Bee posed with the maturest feares Man trembles at wee straight shall find Love knowes no nonage nor the mind T is love not yeares or Limbes that can Make the martyr or the man Love toucht her heart and loe it beats High and burnes with such brave heats Such thirst to dye as dare drinke up A thousand coled deaths in one cup. Good reason for shee breaths all fire Her weake breast heaves with strong desire Of what shee may with fruitlesse wishes Seeke for amongst her mothers kisses Since t is not to bee had at home Shee l travell to a martyrdome No home for her confesses shee But where shee may A martyr bee Shee l to the Moores and trade with them For this unvalued Diadem Shee offers them her dearest breath With Christs name â—nt in change for death Shee l bargain with them and will give Them God and teach them how to live In him or if they this denye For him shee l teach them how to dye So shall shee leave amongst them sowne Her Lords blood or at lest her owne Farewell then all the world adeiu Teresa is no more for you Farewell all pleasures sports and joyes Never till now esteemed toyes Farewell what ever deare may bee Mothers armes or fathers knee Farewell house and farwell home Shee s for the Moores and Martyrdome Sweet not so fast Loe thy faire spouse Whom thou seek'st with so swift vowes Calls thee back and biâ—s thee como T' embrace a milder Martyrdome Blest powers forbid thy tender life Should bleed upon a barbarous knife Or some base hand have power to race Thy Breasts chast cabinet and uncase A soule kept there so sweet O no Wise heaven will never have it so Thou art Loves victim and must dye A death more misticall and high Into Loves hand thou shalt let fall A still surviving funerall His is the dart must make the death Whose stroake shall taste thy hallowed breath A dart thrice dipt in that rich Hame Which writes thy spowses radiant name Vpon the roofe of heaven where ay It shines and with a soveraigne ray Beats bright upon the burning faces Of soules which in that names sweet graces Find everlasting smiles So rare So spirituall pure and faire Must be the immortall instrument Vpon whose choice point shall be spent A life so loved and that there bee Fit executioners for thee The fairest and the first borne Loves of fire Blest Seraphims shall leave their quire And turne Loves souldiers upon thee To exercise their Archerie O how oft shalt thou complaine Of a sweet and subtile paine Of intollerable joyes Of a death in which who dyes Loves his death and dyes againe And would for ever so be slaine And lives and dyes and knowes not why To live but that he still may dy How kindly will thy gentle heart Kisse the sweetly killing dart And close in his embraces keep Those delicious wounds that weep Balsome to heale themselves with thus When these thy deaths so numerous Shall all at last dye into one And melt thy soules sweet mansion Like a soft lumpe of Incense hasted By too hot a fire and wasted Into perfuming cloudes So fast Shalt thou exhale to heaven at last In a disolving sigh and then O what aske not the tongues of men Angells cannot tell suffice Thy selfe that feel thine owne full joyes And hold them fast for ever there So soone as thou shalt first appeare The moone of maiden starres thy white Mistresse attended by such bright Soules as thy shining selfe shall come And in her first rankes make thee roome Where mongst her snowy family Immortall wellcomes wait on thee O what delight when shee shall stand And teach thy Lipps heaven wâ—th her hand On which thou now maist to thy wishes Heap up thy consecrated kisses What joy shall seize thy soule when shee Bending her blessed eyes on thee Those second smiles of heaven shall dart Her mild rayes through thy melting heart Angeâ—ls thy old friends there shall greet thee Glad at their owne home now to meet thee All thy good workes which went before And waited for thee at the doore Shall owne thee there and all in one Weave a Constellation Of Crownes with which the King thy spouse Shall build up thy triumphant browes All thy old woes shall now smile on thee And thy pains set bright upon thee All thy sorrows here shall shine And thy sufferings bee devine Teares shall take comfort and turne Gems And wrongs repent to diadems Even thy deaths shall live and new Drosse the soule which late they slew Thy wounds shall blush to such bright scarres As keep account of the Lambes warres Those rare workes where thou shalt leave witt Loves noble history with witt Taught thee by none but him while here They feed our soules shall cloath thine there Each heavenly word by whose hid flame Our hard hearts shall strike fire the same Shall flourish on thy browes and bee Both fire to us and flame to thee Whose light shall live bright in thy face By glory in our hearts by grace Thou shalt looke round about and see Thousand of crownd soules throng to bee Themselves thy crowne sonnes of thy