shafts already made And seeking Hone to set up thy Trade True Embleme of hy sweets Thy Bees do bring Hony in their moutâ—es but in their tailes a sting IV. Quis leuior cui phis ponderis adds amor Will Marshall sculpsit IV. PSAL. LXII IX To be laid in the ballance it is altogether lighter than vanitie 1 PUt in another weight 'T is yet too light And yet Fond Cupid put another in And yet another Still there 's under weight Put in another Hundred Put agin Add world to world then heape a thousand more To that then to renew thy wasted store Take up more worlds on trust to draw thy Balance lower 2 Put in the flesh with all her loades of pleasure Put in great Mammons endlesse Inventory Put in the pondrous Acts of mighty Caesar Put in the greater weight of Swedens Glory Add Scipio's gauntlet put in Plato's Gowne Put Circes Charmes put in the Triple Crowne Thy Balance will not draw thy Balance will not downe 3 LORD what a world is this which day and night Men seek with so much toyle with so much trouble Which weigh'd in equall Scales is found so light So poorely over-balanc'd with a Bubble Good GOD that frantick mortals should destroy Their higher Hopes and place their idle Ioy Vpon such ayry Trash upon so light a Toy 4 Thou bold Imposture how hast thou befool'd The Tribe of Man with counterfeit desire How has the breath of thy false bellowes cool'd He wâ—ns free-borne flames and kindled bastard fire How hast thou vented Drosse instead of treasure And cheated man with thy false weights and measure Proclaiming Bad for good and gilding death with pleasure 5 The woâ—ld's a crafty Strumpet most affecting And closely following those that most reject her But seeming carelesse nicely disrespecting And coyly flying those that most affect her If thou be free shee 's strange if strange shee 's free Fled and she followes Follow and shee 'l flee Than she there 's none more coy ther 's none more fond than she 6 O what a Crocodilian world is this Compos'd of trech'ries and ensnaring wiles She cloathes destruction in a form all kisse And lodges death in her deceitfull smiles She huggs the soule she hates and there does prove The veryest Tyrant where she vowes to love And is a Serpent most when most she seemes a Dove 7 Thrice happy he whose nobler thoughts despise To make an Object of so easie Gaines Thrice happy he who scornes so poore a Prize Should be the C own of his heroick paines Thrice happy he that nev'r was borne to trie Her frownes or smiles or being borne did lie In his sad Nurses Armes an houre or two and die S. AUGUST lib. Confess O you that dote upon this world for what victory do you fight Your hopes can be crown'd with no greater reward than the world can give and what is the world but a brittle thing ful of dangers wherein we travell from lesser to greater periis O let all her vaine light and momentary glory perish with her self and let us be conversant with more eternall things Alas this world is miserable life is short and death is sure EPIG 4. My soule What 's lighter than a feather Wind Than wind The fire And what then fire The mind What 's lighter than the mind A thought Than Thought This bubble-world What than this Bubble Nought V. His veâ—titue orbis Will. Marshall sculpfit V. I COR. VII XXXI The fashion of this world passeth away 1 GOne are those golden dayes wherein Pale conscience started not at ugly sin When good old Saturnes peacefull Throne Was usurped by his beardlesse Sonne When jealous Ops nev'r fear'd th' abuse Of her chast bed or breach oâ— nuptiall Truce When just Astraea poys'd her Scales In mortall hearts whose absence earth bewailes When froth-borne Venus and her brat With all that spurious brood young Iove begat In horrid shapes were yet unknowne Those Halcyon dayes that golden age is gone There was no Clyent then to wait The leisure of his long tayl'd Advocate The Talion Law was in request And Chaunc'ry courts were kept in ev'ry brest Abused Statutes had no Tenters And men could deale secure without indentures There was no pâ—eping hole to cleare The Wittols eye from his incarnate feare There were no lustfull Cinders then To broyle the Carbonado'd hearts of men The rosie Cheeke did then proclaime A shame of Guilt but not a guilt of shame There was no whining soule to start At Cupids twang or curse his flaming dart The Boy had then but callow wings And fell Erynnis Scorpions had no stings The better acted world did move Upon the fixed Poles of Truth and Love Love essenc'd in the hearts of men Then Reason rul'd There was no Passion then Till Lust and rage began to enter Love the Circumf'rence was and love the Center Untill the wanton dayes of Iove The simple world was all compos'd of Love But Iove grew fleshly false unjust Inferiour beauty fil'd his veines with Lust And Cucqueane Iunos Fury hurld Fierce Balls of Rage into th' incestuous World Astraea fled and love return'd From earth Earth boyl'd with Lustâ— with Rage it burn'd And ever since the world has beene Kept going with the scourge of Lust and Spleene S. AMBROS Lust is a sharpe spurre to vice which alwayes puts the affections into a false Gallop HUGO Lust is an immoderate wantonnesse of the stesh a sweet poyson a cruell pestilence a pernicious potion which weakens the body of man and effeminates the strength of an heroick mind S. AUGUST Envy is the hatred of anothers felicity in respect of Superiours because they are not equall 〈◊〉 them in respect of Inferiours lest they should be equall to them in respect of equals because they are equall to them Through Envy proceeded the fall of the world and the death of Christ EPIG 5. What Cupid must the world be â—â—iht so soone But made at morning and be whipt at noone 'T is like the Wagg that plaâ—es with Venus Doves The more 't is lasht the more perverse it proves VI. In ceuce tuta quies Will Marshall Sculpsit VI. ECCLES II. XVII All is vanitie and vexation of spirit 1 HOw is the anxious soule of man befool'd In his desire That thinks a Hectick Fever may be cool'd In flames of fire Or hopes to rake full heapes of burnisht gold From nasty mire A whining Lover may as well request A scorne full brest To melt in gentle teares as woo the world for rest 2 Let wit and all her studied plots effect The best they can Let smiling Fortune prosper and perfect What wit began Let earth advise with both and so project A happy man Let wit or fawning Fortune vie their best He may be blest With all that earth can give but earth can give no Rest 3 Whose Gold is double with a carefull hand His cares are double The pleasure Honour Wealth of Sea and Land Bring but a trouble Tbe
judgement and eternall punishment EPIG 14. What soule no farther yet what nev'r commence Master in Faith Still Bachelour of Sense Is' t insufficiency Or what has made thee Ore slip thy lost degree Thy lusts have staid thee XV. My life is spent with grief my yeeres with Sighing Ps 30 10. W M. sculp XV. PSAL. XXX.X. My life is spent with griefe and my yeares with sighing WHat sullen Starre rul'd my untimely birth That would not lend my dayes one houre of mirth How oft have these bare knees been bent to gaine The slender Almes of one poore smile in vaine How often tir'd with the fastidious light Have my faint lips implor'd the shades of night How often have my nightly Torments praid For lingring twilight glutted with the shade Day worse than night night worse than day appeares In feares I spend my nights my dayes in teares I moane unpitti'd groane without reliefe There is nor end nor measure of my griefe The smiling flow'r salutes the day it growes Vntouch'd with care It neither spins nor sowes O that my tedious life were like this flow'r Or freed from griefe or furlish'd with an houre Why was I borne Why was I borne a man And why proportion'd by so large a Span Or why suspended from the common lot And being borne to die why die I not Ah me why is my sorrow-wasted breath Deny'd the easie priviledge of death The branded Slave that tugs the weary Oare Obtaines the Sabbath of a welcome Shore His ransom'd stripes are heal'd His native soyle â—weetens the mem'ry of his forreigne toyle But ah my sorrowes are not halfe so blest My labour finds no point my paines no rest I barter sighs for teares and teares for Groanes Still vainely rolling Sysiphaean stones Thou just Observer of our flying houres That with thy Adarmantine fangs devours The brazen Monuments of renowned Kings Does thy glasse stand Or be thy moulting wings Vnapt to flie If not why dost thou spare A willing brest a brest that stands so faire A dying brest that has but onely breath To beg a wound and strength to crave a death O that the pleased Heav'ns would once dissolve These fleshly fetters that so fast involve My hampred soule then should my soule be blest From all these ills and wrapher thoughts in rest Till then my dayes are moneths my moneths are yeares My yeares are ages to be spent in teares My Grief 's entayl'd upon my wastfull breath Which no Recov'ry can cut off but death Breath drawne in Cottages pufft out in Thrones Begins continues and concludes in Grones INNOCENT de vilitate condit humanae O who will give mine eyes a fountaine of teares that I may bewaile the miserable ingresse of mans condition the sinfull progresse of mans conversation the damnable egresse in mans dissolution I will consider with teares whereof man was made what man does and what man is to doe Alas he is formed of earth conceived in sinne borne to punishment Hee does evill things which are not lawfull He does filthy things which are not decent He does vaine things which are not expedient EPIG 15. My heart Thy life 's a debt by Bond which beares A secret date The use is Grones and Teares Plead not Vsurious Nature will have all As well the Int'rest as the Princâ—pall THE FOVRTH BOOKE I. My soule hath Coueted to desire thy iudgement psal 119 Will simpson I. ROM VII XXIII I see another Law in my members warring against the Law of my mind bringing me into captivitie to the Law of sin 1 O How my will is hurried to and fro And how my unresolv'd resolves do varie I know not where to fix sometimes I goe This way then that and then the quite contrary I like dislike I lament for what I could not I doe undoe yet still doe what I should not And at the selfe same instant will the Thing I would not 2 Thus are my weather-beaten thoughts opprest With th'earth-bred winds of my prodigious will Thus am I hourely tost from East to West Vpon the rouling streames of Good and Ill Thus am I driv'n upon these slippry Sudds From reall Ills to false apparent Goods My life 's a troubled sea compos'd of Ebbs and Floods 3 The curious Penman having trim'd his Page With the dead language of his dabled Quill Le ts fall a heedlesse drop then in a Rage Cashieres the fruit