tryall Of some new Trade Shall mortall hearts grow old In sorrow Shall my weary Armes infold And underprop my panting sides for ever Is there no charitable hand will sever My well-spun Thred that my imprison'd soule May be deliver'd from this dull darke hole Of dungeon flesh O shall I shall I never Be ransom'd but remaine a slave for ever It is the Lot of man but once to dye But ere that death how many deaths have I What humane madnesse makes the world affraid To entertaine heav'ns joy because conveig'd By th' hand of death Will nakednesse refuse Rich change of robes because the man 's not spruse That brought them Or will Poverty send back Full bags of gold because the bringer's black Life is a Bubble blowne with whining breaths Fil'd with the torments of a thousand deaths Which being prickt by death while death deprives One life presents the soule a thousand lives Of frantick mortall how has earth bewich'd Thy Beldam soule which has so fondly pitch'd Vpon her false delights Delights that cease Before enjoyment finds a time to please Her fickle joyes breed doubtfull feares her feares Bring hopfull Grifes her griefes weep fearefull teares Teares coyne deceitfull hopes hopes carefull doubt And surly passion justles passion out To day wee pamper with a full repast Of lavish mirth at night we weepe as fast To night we swim in wealth and lend To morrow We sink in want and find no friend to borrow In what a Climat does my soule reside Where pale-fac'd murther the first borne of pride Sets up her kingdome in the very smiles And plighted faiths of men-like Crocadiles A land where each embroydred Sattin word Is lin'd with Fraud where Mars his lawlesse sword Exiles Astraeas Balance where that hand Now flayes his brother that new-sow'd his land O that my dayes of bondage would expire In this lewd Soyle Lord how my Soule 's on fire To be dissolved that I might once obtaine These long'd for joyes long'd for so oft in vaine If Moses-like I may not live possest Of this faire Land Lord let me see 't at least S. AUGUST Soliloq Cap. 2. My life is a fraile life a corruptible life A life which the more increases the more decreases The farther it goes the nearer it comes to death A deceitfull life and like a shadow full of the snares of death Now I rejoyce now I languish now I flourish now infirme now I live and straight I dye now I seeme happy alwayes miserable now I laugh now I weepe Thus all things are subject to mutability that nothing continues an houre in one state O Ioy above Ioy exceeding all Ioy without which there is no Ioy when shall I enter into thee that I may see my God that dwels in thee EPIG 7. Art thou so weake O canst thou not digest An houre of travell for a night of Rest Cheare up my soule call home thy spir'ts and beare One bad Good-Friday Full-mouth'd Easter's neare VIII O wretched Man that I am who shall deliver me from the body of this Death Rom 7.24 Will simpson sculp VIII ROM VII XXIV O wretched man that I am who shall deliver me from this body of death BEhold thy darling which thy lustfull care Pampers for which thy restlesse thoughts prepare Such early Cates For whom thy bubbling brow So often sweats and bankrupt eyes doe owe Such midnight scores to Nature for whose sake Base earth is Sainted the Infernall Lake Vnfeard the Crowne of glory poorely rated Thy GOD neglected and thy brother hated Behold thy darling whom thy soule affects So dearely whom thy fond Indulgence decks And puppets up in soft in silken weeds With farre-fetch'd delicates the deare-bought gainer Of ill-spent Time the price of halfe thy paines Behold thy darling who when clad by Thee Derides thy nakednesse and when most free Proclaimes her lover slave and being fed Most full then strikes th'indulgent Feeder dead What meanst thou thus my poore deluded soule To love so fondly Can the burning Cole Of thy Affection last without the fuell Of counter-love Is my Compere so cruell And thou so kind to love unlov'd againe Canst thou sow favours and thus reape disdaine Remember O remember thou art borne Of royall Blood remember thou art sworne A Maid of Honour in the Court of Heav'n Remember what a costly price was giv'n To ransome thee from slav'ry thou wert in And wilt thou now my soule turne slave agin The Son and Heire to Heav'ns Triune JEHOVA Would faine become a Suitor for thy Love And offers for thy dow'r his Fathers Throne To sit for Seraphims to gaze upon Hee 'l give thee Honour Pleasure Wealth and Things Transcending farre the Majesty of Kings And wilt thou prostrate to the odious charmes Of this base Scullion Shall his hollow Armes Hugg thy soft sides Shall these course hands untie The sacred Zone of thy Virginity For shame degen'rous soule let thy desire Be quickned up with more heroick fire Be wisely proud let thy ambitious eye Read nobler objects let thy thoughts defie Such am'rous basenesse Let thy soule disdaine Th' ignoble profers of so base a Swaine Or if thy vowes be past and Himens bands Have ceremonyed your unequall hands Annull at least avoid thy lawlesse Act With insufficience or a Prae contract Or if the Act be good yet maist thou plead A second Freedome for the flesh is dead NAZIANZ Orat. 16. How I am joyned to this body I know not which when it is healthfull provokes me to warre and being damaged by warre affects me with griefe which I both love as a fellow servant and hate as an utter enemy It is a pleasant Foe and a perfidious friend O strange conjunction and Alienation What I feare I embrace and what I love I am affraid of Before I make warre I am reconcil'd Before I enjoy peace I am at variance EPIG 8. What need that House be daub'd with flesh and blood Hang'd round with silks and gold repair'd with food Cost idly spent That cost does but prolong Thy thraldome Foole thou mak'st thy I ayle too strong IX I am in a streight betwixt two haueing a Desire to Depart to be w th Christ Phil 5.23 Will Simpson Sculpsit IX PHIL. I. XXIII I am in a streight betweene two having a desire to be dissolved and to be with Christ 1 WHat meant our carefull parents so to weare And lavish out their ill expended houres To purchase for us large possessions here Which though unpurchas'd are too truly ours What meant they ah what meant they to indure Such loads of needlesse labour to procure And make that thing our own which was our own too sure 2 What meane these liv'ries and possessive kayes What meane these bargaines and these needlesse sales What need these jealous these suspitious wayes Of law-divis'd and law-dissolv'd entailes No need to sweat for gold wherewith to buy Estates of high-priz'd land no need to tie Earth to their heires were
Trash they call their treasure O how I 'de smile to see what plots they lay To catch a blast or owne a smile from Caesar Had I the pineons of a mounting Dove How would I sore and sing and hate the Love Of transitory Toyes and feed on Ioyes above 4 There should I find that everlasting Pleasure Which Change removes not which Chance prevents not There should I find that everlasting Treasure Which force deprives not fortune dis-augments not There should I find that everlasting Caesar Whose hand recals not and whose heart repents not Had I the pineons of a clipping Dove How I would climbe the skies and hate the Love Of transitory Toyes and joy in Things above 5 No rank-mouth'd flander there shall give offence Or blast our blooming names as here they doe No liver scalding Lust shall there incense Our boyling veines There is no Cupids Bow LORD give my soule the milke-white Innocence Of Doves and I shall have their pineons too Had I the pineons of a sprightly Dove How I would quit this earth and sore above And heav'ns blest kingdom find with heav'ns blest King IEHOVE S. AUGUST in Psal 38. What wings should I desire but the two precepts of love on which the Law and the Prophets depend O if I could obtaine these wings I could flye from thy face to thy face from the face of thy Iustice to the face of thy Mercy Let us find those wings by love which we have lost by lust S. AUGUST in Psal 76. Let us cast off whatsoever hinders entangles or burthens our flight untill we attaine that which satisfies beyond which nothing is beneath which all things are of which all things are EPIG 13. Tell me my wishing soule didst