THE MIRROUR OF MERCY IN THE MIDST OF MISERY OR Life triumphant in Death where in Free-will is abolished and Free-grace exalted WITH The large wonders of Loves wounds Written in a fit of Sicknesse By JEREMIAH RICH. LONDON Printed by J. G. for Nath Brook at the Ange. in Corne-hill 1654. To the Right Honourable the Lord JOHN BRADSHAW I Have read of some of the Saints of old that have prayed for life as David and Hezekiah others that have desired to be dissolved as Paul and Eliah yet those that desired to dye had abundance of contentment here and the others that laboured for life had assurance of glory hereafter Alas my life was not worthy the name of life 't was not a life 't was but a piece of childhood throwne away yet in my sicknesse I desired to escape death by dying daily since I have been taught that he that is dead while he lives shall live when he dyes How direfull are the thoughts of Death how grievous the remembrance of the Grave yet when we call to minde how it was sweetned by our deare Saviour methinkes Death is not so dreadfull nor Life so desireable Death is but a freedome from danger and the bank of Rottennesse is now a bed of Roses where Innocency may dwell secure nothing assaults us there I have thought to dye is lesse than to be borne 't is a quiet resting from all Iniquity a conclusion of troubles an end of fiery trialls where in dust we shall be lost a while as is the Sun that must permit the base and sordid Earth to smother up his Glory for a night that the next morning when he arises as from a bed of Roses burnish'd in all his bravery he might be the more wondred at so when our hearts are pure and when our sighs are past and when our griefes are gone and when our wiped eyes shall weep no more then nor will it be long we shall be snatcht up from the conversations of Sinners to the habitations of Angels where Mortality shall be swallowed up of Life May it please your Honour I thought to have done something in answer to Free-will but that I wanted Free-will to doe it therefore I have left the Matter almost as imperfect as the Author yet had I had time I had either added more or have done this better As it is I humbly offer it to your Honour for a Memento mori that when we put off our garments of Mortality we may launch into the gulf of ever blessed Eternity I meane at that time when we have time to say no more but in manus tuas domine commendo spiritum meum Your Lordships devoted Servant Jer Rich. TO THE LADIES AND Gentlewomen of ENGLAND IT hath been reported by some who have had more vices in their mouths than vertues in their mindes that what Books I have printed formerly were not mine owne because they have said my countenance doth not promise so much I could answer them but I will not brawle with such poore blasts for Solomon saith that which is done hath been done and there is no new thing under the Sun therefore since my adversaries have not wit enough to rule like Judges on the Bench I will let them braul like Prisoners at the Bar I confesse Righteousness doth crosse the recreations of the rich and Purity is against the opinion of the poore Piety hath been estranged from Princes and Poetry is a mysterie to Pedlers therefore my Poems are unfit for the Pockets of the one or the Pallats of the other Indeed though I have been perswaded by some eminent persons yet I never did intend to write againe till Providence gave me such an occasion to Pen my strange recovery from Death which I have vowed to beare about me as a perpetuall memoriall Thus from the secresies of night have I stolne Time from sleep to picture out from my vetired thoughts the melancholy of my minde And Ladyes I present it to you It is a Maske of Cupid and Death you cannot run from the one though you may raile at the other and you will have no reason for though the first part be fearfull the last is delightfull that if one cannot winne you the other may wound you let it lie in your laps and at least be read by your lips or hold it in your hands till you have it in your hearts that it may help to make you lovely with inward graces when age and sicknesse with their ashy hands have swept the beauty from your amorous eyes Jeremiah Rich. The mirrour of MERCY IN The midst of MISERY WHen Kingly Phoebus drove his Chariot downe Into the Southern Kingdomes there to crowne Those People with his glory when the Aire Was cold intemperate neither foule nor faire But wond'rous various and the Earth the whiles Casts off her amorous glaunces and sweet smiles Her costly Ornaments Livery of Greene Her Robes of Gallantry and lies unseen Lamenting for her Lover when she feeles Delay waites on his absent Chariot wheeles Just then it was when Titan's Throne was gone And Cinthia doth possesse the darkned throne Usurping to her selfe halfe of the yeare And rules it with