as is due Our seales to witnesse that thy word is true But all the praise or profit else redound From our beleeving on our heads rebound We do beleeve because it is thy will But by beleeving our desires fulfill What thou commandest ought to be fulfild But we obeying conquer whiles we yeeld Most gratious God what Lord is like to thee Whose Laws give life and whose commands make free Well my we to thy statutes have regard In keeping which there is such great reward And yet in all thy just commands injoynd This one of all we do most easie find Which is our faith yet this of all the rest Most richly crownes us and doth please thee best Dear faith how deep are thy foundations laid Most glorious things may well of thee be said Could we but in thy nature perfect prove The highest mountaines at our beck Would move Through thee we see our sines are wash'd away To thee the very powers of sin obey By thee we are made heires of things above Yea have an intrest in the God of love And mounted on the sublime wings we fly With boldnesse to the Throne of grace on high The fire and faith agree in these respects The fire hath heat and faith hath its effects Only the heat doth from the fire proceed Even so from faith do other graces breed Faith then is mother of each other grace Those not borne of her are but brats of base For till that faith doth sanctifie our hearts Our highest vertues are but morall parts Faith Lord is then thy stampe upon the coyn To make it currant and acknowledg'd thine Upon our graces wherein thou dost read The very Image of thy selfe indeed Lord melt our hearts then which are else but flint That this thy stamp may therein leave thy print And make the working luster of it bright For we can know it by no other light For as some pretious roots within the ground Can not or can be very hardly found But only when the springtime doth declare Their secret lodgings by the fruit thy beare So faith that plant implanted in our soules Growes so concealed from our sight like moules That we want knowledge to discern that root But by the branches and the fruits that sproot Faith then we must have or we must lose all A living faith too or else die we shall Faiths life appeareth by the fruit it beares It fruit appeareth being grain not tares O pretious fruit may that in us be found We have no cause then to suspect the ground Only it doth belong to us to weed And cast out all that may offend the seed Conscience wounded with sin Psalme 38. MIne iniquities are gone over mine head as an heavy Burthen too heavy for me verse 4. My wounds stinck and are corrupt because of my foolishnesse verse 5. I am troubled I am bowed downe greatly I goe mourning all the day long verse 6. For my loynes are full with a loathsome disease and there is no sound part in my flesh verse 7. I am feeble and sore broken I have roared because of the disquietnesse of my heart verse 7. Oyle and wine powred in Psalme 42. VVHy art thou so cast down oh my soule and why art thou so disquieted within me hope thou in God Psalme 103. THe Lord is mercifull and gratious slow to anger and plentious in goodnesse verse 8. He will not alwaies chide neither will he keepe his anger for ever verse 9. Like as a Father pittieth his children so the Lord pittieth them that feare him verse 13. For hee knoweth our frame he remembreth we are but dust verse 14. Desires of Aid THou good Samaritan thou God of art Good by thy readynesse God by thy skill In powring Oyle and wine into the heart That sin hath wounded oh direct my quill That in that best experience sence of feeling I may discover both to wound and healing We are the wounded Travellers indeed But thou art wounded with compassion more Our wounds do make thy wounded heart to bleed Thy blood applyd doth he ale our bleeding sore Oh pretious balme oh let it be applyd And let my hand be by thy help a guide The Conscience wounded with sin OH my mine iniquities my sin my sin Too heavy for me oh I sinck therein It doth go over as it were my head Intolerable burden no such lead My wounds are putrifi'd corrupt and stinck My foolishnesse is such my teares I drink Troubl'd and pressed with the weight I beare All the day mourning never free from care My loynes are fil'd with loathsomnesse besides There is no soundnesse in my flesh abides My conscience roares within me and the smart Torments me with the anguish of my heart Oyle and wine powred in BUt why art thou thus cast down oh my soule Why dost thou not those fearfull doubts controull Why art thou thus disquieted in my brest Oh trust in God returne unto thy rest The Lord the Lord is mercifull and kind Most slow to wrath and to forgive inclin'd Although offended doth not alwaies chide His