Unlesse once more that Queen of Cities Raigne Wee 'l ne're lift up our Drooping Heads againe And they ston'd Stephen calling upon God and saying Lord Jesus receive my spirit Acts 7. 59. RApt with Hot â—eale Elias like Blest Stephen Went in a Fiery Char oâ— up to Heaven By this faire Gale of Holy Breath He is Arrived safely at the Port of Blisse His last words Summon Heav'n and by them He Gives Christ His Spirit for a Legacy And thus he dy'd so fill'd with th' Heavenly Dove That his Soule fled out on the wings of Love Where are the nine Luke 17 17. OF the Ten Leapers Lord the world claim 's Nine The Tenth turnes back to thee for Tithes are Thine Take Eat This is my Body Mark 14. 22. OH Lord shall we thy Glorious Body Eat Can Earth-worms relish such Celestial Meat O Blessed Lamb of God! shall we be Fed On thee whom our Dire Sins have Butchered And have we slain thee thus to Feed on thee And are we Pious Anthropophagi Stretch Faith Ô Mystick table where each guest Is bâ—d to Eat o' th' Master of the Feast Nay where the Meat it self Invites and where Our Bodyes Eat but soules digest the Fare Draw neer my Son to this strange Truth and fly Out of thy self by Holy Extasie Into the Bosome of the Light of Men Who here will make thee to be Born agen I come but Faintly Lord as Sick folk doe Thou find st us Meat ô find us Stomacks too Open thou mine Eyes that I may behold wondrous things out of thy Law Ps 119. 18. LOrd on my Heart write thou thy Law that I May read it o're with my Internall Eye Let the Light of thy Countenance appear To make thy Law 's mysterious Wonders Clear The Works o' Darkness in my Earthly Mind Have made mine Eyes like Moles Earth's Prisners blind Thou that mak'st th'Blind to see Help I thee pray Not putting to but wiping off the Clay Those Fogs which youthfull heat exhales doe rise Like misty clouds 'twixt Heaven and mine Eyes Shine on me Sun of Righteousnesse the night Is now far spent O Day spring bring the Light To behold wondrous things my sight 's too dull Unlesse through Him whose Name is WONDERFULL I am weary with my groaning all the night make I my bed to swim I water my Couch with my tears Psal 6 6. MY Lungs are worn with Groaning often Moans Infect my Breath my very words turn groans Drawn through that Pipe so blown with sighs my Throat Their sound is tainted with a dole full note My Panting heart breathes after some reliefe But still 't is Heavy through the weight of Griese It weeps so Stony it s own Misery Like Sorrows Emblem stupid NIOBE This Rock â—ields Teary water smote by th' Rod Of Moses Teacher our and Moses God In silent night when clos'd eyes look for rest I hear the out-cryes of a troubled breast Then Clouds of Melancholy by th'wind of Fears Blown to and fro drop into Showrs of Tears Which stream so fast as 't were to wash mine eye Polluted by beholding Vanity I make my bed to swim with Tears as tho 'T were Charons Boat tost on the Floud of woe My Body thus and soule at once want-light The one Black Fate orewhelmes the other Night Wretch that I am nothing quite vanquisheth These I wins of Darknesse but the Day of Death I see another law in my members warring against the law of my mind and bringing me into captivity to the law of sin Rom. 7. 23. AH Shall my restlesse Mind for ever be Thus Captive made by too much liberty When Lord wilt thou me bind With th'Cords of thy Soul-keeping Love That my affections may not rove But justly be confin'd My Thoughts so Froathy are as though they came Out of the Bosome of the Cyprian Dame But yet I hate my Folly And when I laugh as heretofore I doe but throw Mirth out at doore Within I 'm Melancholy My Lust submits not to my Will 's command Can my Soules Houshold thus divided stand That these Home-wars may cease Come to my Soule and speedily Confirm't in Christian Unity Come quickly Prince of peace Remember now thy Creator in the dayes of thy youth Eccle. 