wantons with their babes and shew the way To finde their feete to give their brats content They wagge their sporting fingers and present A penny in the forehead or some pap To win the Children to the Mothers lap How soone will they their little grissels stretch And runne apace aspiring for to fetch This petty object never caring though Their way be full of stumbling blockes below Thou art that Mother Lord thou usest charmes And still art dandling Christ within thine armes Presents most glorious objects to our eyes And shewes us where thy choisest mercies lies Why then are we so backward why so slow Or why so loth into thy armes to goe Small molehils seeme as mountaines in our way And every light affliction makes us stay Why should we stop at petty strawes below Make us thy Children Lord we shant doe so A Meditation on a good Father having a bad Sonne QVerkus of late was minded to dispute Of this A tree that 's good brings forth good fruite Hence he concludes such parents that have bin Converted bring forth children void of sinne Peace Querkus peace and hold thy tongue for shame Dost not perceive that thy conclusion 's lame May not a graine that 's free from chaffe and cleare Cast in the ground bring forth a chaffy care A Meditation on a Weathercocke SEe how the trembling Weathercocke can find Noe setled place but turnes with every wind If blustring Zephyr blowes and gives a checke How soon 's this cocke made pliant to his becke If Boreas gets the day t will change its side And turne in spite of bragging Zephyrs pride Thus temporizers turne at every puffe And yet forsooth they thinke they 're good enough If stand they stand if he that seemes to be The greatest turne they turne as fast as he I wonder at such wav'ring feathers did I So often turne t' would make me wondrous giddy Lord let that wind that blowes upon thy flocke Turne me and make me Lord thy weathercocke A Meditation on Cockfighting SEe how those angry creatures disagree Whilst the spectators sit and laugh to see Doe not two neighbours often doe the same Whilst that the Lawyers laugh to see the game A Meditation on an Echo and a Picture SEe how Apelles with his curious art Pourtraies the picture out in every part If he can give 't a voyce no doubt he can Compleatly make the shape a living man Surely his worke would to his praise redound Could he but give the shape he made a sound What wants the Echo of a living creature But Shape and what but voice this comely feature Yet both can't meete together God alone Will have this secret Art to be his owne A Meditation on Noahs Dove WHen God the floods from lands did undivide And made the skye aspiring mountaines hide When heaven raind seas and fountaines were unbound And all mankind except eight soules were drownd Then did Ioves Pilot Noah make an Arke And thrust this little world into a barke Yea then he sent a Dove to range about The Floods to answer his uncertaine doubt O how shee wanders up and downe the Seas Fluttring her weary wings but findes no ease Shee sees no food no resting place no parke But soone returnes into her wished Arke Observe how tender Noah full of Love Opens the window to this weary Dove Puts forth his hands to meete her takes her in But by and by shee flutters out agin Shee findes an Olive leafe and that shee brings Betweene her bill hov'ring her tyred wings Vpon the Arke still Noah is the same Le ts in his wandring Dove that 's now made tame With restlesse flight once more shee gets away And now shee spies the earth that lately lay Sok'd in the impartiall deluge in her pride Adornd with dainty hearbes on every side When food is plenty this ungratefull Dove Forgets her Noah and his former love Minds nothing but her selfe shee that before Did crouch unto thee Arke returnes no more Thou art that Noah Lord and Christ the boate Afflictions are the waters that doe floate Man is that wandring Dove that often flies Vnto his Christ for shelter else he dyes How apt are we good God to use our wings And flye to thee when all these outward things With floods are drowned up though we have bin So vile how apt art thou to catch us in O how our God when we have bin astray Puts forth his armes to meete us in the way And take us home we are no sooner in But by and by we flutter out agin This time by chance like Noahs Dove we see The upper branches of some Olive tree I meane some petty shelter still we flye Vnto our God for aide or else we dye How apt are we when outward things forsake us To haste to God how apt 's our God to take us The third time we are gone now floods are husht The Sun-confronting mountaines bravely washt The Seas give place the lowest vallies seene Yea all the earth most sweetly deckt in greene Now we forget our God and post away And after make an everlasting stay When worldly wealth comes in and we can rest Vpon the creature O how we detest Our former refuge if we find a Parke We ne're returne unto our wonted arke A Meditation on a Shippe MArke how the floting vessell shewes her pride And is extold with every lofty tide But when it ebbes and all the floods retire See how the bragging barke is plungd in mire Iust so good God how apt are we to swim When mercies fill our banckes unto the brim When worldly wealth appeares and we can see Such outward blessings flow then who but we But when it ebbes and thou dost once unlinke These mercies from us O how soone we sinke Good God let not the great estate possesse Me with presumption nor despaire the lesse Let me not sinke when such an ebbe appeares No let me swim in true repentant teares A Meditation on a Windmill OBserve it alwaies t is the makers skill To place the windmill on the highest hill It stands unusefull till the potent windes Puffe up the lofty sayles and then it grinds Iust thus it is the hypocrite 's the mill His actions sayles ambition is the hill The wind that drives him is a blast of fame If blowne with this he runnes if not hee 's tame He stirres not till a puffe of praise doth fill His sailes but then O how he turnes the mill Lord drive me with thy Spirit then I le be Thy windmill and will grind a grist for thee A Meditation on Organs HArke how the Organist most sweetely plaies His Psalmes upon the tone-divided Kayes Each touch a sound but if the hand don't come And strike the kayes how soon 's the musicke dumbe A mod'rate stroke doth well but if too hard The Organ 's broke and all the raptures mard I am that Organ Lord and thou alone Canst play each prayer is a pleasant tone Affliction is the