anger doth but for a space abide Like a most tender Father to his childe So is he pitifull and much more milde For he considers where our frailty lyes And therefore bears with our infirmities The Authors Epigram COnscience oh conscience how comes this to passe Canst thou be wounded and yet arm'd in brasse Yea in a habit far more hard then steel A conscience seared hath no sense to feel But can sin wound thus hath it such a dart Yea wound thus deeply pricking at the heart Oh cruell weapon can it thus indent Through brasse through steel yea through this adamant And yet sin works not thus upon the soule That it would conscience in the act controll But rather rocks the conscience most asleep When like an aspe it makes the wound most deep Then there is nothing can do conscience good Till it be sprinkled with dissolving blood But then each motion that doth sin apply Doth wound the conscience and doth terrifie The conscience wounded with sin ALas alas the soule that sinsmust die So Scriptures tell me can the Scriptures lie No no the Scriptures never can be broken No word shall fail that is in Scripture spoken Oh then what comfort can remaine for me How scapes my soule my sinfull soule then free For I have sin'd and sin to death betraies Death is the wages that hard master payes Inviolable word of God herein Most miserable wretch that I did sin Most wretched slave that such a Master hath Most cruell wages oh eternall death Oyle and wine powred in VVHy will you dye thus doth our Father call When I delight not in your death at all Why will you dye then Oh returne and live I pardon sin and freely doe forgive My mercies please me I delight remorse But justice comes forth by constraint and force Beleeve and live this God the Son hath brought us And by his death from death eternall
for faith now do meer fancie find Oyle and wine powred in THe slighting faith we must a fault confesse But if it be through ignorance the lesse God winks at times of darknesse though indeed We are not thereby absolutely free'd But when the glorious Sun-shine doth apear What can excuse us if we see not cleer No just excuse can here excusing be And yet the Sun we often clouded see So though our Sun hath chas'd our night away Yet we have cloudes still to obscure our day Our cloud of folly makes our faith retire Yet find we smoke though it do argue fire The Authors Epigram THree clouds on mankind do like mists benight And keep some blinded in the very light First ignorance then carelesnesse the third Is obstinatly to reject the word The first is most excusable of all The second binding to a harder thrall The third exceeds all and is sinfull most If not the sin against the holy Ghost Where meanes is wanting saving faith to find We must not judge there though they yet be blind For God elects and then doth faith foresee Else how could fooles and infants saved be Againe some loyter while they have the day And yet ere night do labour and have pay But such as in the vineyard being pray'd Will never labour shall be never paid The conscience wounded with sin BUt wretched I what can I doe herein How can I labour I am dead in sin Can dead men work I hear indeed the call But can but hear it cannot work at all No worke but dead works God doth such despise He doth delight a living sacrifice I doe confesse I faine would work indeed Fain would believe I fain would learn that creed But oh my sins my sins are in the way My sins doe still my confidence betray I faine would faith unto my selfe assume But sin prevents me tells me I presume Oyle and wine powred in FAith is t is true the gift of God we read God doth both worke the will and eke the deed Faith in this nature is an easie taske We can doe nothing for the same but aske The only labour now impos'd on man Is to discerne and cherish faith began Is faith Gods gift then let us beat up still He can bestow that dowry when he will Nay faith already may infused be Though scarce discerned in a small degree Then though we build not Castles in the ayre Yet we of all things are not to despair The Authors Epigram AS faith doth point at things yet unreveal'd So faith it selfe lyes in it selfe conceal'd And may be long time in the heart no doubt Before we truly finde that sewell out Besides our sins doe much obscure that light And cast a mist before our feeble sight Yea every sin when faith would else aspire Doth helpe to keep down if not quench that fire Sin is indeed faiths enemy profest And the more sin the more is faith supprest But when that faith doth once by force command Sin then doth yeeld faith gets the upper hand Faith for a time may as it were obey But in the end faith alwaies gets the day And as faith prospers by degrees