bitter crosse Was ever grief c. 〈◊〉 crosse I bear my self untill I faint â—â—en Simon bears it for me by constraint â—â—e decreed burden of each mortall Saint Was ever grief c. 〈◊〉 all ye who passe by behold and see â—â—n stole the fruiâ— but I must climbe the tree The tree of life to all but onely me Was ever grief c. 〈◊〉 here I hang charg'd with a world of sinne â—â—e greater world o' th' two for that came in 〈◊〉 words but this by sorrow I must win Was ever grief c. Such sorrow as if sinfull man could feel 〈◊〉 feel his part he would not cease to kneel â—â—ll all were melted though he were all steel Was ever grief c. â—â—â—t O my God my God! why leav'st thou me The sonne in whom thou dost delight to be â—â—y God my God Never was grief like mine â—â—â—me tears my soul my bodie many a wound â—â—arp nails pierce this but sharper that confound â—eproches which are free while I am bound Was ever grief c. Now heal thy self Physician now come down Alas I did so when I left my crown And fathers smile for you to feel his frown Was ever grief like mine In healing not my self there doth consist All that salvation which ye now resist Your safetie in my sicknesse doth subsist Was ever grief c. Betwixt two theeves I spend my utmost breath As he that for some robberie suffereth Alas what have I stollen from you death Was ever grief c. A king my title is prefixt on high Yet by my subjects am condemn'd to die A servile death in servile companie Was ever grief c. They gave me vineger mingled with gall But more with malice yet when they did call With Manna Angels food I fed them all Was ever grief c. They part my garments and by lot dispose My coat the type of love which once cur'd those Who sought for help never malicious foes Was ever grief c. Nay after death their spite shall further go For they will pierce my side I full well know That as sinne came so Sacraments might flow Was ever grief c. But now I die now all is finished My wo mans weal and now I bow my head Onely let others say when I am dead Never was grief like mine ¶ The Thanksgiving OH King of grief a title strange yet true To thee of all kings onely due Oh King of wounds how shall I grieve for thee Who in all grief preventest me Shall I weep bloud why thou hast wept such store That all thy body was one doore Shall I be scourged flouted boxed sold 'T is but to tell the tale is told My God my God why dost thou part from me Was such a grief as cannot be Shall I then sing skipping thy dolefull storie And side with thy triumphant glorie Shall thy strokes be my stroking thorns my flowerâ— Thy rod my posie crosse my bower But how then shall I imitate thee and Copie thy fair though bloudie hand Stâ—â—dy I will reuenge me on thy love And trie who shall victorious prove If thou dost give me wealth I will restore All back unto thee by the poore If thou dost give me honour men shall see The honour doth belong to thee I will not marry or if she be mine She and her children shall be thine My bosome friend if he blaspheme thy name I will tear thence his love and fame One half of me being gone the rest I give Unto some Chappell die or live Aâ— for thy passion But of that anon When with the other I have done 〈◊〉 thy predestination I 'le contrive That three yeares hence if I survive I 'le build a spittle or mend common wayes But mend mine own without delayes Then I will use the works of thy creation As if I us'd them but for fashion The world and I will quarrell and the yeare Shall not perceive that I am here My musick shall finde thee and ev'ry string Shall have his attribute to sing That all together may accord in thee And prove one God one harmonie If thou shalt give me wit it shall appeare If thou hast giv'n it me 't is here Nay I will reade thy book and never move Till I have found therein thy love Thy art of love which I 'le turn back on thee O my deare Saviour Victorie Then for thy passion I will do for that Alas my God I know not what ¶ The Reprisall I Have consider'd it and finde There is no dealing with thy mighty passion For though I die for thee I am behinde My sinnes deserve the condemnation O make me innocent that I May give a disentangled state and free And yet thy wounds still my attempts defie For by thy death I die for thee Ah! was it not enough that thou By thy eternall glorie didst outgo me Couldst thou not griefs sad conquests me allow But in all vict'ries overthrow me Yet by confession will I come â—â—to the conquest Though I can do nought â—gainst thee in thee I will overcome The man who once against thee fought ¶ The Agonie PHilosophers have