her sable Hemisphere When you might see Nights Empress ride in state And all the Starres and Royall Armies wait Upon her high Commands when you might see The Giant Orien in the Canopie Walking the nightly Circles as if none But he should rule the World Nights sable Throne Is drawne by winged Pegasus and shee With Cyreus Procean and Andromache Rides o're the milky way when Sol retires To light the World with their dim feeble Fires It was October and the very day Sol entred into Scorâ—io then I say When all my Actions were unsound uneven Me thoughts I heard a threatning from Heaven Which fill'd my troubled fancy full of feares And ringed Deaths Alarum in mine eares Am I a God and did I raiâ—e this World From her first Chaos to have blacknesse hurld Against my sparkling Throne Shall my pure eyes Behold these Sinnes and base enormities Without revenge What! did my fingers frame This Universe for th' glory of my name And made Man Lord of all that he might be In a capacity to honour me And am I thus rewarded I 'le goe spurne Away the World her glory and I 'le turne Time from his Chariot wheeles I 'le rend in sunder Her Axletrees and with a clap of Thunder I 'le puffe this spacious Fabrick aside And blast these mortalls in their height of pride At this I started my distemper'd braines Did ake my head was tortered with great paines My body shivered and my blood did boyle Like fiery Aetna or the burning oyle That Drunkards quaffe in Hell my heart was saint My tongue too weake to utter a complaint Though I were full I knew not what to say Nor scarce could tell where 't was my torment lay Sometimes I burnt like the Promethean Fire That came from Heaven and sometimes my desire
live and better too for here I behold Angels of a higher Spheare Which sung me amorous Eclogues lullabyes And charm'd soft sleep into my troubled eyes Eas'd my deluded fancy put my braine And my Souls Organs into tune againe Oh how shall I adore you you whose fiers With hallowed flames so sweetly did inspire This better soule of reason and did see My paine and came from Heaven to pity me How shall I serve you now and die so pure That I may come to that sweet place where you are Where Saints and Angels arme in arme doe walke Through those blest groves whose sweet discourse talk Is love where we each other may behold In everlasting glory uncontroul'd To all Eternity And Oh my God! Hide all my faults in love let not thy rod Afflict for ever why dost thou take such paines With wormes Oh wash away my guilt staines With thy deare merits that which is above Desert crown me not with Laurels but with love And then Oh then though foolish fancies fill My measured lines and undervalued quill With scorne and though the basest of all men On earth slight the Geometry of my Pen Yet I will now goe soare a little higher And light my blazing torch with holy fire That my poore Tapor may resemble thine Whose sparkling glories are of fire Divine And when these lips shall faile to speak Oh then When all my earthly worke is done and when My pen is dull'd and when I shall restore Nature her debt when I shall be no more Then grant without a blemish I may flee Into the Palace of Eternity Or shew me here the promised Land that I May live and wander thither when I dye Draw me and I will runne after thee THus I poore I in Pilgrims weed obscure Surround the world yet faine away would fly To Heaven for alas I am too sure That if I am intangled here I dye Yet when I see this price is got with paine I set me downe and count my labour vaine Resolving to stand still or wander back againe 2. Sol's flying Horse whose nostrils vomit flames And from their Lungs spit forth quotidian fire His Whips of flaming Wyre their speed proclaimes Yet their Immortall spirits scorne to tyre Till downe th'Olympick hill they make their way In fresh cariere and Tytan's glittering raye Doth hurry to the shades and Sol has done the day 3. But oh I tire some Angells from above Lend me your aid is there no gentle hand To guide me to the Pasace of my love And lead me prisoner to the promis'd land Alas these up-hill wayes are hard to trace I 'm unacquainted with that holy place But run quite out of breath ere I begin the race 4. My weake desires are but like sodaine flashes Of Lightning in unwholsome troubled aire And sin like Thunder every minute dashes Me down my deeds are farre more foule than faire When shall I end my race that run so slow Or how escape from Death that doe not know The way that leads to Life where whither shall I go 5. If should fly to wealth that 's but a trouble And who â—an glory in uncertaine gaine And if I sly to beauty that 's a bubble Wealth is but want and pleasure is but paine Earths gaine is losse her sweets are all but sowre Her highest joy is vanisht in an houre Aals all flesh is grass Death