you Heaven that all containes And thou my Soule let nought thy Griefes relent Those Hands those sacred Hands which hold the reines Of this great All and kept from mutuall wars The Elements beare rent for thee their Veines Those Feet which once must trade on golden Stars For thee with Nails would be pierc'd through and torn For thee Heavens King from Heaven himselfe debars This great heart-quaking Dolour waile and mourne Yee that long since Him saw by might of Faith Ye now that are and ye yet to be borne Not to behold his great Creators Death The Sun from sinfull eyes hath vail'd his light And faintly journies up Heavens saphyre Path And cutting from her Brows her Tresses bright The Moone doth keep her Lords sad Obsequâ—es Impearling with her Teares her Robe of Night All staggering and lazie lowre the Skies The Earth and elementall Stages quake The long-since dead from bursted Graves arise And can things wanting sense yet sorrow take And beare a part with him who all them wrought And Man though borne with cries shall pitty lack Thinke what had been your state had he not brought To these sharpe Pangs himselfe and priz'd so high Your soules that with his Life them life he bought What woes do you attend if still ye lye Plung'd in your wonted ordures wretched Brood Shall for your sake againe God ever die O leave deluding shews embrace true good He on you calls forgo Sins shamefull trade With Prayers now seek Heaven and not with Bloud Let not the Lambs more from their Dams be had Nor Altars blush for sin live every thing That long time long'd for sacrifice is made All that is from you crav'd by this great King Is to beleeve a pure Heart Incense is What gift alas can we him meaner bring Haste sin-sick Soules this season do not misse Now while remorselesse Time doth grant you space And God invites you to your only Blisse He who you calls will not deny you Grace But low-deep bury faults so ye repent His Armes loe stretched are you to embrace When Daies are done and Lifes small sparke is spent So you accept what freely here is given Like brood of Angels deathlesse all-content Ye shall for ever live with him in Heaven COme forth come forth ye blest triumphing Bands Faire Citizens of that immortall Town Come see that King which all this All commands Now overcharg'd with Love die for his own Look on those Nailes which pierce his Feet and Hands What a sharpe Diadem his Brows doth crown Behold his pallid Face his heavy frown And what a throng of Thieves him mocking stands Come forth ye Empyrean Troupes come forth Preserve this sacred Bloud that Earth adornes Gather those liquid Roses off his Thornes O! to be lost they be of too much worth For Streams 1 Juice 2 Balm 3 they are which quench 1 kills 2 charmes 3 Of God 1 Death 2 Hell 3 the wrath 1 the life 2 the harmes3. SOule whom Hell did once inthrall He He for thine offence Did suffer Death who could not die at all O soveraigne Excellence O life of all that lives Eternall Bounty which each good thing gives How could Death mount so high No wit this Point can reach Faith only doth us teach He died for us at all who could not dye LIfe to give life deprived is of Life And Death display'd hath Ensigne against Death So violent the Rigour was of Death That nought could daunt it but the Life of Life No Power had Pow'r to thrall Lifes Pow'rs to Death But willingly Life down hath laid Life Love gave the wound which wrought this worke of Death His Bow and Shafts were of the Tree of Life Now quakes the Author of eternall Death To find that they whom late he rest of Life Shall fill his Roome above the lists of Death Now all rejoyce in Death who hope for Life Dead Jesus lies who Death hath kill'd by Death No Tombe his Tombe is but new Source of Life RIse from those fragrant Climes thee now embrace Unto this World of Ours O haste thy Race Faire Sun and though contrarie waies all yeare Thou hold thy course now with the highest Sheare Joyne thy blew Wheeles to hasten Time that low'rs And lazy Minutes turne to perfect Houres The Night and Death too long a league have made To stow the World in Horrours ugly shade Shake from thy Locks a Day with Safron raies So faire that it