAY X.III. What will ye do in the day of your visitation to whom will ye flie for help and where will ye leave your glory 1 IS this that jolly God whose Cyprian Bow Has shot so many flaming darts And made so many wounded Beauties goe Sadly perplext with whimpering hearts Is this that Sov'raigne Deity that brings The slavish world in awe and stings The blundring soules of swaines and stoops the hearts of Kings 2 What Circean Charme what Hecatean spight Has thus abus'd the God of love Great Iove was vanquisht by his greater might And who is stronger-arm'd than Iove Or has our lustfull God perform'd a Rape And fearing Argus eyes would scape The view of jealous earth in this prodigious shape 3 Where be those Rosie Cheeks that lately scorn'd The malice of injurious Fates Ah wher 's that pearle Percullis that adorn'd Those dainty two-leav'd Ruby gates Where be those killing eyes that so controld The world And locks that did infold Like knots of flaming wyre like Curles of burnisht Gold 4 No no 'T was neither Hecatean spite Nor Charme below nor pow'r above 'T was neither Circes spell nor Stigian sprite That thus transform'd our God of Love 'T was owle-ey'd Lust more potent farre than they Whose eyes and actions hate the day Whom all the world observe whom all the world obay 5 See how the latter Trumpets dreadfull blast Affrights stout Mars his trembling Son See how he startles how he stands agast And scrambles from his melting Throne Hark how the direfull hand of vengeance teares The sweltring Clouds whilst heav'n appeares A Circle fil'd with flame and centerd with his feares 6 This is that day whose oft report hath worne Neglected Tongues of Prophets bare The faithlesse subject of the worldlings scorne The summe of men and Angels pray'r This this the day whose All-descerning light Ransacks the secret dens of night And severs Good from Bad true Ioyes from false Delight 7 You grov'ling Worldlings you whose wisedome trades Where light nev'r shot his Golden Ray That hide your Actions in Cymerian shades How will your eyes indure this day Hils wil be deafe and mountaines will not heare There be no Caves no Corners there To shade your soules from fire to shield your hearts from feare HUGO O the extreame loathsomnesse of fleshly lust which not onely effeminates the mind but enerves the body which not onely distaines the soule but disguises the person It is usher'd with fury and wantonnesse It is accompanied with filthinesse and uncleannesse and it is followed with griefe and repentance EPIG 9. What sweet-fac'd Cupid has thy bastard-treasure Thy boasted Honours and thy bold-fac'd pleasure Perplext thee now I told thee long ago To what they 'd bring thee foole To wit to woe X. Tinnit â—inanâ— est X NAH II.X. Shee is emptie and void and waste 1 SHe 's empty Hark she sounds There 's nothing there But noyse to fill thy eare Thy vaine enquiry can at length but find A blast of murm'ring wind It is a Cask that seems as full as faire But meerely tunn'd with Ayres Fond youth go build thy hopes on better grounds Thy soule that vainely founds Her joyes upon this world but feeds on empty sounds 2 Shee 's empty Hark she sounds Ther 's nothing in 't The spark-ingendring Flint Shall sooner melt and hardest Raunce shall first Dissolve and quench thy thirst Ere this false world shall still thy stormy brest With smooth fac'd Calmes of Rest Thou mayst as well expect Meridian light From shades of black-mouth'd night As in this empty world to find a full delight 3 Shee 's empty Hark she sounds 'T is void and vast What if some flattring blast Of flatuous Honour should perchance be there And whisper in thine eare It is but wind and blowes but where it list And vanishes like a Mist Poore Honour earth can give What gen'rous mind Would be so base to bind Her heav'n-bred soule a slave to serve a Blast of wind 4 Shee 's empty Hark She sounds 'T is but a Ball For Fooles to play with all The painted filme but of a stronger Bubble That 's lin'd with silken trouble It is a world whose Worke and Recreation Is vanity and vexation A Hagg repair'd with vice-complexion paint A Questhouse of complaint It is a Saint a Fiend worse Fiend when most a Saint 5 Shee 's empty Hark she sounds 'T is vaine and void What 's here to be enjoyed But Griefe and sicknesse and large bills of sorrow Drawne now and crost to morrow Or what are Men but puffs of dying breath Reviv'd with living death Fond lad O build thy hopes on surer grounds Than what dull flesh propounds Trust not this hollow world shee 's empty Hark she sounds S. CHRYS in Ep. ad Heb. Contemne riches and thou shalt be rich Contemne glory and thou shalt be glorious contemne injuries and thou shalt be a conquerer Contemne rest and thou shalt gaine rest Contemne
soule at vantage gave my soule the wound Farewell my Bullion Gods whose sov'raigne lookes So ofteâ— catch'd me with their golden hookes Go seek another slave yee must all go I cannot serve my God and Bullion too Farewell false Honour you whose ayry wings Did mount my soule above the Thrones of kings Then flatter'd me tooke pet and in disdaine Nipt my greene buds then kickt me down againe Farewell my Bow Farewell my Cyprian Quiver Farewell deare world farewell deare world for ever O but this most delicious world how sweet Her pleasures relish Ah! How jump they meet The grasping soule And with their sprightly fire Revive and raise and rowze the rapt desire For ever O to part so long What never Meet more Another yeare and then for ever Too quick resolves do resolution wrong What part so soone to be divorc'd so long Things to be done are long to be debated Heav'n is not day'd Repentance is not dated S. AUGUST lib. de util agen paen Goe up my soule into the Tribunall of thy Conscience There set thy guilty selfe before thy selfe Hide not thy selfe behind thy selfe least God bring thee forth before thy selfe S. AUGUST in Soliloq In vaine is that washing where the next sin defiles Hee hath ill repented whose sinnes are repeated that stomack is the worse for vomiting that licks up his vomit ANSELM God hath promised pardon to him that repenteth but he hath not promised repentance to him that sinneth EPIG 13. Braine wounded Cupid had this hasty dart As it hath prickt thy Fancy pierc'd thy heart 'T had beene thy Friend O how has it deceiy'd thee For had this dart but kill'd this dart had say'd thee XIV Post lapsum fortiùs acto 〈◊〉 Marshall sculpsit XIV PRO. XXIV XVI A just man falleth seaven times and riseth up againe but the wicked shall fall into mischiefe 1 T Is but a Foyle at best And that 's the most Your skill can boast My slippry footing fail'd me and you tript Iust as I slipt My wanton weakenesse did her selfe betray With too much play I was too bold He never yet stood sure That stands secure Who ever trusted to his native strength But fell at length The Title 's craz'd the Tenour is not good That claimes by th'Evidence of flesh and Blood 2 Boast not thy skill The Righteous man falls oft Yet falls but soft There may be dirt to mire him but no stones To crush his bones What if he staggers Nay put case he be Foyl'd on his knee That very knee will bend to heav'n and woo For mercy too The true-bred Gamester ups a fresh and then Falls to 't agen Whereas the leaden-hearted Coward lies And yeelds his conquer'd life or cravend dies 3 Boast not thy Conquest thou that ev'ry houre Falst ten times lower Nay hast not pow'r to rise if not in case To fall more base Thou wallow'st where I slip and thou dost tumble Where I but stumble Thou glory'st in thy slav'ries dirty Badges And fal'st for wages Sowre griefe and sad repentance scowres and cleares My staines with teares Thy falling keeps thy falling still in ure But when I slip I stand the more secure 4 LORD what a nothing is this little Span We call a Man What fenny trash maintaines the smooth'ring fires Of his desires How sleight and short are his Resolves at longest How weake at strongest O if a Sinner held by thy fast