of his unlucky skill Ev'n so my pregnant soule in th'infant bud Of her best thoughts showres down a Cole-black flood Of unadvised Ills and cancels all her Good 4 Sometimes a sudden flash of sacred heat Warmes my chill soule and sets my thoughts in frame But soone that fire is shouldred from her seat By lustfull Cupids much inferiour flame I feele two flames and yet no flame entire Thus are the Mungrill thoughts of mixt desire Consum'd betweene that heav'nly and this earthly fire 5 Sometimes my trash-disdaining thoughts out-passe The common Period of terrene conceit O then me thinkes I scorne the Thing I was Whilst I stand ravisht at my new Estate But when th'Icarian Wings of my desire Feele but the warmth of their own native fire O then they melt and plunge within their wonted mire 6 I know the nature of my wav'ring mind I know the frailty of my fleshly will My Passion 's Eagle-ey'd my Iudgment blind I know what 's good but yet make choice of ill When th' Ostrich wings of my desires shall be So dull they cannot mount the least degree Yet grant my soule desire but of desiring Thee S. BERN. Med. 9. My heart is a vaine heart a vagabond and instable heart while it is led by its owne judgement and wanting divine counsell cannot subsist in it selfe and whilst it divers wayes seekes rest finds none but remaines miserable through labour and void of peace It agrees not with it selfe it dissents from it selfe it alters resolutions changes the judgement frames new thoughts puls downe the old and builds them up againe It wils and wils not and never remaines in the same state EPIG 1. My soule how are thy thoughts disturb'd confin'd Enlarg'd betwixt thy Members and thy Mind Fix here or there Thy doubt-depending cause Can nev'r expect one verdict twixt two Lawes II. Oh that my wayes were Directed to keepe thy Statutes Ps. 119.5 W. Simpson Sculy II. PSAL. CXIX V O that my wayes were directed to keepe thy statutes 1 THus I the object of the worlds disdaine With Pilgrim-pace surround the weary earth I onely relish what the world counts vaine Her mirth 's my griefe her sullen Griefe my mirth Her light my darknesse and her Truth my Error Her freedome is my Iayle and her delight my Terror 2 Fond earth Proportion not my seeming love To my long stay let not thy thoughts deceive thee Thou art my Prison and my Home's above My life 's a Preparation but to leave thee Like one that seekes a doore I walke about thee With thee I cannot live
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
I cannot live without thee 3 The world 's a Lab'rinth whose anfractious wayes Are all compos'd of Rub's and crook'd Meanders No resting here Hee 's hurried back that stayes A thought And he that goes unguided wanders Her way is dark her path untrod unev'n So hard 's the way from earth so hard 's the way to Heav'n 4 This gyring Lab'rinth is betrench'd about On either hand with streams of sulphrous fire Streames closely sliding erring in and out But seeming pleasant to the fond descrier Where if his footsteps trust their owne Invention He fals without redresse and sinks beyond Demension 5 Where shall I seek a Guide Where shall I meet Some lucky hand to lead my trembling paces What trusty Lanterne will direct my feet To scape the danger of these dang'rous places What hopes have I to passe without a Guide Where one gets safely through a thousand fall beside 6 An unrequested Starre did gently slide Before the Wisemen to a greater Light Back-sliding Isr'el found a double Guide A Pillar and a Cloud by day by night Yet in my desp'rate dangers which be farre More great than theirs I have nor Pillar Cloud nor Starre 7 O that the pineons of a clipping Dove Would cut my passage through the empty Ayre Mine eyes being seeld how would I mount above The reach of danger and forgotten Care My backward eyes should nev'r commit that fault Whose lasting Guilt should build a Monument of Salt 8 Great God that art the flowing Spring of Light Enrich mine eyes with thy refulgent Ray Thou art my Path direct my steps aright I have no other Light no other Way He trust my God and him alone pursue His Law shal be my Path his heav'nly Light my Clue S. AUGUST Soliloq cap. 4. O Lord who art the Light the Way the Truth the Life in whom there is no darkenesse error vanity nor death The light without which there is darkenesse The way without which there is wandring The Truth without which there is errour Life without which there is death Say Lord let there be light and I shall see light and eschue darknesse I shall see the way and avoid wandring I shall see the truth and shun errour I shall see life and escape death Illuminate O illuminate my blind soule which sits in darkenesse and the shadow of death and direct my feet in the way of peace EPIG 2. Pilgrim trudge on What makes thy soule complaine Crownes thy complaint The way to rest is paine The Road to Resolution lies by doubt The next way Home's the farthest way about III. Stay my stepps in thy Pathes that my feet do not slide Ps. â—7 â— W. M. sc III. PSAL XVII V Stay my steps in thy paths that my feet do not slide 1 WHen ere the Old Exchange of Profittings Her silver Saints-bell of uncertaine gaines My merchant soule can stretch both legs and wings How I can run and take unwearied paines The Charmes of Profit are so strong that I Who wanted legs to go finde wings to flye 2 If time-beguiling Pleasure but advance Her lustfull Trump and blow her bold Alarms O how my sportfull soule can frisk and daunce And hug that Syren in her twined Armes The sprightly voyce of sinew-strengthning Pleasure Can lend my bedrid soule both legs and leasure 3 If blazing Honour chance to fill my veines With flattring warmth and flash of Courtly fire My soule can take a pleasure in her paines My loftie strutting steps disdaine her paines My antick knees can turne upon the hinges Of Complement and skrue a thousand Cringes 4 But when I come to Thee my God that art The royall Mine of everlasting Treasure The reall Honour of my better part And living Fountaine of eternall pleasure How nervelesse are my limbs how faint and slow I have nor wings to flie nor legs to go 5 So when the streames of swift-foot Rhene convay Her upland Riches to the Belgick shore The idle vessell slides the watry lay Without the blast or tug of wind or Oare Her slippry keele divides the silver foame With ease So facile is the way from home 6 But when the home-bound vessell turnes her saileâ— Against the brest of the resisting streame O then she slugs nor Saile nor Oare prevailes The Streame is sturdy and her Tides extreme Each stroke is losse and ev'ry Tug is vaine A Boat-lengths purchase is a League of paine 7 Great All in All that art my Rest my Home My way is tedious and my steps are slow Reach forth thy helpfull hand or bid me come I am thy child O teach thy child to go Conjoyne thy sweet commands to my desire And I will venture though I fall or tire S. AUGUST Ser. 15. de Verb. Apost Be alwayes displeased at what thou art if thou desirest to attaine to what thou art not For where thou hast pleas'd thy selfe there thou abidest But if thou sayest I have enough thou perishest Alwayes add alwayes walke alwayes proceed neither stand still nor go backe nor devâ—â—e He that stands still proceeds not He goes back that coâ—â—inues not He deviates that revolts He goes better that creepes in his way than hee that runs out of his way EPIG 3. Feare not my soule to lose for want of cunning Weepe not heav'n is not alwayes got by running Thy thoughts are swift although thy legs be slow True love will creepe not having strength to goe IV. My flesh trembleth for feare of thee I am afraide of thy Iudgments Ps 119.120 W.M. sculp IV. PSAL. CXIX CXX My flesh trembleth for feare of thee and I am afraid of thy judgements LEt others boaste of Luck and goe their wayes With their faire Game Know vengeance seldome playes To be too forward but does wisely frame Her backward Tables for an After-Game She gives thee leave to venture many a blot And for her owne advantage hits thee not But when her pointed Tables are made faire That she be ready for thee then beware Then if a necessary blot be set She hits thee wins the Game perchance the Set If prosprous Chances make thy Casting high Be wisely temp'rate cast a serious eye On after-dangers and keepe back thy Game Too forward seed-times make thy Harvest lame If left-hand Fortune give thee left-hand chances Be wisely patient let no envious glances Repine to view thy Gamesters heape so faire The hind most Hound takes oft the doubling Hare The worlds great Dice are false sometimes they goe Extremely high sometimes extremely low Of all her Gamesters he that playes the least Lives most at ease playes most secure and best The way to win is to play faire and sweare Thy selfe a servant to the Crowne of Feare Feare is the Primmer of a Gamsters skill Who feares not Bad stands most unarm'd to Ill The Ill that 's wisely fear'd is halfe withstood And feares of Bad is the best foyle to Good True Feare'sth ' Elixar which in dayes of old Turn'd leaden Crosses into Crownes of Gold
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