crops the fairest flower 6. To Heavens high Palace therefore will I steere My wandring course Oh that some gentle winde Would fill my Sailes why should I tarry here And in this vaile of misery be confin'd To sin and sorrow Lord let these my wayes Be led by thee and I will waste these dayes Which now I spend in Teares in speaking out thy praise 7. Behold my Body how obscure it lyes Alas Free-will is but an idle story Can my dead heart or these my Leaprous eyes Direct me to the Palace of high glory Phoeb with her sable Hemisphere would stray And every wandring Starre would lose his way If Sol should hide his face the giver of the day 8. Let Love and Terror both together awe me I am the Starre be thou my glorious Sun Thy light must guide me and thy love must draw me I have no strength to stand no power to run Oh wound my bosome with an amorous dart Of holy fire the thoughts of what thou art Invites incites delights my joy my love my heart The Soliloquie IT was in the day when the Soule was armed with Vertue and unarmed Innocencie singing her Epithalamiums among the trees of the Garden like a Bird of Paradice 'T was then when she could spread her airy wings and fly to Heaven chaunting her sonnets with the Hallelujahs of Angels in her well-tun'd Layes to the delight of her Lover Before Sensuality Security Pride Discourtesie Opinion and Disdaine had blinded those well-form'd eyes and blackt so faire a face but now instead of Aspiring he is Descending instead of soaring to Heaven he must goe sow the Earth where his sweaty Pain must curb his aspiring Pride This was the day if it might be called day the latter part whereof was Tragicall wherein I think the Sunne was muffled in a black mantle of clouds which resembled ink put into water and like a curtaine of night did overspread the Universe as if they meant to banish out the day or like another Phaeton into some unknown world to drive the flaming throne The Heavens that sometimes seemed to smile at Mans Innocencie upon whose well-form'd body if the Sun in his pride had shot a burning ray then gentle Zepherus with soft and silken wings would fan coole aire upon him But now the thundring Heavens and stormy Winds strive which shall be loudest the first with their horrid cracks doe shake the Fabrique as if they would break the Axletrees of the Earth and hurle her from her Artique and Antartique Poles The other with roaring gusts of wind boyle up such mighty waves and shoot such angry surges at the Sun as if they meant to drowne the day or in their furie to wash away the world Thus Man is thrust out of Paradice and instead of having converse with Angels he is become a companion for Devils he that aspired so much after knowledge knows nothing now but that which he would not know ah me how is the beauty of Innocency become a map of misery the Man that was made Immortall to live hath now received Sentence to dye ah me how are the mighty fallen he that was once the Image of Heaven the Glory of the Earth the wonder of the World the pride of Nature and the Angels true Idea is now a curse to the Earth and an offence to Heaven borne to misery and banisht out of glory whose dayes of life are hasting whose death comes on poasting having no power to lengthen the one nor friends to lament the other The symptomes of Immortality are gone and sinne hath puft
Presence O Perhaps he comes but to encrease my woe And tell me what high glory I have lost And what rare pleasures oh my hopes are crost I have offended Heaven by sinne and now He 's angry and does furrow up his brow Or else it may be he is come to jest A while and rock me to eternal rest And in a trance shew me that glorious Throne Where high borne Saints attend the Holy One Glob'd by the breath of Angels that poor I Mâ—ghtin my sorrowes Swan-like singing die So said the Vision then approached nigher Rare flashes of delightfull love and sier Glanc'd from his eye his tressels dangled downe By Art his head was arched with a Crowne And in his hand a glass that made such way Whose lab'ring sands strove to outrun the day And tire his horse the mantle that he wore Lapt under his right arm embroidered o're With starrs of orient Pearl that strove to shrowd Their glimm'ring glory in an airy Clowd It was of Azure and the purest die Not much inferiour to the mid-day skie When Sol is in his glory 't was made fast With a rich Diamond his face surpast The Queen of Love and his right arm did hold A rising Sun imbost with purest Gold Thus in this gallant posture having laid His hand upon his hour-glasse he said Time's Message Know fearful mortals I Apollo am Who hearing of these sorrowes hither came From my bright Palace and high spangled Throne Aloft to put a period to thy moan I dwell above higher than Eagles wings The breath of Fame or majesty of Kings There where