nowes The Virgin births with which thy spowse Made fruitfull thy faire soule Goe now And with them all about thee bow To him put on heel say put on My Rosy Love that thy rich Zone Sparkeling with the sacred Hames Of thousand soules whose happy names Heaven keeps upon thy score thy bright Life brought them first to kisse the light That kindled them to starres and so Thou with the Lambe thy Lord shall goe And where so e're hee sitts his white Steps walke with him those wayes of Light Which who in death would live to see Must learne in life to dye like thee An Apologie for the precedent Hymne THus have I back againe to thy bright name Faire sea of holy fires transfused the flame I tooke from reading thee 't is to thy wrong I know that in my weak and worthlesse song Thou here art set to shine where thy full day Scarce dawnes ô pardon if I dare to say Thine own deare books are guilty for from thence I learnt to know that Love is eloquence That heavenly maxim gave me heart to try If what to other tongues is tun'd so high Thy praise might not speak English too forbid by all thy mysteries that there lye hid Forbid it mighty Love let no fond hate Of names and words so farre prejudicate Soules are not Spaniards too one frendly flood Of Baptisme blends them all into one blood Christs Faith makes but one body of all soules And loves that bodies soule no Law controules Our free trafick for heaven we may maintaine Peace sure with piety though it dwell in Spaine What soule soever in any Language can Speake heaven like hers is my soules country-man O 't is not Spanish but 't is heaven she speakes 'T is heaven that lies in ambush there and
Sea of thy blood Their little channels can deliver Something to the generall flood But while I speake whither are run All the Rivers nam'd before I counted wrong there is but one But ô that one is one all'ore Raine-swolne Rivers may rise proud Threatning all to overflow But when indeed all 's overflow'd They themselves are drowned too This thy Bloods deluge a dire chance Deare Lord to thee to us is found A deluge of deliverance A deluge least we should be drown'd Nere was 't thou in a sence so sadly true The well of living Waters Lord till now Sampson to his Dalilah COuld not once blinding me cruell suffâ—ce When first I look't on thee I lost mine eyes Psalme 23. HAppy me ô happy sheepe Whom my God vouchsafes to keepe Even my God even he it is That points me to these wayes of blisse One whose pastures cheerefull spring All the yeare doth sit and sing And rejoycing smiles to see Their greene backs were his liverie Pleasure sings my soule to rest Plenty weares me at her brest Whose sweet temper teaches me Nor wanton nor in want to be At my feet the blubb'ring Mountaine Weeping melts into a Fountaine Whose soft silver-sweating streames Make high Noone forget his beames When my waiward breath is flying Hee calls home my soule from dying Strokes and tames my rabid Griefe And does woe me into life When my simple weaknesse strayes Tangled in forbidden wayes Hee my Shepheard is my Guide Hee 's before me on my side And behind me he beguiles Craft in all her knotty wiles Hee expounds the giddy wonder Of my weary steps and under Spreads a Path cleare as the Day Where no churlish rub saies nay To my joy-conducted Feet Whil'st they Gladly goe to meet Grace and peace to meet new laies Tun'd to my great Shepheards praise Come now all yee terrors sally Muster forth into the valley Where triumphant darknesse hovers With a sable wing that covers Brooding Horror Come thou Death Let the damps of thy dull Breath Overshadow even the shade And make darknesse selfe afraid There my feet even there shall find Way for a resolved mind Still my Shepheard still my God Thou art with me Still thy rod And thy staffe whose influence Gives direction gives defence At the whisper of thy Word Crown'd abundance spreads my Bord While I feast my foes doe feed Their rank malice not their need So that with the self-same bread They are starv'd and I am fed How my head in ointment swims How my cup orelooks her Brims So even so still may I move By the Line of thy deare Love Still may thy sweet mercy spread A shady Arme above my head About my Paths so shall I find The faire Center of my mind Thy Temple and those lovely walls Bright ever with a beame that falls Fresh from the pure glance of thine eye Lighting to Eternity There I 'le dwell for ever there Will I find a purer aire To feed my Life with there I 'le sup Balme and Nectar in my Cup And thence my ripe soule will I breath Warme into the Armes of Death Psalme 137. ON the proud bankes of great Euphrates flood There we sate and there we wept Our Harpes that now no Musicke understood Nodding on the Willowes slept While unhappy captiv'd wee Lovely Sion thought on thee They they that snatcht us from our Countries brest Would have a Song carv'd to their Eares In Hebrew numbers then ô