gets strength So sin growes feeble pines and dyes at length Conscience wounded with sin BUt must sin dye and by degrees surcease Where faith doth live as faith doth force increase Oh wretched creature I how shall I do then I feel alas no death but life of sin Sin strives as much as ever heretofore Or rather strugles in my bosome more I doe confesse I feel my soule distrest And faine would feel fin in my soule supprest But when I labour to restrain the same It growes inraged is the worse to tame Oh sad condition oh my soule sincks here Are there no other signs of faith appear Oyle and wine powred in NO signes but such and yet soule sinck not though Sin must be kill'd but dyes not at one blow Sin in our natures will us battell give Though dying whiles we doe in nature live But sin is mostly sure most wounded when It flies on conscience most tormenteth men Are then our conscience through our sins unquiet Sin then and faith sure are in us at sight If sin within us no resistance found Sin in our conscience would delight not wound And thus by signes we secret faith may see Which without signes cannot discerned be The Authors Epigram FAith is indeed our tree of life below Which tree we only by the fruit can know Would we know then if we have faith or no The root lies hid we to the fruit must goe The fruits are feeling first sins wounding dart Next a compunction in the wounded heart From whence proceeds a diligence with speed To get a balsome for these wounds that bleed The other fruits that fruitfull faith doth beare Are ever after to be arm'd with care With zeale and wisdome to resist that foe Who at advantage had deluded so From whence proceeds a hatred unto sin Desire of vertue and delight therein All mens endeavouring that my aid supply To make faith lively and make sin to dye The Conscience wounded with sin OH blessed faith art thou the root indeed Oh would I could with blessed Job then read Thee grounded in me springs doe testifie Though through high mountains that they have supply The fountaine will be falling and the root It will be rising forth will branches shoot I feele indeed some drops of vertue flow And beare some leaves too which doe make a show But oh my conscience cannot so be quiet Such signes are frequent in the hypocrite But sin dissembled under grace is worst The tree which beares but only leaves is curst Oyle and wine powred in FAith is the fountaine whence all graces flow Faith is the root whereon those branches grow And faith gives life though it may lye as hid To all our actions or they else are dead For Christ in whom all fulnesse doth excell If we have faith by faith doth in us dwell Whether our actions though be leaves or fruit None but our conscience truly can dispute Whether the action from the heart proceeds None but the conscience that rare language reads But when the conscience hath true knowledge gain'd That then is fruit which conscience finds unfain'd The Authors Epigram MIsguided mankinde whither have we gone To set up merit in our makers Throne Faith is in Christ and Christ in faith why then Disdaine we faith adore the works of men Sin is the old man wretched and for lorne Begot in Adam in our natures borne Christ is the new Man by a second birth Through faith conceived and by grace brought forth Grace flowes from faith and faith in Christ began Both those united make but one new man And then most blest and not till then we are When in our soules we feele this infant stir Would we then prove this new man to be ours We sure must prove it by renewing powers We must be new
DIVINE PASSIONS Piously and Pathetically expressed in three severall BOOKES Viz. I. Being a Dialogue between Dives and Lazarus with the Authors Epigrams upon that Parable II. A Dialogue between the Prodigall Son and the Pitifull Father with Epigrams on that Parable also III. Contains first an Argument against Atheisme Secondly an admiration of Gods mercy towards mankinde Thirdly the care and cure of a wounded Conscience VVritten and Composed for private Consolation and now thought not unfit to be published to all and presented to certaine worthy Persons of this Kingdome By Edward Calver Gent. LONDON Printed by T. H. for Richard Harper and are to be sold at his shop in Smithfield 1643. In landem Authoris On his DIVINE PASSIONS CHrists Parables were alwaies full of worth Which here in part thy pen hath wel set forth Dives and Lazarus well doe tipifie We should not scorne our brothers poverty Confuting Atheists thou Gods mercy praysest The wounded conscience thou both cur'st raisest Thou shew'st a fathers passion for a son That needs would from him prodigally run And in thy pleasant Epigrams we read We all to God are prodigalls