hand Can hardly stand Good GOD in what a desp'rate case are they That have no stay Mans state implies a necessary Curse When not himselfe hee 's mad when most himself hee 's worse S. AMBROS in Serm. ad vincula Peter stood more firmely after he had lamented his fall than before he fell Insomuch that he found more grace than he lost grace S. CHRYS in Ep. ad Heliod monach It is no such hainous matter to fall afflicted as being downe to lie dejected It is no danger for a souldier to receive a wound in battell but after the wound received through despaire of recovery to refuse a Remedy For wee often see wounded Champions weare the Palme at last and after flight crown'd with victory EPIG 14. Triumph not Cupid His mischance does show Thy Trade does once what thou dost alwayes do Brag not too soone Has thy prevailing hand Foyl'd him Ah Foole Th' ast taught him how to stand VI. Patet â—etheâ— clauditue orbi 〈…〉 XV. IER XXXII XL I will put my feare in their hearts that they shall not depart from me SO now the soule 's sublim'd Her sowre desires Are re-calcin'd in heav'ns well tempred Fires The heart restor'd and purg'd from drossie Nature Now finds the freedeme of a new-borne Creature It lives another life it breaths new Breath It neither feeles nor feares the sting of death Like as the idle vagrant having none That boldly dopts each house he viewes his owne Makes ev'ry purse his Chequer and at 's pleasure Walks forth and taxes all the world like Caesar At length by vertue of a just command His sides are lent to a severer hand Whereon his Passe not fully understood Is taxed in a Manuscript of Blood Thus past from towne to towne untill he come A sore Repentant to his native home Ev'n so the rambling heart that idly roves From Crime to Sin and uncontrol'd removes From lust to lust when wanton flesh invites From old-worne pleasures to new choice delights At length corrected by the filiall Rod Of his offended but his gracious GOD And lasht from Sinnes to sighs and by degrees From sighs to vowes From vowes to bended knees From bended knees to a true pensive brest From thence to torments not by tongues exprest Returnes and from his sinfull selfe exil'd Finds a glad Father He a welcome Child O then it lives O then it lives involv'd In secret Raptures pants to be dissolv'd The royall Of-spring of a second Birth Sets ope to heav'n and shuts the doores to earth If love-sicke love-commanded Clouds should hap To raine such show'rs as quickned Danaes lap Or dogs far kinder than their purple Master Should lick his sores he laughs nor weepes the faster If Earth Heav'ns Rivall dart her idle Ray To heav'n 't is Wax and to the world 't is Clay If earth present delights it scornes to draw But like the Iet unrub'd disdaines that straw No hope deceives it and no doubt divides it No Griefe disturbes it and no Errour guides it No Feare distracts it and no Rage inflames it No Guilt condemnes it and no Folly shames it No sloth besots it and no lust inthrals it No Scorne afflicts it and no Passion gawles it It is a Carknet of immortall life An Arke of peace The Lists of sacred Strife A purer peece of endlesse Transitory A Shrine of Grace A little Throne of Glory A Heav'n borne Of-spring of a new-borne birth An earthly Heav'n An ounce of heav'nly Earth S. AUGUST de spir anima O happie heart where piety affects where humility
sicknesse broacht to be drawne out by death A haplesse helplesse thing that borne does cry To feed that feedes to live that lives to die Great God and Man whose eyes spent drops so often For me that cannot weepe enough O soften These marble braines and strike this flinty rock Or if the musick of thy Peters Cock Will more prevaile fill fill my hearkning eares With that sweet sound that I may melt in teares I cannot weepe untill thou broach ruine eye Or give me vent or els I burst and die S. AMBROS in Psal 118. He that commits sinnes to be wept for cannot weepe for sinnes committed And being himselfe most lamentable hath no teares to lament his offences NAZIANZ Orat. 3. Teares are the deluge of sinne and the worlds sacrifice S. HIEROM in Esaiam Prayer appeases God but a teare compels him That moves him but this constraines him EPIG 8. Earth is an Island ported round with Feares The way to Heav'n is through the Sea of teares It is a stormy passage where is found The wracke of many a ship but no man drown'd IX The sorroues of hell haue encompassed me the snares of death haue ouertaken me psal 17 Will simpson IX PSALM XVIII V The sorrowes of hell compassed mee about and the snares of death prevented me IS not this Type well cut In ev'ry part Full of rich cunning fil'd with Zeuxian Art Are not the Hunters and their Stygian Hounds Limm'd full to th' life Didst ever heare the sounds The musicke and the lip-divided breaths Of the strong-winded Horne Recheats and deaths Done more exact Th' infernall Nimrods hollow The lawlesse Purliews and the Game they follow The hidden Engines and the snares that lie So undiscover'd so obscure to th' eye The new-drawne net and her entangled Prey And him that closes it Beholder say Is' t not well done seemes not an em'lous strife Betwixt the rare cut picture and the life These Purlieu-men are Devils And the Hounds Those quick nos'd Canibals that scoure the grounds Temptations and the Game these Frends pursue Are humane soules which still they have in view Whose fury if they chance to scape by flying The skilfull Hunter plants his net close lying On th'unsuspected earth bayted with treasure Ambitious honour and selfe-wasting pleasure Where if the soule but stoope death stands prepar'd To draw the net and drawne the soule 's ensnar'd Poore soule how art thou hurried to and fro Where canst thou safely stay where safely go If stay these hot-mouth'd Hounds are apt to teare thee If goe the snares enclose the nets ensnare thee What good in this bad world has pow'r t' invite thee A willing Guest wherein can earth delight thee Her pleasures are but Itch Her wealth but Cares A world of dangers and a world of snares The close Pursuers busie hands do plant Snares in thy substance Snares attend thy want Snares in thy credit Snares in thy disgrace Snares in thy high estate Snares in thy base Snares tuck thy bed and Snares arround thy boord Snares watch thy thoughts and Snares attache thy word Snares in thy quiet Snares in thy commotion Snares in thy dyet Snares in thy devotion Snares lurk in thy resolves Snares in thy doubt Snares lie within thy heart and Snares without Snares are above thy head and Snares beneath Snares in thy sicknesse Snares are in thy death O if these Purlieus be so full of danger Great God of Harts the worlds sole sov'raigne Ranger Preserve thy Deere and let my soule be blest In thy safe Forrest where I seeke for rest Then let the Hell-hounds roare I feare no ill Rouze me they may but have no pow'r to kill S. AMBROS lib. 4. in cap. 4. Lucae The reward of honours the height of power the delicacie of diet and the beauty of a harlot are the snares of the Devill S. AMBROS de bono mortis Whilest thou seekest pleasures thou runnest into snares for the eye of the harlot is the snare of the Adulterer SAVANAR In eating he sets before us Gluttony In generation luxury In labour sluggishnesse In conversing envy in governing covetousnesse In correcting arger In honour pride In the heart he sets evill thoughts in the mouth evill words in actions evill workes when awake he moves us to evill actions when asleepe to filthy dreames EPIG 9. Be sad my Heart Deep dangers wait thy mirth Thy soule 's way layd by sea by Hell by earth Hell has her hounds Earth snares the Sea a shelfe But most of all my heart beware thy selfe X. Enter not into iudgment with thy seruant for no man liuing shall be iustified in thy sight Will simpson X. PSAL. CXLIII II Enter not into judgement with thy servant for in thy sight shall no man living bee iustified Jesus Justice Sinner Ies BRing forth the prisner Iustice Iust Thy commands