measur'd mountains â—â—thom'd the depths of seas of states and kings Walk'd with a staffe to heav'n and traced fountains But there are two vast spacious things The which to measure it doth more behove â—et few there are that sound them Sinne and Love Who would know Sinne let him repair â—nto mount Olivet there shall he see â— man so wrung with pains that all his hair His skinne his garments bloudie be â—nne is that presse and vice which forceth pain â—o hunt his cruell food through ev'ry vein Who knows not Love let him assay â—nd taste that juice which on the crosse a pike â—nd set again abroach then let him say If ever he did taste the like â—ove is that liquour sweet and most divine Which my God feels as bloud but I as wine ¶ The Sinner LOrd how I am all ague when I seek What I have treasur'd in my memorie Since if my soul make even with the week Each seventh note by right is due to thee I finde there quarries of pil'd vanities But shreds of holinesse that dare not venture To shew their face since crosse to thy decrees There the circumference earth is heav'n the centre In so much dregs the quintessence is small The spirit and good extract of my heart Comes to about the many hundredth part Yet Lord restore thine image heare my call And though my hard heart scarce to thee can grone Remember that thou once didst write in stone ¶ Good Friday O My chief good How shall I measure out thy bloud How shall I count what thee befell And each grief tell Shall I thy woes Number according to thy foes Or since one starre show'd thy first breath Shall all thy death Or shall each leaf Which falls in Autumne score a grief Or cannot leaves but fruit be signe Of the true vine Then let each
Yet when the houre of thy designe To answer these fine things shall come Speak not at large say I am thine And then they have their answer home ¶ Vanitie POore silly soul whose hope and head lies low Whose flat delights on earth do creep and grow To whom the starres shine not so fair as eyes Nor solid work as false embroyderies Heark and beware lest what you now do measure And write for sweet prove a most sowre displeasure O heare betimes lest thy relenting May come too late To purchase heaven for repenting Is no hard rate If souls be made of earthly mold Let them love gold If born on high Let them unto their kindred flie For they can never be at rest Till they regain their ancient nest Then silly soul take heed for earthly joy Is but a bubble and makes thee a boy ¶ The Dawning AWake sad heart whom sorrow ever drowns Take up thine eyes which feed on earth Unfold thy forehead gather'd into frowns Thy Saviour comes and with him mirth Awake awake And with a thankfull heart his comforts take But thou dost still lament and pine and crie And feel his death but not his victorie Arise sad heart if thou dost not withstand Christs resurrection thine may be Do not by hanging down break from the hand Which as it riseth raiseth thee Arise arise And with his buriall-linen drie thine eyes Christ left his grave-clothes that we might when grief Draws tears or bloud not want an handkerchief ¶ JESU JESU is in my heart his sacred name Is deeply carved there but th' other week A great affliction broke the little frame Ev'n all to pieces which I went to seek And first I found the corner where was I After where ES and next where V was graved When I had got these parcels instantly I sat me down to spell them and perceived That to my broken heart he was I ease you And to my whole is IESV ¶ Businesse CAnst be idle canst thou play Foolish soul who sinn'd to day Rivers run and springs each one Know their home and get them gone Hast thou tears or hast thou none If poore soul thou hast no tears Would thou hadst no faults or fears Who hath these those ill forbears Windes still work it is their plot Be the season cold or hot Hast thou sighs or hast thou not If thou hast no sighs or grones Would thou hadst no flesh and bones Lesser pains scape greater ones But if yet thou idle be Foolish soul Who di'd for thee Who did leave his Fathers throne To assume thy flesh and bone Had he life or had he none If he had not liv'd for thee Thou hadst di'd most wretchedly And two deaths had been thy fee. He so farre thy good did plot That his own self he forgot Did he die or did he not If he had not di'd for thee Thou hadst liv'd in miserie Two lives worse then ten deaths be And hath any space of breath 'Twixt his sinnes and Saviours death He that loseth gold though drosse Tells to all he meets his crosse He that sinnes hath he no losse He that findes a silver vein Thinks on