soules as if that piercing sight That viewes all secrets in the darkest night That tries the thoughts of every heart and stares Into each soule is now as blind as theirs Thus was he basely us'd but all 's not done The hell-invented fury is to come By vulgar slaves the very Sonne of God Is falsely scourg'd and forc'd to kisse the rod Yea he whose nostrils able are to cast Out flame and burne the world at every blast Whose mighty breath is able for to fanne Ten thousand worlds and puffe out every man Like chaffe and make the flanting world to tosse Like waves is now compeld to beare his crosse Whereon his body in a vulgar streete Hung naked pierc'd with nayles both hands and feete The well of water he that gave the first To all his creatures now 's himselfe a thirst Yea he to whom all thirsty creatures call For drinke must now drinke vinegar with gall They pierc'd his side from whence came watry blood More soveraigne farre then all Bethesda's flood These tyrants thus though to themselves denide Did make a way to heaven through his side Alas my muse for sighes can scarce prolong The fatall tuning of so dire a song To see heavens faire Idea seeme so foule Sobbing and sighing out his burdned soule Those eyes which now seeme dim were once so bright From hence it was that Phoebus begd his light Those armes which now hang weake did from their birth Support the tottring vaults of heaven and earth That tongue that now lyes speechlesse in his head A word of that would soone revive the dead One touch of those Pale fingers would suffice To heale the sicke and make the dead man rise Those legges which now are peircd by abject slaves were kindly entertaind amongst the waves The coate whose warmth did give his sides reliefe The hem the very hem could cure a griefe But now strength 's weake th'omnipotent's a crying For aid health's sicke and life it selfe 's a dying His head hangs drooping and his eyes are fixt His weakned armes growne pale the sunne's eclipst O boundlesse love thus thus thou didst expose Thy selfe no damned paines to save thy foes Hell fought against him heaven began to frowne And justice soone sent vengeance posting downe Who clad with fury being angry shakes Her ugly head whose haire doth nurture snakes Shee layes about her greedy of her prey Quencheth hâ—r tâ—irst with blood and so away And mercy now lies cover'd in a cloud And will not heare although his sighes are loud Although his cries are such that cause a stone To heare yet sinne makes heav'n forget her owne Heav'n frownes as if shee had her owne forgot Mercy lookes off as if shee knew him not He suffred paines that hell it selfe devisd So much that justice cride I am suffic'd His tortures were so high so great so sore That hell cride out I can inflict no more Which done the heavens closd up their lamping light And turn'd the day into a dismall night Bright Phoebus vaild his face and would not see Wormes actors of so bloody treachery And quivering earth her wonted rigour lackt And straight stood trembling at so dire a fact The buri'd Saints arose to see betwixt Two dusky clouds their glorious Sunne eclipst Thus heav'n it selfe with the terrestriall Ball Doth joyne to celebrate his funerall The Landlord of the globe who first did raise Earths fabricke was a tenant for three dayes But when once Christ did cease to be turmoyld Heaven and he was gladly reconcil'd Mercy came dancing from the angry denne Tost off her cloudy mantle smild againe Pearch'd on her brightest throne and makes a vow To smooth the wrinckled furrowes of her brow And grim fac'd vengeance shee that 's onely fed With poyson dares nor shew her snaky head For feare all angers banisht cleane away Sterne justice now hath not a word to say And now the Fathers anger being done Double imbraces entertaine the Sonne As when a tender mother sometime beates Her wanton boy for his unruly feates Shee wipes his blubberd face and by and by Presents a thousand gugoyes to his eye Shee angry with her selfe beginnes to seeke His former love teares trickling downe her cheeke Quickly forgetting what was done amisse Ending her anger in a lovely kisse Doubtlesse her fondling burnes the rod and then Come peace my babe kisse and be friends agen Iust so when God inflicted on his Sonne His bittrest wrath the anger being done O then how soone he doubled his renowne Adorn'd his Temple with a richer Crowne Angry with those that would not heare his moane Ready to fling grim vengeance from his throne And chide with mercy shee that once did runne To hide her selfe from this his dying Sonne And for this fact would surely overthrow The fabricke did not Iustice hold the blow Thus heaven was friends againe but sordid man Poore mortall dust whose dayes are but a span Doth strive against his God like dogges that storme And barke and brawle and fome at Phoebes horne Ah Lord why are they so extreame to thee What is the cause thou madst their blindmen see Or why didst thou their fury thus inrage Because thou didst revive their dead mens age Me thinkes t is strange good God thou shouldst enflame Their anger by restoring legges too lame How is it Lord thou sowedst glorious seedes And loe a harvest all compact of weedes Thou gavest them life and spentst thy dearest breath For them and now thou art repaid with death What griefe was ere like thine would not thy mone Quickly dissolve an adamantine stone Wold not those sighs which could not peirce their eares Have turnd a rocke into a sea of teares Would not those wrongs thou bor'st without reliefe Make every cave to echo out thy griefe For greedy Lions are more kind then men They entertaind thy limbe within their denne Forget their wonted humours and became As carefull shepherdes to thy tender Lambe The croking raven shee whose natures wilde Became a tender nurse unto thy Childe And to obey thy voice the stony rocke Became a springing fountaine to thy flocke Yea rather then thy babes shall live in thrall The very sea it selfe provides a wall The flames forget their force through thy constraint Lose heate and know not how to burne a Saint Yea when thy souldiers wanted day to fight The Sun stood still and lent them longer light When boistrous seas did shew their lusty prancks Scorning to be imprison'd in their banckes And with their billowes vaulted up so high As if they meant to scale the starry sky And boundlesse Boreas from his frozen Cave Rusht out and proudly challeng'd every wave One nod of thine did quell those seas agen And sent proud Boreas to his sullen denne Thus thou the senselesse creatures oft did'st checke And mad'st the proudest pliant to thy becke For devils trembled and that breath of thine Made them seeke shelter in a heard of swine They knew thy greatnesse and confest thy