Are done just Iudge See here the prisner stands Ies What has the prisner done Say what 's the cause Of his committment Iust He has broke the lawes Of his too gracious God conspir'd the death Of that great Majesty that gave him breath And heapes transgression Lord upon transgression Ies How know'st thou this Iu. Ev'n by his own confessiō His sinnes are crying and they cry'd aloud They cry'd to heav'n they cry'd to heav'n for blood Ies What sayst thou sinner hast thou ought to plead That sentence should not passe Hold up thy head And shew thy brazen thy rebellious face Sin Ah me I dare not I'am too vile and base To tread upon the earth much more to lift Mine eyes to heav'n I need no other shrift Than mine owne conscience Lord I must confesse I am no more than dust and no whit lesse Than my Inditement stiles me Ah if thou Search too severe with too severe a Brow What Flesh can stand I have transgrest thy lawes My merits plead thy vengeance not my cause Iust Lord shall I strike the blow Ies Hold Iustice stay Sinner speake on what hast thou more to say Sin Vile as I am and of my selfe abhor'd I am thy handy-worke thy creature Lord Stampt with thy glorious Image and at first Most like to thee though now a poore accurst Convicted Caitiffe and degen'rous creature Here trembling at thy Bar. Iust Thy fault 's the greater Lord shall I strike the blow Ies Hold Iustice stay Speake sinner hast thou nothing more to say Sin Nothing but Mercy Mercy Lord my state Is miserably poore and desperate I quite renounce my selfe the world and flee From Lord to Iesus from thy selfe to Thee Iust Cease thy vaine hopes my angry God has vow'd Abused mercy must have blood for blood Shall I yet strike the blow Ies Stay Iustice hold My bowels yearne my fainting blood growes cold To view the trembling wretch Me thinks I spye My fathers Image in the pris'ners eye Iust I cannot hold Jes Then turne thy thirsty blade Into my sides let there the wound be made Cheare up deare soule Redeeme thy life with mine My
I cannot live without thee 3 The world 's a Lab'rinth whose anfractious wayes Are all compos'd of Rub's and crook'd Meanders No resting here Hee 's hurried back that stayes A thought And he that goes unguided wanders Her way is dark her path untrod unev'n So hard 's the way from earth so hard 's the way to Heav'n 4 This gyring Lab'rinth is betrench'd about On either hand with streams of sulphrous fire Streames closely sliding erring in and out But seeming pleasant to the fond descrier Where if his footsteps trust their owne Invention He fals without redresse and sinks beyond Demension 5 Where shall I seek a Guide Where shall I meet Some lucky hand to lead my trembling paces What trusty Lanterne will direct my feet To scape the danger of these dang'rous places What hopes have I to passe without a Guide Where one gets safely through a thousand fall beside 6 An unrequested Starre did gently slide Before the Wisemen to a greater Light Back-sliding Isr'el found a double Guide A Pillar and a Cloud by day by night Yet in my desp'rate dangers which be farre More great than theirs I have nor Pillar Cloud nor Starre 7 O that the pineons of a clipping Dove Would cut my passage through the empty Ayre Mine eyes being seeld how would I mount above The reach of danger and forgotten Care My backward eyes should nev'r commit that fault Whose lasting Guilt should build a Monument of Salt 8 Great God that art the flowing Spring of Light Enrich mine eyes with thy refulgent Ray Thou art my Path direct my steps aright I have no other Light no other Way He trust my God and him alone pursue His Law shal be my Path his heav'nly Light my Clue S. AUGUST Soliloq cap. 4. O Lord who art the Light the Way the Truth the Life in whom there is no darkenesse error vanity nor death The light without which there is darkenesse The way without which there is wandring The Truth without which there is errour Life without which there is death Say Lord let there be light and I shall see light and eschue darknesse I shall see the way and avoid wandring I shall see the truth and shun errour I shall see life and escape death Illuminate O illuminate my blind soule which sits in darkenesse and the shadow of death and direct my feet in the way of peace EPIG 2. Pilgrim trudge on What makes thy soule complaine Crownes thy complaint The way to rest is paine The Road to Resolution lies by doubt The next way Home's the farthest way about III. Stay my stepps in thy Pathes that my feet do not slide Ps. â—7 â— W. M. sc III. PSAL XVII V Stay my steps in thy paths that my feet do not slide 1 WHen ere the Old Exchange of Profittings Her silver Saints-bell of uncertaine gaines My merchant soule can stretch both legs and wings How I can run and take unwearied paines The Charmes of Profit are so strong that I Who wanted legs to go finde wings to flye 2 If time-beguiling Pleasure but advance Her lustfull Trump and blow her bold Alarms O how my sportfull soule can frisk and daunce And hug that Syren in her twined Armes The sprightly voyce of sinew-strengthning Pleasure Can lend my bedrid soule both legs and leasure 3 If blazing Honour chance to fill my veines With flattring warmth and flash of Courtly fire My soule can take a pleasure in her paines My loftie strutting steps disdaine her paines My antick knees can turne upon the hinges Of Complement and skrue a thousand Cringes 4 But when I come to Thee my God that art The royall Mine of everlasting Treasure The reall Honour of my better part And living Fountaine of eternall pleasure How nervelesse are my limbs how faint and slow I have nor wings to flie nor legs to go 5 So when the streames of swift-foot Rhene convay Her upland Riches to the Belgick shore The idle vessell slides the watry lay Without the blast or tug of wind or Oare Her slippry keele divides the silver foame With ease So facile is the way from home 6 But when the home-bound vessell turnes her saileâ— Against the brest of the resisting streame O then she slugs nor Saile nor Oare prevailes The Streame is sturdy and her Tides extreme Each stroke is losse and ev'ry Tug is vaine A Boat-lengths purchase is a League of paine 7 Great All in All that art my Rest my Home My way is tedious and my steps are slow Reach forth thy helpfull hand or bid me come I am thy child O teach thy child to go Conjoyne thy sweet commands to my desire And I will venture though I fall or tire S. AUGUST Ser. 15. de Verb. Apost Be alwayes displeased at what thou art if thou desirest to attaine to what thou art not For where thou hast pleas'd thy selfe there thou abidest But if thou sayest I have enough thou perishest Alwayes add alwayes walke alwayes proceed neither stand still nor go backe nor devâ—â—e He that stands still proceeds not He goes back that coâ—â—inues not He deviates that revolts He goes better that creepes in his way than hee that runs out of his way EPIG 3. Feare not my soule to lose for want of cunning Weepe not heav'n is not alwayes got by running Thy thoughts are swift although thy legs be slow True love will creepe not having strength to goe IV. My flesh trembleth for feare of thee I am afraide of thy Iudgments Ps 119.120 W.M. sculp IV. PSAL. CXIX CXX My flesh trembleth for feare of thee and I am afraid of thy judgements LEt others boaste of Luck and goe their wayes With their faire Game Know vengeance seldome playes To be too forward but does wisely frame Her backward Tables for an After-Game She gives thee leave to venture many a blot And for her owne advantage hits thee not But when her pointed Tables are made faire That she be ready for thee then beware Then if a necessary blot be set She hits thee wins the Game perchance the Set If prosprous Chances make thy Casting high Be wisely temp'rate cast a serious eye On after-dangers and keepe back thy Game Too forward seed-times make thy Harvest lame If left-hand Fortune give thee left-hand chances Be wisely patient let no envious glances Repine to view thy Gamesters heape so faire The hind most Hound takes oft the doubling Hare The worlds great Dice are false sometimes they goe Extremely high sometimes extremely low Of all her Gamesters he that playes the least Lives most at ease playes most secure and best The way to win is to play faire and sweare Thy selfe a servant to the Crowne of Feare Feare is the Primmer of a Gamsters skill Who feares not Bad stands most unarm'd to Ill The Ill that 's wisely fear'd is halfe withstood And feares of Bad is the best foyle to Good True Feare'sth ' Elixar which in dayes of old Turn'd leaden Crosses into Crownes of Gold