it and thinks again Brings thy Saviours death no gain Who in heart not ever kneels Neither sinne nor Saviour feels ¶ Dialogue SWeetest Saviour if my soul Were but worth the having Quickly should I then controll Any thought of waving But when all my care and pains Cannot give the name of gains To thy wretch so full of stains What delight or hope remains What childe is the ballance thine Thine the poise and measure If I say Thou shalt be mine Finger not my treasure What the gains in having thee Do amount to onely he Who for man was sold can see That transferr'd th' accounts to me But as I can see no merit Leading to this favour So the way to fit me for it Is beyond my savour As the reason then is thine So the way is none of mine I disclaim the whole designe Sinne disclaims and I resigne That is all if that I could Get without repining And my clay my creature would Follow my resigning That as I did freely part With my glorie and desert Left all joyes to feel all smart Ah! no more thou break'st my heart ¶ Dulnesse WHy do I languish thus drooping and dull As if I were all earth O give me quicknesse that I may with mirth Praise thee brim-full The wanton lover in a curious strain Can praise his fairest fair And with quaint metaphors her curled hair Curl o're again Thou art my lovelinesse my life my light Beautie alone to me Thy bloudy death and undeserv'd makes thee Pure red and white When all perfections as but one appeare That those thy form doth show The very dust where thou dost tread and go Makes beauties here Where are my lines then my approaches views Where are my window-songs Lovers are still pretending ev'n wrongs Sharpen their Muse But I am lost in flesh whose sugred lyes Still mock me and grow bold Sure thou didst put a minde there if I could Finde where it lies Lord cleare thy gift that with a constant wit I may but look towards thee Look onely for to love thee who can be What angel fit ¶ Love-joy AS on a window late I cast mine eye I saw a vine drop grapes with I and C Anneal'd on every bunch One standing by Ask'd what it meant I who am never loth To spend my iudgement said It seem'd to me To be the bodie and the letters both Of Ioy and Charitie Sir you have not miss'd The man reply'd It figures IESVS CHRIST ¶ Providence O Sacred Providence who from end to end Strongly and sweetly movest shall I write And not of thee through whom my fingers bend To hold my quill shall they not do thee right Of all the creatures both in sea and land Onely to Man thou hast made known thy wayes And put the penne alone into his hand And made him Secretarie of thy praise Beasts fain would sing birds dittie to their notes Trees would be tuning on their native lute To thy renown but all their hands and throats Are brought to Man while they are lame and mute Man is the worlds high Priest he doth present The sacrifice for all while they below Unto the service mutter an assent Such as springs use that fall and windes that blow He that to praise and laud thee doth refrain Doth not refrain unto himself alone But robs a thousand who would praise thee fain And doth commit a world of sinne in one The beasts say Eat me but if beasts must teach The tongue is yours to eat but mine to praise The trees say Pull me but the hand you stretch Is mine to write as it is yours to raise Wherefore most sacred Spirit I here present For me and all my fellows praise to thee And just it is that I should pay the rent Because the benefit accrues to me We all
power Killing and quickning bringing down to hell And up to heaven in an houre Making a chiming of a passing-bell We say amisse This or that is Thy word is all if we could spell O that I once past changing were Fast in thy Paradise where no flower can wither Many a spring I shoot up fair Offring at heav'n growing and groning thither Nor doth my flower Want a spring-showre My sinnes and I joining together But while I grow in a straight line Still upwards bent as if heav'n were mine own Thy anger comes and I decline What frost to that what pole is not the zone Where all things burn When thou dost turn And the least frown of thine is shown And now in age I bud again After so many deaths I live and write I once more smell the dew and rain And relish versing O my onely light It cannot be That I am he On whom thy tempests fell all night These are thy wonders Lord of love To make us see we are but flowers that glide Which when we once can finde and prove Thou hast a garden for us where to bide Who would be more Swelling through store Forfeit their Paradise by their pride ¶ Dotage FAlse glozing