whore I will deride Her and her pride For Christ is this and more What though insinuating pleasure Preferres me to her chiefest treasure And every day and every night Doth feede me with a new delight And slumbers me with lullaby Dandling me on her whorish thigh What though with her sublime pretences Shee strives t' imprison all my senses Yet shee shant be A trap to me Her freedome is but thrall Her greatest coy Will but annoy Till Christ doth sweeten all Or what though profit with her Charmes Grasping the world within her armes Vnlades her selfe and bids me see What paines shee takes and all for me And then invites me to her bower Filling my coffers every houre What though shee thus inlarge my store With every day a thousand more Yet let her packe And turne her backe Her purest gold 's but drosse Her greatest paines Produce no gaines Till Christ come all is losse Or what though Fortune should present Her high Olympicke regiment And never my Ambition checke But still be pliant to my becke What though she lends me wings to flie Vnto the top of Dignity And make proud Monarches with her wheele Vncrowne their heads to Crowne my heele I le not depend On such a friend T is Christ is all my stay Shee can revoke The highest spoke Her wheeles turnd every day Let none of these in me take place Fond Venus hath a Vulcans face And so till heaven be pleasd to smile Poore earth sits barren all the while The world that 's apt to winne a foole It is my burden not my stoole Nor pleasure shall enchant my mind Shee s smooth before but stings behind I will disdaine Their greatest gaine And fortun 's but a feather T is none of these Can give me ease But Christ's the same for ever Lord why hidest thou thy face from me WHat drowsie weather 's this the angry skies Doe threaten stormes and heav'n it selfe denies Her lovely visage ah these darkned dayes Doe make my vitals drowsie and decayes My soules delight good God can I controule Or drive these pensive humours from my soule Ah no I can't my lively spirits keepe Such drowsie weather 's fit for nought but sleepe O thou eternall light that hast the sway In Ioves broad wals thou scepter of the day Thou heav'ns bright torch thou glistring worlds bright eye Why dost thou hide and so obscurely lye Come wrap thy selfe in thy compleate attire Shew forth thy glory make my soule admire Thy splendor come and doe no longer stay But with thy glorious beames bestrow my way Extirpe these foggy mists from out mine eyes That I may plainly see where heaven lyes Then I le awake sweete Christ doe thou display Thy glittering beames send out a Summers day I 'le rub my slumbring eyes O then I 'le roame A life-time journey from my native home The soule will sleepe and can't hold up her eyes Vntill the sunne of righteousnesse arise Christs Resurrection COme Rise my heart thy Master 's risen Why slug'st thou in thy grave Dost thou not know he broke the prison Thou art no more a slave He rowled of the sealed stone That once so pondrous lay And left the watchmen all alone And bravely scapt away When flesh the world and Satan too Wont suffer thee to quatch Learne of thy Master what to doe And cozen all the watch Let not these clogging earthly things Make thee poore soule forsake him Goe ask of Faith she 'le lend thee wings Haste fly and overtake him But harke my soule I 'le tell thee where Thy Master sits in state Goe knocke at heavens dore for there He entred in of late If Peter now had kept the key Thou mightst get in with ease But Iustice onely beares the sway And le ts in whom shee please Shee 's wondrous sterne and suffers not A passenger to enter Without thy Masters ticket got Thou mayst not touch her Center But come my soule let me advise What needst thou to implore The Saints for ayde I know where lies For thee a private doore Dost not remember since the pride Of base perfidious men Did thrust thy Master through the side Wert not thou wounded then When Iustice is so sterne that thou Vnto a straight art driven Come hearke and I will tell thee now Creepe through that wound to heaven Sanctificat O My head alas my bones O my wounded joynts doe smart Flesh ere while as hard as stones Now it akes in every part Lord 't is thy Art All thy Iudgements could not scare Me nor make my soule to fly Now one angry looke can reare Me and make me pensive lye In misery Lord there where I tooke my rise There did I begin to reele Surfetted in Paradise And there I got a bruised heele Which now I feele Surely my disease was great Sicke and yet I felt no paine Hungry yet I could not eate Sore yet could I not complaine Yet all was gaine For good God thy care was such That thou gavest me much reliefe Yea thou lendedst me a Crutch And didst make me know my griefe Lord thou art chiefe Thou hast made the rocke to weepe And my stony heart to groane Thou hast rais'd me from my sleepe And dost smile to heare my tone And lov'st my mone But what need'st thou lend a Crutch Thou canst make me perfect whole Thou canst heale me with a touch By this thou know'st a woman stole Cure for her dole When leave I this halting pace When shall I most perfect be When thou shalt my glistring face In the land of glory see Lord perfect me A Meditation on a Mans shadow WHen as the Sunne flings downe his richest rayes And with his shining beames adornes my wayes See how my shadow trackes me where I goe I stop that stops I walke and that doth so I runne with winged flight and still I spye My waiting shadow runne as fast as I. But when a sable cloud doth disaray The Sunne and robs me of my smiling day My shadow leaves me helpelesse all alone And when I most neede comfort I have none Iust so it is let him that hath the hight Of outward pompe expect a parasite If thou art great thy honours will draw nigh These are the shadowes to prosperity O how the worldlings make pursuite to thee With cap in hand and with a bended knee But if disastrous fate should come betwixt Thee and thy Sunne thy splendor's all eclipst Thy friends forsake thee and thy shadow 's gone And thou poore sunne-lesse thou art left alone This is thy Soules estate the worldly gaine And greatest pompe in stormy times are vaine They are but shadowes when distresse comes nigh They are as nothing to a faithfull eye Yet here 's my comfort Lord if I can see My shadow I must needes a substance be O let me not with worldly shadowes clogge My selfe grant me more wit then Esops dogge A Meditation on Childrens rashnesse WHen Mothers are desirous for to play The
