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
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
soule shall smart My heart shall bleed for thine Sin O ground-lesse deepes O love beyond degree Th' offended dies to set th' offender free S. AUGUST Lord if I have done that for which thou mayest damne mee thou hast not lost that whereby thou mayest save me Remember not sweet Jesus thy justice against the sinner but thy benignity towards thy Creature Remember not to proceed against a guilty soule but remember thy mercy towards a miserable wretch Forget the insolence of the provoker and behold the misery of the invoker for what is Jesus but a Saviour ANSELM Have respect to what thy Sonne hath done for me and forget what my sinnes have done against thee My flesh hath provoked thee to vengeance let the flesh of Christ move thee to mercy It is much that my rebellions have deserved but it is more that my Redeemer hath merited EPIG 10. Mercie of mercies He that was my drudge Is now my Advocate is now my Iudge He suffers pleads and sentences alone Three I adore and yet adore but One. XI Let not the water-flood overflow me neither let the deepe swallow me vp Ps 69.15 Will Simpson sculpsit XI PSAL. LXIX XV Let not the water-flood over-flow me neither let the deepes swallow me up THe world 's a Sea my flesh a ship that 's man'd With lab'ring Thoughts and steer'd by Reasons hand My heart 's the Sea-mans Card whereby she sailes My loose Affections are the greater Sailes The Top-saile is my Fancy and the Gusts That fill these wanton Sheets are worldly Lusts Pray'r is the Cable at whose end appeares The Anchor Hope nev'r slipt but in our feares My Will 's th'unconstant Pilot that commands The staggring Keele my Sinnes are like the Sands Repentance is the Bucket and mine Eye The Pumpe unus'd but in extreames and dry My conscience is the Plummet that does presse The deepes but seldom cryes A fathom lesse Smooth Calm's security The Gulph despaire My Freight's Corruption and this life 's my Fan My soule 's the Passenger confus'dly driven From feare to fright her landing Port is Heaven My seas are stormy and my Ship does leake My Saylers rude My Steersman faint and weake My Canvace torne it flaps from side to side My Cable's crakt my Anchor 's slightly ty'd My Pilot's craz'd my shipwrack sands are cloak'd My Bucket's broken and my Pump is choak'd My Calm's deceitfull and my Gulph too neare My Wares are flubber'd and my Fare's too deare My Plummet's light it cannot sink nor sound O shall my Rock-be threatned Soule be drown'd Lord still the seas and shield my ship from harme Instruct my Saylours guide my Steersmans Arme Touch thou my Compasse and renew my Sailes Send stiffer courage or send milder gales Make strong my Cable bind my Anchor faster Direct my Pilot and be thou his Master Object the Sands to my more serious view Make sound my Bucket bore my Pump anew New cast my Plummet make it apt to try Where the Rocks lurke and where the Quicksands lie Guard thou the Gulph with love my Calmes with Care Cleanse thou my Freight accept my slender Fare Refresh the Sea-sick passenger cut short His Voyage land him in his wished Port Thou thou whom winds and stormy seas obay That through the deepes gav'st grumbling Isr'ell way Say to my soule be safe and then mine eye Shall scorne grim death although grim death stand by O thou whose strength-reviving Arme did cherish Thy sinking Peter at the point to perish Reach forth thy hand or bid me tread the Wave I le come I le come The voice that calls will save S. AMBROS Apol. post pro David Cap. 3. The confluence of lusts make a great Tempest which in this sea disturbes the sea-faring soule that reason cannot governe it S. AUGUST Soliloq Cap. 35. We labour in a boysterous sea Thou standest upon the shore and seest our dangers Give us grace to hold a middle course betwixt Scylla and Charybdis that both daâ—gers escaped we may arrive at our Port secure EPIG 11. My soule the seas are rough and thou a stranger In these false coasts O keepe aloofe ther 's danger Cast forth thy Plummet see a rock appeares Thy ship wants sea-roome Make it with thy teares XII O that thow wouldst protect me in the graue and hide me ontill thy furie be past Iob 14 Will simpson sculp XII IOB XIV XIII O that thou wouldst hide mee in the grave that thou wouldst keepe me secret untill thy wrath be past O Whether shall I flye what path untrod Shall I seeke