outshine all other daies And yet do not presumâ— great Eye of Light To be that which this Day must make so bright See an Eternall Sun hasts to arise Not from the Easterne blushing Seas or Skies Or any stranger Worlds Heavens Concaves have But from the Darknesse of an hollow Grave And this is that all-powerfull Sun above That crown'd thy Brows with Rays first made thee moâ— Lights Trumpeters ye need not from your Bow'rs Proclaime this Day this the angelick Pow'rs Have done for you But now an opall hew Bepaints Heavens Christall to the longing view Earths late hid Colours shine Light doth adorne The World and weeping Joy forth comes the Morne And with her as from a Lethargick Trance The breath return'd that Bodies doth advance Which two sad Nights in Rock lay coffin'd dead And with an iron Guard invironed Life out of Death Light out of Darknesse springs From a base Jaile forth comes the King of Kings What late was mortall thrall'd to every woe That lackeys life or upon sense doth grow Immortall is of an eternall Stampe Far brighter beaming than the morning Lampe So from a black Ecclipse out-peares the Sun Such when her course of Daies have on her run In a far Forrest in the pearly East And she her selfe hath burnt and spicie Nest The lovely Bird with youthfull Pens and Combe Doth sore from out her Cradle and her Tombe So a small seed that in the Earth lies hid And dies reviving bursts her cloddy Side Adorn'd with yellow Locks of new is borne And doth become a Mother great with Corne Of Graines brings hundreds with it which when old Enrich the Furrows which do float with Gold Haile holy Victor greatest Victor haile That Hell doth ransake against Death prevaile O how thou long'd for com'st with joyfull cries The all-triumphing Palatines of Skies Salute thy rising Earth would Joyes no more Beare if thou rising didst them not restore A silly Tombe should not his Flesh enclose Who did Heavens trembling Tarasses dispose No Monument should such a Jewell hold No Rock though Ruby Diamond and Gold Thou didst lament and pitty humane Race Bestowing on us of thy free-given Grace More than we forfeited and losed first In Eden Rebells when we were accurst Then Earth our portion was Earths Joyes but given Earth and Earths Blisse thou hast exchang'd with heaven O what a hight of good upon us streames From the great splendor of thy Bounties Beames When we deserv'd shame horrour flames of wrath Thou bledst our wounds and suffer didst
in the Aire By sporting childrens Breath Who chase it every where And strive who can most motion it bequeath And though it sometime seem of its own might Like to an Eye of gold to be fix'd there And firme to hover in that empty height That only is because it is so Light But in that Pompe it doth not long appeare For when 't is most admired in a thought Because it earst was nought it turnes to nought SON MY Lute be as thou wert when thou did grow With thy green Mother in some shady Grove When immelodious Winds but made thee move And Birds their ramage did on thee bestow Since that deare voice which did thy sounds approve Which wont in such harmonious Straines to â—low Is reâ—t from Earth to tune those spheares above What art thou but a Harbinger of woe Thy pleasing Notes he pleasing Notes no more But Orphans wailings to the fainting Eare Each Stroke a sigh each Sound draws forth a Teare For which be silent as in woods before Or if that any hand to touch thee daigne Like widow'd Turtle still her losse complaine SON AH Handkercher sad present of my Deare Gift miserable which doth now remaine The only Guerdon of my helplesse Paine When I thee got thou shewst my state too cleare I never since have ceased to complaine I since the Badge of Griefe did ever weare Joy in my Face durst never since appeare Care was the Food which did me entertaine But since that thou art mine O do not grieve That I this Tribute pay thee for mine Eine And that I this short Time I am to live Laundre thy silken Figures in this Brine No I must yet even beg of thee the Grace That in my Grave thou daigne to shroud my Face MAD. TRees happier far than I Which have the grace to heave your Heads so high And over-look