ever trie How fast the wings of Red-crost Faith can flie Why beg'st thou then the pineons of a Dove Faiths wings are swifter but the swiftest Love XIV How amiable are thy Tabernacles O Lord of Hosts my Soule longeth yâ—â— euen fainteth for the courts of the Lord Pâ—â—4 Will Marshall Sculâ— XIV PSAL. LXXXIV I How amiable are thy Tabernacles O God of Hosts ANcient of dayes to whom all times are Now Before whose Glory Seraphims do bow Their blushing Cheekes and vale their blemisht faces That uncontain'd at once dost fill all places How glorious O how farre beyond the height Of puzzled Quils or the obtuse conceit Of flesh and Blood or the too flat reports Of mortall tongues are thy experssesse Courts Whose glory to paint forth with greater Art Ravish my Fancy and inspire my heart Excuse my bold attempt and pardon me For shewing Sence what Faith alone should see Ten thousand Millions and ten thousand more Of Angell-measur'd leagues from th'Easterne shore Of dungeon earth this glorious Palace stands Before whose pearly gates ten thousand Bands Of armed Angels wait to entertaine Those purged soules for whom the Lamb was slaine Whose guiltlesse death and voluntary yeelding Of whose giv'n life gave this brave Court her building The lukewarme Blood of this deare Lamb being spilt To Rubies turn'd whereof her posts were built And what dropt downe in cold and gelid gore Did turne rich Saphyrs and impav'd her floore The brighter flames that from his eye-balls ray'd Grew Chrysolites whereof her walls were made The milder glaunces sparkled on the Ground And grunsild ev'ry doore with Diamond But dying darted upwards and did fix A Battlement of purest Sardonix Her streets with burnisht Gold are paved round Starres lie like pebbles scattred on the ground Pearle mixt with Onyx and the Iasper stone Made gravil'd Causwayes to be trampled on There shines no Sun by day no Moone by night The Pallace glory is the Pallace light There is no time to measure motion by There time is swallow'd with Eternity Wry-mouth'd disdaine and corner-haunting lust And twy-fac'd Fraud and beetle-brow'd Distrust Soule-boyling Rage and trouble-state sedition And giddy doubt and goggle-ey'd suspition And lumpish sorrow and degen'rous feare Are banisht thence and death 's a stranger there But simple love and sempeternall joyes Whose sweetnesse neither gluts nor fulnesse cloyes Where face to face our ravish't eye shall see Great ELOHIM that glorious One in Three And Three in One and seeing Him shall blesse Him And blessing love Him and in love possesse Him Here stay my soule and ravish in relation Thy words being spent spend now in Contemplation S. GREG. in Psal 7. poenitent Sweet Iesus the Word of the Father the brightnesse of paternall glory whom Angels delight to view teach me to do thy will that led by thy good Spirit I may come to that blessed City where day is eternall where there is certaine security and secure eternity and eternall peace and peacefull happinesse and happy sweetnesse and sweet pleasure where thou O God with the Father and the holy Spirit livest and raignest world without end Ibid. There is light without darkenesse Ioy without griefe desire without punishment love without sadnesse satiety without loathing safety without feare health without disease and life without death EIPG. 14. My soule pry not too nearely The Complexion Of Sols bright face is seene but by Reflexion But wouldst thou know what 's heav'n I le tell thee what Think what thou canst not thinke and Heav'n is that XV. Make hast my Beloved and be Thow like to a Roe or to a yong Hart vpon the Mountaines of Spices Cant 8.14 Will sâ—â—sc XV. CANT VIII XIV Make hast my Beloved and be like the Roe or the young Hart upon the Mountaines of Spices GO Gentle Tyrant go thy flames doe pierce My soule too deep thy flames are too too fierce My marrow melts my fainting Spirits fry Ith'torrid Zone of thy Meridian Eye Away away thy sweets are too perfuming Turne turne thy face Thy fires are too consuming Hast hence and let thy winged steps out-goe The frighted Roe-buck and his flying Roe But wilt thou leave me then O thou that art Life of my Soule Soule of my dying heart Without the sweet Aspect of whose faire Eyes My soule does languish and her solace dies Art thou so easily woo'd So apt to heare The frantick language of my foolish feare Leave leave me not nor turne thy beauty from me Looke looke upon me though thine eâ—es ov'rcome me O how they wound But how my wounds content me How sweetly these delightfull paines torment me How I am tortur'd in excessive measure Of pleasing cruelties too cruell pleasure Turne turne away remove thy scorching beames I languish with these bitter-sweet extreames Hast then and let thy winged steps out-goe The flying Roe-buck and his frighted Roe Turne back my deare O let my ravisht eye Once more behold thy face before thou flie What shall we part without a mutuall kisse O who can leave so sweet a face as this Looke full upon me for my soule desires To turne a holy Martyr in those fires O leave me not nor turne thy beauty from me Looke looke upon me though thy flames ov'rcome me
TRINITAS EMBLEMES By â—raâ— Quarâ—es LONDON Printed by I.D. for Francis Eglerfeild and 〈…〉 at the 〈◊〉 of the Marigold in St. Pauls Church-yard 1â—7â— Haec Laus hic Apex Sapientiae est ea viventem appetere quae morienti forent appetenda TO MY MVCH HONOVRED AND NO lesse truely beloved Friend EDVV. BENLOVVES Esquire My deare Friend YOu have put the Theorboe into my hand and I have played You gave the Musitian the first encouragement the Musicke returnes to you for Patronage Had it been a light Ayre no doubt but it had taken the most and among them the worst But being a grave Strayne my hopes are that it will please the best and among them You. Toyish Ayres please triviall eares They kisse the fancy and betray it They cry Haile first and after Crucifie Let Dorrs delight to immerd themselves in dung whilst Eagles scorn so poore a Game as Flies Sir you have Art and Candor Let the one judge let the other excuse Your most affectionate Friend FRA. QUARLES TO THE READER AN Embleme is but a silent Parable Let not the tender Eye checke to see the allusion to our blessed SAVIOUR figured in these Types In holy Scripture He is sometimes called a Sower sometimes a Fisher sometimes a Physitian And why not presented so as well to the eye as to the eare Before the knowledge of letters GOD was knowne by Hierogliphicks And indeed what are the Heavens the Earth nay every Creature but Hieroglyphicks and Emblemes of His Glory I have no more to say I wish thee as much pleasure in the reading as I had in the writeing Farewell Reader BY Fathers backt by Holy Writ led on Thou shewst away to Heav'n by Helicon The Muses Font is consecrate by Thee And Poefie baptiz'd Divinitie Blest soule that here embark'st Thou sayl'st a pace 'T is hard to say mov'd more by Wit or Grace Each Muse so plyes her Oare but O the Sayle Is fill'd from heav'n with a Diviner Cale When Poets prove Divines why should not I Approve in Verse this Divine Poetry Let this suffice to licence thee the Presse I must no more nor could the Truth say lesse Sic approbavit RICH. LOVâ— Procan Cantabrigieâ—siâ— Tot Flores QUARLES quot Paradisus habet Lectori bene male-volo Qui legit ex Horto hoc Flores Qui carpit Vterque Jure potest VIOLAS dicere jure ROSAS Non è Parnasso VIOLAM Paestivè ROSETO Carpit Apollo magis quae sit amoena ROSAM Quòt Versus VIOLAS legis Quem verba locutum Credis verba dedit Nam dedit Ille ROSAS Utque Ego non dicam haec VIOLAS suavissima Tuâ—e Ipse facis VIOLAS Livide si violas Nà m veluÌ„tè VIOLIS sibi sugit Aâ—anea virus Vertis ità in succos Hasque ROSASque tuos Quas violas Musas VIOLAS puto quasque reculas Dente tuo rosas has râ—or esse ROSAS Sic rosas facis esse ROSAS dùm Zoile rodis Sic facis has VIOLAS Livide dum violas Brent-Hall 1634. EDVV. BENLOVVES Dum Caesum aspicio Solum despicio 〈◊〉 marshall 〈◊〉 THE FIRST BOOKE The Invocation ROwze thee my soule and dreine thee from the dregs Of vulgar thoughts Skrue up the heightned pegs Of thy Sublime Theorboe foure notes higher And higher yet that so the shrill-mouth'd Quire Of swift wing'd Seraphims may come and joyne And make thy Consort more than halfe divine Invoke no Muse