indeed Thy Booke hath so much Passion that who heart Thy Stories must turne Prodigall of teares S. W. To the right Worshipfull Sir Dennor Strut Knight and Baronet to the right Worshipfull William Heveningham a worthy Member of the Honourable House of Commons to the Worshipfull Nicholas Bacon and Henry North Justices of the peace to the Worthy Thomas Baker Nathaniel Thurston and John Bayles Esquires and to Mr. John Mayhew c. Noble Knight and Worshipfull and generous Gentlemen I being bound to some of you in the bonds of affinity to all in affection but above all in duty I cannot but hold it my duty to proffer you the best of my endeavours and for want of any thing worthy I doe here persent you my good will I presume not upon your Patronage but only beg your acceptance considering that if these my endeavours be worth the accepting they shall need the lesse assistance But if any thing here brought forth be deformed it is sure most fit that he which begot it should father it The world peradventure may wonder that I draw so large a circle and then turn it to a cypher that I presume to stamp so many worthy Names in the front of this my unworthy worke and then speake nothing of the worth of your worthy persons in particular But let the world know that it is not for want of worth in your selves that I forbear the same for I doe ingenuously acknowledge I may justly draw your vertues into as large a Volume as any other who have beene most copious in that kinde But I for my part do hold it a labour little usefull to paint over that to make it passe for currant which doth shine most perfect in its owne colour Besides I am resolved your modest eares would be rather offended then fed with the sound of your own prayses though unfained But the chiefest aime of my desires herein is to doe you some service not flatter for assistance Therefore if upon perusall hereof if your more serious imployments will admit the same you shall reap any benefit or at least content I shall in this kind be sufficiently satisfied Only I desire that upon your judicious view hereof you would vouchsafe a favourable censure of which I am the more confident because I know you cannot expect any thing polished from a hand so uninstructed But not to be too full in a Preface to too empty a Sequell I implore your pardon and desire to be imploy'd your Servant in all humility Edward Calver To the Curteous and Capable READER REad Curteous Reader this is for thy sake Through want of knowledge thou canst not mistake And as thou canst not so my trust is built Through want of charity thou never wilt Dives VVHen I in nine moneths had through Virgo run That fruitfull signe and then appear'd a Sun Such fates might from my birth have been collected As if by noble Jupiter aspected So soon as born I had indowments faire Not only born but born my Fathers heire And eke with joy my fainting Mother smild Whose paines were turn'd so pleasure in her child Great preparation with the greatest mirth Was duly made to celebrate my birth Where I received honour with my name Grac'd by the greatest witnessing the same My parents joy with comfort joynd was such No cost was spar'd nor care was thought too much But all conduced readily to prove My earthly blisse decypherd from above Lazarus VVOe child of woe of all the world a scorn Nothing but woe appear'd when I was born Disast'rous Saturn did with Mars comply To make me wretched by nativitie Born onely born that Natures care allowd me But being born had scarce a rag to shrowd me My silly Parents sighing for reliefe One cryd for help the other wept for griefe Distressted Parents who all comfort wanted Must for my sake have now no biding granted Prodigious babe how could the world fore-see I should a burden to her greatnesse be A wretched Infant in my mothers womb But far more wretched in the world become So base yea so unworthy of a name The meanest blush to witnesse me the same The Authors Epigram MOst fatall starres if starres may fates decree Or partfull fate if fates may granted be One swims one sinckes one hath enough and more Another nothing begs from doore to doore The destinies on little Dives smile Poore Lazarus by them destin'd to exile Rich Matrons run when Dives comes to birth But cannot stir when Lazarus should come forth Dives attended in his cradle lying Poore infant Lazarus lies neglected crying Dives his Parents dear and only joy Lazarus his Parents object of annoy Dives hath dainties is in purple drest Lazarus with cold and hunger is opprest Alas poore Lazarus child of woe indeed Kind people take some pitty here is need Dives FOrth from my Nurse as weary of her charmes I view'd the world the world unclasp'd her armes And