those Plaines Grow till your Branches kisse that lofty Skie Which her sweet selfe containes There make her know mine endlesse Love and Paines And how these Teares which from mine Eyes do fall Helpt you to rise so Tall Tell her as once I for her sake lov'd Breath So for her sake I now court lingring Death SONG SAd Damon being come To that for-ever Lamentable Tombe Which those eternall Powers that all controule Unto his living Soule A melancholy prison had prescrib'd Of Colour Heat and motion depriv'd In Armes weake Fainting Cold A Marble he the Marble did infold And having warme it made with many a showre Which dimmed Eyes did poure When Griefe had given him leave and sighs them staied Thus with a sad alas at last he said Who would have thought to me The place where thou did'st lie could grievous be And that deare body long thee having sought O me who would have thought Thee once to find it should my Soule confound And give my Heart then death a deeper wound Thou did'st disdaine my Teares But grieve not that this ruthfull Stone them beares Mine Eyes for nothing serve but thee to weep And let that course them keep Although thou never wouldst them comfort show Do not repine they have part of thy woe Ah wretch too late I find How Vertues glorious Titles prove but wind For if that Vertue could release from Death Thou yet enjoy'd hadst Breath For if she ere appear'd to mortall Eine It was in thy faire shape that she was seen But O! if I was made For thee with thee why too am I not dead Why do outragious Fates which dimm'd thy sight Let me see hatefull light They without me made Death thee surprise Tyrants no doubt that they might kill me twice O Griefe And could one Day Have force such excellence to take away Could a swift-flying Moment ah deface Those matchlesse gifts that Grace Which Art and Nature had in thee combin'd To make thy Body paragon thy Mind Hath all pass'd like a cloud And doth eternall silence now them shroud Is that so much admir'd now nought but Dust Of which a Stone hath Trust O change O cruell change thou to our sight Show'st the Fates Rigour equall to their Might When thou from earth diâ—'st passe Sweet Nymph Perfections Mirrour broken was And this of late so glorious World of ours Lâ—ke Medows without Flowers Or Ring of a rich Gem which blind appear d Or Starless night or Cynthia nothing clear'd Love when he saw thee dye Entomb'd him in the lid of either Eye And left his Torch within thy sacred Vrne There for a Lampe to burne Worth Honour Pleasure with thy life expir'd Death since grown sweet begins to be desir'd Whilst thou to us wert given The Earth her Venus had as well as Heaven Nay and her Suns which burnt as many Hearts As he the easterne parts Bright Suns which forc'd to leave these Hemispheares Benighted set into a Sea of Teares Ah Death who shall thee flie Since the most mighty are o'rethrown by thee Thou spar'st the Crow and Nightingall dost kill And triumphst at thy will But give thou cannot such another Blow Because Earth cannot such another show O bitter sweets of Love How better is 't at all you not to prove Nor when we do your pleasures must possesse To find them thus made lesse O! That the cause which doth consume our joy Would the remembrance of it too destroy What doth this life bestow But Flow'rs on Thornes which grow Which though they sometime blandish soft delight Yet afterwards us smite And if the rising Sun them faire doth see That Planet setting doth behold them die This world is made a Hell Depriv'd of all that in it did excell O Pan Pan Winter is fallen in May Turn'd is to night our Day Forsake thy Pipe a Scepter take to thee Thy locks disgarland thou black Jove shall be The Flocks do leave the Meads And loathing three leav'd Grasse hold up their Heads The Streames not glide now with a glentle Rore Nor Birds sing as before Hills stands with clouds like Mourners vail'd in black And Owles upon our Roofes foretell our wrack That Zephire every yeare So soone was heard to sigh in Forrests here It was for her that wrapt in Gowns of Greene Meads were so earely seen That in the saddest Months oft sang the Mearles It was for Her for her Trees dropt forth pearles