cruell jest When Harpes and hearts were drown'd in Teares Come they cry'd come sing and play On of Sions songs to day Sing play to whom ah shall we sing or play If not Ierusalem to thee Ah thee Ierusalem ah sooner may This hand forget the mastery Of Musicks dainty touch then I The Musicke of thy memory Which when I lose ô may at once my Tongue Lose this same busie speaking art Vnpearcht her vocall Arteries unstâ—ung No more acquainted with my Heart On my dry pallats roofe to rest A wither'd Leafe an idle Guest No no thy good Sion alone must crowne The head of all my hope-nurst joyes But Edom cruell thou thou cryd'st ddowne downe Sinke Sion downe and never rise Her falling thou did'st urge and thrust And haste to dash her into dust Dost laugh proud Babels Daughter do laugh on Till thy ruine teach thee Teares Even such as these laugh till a venging throng Of woes too late doe rouze thy feares Laugh till thy childrens bleeding bones Weepe pretious Teares upon the stones A Hymne of the Nativity sung by the Shepheards Chorus COme wee Shepheards who have seene Dayes King deposed by Nights Queene Come lift we up our lofty song To wake the Sun that sleeps too long Hee in this our generall joy Slept and dreampt of no such thing While we found out the fair-ey'd Boy And kist the Cradle of our King Tell him hee rises now too late To shew us ought worth looking at Tell him wee now can shew him more Then hee e're shewd to mortall sight Then hee himselfe e're saw before Which to be seene needs not his light Tell him Tityrus where th' hast been Tell him Thyrsis what th' hast seen Tytirus Gloomy Night embrac't the place Where the noble Infant lay The Babe lookt up and shew'd his face In spight of Darknesse it was Day It was thy Day Sweet and did râ—se Not from the East but from thy eyes Thyrsis Winter chid the world and sent The angry North to wage his warres The North forgot his fierce intent And lest perfumes in stead of scarres By those sweet Eyes persuasive Powers Where he meant frosts he scattered Flowers Bâ—th We saw thee in thy Balmy Nest Bright Dawne of our Eternall Day Wee saw thine Eyes-break from the East And chase the trembling shades away Wee saw thee and wee blest the sight Wee saw thee by thine owne sweet Light Tityrus I saw the curl'd drops soft and slow Come hovering o're the places head Offring their whitest sheets of snow To furnish the faire Infants Bed Forbeare said I be not too bold Your fleece is white but 't is too cold Thyrsis I saw th'officious Angels bring The downe that their soft brests did strow For well they now can spare their wings When Heaven it selfe lyes here below Faire Youth said I be not too rough Thy Downe though soft's not soft enough Tityrus The Babe no sooner 'gan to seeke Where to lay his lovely head But streight his eyes advis'd his Cheeke 'Twixt Mothers Brests to goe to bed Sweet choise said I no way but so Not to lye cold yet sleepe in snow All. Welcome to our wondring sight Eternity shut in a span Summer in Winter Day in Night Chorus Heaven in Earth and God in Man Great litle one whose glorious Birth Lifts Earth to Heaven stoops heaven to earth Welcome though not to Gold nor Silke To more then Caesars Birthright is Two sister-Seas of virgins Milke With many a rarely-temper'd kisse That breathes at once both Maid and
through all the sphaeares Of Musicks heaven and seat it there on high In th' Empyraeum of pure Harmony At length after so long so loud a strife Of all the strings still breathing the best life Of blest variety attending on His fingers fairest revolution In many a sweet rise many as sweet a fall A full-mouth Diapason swallowes all This done hee lists what shee would say to this And shee although her Breath's late exercise Had dealt too roughly with her tender throate Yet summons all her sweet powers for a Noate Alas in vaine for while sweet soule shee tryes To measure all those wild diversities Of chatt'ring stringes by the small size of one Poore simple voyce rais'd in a Naturall Tone Shee failes and failing grieves and grieving dyes Shee dyes and leaves her life the Victous prise Falling upon his Lute ô fit to have That liv'd so sweetly dead so sweet a Grave Principi recèns natae omen maternae indolis CResce ô dulcibus imputanda Divis O cresce propera puella a Princeps In matris propera a venire partes Et cùm par breve fulminum minorum Illinâ— Carolus Iucobus indè In patris faciles subire famam Ducent fata furoribus decoris Cùm terror sacer AnglicÃque magnum Murmur nominis increpabit omnem Latè Bosperon Ottomanicásque Non picto quatiet tremore Lunas Te tunc altera nec timenda paci Poscent praelia Tu potens pudici Vibratrix ocuci pios in hostes Laté dulcia fata dissipabis O cùm flostenet ille qui recenti Pressus sidere jam sub or a ludit Olim fortior omne cuspidatos Evolvet latus aureum per ignes QuÃque imbellis adhuc adultus olim Puris expatiabitur genarum Campis imperiosior