obey thy Spirit Then let thy Spirit obey God Thou must be govern'd that thou mayst governe EPIG 6. Of Merc ' and Iustice is thy Kingdome built This plagues my Sin and that removes my guilt When ere I sue Assuerus like decline Thy Scepter Lord say Halfe my kingdome 's thine VII Come my beloved let vs goe forth into the fields let vs remaine in the Villages Cant 7. ij W. Simpson sculp VII CANT VII XI Come my beloved let us goe forth into the fields and let us remaine in the villages 1 Christ Soule Chr. COme come my deare and let us both retire And whiffe the dainties of the fragrant fields Where warbling Phil'mel and the shrill-mouth'd Quire Chaunt forth their raptures where the Turtle builds Her lovely nest and where the new-borne Bryer Breaths forth the sweetnesse that her Aprill yeelds Come come my lovely faire and let us try These rurall delicates where thou and I May melt in private flames and feare no stander by 2 Soul My hearts eternall Ioy in lieu of whom The earth 's a blast and all the world a Buble Our Citie-mansion is the fairer Home But Country-sweets are tang'd with lesser Trouble Let 's try them both and choose the better Come A change in pleasure makes the pleasure double On thy Commands depends my Goe or Tarieâ— I le stirre with Martha or I le stay with Marie Our hearts are firmly fixt although our pleasures varie 3 Chr. Our Country-Mansion situate on high With various Objects still renewes delight Her arched Roofe 's of unstain'd Ivory Her wals of fiery sparkling Chrysolite Her pavement is of hardest Porphery Her spacious windowes are all glaz'd with bright And flaming Carbuncles no need require Titans faint rayes or Vulcans feebler fire And ev'ry Gate 's a Pearle and ev'ry Pearle entire 4 Soul Foole that I was how were my thoughts deceiv'd How falsly was my fond conceit possest I tooke it for an Hermitage but pav'd And daub'd with neighbring dirt thatch'd at best Alas I nev'r expected more nor crav'd A Turtle hop'd but for a Turtles nest Come come my deare and let no idle stay Neglect th' advantage of the head-strong day How pleasure grates that feeles the curb of dull delay 5 Chr. Come then my Ioy let our divided paces Conduct us to our fairest Territory O there wee 'l twine our soules in sweet embraces Sou. And in thine Armes I le tell my passion story Chr. O there I le crowne thy head with all my Graces Sou. And all those Graces shall reflect thy Glory Chr. O there I le feed thee with celestiall Manna I le be thy Elkanah Soul And I thy Hanna Chr. I le sound my Trump of Ioy. So. And I le resound Hosanna S. BERN. O blessed Contemplation The death of vices and the life of virtues Thee the Law and Prophets admire Who ever attain'd perfection if not by thee O blessed Solitude the Magazen of celestiall Treasure by thee things earthly and transitory are chang'd into heavenly and eternall S. BERN. in Ep. Happy is that house and blessed is that Congregation where Martha still complaines of Mary EPIG 7. Mechanick soule thou must not onely doe With Martha but with Mary ponder too Happy 's that house where these faire sisters vary But most when Martha's reconcil'd to Mary VIII Draw me we will run after thee because of the sauour of thy good oyntments Cant â—4 Will simpson sculp VIII CANT I.III. Draw me we will follow after thee by the savour of thy Oyntments THus like a lump of the corrupted Masse I lie secure long lost before I was And like a Block beneath whose burthen lies That undiscover'd Worme that never dies I have no will to rouze I have no pow'r to rise Can stinking Lazarus compound or strive With deaths entangling Fetters and revive Or can the water-buried Axe implore A hand to raise it or it selfe restore And from her sandy deepes approach the dry-foot shore So hard 's the task for sinfull flesh and Blood To lend the smallest step to what is Good My God I cannot move the least degree Ah! If but onely those that active be None should thy glory see none should thy Glory see But if the Potter please t' informe the Clay Or some strong hand remove the Block away Their lowly fortunes soone are mounted higher That proves a vessell which before was myre And this being hewne may serve for better use than fire And if that life-restoring voice command Dead Laz'rus forth or that great Prophets hand Should charme the sullen waters and begin To beckon or to dart a Stick but in Dead Laz'rus must revive and th' Axe must float againe Lord as I am I have no powe'r at all To heare thy voice to Eccho to thy call The gloomy Clouds of mine owne Guilt be night me Thy glorious beames or dainty sweets invite me They neither can direct nor these at all delight me See how my Sin-bemangled body lies Nor having pow'r to will nor will to rise Shine home upon thy Creature and inspire My livelesse will with thy regen'rate fire The first degree to do is onely to desire Give me the pow'r to will the will to doe O raise me up and I will strive to go Draw me O draw me with thy treble twist That have no pow'r but meerely to resist O lend me strength to do and then command thy List My Soule 's a Clock whose wheels for want of use And winding up being subject to th' abuse Of eating Rust wants vigour to fulfill Her twelve hours taske and show her makers skill But idly sleepes unmoov'd and standeth vainly still Great God it is thy work and therefore Good If thou be pleas'd to cleanse it with thy Blood And winde it up with thy soule-moving kayes Her busie wheeles shall serve thee all her dayes Her hand shall point thy pow'r her Hammer strike thy praise S. BERN. Serm. 21. in Cant. Let us run let us run but in the savour of thy Oyntments not in the confidence of our merits nor in the greatnesse of our strength we trust to run but in the multitude of thy mercies for though we run are willing it is not in him that wills nor in him that runs but in God that sheweth mercy O let thy mercy returne and we will run Thou like a Gyant run'st by thy owne power We unlesse thy oyntment breath upon us cannot run EPIG 8. Looke not my Watch being once repair'd to stand Expecting motion from thy makers hand H 'as wound thee up and cleans'd thy Coggs with blood If now thy wheeles stand still thou art not good IX O that thow wert as my Brother that Sucked the Brests of my Mother Cant â— W. marshall sc IX CANT VIII I O that thou wert as my brother that sucked the brests of thy mother I would find thee without and I will kisse thee 1 COme come my blessed Infant and immure thee Within the Temple of my