That proud and stately Courts Did envy these our Shades and calme Resorts It was for Her and she is gone O woe Woods cut againe do grow But doth the Rose and Dazy winter done But we once dead do no more see the Sun Whose Name shall now make ring The Ecchoes of whom shall the Nymphets sing Whose heavenly voice whose Soule-invading Straines Shall fill with Joy the plaines What Haire what Eyes can make the Morne in East Weep that a fairer riseth in the West Faire Sun post still away No Musicke here is left thy Course to stay Sweet Hybla Swarmes with Wormewood fill your Bow'râ— Gone is the flower of Flow'rs Blush no more Rose nor Lilly
pale remaine Dead is that Beauty which yours late did staine Aye me to waile my Plight Why have not I as many Eyes as Night Or as that Shepheards which Joves love did keep That I still still may weepe But though I had my Teares unto my crosse Wâ—re not yet equall nor griefe to my losse Yet of you briny Showers Which I â—ere poure may spring as many flow'rs As come of those which fell from Helens Eyes And when ye do arise May every Leafe in sable letters beare The Dolefull Cause for which ye spring up here MAD. THe Beauty and the Life Of Lifes and Beauties fairest Paragon O Teares O Griefe hung at a feeble Thread To which pale Atropos had set her Knife The Soule with many a groane Had left each outward Part And now did take his last Leave of the Heart Nought else did want save Death for to be dead When the sad company about her Bed Seeing Death invade her lips her cheekes her eyes Cried ah and can Death enter Paradise SON O! It is not to me bright Lampe of Day That in the East thou show'sts thy golden Face O! it is not to me thou leav'st that sea And in those azure Lists began'st thy Race Thou shinest not to the Dead in any Place And I dead from this World am past away Or if I seem a Shadow yet to stay It is a while but to bewaile my Case My Mirth is lost my Comforts are dismaid And unto sad Mishaps their Place do yeeld My Knowledge represents a bloudy Field Where I my Hopes and helps see prostrate laid So plaintfull is Lifes Course which I have run That I do wish it never had begun MADRIGALL DEare Night the ease of Care Untroubled Seat of Peace Times eldest Child which oft the blind do see On this our Hemispheare What makes thee now so sadly darke to be Com'st thou in funerall Pomp Her Grave to grace Or do those Stars which should thy horrour cleare In Joves high Hall advise In what Part of the skies With them or Cynthia she shall appeare Or ah alas because those matchlesse eyes Which shone so faire below thou dost not find Striv'st thou to make all others Eyes look blind SON SInce it hath pleas'd that First and supreme Faire To take that Beauty to himselfe againe Which in this world of Sense not to remaine But to amaze was sent and home repaire The Love which to that Beauty I did beare Made Pure of mortall spots which did it staine And endlesse which even Death cannot impaire I place on him who will it not disdaine No shining Eyes no Locks of curling gold No blushing Roses on a virgin Face No outward show no nor no inward Grace Shall power have my thoughts henceforth to hold Love here on Earth huge stormes of care doth tosse But plac'd above exempted is from losse SONG IT Autumne was and on our Hemispheare Faire Ericine began bright to appeare Night West-ward did her gemmy World decline And hide her Lights that greater Light might shine The crested Bird hath given Alarum twice To lazy Mortals to unlock their Eyes The Owle had left to plaine and from each Throne The wing'd Musicians did salute the Morne Who while she dress'd her Locks in Ganges streames Set open wide the chrystall Port of Dreames When I whose Eyes no drousie Night could close In Sleeps soft armes did quietly repose And for that Heavens to die did me deny Deaths Image kissed and as dead did lie I lay as dead but scarce chaâ—m'd were my Cares And slaked scarce my Sighs scarce dried my Teares Sleep scarce the ugly Figures of the Day Had with his sable Pencill put away And left me in a still and calmy Mood When by my Bed me thought a Virgin stood A Virgin in the blooming of her Prime If such rare