Cupido O quà m certa superbiore pennâ Ibunt spicula melleaeque morâ—es Exultantibus hinc indè turmis Quoquò jusseris impigrè volabunt O quot corda calentium deorum De te vulnera delicata discent O quot pectora Principum magistris Fient molle negotium sagittis Nam quae non poteris per arma ferri Cui matris sinus atque utrumque sidus Magnorum patet officina Amorum Hinc sumas licet ô puella Princeps Quantacunque opus est tibi pharetnâ Centum sume Cupidines ab uno Matris lumine Gratiásque ceutum Et centum Veneres adhuc manebunt Centum mille Cupidines manebunt Ter centum Venerésque Gratiaeque Puro fonte superstites per aevum Out of Virgil In the praise of the Spring ALL Trees all leavy Groves confesse the Spring Their gentlest friend then then the lands begin To swell with forward pride and seed desire To generation Heavens Almighty Sire Melts on the Bosome of his Love and powres Himselfe into her lap in fruitfull showers And by a soft insinuation mixt With earths laâ—ge Masse doth cherish and assist Her weake conceptions No loane shade but rings With chatting Birds delicious murmurings Then Venus mild instinct at set times yeilds The Herds to kindly meetings then the fields Quick with warme Zephires lively breath lay forth Their pregnant Bosomes in a fragrant Birth Each body 's plump and jucy all things full Of supple moisture no coy twig but will Trust his beloved bosome to the Sun Growne lusty now No Vine so weake and young That feares the foule-mouth'd Auster or those stormes That the Southwest-wind hurries in his Armes But hasts her forward Blossomes and layes out Freely layes out her leaves Nor doe I doubt But when the world first out of Chaos sprang So smil'd the Dayes and so the tenor ran Of their felicity A spring was there An everlasting spring the jolly yeare Led round in his great circle No winds Breath As then did smell of Winter or of Death When Lifes sweet Light first shone on Beasts and when From their hard Mother Earth sprang hardy men When Beasts tooke up their lodging in the Wood Starres in their higher Chambers never cou'd The tender growth of things endure the sence Of such a change but that the Heav'ns Indulgence Kindly supplies sick Nature and doth mold A sweetly temper'd meane nor hot nor cold With a Picture sent to a Friend I Paint so ill my peece had need to bee Painted againe by some good Poesie I write so ill my slender Line is scarce So much as th'Picture of a well-lim'd verse Yet may the love I send be true though I Send nor true Picture nor true Poesie Both which away I should not need to feare My Love or Feign'd or painted should appeare In praise of Lessius his rule of health GOe now with some dareing drugg Baite thy disease and while they tugg Thou to maintaine their cruell strife Spend the deare treasure of thy life Goe take phisicke doat upon Some bigg-named composition The oraculous doctors mistick bills Certain hard words made into pills And what at length shalt get by these Onely a costlyer disease Goe poore man thinke what shall bee Remedie against thy remedie That which makes us have no need Of Phisick that 's Phisick indeed Harke hether Reader wouldst thou see Nature her owne Physitian bee Wouldst see a man all his owne wealth His owne Physick his owne health A man whose sober soule can tell How to weare her garments well Her garments that upon her sit As garments should doe close and fit A well cloathed soule that 's not opprest Nor choakt with what shee should bee drest A soule shearhed in a christall shrine Through which all her bright features shine As when a peece of wanton lawne A thinne aiereall vaile is drawne O're beauties face seeming to hide More sweetly showes the blush'ng bride A soule whose intelectuall beames No mistes doe maske no lazy steames A happy soule that all the way To heaven hath a summers day Would'st thou see a man whose well warmed blood Bathes him in a genuine flood A man whose tuned humours bee A set of rarest harmony Wouldst see blith lookes fresh cheeks beguile Age wouldst see December smile Wouldst see a nest of Roses grow In a bed of reverend snow Warme thoughts free spirits flattering Winters selfe into a spring In summe wouldst see a man that can Live to bee old and still a man The beginning of Helidorus THe smiling Morne had newly wak't the Day And tipt the Mountaines in a tender ray When on a hill whose high Imperious brow Lookes downe and sees the humble Nile below Licke his proud feet and hast into the seas Through the great mouth that 's nam'd from Hercules A band of men rough as the Armes thy wore Look't round first to the sea then to the shore The shore that shewed them what the sea deny'd Hope of a prey There to the maine land ty'd A ship they saw no men shee had yet prest Appear'd with other lading for her brest Deep in the groaning waters wallowed Vp to the third Ring o're the shore was spread Death's purple triumph on the