Let heav'n be thy Apollo And let his sacred Influences hallow Thy high-bred Straines Let his full beames inspire Thy ravisht braines with more heroick fire Snatch thee a Quill from the spread Eagles wing And like the morning Lark mount up and sing Cast off these dangling Plummets that so clog Thy lab'ring heart which gropes in this darke fog Of dungeon-earth Let flesh and bloud forbeare To stop thy flight till this base world appeare A thin blew Lanskip Let thy pineons sore So high a pitch that men may seeme no more Than Pismires crawling on this Mole-hill earth Thy eare untroubled with their frantick mirth Let not the frailty of thy flesh disturbe Thy new-concluded peace Let reason curbe Thy â—ot-mouth'd Passion and let heav'ns fire season The flash Conceits of thy corrected Reason Disdaine to warme thee at Lusts smoakie fires Scorne scorne to feed on thy old bloat desires Come come my soule hoyse up thy higher sayles The wind blowes faire Shall we still creepe like Snayles That gild their wayes with their owne native slimes No we must flie like Eagles and our Rhimes Must mount to heav'n and reach th'Olympick eare Our heav'n-blowne fire must seek no other Spheare Thou great Theanthropos that giv'st and crown'st Thy gifts in dust and from our dunghill crown'st Reflected Honour taking by Retayle What thou hast giv'n in grosse from lapsed fraile And sinfull man that drink'st full draughts whereiâ— Thy Childrens leprous fingers scurf'd with Sin Have padled cleanse O cleanse my crafty Soule From secret crimes and let my thoughts controule My thoughts O teach me stoutly to deny My selfe that I may be no longer I Enrich my Fancie clarifie my thoughts Refine my drosse O wink at humane faults And through this slender conduit of my Quill Convey thy Current whose cleare streames may fill The hearts of men with love their tongues with praise Crowne me with Glory Take who list the Bayes I. â—â—us muâ—â—uus in masignâ— mali ligno â—â—tus est 〈◊〉 Marshall sculp I. JAM I.XIV. Every man is tempted when hee is drawne away by his own lust and enticed Serpent Eve Serp. NOt eat Nor tast Not touch Nor cast an eye Upon the fruit of this faire Tree And why Why eat'st thou not what Heav'n ordain'd for food Or canst thou think that bad which heav'n cal'd Good Why was it made if not to be enjoy'd Neglect of favours makes a favour void Blessings unus'd pervert into a Wast As well as Surfeits Woman Do but tast See how the laden boughes make silent Suit To be enjoy'd Looke how their bending Fruit Meet thee halfe way Observe but how they crouch To kisse thy hand Coy woman Do but touch Marke what a pure Vermilian blush has dy'd Their swelling Cheeks and how for shame they hide Their palsie heads to see themselves stand by Neglected Woman Do but cast an eye What bounteous heav'n ordain'd for use refuse not Come pull and eat y'abuse the things ye use not Eve Wisest of Beasts our great Creator did Reserve this Tree and this alone forbid The rest are freely ours which doubtlesse are As pleasing to the Tast to th' eye as faire But touching this his strict commands are such 'T is death to tast no lesse than death to touch Serp. P'sh death 's a fable Did not heav'n inspire Your equall Elements with living Fire Blowne from the spring of life Is not that breath Immortall Come ye are as free from death As He that made ye Can the flames expire Which he has kindled Can ye quench His fire Did not
base And Chymick metall with great Caesars face And with thy bastard Bullion thou hast barterd For wares of price How justly drawne and quarterd VI. Sic decipit orbis Will Marshall sculpsit VI. IOB XV. XXXI Let not him that is deceived trust in vanity for vanity shall be his recompence 1 BElieve her not Her Glasse diffuses False Portraitures Thou canst espie No true reflection She abuses Her mis-inform'd beholders eye Her Chrystal's falsly steel'd It scatters Deceitfull beames Beleeve her not She flatters 2 This flaring Mirrour representes No right Proportion heiw nor Feature Her very looks are Complements They make thee fairer goodlier greater The skilfull Glosse of her reflection But paints the Context of thy course Complexion 3 Were thy dimension but a stride Nay wert thou statur'd but a span Such as the long-bill'd Troopes defi'd A very Fragment of a Man Shee 'l make thee Mimas which ye will The love-slaine Tyrant or th' Ionick Hill 4 Had surfeits or th'ungratious Starre Conspir'd to make one Common place Of all deformities that are Within the Volume of thy face Shee 'd lend thee favour should out-move The Troy-bane Hellen or the Queen of Love 5 Were thy consum'd estate as poore As Lazars or afflicted Iobs Shee 's change thy wants to seeming store And turne thy Raggs to purple Robes Shee 'l make thy hide-bound flanck appeare As plump as theirs that feast it all the yeare 6 Looke off let not thy Opticks be Abus'd thou seest not what thou shouldst Thy selfe 's the Object thou should'st see But 't is thy shadow thou behold'st And shadowes thrive the more in stature The nearer we approach the light of nature 7 Where heav'ns bright beames looke more direct The shadow shrinks as they grow stronger But when they glaunce their faire aspect The bold-fac'd shade growes larger longer And when their lamp begins to fall Th' increasing shadowes lengthen most of all 8 The soule that seeks the noone of Grace Shrinks in but swels if Grace retreat As heav'n lifts up or veiles his Face Our selfe-esteemes grow lesse or great The least is greatest And who shall Appeare the greatest are the least of all HVGO lib. 3. de anima In vaine he lifts up the eye of his heart to behold his God who is not first rightly advised to behold himselfe First thou must see the viâ—â—ble things of thy selfe before thou canst be prepared to know the invisible things of God for if thou canst not apprehend the things within thee thou canst not comprehend the things above thee The best looking-glasse wherein to see thy God is perfectly to see thy selfe EPIG 6. Be not deceiv'd great Foole There is no losse In being small Great bulks but swell with drosse Man is heav'ns Master-peece If it appeare More great the valu's lesse If lesse more deare VII She pesâ—ima die oâ—tima seviat Will Marshall sculpsit VII DEVT. XXX XIX I have set before thee life and death blessin and cursing therefore choose life that thou and thy seede may live 1 THe world 's a Floore whose swelling heapes retaine The mingled wages of the Ploughmans toyle The world 's a Heape whose yet unwinnowed graine Is lodg'd with chaffe and buried in her soyle All things are mixt the usefull with the vaine The good with bad the noble with the vile The world 's an Ark wherein things pure and grosse Present their lossefull gaine and gainefull losse Where ev'ry dram of Gold containes a pound of drosse 2 This furnisht Ark presents the greedy view With all that earth can give or heav'n can add Here lasting joyes here pleasures hourely new And hourely fading may be wisht and had All points of Honour counterfeit and true Salute thy soule and wealth both good and bad Here maist thou open wide the two-leav'd doore Of all thy wishes to receive that store Which being empty most does overflow the more 3 Come then my soule approach this royall Burse And see what wares our great Exchange retaines Come come here 's that shall make a firme divorse Betwixt thy Wants and thee if want complaines No need to sit in councell with thy purse Here 's nothing good shall cost more price than paines But O my soule take heed If thou relie Vpon thy faithlesse Opticks thou wilt buy Too blind a bargaine know Fooles onely trade by th' Eye 4 The worldly wisedome of the foolish man Is like a Sive that does alone retaine The grosser substance of the worthlesse Bran But thou my soule let thy brave thoughts disdaine So course a purchase O be thou a Fan To purge the Chaffe and keepe the winnow'd Graine Make cleane thy thoughts and dresse thy mixt desires Thou art heav'ns Tasker and thy GOD requires The purest of thy Floore as well as of thy fires 5 Let grace conduct thee to the paths of peace And wisedome blesse thy soules umblemisht wayes No matter then how short or long 's the Lease Whose date determins thy selfe-numbred dayes No need to care for wealths or Fames increase