mine My flames are full of heav'n and all divine How often have I sought this Bed by night To find that greater by this lesser light How oft has my unwitnest groanes lamented Thy dearest absence Ah how often vented The bitter Tempests of despairing breath And tost my soule upon the waves of death How often has my melting heart made choice Of silent teares teares lowder than a voice To plead my griefe and woo thy absent eare And yet thou wilt not come thou wilt not heare O is thy wonted love become so cold Or do mine eyes not seeke thee where they should Why do I seeke thee if thou art not here Or find thee not if thou art ev'ry where I see my error 'T is not strange I could not Find out my love I sought him where I should not Thou art not found in downy Beds of ease â—as thy musick strikes on harder keyes Nor art thou found by that false feeble light Of Natures Candle Our Aegyptian night Is more than common darkenesse nor can we Expect a morning but what breaks from Thee Well may my empty Bed lament thy losse When thou art lodg'd upon thy shamefull Crosse If thou refuse to share a Bed with me Wee 'l never part I le share a Crosse with Thee ANSELM in Protolog Cap. 1. Lord if thou are not present where shall I seeke thee absent If every where why do I not see thee present Thou dwellest in light inaccessible and where is that inaccessible light Or how shall I have accesse to light inaccessible I beseech thee Lord teach me to seeke thee and show thy selfe to the seeker because I can neither seeke thee unlesse thou teach me nor find thee unlesse thou show thy selfe to me Let me seeke thee in desiring thee and desire thee in seeking thee Let me find thee in loving thee and love thee in finding thee EPIG 10. Where shouldst thou seeke for rest but in thy Bed But now thy Rest is gone thy Rest is fled 'T is vaine to seeke him there My soule be wise Go ask thy sinnes They 'l tell thee where he lies XII Saw yee him whom my Soule loveth It was but a little that I passed from them but I found Him whom my soule loveth I held Him and would not let him goe Cant 3.4 Will sim sculp XII CAN. III. III Have you seene him whom my soule loveth When I had past a little from them then I found him I tooke hold on him and left him not 1 WHat secret corner What unwonted way Has scap'd the ransack of my rambling thoughts The Fox by night nor the dull Owle by day Have never search'd those places I have sought Whilst thy lamented absence taught my brest The ready Road to Griefe without request My day had neither comfort nor my night had rest 2 How has my unregarded language vented The sad Tautologies of lavish passion How often have I languish'd unlamented How oft have I complain'd without compassion I ask the Citie-Watch but some deny'd me The common streit whilst others would misguide me Some would debarre me some divert me some deride me 3 Mark how the widow'd Turtle having lost The faithfull partner of her loyall Heart Stretches her feeble wings from Coast to Coast Haunts ev'ry path thinks ev'ry shade does part Her absent Love and her At length unsped She re-betakes her to her lovely Bed And there bewailes her everlasting widow-head 4 So when my soule had progrest ev'ry place That love and deare affection could contrive I threw me on my Couch resolv'd t' embrace A death for him in whom I ceas'd to live But there injurious Hymen did present His Lanskip joyes my pickled eyes did vent Full streames of briny teares teares never to be spent 5 Whilst thus my sorrow-wasting soule was feeding Vpon the rad'call Humour of her thought Ev'n whilst mine eyes were blind and heart was bleeding He that was sought unfound was found unsought As if the Sun should dart his Orbe of light Into the secrets of the black-brow'd night Ev'n so appear'd my Love my sole my soules delight 6 O how mine eyes now ravish'd at the sight Of my bright Sun shot flames of equall fire Ah! how my soule dissolv'd with ov'r-delight To re-enjoy the Crowne of chast desire How sov'raigne joy depos'd and dispossest Rebellious griefe And how my ravisht brest But who can presse those heights that cannot be exprest 7 O how these Armes these greedy Armes did twine And strongly twist about his yeelding wast The sappy branches of the Thespian vine Nev'r cling'd their lesse beloved Elme so fast Boast not thy flames blind boy nor feather'd shot Let Himens easie snarles be quite forgot Time cannot quench our fires nor death dissolve our knot ORIG. Hom. 10. in divers O most holy Lord and sweetest Master how good art thou to those that are of upright heart and humble spirit O how blessed are they that seeke thee with a simple heart How happy that trust in thee It is a most certaine truth that thou lovest all that love thee and never forsakest those that trust in thee For behold thy Love simply sought thee and undoubtedly found thee She trusted in thee and is not forsaken of thee but hath obtained more by thee than she expected from thee BEDE cap. 3. Cant. The longer I was in finding whom I sought the more earnestly I held him being found EPIG 12. What found him out Let strong embraces bind him Hee 'l fly perchance where teares can never find him New Sins will lose what old Repentance gaines Wisedome not onely gets but got retaines XIII It is good for me to draw neare to the Lord 〈◊〉 I haue put my trust in the Lord God Ps 73.20 Will Simpson â—â—â—lpsit XIII PSAL. LXXII XXVIII It is good for me to draw neare to God I have put my trust in the Lord God WHere is that Good which wisemen please to call The Chiefest Does there any such befall Within mans reach Or is there such a Good at all If such there be it neither must expire Nor change than which there can be nothing higher Such Good must be the utter point of mans desire It is the Mark to which all hearts must tend Can be desired for no other end Theâ— for it selfe on which all other Goods depend What may this Exc'lence be does it subsist A reall Essence clouded in the midst Of curious Art or cleare to ev'ry eye that list Or is' t a tart Idea to procure An Edge and keepe the practick soule in ure Like that deare Chymick dust or puzzling Quadrature Where shall I seek this Good Where shall I find This Cath'licke pleasure whose extreames may bind My thoughts and fill the gulph of my insatiate mind Lies it in Treasure In full heaps untold Does gowty Mammons griping hand infold This secret Saint in sacred Shrines of sov'raigne Gold No no she lies not there Wealth often sowrs In keeping makes us hers in seeming
of danger O can my voyce be pleasant or my hand Thus made a Prisner to a forreigne land How can my musick relish in your eares That cannot speake for sobs nor sing for teares Ah if my voyce could Orpheus-like unspell My poore Euridicê my soule from hell Of earths misconstru'd Heav'n O then my brest Should warble Ayres whose Rapsodies should feast The eares of Serathims and entertaine Heav'ns highest Deity with their lofty straine A straine well drencht in the true Thespian Well Till then earths Semiquaver mirth farewell S. AUGUST Med. cap. 33. O infinitely happy are those heavenly virtues which are able to praise thee in holinesse and purity with excessive sweetnesse and inutterable exultation From thence they praise thee from whence they rejoyce because they continually see for what they rejoyce for what they praise thee But we prest downe with this burthen of flesh farre remov'd from thy countenance in this pilgrimage and blowne up with wordly vanities cannot worthily praise thee We praise thee by faith not face to face but those Argelicall Spirits praise thee face to face and not by faith EPIG 15. Did I refuse to sing Said I these times Were not for Songs nor musick for these Climes It was my Errour Are not Groanes and teares Harmonious Raptures in th' Almighties cares THE FIFT BOOKE I. I charge yow o yee Daughters of Ierusalem if yee finde my beloved that yow tell him that I am sicke of loue Canâ—t â— w. simpsen scupsit I. CANT V. VIII I charge you O daughters of Ierusalem if you find my beloved that you tell him that I am sick of love 1 YOu holy Virgins that so oft surround The Cities Saphyre Wals whose snowy feâ—â— Measure the pearly Paths of sacred ground And trace the new Jerus'lems Iasper street Ah you whose care-forsaken hearts are crown'd With your best wishes that enjoy the sweet Of all your Hopes If ere you chance to spie My absent Love O tell him that I lie Deepe wounded with the flames that furnac'd from his eye 2 I charge you Virgins as you hope to heare The heav'nly Musick of your Lovers voice I charge you by the solemne faith ye beare To plighted vowes and to the loyall choice Of your affections or if ought more deare You hold by Hymen by your marriage joyes I charge you tell him that a flaming dart Shot from his Eye hath pierc'd my bleeding heart And