the lovely grey-ey'd morn perfumes Her rosie Chariot with Sabean fumes Where Geminies are link'd with Cupids Yoaks And Jove sits crowned with a grove of Oaks From Jealous Juno where Sols horse to gaine Thâ— olympick hill doth champ the frothy Reine In fury and with flaming nostrils dare The frozen Artique and the snowy Beare It 's I that chase the regions of the night Away those horrid shadowes that affright Languishing Lovers whose unknowne desires Are vertuous those circles of blue fires That doe from the infernall darknesse rise Amaine and glaunce before unquiet eyes That none of these from the Iberian glades May black the world with their inveterate shades And so it was in that same houre when thou Didst ope thy lips in that most holy vow That if the King of Heaven would please to smile And to thy time adde but a little while Then thou wouldst spend the remnant of thy years In raining from thy eye-lids showers of teares For thy black crimes and then thy following dayes Should passe in purity and be spent in praise Heaven heard thy words and his all-piercing eye Relented for thy sorrows he did spye Thy low estate and sent me post away To stop deaths hand and give thee longer day And here my message endeth all thy score Is wip't away see that thou sinne no more Lest Heaven be deaf when next thou dost complain Live happy thus I turne my glasse againe Simile At this Time vanish too and I began To gather strength Have you beheld a Man New risen from a swound whose wandring eyes At first can scarce discover where he lies Till by the help of Art and Nature he Gathers a little more capacity To know the standers by and with some paine Gets up upon his feeble feet againe So I recovered new risen from the dead And live to pay what I have promised Which I shall doe but this discourse I 'le wave Onely three words I have brought from the grave Unto three sorts of persons they l refer To th'Souldier Poet and Astrologer And first to thee thou Noble Son of Fame That from deep wounds didst strive to make thy name Ride o're the world and for a little breath Of praise durst gaze upon the face of death I like that humour well in them that doe Such things with Valour and with Vertue too But you Hells Instrument that often dye The earth with crimson blood untill the cry Of Widows Mothers Orphans too are faine With showers of teares to wash it white againe You that dispeople Earth and poyson Aire And murder young and old both soule and faire Children and Scholars these that cannot stand Against the opposition of your hand That strew your walks with bloud and fire and pay The tribute of a bleeding wound a day Thou canst not sight with death he with a frowne Will make thee trembling lay thy weapons down Like a base coward though thy body be Wall'd round about with armour Cap-a-pe And you that by the magick of your quill Write language that can make alive or kill And with your brazen Epitaphs endeavour To make the dead survive and live for ever That out-charme Orpheus Amphion Mercurie Apollo Cleo or Melpomene That write in hidden mysteries and can prate In rapture and are Poets Laureat Ye Sonnes of Phoebus you that can display Upon the top of high invention say What will you answer Death Will all the charmes Of Rhetorick redeem thee from his armes Or if the twy fork'd mountaine hide thee will Death feare to clamber up Parnassus hill No then thy sweetest lines and choisest sense High Rhetorick is but fruitlesse eloquence Thou canst not charm him with a lyrick strain Nor can the Muses fetch thee back againe And last to thee that unto Heaven dost flie And with the Eagle mak'st thy nest on high That with thine Ephemeridis canst see Saturne Jove Mars Sol Venus Mercurie With all their Angulars and Variations Their Sextiles Squares Trines Retrogradations Conjunctions Oppositions fixed Signes Circular Ecliptique Equinoctiall Lines And calculatest for the following yeare Starres Tropicks Horoscoqe and Hemisphere And art exceeding skilfull in the seaven Celestiall Orbs say Register of Heaven Why dost not flie from Death Dâ—st thou not care For the grim Monster Why dost not prepare For his approach Or is thy wisdome shewn In telling others fortunes not thine owne Were I a Merlin or a Rabulis Skill'd like to Prolomee or opernicus I 'd take the winged morning and go shrowd Into the bosome of an airy clowd Or saddle winged Pegasus anâ— flee With the swift Eagle and Andromeche Into Joves palace where obscured I Might live eternally and never dye But Oh that will not be there is a power Higher than these and that same dismall hower Of death is hid from all who can withstand The blow and ward the terrour of his hand And on the other side so no disease Can take us off sooner then heaven please No evill constellations of the Starrs Perills at Sea nor wounds of bloody Warres Dangers of death nor sorrowes which impaire Our health infections nor corrupted aire Which I have found when I lay at the doore Of death and all my hopes were given o're Just then Sols Chariot being in his fall Entred the house they Domus mortis call And Luna entred Scorpio which to me Presaged nothing but mortalitie And yet I