12. 1. THy Youthfull Heat should still Aspire To the Bright Flame of Zeals pure Fire That will no Atheist dares controll Prove Vitall Heat unto thy Soule Those Youthfull Veins That Proudly Swell Do Boile as 't were with th' Fire of Hell He whose First Yeares are spent in Evill Shewes that He is the Child o' th Devill Remember then i' th' Dayes of Youth To find the WAY and learn the TRUTH Wash thy New Soule and keep it clean With th' Well of Lifes continuall Stream Now Fortifie Thy Selfe within Maintain it ' gainst Approaching Sin Be Pious and Live Strictly 〈◊〉 so Shut up thou wilt keep out thy Foe Whilst that thy Growth in Grace and Years are even Degrees of Age are but the Steps to Heaven In Obitum VITAE On the Death of JESUS He gave up the Ghost Luke 23. 46. GAve up the Ghost how so O where could He Dislodge his Soule who had Ubiquitie Could God be Mortall and could He that made The Worlds Great Lights becom Himself a Shade O Mystick Truth which can't on Earth be Shown He Knowes it best that thinks it can't be Known Thus Darknesse set it forth by which the Skie Seem'd th' Emblem of some losty Mysterie Whilst that bold Death durst to assault the LIGHT The Heavens wore Mourning and the Day turn'd Night That we might Live so did our Jesus Die ' Sthough He Gave us His Life by Legacie But He 's Reviv'd and now has made us be Partakers of His Immortalitie So shall we find when th' whole World vanisheth Our selves Refreshed by the sleep of Death I have washed my feet how shall I defile them Cant. 5. 3. I 'Ve washt my feet ev'n in the Bloud O'th'Lamb of God How shall I them again defile I le fly Sins Guile Which drawes to those foule Paths that lead Down to the Chambers of the Dead No more I le wallow in the Mire Of Fond Desire I le ever shun Vncleannesse I Th'Worlds Sp 〈…〉 defie To shew them th'Clean way as 〈◊〉 meet Gods Word 's a Lamp unto my Feet Oh let me walk through holy Aw LORD in thy Law That undefiled still I may Be in the Way Make me to goe led by thy word I' th' Path of thy Commandments Lord. Then Herod when he saw that he was mocked of the wise men was exceeding wroth and sent forth and slew all the children c. Mat. 2. 16. THrice happy Babes wean'd from the world so soon They suck the brests of consolation They passe to Canaan through a crimson flood They die for Christ baptiz'd in their own blood O wrathful Herod were thy storms so stout To blow the Tapers of their lives quite out Could nothing but yong
from others th'lesser Stars Are but this Greater Planets Pensioners What Helâ—â—on each Pen distilleth can Adde little to this boundlesse Ocean Here fix Poetick Raâ—ble whilst his Grace The Muses High-Priest enters th' Holy Place G. Towerson Art Bac. è Col. Reg. 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 All is Vanity and vexation of Spirit ANd is the world like its Black Monarch made That being graspt we find it nought but shade Hell fiends need walk no more the World 's their own Converted to an Apparition 'T is nothing else but Empty shape and thus It seems to be our Malus Genius 'T is o' th' Old Serpents nature being Warme With Love its venome is impower'd to Harme Its Kisses still are Treacherous and so It often Huggs not to Embrace but Throw Sith then when t'r we 're happy here below Griefe but gives back to fetch the harder blow Since Nothing tipt with Essence is th'World's All And the Earths Globe but Fortunes Tennis Ball Fly up my Minde thy Pearches are Heav'ns Pole Earth's Gotham Hedge confines not Winged Soules Surely men of low degree are vanity and men of high degree are a lie to be laid in the balance they are altogether lighter then vanity Ps 629. HOw light is Man by ev'ry wind Of fortune here or there