Nor Mars his Palme nor high Apollo's Bayes LORD if thy gracious bounty please to fill The floore of my desires and teach me skill To dresse and chuse the Corn take those the Chaffe that will S. AUGUST lib 1. de doct Christi Temporall things more ravish in the expectation than in fruition but things eternall more in the fruition than expectation Ibidem The life of a man is the middle betweene Angels and beasts If man takes pleasure in carnall things hee is compared to beasts But if he delights in spirituall things he is suited with Angels EPIG 7. Art thou a Child Thou wilt not then be fed But like a Child and with the Childrens bread But thou art fed with chaffe or corne undrest My soule thou savour'st too much of the Brest VIII Haec animanâ—â—â—ueâ—os cymâ—ala at illa 〈◊〉 Will Marshall sculpsit VIII PHIL. III. XIX They minde earthly things but our conversation is in heaven Venus Div. Cupid Ve. WHat meanes this peevish Brat Whish Lullaby What ayles my Babe What ayles my Babe to cry Will nothing still it will it neither be Pleas'd with the Nurses breast nor Mothers knee What ayles my Bird What moves my froward Boy To make such whimpring faces Peace my Ioy Will nothing doe Come come this pettish Brat Thus cry and bawle and cannot tell for what Come busse and friends my lambe whish lullaby What ayles my Babe What ayles my Babe to cry Peace peace my deare alas thy early yeares Had never faults to merit halfe these teares Come smile upon me Let thy mother spie Thy Fathers Image in her Babies eye Husband these guiltlesse drops against the rage Of harder fortunes and the gripes of Age Thine eye 's not ripe for teares whish lullaby What ayles my Babe mine sweet-fac'd Babe to cry Looke looke what 's here A dainty Golden thing See how the dauncing Bells turn round and ring To please my Bantling Here 's a knack will breed A
are our Traffick and ensnare Our soules the threefold subject of our Care We toyle for Trash we barter solid Ioyes For ayry Triffes sell our Heav'n for Toyes We snatch at Barly graines whilst Pearles stand by Despis'd Such very Fooles are Thou and I Aym'st thou at Honour Does not th'Ideot shake it In his left hand Fond man step forth and take it Or wouldst thou Wealth See how the foole presents thee With a full Basket if such Wealth contents thee Wouldst thou take pleasure If the Foole unstride His prauncing Stallion thou mayst up and ride Fond man Such is the Pleasure Wealth and Honour The earth affords such Fooles as dote upon her Such is the Game whereat earths Ideots flie Such Ideots ah such Fooles are thou and I Had rebell-mans Foole-hardinesse extended No further than himselfe and there had ended It had beene Iust but thus enrag'd to flie Vnon th' eternall eyes of Majesty And drag the Son of Glory from the brest Of his indulgent Father to arrest His great and sacred Person in disgrace To spit and spaule upon his Sun-bright face To taunt him with base termes and being bound To scourge his soft his trembling sides to wound His head with Thornes his heart with humane feares His hands with nayles and his pale Flanck with speares And then to paddle in the purer streame Of his spilt Blood is more than most extreame Great Builder of mankind canst thou propound All this to thy bright eyes and not confound Thy handy-worke O canst Thou choose but see That mad'st the Eye Can ought be hid from Thee Thou seest our persons LORD and not our Guilt Thou seest not what thou maist but what thou wilt The Hand that form'd us is enforc'd to be A Screene set up betwixt thy Work and Thee Look looke upon that Hand and thou shalt spy An open wound a Through-fare for thine Eye Or if that wound be clos'd that passage be Deny'd betweene Thy gracious eyes and me Yet view the Scarre That Starre will countermand Thy Wrath O read my Fortune in thy Hand S. CHRYS Hom. 4. Ioan. Fooles seeme to abound in wealth when they want all things they seeme to enjoy happinesse when indeed they are onely most miserable neither doe they understand that they are deluded by their fancy till they be delivered from their folly S. GREG. in Mor. By so much the more are we inwardly foolish by how much we strive to seeme outwardly wise EPIG 2. Rebellious foole what has thy Folly done Controld thy GOD and crucified His Son How sweetly has the LORD of life deceiv'd thee Thou shedst His Blood and that shed Blood has sav'd thee III. Haue mercy on me o L d for I am weake o L d heale me for my bones are vexed Ps â—2 III. PSAL. VI.II. Have mercy Lord upon me for I am weake O Lord heale me for my bones are vexed Soule Iesuâ— Soul AH Son of David help Ies What sinfull crie Implores the Son of David Soul It is I Ies Who art thou Soul Oh a deepely wounded brest That 's heavy laden and would faine have rest Ies I have no scraps and dogs must not be fed Like houshold Children with the childrens bread Soul True Lord yet tolerate a hungry whelp To lick their crums O Son of David help Ies Poore Soule what ail'st thou Soul O I burne I fry I cannot rest I know not where to fly To find some case I turne my blubber'd face From man to man I roule from place to place T' avoid my tortures to obtaine reliefe But still am dogg'd and haunted with my griefe My midnight torments call the sluggish light And when the morning 's come they woo the night Ies Surcease thy teares and speake thy free desires Soul Quench quench my flames swage these scorching fires Ies Canst thou believe my hand can cure thy griefe Soul Lord I believe Lord helpe my unbeliefe Ies Hold forth thy Arme and let my fingers try Thy Pulse where chiefly does thy torment lie Soul From head to foot it raignes in ev'ry part But playes the selfe-law'd Tyrant in my heart Ies Canst thou digest canst relish wholesome food How stands thy tast Soul To nothing that is good All sinfull trash and earths unsav'ry stuffe I can digest and relish well enough Ies Is not thy blood as cold as hot by turnes Soul Cold to what 's good to what is bad it burnes Ies How old 's thy griefe Soul I tooke it at the Fall With eating Fruit. Ies 'T is Epidemicall Thy blood 's infected and th' Infection sprung From a bad Liver 'T is a feaver strong And full of death unlesse with present speed A veine be op'ned Thou must die or bleed Soul O I am faint and spent That Launce that shall Let forth my blood le ts forth my life withall My soule wants Cordials and has greater need Of blood than being spent so farre to bleed I faint already If I bleed I die Ies 'T is either thou must bleed sick soule or I My blood 's a Cordiall He that sucks my veines Shall cleanse his owne and conquer greater paines Than these Cheere up this precious Blood of mine Shall cure thy Griefe my heart shall bleed for thine Believe and view me with a faithfull eye Thy soule shall neither languish bleed nor die S. AUGUST lib. 10. Confess Lord Be mercifull unto me Ah me Behold I hide not my wounds Thou art a Physician and I am sicke Thou art mercifull and I am miserable S. GREG. in Pastoral O Wisedome with how sweet an art does thy wine and oyle restore health to my healthlesse soule How powerfully mercifull how mercifully powerfull art thou Powerfull for me Mercifull to me EPIG 3. Canst thou be sick and such a Doctor by Thou canst not live unlesse thy Doctor die Strange kind of griefe that finds no med'cine good To swage her paines but the Physicians Blood IV. Looke â—pon my AfflictioÌ„ miâ—â—â—y forgiue mee all my Sinne 〈…〉 IV. PSAL. XXV XVIII Looke upon my affliction and my paine and forgive all my sinnes BOth worke and stroakes Both lash and labour too What more could Edom or proud Ashur doe Stripes after stripes and blowes succeeding blowes Lord has thy scourge no mercy and my woes No end My paines no ease No intermission Is this the state Is this the sad condition Of those that trust thee Will thy goodnesse please T' allow no other favours None but these Will not the Rethrick of my torments move Are these the symptoms these the signes of love Is' t not enough enough that I fulfill The toylsome task of thy laborious Mill May not this labour expiate and purge My sinne without th' addition of thy scourge Looke on my cloudy brow how fast it raines Sad showers of sweat the fruites of fruitlesse paines Behold these ridges see what purple furrowes Thy plow has made O thinke upon those sorrowes That once were thine wilt wilt thou not be woo'd To