Angels from the Canopie of Love to catch my Orizons and beare my night oblations to the holy one but light doth chase these black delusions now like darknesse from the rising of the morne since I my selfe am nothing I 'le goe to him that hath the treasure of all If he will please to except me I will cease to be my owne and live to his glory no otherwise that I might redeem those vaine-spent houres which I have throwne away Fiftly and lastly God drawes the Soule by his Love And here sweet Readers I should indite an Epithalamium of Love but having lost my best Fancies with my Fortunes I shall rather darken than dignifie so rare a Subject set Hills on Hills till they aspire above the lofty Alps whose proud imperious Piramids may serve as a Rampant against the Sunnes rage and all is below Love 't is not the treasure of the world in one the wealth of Tagus nor the rich Peru nor Pearle enough to pave the Courts of Kings mountaines of Silver nor mines of golden Ore that can buy Love It is the mirror of Earth the majesty of Heaven the ornament of the Soule the beauty of the Body the glory of the Spheares the upholder of the Universe the delight of Man the Dignity of Angels the map of Honour and the worlds great wonder Which when the Soule once tasteth how is it raised with Joy how ravisht with Delight how rich is he in Adversity how merry in Misery reckoning his Poverty prosperity his Afflictions felicity his Disgraces high dignity as having nothing yet possessing all things delighting in company yet loves to be alone praying for life yet desirous to dye counting his dayes but houres and yet his minutes years And though this Soule may be as unwelcome to the Peacocks of the world as Ink upon their Gorgets Water in their Shoos Dirt upon their Cheeks or Ashes in their Eyes yet he is borne of the Family of Heaven and lives more high than they His Drink is Wine of Consolation his Bread the food of the Gospell his cloathing the Armour of Righteousnesse his Shield the Shield of Faith his Dowry the Kingdome of Glory his Recreation is Religion his Bed the bosome of Abraham under the Canopie of Love surrounded by Guardian Angels where he doth as well he may teach sorrow how to sing sighing his crying Elegies in Heavenly raptures sending many a groan to Heaven that he might be dissolved till soft and silken slumbers close his amorous eyes But is this Act our owne can the blinde eye put a difference 'twixt light and darknesse can fordid Earth out-vie the shining Heavens or a Candle vie with the glory of the Sun at the top of noon day can deformity become purity or Devils plead with holy Angles can Poverty purchase Dignity or the thing that is sensuall become supernaturall Oh no! It is the worke of the Creator therefore bow not thy glory to the Creature That God should come a wooing to thy Soule to thee that hadst no comelinesse nor beauty that God should love thee who hadst no lovelinesse in thee that God should lay out so much and yet look for so little that God should speak to thee when Man onely spake to others and that thou shouldst feel his worke when others did but here his Word that God should summe up thy Sighs and bottle up thy Teares and for a little insamy crowne thee with a Crowne of Glory that God should convert thee in the morning of thy dayes and let others goe on till the evening of their age that he should give thee a token of Heaven when so many thousands drop into Hell that thou shouldst be converted with joy when others have had thunder claps of Mount Sinah ringing in their eares while they have sailed through the Red Sea of sorrow in the midst of the valley of Achor thou hast been drawne by the still voice of a promise thy wayes were strowed with Roses thy footsteps washt with butter and thou hast been allured by Love and then that God should Metamorphose thy nature and turne thee from a Nabal to an Abigal from a Demos to a David from a Judas to a John from a Publican to a Puritan and then lead thee by an Eye of Faith and the powerfull Arme of Love to trust thy Soule upon his bare word to all Eternity whether thy Judgement may be Life or Death The SOULES Trance Soul I Shall never be able to get any ease for my trouled heart just such another fit of amazement fell upon me when Tread of the Vision from Heaven that shone about the head of Paul then was I in as great a straight as now therefore I will say with him Lord what wilt thou have me doe If Man in Innocency who was a piece of Excellency the