I am sick of love and languish in my smart 3 Tell him O tell him how my panting brest Is scorch'd with flames and how my soule is pin'd Tell him O tell him how I lie opprest With the full torments of a troubled mind O tell him tell him that he loves in jest But I in earnest Tell him hee 's unkind But if a discontented frowne appeares Vpon his angry Brow accoast his eares With soft and fewer words and act the rest in teares 4 O tell him that his cruelties deprive My soule of peace while peace in vaine she seeks Tell him those Damask roses that did strive With white both fade upon my sallow cheeks Tell him no token does proclaime I live But teares and sighs and sobs and sudden shreeks Thus if your piercing words should chance to bore His harkning eare and move a sigh give ore To speak and tell him Tell him that I could no more 5 If your elegious breath should hap to rouze A happy teare close harb'ring in his eye Then urge his plighted faith the sacred vowes Which neither I can break nor He deny Bewaile the Torments of his loyall Spouse That for his sake would make a sport to die O blessed Virgins how my passion tires Beneath the burthen of her vaine desires Heav'n never shot such flames Earth never felt such fires S. AUGUST Med. cap. 40. What shall I say What shall I doe Whether shall I goe Where shall I seeke him Or when shall I find him Whom shall I aske Who will tell my beloved that I am sick of love GVLIEL in Cap. 5. Cant. I live But not I It is my beloved that lives in me I love my selfe not with my owne love but with the love of my beloved that loves me I love not my selfe in my selfe but my selfe in him and him in me EPIG 1. Grieve not my soule nor let thy love waxe faint Weepst thou to lose the cause of thy Complaint Hee 'l come Love nev'r was bound to Times nor Lawes Till then thy teares complaine without a Cause II. Stay me with Flowers Comfort me with Apples for I am sick of loue Cant 2.5 Will Marshall sculpsit II. CANT II.V. Stay me with Flowers and comfort me with Apples for I am sicke with love 1 O Tyrant love how does thy sov'raigne pow'r Subject poore soules to thy imperious thrall They say thy Cup 's compos'd of sweet and sowre They say thy diet 's Honey mixt with Gall How comes it then to passe these lips of our Still trade in bitter taste no sweet at all O tyrant love Shall our perpetuall toyle Nev'r find a Sabbath to refresh a while Our drooping soules Art thou all frowns and nev'r a smile 2 You blessed Maids of Honour that frequent The royall Courts of our renown'd JEHOVE With Flow'rs restore my spirits faint and spent O fetch me Apples from Loves fruitfull Grove To coole my palat and renew my sent For I am sick for I am sick of Love These will revive my dry my wasted pow'rs And they will sweeten my unsav'ry houres Refresh me then with Fruit and comfort me with Flow'rs 3 O bring me Apples to asswage that fire Which Aetna-like inflames my flaming brest Nor is it ev'ry Apple I desire Nor that which pleases ev'ry Palat best 'T is not the lasting Deuzan I require Nor yet the red-cheek'd Queening I request Nor that which first beshrewd the name of wife Nor that whose beauty caus'd the golden strife No no bring me an Apple from the Tree of life 4 Virgins tuck up your silken laps and fill ye With the faire wealth of Floras Magazine The purple Vy'let and the pale-fac'd Lilly The Pauncy and the Organ Colombine The flowring Thyme the guilt-boule Daffadilly The lowly Pinck the lofty Eglentine The blushing Rose the Queene of flow'rs and be Of Floras beauty but above the rest Let Iesses sov'raigne Flow'r perfume my qualming brest 5 Haste Virgins haste for I lie weake and faint Beneath the pangs of love why stand ye mute As if your silence neither car'd to grant Nor yet your language to deny my suit No key can lock the doore of my complaint Vntill I smell this Flow'r or taste that Fruit Go Virgins seeke this Tree and search that Bow'r O how my soule shall blesse that happy houre That brings to me such fruit that brings me such a Flow'r GISTEEN in cap. 2. Cant. Expos 3. O happy sicknesse where the infirmity is not to death but to life that God may be glorified by it O happy fever that
Trash they call their treasure O how I 'de smile to see what plots they lay To catch a blast or owne a smile from Caesar Had I the pineons of a mounting Dove How would I sore and sing and hate the Love Of transitory Toyes and feed on Ioyes above 4 There should I find that everlasting Pleasure Which Change removes not which Chance prevents not There should I find that everlasting Treasure Which force deprives not fortune dis-augments not There should I find that everlasting Caesar Whose hand recals not and whose heart repents not Had I the pineons of a clipping Dove How I would climbe the skies and hate the Love Of transitory Toyes and joy in Things above 5 No rank-mouth'd flander there shall give offence Or blast our blooming names as here they doe No liver scalding Lust shall there incense Our boyling veines There is no Cupids Bow LORD give my soule the milke-white Innocence Of Doves and I shall have their pineons too Had I the pineons of a sprightly Dove How I would quit this earth and sore above And heav'ns blest kingdom find with heav'ns blest King IEHOVE S. AUGUST in Psal 38. What wings should I desire but the two precepts of love on which the Law and the Prophets depend O if I could obtaine these wings I could flye from thy face to thy face from the face of thy Iustice to the face of thy Mercy Let us find those wings by love which we have lost by lust S. AUGUST in Psal 76. Let us cast off whatsoever hinders entangles or burthens our flight untill we attaine that which satisfies beyond which nothing is beneath which all things are of which all things are EPIG 13. Tell me my wishing soule didst ever trie How fast the wings of Red-crost Faith can flie Why beg'st thou then the pineons of a Dove Faiths wings are swifter but the swiftest Love XIV How amiable are thy Tabernacles O Lord of Hosts my Soule longeth yâ—â— euen fainteth for the courts of the Lord Pâ—â—4 Will Marshall Sculâ— XIV PSAL. LXXXIV I How amiable are thy Tabernacles O God of Hosts ANcient of dayes to whom all times are Now Before whose Glory Seraphims do bow Their blushing Cheekes and vale their blemisht faces That uncontain'd at once dost fill all places How glorious O how farre beyond the height Of puzzled Quils or the obtuse conceit Of flesh and Blood or the too flat reports Of mortall tongues are thy experssesse Courts Whose glory to paint forth with greater Art Ravish my Fancy and inspire my heart Excuse my bold attempt and pardon me For shewing Sence what Faith alone should see Ten thousand Millions and ten thousand more Of Angell-measur'd leagues from th'Easterne shore Of dungeon earth this glorious Palace stands Before whose pearly gates ten thousand Bands Of armed Angels wait to entertaine Those purged soules for whom the Lamb was slaine Whose guiltlesse death and voluntary yeelding Of whose giv'n life gave this brave Court her building The lukewarme Blood of this deare Lamb being spilt To Rubies turn'd whereof her posts were built And what dropt downe in cold and gelid gore Did turne rich Saphyrs and impav'd her floore The brighter flames that from his eye-balls ray'd Grew Chrysolites whereof her walls were made The milder glaunces sparkled on the Ground And grunsild ev'ry doore with Diamond But dying darted upwards and did fix A Battlement of purest Sardonix Her streets with burnisht Gold are paved round Starres lie like pebbles scattred on the ground Pearle mixt with Onyx and the Iasper stone Made gravil'd Causwayes to be trampled on There shines no Sun by day no Moone by night The Pallace glory is the Pallace light There is no time to measure motion by There time is swallow'd with Eternity Wry-mouth'd disdaine and corner-haunting lust And twy-fac'd Fraud and beetle-brow'd Distrust Soule-boyling Rage and trouble-state sedition And giddy