Inclâ—n'd Her blasts dispell his chiefest Trust And toss him to and fro like Dust He 's oft Puft up by th' Peoples Breath And bubble-like so vanisheth Oft whirled on the wings of Fame And swallow'd up by a Great Name Inferiours scorn'd are Great men curst Or swoll'n with Pride untill they Burst Praise Honor Riches Earthly Glory Like man are Pilgrims Transitory Till th'Night of Ignorance decline These Glow worms seem to him to shine So light 's his Head that Sov'raigne Part He'th nothing Heavy but his Heart Which Drunk with Pleasure still doth reele Or else is Broke on Fortunes Wheel Vain 's all his Labour vain his thought Himself 's but once remov'd from nought Void of all Solidity He 's lighter then vanity All is Vanity but He 's Vanity of Vanities Have pity upon me have pity upon me O ye my Friends for the hand of God hath touched me Job 19. 21. ON me my Friends ô pity take My Bowels quake The hand of God hath touched me Most terriblie Within without from top to Toe I 'm closely girt about with woe A wounded Spirit I must bear O'rewhelm'd with Fear Gods Terrours ah me have Confin'd My troubled Mind Shrunk from the Hope of all relief Within the straits of restlesse Griefe My flesh is all beset with sores It s very Pores Are Block'd up by this Siege of Death I can't vent breath But 't is so loathsome that you 'd think 'T were a Dead Bodie 's odious stink My Goods my Health my Friends and All Together fall I 've onely Life enough to Cry When shall I die Clothed with Clods of Dust e're dead My Flesh in 't self is Buried Mine eye is dim can only see My miserie My breath 's left but to frame my Moans And waft out Groans To Pity now my Friends incline Your hearts if Stony will break mine Lavatus Aethiops And he commanded the Chariot to stand still and they went down both into the water both Philip and the Eunuch and he baptized him Acts 8. 38. MOst happy Eunuch that hath Cur'd his Sick soule in this Bath By Baptism He 's Wash'd within Wrapt about with 's old Black Skin His soule Penitently sad Seems to be in Mourning clad This water Him t'Heavens Port bears Mixt with Paenitentiall tears Aqua vitae't proves to Him Dead in Tâ—espasses and Sin His soule 's a Diamond that 's set In a Cabinet of Jeat In dark-Lanthorns thus ther 's Light Thus a Star shines in Dark Night In 's Jesus is his Delight He shall walk with him in white Such Candid Aethiopes are seldome seen Faâ—r People oft arc Aethiopes within On Christmas day Vnto you is born in the City of David a Saviour which is Christ the Lord. Luke 2. 11. THis Day the LORD of Heaven and Earth Subjects Himself to Humane Birth By this Transcendent Mysterie God and Man are at Vnity Strange He that is was is to come Thus wrapt up in a Mortall Wombe Would th' Sun of Righteousnesse thus shroud His Glorious Lustre in a Cloud Of humble Flesh and Bloud and can Mans Maker be the Son of Man Hyperbole of wonder How Times Ancestor come forth but Now Nay Stranger Yet we may dare say Eternity was Born This Day Blest Angel Who these Tidings bring Ambassadour from th' King of Kings Th' articulate aire that wafts this news To th' Soul does th' Breath of life infuse This heav'nly sound the Shepheards ears Judge the best Musick of the Sphears As Orpheus's courser art drew sense This ravisheth intelligence Souls rapt up by this harmony Unto the Throne of Grace do fly Faith comes by hearing He that hears This Angels voice annoints his ears With th' Oyle of Gladness and by Faith Shall Live although he pass through death O Jesu who wast Born Jesus to me Grant that this day I be New-born to thee I am distressed for thee my brother Jonathan very pleasant hast thou been unto me thâ— love to me was wonderfull passing the love of women 2 Sam. 1. 