Image of Heaven Companien of Angels and Lord of Earth had then no power to stand how then shall be secure from a fall If he that resembled Heaven could not then I that am like to Hell shall not Oh my heart how happy had I been if I had died as soon as I was borne or if these wretched eye had never seen the day then had I not seen mine owne deserved overthrow but I will reason no more the remnant of my dayes that I shall languish here I 'le give to Contemplation and passe my wearyed time in Teares and see if in the midst of sorrow I can weep my selfe away and like a hunted Partridge hide my selfe For I Must waste my Soule in sorrow till I dye Christ What Man art thou that when Nights gloomy shades hath drawne her sable Curtaine o're the Sky and banisht out the Day durst stand to question Heaven whose sacred name thy black unhallowed tongue ought not to mention but on thy knees with reverence say canst thou plead with him at whose command attend those sulphurous flames which Aetna's fiery mouth doth vomit into Ayre why is thy heart so full of carnality to dispute of Mans ability and question Heavens love were all the powers of Hell come downe in Battle array to beare thee captive in their furious Armes though they should surround thee with hot Lightning and cast their fiery darts to wound thee as thick as Atoms in the Aire yet I alone would stand thy fierce assault and with a blow I 'de quell their pride and set my Prisoner free Soul How comely is deformity beautified at thy approach and all that blacknesse chac'd away that darkned my understanding with a frowne resembling the majesty of the Sun ushered by glory from his shining throne but as it would be presumption in me to thinke I merit forgivenesse from thee so would it be rebellion to refuse thy profered love which is everlasting life but I am unworthy Christ Poor Soul remember how deare thou art in Heavens eyes 't was not the treasure of a thousand Worlds Mountaines of Silver nor Mines of Gold promises of Men purchase of
Crowns policy of States purity of Saints nor power of Angels that could redeem thee from eternall death till I did pay the price and wilt not thou believe me now except my profferred love and let me lead through this darkned vale thou canst not finde the way alone see if I will not bring thee to my Fathers house and lay thee under the Canopie of Love though dangers were before thee as thick as Starres above thee my hand should crush them all and with an angry breath I 'le blast their fury in their height of pride Soul Oh my deare let me not see paradice in a vision that when I wake it may appeare a dreame I know thou canst doe all things but I am so stained with Spots and drest in raggs of such deformity that I shall but fall as dirt upon thy Cheeks or Ashes in thine Eyes the best I have is but unwilling willingnesse why dost thou descend below thy incomparable throne to trouble thine eares with me Alas what can I give thee for all thy paines but Rebellion and sure the saving of such a wretch as I will not advance thy glory but speak apace my Sighs my best Orators I faine would resigne my will to thee for ever Oh guide and direct me for I am wholly thine Christ How comely are thy eyelids in their Tears which sit upon thy face like Arythrian Pearl with a Vermylian dye they shine like to the eye-lids of the morne for when the Sun retires behinde a cloud a while to weep alone unseen methinkes he lookes like thee those drops upon thy cheeks are like the early dew that comes to kisse the Rose and in a Summer morne doth fall into the bosome of a flower the Courts of Kings or Princes Palaces are poor habitations I had rather live with thee than with the greatest Monarchs of the World Soul Oh what is there in me worthy of love I shall be the unworthiest Instrument that ever was made to celebrate thy praise The Organs of my soul are all untuned and every noble faculty of my spirit is obscure I am poore and despis'd and the world rejects me but 't is no matter if thou wilt love me though I be hated of all but how shall I spend my weary houres when thou art gone away Christ I 'le send the Spirit to beare thee company when thou dost sit alone and sometimes dropst a teare his hand shall wipe it away and glad thy heart teach sorrow how to sing and when thou walkest abroad a guard of Angels shall secure thee from injury my love Soul When I am sad alone my busie thoughts shall fly on wings of contemplation and see thee in Heaven and I will watch and pray till stealing slumbers with soft and airy wings shall bring my languishing Spirit to the Visions of Eternity where I may dream of thee and when I wake I 'le walk and view the world and when I see the spangled Canopie and behold the wondrous motion of the Orbs I 'le thinke upon thy glory there Christ I 'le goe prepare a