Patent will Wouldst thou live long Keepe Time in high esteeme Whom gone if thou canst not recall redeeme Nec sine nec Tecum Will Marshall sculpsit His light shall be dark and his candle shall be put out IOB 18.6 What ayles our Tapour Is her luster fled Or foyl'd What dire disaster bred This Change that thus she vailes her golden head 2 It was but very now she shin'd as faire As Venus starre Her glory might compare With Cynthia burnisht with her brothers haire 3 There was no Cave-begotten damp that mought Abuse her beames no wind that went about To breake her peace no Puffe to put her out 4 Lift up thy wondring thoughts and thou shalt spye A Cause will cleare thy doubts but cloud thine eye Subiects must vaile when as their Sov'raign's by 5 Canst thou behold bright Phoebus and thy sight No whit impayr'd The object is too bright The weaker yeelds unto the stronger Light 6 Great God I am thy Tapour Thou my Sunne From thee the Spring of Light my Light begun Yet if thy Light but shine my light is done 7 If thou withdraw thy Light my light will shine If thine appeare how poore a light is mine My light is darknesse if compar'd to thine 8 Thy Sun beames are too strong for my weake eye If thou but shine how nothing Lord am I Ah who can see thy visage and not die 9 If intervening earth should make a night My wanton flame would then shine forth too bright My earth would ev'n presume t' eclipse thy Light 10 And if thy Light be shadow'd and mine fade If thine be dark and my dark light decayd I should be cloathed with a double shade 11 What shall I doe O what shall I desire What help can my distracted thoughts require That thus am wasting twixt a double Fire 12 In what a streight in what a streight am I Twixt two extreames how my rackt fortunes lie See I thy face or see it not I die 13 O let the steame of my Redeemers blood That breaths fro'my sick soule be made a Cloud T' inter pose these Lights and be my shroud 14 Lord what am I or what 's the light I have May it but light my Ashes to their Grave And so from thence to Thee 't is all I crave 15 O make my Light that all the world may see Thy Glory by 't If not It seemes to me Honour enough to be put out by Thee O Light inaccessible in respect of which my light is utter darknes so reflect upon my weaknes that all the world may behold thy strength O Majesty incomprehensible in respect of which my glory is meere shame so shine upon my misery that all the world may behold thy glory EPIG 7. Wilt thou complaine because thou art bereav'n Of all thy light Wilt thou vie Lights with Heav'n Can thy bright eye not brooke the daily light Take heed I feare thou art a Child of night Nec Virtus obscurapetit Will Marshall sculpsit Let your light so shine that men seeing your good workes may glorifie your Father which is in Heaven MAT. 5.16 WAs it for this the breath of Heav'n was blowne Into the nostrils of this Heav'nly Creature Was it for this that sacred Three in One Conspir'd to make this Quintessence of Nature Did heav'nly Providence intend So rare a Fabrick for so poore an end 2 Was Man the highest Master-peece of Nature The curious Abstract of the whole Creation Whose soule was copied from his great Creator Made to give Light and set for Observation Ordain'd for this To spend his Light In a darke-Lanthorne Cloystred up in night 3 Tell me recluse Monastick can it be A disadvandtage to thy beames to shine A thousand Tapours may gaine light from Thee Is thy Light lesse or worse for lighting mine If wanting Light I stumble shall Thy darknesse not be guilty of my fall 4 Why dost thou lurk so close Is it for feare Some busie eye should pry into thy flame And spie a Thiefe or else some blemish there Or being spy'd shrink'st thou thy head for shame Come come fond Tapour shine but cleare Thou needst not shrinke for shame nor shroud for feare 5 Remember O remember thou wert set For men to see the Great Creator by Thy flame is not thy owne It is a Det Thou ow'st thy Maker And wilt thou deny To pay the Int'rest of thy Light And skulk in Corners and play least in sight 6 Art thou affraid to trust thy easie flame To the injurious wast of Fortunes puffe Ah Coward rouze and quit thy selfe for shame Who dies in service hath liv'd long enough Who shines and makes no eye partaker Vsurps himselfe and closely robbs his Maker 7 Take not thy selfe a Pris'ner that art free Why dost thou turne thy Palace to a Iaile Thou art an Eagle And befits it thee To live immured like a cloysterd Snaile Let Toies seeke Corners Things of cost Gaine worth by view Hid Iewels are but lost 8 My God my light is dark enough at lightest Encrease her flame and give her strength to shine T is fraile at best T is dimme enough at brightest But 't is her glory to be foyld by Thine Let others lurke My light shall be Propos'd to all men and by them to Thee S. BERN. If thou be one of the foolish Virgins the Congregation is necessary for thee If thou be one of the wise Virgins thou art necessary for the Congregation HUGO Monasticks make Cloysters to inclose the outward man O would to God they would do the like to restraine the inward Man EPIG 8 Affraid of eyes What still play least in sight T is much to be presum'd all is not right Too close endeavours bring forth dark events Come forth Monastick Here 's no Parliaments Vt Luna Infantia torpet Will. Marshall sculpsit He cometh forth like a Flower and is cut downe IOB 14.2 1 Behold How short a span Was long enough of old To measure out the life of Man In those wel temper'd dayes his time was then Survey'd cast up and found but threescore years and ten 2 Alas And what is that They come slide and passe Before my Pen can tell thee what The Posts of Time are swift which having run Their sev'n short stages 'ore their short liv'd task is done 3 Our dayes Begun wee lend To sleepe to antick plaies And Toyes untill the first stage end 12. waining Moons twise 5. times told we give To unrecover'd loss Wee rather breathe then live 4 Wee spend A ten years breath Before wee apprehend What is to live or feare a death Our childish dreams are fil'd with painted joyes which please our sense a while waking prove but Toies 5 How vaine How wretched is Poore man that doth remaine A slave to such a State as this His daies are short at longest few at most They are but bad at best yet lavisht out or lost 6 They bee The secret Springs That make our
world it selfe and all the worlds Command Is but a Bubble The strong desires of mans insatiate brest May stand possest Of all that earth can give but earth can give no Rest 4 The world 's a seeming Par'dise but her owne And Mans Tormenter Appearing fixt yet but a rolling Stone Without a Tenter It is a vast Circumference where none Can find a Center Of more than earth can earth make none possest and he that least Regards this restlesse world shall in this world find Rest 5 True Rest consists not in the oft revying Of worldly drosse Earths myry Purchase is not worth the buying Her gaine is losse Her rest but giddy toyle if not relying Upon her Crosse How worldlings droyle for trouble That fond brest That is possest Of earth without a Crosse has earth without a Rest CASS. in Ps The Crosse is the invincible Sanctuary of the humble The dejection of the proud the victory of Christ the destruction of the devill the confirmation of the faithfull the death of the unbeleever the life of the just DAMASCEN The Crosse of Christ is the key of Paradise the weake mans staffe the Converts Convoy the upright mans perfection the soule and bodies health the prevention of all evill and the procurer of all Good EPIG 9. Worldling whose whimpâ—ing folly holds the losses Of honour Pleasure health and wealth such Crosses Looke here and tell me what your Armes engrosse When the best end of what ye hugg's a crosse VII Latet hostis et otia ducis W. Marshall sculp VII I PET. V. VIII Be sober Be vigilant because your adversary the devill as a roaring Lion walketh about seeking whom he may devoure 1 WHy dost thou suffer lustfull sloth to creepe Dull Cypâ—ian lad into thy wanton browes Is this a time to pay thine idle vowes At Morpheus Shrine Is this a time to steepe Thy braines in wastfull slumbers up and rouze Thy leaden spirits