out to scape the flaming rod Of my offended of my angry God Where shall I sojourne What kind sea will hide My head from Thunder where shall I abide Vntill his flames be quench'd or laid aside What if my feet should take their hasty flight And seeke protection in the shades of night Alas no shades can blind the God of Light What if my soule should take the wings of day And find some desart if she spring away The wings of vengeance clip as fast as they What if some solid Rock should entertaine My frighted soule Can solid Rocks restraine The stroke of Iustice and not cleave in twaine Nor Sea nor Shade nor Shield nor Rock nor Cave Nor silent desarts nor the sullen grave Where flame ey'd fury meanes to smite can save The Seas will part graves open Rocks will splâ—t The shield will cleave the frighted shadowes flit Where Iustice armes her fiery darts must hit No no if sterne-brow'd vengeance meanes to thunder There is no place above beneath nor under So close but will unlocke or rive in sunder 'T is vaine to flee 'T is neither here nor there Can scape that hand untill that hand forbeare Ah me where is he not that 's every where 'T is vaine to flee till gentle mercy show Her better eye the farther off we goe The swing of Iustice deales the mightier blow Th' ingenious child corrected does not flie His angry mothers hand but clings more nigh And quenches with his teares her flaming eye Shadowes are faithlesse and the rockes are false No trust in brasse no trust in marble walls Poore Cotts are e'ven as safe as Princes Halls Great God there is no safety here below Thou art my Fortresse though thou seem'st my foe 'T is thou that strik'st the stroke must guard the blow Thou art my God by thee I fall or stand Thy Grace hath giv'n me courage to withstand All tortures but my Conscience and thy Hand I know thy Iustice is thy selfe I know Iust God thy very selfe is mercy too If not to thee where whether should I go Then worke thy will If passion bid me flee My Reason shall obey my wings shall be Stretcht out no further than from Thee to Thee S. AUGUST in Psal 30. Whether flie I To what place can I safely flie To what mountaine To what den To what strong house What Castle shall I hold What walls shall hold me Whethersoever
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
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
The World 's the Tables Stakes Eternall life The Gamesters Heav'n and I Vnequall strife My Fortunes are my Dice whereby I frame My indisposed Life This Life 's the Game My sins are sev'rall Bloâ— the Lookers on Are Angels and in death the Game is done Lord I 'am a Bungler and my Game does grow Still more and more unshap'd my Dice run low The Stakes are great my carelesse Blots are many And yet thou passest by and hitst not any Thou art too strong And I have none to guide me With the least Iogge The lookers on deride me It is a Conquest undeserving Thee To win a Stake from such a Worme as me I have no more to lose If we persever 'T is lost and that once lost I 'm lost for ever Lord wink at faults and be not too severe And I will play my Game with greater feare O give me Feare ere Feare has past her date Whose blot being hit then feares fear 's then too late S. BERN. Ser. 54. in Cant. There is nothing so effectuall to obtaine Grace to retaine Grace and to regaine Grace as alwayes to be found before God not over-wise but to feare Happy art thou if thy heart be replenished with three feares a feare for received grace a greater feare for lost Grace a greatest feare to recover Grace S. AUGUST super Psalm Present feare begets eternall security Feare God which is above all and no need to feare man at all EPIG 4. Lord shall we grumble when thy flames do scourge us Our sinnes breath fire that fire returnes to purge us Lord what an Alchymist art thou whose skill Transmutes to perfect good from persect ill V. Turne a way myne eyes least thay behold wanite psal 118 â— V. PSAL. CXIX XXXVII Turne away mine eyes from regarding vanitie 1 HOw like to threds of Flaxe That touch the flame are my inflam'd desires How like to yeelding Waxe My soule dissolves before these wanton fires The fire but touch'd the flame but felt Like Flaxe I burne like Waxe I melt 2 O how this flesh does draw My fetter'd soule to that deceitfull fire And how th' eternall Law Is baffled by the law of my desire How truly bad how seeming good Are all the Lawes of Flesh and Blood 