place for thee a place in eternity above the teeth of time there where the grey-ey'd morne ushers the flaming Chariot of the day surrounded in brightnesse and glory where we will dwell in temples not made with hands in streets of Gold like to transparant glasse and when the houre-glass of thy life is run and time hath brought thy journey to an end I le dresse thy temples in a victors Orbe and arch them with a Crowne Soul Well while I live here I 'le be exceeding humble and if I can holy in all my actions I 'le resemble thee If sinfull thoughts begin to staine my Soule I 'le weep them o're ere I have thought them out If I am abused I will get upon the wings of prayer and tell thee all my wrongs my life shall be a continuall repentance I will not back-slide rather than so I will wast my Soule with Sobs and Sigh away my Body into aire Christ Farewell dearest farewell make hast and meet me in Heaven let not the assaults of sin daunt thee but with an Heroick heart stand the fiery trialls remaine as spotlesse as my love I will goe before to the Palace of Peace scituated in Eternity the purest milke white robes shall be our vestments for the Marriage day and our Musick the Halleluja's of Angels run then with patience for when thou comest to the end of the race I will welcome thee home And wee 'l knit fast the bands Of Marriage and in glory joyne our hands Soul And doth this empty world deserve thus much of me to steale my heart in the prime of all my age that I should lift up my voice in my best tunes chaunting amorous Sonets hourely to its praise no every of these have left me now dull melancholy the picture of my sorrow Oh how the object of my Soules delight did please himselfe to incourage me did I enjoy that happinesse for ever I should have some of Heaven here but now what joy have I to live whose life is but a trouble this world this poore this low this transitory world is but a scene of sorrow 't is but a dying life or living death and that which troubles me is how long it will be ere I shall have his company againe when he went away me thoughts he resembled the flod Sun when downe the Westerne world he drives his teem leaving the Vniverse in a mantle of mourning and I could wish my night were coming too why do I languish thus since I cannot see his face I will goe heare his word that I may learne to doe his will methoughts he had me fight against temptations and look for fiery tryalls I will doe it and for the love of him I will passe a thousand dangers In which my courage shall Stand up Victorious or in battle fall Ye Sons of Honour Heires of Glories Crown whose sacred feet must trample the Holy Fields what is it that makes you sing in sorrow and gloâ—y in your shame that crownes your hearts with courage and beautifies your faces with a smile that sets fortitude upon your browes and places sweetnesse in your amorous eyes that doth advance you in adversity makes you rich in poverty and glory in indignity is it not Love 〈◊〉 what is it that will keep up your spirits at that Dreadfull Day when the Trumpet shall be sounded the World shall be startled the Graves shall be opened the Dead shall be raised and the Unjust shall be Judged will it not be Love when the Fabrick of the World shall be shaken and the Axletrees or the Earth broken and Time shall lose his way when the Kings of the Earth and all their mighty Armies shall looke pale and their winged Bulwarks grapple and their battered Kingdomes fly about their eares in clouds of dust when the Spheres are sweltting in flames the Earth surrounded by fire and bufling windes beat Thunder out of Aire when with terror from on high the day shall be as black as if Don Phoebus frighted from his chaite left ugly darknesse on his Chariot wheels and indeed Love may be compared to Wine with which Kings sometimes have drunke themselves to such a height of kindnesse that they have remembred Majesty no more alas every Christian hath his crosse every day its difficulty every time its trouble and every action a a severall temptation the best of what is here is but Sunshine mixt with Raine sweet with fower and every smile intermingled with a frowne but then ye shall put off your flâ—shly garments â—â—…corruption and be drest in the habit of Heaven out of the wardâ—â—p of glory and be entertained with the pleasures of Paradice where there are incomparable delicates for the taste sweet persumes for the smell rare musick for the Eare ravishing objects for the Eye where thou shalt lye on a Bed of Roses in swelling soft Eternity and be lul'd in Angels armes but it being beyond description too high for imagination impossible for the minde to conceive it unlawfull for the tongue to utter it I shall conclude the Book for methinkes a gloomy Cloud doth stop the passage of my Pen and I can write no more FINIS