Beauty measur'd be by Time Her Head a Garland wore of Opalls bright About her flow'd a Gown like purest Light Pure Amber Locks gave Umbrage to her Face Where Modesty high Majesty did grace Her Eyes such Beames sent forth that but with paine Her weaker Sights their sparklings could sustaine No feigned Dâ—ity which haunts the Woods Is like to Her nor Syrene of the Floods Such is the Golden Planet of the Yeare When blâ—shing in the East he doth appeare Her Grace did beauty Voice yet Grace did passe Which thus through Pearles and Rubies broken was How long wilt thou said she estrang'd from Joy Paint Shadows to thy selfe of false Annoy How long thy Mind with horrid Shapes affright And in imaginary Evills delight Esteeme that Losse which well when view'd is Gaine Or if a Losse yet not a Losse too plaine O leave thy plainâ—full Soule more to molest And thinke that woe when shortest then is best If She for whom thou thus dost deafe the Skie Be dead What then Was she not borne to die Was She not mortall borne If thou dost grieve That Times should be in which She should not live Ere e're she was weep that Daies wheele was roll'd Weep that she liv'd not in the Age of Gold For that she was not then thou maiest deplore As well as that she now can be no more If only she had died thou sure hadst Cause To blame the Fates and their too iron Laws But look how many Millions her advance What numbers with her enter in this Dance With those which are to come shall Heavens them stay And th' Universe dissolve thee to obey As Birth Death which so much thee doth apall A Peece is of the Life of this great All. Strong Cities die die do high palmy Raignes And fondling thou thus to be us'd complaines If she be dead then she of loathsome Daies Hath pass'd the Line whose Length but Losse bewraies Then she hath left this filthy Stage of Care Where Pleasure seldome Woe doth still repaire For all the Pleasures which it doth containe Not countervaile the smallest Minutes paine And tell me thou who dost so much admire This little Vapour this poore Sparke of Fâ—re Which Life is call'd what doth it thee bequeath But some few yeares which Birth draws out to Death Which if thou paralell with Lustres run Or those whose courses are but now begun In daâ—es great Numbers they shall lesse appeare Than with the Sea when matched is a Teare But why shouldst thou here longer wish to be One Yeare doth serve all Natures Pompe to see Nay even one Day and Night this Moone that Sun Those lesser Fires about this Round which Run Be but the same which under Saturnes Raigne Did the serpenting Seasons interchaine How oft doth Life grow lesse by living long And what excelleth but what dieth young For Age which all abhor yet would embrace Doth make the Mind as wrinckled as the Face Then leave Laments and thinke thou did'st not live Laws to that first eternall Cause to give But to obey those Laws which he hath given And bow unto the just decrees of Heaven Which cannot
Amber do send forth Her Heaven hath golden Stars to crown thy Worth Moeris THe sister Nymphs which haunt the Thespian springs More liberally their Gifts ne're did bequeath To them who on their Hils suckt sacred Breath Then unto thee by which thou sweetly sings Ne're did Apollo raise on Pegase Wings A Muse more neare Himselfe more far from Earth Than thine whether thou weep thy Ladies Death Or sing those sweet-sowre Pangs that Passion brings To write our Thoughts in Verse doth merit Praise But thus the Verse to gild in Fictions Ore Bright rich delightfull doth deserve much more As thou hast done these thy melodious Layes No doubt thy Muses faire Morne doth bewray The swift Approach of a more glistring Day TEARES ON THE DEATH OF MOELIADES BY WILLIAM DRUMMOND OF HAVVTHORNEDEN LONDON Printed in the Yeare 1656. To the Author IN Waves of Woe thy Sighs my Soule do tosse And make run out the floud-gates of my teares Whose rankling Wound no smoothing Baume long beares But freely bleeds when ought upbraids my Losse 'T is thou so sweetly Sorrow makest to sing And troubled Passions dost so well accord That more Delight Thy Anguish doth afford Than others Joyes can Satisfaction bring What sacred Wits