pleasures casks of happinesse Foolish night-fires womens and childrens wishes Chases in Arras guilded emptinesse Shadows well mounted dreams in a career Embroider'd lyes nothing between two dishes These are the pleasures here True earnest sorrows rooted miseries Anguish in grain vexations ripe and blown Sure-footed griefs solid calamities Plain demonstrations evident and cleare Fetching their proofs ev'n from the very bone These are the sorrows here But oh the folly of distracted men Who griefs in earnest joyes in jest pursue Preferring like brute beasts a lothsome den Before a court ev'n that above so cleare Where are no sorrows but delights more true Then miseries are here ¶ The Sonne LEt forrain nations of their language boast What fine varietie each tongue affords I like our language as our men and coast Who cannot dresse it well want wit not words How neatly doe we give one onely name To parents issue and the sunnes bright starre A sonne is light and fruit a fruitfull flame Chasing the fathers dimnesse carri'd farre From the first man in th' East to fresh and new Western discov'ries of posteritie So in one word our Lords humilitie We turn upon him in a sense most true For what Christ once in humblenesse began We him in glorie call The Sonne of Man ¶ A true Hymne MY joy my life my crown My heart was meaning all the day Somewhat it fain would say And still it runneth mutt'ring up and down With onely this My joy my life my crown Yet slight not these few words If truly said they may take part Among the best in art The finenesse which a hymne or psalme affords Is when the soul unto the lines accords He who craves all the minde And all the soul and strength and time If the words onely ryme Justly complains that somewhat is behinde To make his verse or write a hymne in kinde Whereas if th' heart be moved Although the verse be somewhat scant God doth supplie the want As when th' heart sayes sighing to be approved O could I love and stops God writeth Loved ¶ The Answer MY comforts drop and melt away like snow I shake my head and all the thoughts and ends Which my fierce youth did bandie fall and flow Like leaves about me or like summer friends Flyes of estates and sunne-shine But to all Who think me eager hot and undertaking But in my prosecutions slack and small As a young exhalation newly waking Scorns his first bed of dirt and means the sky But cooling by the way grows pursie and slow And setling to a cloud doth live and die In that dark state of tears to all that so Show me and set me I have one reply Which they that know the rest know more then I. ¶ A Dialogue-Antheme Christian. Death Chr. ALas poore Death where is thy glorie Where is thy famous force thy ancient sting Dea. Alas poore mortall void of storie Go spell and reade how I have kill'd thy King Chr. Poore death and who was hurt thereby Thy curse being laid on him makes thee accurst Dea. Let losers talk yet thou shalt die These arms shall crush thee Chr. Spare not do thy worst I shall be one day better then before Thou so much worse that thou shalt be no more ¶ The Water-course THou who dost dwell and linger here below Since the condition of this world is frail Where of all plants afflictions soonest grow If troubles overtake thee do not wail For who can look for lesse that loveth Life Strife But rather turn the pipe and waters course To serve thy sinnes and furnish thee with store Of sov'raigne tears springing from true remorse That so in purenesse thou mayst him adore Who gives to man as he sees fit Salvation Damnation ¶ Self-condemnation THou who condemnest Jewish hate For choosing Barabbas a murderer Before the Lord of glorie Look back upon thine own estate Call home thine eye that busie wanderer That choice may be thy storie He that doth love and love amisse This worlds delights before true Christian joy Hath made a Jewish choice The world an ancient murderer is Thousands of souls it hath and doth destroy With her enchanting voice He that hath made a sorrie wedding Between his soul and gold and hath preferr'd False gain before the true Hath done what he condemnes in reading For he hath sold for money his deare Lord And is a Judas-Jew Thus we prevent the last great day And judge our selves That light which sin passion Did before dimme and choke When once those snuffes are ta'ne away Shines bright and cleare ev'n unto condemnation Without excuse or cloke ¶ Bitter-sweet AH my deare angrie Lord Since thou dost love yet strike Cast down yet help afford 〈◊〉 I will do the like I will complain yet praise I will bewail approve And all my