feeble voice of flesh and blood The pow'r to worke thine eares into a flood Of melted Mercy or the strenth t'unlocke The gates of Heav'n and to dissolve a Rock Of marbel Clouds into a morning show'r Or has the breath of whining dust the pow'r To stop or snatch a falling Thunderbolt From thy fierce hand and make thy hand revolt From resolute Confusion and in stead Of Vyals poure full Blessings on our head Or shall the wants of famisht Ravens cry And move thy mercy to a quick supply Or shall the silent suits of drooping flowr's Woo thee for drops and be refresh'd with Showr's Alas what marvell then great GOD what wonder If thy Hell-rouzing voice that splits in sunder The brazen Portals of eternall death What wonder if that life-restoring breath Which drag'd me from th' infernall shades of night Should melt my ravisht soule with ore-delight O can my frozen gutters choose but run That feele the warmth of such a glorious Sun Me thinks his language like a flaming Arrow Doth pierce my bones and melts their wounded marrow Thy flames O Cupid though the ioyfull heart Feeles neither tang of griefe nor feares the smart Of jealous doubts but drunk with full desires Are torments weigh'd with these celestiall fires Pleasures that ravish in so high a measure That O I languish in excesse of pleasure What ravisht heart that feeles these melting Ioyes Would not despise and loathe the trech'rous Toyes Of dunghill earth what soule would not be proud Of wry-mouth'd scornes the worst that flesh and blood Had rancor to divise Who would not beare The worlds derision with a thankfull eare What palat would refuse full bowles of spight To gaine a minuts tast of such delight Great spring of light in whom there is no shade But what my interposed sinnes have made Whose marrow-melting Fires admit no screene But what my owne rebellions put betweene Their precious flames and my obdurate care Disperse these plague-distilling Clouds and cleare My mungy Soule into a glorious day Transplant this screene remoove this Barre away Then then my fluent soule shall feele the fires Of thy sweet voice and my dissolv'd desires Shall turne a sov'raigne Balsome to make whole Those wounds my sinnes inflicted on thy soule S. AUGUST Soliloqu Chap. 34. What fire is this that so warmes my heart What light is this that so enlightens my soule O fire that alwayes burnest and never goest out kindle me O light which ever shinest and art never darkned illuminate me O that I had my heat from thee most holy fire How sweetly doest thou burne How secretly dost thou shine How desiderably doest thou inflame me BONAVENT Stim amoris Chap. 8. It makes God man and man God things temporall eternall mortall immortall it makes an enemy a friend a servant a Sonne vile things glorious cold hearts fiery and hard things liquid EPIG 5. My soule Thy gold is true but full of drosse Thy SAVIOURS breath refines thee with some losse His gentle Fornace makes thee pure as true Thou must be melted ere th' art cast anew VI. Whom haue I in heaven but thee what desire I on earth in respect of thee Ps 73. â— W. S. sc VI. PSAL. LXXIII XXV Whom have I in heav'n but Thee and what desire I on earth in respect of Thee 1 I Love and have some cause to love the earth She is my Makers Creature therefore Good She is my Mother for she gave me birth She is my tender Nurse she gives me food But what 's a Creature Lord compar'd with Thee Or what 's my mother or my nurse to me 2 I love the Ayre her dainty sweets refresh My drooping soule and to new sweets invite me Her shrill-mouth'd Quire sustaine me with their flesh And with their Polyphonian notes delight me But what 's the Ayre or all the sweets that she Can blesse my soule withall compar'd to Thee 3 I love the Sea She is my fellow-Creature My carefull Purveyor She provides me store Shee wals me round She makes my diet greater She wafts my treasure from a forreigne shore But Lord of Oceans when compar'd with thee What is the Ocean or her wealth to me 4 To heav'ns high City I direct my Iourney Whose spangled Suburbs entertaine mine eye Mine Eye by Contemplations great Atturney Transcends the Chrystall pavement of the sky But what is heav'n great GOD compar'd to Thee Without Thy presence Heav'n's no Heav'n to me 5 Without Thy presence Earth gives no Refection Without Thy presence Sea affords no treasure Without Thy presence Ayre 's a rank Infection Without Thy presence Heav'n it self 's no pleasure If not possest if not enjoy'd in Thee What 's Earth or Sea or Ayre or Heav'n to me 6 The highest Honours that the world can boast Are subjects farre too low for my desire The brightest beames of glory are at most But dying sparkles of thy living fire The proudest flames that earth can kindle be But nighâ—ly Glow-wormes if compar'd to Thee 7 Without Thy presence wealth are Bags of Cares Wisedome but Folly Joy disquiet sadnesse Friendship is Treason and Delights are snares Pleasures but paine and mirth but pleasing Madnesse Without Thee Lord things be not what they be Nor have they being when compar'd with Thee 8 In having all things and not Thee what have I Not having Thee what have my labours got Ler me enjoy but Thee what farther crave I And having Thee alone what have I not I wish nor Sea nor Land nor would I be Possest of Heav'n Heav'n unpossest of Thee BONAVENT Cap. 1. Soliloq Alas my God now I Vnderstand but blush to confesse that the beauty of thy Creatures haue deceived mine eyes and I have not observed that thou art more amiable than all thy creatures to which thou hast communicated but one drop of thy inestimable beauty For who hath adorned the heauens with Starres Who hath stored the ayre with fowle the waters with fish the earth with plants and flowers But what are all these but a small sparke of divine beauty S. CHR. Hom. 5. in Ep ad Rom. In having nothing I have all things because I have Christ Having therefore all things in Him I seeke no other reward for he is the universall Reward EPIG 6. Who would not throw his better thoughts about him And scorne this drosse within him that without him Cast up my soule thy clearer eye Behold If thou be fully melted There 's the Mold VII Woe is me that I am constrained to dwell with Meseth to haue my habitation among the tent of Cedar Psal. 120.4 Will. simpson sculpsit VII PSAL. CXX.V. Woe is to me that I remaine in Meshech and dwell in the Tents of Kedar IS Natures course dissolv'd Does Times glasse stand Or has some frolick heart set back the hand Of Fates perpetuall Clock Wil't never strike Is crazy Time growne lazy faint or sick With very Age Or has that great Purroyall Of Adamantine sisters late made
tryall Of some new Trade Shall mortall hearts grow old In sorrow Shall my weary Armes infold And underprop my panting sides for ever Is there no charitable hand will sever My well-spun Thred that my imprison'd soule May be deliver'd from this dull darke hole Of dungeon flesh O shall I shall I never Be ransom'd but remaine a slave for ever It is the Lot of man but once to dye But ere that death how many deaths have I What humane madnesse makes the world affraid To entertaine heav'ns joy because conveig'd By th' hand of death Will nakednesse refuse Rich change of robes because the man 's not spruse That brought them Or will Poverty send back Full bags of gold because the bringer's black Life is a Bubble blowne with whining breaths Fil'd with the torments of a thousand deaths Which being prickt by death while death deprives One life presents the soule a thousand lives Of frantick mortall how has earth bewich'd Thy Beldam soule which has so fondly pitch'd Vpon her false delights Delights that cease Before enjoyment finds a time to please Her fickle joyes breed doubtfull feares her feares Bring hopfull Grifes her griefes weep fearefull teares Teares coyne deceitfull hopes hopes carefull doubt And surly passion justles passion out To day wee pamper with a full repast Of lavish mirth at night we weepe as fast To night we swim in wealth and lend To morrow We sink in want and find no friend to borrow In what a Climat does my soule reside Where pale-fac'd murther the first borne of pride Sets up her kingdome in the very smiles And plighted faiths of men-like Crocadiles A land where each embroydred Sattin word Is lin'd with Fraud where Mars his lawlesse sword Exiles Astraeas Balance where that hand Now flayes his brother that new-sow'd his land O that my dayes of bondage would expire In this lewd Soyle Lord how my Soule 's on fire To be dissolved that I might once obtaine These long'd for joyes long'd for so oft in vaine If Moses-like I may not live possest Of this faire Land Lord let me see 't at least S. AUGUST Soliloq Cap. 2. My life is a fraile life a corruptible life A life which the more increases the more decreases The farther it goes the nearer it comes to death A deceitfull life and like a shadow full of the snares of death Now I rejoyce now I languish now I flourish now infirme now I live and straight I dye now I seeme happy alwayes miserable now I laugh now I weepe Thus all things are subject to mutability that nothing continues an houre in one state O Ioy above Ioy exceeding all Ioy without which there is no Ioy when shall I enter into thee that I may see my God that dwels in thee EPIG 7. Art thou so weake O canst thou not digest An houre of travell for a night of Rest Cheare up my soule call home thy spir'ts and beare One bad Good-Friday Full-mouth'd Easter's neare VIII O wretched Man that I am who shall deliver me from the body of this Death Rom 7.24 Will simpson sculp VIII ROM VII XXIV O wretched man that I am who shall deliver me from this body of death BEhold thy darling which thy lustfull care Pampers for which thy restlesse thoughts prepare Such early Cates For whom thy bubbling brow So often sweats and bankrupt eyes doe owe Such midnight scores to Nature for whose sake Base earth is Sainted the Infernall Lake Vnfeard the Crowne of glory poorely rated Thy GOD neglected and thy brother hated Behold thy darling whom thy soule affects So dearely whom thy fond Indulgence decks And puppets up in soft in silken weeds With farre-fetch'd delicates the deare-bought gainer Of ill-spent Time the price of halfe thy paines Behold thy darling who when clad by Thee Derides thy nakednesse and when most free Proclaimes her lover slave and being fed Most full then strikes th'indulgent Feeder dead What meanst thou thus my poore deluded soule To love so fondly Can the burning Cole Of thy Affection last without the fuell Of counter-love Is my Compere so cruell And thou so kind to love unlov'd againe Canst thou sow favours and thus reape disdaine Remember O remember thou art borne Of royall Blood remember thou art sworne A Maid of Honour in the Court of Heav'n Remember what a costly price was giv'n To ransome thee from slav'ry thou wert in And wilt thou now my soule turne slave agin The Son and Heire to Heav'ns Triune JEHOVA Would faine become a Suitor for thy Love And offers for thy dow'r his Fathers Throne To sit for Seraphims to gaze upon Hee 'l give thee Honour Pleasure Wealth and Things Transcending farre the Majesty of Kings And wilt thou prostrate to the odious charmes Of this base Scullion Shall his hollow Armes Hugg thy soft sides Shall these course hands untie The sacred Zone of thy Virginity For shame degen'rous soule let thy desire Be quickned up with more heroick fire Be wisely proud let thy ambitious eye Read nobler objects let thy thoughts defie Such am'rous basenesse Let thy soule disdaine Th' ignoble profers of so base a Swaine Or if thy vowes be past and Himens bands Have ceremonyed your unequall hands Annull at least avoid thy lawlesse Act With insufficience or a Prae contract Or if the Act be good yet maist thou plead A second Freedome for the flesh is dead NAZIANZ Orat. 16. How I am joyned to this body I know not which when it is healthfull provokes me to warre and being damaged by warre affects me with griefe which I both love as a fellow servant and hate as an utter enemy It is a pleasant Foe and a perfidious friend O strange conjunction and Alienation What I feare I embrace and what I love I am affraid of Before I make warre I am reconcil'd Before I enjoy peace I am at variance EPIG 8. What need that House be daub'd with flesh and blood Hang'd round with silks and gold repair'd with food Cost idly spent That cost does but prolong Thy thraldome Foole thou mak'st thy I ayle too strong IX I am in a streight betwixt two haueing a Desire to Depart to be w th Christ Phil 5.23 Will Simpson Sculpsit IX PHIL. I. XXIII I am in a streight betweene two having a desire to be dissolved and to be with Christ 1 WHat meant our carefull parents so to weare And lavish out their ill expended houres To purchase for us large possessions here Which though unpurchas'd are too truly ours What meant they ah what meant they to indure Such loads of needlesse labour to procure And make that thing our own which was our own too sure 2 What meane these liv'ries and possessive kayes What meane these bargaines and these needlesse sales What need these jealous these suspitious wayes Of law-divis'd and law-dissolv'd entailes No need to sweat for gold wherewith to buy Estates of high-priz'd land no need to tie Earth to their heires were