when ravish'd do affect To force Affections Metamorphose Minds Whilst numbrous Power the Soule in secret binds Thou hast perform'd transforming in Effect For never Plaints did greater Pitty move The best Applause that can such Notes approve Sr W. ALEXANDER Teares on the Death of MOELIADES O Heavens then is it true that Thou art gone And left this woefull Isle her Losse to moane Moeliades bright Day-star of the West A 〈◊〉 blazing Terrour to the East And neither that thy Spirit so heavenly wise Nor Body though of Earth more pure than Skies Nor royall Sâ—em nor thy sweet tender Age Of cruell Destinies could quench the Rage O fading Hopes O short-while lasting Joy Of Earth-borne man that one Houre can destroy Then even of Vertues Spoiles Death Trophies reares As if he gloried most in many Teares Forc'd by hard Fates do Heavens neglect our Cries Are Stars set only to act Tragedies Then let them do their Worst since thou art gone Raise whom thou list to Thrones enthron'd dethrone Staine Princely Bow'rs with Bloud and even to Gange In Cypresse sad glad Hymens Torches change Ah thou hast left to live and in the Time When scarce thou blossom'd'st in thy pleasant Prime So falls by Northern Blast a virgin Rose At halfe that doth her bashfull Bosome close So a sweet Flower languishing decaies That late did blush when kist by Phoebus Raies So Phoebus mounting the Meridians height Choak't by pale Phoebe faints unto our sight Astonish'd Nature sullen stands to see The Life of all this All so chang'd to be In gloomy Gowns the Stars this losse deplore The Sea with murmuring Mountaines beats the Shore Black Darkenesse reeles o're all in thousand Show'rs The weeping Aire on Earth her sorrow poures That in a Palsey quakes to see so soone Her Lover set and Night burst forth ere Noone If Heaven alas ordain'd thee young to die Why was 't not where thou might'st thy Valour try And to the wondring World at least set forth Some little Sparke of thy expected Worth Moeliades O that by Isterâ— Streames 'Mong sounding Trumpets fiery twinkling Gleames Of warme vermilion Swords and Cannons Roare Balls thick as Raine pour'd on the Caspian Shore 'Mongst broken Spears 'mongst ringing Helms shields Huge heapes of slaughtred Bodies long the Fields In Turkish bloud made red like Marses Star Thou endedst had thy Life and Christian War Or as brave Burbon thou hadst made old Rome Queen of the World thy Triumph and thy Tombe So Heavens fair Face to th' unborne World which reads A Book had been of thy illustrious Deeds So to their Nephews aged Syres had told The high Exploits perform'd by thee of old Towns raz'd and rais'd victorious vanquish'd Bands Fierce Tyrants flying foyl'd kill'd by thy Hands And in rich Arras Virgins faire had wrought The Bayes and Trophies to thy Country brought While some New Homer imping Wings to Fame Deafe Nilus dwellers had made heare thy Name That thou didst not attaine these Honours Spheares Through want of Worth it was not but of Yeares A Youth more brave pale Troy with trembling Walls Dâ—d never see nor She whose Name appalls Both Titans golden Bow'rs in bloudy Fights Mustring on Mars his Field such Mars-like Knights The Heavens had brought thee to the highest Hight Of Wit and Courage shewing all their Might When they thee fram'd Aye me that what is brave On Earth they as their own so soon should crave Moeliades sweet courtly Nymphs deplore From Thale to Hydaspes pearly shore When Forth thy Nurse Forth where thou first didst passe Thy tender Daies who smil'd oft on her Glasse To see thee gaze Meandring with her Streames Heard thou hadst left this Round from Phoebus Beames She sought to flie but forced to returne By Neighbouring Brooks She set her selfe to mourne And as she rush'd her Cyclades among She seem'd too plain that Heaven had done her wrong With a hoarse plaint Cleyd down her steepy rocks And Tweid through her green Mountaines clad with flocks Did wound the Ocean murmuring thy death The Ocean it roar'd about the Earth And to the Mauritanian Atlas told Who shrunke through griefe and down his white hairs rold Huge Streames of tears which changed were to flouds Wherewith he drown'd the neighbour