Is this a time to sleepe Adjourne thy sanguine dreames Awake arise Call in thy Thoughts and let them all advise Hadst thou as many Heads as thou hast wounded Eyes 2 Looke looke what horrid Furies doe await Thy flattring slumbers If thy drowzie head But chance to nod thou fal'st into a Bed Of sulph'rous flames whose Torments want a date Fond Boy be wise let not thy thoughts be fed With Phrygian wisedome Fooles are wise too late Beware betimes and let thy Reason sever Those Gates which passion clos'd wake now or never For if thou nod'st thou fal'st and falling fal'st for ever 3 Mark how the ready hands of death prepare His Bow is bent and he has noch'd his dart He aimes he levels at thy slumbring heart The wound is posting O be wise Beware What has the voice of danger lost the art To raise the spirit of neglected Care Well sleep thy fill and take thy soft reposes But know withall sweet tasts have sower closes And he repents in Thornes that sleeps in Beds of roses 4 Yet sluggard wake and gull thy soule no more With earths false pleasure and the worlds delight Whose fruit is faire and pleasing to the sight But sowre in tast false at the putrid Core Thy flaring Glasse is Gemms at her halfe light She makes thee seming rich but truly poore She boasts a kernell and bestowes a Shell Performes an Inch of her faire promis'd Ell Her words protest a Heav'n Her works produce a Hell 5 O thou the fountaine of whose better part Is earth'd and gravail'd up with vaine desire That daily wallow'st in the fleshly mire And base pollution of a lustfull heart That feel'st no passion but in wanton fire And own'st no torment but from Cupids dart Behold thy Type Thou sitst upon this Baâ—l Of earth secure while death that flings at all Stands ar'md to strike thee down where flames attend thy fall S. BERN. Security is no where It is neither in heaven nor in Paradise much lesse in the world In heaven the Angels fell from the divine presence in Paradise Adam fell from his place of pleasure in the world Iudas fel from the Schoole of our Saviour HUGO J eat secure I drink secure I sleep secure even as though I had past the day of death avoided the day of judgment and escaped the torments of hell fire I play and laugh as though I were already triumphing in the Kingdome of heaven EPIG 7. Get up my soule Redeeme thy slavish eyes From drowzy bondage O beware Be wise Thy Foe 's before thee thou must fight or flieâ— Life lies most open in a closed Eye VIII Et risu necat W. Marshall sc VIII LVKE VI. XXV Woe be to you that laugh now for yee shall mourne and weepe THe world 's a popular disease that raignes Within the froward heart and frantick braines Of poore distemper'd mortals oft arising From ill digestion through th'unequall poysing Of ill-weigh'd Elements whose light directs Malignant humours to maligne Effects One raves and labours with a boyling Liver Rends haire by handfuls cursing Cupids Quiver Another with a Bloody-fluxe of oathes Vowes deepe Revenge one dotes the other loathes One frisks and sings and vyes a Flagon more To drench dry cares and makes the Welkin roare Another droopes the sunshine makes him sad Heav'n cannot please One's moap'd the tother's mad One huggs his Gold Another let sit flie He knowing not for whom nor tother why One spends his day in Plots his night in Play Another sleeps and slugs both night and day One laughs at this thing tother cries for that But neither one nor tother knowes for what Wonder of wonders What we ought t'evite As our disease we hugg as our delight T is held a Symptome of approaching danger When disacquainted Sense becomes a stranger And takes no knowledge of an old disease But when a noysome Griefe begins to please The unresisting sense it is a feare That death has parlyed and compounded there As when the dreadfull Thund'rers awefull hand Powres forth a Viall on th' infected land At first th' affrighted Mortals quake and faeare And ev'ry noise is thought the Thunderer But when the frequent Soule-departing Bell Has pav'd their eares with her familiar knell It is reputed but a nine dayes wonder They neither feare the Thundre'r nor his Thunder So when the world a worse disease began To smart for sinne poore new-created Man Could seek for shelter and his gen'rous Son Knew by his wages what his hands had done But bold-fac'd Mortals in our blushlesse times Can sin and smile and make a sport of Crimes Transgresse of Custome and rebell in ease We false-joy'd fooles can triumph in disease And as the carelesse Pilgrim being bit By the Tarantula begins a Fit Of life-concluding laughter wast our breath In lavish pleasure till we laugh to death HUGO de anima What profit is there in vaine Gloryâ— momentary mirth the worlds power the fleshes pleasure full riches noble descent and great desires Where is their laughter Where is their
O whether meanes her furious Groome to drive What will her rambling Fits be never past For ever ranging never once retrive Will earths perpetuall Progresse nere expire Her Teame continuing in their fresh Careire And yet they never rest And yet they never tyre 2 Sols hot-mouth'd Steeds whose nostrils vomit flame And brazen lungs belch forth quotidian fire Their twelve houres taske perform'd grow stiffe and lame And their immortall Spirits faint and tyre At th' Azure mountaines foot their labours claime The priviledge of Rest where they retyre To quench their burning Fetlocks and to steepe Their flaming nostrils in the Westerne deepe And fresh there tyred soules with strength-restoring sleepe 3 But these prodigious Hackneyes basely got T'wixt men and Devils made for Race not flight CaÌ„n dragge the idle world expecting not The bed of Rest but travell with delight Who neither weighing way nor weather trott Through dust and dirt and droyle both night and day Thus droyle these fâ—ends incarnate whose free paines Are fed with dropsies and veneriall Blaines No need to use the whip but strength to rule the raynes 4 Poore Captive world How has thy lightnesse given A just occasion to thy foes illusion O how art thou betray'd thus fairely driven In seeming Triumph to thy owne confusion How is thy empty universe bereiven Of all true joyes by one false Joyes delusion So have I seene an unblowne virgin fed With suga'rd words so full that shee is fed A faire attended Bride to a false Bankrupts Bed 5 Pull gracious LORD Let not thine Arme forsake The world impounded in her owne devises Thinke of that pleasure that thou once did take Amongst the Lillies and sweet Beds of spices Haâ—e strongly thou whose hand has pow'r to slake The swift foot Fury of ten thousand Vices Let not that dust-devouring Dragon boast His craft has wonne what Judahs Lyon lost Remember what it crav'd Recount the price it cost ISIDOR lib. 1. De summo bono By how much the nearer Satan perceives the world to an end by so much the more fiercely he troubles it with persecution that knowing himselfe is to be damned hee may get company in his damnation CIPRIAN in ep Broad and spatious is the road to infernall life there are enticements and death bringing pleasures There the Devil flatters that hee may deceive Smiles that he may endamage allures that he may destroy EPIG II. Nay soft and faire good world post not too fast Thy journeyes end requires not halfe this hast Unlesse that Arme thou so disdainst reprives thee Alas thou needs must goe the devil drives thee XII Gnoâ—em m◠〈…〉 Will. Marshall Sculpsit XII ISAY LXVI XI Yee may sucke but not be satisfied with the breast of her Consolation 1 WHat never fill'd Be thy lips skre'wd so fast To th' earths full breast For shame for shame unseise thee Thou tak'st a surfeit where thou shouldst but tast And mak'st too much not halfe enough to please thee Ah foole forbeare Thou swallow'st at one breath Both food poyson down Thou draw'st both milk death 2 The ub'rous breasts when fairely drawne repast The thriving Infant with their milkie flood But being overstraind returne at last Unholsome Gulps compos'd of wind and blood A mod'rate use does both repast and please Who straines beyond a meane draws in and gulps disease 3 But O that meane whose good the least abuse Makeâ— bad is too too hard to be directed Can Thornes bring grapes or Crabs a pleasing juce Ther 's nothing wholesome where the