3 O wretched state of Men The height of whose Ambition is to borrow What must be paid agen With griping Int'rest of the next dayes sorrow How wild his Thoughts How apt to range How apt to varie Apt to change 4 How intricate and nice Is mans perplexed way to mans desire Sometimes upon the Ice He slips and sometimes fals into the fire His progresse is extreme and bold Or very hot or very cold 5 The common food he doth Sustaine his soule-tormenting thoughts withall Is honey in his mouth To night and in his heart to morrow Gall 'T is oftentimes within an houre Both very sweet and very sowre 6 If sweet Corinna smile A heav'n of Ioy breaks downe into his heart Corinna frownes a while Hels Torments are but Copies of his smart Within a lustfull heart does dwell A seeming Heav'n a very Hell 7 Thus worthlesse vaine and void Of comfort are the fruits of earths imployment Which ere they be enjoyd Distract us and destroy us in th' enjoyment These be the pleasures that are priz'd When heav'ns cheape pen'worth stands despis'd 8 Lord quench these hasty flashes Which dart as lightning from the thundring skies And ev'ry minut dashes Against the wanton windowes of mine eyes Lord close the Casement whilst I stand Behind the curtaine of thy Hand S. AUGUST Soliloq cap. 4. O thou Sonne that illuminates both Heaven and Earth Woe be unto those eyes which doe not behold thee Woe be unto those blind eyes which cannot behold thee Woe be unto those which turne away their eyes that they wil not behold thee Woe be unto those that turne not away their eyes that they may behold vanity S. CHRYS sup Matth. 19. What is an evill women but the enemy of friendship an unavoidable paine a necessary mischiefe a naturall tentation a desiderable calamity a domestick danger a delectable inconvenience and the nature of evill painted over with the colour of good EPIG 5. 'T is vaine great God to close mine eyes from ill When I resolve to keepe the old man still My rambling heart must cov'nant first with Thee Or none can passe betwixt mine eyes and me VI. If I haue found fauour in thy sight let my life be giuen me at my petition Ester 7.3 Will Simpson sculpsit VI. ESTER VII III If I have found favour in thy sight and if it please the King let my life be given me at my petition THou art the great Assuerus whose command Doth stretch from Pole to Pole The World 's thy Land Rebellious Vasht's the corrupted Will Which being cal'd refuses to fulfill Thy just command Hester whose teares condole The razed City 's the Regen'rate Soule A captive maid whom thou wilt please to grace With nuptiall Honour in stout Vashti's place Her kinsman whose unbended knee did thwart Proud Hamans glory is the Fleshly part The sober Eunuch that recal'd to mind The new-built Gibbet Haman had divin'd For his owne ruine fifty Cubits high Is lustfull thought-controlling Chastity Insulting Hâ—man is that fleshly lust Whose red-hot fury for a season must Triumph in Pride and study how to tread On Mordecay till royall Hester plead Great King my sent-for Vashti will not come O let the oyle o' th blessed Virgins wombe Cleanse my poore Hester look O looke upon her With gracious eyes and let thy Beames of honour So scoure her captive staines that she may prove A holy Object of thy heav'nly love Annoint her with the Spiknard of thy graces Then try the sweetnesse of her chast embraces Make her the partner of thy nuptiall Bed And set thy royall Crowne upon her head If then ambitious Haman chance to spend His spleene on Mordecay that scornes to bend The wilfull stiffenesse of his stubborne knee Or basely crouch to any Lord but Thee If weeping Hester should preferre a Grone Before the high Tribunall of thy Throne Hold forth thy Golden Scepter and afford The gentle Audience of a gracious Lord And let thy royall Hester be possest Of halfe thy Kingdome at her deare request Curbe lustfull Haman him that would disgrace Nay ravish thy faire Queene before thy face And as proud Haman was himselfe ensnar'd On that selfe Gibbet that himselfe prepar'd So nayle my lust both Punishment and Guilt On that deare Crosse that mine owne Lusts have built S. AUGUST in Ep. O holy Spirit alwayes inspire we with holy works constraine me that I may doe Counsell me that I may love thee Confirme me that I may hold thee Conserve me that I may not lose thee S. AUGUST sup Ioan. The Spirit rusts where the flesh rests For as the flesh is nourished with sweet things the Spirit is refreshed with sowre Ibidem Wouldst thou that thy flesh