plains woods The lesser Brooks as they did bubling go Did keep a Consort to the publike Woe The Shepheards left their Flocks with down-cast eies ' Sdaining to look up to the angry Skies Some brake their Pipes and some in sweet-sad Layes Made senselesse things amazed at thy Praise His Reed Alexis hung upon a Tree And with his Teares made Doven great to be Moeliades sweet courtly Nymphs deplore From Thule to Hydaspes pearely shore Chaste Maids which haunt faire Aganippes Well And you in Tempes sacred Shade who dwell Let fall your Harps cease Tunes of Joy to sing Dissheveled make all Parnassus ring With Anthâ—amesâ—ad â—ad thy Musick Phoebus turne To dolefull plaints whilst Joy it selfe doth mourne Dead is thy Darling who adorn'd thy Bayes Who oft was wont to cherish thy sweet Layes And to a Trumpet raise thy amorous Stile That floting Delos envy might this Isle You Acidalian Archers breake your Bows Your Torches quench with teares blot Beauties Snows And bid your weeping Mother yet againe A second Adoâ—s death nay Mars his plaine His Eyes once were your Darts nay even his Name Where ever heard did every Heart inflame Tagus did court his Love with Golden Streames Rhein with his Towns faire Seine with all she claimes But ah poore Lovers Death them did betray And not suspected made their Hopes his Prey Tagus bewailes his Losse in Golden Streames Rhein with his Towns faire Seine with all she claimes Moeliades sweet courtly Nymphs deplore From Thule to
For humanes Earth enjoying Angels Heaven Swift is your mortall Race And glassie is the Field Vaste are Desires not limited by Grace Life a weake Taper is Then while it light doth yeeld Leave flying Joyes embrace this lasting Blisse This when the Nymph had said Shâ—e div'd within the Floud Whose Face with smyling Curles long after staid Then Sighs did Zephyres presse Birds sang from every Wood And Ecchoes rang this was true Happinesse An Hymne on the Fairest Faire I Feele my Bosome glow with wontlesse Fires Rais'd from the vulgar presse my Mind aspires Wing'd with high Thoughts unto his praise to clime From deep Eternity who call'd forth Time That Essence which not mov'd makes each thing move Uncreate Beauty all-creating Love But by so great an object radiant light My Heart appall'd enfeebled rests my Sight Thick Clouds benight my labouring Ingine And at my high attempts my Wits repine If thou in me this sacred heat hast wrought My Knowledge sharpen Sarcells lend my Thought Grant me Times Father world-containing King A Pow'r of thee in pow'rfull Laies to sing That as thy Beauty in Earth lives Heaven shines It dawning may or shadow in my Lines As far beyond the starry walls of Heaven As is the loftiest of the Planets seven Sequestred from this Earth in purest light Out-shining ours as ours doth sable Night Thou all-sufficient Omnipotent Thou ever-glorious most excellent God various in Names in Essence one High art enstalled on a golden Throne Out-stretching Heavens wide bespangled vault Transcending all the Circles of our Thought With diamantine Scepter in thy Hand There thou giv'st Laws and dost this World command This World of Concords rais'd unlikely sweet Which like a Ball lies prostrate at thy Feet If so we may well say and what we say Here wrapt in flesh led by dim Reasons ray To show by earthly Beauties which we see That spirituall Excellence that shines in thee Good Lord forgive not far from thy right Side With curled Locks Youth ever doth abide Rose-cheeked Youth who gaâ—landed with Flow'rs Still blooming ceaselessely unto thee pow'rs Immortall Nectar in a cup of Gold That by no darts of Ages thou grow old And as ends and beginnings thee not claime Successionlesse that thou be still the same Neare to thy other side resistlesse Might From Head to Foot in burnisht Armour dight That rings about him with a waving Brand And watchfull Eye great Sentinell doth stand That neither Time nor force in ought impaire Thy Workmanship nor harme thine Empire faire Soone to give Death to all againe that would Sterne Discord raise which thou destroy'd of old Discord that foe to order Nurse of War By which the noblest things demolisht are But caitife she no Treason