whole's infected Unseise thy lips Earths milk's a ripned Core That drops from her disease that matters from her Sore 4 Think'st thou that Paunch that burlyes out thy Coate Is thriving Fat or flesh that seemes so brawny Thy Paunch is dropfied and thy Cheeâ— s are bloat Thy lips are white and thy complexion tawny Thy skin 's a Bladder blowne with watry tumors Thy flesh a trembling Bogge a Quagmire full of humors 5 And thou whose thrivelesse hands are ever straining Earths fluent Brests into an empty Sive That alwaies hast yet alwaies art complaining And whin'st for more then earth has pow'r to give Whose treasure flowes and flees away as fast That ever hast and hast yet hast not what thou hast 6 Goe choose a Substance foole that will remaine within the limits of thy leaking Measure Or else goe seeke an Urne that will retaine The liquid Body of thy slipp'ry Treasure Alas how poorely are thy labours crown'd Thy liquor 's neither sweet nor yet thy vessell sound 7 What lesse then foole is Man to progge and plot And lavish out the Creame of all his care To gaine poore seeming goods which being got Make firme possession but a Thorow-fare Or if they stay they furrow thoughts the deeper And being kept with care they loose their carefull keeper S. GREG. Hom 3. secund parte Ezech. If wee give more to the flesh then wee ought wee nourish an Enemy If we give not to her necessity what we ought we destroy a Citizen The flesh is to bee satisfied so farre as suffices to our good whosoever allowes so much to her as to make her proud knowes not how to be satisfied To be satisfied is a great Art least by the society of the flesh we breake forth into the Iniquity of her folly HUGO de Anima The heart is a small thing but desires great matters It is not sufficient for a Kites dinner yet the whole world is not sufficient for it EPIG 12. What makes thee foole so fat Foole thee so Bare Yee sucke the selfe-same milke the selfe-same aire No meane betwixt all Paunch and skinne and bone The meane's a vertue and the world has none XIII Da mihi froena tiâ—or Da mihi calcar amor Roâ—Vaugahn fâ—cit XIII IOH. III. XIX Men love darknesse rather then light because their deeds are evill LORD when we leave the World and come to Thee How dull how slugge are wee How backward how praeposterous is the motion Of our ungaine devotion Our thoughts are Milstones and our soules are lead And our desires are dead Our vowes are fairely promis'd faintly paid Or broken or not made Our better worke if any good attends Upon our private ends In whose performance one pooâ—e worldly scoffe Foyles us or beates us off If thy sharpe scourge finde out some secret fault Wee grumble or revolt And if thy gentle hand forbeare wee stray Or idly lose the way Is the Roade faire wee loyter cloggd with myre Wee sticke or else retyre A Lambe appeares a Lyon and we feare Each bush we see 's a Beare When our dull soules direct their thoughts to Thee The soft-pac'd Snayle is not so slow as we But when at earth we dart our wing'd desire We burne we burne like fire Like as the am'rous needle joyes to bend To her Magneticke Friend Or as the greedy Lovers eye-balls flye At his faire Mistres eye So we cling to earth we fly and puff Yet fly
Plot has many Changes Every Day Speakes a new Scene The last act crownes the Play THE SECOND BOOKE I. Sic sumine lumen ademptum Will marshall scu I ESAY L.XI. You that walke in the light of your owne fire and in the sparkes that ye have kindled ye shall â—e downe in sorrow 1 DO silly Cupid snuffe and trimme Thy false thy feeble light And make herselfe-consuming flames more bright Mee thinkes she burnes too dimme Is this that sprightly fire Whos 's more then sacred Beames inspire The ravisht hearts of men and so inflame desire 2 See Boy how thy unthrifty blaze Consumes how fast she waines She spends her selfe and her whose wealth maintaines Her weake her idle Rayes Cannot thy lustfull blast Which gave it luster make it last What heart can long be pleas'd where pleasure spends so fast 3 Goe Wanton place thy pale-fac'd light Where never breaking day Intends to visit mortals or display The sullen shades of night Thy Torch will burne more cleare In nights un-Titand Hemispheare Heavns scornefull flames and thine can never co-appeare 4 In vaine thy busie hands addresse Their labour to display Thy easie blaze within the veirge of day The greater drownes the lesse If heav'ns bright glory shine Thy glimring sparks must needs resigne Puffe out heave's glory then or heav'n will work out thine 5 Goe Cupids rammish Pander goe Whose dull whose low desire Can finde sufficient warmth from Natures fire Spend borrow'd breath and blow Blow wind made strong with spite When thou hast pufft the greater light Thy lesser spark may shine and warme the new made night 6 Deluded mortals tell me when Your daring breath has blowne Heav'ns Tapour out and you have spent your owne What fire shall warme ye then Ah Fooles perpetuall night Shall haunt your soules with Stigian fright Where they shall boile in flames but flames shall bring no light S. AUGUST The sufficiency of my merit is to know that my merit is not sufficient S. GREG. Mor. 25. By how much the lesse man sees himselfe by so much the lesse he displeases himselfe And by how much the more hee sees the light of Grace by so much the more hee disdaines the light of nature S. GREG. Mor. The light of the understanding humilitie kindles and pride covers EPIG 1. Thou blowes heav'ns fire the whilst thou goest about Rebellious foole in vaine to blow it out Thy Folly addes confusion to thy death Heav'ns fire confounds when fann'd with Follies breath II. Donce totum expleat orbem Will. Marshall sculpsit II. ECCLES IV. VIII There is no end of all his labour neither is his eye satisfied with riches O How our wid'ned Armes can over-stretch Their owne dimensions How our hands can retch Beyond their distance How our yeelding brest Can shrink to be more full and full possest Of this inferiour Orbe how earth refinde Can cling to sordid earth How kinde to kinde We gape we graspe we gript adde store to store Enough requires too much too much craves more We charge our soules so sore beyond their stint That we recoyle or burst The busie Mint Of our laborious thoughts is ever going And coyning new desires desires not knowing Where next to pitch but like the boundlesse Ocean Gaine and gaine ground and grow more strong by motion The pale-fac d Lady of the black-eyed night First tips her horned browes with easie light Whose curious traine of spangled Nymphs attire Her next nights Glory with encreasing Fire Each ev'ning addes more luster and adornes The growing beauty of her grasping hornes Shee suckes and drawes her brothers golden store Untill her glutted Orbe can sucke no more Ev'n so the Vultur of insatiate mindes Still wants and wanting seekes and seeking findes New fewell to encrease her rav'nous fire The grave is sooner cloyd then mens desire We crosse the Seas and midst her waves we burne Transporting lifes perchance that nere returne We sacke we ransacke to the utmost sands Of native Kingdomes and of forraine lands We travell Sea and Soyle we pry we proule We progresse and we progge from pole to pole We spend our mid-day sweat our mid-night oyle We tyre the night in thought the day in toyle We make Artservill and the Trade gentile Yet both corrupted with ingenious guile To compasse earth and with her empty store To fill our Armes and graspe one handfull more Thus seeking Rest our labours never cease But as our yeares our hot desires encrease Thus we poore little worlds with blood and sweat In vaine attempt to comprehend the great Thus in our gaine become we gainefull losers And what 's enclos'd encloses the enclosers Now reader close thy Booke and then advise Be wisely worldly be not worldly wise Let not thy nobler thoughts be alwaies raking The worlds base dunghill Vermins tooke by taking Take heed thou trust not the deceitfull Lappe Of wanton Delilah The world 's a Trappe HUGO de anima Tell me where be those now that so lately loved and hugg'd the world Nothing remaines of them but dust and wormes Observe what those men were what those men are They were like thee They did eate drinke laugh and led merry dayes and in a moment slipt into