as another Mother or as kind Imbrac'd me sought to satisfie my mind She set before me all her various joyes As well jewels as her wanton toyes Set open all her Cabinets of price And shew'd me all the pleasures might intice She plaid me musick made me understand And gave me lovely Venus in my hand And when my tender spirits did decline She taught me to revive the same with wine Here I had heav'n or pleasures did excell These suted with my youthfull nature well The world allur'd my senses prov'd betray'd The world besieg'd my senses soon obey'd Lazarus VNtimely born and brought up as untaught With neither wit nor education fraught My friends full poore could little kindnesse shew me My kindred none or none at least would know me But griping hunger forc'd me to intreat The world some leave to labour for my meat For pity sake unto
now may thinke he being now remote He now unseen may set his shell on float Let loose affection and unlimit will But I with sorrow do behold him still I see the bondage of his better part By giving power unto his wanton heart I see the thraldomes of his heart beside By making of his stubborne will its guide I see how vain the worthlesse pleasures be For which he gives away his heart from me I see how those his pleasures doe deprave him In those indowments I his Father gave him The Authors Epigram MOst gentle Father tender hearted God What mother like thee could forbear the rod Thou dost in bowels of compassion yern When we run from thee and will not returne Shall we then desperate we without remorse Run headlong still in a rebellious course Can any childe those pearly drops despise Who sees the tears stand in his fathers eyes Oh senslesse creatures silly children right Who having goe out of our fathers sight Doe thinke our selves then most secure when we Poore infants then in greatest danger be In greatest danger it must needs be so When we lye open to the greatest foe The heavy sequels are full sad bewraying The wofull dangers of a wilfull straying The prodigall Son YOu flowing pleasures which like streames distill From purest fountaines let me drinke my fill I tast your sweetnes and it gives delight Oh let me fully take my appetite Your taste reviveth more then Phaebus beames How happy is he bathes him in these streames These streames which so refresheth with a tast Here let me swim or let me wade at least Sweet currents viewing of whose flowing tide Sits glorious Flora in her blooming pride About whose beds of roses fresh and greene Sits beauties Nimphs attiring with their Queen Is here not heaven or Paradice below The garden where the fruits of pleasure grow And these the Angels or the Saints most dear Which I should honour if not worship here The pitifull Father PRodigious sure had ever father child Became so vain unnaturall defil'd My Son hath now no thought at all of me He quite forgets how tender Parents be But can a childes forgetfullnesse be such And Parents never-resting care so much My heart is heavy and my hands I wring His heart is merry he doth laugh and sing Nay yet more desperat he doth now indeavour To leave me quite to cast me off for ever And will have new affinity new Father New gods indeed or cursed Idols rather Oh most perverse I shall I with favour yet Remember him who doth me thus forget Can sparks from such a quenched coale revive Abused patience thus for ever strive The Authors Epigram MOst constant Father who art still most stable Though we thy children be most variable Wert thou like us to restles change inclind There were no hope that we should pardon find But howsoever we unto our shame Are still transported thou art still the same But can we careles children be declind Thus from a Father thus for ever kind Thus kind indeed when we offend he grieves When we do want he presently releeves Nay when we urge him to revoke his will He then takes pity and is patient still Most gratious Father but most graceles we Shall such a Father without honour be Shall we for ever thus bis patience urge Most tender Fathers may be forc'd to scourge The Prodigall Son MY ravish'd thoughts here take your fill in pleasure For here is fulnesse here is ample measure Here nothing wants here nothing is restrain'd No coynes found nor kindnes shown disdain'd Here beauty burnish'd in virmilion glowes Whose beams dart lightning from most youthful browes Oh let me take the comfort of this fire These flames consume not but do feed desire Most pretious jewels what rare prize is here Such pearles as these cannot be bought too deer Shall I be sparing of a little drosse To purchase jewells oh it were too grosse Cheer then my thoughts and usher in content What gives more courage then a free consent The