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
this wooes thee to th' eternall curse O charming Tyrant how hast thou befool'd And slav'd poore man that would not if he could Avoid thy Line thy Lure nay could not if he would 4 Alas thy sweet perfidious voice betrayes His wanton eares with thy Syrenian baits Thou wrapft his eyes in mists then boldly layes Thy Lethall Ginns before their Christall Gaâ—s Thou lock'st up ev'ry Sense with thy false kayes All willing Pris'ners to thy close deceits His eare most nimble whereit deafe should be His eye most blind where most it ought to see And when his heart 's most bound then thinks it self most free 5 Thou grand Imposter how hast thou obtain'd The wardship of the world Are all men turn'd Ideots and Lunaticks Are all retain'd Beneath thy servile bands Is none return'd To his forgotten selfe Has none regain'd His senses Are their senses all adjourn'd What none dismist thy Court will no plumpe Fee Bribe thy false fists to make a glad Decree T'unfoole whom thou hast fool'd and set thy pris'ners free S. BERN. in Ser. In this world is much treacherie little truth here all things are traps here every thing is be set with snares here soules are endanger'd bodies are afflicted Here all things are vanity and vexation of spirit EPIG 3. Nay Cupid pitch thy Trammill where thou please Thou canst not faile to take such fish as these Thy thriving sport will nev'r be spent no need To feare when ev'ry Corck's a world Thou 'lt speed IV. Cuam graue seruitium est quod scuis esca parit IV. HOS XIII III They shal be as the chaffe that is driven with a whirlewind out of the floore and as the smoke out of the chimney FLint-hearted Stoicks you whose marble eyes Contemne a wrinckle and whose soules despise To follow Natures too affected Fashion Or travell in the Regent-walk of Passion Whose rigid hearts disdaine to shrink at Feares Or play at fast and loose with Smiles and Teares Come burst your spleenes with laughter to behold A new found vanity which ' dayes of old Nev'r knew A vanitie that has beset The world and made more slaves then Mahomet That has condemn'd us to the servile yoke Of slavery and made us slaves to smoke But stay why taxe I thus our moderne times For new-blowne Follies and for new-borne Crimes Are we sole guilty and the first Age free No they were smoak'd and slav'd as well as we What 's sweet-lipt Honours blast but smoke What 's treasure But very smoke And what more smoke than pleasure Alas they 'r all but shadowes Fumes and blasts That vanishes this fades the other wasts The restlesse Merchant he that loves to steepe His braines in wealth and layes his soule to sleepe In bags of Bullion sees th' immortall Crowne And faine would mount but Ingots keep him downe He brags today perchance and begs to morrow He lent but now wants Credit now to borrow Blow windes the Treasur's gone the Merchant 's brok A slave to silver 's but a slave to smoke Behold the Glory-vying Childe of Fame That from deep wounds sucks forth an honour'd name Thaâ— thinks no purchase worth the stile of good But what is sold for sweat and seal'd with blood That for a Point a blast of empty breath Vndaunted gazes in the face of death Whose deare bought Bubble fild with vaine renowne Breaks with a Phillip or a Gen'ralls frowne His stroke got Honour staggers with a stroke A Slave to Honour is a Slave to Smoke And that fond soule which wasts his idle dayes In loose delights and sports about the Blaze Of Cupids Candle he that daily spies Twin Babies in his Mistresse Gemenies Whereto his sad devotion does impart The sweet burnt offring of a bleeding heart See how his wings are sing'd in Cyprian fire Whose flames consume with youth in Age expire The world 's a Bubble all the pleasures in it Like morning vapours vanish in a minit The vapours vanish and the Bubble's broke A slave to pleasure is a slave to smoke Now Stoick cease thy laughter and repast Thy pickled cheeks with Teares and weep as fast S. HIEROM That rich man is great who thinkes not himselfe great because he is richâ— the proud man who is the poore man brags outwardly but begs inwardly He is blowne up but not full PETR RAV Vexation and anguish accompany riches and honour The pompe of the world and the favour of the people are but smoake and a blast suddenly vanishing which if they commonly please commonly bring repentance and for a minut of joy they bring an age of sorrow EPIG 4. Cupid thy diet 's strange It dulls It rowzes It cooles It heats it binds and then it looses Dull-sprightly-cold-hot Foole if ev'r it winds thee Into a loosenesse once take heed It binds thee V. Non omne quod hîc micat aurum est Will Marshall sculpsit V PRO. XXIII V Wilt thou set thine eyes upon that which is not for riches make themselves wings they flie away as an Eagle 1 FAlse world thou ly'st Thou canst not lend The least delight Thy favours cannot gaine a Friend They are so sleight Thy morning pleasures make an end To please at night Poore are the wants that thou supply'st And yet thou vaun'st and yet thou vy'st With heav'n Fond earth thou boasts False world thou ly'st 2 Thy babbling Tongue tels golden Tales Of endlesse Treasure Thy bountie offers easie sales Of lasting pleasure Thou asks the Conscience what she ailes And swear'st to ease her Ther 's none can want where thou supply'st There 's none can give where thou deny'st Alas fond world thou boasts false world thou ly'st 3 What well advised eare regards What earth can say Thy words are Gold but thy rewards Are painted Clay Thy cunning can but pack the Cards Thou canst not play Thy game at weakest still thou vy'st If seen and then revy'd deny'st Thou art not what thou seem'st False world thou ly'st 4 Thy tinsill boosome seemes a Mint Of new-coynd treasure A Paradise that has no stint No change no measure A painted Cask but nothing in 't Nor wealth nor pleasure Vaine earth that falsly thus comply'st With man Vaine man that thus rely'st On earth Vaine man thou dot'st Vaine earth thou ly'st 5 What meane dull soules in this high measure To haberdash In earths base wares whose greatest treasure Is drosse and trash The height of whose inchaunting pleasure Is but a Flash Are these the goods that thou supply'st Vs mortalls with Are these the high'st Can these bring cordiall peace False world thou ly'st PET. BLES This world is deceitfull Her end is doubtfull Her conclusion is horrible Her judge is terrible And her punishment is intolerable S. AUGUST lib. Confess The vaine glory of this world is a deceitfull sweetnesse a fruitlesse labour a perpetuall feare a dangerous honour Her beginning is without providence end her and not without repentance EPIG 5. World th' art a Traytor Thou hast stampt thy
subjects where repentance corrects where obedience directs where perseverance perfects where power protects where devotion projects where charity connects S. GREG. Which way soever the heart turnes it selfe if carefully it shall commonly observe that in those very things we lose God in those very things we shall find God It shall find the heat of his power in consideration of those things in the love of which things he was most cold and by what things it fell perverted by those things it is raised converted EPIG 15. My heart but wherefore do I call thee so I have renounc'd my Intrest long agoe When thou wert false and fleshly I was thine Mine wert thou never till thou were not mine THE THIRD BOOKE Lord all my Desire is before Thee my groaning is not aid from Theeâ—s 38 The Entertainement ALL you whose better thoughts are newly born And rebaptiz'd with holy fire can scorn The worlds base trash whose necks disdain to beare Th' imperious yoke of Satan whose chast eare No wanton Songs of Syrens can surprize With false delight whose more than Eagle-eyes Can view the glorious flames of Gold and gaze On glittring beames of Honour and not daze Whose soules can spurne at pleasure and deny The loose Suggestions of the flesh draw nigh And you whose am'rous whose select desires Would feele the warmth of those transcendent fires Which like the rising Sun put out the light Of Venus starre and turne her day to night You that would love and have your passions crown'd With greater happinesse than can be found In your own wishes you that would affect Where neither scorn nor guile nor disrespect Shall wound your tortur'd Soules that would enjoy Where neither want can pinch nor fulnesse cloy Nor double doubt afflicts nor baser Feare Vnflames your courage in pursuit draw neare Shake hands with earth and let your soule respect Her Ioyes no further than her Ioyes reflect Vpon her Makers Glory if thou swim In wealth See him in all See all in Him Sink'st thou in want and is thy small Cruise spent See Him in want Enjoy â—im in Content Conceiv'st Him lodg'd in Câ—oste or lost in paine In Pray'r and Patience find Him out againe Make Heav'n thy Mistresse Let no Change remove Thy loyall heart Be fond be sick of Love What if he stop his 〈◊〉 knit his Brow At length hee 'l be as fond as sick as thou Dart up thy Soule in Groanes Thy secret Grone Shall pierce his Eare shall pierce his Eare alone Dart up thp Soule in vowes Thy sacred Vow Shall find him out where heav'n alone shall know Dart up thy Soule in sighs Thy whispring sigh Shall rouze his eares and feare no listner nigh Send up thy Grones thy Sighs thy closet Vow There 's none there 's none shall know but Heav'n and thou Grones fresht with vowes and vowes made salt with teares Vnscale his eyes and scale his conquer'd eares Shoot up the bosome Shafts of thy desire Feather'd with Faith and double forkt with Fire And they will hit Feare not where heav'n bids Come Heav'ns never deafe but when mans heart is dumbe I. My Soul hath desirâ—d Thee in the Night W. Simpson â—c Esaâ— 26 I. ESAY XXIX VI My soule hath desired thee in the Night GOod God! what