hand that strikes the kayes O Lord from me the sweetest musicke raise If thou don't strike at all how can I speake Thy worthy prayses if too hard I breake Strike mildly Lord strike soft and then I le sing And charoll out the glory of my King A Meditation on an Apes love WHen once the foolish Ape hath fild her nest With little brats there 's one among the rest Shee most affects to shelter this from harmes Shee alwayes hugges it in her wanton armes Vntill at length shee squeezeth out the breath Of this her fondling Loves the cause of death The Worlds this wanton Ape that still delights In hugging some peculiar favourites Of those that are thus dandled by this Ape There doth not one among a thousand scape On contempt of the World A Loft O Soule soare up doe not turmoyle Thy selfe by grabbling on a dunghill soyle Tosse up thy wings and make thy soaring plumes Outreach the loathsome stench and noysome fumes That spring from sordid earth come come and see Thy birth and learne to know thy pedigree What wast thou made of Clay or dost thou owe Homage to earth say is thy blisse below Dost know thy beauty dost thou not excell Can the Creation yeeld a parallel The world can't give a glasse to represent Thy shape and shall a durty element Bewitch thee thinke is not thy birth most high Blowne from the mouth of all the trinity The breath of all-creating Iove the best Of all his workes yea thee of all the rest He chose to be his Picture where can I But in thy selfe see Immortality 'Mong all his earthly creatures Thou art chiefe Of all his workes and shall the world turne theefe And steale away thy love wert not for thee The heav'n aspiring mountaine should not bee The heavens should have no glistring starre no light No Sunne to rule the day no Moone the night The Globe had bin 'twas not the makers will To make it for it selfe a Chaos still Thou art Ioves priestly Aaron to present The creatures service while they give assent By serving thee why then 's the world thy rest 'T is but thy servants servant at the best It gives attendance to refined mire That Iove hath wrapt thee in as thy attire For what 's the body but a lumpe of clay Carv'd neatly out in which the soule beares sway T is servant to the soule what limbe can stirre Nay darst to quatch if once shee make demurre See how the captiv'd members trembling stand Wondrous submissive to her dire command O how the legs doe runne with eager flight To overtake the object of delight See how the armes doe graspe as if they 'd rent To hold the thing that gives the soule content Why what 's the body when the soule 's away Nought but a stincking carkasse made of clay What 's heav'n without a God or what 's the skye If once bright Phoebus close his radiant eye The world was for our bodies they for none But for our soules our soules for God alone What madnesse then for men of such a birth To nuzell all their dayes on dunghill earth Still hunting after with an eager sent An object which can never give content For what contentment in the world can lye That 's onely constant in inconstancy It ebbes and flowes each minuie thou maist brag This day of thousands and to morrow bâ—g The greatest wealth is subject for to reele The globe is plac'd on Fortunes tottering wheele As when the gladding sunne begins to show And scatter all his golden beames below A churlish cloud soone meetes him in the way And sads the beauty of the smiling day Or as a stately ship a while behaves Her selfe most bravely on the slumbring waves And like a Swanne sailes nimbly in her pride The helpefull windes concording with the tide To mend her pace but by and by the wind The fretfull Seas the heav'ns and all combin'd Against this bragging barke O how they fling Her corkey sides to heaven and then they bring Her backe shee that ere while did sayle so brave Cutting the floods now 's tost with every wave Iust so the waving world gives joy and sorrow This day a Croesus and a Iob to morrow How often have I seene the miser blesse Himselfe in wealth and count it for no lesse Then his adored God straight comes a frowne Flying from unhappy fate and whirleth downe Him and his heapes of gold and all that prize Is lost which he but now did Idolize But grant the world as never 't will to be A thing most sure most full of constancy What is thy wealth unlesse thy God doth blesse Thy store and turne it to a happinesse What though thy Table be compleatly spread With farre-fetcht dainties and the purest bread That fruitfull earth can yeeld all this may bee If thou no stomacke hast what 's all to thee What though thy habitation should excell In beauty and were Edens parallel Thou being pesterd with some dire disease How can thy stately dwelling give thee ease Thy joyes will turne thy griefe thy freedome thrall Vnlesse thy God above doth sweeten all When thou poore soule liest ready to depart And hear'st thy Conscience snarling at thine heart Though heapes of gold should in thy coffers lye And all thy worthlesse friends stand whining by 'T is none 't is none of these can give thee health But thou must languish in the midst of wealth Then cease thou mad man and pursue no more The world and know shee 's but a painted whore Thou catchest shadowes labourst in thy dreames And thirst's amongst th' imaginary streames A Meditation on a meane LOrd in excesse I see there often lies Great dangers and in wants great miseries Send