they but clog'd with earth as I. 3 O were their soules but clog'd with earth as I They would not purchase with so salt an Itch They would not take of Almes what now they buy Nor call him happy whom the world counts rich They would not take such paines project and prog To charge their shoulders with so great a log Who has the greater lands has but the greater clog 4 I cannot do an act which earth disdaines not I cannot thinke a thought which earth corrupts not I cannot speake a word which earth prophanes not I cannot make a vow earth interrupts not If I but offer up an early groane Or spread my wings to heav'ns long long'd for Throne She darkens my complaints and drags my Offring downe 5 Ev'n like the Hawlk whose keepers wary hands Have made a prisner to her wethring stock Forgetting quite the pow'r of her fast bands Makes a rank Bate from her forsaken Block But her too faithfull Leash does soone restraine Her broken flight attempted oft in vaine It gives her loynes a twitch and tugs her back againe 6 So when my soule directs her better eye To heav'ns bright Pallace where my treasure lies I spread my willing wings but cannot flie Earth hales me downe I cannot cannot rise When I but strive to mount the least degree Earth gives a jerk and foiles me on my knee LORD how my soule is rackt betwixt the world and Thee 7 Great GOD I spend my feeble wings in vaine In vaine I offer my extended hands I cannot mount till thou unlink my chaine I cannot come till thou release my Bands Which if thou please to break and then supply My wings with spirit th' Eagle shall not flie A pitch that 's halfe so faire nor halfe so swift as I. BONAVENT cap. 1. Soliloq Ah sweet Iesus pierce the marrow of my soule with the healthfull shafts of thy love that if may truly burne and melt and languish with the onely desire of thee that it may desire to be dissolv'd and to be with thee Let it hunger alone for the bread of life let it thirst after thee the spring and fountaine of eternall light the streame of true pleasure let it alwayes desire thee seeke thee and find thee and sweetly rest in thee EPIG 9. What will thy shackles neither loose nor breake Are they too strong or is thy Arme too weake Art will prevaile where knotty strength denies My soule there 's Aquafortis in thine eyes X. Bring my soule out of Prison that I may praise thy Name Ps 142.7 Will simpson sculpsit X. PSAL. CXLII VII Bring my soule out of prison that I may praise thy Name MY Soule is like a Bird my Flesh the Cage Wherein she weares her weary Pilgrimage Of houres as few as evill dayly fed With sacred Wine and Sacramentall Bread The keyes that locks her in and lets her out Are Birth and Death 'twixt both she hops about From perch to perch from Sense to reason then From higher Reason downe to Sense agen From Sense she climbs to Faith where for a season She sits and sings then downe againe to Reason From Reason back to Faith and straight from thence She rudely flutters to the Perch of Sense From Sense to Hope then hops from Hope to Doubt From Doubt to dull Despaire there seekes about For desp'rate Freedome and at ev'ry Grate She wildly thrusts and begs th' untimely date Of unexpired thraldome to release Th' afflicted Captive that can find no peace Thus am I coop'd within this fleshly Gage I weare my youth and wast my weary Age Spending that breath which was ordain'd to chaunt Heav'ns praises forth in sighs and sad complaint Whilst happier birds can spread their nimble wing From Shrubs to Cedars and there chirp and sing In choice of raptures the harmonious story Of mans Redemption and his Makers Glory You glorious Martyrs you illustrious Troopes That once were cloyster'd in your fleshly Coopes As fast as I what Reth'rick had your tongues What dextrous Art had your Elegiak Songs What Paul-like pow'r had your admir'd devotion What shackle breaking Faith infus'd such motion To your strong Pray'rs that could obtaine the boone To be inlarg'd to be uncag'd so soone When I poore I can sing my daily teares Growne old in Bondage and can find no eares You great partakers of eternall Glory That with your heav'n-prevailing Oratory Releas'd your soules from your terrestriall Cage Permit the passion of my holy Rage To recommend my sorrowes dearely knowne To you in dayes of old and once your owne To your best thoughts but oh't does not befit ye To moove