horrid darkenesse do's surround My groping soule How are my Senses bound In utter shades and muffled from the light Lusk in the bosome of eternall night The bold-fac'd Lamp of heav'n can set and rise And with his morning glory fill the eyes Of gazing Mortals his victorious Ray Can chase the shadowes and restore the day Nights bashfull Empresse though she often wayne As oft repents her darknesse primes againe And with her circling Hornes does re-embrace Her brothers wealth and orbs her silver face But ah my Sun deep swallow'd in his Fall Is set and cannot shine nor rise at all My bankcrupt Waine can beg nor borrow light Alas my darkenesse is perpetuall night Falls have their Risings Wainings have their Primes And desp'rate sorrowes wait their better times Ebbs have their Floods and Autumnes have their Springs All States have Changes hurried with the swings Of Chance and Time still tiding to and fro Terrestriall Bodies and Celestiall too How often have I vainely grop'd about With lengthned Armes to find a passage out That I might catch those Beames mine eye desires And bathe my soule in those Celestiall fires Like as the Hagard cloyster'd in her Mâ—e To scowre her downy Robes and to renew Her broken Flags preparing t'overlooke The tim'rous Malard at the sliding Brooke Iets oft from Perch to Perch from Stock to ground From ground to Wandow thus surveying round Her dove-befeatherd Prison till at length Calling her noble Birth to mind and strength Whereto her wing was borne her ragged Beake Nips off her dangling Iesses strives to breake Her gingling Fetters and begins to bate At ev'ry glimspe and darts at ev'ry grate Ev'n so my weary soule that long has bin An Inmate in this Tenement of Sin Lockt up by Cloud-brow'd Error which invites My cloystred Thoughts to feed on black delights Now scornes her shadowes and begins to dart Her wing'd desires at Thee that onely art The Sun she seeks whose rising beames can fright These duskie Clouds that make so darke a night Shine forth great Glory shine that I may see Both how to loath my selfe and honour Thee But if my weakensse force Thee to deny Thy Flames yet lend the Twilight of thine Eye If I must want those Beames I wish yet grant That I at least may wish those Beames I want S. AUGUST Soliloq cap. 33. There was a great and darke cloud of vanity before mine eyes so that I could not see the Sun of Iustice and the light of Truth I being the Son of darknesse was involved in darknesse I loved my darknesse because I knew not thy Light I was blind and loved my blindnesse and did walke from darkenesse to darkenesse But Lord thou art my God who hast led me from darknesse and the shadow of death hast called me into this glorious light and behold I see EPIG 1. My soule cheare up What if the night belong Heav'n finds an eare when sinners finde a tongue Thy teares are Morning show'rs Heav'n bids me say When Peters Cock begins to crow 't is Day II. O Lord Thou knowest mâ— Foolishnesse my SinÌ„s ari ' not hid froÌ„ Thee Ps 〈…〉 â—o 5. II. PSAL. LXIX III O Lord thou knowest my foolishnesse and my sinnnes are not hid from thee SEest thou this fulsome Ideot In what measure He seemes transported with the anticke pleasure Of childish Baubles Canst thou but admire The empty fulnesse of his vaine desire Canst thou conceive such poore delights as these Can fill th'satiate soule of Man or please The fond Aspect of his deluded eye Reader such very fooles are thou and I False puffes of Honour the deceitfull streames Of wealth the idle vaine and empty dreames Of pleasure
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
mine My flames are full of heav'n and all divine How often have I sought this Bed by night To find that greater by this lesser light How oft has my unwitnest groanes lamented Thy dearest absence Ah how often vented The bitter Tempests of despairing breath And tost my soule upon the waves of death How often has my melting heart made choice Of silent teares teares lowder than a voice To plead my griefe and woo thy absent eare And yet thou wilt not come thou wilt not heare O is thy wonted love become so cold Or do mine eyes not seeke thee where they should Why do I seeke thee if thou art not here Or find thee not if thou art ev'ry where I see my error 'T is not strange I could not Find out my love I sought him where I should not Thou art not found in downy Beds of ease â—as thy musick strikes on harder keyes Nor art thou found by that false feeble light Of Natures Candle Our Aegyptian night Is more than common darkenesse nor can we Expect a morning but what breaks from Thee Well may my empty Bed lament thy losse When thou art lodg'd upon thy shamefull Crosse If thou refuse to share a Bed with me Wee 'l never part I le share a Crosse with Thee ANSELM in Protolog Cap. 1. Lord if thou are not present where shall I seeke thee absent If every where why do I not see thee present Thou dwellest in light inaccessible and where is that inaccessible light Or how shall I have accesse to light inaccessible I beseech thee Lord teach me to seeke thee and show thy selfe to the seeker because I can neither seeke thee unlesse thou teach me nor find thee unlesse thou show thy selfe to me Let me seeke thee in desiring thee and desire thee in seeking thee Let me find thee in loving thee and love thee in finding thee EPIG 10. Where shouldst thou seeke for rest but in thy Bed But now thy Rest is gone thy Rest is fled 'T is vaine to seeke him there My soule be wise Go ask thy sinnes They 'l tell thee where he lies XII Saw yee him whom my Soule loveth It was but a little that I passed from them but I found Him whom my soule loveth I held Him and would not let him goe Cant 3.4 Will sim sculp XII CAN. III. III Have you seene him whom my soule loveth When I had past a little from them then I found him I tooke hold on him and left him not 1 WHat secret corner What unwonted way Has scap'd the ransack of my rambling thoughts The Fox by night nor the dull Owle by day Have never search'd those places I have sought Whilst thy lamented absence taught my brest The ready Road to Griefe without request My day had neither comfort nor my night had rest 2 How has my unregarded language vented The sad Tautologies of lavish passion How often have I languish'd unlamented How oft have I complain'd without compassion I ask the Citie-Watch but some deny'd me The common streit whilst others would misguide me Some would debarre me some divert me some deride me 3 Mark how the widow'd Turtle having lost The faithfull partner of her loyall Heart Stretches her feeble wings from Coast to Coast Haunts ev'ry path thinks ev'ry shade does part Her absent Love and her At length unsped She re-betakes her to her lovely Bed And there bewailes her everlasting widow-head 4 So when my soule had progrest ev'ry place That love and deare affection could contrive I threw me on my Couch resolv'd t' embrace A death for him in whom I ceas'd to live But there injurious Hymen did present His Lanskip joyes my pickled eyes did vent Full streames of briny teares teares never to be spent 5 Whilst thus my sorrow-wasting soule was feeding Vpon the rad'call Humour of her thought Ev'n whilst mine eyes were blind and heart was bleeding He that was sought unfound was found unsought As if the Sun should dart his Orbe of light Into the secrets of the black-brow'd night Ev'n so appear'd my Love my sole my soules delight 6 O how mine eyes now ravish'd at the sight Of my bright Sun shot flames of equall fire Ah! how my soule dissolv'd with ov'r-delight To re-enjoy the Crowne of chast desire How sov'raigne joy depos'd and dispossest Rebellious griefe And how my ravisht brest But who can presse those heights that cannot be exprest 7 O how these Armes these greedy Armes did twine And strongly twist about his yeelding wast The sappy branches of the Thespian vine Nev'r cling'd their lesse beloved Elme so fast Boast not thy flames blind boy nor feather'd shot Let Himens easie snarles be quite forgot Time cannot quench our fires nor death dissolve our knot ORIG. Hom. 10. in divers O most holy Lord and sweetest Master how good art thou to those that are of upright heart and humble spirit O how blessed are they that seeke thee with a simple heart How happy that trust in thee It is a most certaine truth that thou lovest all that love thee and never forsakest those that trust in thee For behold thy Love simply sought thee and undoubtedly found thee She trusted in thee and is not forsaken of thee but hath obtained more by thee than she expected from thee BEDE cap. 3. Cant. The longer I was in finding whom I sought the more earnestly I held him being found EPIG 12. What found him out Let strong embraces bind him Hee 'l fly perchance where teares can never find him New Sins will lose what old Repentance gaines Wisedome not onely gets but got retaines XIII It is good for me to draw neare to the Lord 〈◊〉 I haue put my trust in the Lord God Ps 73.20 Will Simpson â—â—â—lpsit XIII PSAL. LXXII XXVIII It is good for me to draw neare to God I have put my trust in the Lord God WHere is that Good which wisemen please to call The Chiefest Does there any such befall Within mans reach Or is there such a Good at all If such there be it neither must expire Nor change than which there can be nothing higher Such Good must be the utter point of mans desire It is the Mark to which all hearts must tend Can be desired for no other end Theâ— for it selfe on which all other Goods depend What may this Exc'lence be does it subsist A reall Essence clouded in the midst Of curious Art or cleare to ev'ry eye that list Or is' t a tart Idea to procure An Edge and keepe the practick soule in ure Like that deare Chymick dust or puzzling Quadrature Where shall I seek this Good Where shall I find This Cath'licke pleasure whose extreames may bind My thoughts and fill the gulph of my insatiate mind Lies it in Treasure In full heaps untold Does gowty Mammons griping hand infold This secret Saint in sacred Shrines of sov'raigne Gold No no she lies not there Wealth often sowrs In keeping makes us hers in seeming