doubt and goggle-ey'd suspition And lumpish sorrow and degen'rous feare Are banisht thence and death 's a stranger there But simple love and sempeternall joyes Whose sweetnesse neither gluts nor fulnesse cloyes Where face to face our ravish't eye shall see Great ELOHIM that glorious One in Three And Three in One and seeing Him shall blesse Him And blessing love Him and in love possesse Him Here stay my soule and ravish in relation Thy words being spent spend now in Contemplation S. GREG. in Psal 7. poenitent Sweet Iesus the Word of the Father the brightnesse of paternall glory whom Angels delight to view teach me to do thy will that led by thy good Spirit I may come to that blessed City where day is eternall where there is certaine security and secure eternity and eternall peace and peacefull happinesse and happy sweetnesse and sweet pleasure where thou O God with the Father and the holy Spirit livest and raignest world without end Ibid. There is light without darkenesse Ioy without griefe desire without punishment love without sadnesse satiety without loathing safety without feare health without disease and life without death EIPG. 14. My soule pry not too nearely The Complexion Of Sols bright face is seene but by Reflexion But wouldst thou know what 's heav'n I le tell thee what Think what thou canst not thinke and Heav'n is that XV. Make hast my Beloved and be Thow like to a Roe or to a yong Hart vpon the Mountaines of Spices Cant 8.14 Will sâ—â—sc XV. CANT VIII XIV Make hast my Beloved and be like the Roe or the young Hart upon the Mountaines of Spices GO Gentle Tyrant go thy flames doe pierce My soule too deep thy flames are too too fierce My marrow melts my fainting Spirits fry Ith'torrid Zone of thy Meridian Eye Away away thy sweets are too perfuming Turne turne thy face Thy fires are too consuming Hast hence and let thy winged steps out-goe The frighted Roe-buck and his flying Roe But wilt thou leave me then O thou that art Life of my Soule Soule of my dying heart Without the sweet Aspect of whose faire Eyes My soule does languish and her solace dies Art thou so easily woo'd So apt to heare The frantick language of my foolish feare Leave leave me not nor turne thy beauty from me Looke looke upon me though thine eâ—es ov'rcome me O how they wound But how my wounds content me How sweetly these delightfull paines torment me How I am tortur'd in excessive measure Of pleasing cruelties too cruell pleasure Turne turne away remove thy scorching beames I languish with these bitter-sweet extreames Hast then and let thy winged steps out-goe The flying Roe-buck and his frighted Roe Turne back my deare O let my ravisht eye Once more behold thy face before thou flie What shall we part without a mutuall kisse O who can leave so sweet a face as this Looke full upon me for my soule desires To turne a holy Martyr in those fires O leave me not nor turne thy beauty from me Looke looke upon me though thy flames ov'rcome me
Patent will Wouldst thou live long Keepe Time in high esteeme Whom gone if thou canst not recall redeeme Nec sine nec Tecum Will Marshall sculpsit His light shall be dark and his candle shall be put out IOB 18.6 What ayles our Tapour Is her luster fled Or foyl'd What dire disaster bred This Change that thus she vailes her golden head 2 It was but very now she shin'd as faire As Venus starre Her glory might compare With Cynthia burnisht with her brothers haire 3 There was no Cave-begotten damp that mought Abuse her beames no wind that went about To breake her peace no Puffe to put her out 4 Lift up thy wondring thoughts and thou shalt spye A Cause will cleare thy doubts but cloud thine eye Subiects must vaile when as their Sov'raign's by 5 Canst thou behold bright Phoebus and thy sight No whit impayr'd The object is too bright The weaker yeelds unto the stronger Light 6 Great God I am thy Tapour Thou my Sunne From thee the Spring of Light my Light begun Yet if thy Light but shine my light is done 7 If thou withdraw thy Light my light will shine If thine appeare how poore a light is mine My light is darknesse if compar'd to thine 8 Thy Sun beames are too strong for my weake eye If thou but shine how nothing Lord am I Ah who can see thy visage and not die 9 If intervening earth should make a night My wanton flame would then shine forth too bright My earth would ev'n presume t' eclipse thy Light 10 And if thy Light be shadow'd and mine fade If thine be dark and my dark light decayd I should be cloathed with a double shade 11 What shall I doe O what shall I desire What help can my distracted thoughts require That thus am wasting twixt a double Fire 12 In what a streight in what a streight am I Twixt two extreames how my rackt fortunes lie See I thy face or see it not I die 13 O let the steame of my Redeemers blood That breaths fro'my sick soule be made a Cloud T' inter pose these Lights and be my shroud 14 Lord what am I or what 's the light I have May it but light my Ashes to their Grave And so from thence to Thee 't is all I crave 15 O make my Light that all the world may see Thy Glory by 't If not It seemes to me Honour enough to be put out by Thee O Light inaccessible in respect of which my light is utter darknes so reflect upon my weaknes that all the world may behold thy strength O Majesty incomprehensible in respect of which my glory is meere shame so shine upon my misery that all the world may behold thy glory EPIG 7. Wilt thou complaine because thou art bereav'n Of all thy light Wilt thou vie Lights with Heav'n Can thy bright eye not brooke the daily light Take heed I feare thou art a Child of night Nec Virtus obscurapetit Will Marshall sculpsit Let your light so shine that men seeing your good workes may glorifie your Father which is in Heaven MAT. 5.16 WAs it for this the breath of Heav'n was blowne Into the nostrils of this Heav'nly Creature Was it for this that sacred Three in One Conspir'd to make this Quintessence of Nature Did heav'nly Providence intend So rare a Fabrick for so poore an end 2 Was Man the highest Master-peece of Nature The curious Abstract of the whole Creation Whose soule was copied from his great Creator Made to give Light and set for Observation Ordain'd for this To spend his Light In a darke-Lanthorne Cloystred up in night 3 Tell me recluse Monastick can it be A disadvandtage to thy beames to shine A thousand Tapours may gaine light from Thee Is thy Light lesse or worse for lighting mine If wanting Light I stumble shall Thy darknesse not be guilty of my fall 4 Why dost thou lurk so close Is it for feare Some busie eye should pry into thy flame And spie a Thiefe or else some blemish there Or being spy'd shrink'st thou thy head for shame Come come fond Tapour shine but cleare Thou needst not shrinke for shame nor shroud for feare 5 Remember O remember thou wert set For men to see the Great Creator by Thy flame is not thy owne It is a Det Thou ow'st thy Maker And wilt thou deny To pay the Int'rest of thy Light And skulk in Corners and play least in sight 6 Art thou affraid to trust thy easie flame To the injurious wast of Fortunes puffe Ah Coward rouze and quit thy selfe for shame Who dies in service hath liv'd long enough Who shines and makes no eye partaker Vsurps himselfe and closely robbs his Maker 7 Take not thy selfe a Pris'ner that art free Why dost thou turne thy Palace to a Iaile Thou art an Eagle And befits it thee To live immured like a cloysterd Snaile Let Toies seeke Corners Things of cost Gaine worth by view Hid Iewels are but lost 8 My God my light is dark enough at lightest Encrease her flame and give her strength to shine T is fraile at best T is dimme enough at brightest But 't is her glory to be foyld by Thine Let others lurke My light shall be Propos'd to all men and by them to Thee S. BERN. If thou be one of the foolish Virgins the Congregation is necessary for thee If thou be one of the wise Virgins thou art necessary for the Congregation HUGO