your pray'rs you love and joy not pitie Great LORD of soules to whom should prisners flie But Thee Thou hadst thy Cage as well as I And for my sake thy pleasure was to know The sorrowes that it brought and feltst them too O set me free and I will spend those dayes Which now I wast in begging in Thy praise ANSELM in Protolog cap. 1. O miserable condition of mankind that has lost that for which he was created Alas What has he left And what has hee found He has lost happinesse for which he was made and found misery for which he was not made What is gone and what is left That thing is gone without which hee is unhappy that thing is left by which he is miserable O wretched men From whence are we expell'd To what are we impell'd Whence are we throwne And whether are we burried From our home into banishment from the slight of God into our own blindnesse from the pleasure of immortality to the bitternesse of death Miserable change From how great a good to how great an evill Ah me What have I enterprized What have I done Whither did I goe Whither am I come EPIG 10. Pauls Midnight voice prevail'd his musicks thunder Vnhing'd the prison doores split bolts in sunder And sitst thou here and hang'st the feeble wing And whinst to be enlarg'd Soule learne to sing XI As the Hart panteth after the waterbrooks so panteth my soule after thee o Lord. Will Simpson Sculpsit XI PSAL. XLII I As the Hart panteth after the water-brooks so panteth my soule after thee O God 1 HOw shall my tongue expresse that hollow'd fire Which heav'n has kindled in my ravisht heart What Muse shall I invoke that will inspire My lowly Quill to act a lofty part What Art shall I divise t' expresse desire Too intricate to be exprest by Art Let all the nine be silent I refuse Their old in this high task for they abuse The flames of Love too much Assist me Davids Muse 2 Not as the thirsty soyle desires soft showres To quicken and refresh her Embrion graine Nor as the drooping Crests of fading flowres Request the bounty of a morning Raine Do I desire my GOD These in few houres Re-wish what late their wishes did obtaine But as the swift-foot Hart does wounded flie To th' much desired streames ev'n so
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
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
the great Creators voice proclaime What ere he made from the blue spangled frame To the poore leafe that trembles very Good Blest He not both the Feeder and the Food Tell tell me then what danger can accrue From such blest Food to such Halfe-gods as you Curb needlesse feares and let no fond conceit Abuse your freedome woman Take and eat Eve 'T is true we are immortall death is yet Unborne and till Rebellion make it debt Undue I know the Fruit is good untill Presumptuous disobedience make it ill The lips that open to this Fruit's a portall To let in death and make immortall mortall Serp. You cannot die Come woman Tast and feare not Eve Shall Eve transgresse I dare not O I dare not Serp. Afraid why draw'st thou back thy tim'rous Arme Harme onely fals on such as feare a Harme Heav'n knowes and feares the vertue of this Tree 'T will make ye perfect Gods as well as He. Stretch forth thy hand and let thy fondnesse never Feare death Do pull and eat and live for ever Eve 'T is but an Apple and it is as good To do as to desire Fruit's made for food I le pull and tast and tempt my Adam too To know the secrets of this dainty Serp. Doe S. CHRYâ— sup Matth. He forc'd him not He touch'd him not Onely said Cast thy selfe downe that we may know whosoever obeyes the Devill casts himselfe downe For the Devill may suggest compell he cannot S. BERN. in ser It is the Devils part to suggest Ours not to consent As oft as we resist him so often we overcome him as often as we overcome him so often we bring joy to the Angels and glory to God Who proposes us that we may contend and assists us that we may conquer EPIG 1. Unluckie Parliament wherein at last Both houses are agreed and firmely past An Act of death confirm'd by higher Powers O had it had but such success â— Ours II. Sic mâ—lum 〈◊〉 in euint maâ—um 〈◊〉 Marshall sculpâ—â—t II. JAM I.XV. Then when lust hath conceived it bringeth forth sin and sin when it is finished bringeth forth death 1 LAment lament Looke looke what thou hast done Lament the worlds lament thy owne Estate Looke looke by doing how thou art undone Lament thy fall lament thy change of State Thy