sowre-sweet dayes I will lament and love ¶ The Glance WHen first thy sweet and gracious eye Vouchsaf'd ev'n in the midst of youth and night To look upon me who before did lie Weltring in sinne I felt a sugred strange delight Passing all cordials made by any art Bedew embalme and overrunne my heart And take it in Since that time many a bitter storm My soul hath felt ev'n able to destroy Had the malicious and ill-meaning harm His swing and sway But still thy sweet originall joy Sprung from thine eye did work within my soul And surging griefs when they grew bold controll And got the day If thy first glance so powerfull be A mirth but open'd and seal'd up again What wonders shall we feel when we shall see Thy full-ey'd love When thou shalt look us out of pain And one aspect of thine spend in delight More then a thousand sunnes disburse in light In heav'n above ¶ The
Oh that I were an Orenge-tree That busie plant â—hen should I ever laden be And never want Some fruit for him that dressed me But we are still too young or old The man is gone Before we do our wares unfold So we freeze on Untill the grave increase our cold ¶ Deniall WHen my devotions could not pierce Thy silent eares Then was my heart broken as was my verse My breast was full of fears And disorder My bent thoughts like a brittle bow Did flie asunder Each took his way some would to pleasures go Some to the warres and thunder Of alarms As good go any where they say As to benumme Both knees and heart in crying night and day Come come my God O come But no hearing O that thou shouldst give dust a tongue To crie to thee And then not heare it crying all day long My heart was in my knee But no hearing Therefore my soul lay out of sight Untun'd unstrung My feeble spirit unable to look right Like a nipt blossome hung Discontented O cheer and tune my heartlesse breast Deferre no time That so thy favours granting my request They and my minde may chime And mend my ryme ¶ Christmas ALl after pleasures as I rid one day My horse and I both tir'd bodie and minde With full crie of affections quite astray I took up in the next inne I could finde â—ere when I came whom found I but my deare My dearest Lord expecting till the grief Of pleasures brought me to him readie there â—â—e all passengers most sweet relief Thou whose glorious yet contracted light Wrapt in nights mantle stole into a manger Since my dark soul and brutish is thy right Man of all beasts be not thou a stranger Furnish deck my soul that thou mayst have A better lodging then a rack or grave THe shepherds sing and shall I silent be My God no hymne for thee â—y soul 's a shepherd too a flock it feeds Of thoughts and words and deeds The pasture is thy word the streams thy grace Enriching all the place Shepherd and flock shall sing and all my powers Out-sing the day-light houres Then we will chide the sunne for letting night Take up his place and right We sing one common Lord wherefore he should Himself the candle hold â— will go searching till I finde a sunne Shall stay till we have done A willing shiner that shall shine as gladly As frost-nipt sunnes look sadly Then we will sing and shine all our own day And one another pay His beams shall cheer my breast and both so twine Till ev'n his beams sing and my musick shine ¶ Ungratefulnesse LOrd with what bountie and rare clemencie Hast thou redeem'd us from the grave If thou hadst let us runne Gladly had man ador'd the sunne And thought his god most brave Where now we shall be better gods then he Thou hast but two rare cabinets full of treasure The Trinitie and Incarnation Thou hast unlockt them both And made them jewels to betroth The work of thy creation Unto thy self in everlasting pleasure The statelier cabinet is the Trinitie Whose sparkling light accesse denies Therefore thou dost not show This fully to us till death blow The dust into our eyes For by that powder thou wilt make us see But all thy sweets are packt up in the other Thy mercies thither flock and flow That as the first affrights This may allure us with delights Because this box we know For we have all of us just such another But man is close reserv'd and dark to thee When thou demandest but a heart He cavils instantly In his poore cabinet of bone Sinnes have their box apart Defrauding thee who gavest two for one ¶ Sighs and Grones O Do not use me After my sinnes look not on my desert But on thy glorie then thou wilt reform And not refuse me for thou onely art The mightie God but I a sillie worm O do not bruise me O do not urge me For what account can thy ill steward make I have