me a meane doe thou my wayes preserve For I may surfet Lord as well as starve On Sathans tempting Eve ARt thou turn'd Fencer Sathan prethee say Surely thou art not active at thy play Challenge a Woman fie thou art to blame Suppose thou getst the day thou getst no fame But prethee speake hast any cause to prate Thou bruis'd her heele what though shee broke thy pate On a Spunge THe Spunge it selfe drinkes water till it swell it But never empties till some strength expell it Lord of our selves we 're apt to soake in sinne But thou art faine to squeeze it out agin A Meditation on a chime of Bells HArke what harmonious Musicke fils mine eare What pleasant raptures yet me thinkes I heare Each Bell that 's rung to beare a various sound Had all one note how quickely t would confound The tune a discord in the bels arise And yet they disagreeing sympathize T is not the greatest makes the sweetest noyse No but the skilfull Ringer still imployes The small as well as great t is every bell Together rung that makes them sound so well Thus t is in Common-weale if every man Kept time and place proportiond to him than How sweetly would our musicke sound t would
be The emblem of an Heavenly harmony Where each man would be great the land enjoyes No musicke but a base prepostrous noyse Each Bell sounds well what though the tenor be The big'st the treble seemes as sweete to me Le ts not aspire too high experience tels The choisest chimes makes use of petty bels But howsoever Lord least I disgrace Thy sweet-voic'd chime make me keepe time and place A Meditation on the burning a torch at noone day WHen Sol doth in his flaming throne remaine My Blazing torch doth spend it selfe in vaine But when the sunne goes downe and once t is night O then how welcome is my torches Light Sols radient beames at noone doe so surmount They make my tapers light of small accompt So Lord when thou dost great abundance send We cannot then so well esteeme a friend We slight their helpes they alwaies seeme most bright When dire affliction sends a dismall night A Meditation on the sound of a crackt Bell. HArke how the Hoarsemouth'd Bell extends a tone Into mine eares delightfull unto none The Mettal's good t is some unwelcome skar Some fatall cracke that makes the musicke jarre But what of this although the sound be rough T will call me to the temple well enough Such are those ill-lived Teachers who confound The sweetnesse of their soule converting sound By flawes seene in their unbeseeming lives By which their heavenly calling lesser thrives Yet Lord I know they 're able for to bring My Soule to heaven though with so hoarse a ring But since thou dost such jarring tunes disdaine Melt thou this mettall cast these bels againe A Meditation on a silly Sheepe WHen all the Winds shew forth their boystrous pride And every cloud unloads his spungy side When Boreus blowes and all the Heavens weepe And with their stormes disturbe the grazing sheepe See how the harmelesse creature much dismaide Doth crouch unto the bramble bush for aide 'T is true the bramble hides her from the winde But yet it makes her leave her fleece behinde Who can but smile at such that knowes not how To take the frownings of an angry brow Whose base revengefull spirits strive to crush Their foes though fleece themselves at law'ers bush Guide me good God let me revenge no more When once the cure growes worse then the sore A Meditation on the Flowers of the Sunne MArke how the flowers at night doe hang their heads As if they 'd drop their leaves into their beds But when the morning sunne doth once arise They represent their glory to mine eyes Then they unvaile their tops and doe attire Themselves in beauty as the Sunne goes higher Thus Lord thy Saints on earth when thou do'st hide They cover all the glory of their pride Their drooping soules doe wither all their mirth Is gone they finde no pleasure in the earth But when the Sunne of righteousnesse appeares Then they display their beauty and their feares Are all extinct O Lord doe thou make me Thy Saint that I may fall and rise with thee A Meditation on a Loadstone and Iet WHen once the Loadstone shewes it selfe then straight The Iron carelesse of its wonted waight Vnto its wished object doth aspire As if it did enjoy the sense Desire And thus the blacke-fac'd Iet is apt to draw The dust and to inchant the wanton straw This Iet and Loadstone well me thinkes imparts An embleme of our fond-attractiv'd hearts The Spirit is that Loadstone that doth plucke Our Iron hearts that once so fast were stucke Plung'd in the depth of sinne and sets them sure In spight of devillish mallice to indure The World 's the Iet that often doth controule Vaine frothy man and steale away his soule With her inchanting trickes thus Iet can bring Light strawes submissive to so vaine a thing Be thou my Loadstone Lord then thou shalt see My Iron heart will quickely cleave to thee A Meditation on false lookin-glasses MAdam looke off why peep'st thou O forbeare T will either make thee proud or else despaire Th' one glasse doth flatter thee above desart The other makes thee blacker then thou art Tell me sweete Lady now thou hast both there Dost not most love the glasse that makes thee faire T is our condition we can seldome see A man that tels us truely what we be Our friends doe often flatter and present Too fine a shape and all to give content Our rough-mouth'd foes do strive to lay a skar On us and make us worser then we are But yet of both our lofty nature's such Indeed we love our flattering friends too much Give me a perfect Glasse Lord cleare my sight That I may see my selfe and thee aright A Meditation on hunting the Hare OBserve how nature tutors senslesse Beasts How quickly will they poste into their nests For feare of harme O how the trembling Hare Will shunne the dogge and ev'ry bird the snare See how the crafty Fox doth take his rounds And clamber mountaines to avoid the hounds If Nature shewes this to such creatures too O what doth Reason and Religion doe How is it then that Man so little feares The plots of Sathan and those dev'lish snares How apt are we good God to trample in Nay t' urge occasions for to act our sinne Vnlesse we by thy spirit are possest We are more stupid then the senslesse beast A Meditation on the