prey is certain be but you on wing Such pleasant pastime fits our cheerfull spring The pitifull Father DEluded child whose heart is gon a stray Needs must his sences then be led away For this must by necessity appear The fountaine foule the streame cannot be cleer Are all my gentle admonitions vaine My teares too fruitlesse will no meanes restraine But yet unmoved but rebellious still Rebellion is like witchcraft or more ill What shall I do who have thus kindly don Shall I be forced to reject a Son And with more sorrow quite forsake infine A Son so neer and naturally mine Oh what a burden doth a Father beare To what a straite am I inforc'd with care To lose a member is a griefe but sure To lose a Son what Father can indure The Authors Epigram MOst tender Father pitifullest nurse Most stubborne we whom pity make the worse Thou sooth'st and singst us proffer'st us the brest We turne we spurne and frowardly resist Thou seek'st with patience to reclaime us still We seeke the more to have our froward will Thou shak'st thy rod but shak'st to give a stroke We shake not but thy shaking hand provoke Thy heart is moved at our desperat course Our hearts unmoved are without remorse Thou sighing saist must I reject a Son We laugh and sing and further from thee run Kind Father canst thou thus keepe natures lawes And can no law no bridle hold our jawes Wert thou not certaine in thy love begun Vncertaine we were certainly undone The prodigall Son OH Sweet what rare felicity is here Where nought offends where all things fit appear Where natures shop full furnisht with supply Stands alwaies open to the passers by My thoughts what thinke you of these streames so cleere My senses can you not suck hony here Affections can you here not feed desire And with contentment to the heart retire Here are the beds where sweetest roses grow Here are the bancks where purest streames do flow Here are the only instruments of mirth Here are the only jewels upon earth My stragling thoughts then here set up your stay My striving senses seek no richer prey Affections here your fancies may be quieted My tender heart then rest thou here delighted The pitifull Father DIsquieted yea discourag'd Father what All duty yea humanity forgot Are all those neere relations now exil'd Betweene the tender parent and the child Transformed children may become thus strange But Parents love is not so apt to change Although my Son can with his Father part Yet this word Son comes neer my tender heart Oh careles child a very child indeed But children will be childish without heed But Parents are by laws of justice tide If fair meanes faile to use the rod and chide Then let me leave no meanes unsought to gain A child thus lost though faire meanes be in vain And chiding fruitlesse yet his stubborn heart Will yeeld it may be when he
feeles it smart The Authors Epigram HArd hearts of ours where nothing will indent At least no faire meanes but are like the flint Whose fire wil by no gentle blowing burn But struck with force will into sparkles turn Is there such marble in our bosomes heel'd As must be hamer'd or it will not yeeld Or in the same such Adamant indeed As cannot be dissolved till we bleed Oh thou most skilfull Alchymist of all Who canst extract pure hony out of gall Oh make thy knowledge here be understood Dissolve this stone thou hast the only blood But were the hardnes of our hearts so great They would not soften yet thou canst creat Then either do thy art of working shew In melting these or making of them new The prodigall Son FAir Phaebus rights darke shut in shop adorning By setting ope the windowes of the morning What glorious objects drest against I rise Prepar'st thou to salute my waking eies Resplendent beauties which do shine so bright Got from beneath the Canopie of night Vouchsafe a blessing from your lips which may Fore-tell successe for the succeeding day You almost Angels may I not adore you Let no displeasure draw a vaile before you Your piercing beauties like Cupids pow'rfull dart Shot through mine eies not wound but warm my heart But what begin you to withdraw your rayes As though black fate envy'd my happy dayes Accurst be the occasion that shall shrow'd Such Suns by day such beauties in a cloud The pitifull Father OH what an endles travell is our care When children borne are yet againe to bear When we welform'd have brought them forth they then Transforme to monsters when they should be men From which prodigious nature to reduce Or change those formes made naturall by use We finde more hard and tedious then the smart Of first producing and more neer the heart So soone as forth the potters hand they fall Oh feeble clay which cannot stand at all And being