ours She slides from heav'n indeed but not in Danaes showrs Lives she in Honour No. The royall Crowne Builds up a Creature and then batters downe Kings raise thee with a smile and raze thee with a frowne In pleasure No Pleasure begins in rage Acts the fooles part on earths uncertaine Stage Begins the Play in Youth and Epilogues in Age. These these are bastard-goods the best of these Torment the soule with pleasing it and please Like water gulp'd in Fevers with deceitfull ease Earths flattring dainties are but sweet distresses Mole-hils performe the mountaines she professes Alas can earth confer more good than earth possesses Mount mount my soule and let thy thoughts cashiere Earths vaine delights and make their full careire At heav'ns eternall joyes stop stop thy Courier there There shall thy soule possesse uncarefull Treasure There shalt thou swim in never-fading pleasure And blaze in Honour farre above the frownes of Caesar Lord if my hope dare let her Anchor fall On thee the chiefest Good no need to call For earths inferiour trash Thou thou art All in All. S. AUGUST Soliloq cap. 13. I follow this thing I pursue that but am fill'd with nothing But when I found thee who art that immutable individed and onely good in my selfe what I obtained I wanted not for what I obtained not I grieved not with what I was possest my whole desire was satisfied S. BERN. Ser. 9. sup beati qui habent c. Let others pretend merit let him brag of the burthen of the day let him boast of his Sabbath fasts and let him glory that he is not as other men but for me it is good to cleave unto the Lord and to put my trust in my Lord God EPIG 13. Let Boreas blasts and Neptunes waves be joyn'd Thy Eolus commands the waves the wind Feares not the Rocks or worlds imperious waves Thou climbst a Rock my soule a Rock that saves XIV I sat vnder the shadoue of him whom I haue desired Canâ— 2 Will sim son sculp XIV CANT II. III. â— sate under his shadow with great delight and his fruit was sweete to my taste 1 LOok how the sheep whose rambling steps doe stray From the safe blessing of her Shepheards eyes Eftsoone becomes the unprotected Prey To the wing'd Squadron of beleagring flies Where sweltred with the scorching beames of day She frisks from Bush to Brak and wildly flies From her owne selfe ev'n of herselfe affraid She shrouds her troubled browes in ev'ry Glade And craves the mercy of the soft removing shade 2 Ev'n so my wandring Soule that has digrest From her great Shepheard is the hourely prey Of all all my Sinnes These vultures in my Brest Gripe my Promethian heart both night and day I hunt from place to place but find no rest I know not where to go nor where to stay The eye of vengeance burnes her flames invade My sweltring Soule My soule has oft assaid But she can find no shrowd but she can feele no Shade 3 I sought the Shades of Mirth to weare away My slow pac'd houres of soule-consuming griefe I search'd the Shades of Sleepe to ease my day Of griping sorrowes with a nights repriefe I sought the Shades of Death thought there t' allay My finall torments with a full reliefe But Mirth nor Sleepe nor Death can hide my howres In the false Shades of their deceitfull Bowres The first distracts the next disturbes the last devours 4 Where shall I turn To whom shall I apply me Are there no Streames where a faint soule may wade Thy Godhead IESVS are the flames that fry me Has thy All-glorious Deity nev'r a Shade Where I may sit and vengeance never eye me Where I might sit refresht or unaffraid Is there no Comfort Is there no Refection Is there no Covert that will give Protection T' a fainting soule the subject of thy wraths reflexion 5 Looke up my soule advance thy lowly stature Of thy sad Thoughts advance thy humble eye See here 's a Shadow found The humane nature Is made th'Vmbrella to the Deity To catch the Sun-beames of thy just Creator Beneath this Covert thou maist safely lie Permit thine eyes to climbe this fruitfull Tree As quick Zacheus did and thou shalt see A Cloud of dying flesh betwixt those Beames and thee GUILL in cap. 2. Cant. Who can in dure the fierce rayes of the Sunne of Iustice Who shall not be consumed by his beames Therefore the Sun of Iustice tooke flesh that through the conjunction of that Sun and this humane body a shadow may be made S. AUGUST Med. cap. 37. Lord let my soule flee from the scorching thoughts of the world under the Covert of thy wings that being refreshed by the moderation of thy shadow shee may sing merrily In peace will I lay me downe and rest EPIG 14. Ah treach'rous soule would not thy Pleasures give That Lord which made thee living leave to live See what thy sinnes haue done Thy sinnes have made The Sun of Glory now become thy Shade XV. How shall we sing the song of the Lord in a strang Land w s. scul XV. PSAL. CXXXVII IV How shall we sing a song of the Lord in a strange land VRge me no more This Ayry mirth belongs To better times These times are not for songs The sprightly Twang of the melodious Lute Agrees not with my voice and both unsuit My untun'd fortunes The affected measure Of straines that are constrain'd affoord no pleasure Musick 's the Child of mirth where griefes assaile The troubled soule both voice and fingers faile Let such as ravill out their lavish dayes In honourable Ryot that can raise Dejected hearts and conjure up a Sprite Of madnesse by the Magick of delight Let those of Cupids Hospitall that lie Impatient Patients to a smiling eye That cannot rest untill vaine hope beguile Their flatter'd Torments with a wanton smile Let such redeeme their peace and salve the wrongs Of froward Fortune with their frolick Songs My grief my griefe 's too great for smiling eyes To cure or Counter-charmes to exorzise The Ravens dismall Croakes the midnight howles Of empty Wolves mixt with the screech of Owles The nine sad knowls of a dull Passing Bell With the loud language of a nighty knell And horrid out cries of revenged Crimes Ioyn'd in a Medley's Musick for these Times These are no Times to touch the merry string Of Orpheus No these are no times to sing Can hide bound Prisners that have spent their soules And famish'd Bodies in the noysome holes Of hell-black dungeons apt their rougher throats Growne hoarse with begging Almes to warble notes Can the sad Pilgrim that has lost his way In the vast desart there condemn'd a Prey To the wild subject or his Salvage Kings Ronze up his palsey smitten spir'ts and sing Can I a Pilgrim and a Prisner too Alas where I am neither knowne nor know Ought but my Torments an unransom'd stranger In this strange Climat in a land
of danger O can my voyce be pleasant or my hand Thus made a Prisner to a forreigne land How can my musick relish in your eares That cannot speake for sobs nor sing for teares Ah if my voyce could Orpheus-like unspell My poore Euridicê my soule from hell Of earths misconstru'd Heav'n O then my brest Should warble Ayres whose Rapsodies should feast The eares of Serathims and entertaine Heav'ns highest Deity with their lofty straine A straine well drencht in the true Thespian Well Till then earths Semiquaver mirth farewell S. AUGUST Med. cap. 33. O infinitely happy are those heavenly virtues which are able to praise thee in holinesse and purity with excessive sweetnesse and inutterable exultation From thence they praise thee from whence they rejoyce because they continually see for what they rejoyce for what they praise thee But we prest downe with this burthen of flesh farre remov'd from thy countenance in this pilgrimage and blowne up with wordly vanities cannot worthily praise thee We praise thee by faith not face to face but those Argelicall Spirits praise thee face to face and not by faith EPIG 15. Did I refuse to sing Said I these times Were not for Songs nor musick for these Climes It was my Errour Are not Groanes and teares Harmonious Raptures in th' Almighties cares THE FIFT BOOKE I. I charge yow o yee Daughters of Ierusalem if yee finde my beloved that yow tell him that I am sicke of loue Canâ—t â— w. simpsen scupsit I. CANT V. VIII I charge you O daughters of Ierusalem if you find my beloved that you tell him that I am sick of love 1 YOu holy Virgins that so oft surround The Cities Saphyre Wals whose snowy feâ—â— Measure the pearly Paths of sacred ground And trace the new Jerus'lems Iasper street Ah you whose care-forsaken hearts are crown'd With your best wishes that enjoy the sweet Of all your Hopes If ere you chance to spie My absent Love O tell him that I lie Deepe wounded with the flames that furnac'd from his eye 2 I charge you Virgins as you hope to heare The heav'nly Musick of your Lovers voice I charge you by the solemne faith ye beare To plighted vowes and to the loyall choice Of your affections or if ought more deare You hold by Hymen by your marriage joyes I charge you tell him that a flaming dart Shot from his Eye hath pierc'd my bleeding heart And I am sick of love and languish in my smart 3 Tell him O tell him how my panting brest Is scorch'd with flames and how my soule is pin'd Tell him O tell him how I lie opprest With the full torments of a troubled mind O tell him tell him that he loves in jest But I in earnest Tell him hee 's unkind But if a discontented frowne appeares Vpon his angry Brow accoast his eares With soft and fewer words and act the rest in teares 4 O tell him that his cruelties deprive My soule of peace while peace in vaine she seeks Tell him those Damask roses that did strive With white both fade upon my sallow cheeks Tell him no token does proclaime I live But teares and sighs and sobs and sudden shreeks Thus if your piercing words should chance to bore His harkning eare and move a sigh give ore To speak and tell him Tell him that I could no more 5 If your elegious breath should hap to rouze A happy teare close harb'ring in his eye Then urge his plighted faith the sacred vowes Which neither I can break nor He deny Bewaile the Torments of his loyall Spouse That for his sake would make a sport to die O blessed Virgins how my passion tires Beneath the burthen of her vaine desires Heav'n never shot such flames Earth never felt such fires S. AUGUST Med. cap. 40. What shall I say What shall I doe Whether shall I goe Where shall I seeke him Or when shall I find him Whom shall I aske Who will tell my beloved that I am sick of love GVLIEL in Cap. 5. Cant. I live But not I It is my beloved that lives in me I love my selfe not with my owne love but with the love of my beloved that loves me I love not my selfe in my selfe but my selfe in him and him in me EPIG 1. Grieve not my soule nor let thy love waxe faint Weepst thou to lose the cause of thy Complaint Hee 'l come Love nev'r was bound to Times nor Lawes Till then thy teares complaine without a Cause II. Stay me with Flowers Comfort me with Apples for I am sick of loue Cant 2.5 Will Marshall sculpsit II. CANT II.V. Stay me with Flowers and comfort me with Apples for I am sicke with love 1 O Tyrant love how does thy sov'raigne pow'r Subject poore soules to thy imperious thrall They say thy Cup 's compos'd of sweet and sowre They say thy diet 's Honey mixt with Gall How comes it then to passe these lips of our Still trade in bitter taste no sweet at all O tyrant love Shall our perpetuall toyle Nev'r find a Sabbath to refresh a while Our drooping soules Art thou all frowns and nev'r a smile 2 You blessed Maids of Honour that