abus'd thy stock destroy'd thy woods Suckt all thy magazens my head did ake Till it found out how to consume thy goods O do not scourge me O do not blinde me I have deserv'd that an Egyptian night Should thicken all my powers because my lust Hath still sow'd fig-leaves to exclude thy light But I am frailtie and already dust O do not grinde me O do not fill me With the turn'd viall of thy bitter wrath For thou hast other vessels full of bloud A part whereof my Saviour empti'd hath Ev'n unto death since he di'd for my good O do not kill me But O reprieve me For thou hast life and death at thy command Thou art both Iudge and Saviour feast and rod Cordiall and Corrosive put not thy hand Into the bitter box but O my God My God relieve me ¶ The World LOve built a stately house where Fortune came And spinning phansies she was heard to say That her fine cobwebs did support the frame Whereas they were supported by the same But Wisdome quickly swept them all away Then Pleasure came who liking not the fashion Began to make Balcones Terraces Till she had weakned all by alteration But rev'rend laws and many a proclamation Reformed all at length with menaces Then enter'd Sinne and with that Sycomore Whose leaves first sheltred man from drought dew Working and winding slily evermore The inward walls and Sommers cleft and tore But Grace shor'd these and cut that as it grew Then Sinne combin'd with Death in a firm band To rase the building to the very floore Which they effected none could them withstand But Love and Grace took Glorie by the hand And built a braver Palace then before Coloss. 3.3 Our life is hid with Christ in God MY words thoughts do both expresse this notion That Life hath with the sun a double motion The first Is straight and our diurnall friend The other Hid and doth obliquely bend One life is wrapt In flesh and tends to earth The other winds towards Him whose happie birth Taught me to live here so That still one eye Should aim and shoot at that which Is on high Quitting with daily labour all My pleasure To gain at harvest an eternall Treasure ¶ Vanitie THe fleet Astronomer can bore And thred the spheres with his quick-piercing minde He views their stations walks from doore to doore Surveys as if he had design'd To make a purchase there he sees their dances And knoweth long before Both their full-ey'd aspects and secret glances The nimble Diver with his side Cuts through the working waves that he may fetch His dearely-earned pearl which God did hide On purpose from the ventrous wretch That he might save his life and also hers Who with excessive pride Her own destruction and his danger wears The subtil Chymick can devest And strip the creature naked till he finde The callow principles within their nest There he imparts to them his
put together a solemnitie And drest his herse while he has breath As yet to spare Yet Lord instruct us so to die That all these dyings may be life in death Decay SWeet were the dayes when thou didst lodge with Loâ— Struggle with Jacob fit with Gideon Advise with Abraham when thy power could not Encounter Moses strong complaints and mone Thy words were then Let me alone One might have sought and found thee presently At some fair oak or bush or cave or well Is my God this way No they would reply He is to Sinai gone as we heard tell List ye may heare great Aarons bell But now thou dost thy self immure and close In some one corner of a feeble heart Where yet both Sinne and Satan thy old foes Do pinch and straiten thee and use much art To gain thy thirds and little part I see the world grows old when as the heat Of thy great love once spread as in an urn Doth closet up it self and still retreat Cold sinne still forcing it till it return And calling Justice all things burn ¶ Miserie LOrd let the Angels praise thy name Man is a foolish thing a foolish thing Folly and Sinne play all his game His house still burns and yet he still doth sing Man is but grasse He knows it fill the glasse How canst thou brook his foolishnesse Why he 'l not lose a cup of drink for thee Bid him but temper his excesse Not he he knows where he can better be As he will swear Then to serve thee in fear What strange pollutions doth he wed And make his own as if none knew but he No man shall beat into his head That thou within his curtains drawn canst see They are of cloth Where never yet came moth The best of men turn but thy hand â—or one poore minute stumble at a pinne They would not have their actions scann'd Nor any sorrow tell them that they sinne Though it be small And measure not their fall They