down have no desire to rise But sleep like swine in most polluted sties But can a child of mine thus blinded keep Or shall I let him thus for ever sleep No let me rather with the rod reprove Correction sometimes doth make way for love The Authors Epigram OH foolish children why are we thus idle Why give we thus our vain desires the bridle Our fancies fond with shadows thus fulfill To lose the substance of our Fathers will Can we account a Fathers kindnes slight Who doth thus tender-fatherly invite Or shall we prize his patrimony poore Who to bestow hath infinit in store No no we cannot but confesse t is known Our Fathers love doth far exceed our own His portions laid up for each child a part Ten thousand times exceed each childs desert What then can move us to neglect so much A Father tender having riches such Who labours thus unto us to convay A state which never never shall decay The prodigall Son OH what a cloud is this which doth appeare Which darkens thus my day which was so cleer Can such a sun-shine be obscur'd so soone Shall night incroch upon my day at noone Late smiling fate beginst thou now to frown As if thou didst intend to throw me down Dost thou who seem'd so sure begin to reele Wilt thou in thy displeasure turne thy wheele Oh you my pleasures and contentments sweet Which did with such most kind imbraces greet Will you now fold your late unfolded armes Becoming churlish who bewitch'd with charmes But you faire faces natures choycesti art Whose tender beauties shew a gentle heart Can you prove cruell do you too seeme nice Will you reject now who did late intice The pitifull Father HArke harke methinks I heare my straved Son Begins to lose the pleasure he had won Those painted outsides of delight begin To let him see they are deceit within Deceit indeed which is but made to shine With the meer drosse and refuse of good coyâ—â— Which worthlesse gilding being worne away It shewes how painted shadowes do betray My blinded child doth now begin to view Those pleasures false he once accounted true And to his shame and sorrow may conclude They did but at the best of all delude But let them mock and more deride him yet Him thus befooling they may teach more wit He on them hath so deeply set his love It will not without violence remove The Authors Epigram OH blinded reason and corrupted stain Of once pure nature now exceeding vain Can we rest captive in this base subjection Thus live in thraldome to untam'd affection We read of strangers and meer bondmen too Who conquer'd passion could that wonder do And shall we children and by birth made free In bondage thus to brutish passion be But shall we then take pleasure in this thrall And count it sweetest liberty off all And will not without violence be freed Oh this is sordid slavery indeed And yet these are the heavy chaâ—â—â—s we beare We gon astray are taken in this snare Within which mill we by deceit made blind Do like most grosse contented Assesgrind The prodigall Son BUt you the objects of my youthfull joy Who thus would try me by your being coy You have my heart then do not thus persist But smile agine you need not be in jeast The fountaine of my love doth overflow Which jeasted at will quickly jealous grow Then be not coy but smile and coole that smart Before it workes combustion in my heart But what still frowne you and yet answer no Can you thus leave me will you gull me so Have I prefer'd you above heav'n oh vaine And will you now require me with disdaine You that have pluck'd the blossomes of my youth Will you with falshood now requite my truth You that have suck'd my fountaine of supply Can you now scorne me having suck'd it dry The pitifull Father So so my Son doth now begin to prove Those courses vaine I told him of in love He thought my counsell then might slighted be But now he findes what I did then fore-see Rash headed youth presuming on their skill Will take their course against their parents will As if they thought their wisedomes were the best Who silly soules with folly are possest My Son upon my Fatherly advice Did turn his back as too severe or nice But now he doth to his confusion find That Fathers see when foolish Sons are blind But as he left me and would have his will So let me let him strugle with it still No meanes doth more reclaime a child resisting Then to be whip'd with cords of his own twisting The Authors Epigram OH thou our God and Father too most just Who gav'st us all our being out of dust And having fram'd us by thy matchles skill Dost like a Father nurse and feed us still How full of wonder finde we all thy deeds And yet thy kindnesse most of all exceeds How could'st thou else so full of pitty be To children so undutifull as