pride of Womens apparrell SEe how some borrow'd off cast vaine attire Can puffe up pamper'd clay and dirty mire Tell me whence had'st thy cloath's that makes thee fine Wast not the silly Sheeps before t was thine Doth not the Silke worme and the Oxes hide Serve to maintaine thee in thy cheefest pride Do'st not thou often with those feathers vaile Thy face with which the Ostridge hides her taile What art thou proud of then me thinks 't is fit Thou should'st be humble for the wearing it Tell me proud Madam thou that art so nise How were thy parents clad in Paradise At first they wore the armour of defence And were compleatly wrapt in innocence Had not they sin'd they ne're had beene dismaid Nor needed not the Fig-trees leavy ayde What ever state O Lord thou place me in Let me not glory in th' effect of sinne A Meditation on a Wax Candle lighted SEe how my burning Taper gives his light And guids my wayes in the obscurest night It wasts it selfe for me and when t is spent The snuffe doth leave behind a wholsome sent Thus doe thy Pastors Lord who shine most bright They spend themselves to give thy people light And when by thee their posting time 's confind They dye and leave a lovely smell behind A Meditation on an Elephant THe Elephant doth alwayes chuse to drinke In durty ponds and makes his paw to sinke And raise the mud that so he may escape Without the shadow of his ugly shape Thus t is with guilty soules who dare not peepe Into themselves but make their conscience sleepe Cleanse me
crowned King Yea now the Lion with the Lambe did goe And knew not whether blood were sweete or no The little Kids to shew their wanton pride Came dancing by the loving Tigers side The Hare being minded with the Hounds to play Would give a sporting touch and so away And then returne being willing to be found And take his turne to chace the wanton Hound The busie Mice sat sporting all the day Meane while the Cat did smile to see them play The Foxe stands still to see the Geese asleepe The harmelesse Wolfe now grazeth with the Sheepe Here was no raping but all beasts did lye As link'd in one O Heavenly Sympathy The goodly Pastures springing from the Clay Did wooe their mouthes to banquet all the way Was spread with dainty herbes and as they found Occasion they would oft salute the ground Those uncontrouled creatures then begunne To sport and all lay basking in the Sunne No creature was their Lord gaine said by none As if that Heaven and earth were all their owne Thus when this mighty builder did inrobe Himselfe with night and Chaos to a globe Convert of this he tooke a serious view And did as t were create it all anew He made a little Orbe cald man the same Onely compacted in a lesser frame For what is all this all that man in one Doth not enjoy A man that 's onely blowne With heavens breath a man that doth present Life Spirit sense and every element Yea in this little world great Iove did place His glorious Image and this miry face Was heavens picture t was this face alone That still lookt up to his Creators throne Then God did make a place to be admir'd Surely t was heaven it selfe had then conspir'd To finde it out a garden sweetly blowne With pleasant fruite and man's exempt from none Of all these plants except a middle tree And what can one among a thousand bee O glorious place that God doth now provide For durty clay the earth in all her pride He tramples on and heav'n that 's so beset With spangles and each glistring Chrysolet Doth give attendance yea it serves to be A covering for his head his Canopie Thus man of heaven and earth is all possest This span of durt is Lord of all the rest Me think's I see how all the Creatures bring Their severall Congies to their new made King Behemoth which ere while did range about Vncheckt and tossing up his bony snowt Feard none now having cast his rowling eyes Vpon his Lord see how he crouching lyes Behind a sheltring bush he seemes to be Imploring aide of every spreading tree The Lyon which ere while was in his pride Squinting by chance his gogle-eyes aside Espies his King he dares not stay for haste Spues out his meate halfe chaw'd and will not taste Of his intended food but sneakes away Counting his life to be his chiefest prey It was but now the raven was espide Sporting her wings upon the Tigars hide But now O how her feather'd sayles doe soare As if shee vowd to touch the earth no more See how the Goates doe clamber to the top Of highest mountaines and the Conies drop Into their holes see how the Roebucke flings himselfe almost exchanging legs for wings Why what 's the matter that ye haste away Ye that ere while were sporting all the day Tell me yee Creatures say what fearefull sight Hath put you to this unexpected flight Speake speake thou giddy lambe wer 't not thou spide At play but now why then dost skip aside What is it man that frights you can his face Stretch out your legs unto their swiftest pace Can one looke daunt you all what neede this bee Are ye not made of Clay as well as hee Have ye not one Creator are ye not His elder Brothers and the first begot Why start ye then is it not strange to see One weake-one make ten thousand strong ones flee But ah I neede not aske I know it now You spied your makers image in his brow T' was even so indeed no time to stay Your Lord was comming fit he should have way And thus these Creatures dares not come in sight Surely t' was heavens Idea causd the fright Now see how flattering earth doth strive alone To please this Lord each tree presents a done See how the fruite hangs with a comely grace And wooes his hands to rent them from their place O how they bow and would not have him bring His hands to them they bend unto their King But if by chance he will not plucke and taste They breake the boughes and so for griefe they waste See how the little pinkes when they espie Their Lord doe Curtsy as he passeth by The wanton Dazies shake their leavy heads The purple Vilets startle from their beds The Primrose sweete and every flowre that growes Bestrowes his way with odours as he goes Thus did the herbes the trees the pleasant flowres Welcome their Lord into his Eden bowres But all this while the earth with all her pride Shee nor her store could not aford a bride Fitting for man no no to end the strife The