26. I 'M slave to grief not mine own man For thee my brother Jonathan Twixt us who were in life all-one Death could cause no division I can't forsake thee dead but I Sith thou art dead must dayly die Tearing thee off my souls best part Fate could not choose but break my heart Those arrows which thou shot'st did prove The arrows of our mutual love Most pleasant hast thou been to me No Woman ever lov'd like thee W 'had more then Marriage-union Our souls had copulation Our heart-blood was so mixt that we Were'kin by CONSANGUINITY Thus't could not be thou shouldst be slain And I not feel the utmost pain Thy fate strikes at me in thy knell Methinks I hear my Passing-bell I scarce survive with sighs disturb'd my breath Seems to be seiz'd on by the pangs of Death How shall we sing the Lords song in a strange land Psal 1374. TO light hearts only such light mirth belongs Our fortune weeping will allow no songs These rivets yield us the fitt'st musick we Account their murmures our best harmony In them the Embleme of our fate appears Their murmures show our groans their streams our tears How shall we sing in a strange land our tongues Benumm'd with sorrow are unfit for sengs He profanes sacred melody that dares To sing in anguish and mix Sighs with Ayres Our unregarded Harps hung up you see Like Trophees to adorn griefs victory Our Ears so glutted with continuall Moans Can't relish th' Sweetnesse of such plealant Tones Then Mirth farewell 〈◊〉 our mournfull Gestures shall Still solemnize our Countryes Funerall Whilst she a Captive lives a wofull Death We wo'nt by Songs let any Joy draw breath
clean In the fond streams of HIPPOCRENE To which some wisely have recourse To be made Poets Gra ' marcy Horse Vino pellite Curas HORACE thou' rt out Bacchus thy Wits harsh Master But lops thy Cares to make them grow the faster Be Drunk at Evening and thou'â—t find o' th Morrow That too much Liquor pickles up thy Sorrow Of Vulgar Criticks THeir Blindfold Censures out of Order Range Their words are WIND indeed as often Change Sometimes they 're Tempests too but I Defie them I 'le ne're be Puft up or be Blasted by them To the Eye Adulterer LEnd Eyes to Cupid View thy Handsom Lasses Drink Streams of Pleasure in those Christall Glasse But yet consider that this Splendid show Can only light thee to the Shades below On a Gentlewoman that would be married to none but a Rich man THus her Example proves that Ovid told That Cupids Arrow must be gilt with Gold Lasciva est nobis Pagina vita proba To the Author VVRiting's a Poets Life then sure if thou Do'st Write Lasciviously thou Liv'st so too To the same THou studiest Mischief when thou writest it Thy Bawdy Verse is but Adulterate Wit To an Epigrammatist that inveighs against Women THe Muses Man are Female may'st thou know it A Foe to their Sex can't be a good Poet. On the perfect Conclusion of a fierce War THose Thunder-bolts of Mars which lately fell Were but a Vâ—llâ—y to bid War Farewell To a Vertuous Gentlewoman weeping for the Death of her Eldest Brother my Bosom-Friend ALas sweet Lady must you sup So deeply of this Bitter Cup Your Brinish Tears increase the Smart O' th' Wounds of my Afflicted Heart Your Griefe 's Infectious I believe I 'm Griev'd afresh to see you Grieve Double Grief my Thought endures My Sighs like Ecchos answer Yours My Plaints are most beside mine own I 've yours too by Reflection I can't hear Moans for Him but I Must be ingag'd to Sympathy Lament not you let me ingrosse The Lamentation of this Losse You 've now a Second-self but I Lost such a one when He did die Nay more than such did's Title Merit You are One Flesh we were One Spirit How sadly then may I complain Grief Break my Heart and Crack my Brain To the same YOur wet Eyes are as I may say Like Sun-shine in a Rainy day On the Tempestuous season of Wind and Rain 1654. FOr th' Growth of our Iniquitie