faith is broken and thy Freedome gone See see too soone what thou lament'st too late O thou that wert so many men nay all Abrig'd in one how has thy desp'rate fall Destroid thy unborne seed destroid thy selfe withall 2 Uxorious Adam whom thy maker made Equall to Angels that excell in pow'r What hast thou done O why hast thou obayd Thy owne destruction Like a new-cropt flowre How does the glory of thy beauty fade How are thy fortunes blasted in an houre How art thou cow'd that had'st the pow'r to quell The spite of new-faln Angels baffle Hell And vye with those that stood and vanquish those that fell 3 See how the world whose chast and pregnant wombe Of late conceiv'd and brought forth nothing ill Is now degenerated and become A base Adultresse whose false Births do fill The Earth with Monsters Monsters that do â—ome And rage about and make a Trade to kill Now glutt'ny paunches Lust begins to spawne Wrath takes revenge and Avarice a pawne Pale Envie pines Pride swels and Sloth begins to yawne 4 The Ayre that whisper'd now begins to roare And blustring Bore as blowes the boyling Tide The white mouth'd water now usurpes the Shore And scornes the pow'r of her tryd entall Guide The fire now burnes that did but warme before And rules her Ruler with resistlesse Pride Fire Water Earth and Ayre that first were made To be subdu'd see how they how invade They rule whoÌ„ once they serv'd coÌ„mand where once obaid 5 Behold that nakednesse that late bewraid Thy Glory now 's become thy shame thy wonder Behold those Trees whose various Fruits were made For food now turn'd a Shade to shrowd thee under Behold That voice which thou hast disobayd That late was Musicke now affrights like Thunder Poor man Are not thy Joints grown sore with shaking To view th' effect of thy bold undertaking That in one houre didst marre what heav'n six dayes was making S. AUGUST lib. 1. de lib. arbit It is a most just punishment that man should lose that Freedome which man could not use yet had power to keep if he would And that he who had knowledge to do what was right and did not should bee deprived of the knowledge of what was right And that he who would not do righteously when he had the power should lose the power to do it when he had the will HUGO de anima They are justly punished that abuse lawfull things but they are most justly punished that use unlawfull things Thus Lucifer fell from heaven thus Adam lost his Paradise EPIG 2. See how these fruitfull kernels being cast Upon the earth how thicke they spring how fast A full ear'd Crop and thriving rank and proud Prepost'rous man first sow'd and then he plough'd III. Vt potiaâ— putioâ— Paticeis non poticeis Wills Marshall sculpsit III. PRO. XIV XIII Even in laughter the heart is sorrowfull and the end of that mirth is heavinesse 1 ALas fond Child How are thy thoughts beguil'd To hope for Hony from a nest of Wasps Thou maist as well Go seek for ease in Hell Or sprightly Nectar from the mouthes of Asps 2 The world 's a Hive From whence thou canst derive No good but what thy soules vexation brings Put case thou meet Some peti-peti sweet Each drop is guarded with a thousand stings 3 Why dost thou make These murm'ring Troupes forsake The safe Protection of their waxen Homes This Hive containes No sweet that 's worth thy paines There 's nothing here alas but empty Combes 4 For trash and Toyes And griefe ingendring Joyes What torment seemes too sharpe for flesh and blood What bitter Pills Compos'd of reall Ills Man swallowes downe to purchase one false Good 5 The dainties here Are least what they appeare Though sweet in hopes yet in fruition sowre The fruit that 's yellow Is found not alwayes mellow The fairest Tulip's not the sweetest flowre 6 Fond youth give ore And vexe thy soule no more In seeking what were better farre unfound Alas thy gaines Are onely present paines To gather Scorpions for a future wound 7 What 's earth or in it That longer than a minit Can lend a free delight that can endure O who would droyle Or delve in such a soyle Where gaine 's uncertaine and the paine is sure S. AUGUST Sweetnesse in temporall matters is deceitfull It is a labour and a perpetuall feare it is a dangerous pleasure whose beginning is without providence and whose end is not without repentance HUGO Luxury is an enticing pleasure a bastard mirth which hath honey in her mouth gall in her heart and a sting in her taile EPIG 3. What Cupid Are hy