man himselfe must yeeld himselfe a wife It was not meete for him to be alone Then did our one-in-three our three-in-one Cast him into a sleepe and did divide His ribbes and brought a woman from his side When this was done the devill did entice The wife from Gods unto his Paradice See how the lying serpent maketh choise Of the forbidden tree a tacite voice It hath indeede most lovely to the eye Presents it to her and shee by and by Forsooth must taste and so must Adam too What cannot women by entreaties doe God he intends a wife for mans reliefe But oftentimes shee prooves the greatest griefe Was there but one forbid and must shee bee So base a wretch to taste of such a tree Must Adam too Ah see how shee pluckes downe Her husbands glory and kickes off his crowne O see how angry God himselfe comes downe To curse these wretches heaven begins to frowne Alas poore naked soules me thinkes I see Transformed Adam crouch behind a tree T' is time to runne when once God doth reject him T is not his leavy armour can protect him Heaven and hell with all the spight they can Strive for revenge against this monster man O how the Creatures frowne and bend their brow As if they all conspir'd and tooke a vow Against this caytive hearke how earth complaines That shee by man is barrd of mod'rate raines Shee s now become a strumpet fruitfull seedes And dainty flowers are turn'd to bastard weedes Disrob'd of all her glory lost her pride The creatures now lie starving by her side O how shee sighes and sends up hideous cryes To see poore cattell fall before her eyes For want of foode they rip their mothers wombe For meate but finding none doe makt their tombe Harke how the buls and angry Lyons roare To heaven and tell
how man decreast their store Heare how the little Lambes which yesterday Did honour to their King and gave him way O how they begge for vengeance to come downe On man and dispossesse him of his Crowne See see what raping and what cruell thrall Is us'd t is man alone that murders all The Lion mild ere while for want of foode Doth fill his paunch with unaccustom'd blood The wolfe which lately was more apt to keepe The tender lambes now prosecutes the sheepe Surely the ravenous beasts did not they spye The glimpse of heaven within mans purblind eye Would straight devoure him did not mercy now Come downe and smooth her fathers wrinkled brow The earth would scorne to beare him but divide Her selfe and make this Dathan sincke in pride The earth would not indure the plough to passe Into her iron sides the heavens as brasse Would soone become and both doe what they can To starve up this deformed monster man See how this Caytife causeth discontent And raiseth discord in each element How often have I seene the raging fire Vnto the top of highest Towres aspire And clamber mighty buildings t is unbound Surely t' would burne the fabricke to the ground Did not our God looke from his mercy seat And make the watry sister quell the heate How is the ayre poysned with misty fogges And churlish vapours onely such that clogs The Corps with deadly humours such that brings The Pestilence yea such that quickely flings Loathsome diseases alwayes tipt with death Did not Iove fanne it with his mighty breath Harke how the impatient seas beginne to thunder As if they 'd rent their prison walls in sunder See how the mounting waves doe swiftly flye To heaven as if they meant to tell the skye How basely man hath dealt O how they roare Beating their foming waves against the shore Chiding their sister earth that dares to beare So base a wretch see how the waves doe teare Her bowels and with all the spight they can Strive for to drowne this wretched Caytife man CHRISTS BIRTH AND PASSION O Thou most Sacred Dove that I may write Thy praises drop thou from thy soaring flight A quill come aide my muse for shee intends To sing such love no mortall comprehends Guide thou her stamring tongue and let her be Strongly protected in her infancy Then shee 'll tell how the King of Kings by birth Forsooke his throne to live on dunghill earth Then shee 'le declare how great creating Iove Whose starre-depaved pallace is above All whose attendance is a glorious troope Of glitt'ring cherubs unto whom doe stoope Each glorious Angell flinging himselfe downe Presenting at his feete his pearely crowne To be his pallace heaven it selfe 's not meete And dunghill earth's too little for his feete Yet this great King-creating King did slide To earth and laid his Diadem aside Exchanging it for thornes and did untire His glorious selfe and clad himselfe in mire At whose appearance singing Angels shot Like starres from heaven newes nere to be forgot Yea winged Cherubs from the highest came As Heavens Heralds to divulge his fame All heaven did obeysance but for earth Vngratefull soile unworthy of the birth Of such a babe t was readier to intombe The dying Lord then to afford a roome Proud Salem was too high to entertaine Poore Maries babe t was kept for Herods traine And Rome that seavenhild Citty was too greate To lodge this Child t is Caesars royall seate T' is Bethlem little Bethlem must suffice To lighten Iosephs Consorts weary thighes And that 's almost too proud to lodge him in No private house but even a vulgar Inne And tha're not harbourd in the choisest roomes No not so well as with the common groomes But this ah most unworthy worthy guests Is thrust and gladly too among the beasts He that before was wont to take his rest All coverd in his fathers silken breast Is now constrained to lay his worthy head Vpon an undeserved strawy bed He that was wont to heare the pleasant tones Of sweete-voyc'd Angels now the saddest grones Of dolefull Mary mixt with brinish teares These onely these are harbour'd in his eares The Babe is scarcely borne but sought to dye As yet not learn'd to goe but forc'd to flye And to avoid the Tetrarchs furious Curse Hard hearted Egypt's now become a Nurse He that can make both Heaven and earth to dread Loe patiently takes all and hides his head Yet hee 'le returne no not the bitter wrongs Nor spightfull usage nor the smarting thongs Nor sharpest scourges no nor blackest hell Can quench the boundlesse love nor yet expell His strong affections let the traitors set A thorny crowne on 's head and also wet His glorious