I fear our Fields will Barren be For Sin that hath â—a'n Root so deep The Heavens sure thus Sigh and Weep Strong Drink DRink 's Strong indeed with Stygian water Purl'd Like Alexander it o'recomes the World Charity VVHere Charity takes Cold the Country's Sick That 's th' Vitall Heat o' th' Body Politick Stupet hic vitio Nescit quid perdat alto Demersus summa rursus non bullit in â—â—dâ Per. Sa. 3. HIs Soul 's so Dark all o're He cannot see The Ugly Face of His Iniquitie Faln so in love with Vice He cannot Rise For Sampson like He'th lost both Strength Eyes His Dread Cool'd Heart 's Benumm'd He 's void of Sense His Burning Lust hath Scar'd His Conscience An unquiet-bad Conscience THe Worm of Conscience Feedeth on Our naturall Corruption Whiles Hell and Death lodge in our Breast Our Hearts may Sleep but cannot Rest Temptation THe Devil onely Tempts but wretched Elves We oft turn Devils and so Tempt our selves Pride PRide 's the Soul 's Blister scall'd by th' fire of Hel Ill Humours onely make the Mind to swell The World ne're saw one yet did entertain Pride Thought 's Iâ—postume but in a Sick-brain To a Lasciviâ—m P 〈…〉 FOr shame for shame leave off for as we 're told Cupid and Phoebus have been 〈◊〉 of old On Poetry THe Muses Sauce my Study's Strong-meat These Shall be my Play-mates not my Mistresses Of Partiality MEns Judgements often Erre that are too kinde They See not what they Say for Love is Blinde The World 's Fine Gentleman HE makes a Dainty Leg and Nod thus He Is every Inch well-bred ev'n Cap-a-pe To Vnlearned Criticks VVE don't estrange at your Grammatick War We know Rough Judgements must be prone to Jar. To an Hireling Poet. WIng'd Riches Hatch thy Muses Young and thus Thou mak'st an Hackney of thy Pegasus To his Displeased Pater in Phoebo Mr. F. M. YOu 're not in earnest sure and thus 'T is but Furor Poetic 〈…〉 Your Anger 's Faign'd though 't seem so Great You 're Incens'd by Poetick Heat Why man I spoke but like a Poet I said 't was bad I wo'nt stand to it Come let 's be Friends and doe not move Phoebus again to Quarrell with Love How much I 'm Griev'd Good Sir pray think My Muse for Mourning wears this Ink. On a NEWES-MONGER FAr and neer all th' Newes He hears Asses alwayes have long Ears To an Honourable Lady Rarely Accomplisht with Wit and Beauty FAir Venus and Minerva shew That They 're at length made Friends by you Yo 've given both Content both prize The APPLES of your Glis'tring Eyes Which t' each of them Assigned are For still you looke both wise and Faire Your wing'd Soule at each Glance doth Fly Out of the Casement of your Eye Whose Splendid Beams like Phoebus Rayes Create new Blossomes to my Bayes My Muses weak Eye gazing on This Daz'ling Sight Drops Helicon But its Streams are at best too base To wash your Ladyships Sweet Face Which is set in such Symmetrie That like the Soule 't seems Harmony Which sith it comes not to our Eares Is like the Musick of the Spheares Your Body is ail Symptomes show it So Fine that your Clear Soule shines through it 'T is Quaintly order'd as we find By th' Lady Governnesse your Mind Both your Parts thus as 't were All-one Are like a Constellation Your very Face my Muse dares say Is Parallel to th' Milkie way Your Wit and Beauty thus take Equall Place Your self make up these Twins A MVSE and GRACE On the fifth of November THus rend the Bowels of the Earth 't is well Dig deeper yet and so dig down to Hell Incarnate Fâ—ends seek out the way by th' Light Of your Dark Lanthorn to Eternall Night Think you with Royal Limbs to fill the Aire Because your Master's Lord and Soveraign there Wretches He cannot help you but Grim Death Shall in the Aire you struggle out of Breath Thus of Advancement which you hop'd to see The Fruit you 'l have but from a Gallow Tree So may all Craft taught by th' Old Serpent faile And Serpent like still bear a sting i' th' Taile To wound its Owners so may Trayt'rous Elves Find Death â—'th ' Pit which they have Digg'd themselves Kicking at us the Ugly Beast at Rome Hath spurn'd his Whelps given them the Doom Pushing He'th broke his Horns thus oft t is known The Stone 〈…〉 burst ' gainst that at which t is thrown Now then that we are safe and that our Land Hath cast