frequent The royall Courts of our renown'd JEHOVE With Flow'rs restore my spirits faint and spent O fetch me Apples from Loves fruitfull Grove To coole my palat and renew my sent For I am sick for I am sick of Love These will revive my dry my wasted pow'rs And they will sweeten my unsav'ry houres Refresh me then with Fruit and comfort me with Flow'rs 3 O bring me Apples to asswage that fire Which Aetna-like inflames my flaming brest Nor is it ev'ry Apple I desire Nor that which pleases ev'ry Palat best 'T is not the lasting Deuzan I require Nor yet the red-cheek'd Queening I request Nor that which first beshrewd the name of wife Nor that whose beauty caus'd the golden strife No no bring me an Apple from the Tree of life 4 Virgins tuck up your silken laps and fill ye With the faire wealth of Floras Magazine The purple Vy'let and the pale-fac'd Lilly The Pauncy and the Organ Colombine The flowring Thyme the guilt-boule Daffadilly The lowly Pinck the lofty Eglentine The blushing Rose the Queene of flow'rs and be Of Floras beauty but above the rest Let Iesses sov'raigne Flow'r perfume my qualming brest 5 Haste Virgins haste for I lie weake and faint Beneath the pangs of love why stand ye mute As if your silence neither car'd to grant Nor yet your language to deny my suit No key can lock the doore of my complaint Vntill I smell this Flow'r or taste that Fruit Go Virgins seeke this Tree and search that Bow'r O how my soule shall blesse that happy houre That brings to me such fruit that brings me such a Flow'r GISTEEN in cap. 2. Cant. Expos 3. O happy sicknesse where the infirmity is not to death but to life that God may be glorified by it O happy fever that
Trash they call their treasure O how I 'de smile to see what plots they lay To catch a blast or owne a smile from Caesar Had I the pineons of a mounting Dove How would I sore and sing and hate the Love Of transitory Toyes and feed on Ioyes above 4 There should I find that everlasting Pleasure Which Change removes not which Chance prevents not There should I find that everlasting Treasure Which force deprives not fortune dis-augments not There should I find that everlasting Caesar Whose hand recals not and whose heart repents not Had I the pineons of a clipping Dove How I would climbe the skies and hate the Love Of transitory Toyes and joy in Things above 5 No rank-mouth'd flander there shall give offence Or blast our blooming names as here they doe No liver scalding Lust shall there incense Our boyling veines There is no Cupids Bow LORD give my soule the milke-white Innocence Of Doves and I shall have their pineons too Had I the pineons of a sprightly Dove How I would quit this earth and sore above And heav'ns blest kingdom find with heav'ns blest King IEHOVE S. AUGUST in Psal 38. What wings should I desire but the two precepts of love on which the Law and the Prophets depend O if I could obtaine these wings I could flye from thy face to thy face from the face of thy Iustice to the face of thy Mercy Let us find those wings by love which we have lost by lust S. AUGUST in Psal 76. Let us cast off whatsoever hinders entangles or burthens our flight untill we attaine that which satisfies beyond which nothing is beneath which all things are of which all things are EPIG 13. Tell me my wishing soule didst ever trie How fast the wings of Red-crost Faith can flie Why beg'st thou then the pineons of a Dove Faiths wings are swifter but the swiftest Love XIV How amiable are thy Tabernacles O Lord of Hosts my Soule longeth yâ—â— euen fainteth for the courts of the Lord Pâ—â—4 Will Marshall Sculâ— XIV PSAL. LXXXIV I How amiable are thy Tabernacles O God of Hosts ANcient of dayes to whom all times are Now Before whose Glory Seraphims do bow Their blushing Cheekes and vale their blemisht faces That uncontain'd at once dost fill all places How glorious O how farre beyond the height Of puzzled Quils or the obtuse conceit Of flesh and Blood or the too flat reports Of mortall tongues are thy experssesse Courts Whose glory to paint forth with greater Art Ravish my Fancy and inspire my heart Excuse my bold attempt and pardon me For shewing Sence what Faith alone should see Ten thousand Millions and ten thousand more Of Angell-measur'd leagues from th'Easterne shore Of dungeon earth this glorious Palace stands Before whose pearly gates ten thousand Bands Of armed Angels wait to entertaine Those purged soules for whom the Lamb was slaine Whose guiltlesse death and voluntary yeelding Of whose giv'n life gave this brave Court her building The lukewarme Blood of this deare Lamb being spilt To Rubies turn'd whereof her posts were built And what dropt downe in cold and gelid gore Did turne rich Saphyrs and impav'd her floore The brighter flames that from his eye-balls ray'd Grew Chrysolites whereof her walls were made The milder glaunces sparkled on the Ground And grunsild ev'ry doore with Diamond But dying darted upwards and did fix A Battlement of purest Sardonix Her streets with burnisht Gold are paved round Starres lie like pebbles scattred on the ground Pearle mixt with Onyx and the Iasper stone Made gravil'd Causwayes to be trampled on There shines no Sun by day no Moone by night The Pallace glory is the Pallace light There is no time to measure motion by There time is swallow'd with Eternity Wry-mouth'd disdaine and corner-haunting lust And twy-fac'd Fraud and beetle-brow'd Distrust Soule-boyling Rage and trouble-state sedition And giddy doubt and goggle-ey'd suspition And lumpish sorrow and degen'rous feare Are banisht thence and death 's a stranger there But simple love and sempeternall joyes Whose sweetnesse neither gluts nor fulnesse cloyes Where face to face our ravish't eye shall see Great ELOHIM that glorious One in Three And Three in One and seeing Him shall blesse Him And blessing love Him and in love possesse Him Here stay my soule and ravish in relation Thy words being spent spend now in Contemplation S. GREG. in Psal 7. poenitent Sweet Iesus the Word of the Father the brightnesse of paternall glory whom Angels delight to view teach me to do thy will that led by thy good Spirit I may come to that blessed City where day is eternall where there is certaine security and secure eternity and eternall peace and peacefull happinesse and happy sweetnesse and sweet pleasure where thou O God with the Father and the holy Spirit livest and raignest world without end Ibid. There is light without darkenesse Ioy without griefe desire without punishment love without sadnesse satiety without loathing safety without feare health without disease and life without death EIPG. 14. My soule pry not too nearely The Complexion Of Sols bright face is seene but by Reflexion But wouldst thou know what 's heav'n I le tell thee what Think what thou canst not thinke and Heav'n is that XV. Make hast my Beloved and be Thow like to a Roe or to a yong Hart vpon the Mountaines of Spices Cant 8.14 Will sâ—â—sc XV. CANT VIII XIV Make hast my Beloved and be like the Roe or the young Hart upon the Mountaines of Spices GO Gentle Tyrant go thy flames doe pierce My soule too deep thy flames are too too fierce My marrow melts my fainting Spirits fry Ith'torrid Zone of thy Meridian Eye Away away thy sweets are too perfuming Turne turne thy face Thy fires are too consuming Hast hence and let thy winged steps out-goe The frighted Roe-buck and his flying Roe But wilt thou leave me then O thou that art Life of my Soule Soule of my dying heart Without the sweet Aspect of whose faire Eyes My soule does languish and her solace dies Art thou so easily woo'd So apt to heare The frantick language of my foolish feare Leave leave me not nor turne thy beauty from me Looke looke upon me though thine eâ—es ov'rcome me O how they wound But how my wounds content me How sweetly these delightfull paines torment me How I am tortur'd in excessive measure Of pleasing cruelties too cruell pleasure Turne turne away remove thy scorching beames I languish with these bitter-sweet extreames Hast then and let thy winged steps out-goe The flying Roe-buck and his frighted Roe Turne back my deare O let my ravisht eye Once more behold thy face before thou flie What shall we part without a mutuall kisse O who can leave so sweet a face as this Looke full upon me for my soule desires To turne a holy Martyr in those fires O leave me not nor turne thy beauty from me Looke looke upon me though thy flames ov'rcome me
I go my selfe followes me For whatsoever thou flyest O man thou mayst but thy owne Conscience wheresoever O Lord I go I find thee if angry a Revenger if appeas'd a Redeemer What way have I but to flee from thee to thee That thou maist avoid thy God addresse thee to thy Lord. EPIG 12. Hath vengeance found thee Can thy feares command No Rocks to shield thee from her thundring hand Know'st thou not where to scape I le tell thee where My soule make cleane thy Conscience Hide thee there XIII Are not my dayes few Cease then and let me alone that I may bewayle me a little Iob. 10.20 Will. simpson sculpsit XIII IOB X.XX. Are not my dayes few Cease then and let me alone that I may bewaile my selfe a little MY Glasse is halfe unspent Forbeare t'rrest My thriftlesse day too soone My poore request Is that my glasse may run but out the rest My time-devoured minuts will be done Without thy helpe See see how swift they run Cut not thy thred before my thred be spun The gaine 's not great I purchase by this stay What losse sustain'st thou by so small delay To whom ten thousand yeares are but a day My following eye can hardly make a shift To count my winged houres they flye so swift They scarce deserve the bounteous name of gift The secret wheeles of hurrying Time doe give So short a warning and so fast they drive That I am dead before I seeme to live And what 's a life A weary Pilgrimage Whose glory in one day doth fill the stage With Childhood Manhood and decrepit Age. And what 's a Life the flourishing Array Of the proud Summer meadow which to day Weares her greene plush and is to morrow Hay And what 's a Life A blast sustain'd with clothing Maintain'd with food retain'd with vile selfe-loathing Then weary of it selfe again'd to nothing Read on this diall how the shades devoure My short-liv'd winters day How'rs eates up howre Alas the total's but from eight to foure Behold these Lillies which thy hands have made Faire copies of my life and open laid To view how soone they droop how soone they fade Shade not that diall night will blind too soone My nonag'd day already points to noone How simple is my suit How small my Boone Not do I beg this slender inch to while The time away or falsly to beguile My thoughts with joy Here 's nothing worth a smile No no 'T is not to please my wanton eares