Monasticks make Cloysters to inclose the outward man O would to God they would do the like to restraine the inward Man EPIG 8 Affraid of eyes What still play least in sight T is much to be presum'd all is not right Too close endeavours bring forth dark events Come forth Monastick Here 's no Parliaments Vt Luna Infantia torpet Will. Marshall sculpsit He cometh forth like a Flower and is cut downe IOB 14.2 1 Behold How short a span Was long enough of old To measure out the life of Man In those wel temper'd dayes his time was then Survey'd cast up and found but threescore years and ten 2 Alas And what is that They come slide and passe Before my Pen can tell thee what The Posts of Time are swift which having run Their sev'n short stages 'ore their short liv'd task is done 3 Our dayes Begun wee lend To sleepe to antick plaies And Toyes untill the first stage end 12. waining Moons twise 5. times told we give To unrecover'd loss Wee rather breathe then live 4 Wee spend A ten years breath Before wee apprehend What is to live or feare a death Our childish dreams are fil'd with painted joyes which please our sense a while waking prove but Toies 5 How vaine How wretched is Poore man that doth remaine A slave to such a State as this His daies are short at longest few at most They are but bad at best yet lavisht out or lost 6 They bee The secret Springs That make our
I go my selfe followes me For whatsoever thou flyest O man thou mayst but thy owne Conscience wheresoever O Lord I go I find thee if angry a Revenger if appeas'd a Redeemer What way have I but to flee from thee to thee That thou maist avoid thy God addresse thee to thy Lord. EPIG 12. Hath vengeance found thee Can thy feares command No Rocks to shield thee from her thundring hand Know'st thou not where to scape I le tell thee where My soule make cleane thy Conscience Hide thee there XIII Are not my dayes few Cease then and let me alone that I may bewayle me a little Iob. 10.20 Will. simpson sculpsit XIII IOB X.XX. Are not my dayes few Cease then and let me alone that I may bewaile my selfe a little MY Glasse is halfe unspent Forbeare t'rrest My thriftlesse day too soone My poore request Is that my glasse may run but out the rest My time-devoured minuts will be done Without thy helpe See see how swift they run Cut not thy thred before my thred be spun The gaine 's not great I purchase by this stay What losse sustain'st thou by so small delay To whom ten thousand yeares are but a day My following eye can hardly make a shift To count my winged houres they flye so swift They scarce deserve the bounteous name of gift The secret wheeles of hurrying Time doe give So short a warning and so fast they drive That I am dead before I seeme to live And what 's a life A weary Pilgrimage Whose glory in one day doth fill the stage With Childhood Manhood and decrepit Age. And what 's a Life the flourishing Array Of the proud Summer meadow which to day Weares her greene plush and is to morrow Hay And what 's a Life A blast sustain'd with clothing Maintain'd with food retain'd with vile selfe-loathing Then weary of it selfe again'd to nothing Read on this diall how the shades devoure My short-liv'd winters day How'rs eates up howre Alas the total's but from eight to foure Behold these Lillies which thy hands have made Faire copies of my life and open laid To view how soone they droop how soone they fade Shade not that diall night will blind too soone My nonag'd day already points to noone How simple is my suit How small my Boone Not do I beg this slender inch to while The time away or falsly to beguile My thoughts with joy Here 's nothing worth a smile No no 'T is not to please my wanton eares With frantick mirth I beg but howres not yeares And what thou giv'st me I will give to teares Draw not that soule which would be rather led That Seed has yet not broke my Serpents head O shall I die before my sinnes are dead Behold these Rags Am I a fitting Guest To tast the dainties of thy royall Feast With hands and face unwash'd ungirt unblest First let the Iordan streames that find supplies From the deepe fountaine of my heart arise And cleanse my spots and cleare my leprous eyes I have a world of sinnes to be lamented I have a sea of teares that must be vented O spare till then and then I die contented S. AUGUST lib. 7. de Civit. Dei cap. 10. The time wherein we live is taken from the space of our life and what remaines is daily made lesse and lesse in somuch that the time of our life is nothing but a passage to death S. GREG. lib. 9. mor. Cap. 44. in Cap. 10. Iob. As moderate afflictions bring teares so immoderate take away teares Insomuch that sorrow becomes no sorrow which swallowing up the mind of the afflicted takes away the sense of the affliction EPIG 13. Fear'st thou to go when such an Arme invites thee Dread'st thou thy loads of sin or what affrights thee If thou begin to feare thy feare begins Foole can he beare thee hence and not thy sins XIV Oh that they were wise then they would vnderstand this they would consider their latter end Deeteron 32. I Payne scult XIV DEVT. XXXII XXIX O that men were wise and that they understood this that they would consider their latter end Flesh Spirit Fl. WHat meanes my sisterâ— eye so oft to passe Through the long entry of that Optick glasse Tell me what secret virtue does invite Thy wrinckled eye to such unknowne delight Sp. It helps the sight makes things remote appeare In perfect view It drawes the object neare Fl. What sence-delighting objects do'st thou spie What does that Glasse present before thine eye Sp. I see thy foe my reconciled friend Grim death even standing at the Glasses end His left hand holds a branch of Palme his right Holds forth a two-edg'd sword Fl. A proper sight And is this all does thy Prospective please Th' abused fancy with no shapes but these Sp. Yes I behold the dark'ned Sun bereav'n Of all his light the battlements of heav'n Sweltring in Flames the Angell-guarded Sonne Of glory on his high Tribunall Throne I see a Brimstone Sea of boyling Fire And Fiends with knotted whips of flaming Wyre Tort'ring poore soules that gnash their teeth in vaine And gnaw their flame-tormented tongues for paine Looke sister how the queazie-stomack'd Graves Vomit their dead and how the purple waves Scal'd their consume lesse bodies strongly cursing All wombes for bearing and all paps for nursing Fl. Can thy distemper'd fancie take delight In view of Tortures These are showes t' affright Looke in this glasse-Triangular looke here Here 's that will ravish eyes Sp. What seest thou there Fl. The world in colours colours that distaine The cheeks of Proteus or the silken Traine Of Floras Nymphs such various sorts of hiew As Sun-confronting Iris never knew Here if thou please to beautifie a Towne Thou maist or with a hand turn't upside downe Here maist thou scant or widen by the measure Of thine owne will make short or long at pleasure Here maist thou tyre thy fancie and advize With showes more apt to please more curious eyes Sp. Ah foole that dot'st on vaine on present toyes And disrespects those true those future joyes How strongly are thy thoughts befool'd Alas To dote on goods that perish with thy Glasse Nay vanish with the turning of a hand Were they but painted colours it might stand With painted reason that they might devote thee But things that have no being to besot thee Foresight of future torments is the way To baulk those ills which present joyes bewray As thou hast fool'd thy selfe so now come hither Break that fond glasse and let 's be wise together BONAVENT de contemptu seculi O that men would be wise understand and foresee Be wise to know three things The multitude of those that are to be damnâ—â— the few number of those that are to be saved and the vanity of transitory things Vnderstand three things the multitude of sinnes the omission of good things and the losse of time Foresee three things the danger of death the last