joyn Male to you May no Division make you Two In Vertue and true Amitie Shine as Bright's the GEMINI So may you be before all other In Goodnesse Great even like your Mother To Mrs. K. G. having been lately sick of the Small Pox. T Were Blasphemy ' gainst th' God of Love to say Ought can Deform you till you 're turn'd to Clay Spots by your Eyes are Brighten'd each Pock hole Shews at a Distance but like Venus Mole Th'Rose spreading o're your Cheeks my Fancy spies The lovely Lâ—lly in your Sicknesse Dies Your Well-fare will Revive't your Eys once ope Their Radiant Beams turn't to an Heliâ—trope You onely look come newly out of Bed Like Faire Aurora at Her Rising Red. Alwayes to Shine no Beauties are allo v'd The Sun it self sometimes endures a Cloud I 've spent my present Stock of Poets Wealth In Aganippe thus to Drink your Health A Love sick Gentleman to a Fair Lady scorning him G. ALas Love's Darts wound me to Death Not t' hear me speak's to stop my Breath L. I 'd give thee leave to shew thy Art But thy Sharp Wit would Pierce my Heart G. No Subtle wit leads on my love I 'm Innocent as Venus Dove L. Why hath fond Grief now made thee Stupid Are thy thoughts Blind to be like Cupid G. Yes My sharp Wit so Blunt is grown By working on your Heart of Stone L. Out of this Stone cease thy Desire Thy Love strikes not one Sparke of Fire G. Have mercy Goddess Hold O hold Without your Fire my Heart growes Cold. L. Fie fie art not asham'd to Faint G. I Fall but to Adore my Saint L. Farewell I can't perswaded be Bid thy vain Love Depart with me G. Ah! Life and Soul she is to me Her absence is my Extasie Why should I keep my Fruitless Breath My panting Heart Beats me to Death Love's Warriours Die or Overcome Sith She is Deaf I will be Dumb. To a Phantastick Vagabond Professor of Satyricall â—â—t â—'octrie VVIld Colt of PEâ—ASVS what would st thou doe Are th Muses Priests Itinerary too Thou art no Poet man thy false High strain Is but the Bubbling of a Froathy Brain No Masculine Strength lies in a Drunken Line A Tavern Flash is but a Spark o th Wine A mounting Vapor a Phantastick Fit The Off scouring the Excrement of wit Thy best Jests are but Old for all thy Brags Thou rt but a Swaggerer in Scarlet Rags Thy Magpie Muse delights to Scold not Sing Thy Crawling Fancy has a Vermines Sting Thy Aged Whimsies like old Wizards lowre And thy Stale Wit even like Stale Beer growes sowre Judicious men Disgust it they disdaine Th' Vnsav'ry Outlets of thy Addle Brain Our haughty Muse scornes such poor Prey The Carrâ—on Stinks she flurts away Fame VVHo would not shun the Peoples Breath we find 'T is but a Wind Which still has puff'd up th Owner or else blown The Dangerous Fires of Emuâ—ation To his Book COme on my Book no Page of thine Shall Beat mens Brains with a strong line Thou' rt Plain no Phrase Crags in thee plac'd Apollo's Temples Pav'd not Caus'd 'T is true thou art no Gallant Fine Clad with Silk Wâ—rds and full of Wine But yet I doubt not some confesse Thou' rt Comely though in a Plain Dresse Our Eagle-Muse her Young ones Tries By none but true Phoebaan Eyes But if some Minor Critick Carps With Satyr Wit would Fight at Sharps His Heavy Censures I le despise Prest by Lead Wits my Palm shall Rise FINIS ' Lâ—urea 〈◊〉 〈…〉 Caussia 〈◊〉 Sot * Mat. 27. 55. †Joh. 1. 5. * Ps 119. 1. * Ps 119. 35. * Zâ—d 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