With frantick mirth I beg but howres not yeares And what thou giv'st me I will give to teares Draw not that soule which would be rather led That Seed has yet not broke my Serpents head O shall I die before my sinnes are dead Behold these Rags Am I a fitting Guest To tast the dainties of thy royall Feast With hands and face unwash'd ungirt unblest First let the Iordan streames that find supplies From the deepe fountaine of my heart arise And cleanse my spots and cleare my leprous eyes I have a world of sinnes to be lamented I have a sea of teares that must be vented O spare till then and then I die contented S. AUGUST lib. 7. de Civit. Dei cap. 10. The time wherein we live is taken from the space of our life and what remaines is daily made lesse and lesse in somuch that the time of our life is nothing but a passage to death S. GREG. lib. 9. mor. Cap. 44. in Cap. 10. Iob. As moderate afflictions bring teares so immoderate take away teares Insomuch that sorrow becomes no sorrow which swallowing up the mind of the afflicted takes away the sense of the affliction EPIG 13. Fear'st thou to go when such an Arme invites thee Dread'st thou thy loads of sin or what affrights thee If thou begin to feare thy feare begins Foole can he beare thee hence and not thy sins XIV Oh that they were wise then they would vnderstand this they would consider their latter end Deeteron 32. I Payne scult XIV DEVT. XXXII XXIX O that men were wise and that they understood this that they would consider their latter end Flesh Spirit Fl. WHat meanes my sisterâ— eye so oft to passe Through the long entry of that Optick glasse Tell me what secret virtue does invite Thy wrinckled eye to such unknowne delight Sp. It helps the sight makes things remote appeare In perfect view It drawes the object neare Fl. What sence-delighting objects do'st thou spie What does that Glasse present before thine eye Sp. I see thy foe my reconciled friend Grim death even standing at the Glasses end His left hand holds a branch of Palme his right Holds forth a two-edg'd sword Fl. A proper sight And is this all does thy Prospective please Th' abused fancy with no shapes but these Sp. Yes I behold the dark'ned Sun bereav'n Of all his light the battlements of heav'n Sweltring in Flames the Angell-guarded Sonne Of glory on his high Tribunall Throne I see a Brimstone Sea of boyling Fire And Fiends with knotted whips of flaming Wyre Tort'ring poore soules that gnash their teeth in vaine And gnaw their flame-tormented tongues for paine Looke sister how the queazie-stomack'd Graves Vomit their dead and how the purple waves Scal'd their consume lesse bodies strongly cursing All wombes for bearing and all paps for nursing Fl. Can thy distemper'd fancie take delight In view of Tortures These are showes t' affright Looke in this glasse-Triangular looke here Here 's that will ravish eyes Sp. What seest thou there Fl. The world in colours colours that distaine The cheeks of Proteus or the silken Traine Of Floras Nymphs such various sorts of hiew As Sun-confronting Iris never knew Here if thou please to beautifie a Towne Thou maist or with a hand turn't upside downe Here maist thou scant or widen by the measure Of thine owne will make short or long at pleasure Here maist thou tyre thy fancie and advize With showes more apt to please more curious eyes Sp. Ah foole that dot'st on vaine on present toyes And disrespects those true those future joyes How strongly are thy thoughts befool'd Alas To dote on goods that perish with thy Glasse Nay vanish with the turning of a hand Were they but painted colours it might stand With painted reason that they might devote thee But things that have no being to besot thee Foresight of future torments is the way To baulk those ills which present joyes bewray As thou hast fool'd thy selfe so now come hither Break that fond glasse and let 's be wise together BONAVENT de contemptu seculi O that men would be wise understand and foresee Be wise to know three things The multitude of those that are to be damnâ—â— the few number of those that are to be saved and the vanity of transitory things Vnderstand three things the multitude of sinnes the omission of good things and the losse of time Foresee three things the danger of death the last
proceeds not from a consuming but a calcining fire O happy distemper wherein the soule relishes no earthly things but onely savours divine nourishment S. BERN. Scrm. 51. in Cant. By flowers understand faith by fruit good works As the flower or blossome is before the fruit so faith is before goodworks So neither is the fruit without the flower nor good works without faith EPIG 2. Why Apples O my soule Can they remove The Pangs of Griefe or ease the flames of love It was that Fruit which gave the first offence That sent him hither that remov'd him hence III. My Beloued is mine and I am his Hee feedeth among the Lillies Cant 2.16 Will simpson sculp III. CANT II. XVI My beloved is mine and I am his He feedeth among the Lillies 1 EV'n like two little bank-dividing brookes That wash the pebles with their wanton streames And having rang'd and search'd a thousand nookes Meet both at length in silver-brested Thames Where in a greater Current they conjoyne So I my Best Beloveds am so He is mine 2 Ev'n so we met and after long pursuit Ev'n so we joyn'd we both became entire No need foâ— either to renew a Suit For I waâ— Flax and he was Flames of fire Our firm united soules did more than twine So I my Best-Beloveds am so He is mine 3 If all those glittring Monarchs that command The servile Quarters of this earthly Ball Should tender in Exchange their shares of land I would not change my Fortunes for them all Their wealth is but a Counter to my Coyne The world 's but theirs but my Beloved's mine 4 Nay more If the faire Thespian Ladies all Should heape together their diviner treasure That Treasure should be deem'd a price too small To buy a minuts Lease of halfe my Pleasure 'T is not the sacred wealth of all the Nine Can buy my heart from Him or His from being mine 5 Nor Time nor place nor Chance nor Death can bow My least desires unto the least remove Hee 's firmely mine by Oath I His by Vow Hee 's mine by Faith and I am His by Love Hee 's mine by Water I am His by Wine Thus I my Best-beloveds am Thus He is mine 6 He is my Altar I his Holy Place I am his Guest and He my living Food I 'm his by Poenitence He mine by Grace I 'm his by Purchace He is mine by Blood Hee 's my supporting Elme and I his Vine Thus I my Best-Beloveds am Thus He is mine 7 He gives me wealth I give him all my Vowes I give Him songs He gives me length of dayes With wrethes of Grace he crownes my conqu'ring browes And I his Temples with a Crowne of Praise Which be accepts as an everlasting signe That I my best-beloveds am that He is mine S. AUGUST Manu cap. 24. O my soule stampt with the Image of thy God love him of whom thou art so much beloved Bend to him that bowes to thee seeke him that seeks thee Love thy lover by whose love thou art prevented being the cause of thy love Be carefull with those that are carefull want with those that want Bee cleane with the cleane and holy with the holy Choose this friend above all friends who when all are taken away remaines onely faithfull to thee In the day of thy buriall when all leave thee he will not deceive thee but defend thee from the roaring Lions prepared for their prey EPIG 3. Sing Hymen to my soule What lost and found Welcom'd Espous'd enjoy'd so soone and crown'd He did but climbe the Crosse and then came downe To th'Gates of Hell triumph'd and fetch'd a Crowne IV. I am my beloveds his Desire is towards mee Cant 7.10 W. Simpson Scâ— IV. CANT VII.X. I am my Beloveds and his desire is towards mee 1 LIke to the Artick needle that does guide The wandring shade by his Magneticke pow'r And leaves his silken Gnomon to decide The question of the controverted houre First franticks up and downe from side to side And restlesse beats his christall'd Iv'ry case With vaine impatience jets from place to place And seeks the bosome of his frozen Bride At length he slacks his motion and does rest His trembling point at his bright Poles beloved Brest 2 Ev'n so my soule being hurried here and there By ev'ry object that presents delight Faine would be setled but she knowes not where She likes at morning what she loaths at night She bowes to Honour then she lends an eare To that sweet Swan-like voice of dying Pleasure Then tumbles in the scatter'd heapes of Treasure Now flatter'd with false hope now foyl'd with feare Thus finding all the world delights to be But empty toyes good GOD she point's alone to Thee But has the virtu'd Steele a pow'r to move Or can the untouch'd Needle point aright Or can my wandring Thoughts forbeare to rove Vnguided by the vertue of thy Spirit O has my leaden Soule the Art t' improve Her wasted Talent and unrais'd aspire In this sad moulting time of her desire Not first belov'd have I the pow'r to love I cannot stirre but as thou please to move me Nor can my heart returne thee love untill thou love me 4 The still Commandresse of the silent night Borrowes her beames from her bright brothers Eye His faire aspect fils her sharp hornes with light If he withdraw her flames are quench'd and die Ev'n so the beames of thy enlightning Sp'rite Infus'd and shot into my dark desire Inflame my thoughts and fill my soule with fire That I am ravisht with a new delight But if thou shroud thy face my glory fades And I remaine a Nothing all compos'd of shades 5 Eternall God O thou that onely art The sacred Fountaine of eternall light And blessed Loadstone of my better part O thou my hearts desire my soules delight Reflect upon my soule and touch my heart And then my heart shall prize no good above thee And then my soule shall know thee knowing love thee And then my trembling thoughts shall never start From thy commands or swerve the least degree Or once presume to move but as they move in thee S. AUGUST Med. Cap. 25. If man can love man with so entire affection that the one can scarce brooke the others absence If a Bride can be joyned to her Bride-groome with so great an ardency of mind that for the extremity of love she can enjoy no rest not suffering his absence without great anxiety with what affection with what fervency ought the soule whom thou hast espoused by faith and compassion to love thee her true God and glorious Bridegroome EPIG 4. My soule thy love is deare T' was thought a good And easie pen'worth of thy Saviours Blood But be not proud All matters rightly scan'd 'T was over brought 'T was sold at second hand I. My Soule melted when my beloved spake Cant 5.6 Will Simpson scul V. CANT V.VI. My Soule melted whilst my Beloved spake LOrd has the