quarrell thee and would give over The bargain made to serve thee but thy love Holds them unto it and doth cover Their follies with the wing of thy milde Dove Not suff'ring those Who would to be thy foes My God Man cannot praise thy name Thou art all brightnesse perfect puritie The sunne holds down his head for shame Dead with eclipses when we speak of thee How shall infection Presume on thy perfection As dirtie hands foul all they touch And those things most which are most pure and fine So our clay hearts ev'n when we crouch To sing thy praises make them lesse divine Yet either this Or none thy portion is Man cannot serve thee let him go And serve the swine there there is his delight He doth not like this vertue no Give him his dirt to wallow in all night These Preachers make His head to shoot and ake Oh foolish man where are thine eyes How hast thou lost them in a croud of eares Thou pull'st the rug and wilt not rise No not to purchase the whole pack of starres There let them shine Thou must go sleep or dine The bird that sees a daintie bowre Made in the tree where she was wont to sit Wonders and sings but not his power Who made the arbour this exceeds her wit But Man doth know The spring whence all things flow And yet as though he knew it not His knowledge winks and lets his humours reigne They make his life a constant blot And all the bloud of God to run in vain Ah wretch what verse Can thy strange wayes rehearse Indeed at first Man was a treasure A box of jewels shop of rarities A ring whose posie was My pleasure He was a garden in a Paradise Glorie and grace Did crown his heart and face But sinne hath fool'd him Now he is A lump of flesh without a foot or wing To raise him to the glimpse of blisse A sick toss'd vessel dasâ—â—ng on each thing Nay his own shelf My God I mean my self ¶ Jordan WHen first my lines of heav'nly joyes made mention Such was their lustre they did so excell â—hat I sought out quaint words and trim invention â—y thoughts began to burnish sprout and swell â—urling with metaphors a plain intention â—ecking the sense as if it were to sell. Thousands of notions in my brain did runne Off'ring their service if I were not sped 〈◊〉 often blotted what I had begunne This was not quick enough and that was dead Nothing could seem too rich to clothe the sunne â—â—uch lesse those joyes which trample on his head As flames do work and winde when they ascend So did I weave my self into the sense But while I bustled I might heare a friend Whisper How wide is all this long pretence There is in love a sweetnesse readie penn'd Copie out onely that and save expense ¶ Prayer OF what an easie quick accesse My blessed Lord art thou how suddenly May our requests thine eare invade To shew that state dislikes not easinesse If I but lift mine eyes my suit is made Thou canst no more not heare then thou canst die Of what supreme almightie power Is thy great arm which spans the east and west And tacks the centre to the sphere By it do all things live their measur'd houre We cannot ask the thing which is not there Blaming the shallownesse of our request Of what unmeasurable love Art thou possest who when thou couldst not die Wert fain to take our flesh and curse And for our sakes in person sinne reprove That by destroying that which ty'd thy purse Thou mightst make way for liberalitie Since then these three wait on thy throne Ease Power and Love I value prayer so That were I to leave all but one Wealth fame endowments vertues all should go I and deare prayer would together dwell And quickly gain for each inch lost an ell ¶ Obedience MY God if writings may Convey a Lordship any way Whither the buyer and the seller please Let it not thee displease If this poore paper do as much as they On it my heart doth bleed As many lines as there doth need To passe it self and all it hath to thee To which I do agree And here present it as my speciall deed If that hereafter Pleasure Cavill and claim her part and measure As if this passed with a reservation Or some such words in fashion I here exclude the wrangler from thy treasure O let thy sacred will All thy delight in me fulfill Let me not think an action mine own way But as thy love shall sway Resigning up the rudder to thy skill Lord what is man to thee That thou shouldst minde a rotten tree Yet since thou canst not choose but see my actions So great are thy perfections Thou mayst as well my actions guide as see Besides thy death and bloud Show'd a strange love to all our good Thy sorrows were in earnest no faint proffer Or superficiall offer Of what we might not