face with spittle and deride And scourge till blood falls trickling downe his side Nay though he be constrain'd to leave his breath And 's dying soule is heavy unto death He can't but smile upon his bitter foe And love the traitors whe're they will or no Yet see how â—ordid man repayeth all His kindnesse with an undeserved thrall Whil'st he sad soule lay prostrate all alone Fast fixing both his eyes at heavens throne And sending up such sighes as though he 'd make The weakned vaults of heaven and earth to shake His sweate dropt downe like dew and as he stood He staind Mount Olives with his Crimson blood Whilst all his sad Disciples drowsy lye Scarce able to hold up a sluggish eye Now he 's betraid by Iudas he that bore The bagge and was intrusted with the store He that did scorne the traitors name and cry Who shall betray thee Lord Lord speake is 't I Yet now an abject Christ becomes to be And thirty pence is valu'd more then he The bloody steward with a treacherous kisse Forsooke his Master and eternall blisse And sould the body of a Lord so good To souldiers such as thirsted after blood And then for feare the Innocent should passe Vntoucht was straight accused by Caiaphas Condemn'd by Pontius Pilate to expell The guilt he washt his hands and all was well O see what force weake water had to quench His sparkling Conscience and his flaming sence Alas not Nilus no nor Iordans flood Can cleanse the staines of such a Crimson blood No t is the streames of a repenting eye T is onely this takes out a scarlet dye Thus our Astrea stands arraign'd to dye And nothing's to be heard but Crucifye When this alarum sounded to the hight And heav'n and hell conspired both to fight Against this Captaine then his daunted troope Forsooke their Lord each soule began to droope Yet gracious he imparted his renowne He wonne the battell and gave them the Crowne Yea he became a curse that knew no sinne He was inrob'd and disinrob'd ag'in His temples crown'd with thornes his glorious face Was spit upon and beate with all disgrace That abject slaves could use and then they cry To blinded Christ who beate thee prophecy Ah stupid
O Lord and then I shall surpasse In beauty and won't feare the looking glasse A Meditation on a Bird in a Cage SEe how my little prisoner hops about Her wyrie Cage and sweetly ditties out Her various tunes and since shee cannot flee Abroad shee looks for meate from none but me But if I ope my Cage her lofty wings Supports her to the Forrest where shee sings Some rustick notes and when my bird can see Some meat abroad shee seeks for none to me T is thus good God whilst thou on us dost bring Thy great afflictions O how well we sing Thy prayse whilst we thus imprisned be Our faiths more active and our hop's on thee But if thou let us loose we quickly flye Abroad and lose our wonted harmony Our faiths more uselesse if elsewhere we see Some foode we seldome come for meate to thee If thou wilt feede and teach me Lord to praise Then let me be thy prisoner all my daies A Meditation on the fire KEepe but an equall distance then the fire Will give thee warmth unto thine hearts desire But if thy daring spirit once presumes To cronch too nigh it warmes not but consumes T is thus in things divine Search thou Gods will Reveal'd and then t will warme but never kill But pry into his secrets then the ire Of God will burne thee like consuming sire O Lord so warme me with thy sacred breath That I may neither burne nor freeze to death A meditation on boyes swimming with bladders SEe what extreame delight some boyes have tooke Playing the wantons in some gliding brooke Vpon their bladders tumbling up and downe Though ne're so deepe in spight of Neptunes frowne They seldome learne to swimme doe but unlincke Them from their bladders then they quickely sincke This Worlds a tossing Sea fild to the brim With waves where ev'ry man doth sincke or swim These Bladderd Lads are such that still rely Vpon the creature which gone by and by Their drooping spirits faile the faithfull man Is he that swims aright and alwaies can Support himselfe and with his art outbraves The fretfull Sea though fild with angry waves Lord give me faith that I may still depend On thee and swâ—â—â— what ever stormes thou send On Cain and Abels offerings ARt angry Cain what doe thy thoughts repine Is Abels offring better tooke then thine Didst not thou bring thy God a lovely prize And crowne his Altar with a sacrifice Art not thou elder did not thy offring too Come from thy God what more could Abell doe I le tell thee Cain how Abel got the start He with his offring offered up his heart On an Apprentices Boxe THe Prentise after all his yearely paineÌ„s Filleth his small mouth'd box with Christmas gaines Yet though he fill his box unto the brim Vnlesse he breake it up what 's all to him A miser's such a Boxe that 's nothing worth Till death doth breake it up then all comes forth Convert good God or strike with some disease Breake up such small mouth'd boxes Lord as these On Eves Apple EVE for thy fruite thou gav'st too deare a price What for an Apple give a Paradise If now a dayes of fruite such gaines were made A Costermonger were a devillish trade On a faire house having ill passage to it A House to which the builders did impart The full perfection of their curious art Most bravely furnisht in whose roomes did lye Foote clothes of Velvet and of tapestry I wondred at as who could not but doe it To see so rough so hard a passage to it So Lord I know thy heaven 's a glorious place Wherein the beauty of thy glistring face Inlightens all thou in the wals dost fixe The Iasper and the purest sardonyx Thy gates are pearles and every dore beset With Saphires Emeralds and the Chrysolet Each Subject weares a crowne the which he brings And flings it downe to thee the King of Kings But why 's the way so thorny t is great pitty The passage is no wider to thy Citty Poore Daniel through his den and Shadrake's driven With his associates through the fire to Heaven But yet we can't complaine we may recall The time to minde when there was none at all T' was Christ that made this way and shall we be Who are his Servants farre more nice then he No I le adventure too nay I le get in I le tracke my Captaine thorow thicke and thin FINIS The Chaos