doth devise When Might to nought doth bring her enterprise Thy all-upholding Might her Malice raines And her to Hell throws bound in iron Chaines With Locks in waves of Gold that ebbe and flow On Ivory neck in Robes more white than Snow Truth stedfastly before thee holds a Glasse Indent'd with Gems where shineth all that was That is or shall be here ere ought was wrought Thou knew all that thy Pow'r with time forth brought And more things numberlesse which thou couldst make That actually shall never being take Here thou beholdst thy selfe and strange dost prove At once the Beauty Lover and the Love With Faces two like Sisters sweetly faire Whose Blossomes no rough Autumne can impaire Stands Providence and doth her looks disperse Through every Corner of this Universe Thy Providence at once which generall things And singular doth rule as Empires Kings Without whose care this world lost would remaine As Ship withou a Master in the Maine As Chariot alone as Bodies prove Depriv'd of Soules whereby they be live move But who are they which shine thy Throne so neare With sacred countenance and look severâ— This in one hand a pondrous Sword doth hold Her left staies charg'd with Ballances of Gold That with Brows girt with â—ays sweet-smiling Face Doth beare a Brandon with a babish grace Two milke-white Wings him easily do move O she thy Justice is and this thy Love By this thou brought'st this Engine great to light By that it fram'd in Number Measure Weight That destine doth reward to ill and good But Sway of Justice is by Love withstood Which did it not relent and mildly stay This World ere now had found its funerall Day What Bands enâ—â—â—ctred neare to thâ—se abide Which into vaste Infinity them hide Infinity that neither doth admiâ— Place Time nor Number to 〈◊〉 on it Here Bounty sparkleth here doth Beauty shine Simplicity more white than Gelsomine Mercy with open wings aye-varied Blisse Glory and Joy that Blisses darling is Ineffable all-pow'rfull God all free Thou only liv'st and each thing lives by thee No Joy no nor Perfection to thee came By the contriving of this Worlds great Frame Ere Sun Moon Stars began their restlesse race Ere painted was with light Heavens pâ—re Face Ere Aire had Clâ—uâ—s ere Clouds wept down their show'rs Ere Sea embraced Earth ere Earth bare Flow'rs Thou happy liv'dst World nought to thee supply'd All in thy selfe thy selfe thou satisfi'd Of Good no slender Shadow doth appeare No age-worne tâ—aâ—ke which shin'd in thee not cleare Perfections Sum prime-cause of every Cause Midst end beginning where all good doth pause Hence of thy Substance differing in nought Thou in Eâ—ernity thy Son forth brought The only Birth of thy unchanging Mind Thine Image Pattern-like that ever shin'd Light out of Light begotten not by Will But Naâ—ure all and that same Essence still Which thou thy selfe for thou dost nought possesse Which he hath not in ought nor is he lesse Thâ—â— Thee his great Begâ—ttâ—â— of this Light Eternall Double kindled was thy Spright Eternally who is with Thee the same All-holy Gift Embassadour Knot Flame Most sacred Triad O most holy One Unprocreate Father â—ver-procreate Son Ghost breath'd from both you were are still shall be Most blessed Three in One and One in Three Uncomprehensible by reachlesse Hight And unperceived by excessive Light So in our Soules three and yet one are still The Vnderstanding Memory and Will So though unlike the Planet of the Daies So soone as he was made begat his Raies Which are his Off-spring and from both was hurld The rosie Light which consolates the World And none fore-went another so the spring The Well-head and the Streame which they forth bring Are but one selfe-same Essence not in ought Do differ save in order and our Thought No chime of Time discernes in them to fall But Three distinctly â—ide one Essence all But these expresse not Thee who can declare Thy being Men and Angels dazel'd are Who would this Eden force with wit or sense A Cherubin shall find to bar him thence Great Architect Lord of this Universe That light is blinded would thy Greatnesse pierce Ah! as a Pilgrim who the Alpes doth passe Or Atlas Temples crown'd