Hell Here their flesh is foode for wormes There their soules are fuell of fire till they shall be rejoyned in an unhappy fellowship cast into eternall torments where they that were once companions in sinne shall be hereafter partners in punishment EPIG â— Gripe Cupid and gripe still untill that wind That 's pent before finde secret vent behind And when th' ast done bark here I tell thee what Before I 'le trust thy Armefull I l'e trust that III. Non amat iste sed hamat amor Will Marshall sculpsit III. IOB XVIII VIII He is cast into a net by his owne feet and walketh upon a snare 1 WHat Nets and Quiver too what need there all These slie devices to betray poore men Die they not fast enough when thousands fall Before thy Dart what need these Engins then Attend they not and answer to thy Call Like nightly Coveyes where thou list and when What needs a Stratagem where strength can sway Or what need strength compell where none gainesay Or what need stratagem or strength where hearts obey 2 Husband thy sleights It is but vaine to wast Hony on those that will be catcht with Gall Thou canst not ah thou canst not bid so fast As men obey Thou art more slow to call Than they to come thou canst not make such hast To strike as they being struck make hast to fall Go save thy Nets for that rebellious heart That scornes thy pow'r and has obtain'd the Art T' avoid thy flying shaft to quench thy fir'y Dart. 3 Lost mortall how is thy destruction sure Betweene two Bawds and both without remorse The one 's a Line the tother is a Lure This to entice thy soule that to enforce Way-layd by both how canst thou stand secure That drawes
hundred kisses Here 's a knack indeed So now my bird is white and looks as faire As Pelops shoulder or my milke-white paire Here 's right the Fathers smile when Mars beguil'd Sick Venus of her heart just thus he smil'd DIVIN CVPID Well may they smile alike Thy base-bred Boy And his base Syre had both one Cause A Toy How well their subjects and their smiles agree Thy Cupid finds a Toy and Mars found thee False Queene of Beauty Queene of false delights Thy knee presents an Embleme that invites Man to himselfe whose selfe-transported heart Ov'rwhelm'd with native sorrowes and the smart Of purchas'd griefes lies whining night and day Not knowing why till heavy-heeld delay The dull-brow'd Pander of despaire layes by His leaden Buskins and presents his eye With antick Trifles which th'indulgent earth Makes proper Objects of mans childish mirth These be the coyne that passe the sweets that please There 's nothing good there 's nothing great but these These be the Pipes that base-borne minds daunce after And turne immod'rate teares to lavish laughter Whilst heav'nly Raptures passe without regard Their strings are harsh and their high straines unheard The plough mans Whistle or the triviall Flute Find more respect than great Apollo's Lute Wee 'l looke to heav'n and trust to higher Ioyes Let Swine love Husks and children whine for Toyes S. BERN. That is the true and chiefe joy which is not conceived from the creature but received from the Creator which being once possest thereof none can take from thee whereto all pleasure being compared is torment all joy is griefe sweet things are bitter all glory is basenesse and all delectable things are despicable S. BERN. Ioy in a changeable subject must necessarily change as the subject changes EPIG 8. Peace childish Cupid peace Thy finger'd eye But cries for what in time will make thee cry But are thy peevish wranglings thus appeas'd Well maist thou cry that art so poorely pleas'd IX Venturum exhorresco diem Will Marshal sculpsit IX ESAY X.III. What will ye do in the day of your visitation to whom will ye flie for help and where will ye leave your glory 1 IS this that jolly God whose Cyprian Bow Has shot so many flaming darts And made so many wounded Beauties goe Sadly perplext with whimpering hearts Is this that Sov'raigne Deity that brings The slavish world in awe and stings The blundring soules of swaines and stoops the hearts of Kings 2 What Circean Charme what Hecatean spight Has thus abus'd the God of love Great Iove was vanquisht by his greater might And who is stronger-arm'd than Iove Or has our lustfull God perform'd a Rape And fearing Argus eyes would scape The view of jealous earth in this prodigious shape 3 Where be those Rosie Cheeks that lately scorn'd The malice of injurious Fates Ah wher 's that pearle Percullis that adorn'd Those dainty two-leav'd Ruby gates Where be those killing eyes that so controld The world And locks that did infold Like knots of flaming wyre like Curles of burnisht Gold 4 No no 'T was neither Hecatean spite Nor Charme below nor pow'r above 'T was neither Circes spell nor Stigian sprite That thus transform'd our God of Love 'T was owle-ey'd Lust more potent farre than they Whose eyes and actions hate the day Whom all the world observe whom all the world obay 5 See how the latter Trumpets dreadfull blast Affrights stout Mars his trembling Son See how he startles how he stands agast And scrambles from his melting Throne Hark how the direfull hand of vengeance teares The sweltring Clouds whilst heav'n appeares A Circle fil'd with flame and centerd with his feares 6 This is that day whose oft report hath worne Neglected Tongues of Prophets bare The faithlesse subject of the worldlings scorne The summe of men and Angels pray'r This this the day whose All-descerning light Ransacks the secret dens of night And severs Good from Bad true Ioyes from false Delight 7 You grov'ling Worldlings you whose wisedome trades Where light nev'r shot his Golden Ray That hide your Actions in Cymerian shades How will your eyes indure this day Hils wil be deafe and mountaines will not heare There be no Caves no Corners there To shade your soules from fire to shield your hearts from feare HUGO O the extreame loathsomnesse of fleshly lust which not onely effeminates the mind but enerves the body which not onely distaines the soule but disguises the person It is usher'd with fury and wantonnesse It is accompanied with filthinesse and uncleannesse and it is followed with griefe and repentance EPIG 9. What sweet-fac'd Cupid has thy bastard-treasure Thy boasted Honours and thy bold-fac'd pleasure Perplext thee now I told thee long ago To what they 'd bring thee foole To wit to woe X. Tinnit â—inanâ— est X NAH II.X. Shee is emptie and void and waste 1 SHe 's empty Hark she sounds There 's nothing there But noyse to fill thy eare Thy vaine enquiry can at length but find A blast of murm'ring wind It is a Cask that seems as full as faire But meerely tunn'd with Ayres Fond youth go build thy hopes on better grounds Thy soule that vainely founds Her joyes upon this world but feeds on empty sounds 2 Shee 's empty Hark she sounds Ther 's nothing in 't The spark-ingendring Flint Shall sooner melt and hardest Raunce shall first Dissolve and quench thy thirst Ere this false world shall still thy stormy brest With smooth fac'd Calmes of Rest Thou mayst as well expect Meridian light From shades of black-mouth'd night As in this empty world to find a full delight 3 Shee 's empty Hark she sounds 'T is void and vast What if some flattring blast Of flatuous Honour should perchance be there And whisper in thine eare It is but wind and blowes but where it list And vanishes like a Mist Poore Honour earth can give What gen'rous mind Would be so base to bind Her heav'n-bred soule a slave to serve a Blast of wind 4 Shee 's empty Hark She sounds 'T is but a Ball For Fooles to play with all The painted filme but of a stronger Bubble That 's lin'd with silken trouble It is a world whose Worke and Recreation Is vanity and vexation A Hagg repair'd with vice-complexion paint A Questhouse of complaint It is a Saint a Fiend worse Fiend when most a Saint 5 Shee 's empty Hark she sounds 'T is vaine and void What 's here to be enjoyed But Griefe and sicknesse and large bills of sorrow Drawne now and crost to morrow Or what are Men but puffs of dying breath Reviv'd with living death Fond lad O build thy hopes on surer grounds Than what dull flesh propounds Trust not this hollow world shee 's empty Hark she sounds S. CHRYS in Ep. ad Heb. Contemne riches and thou shalt be rich Contemne glory and thou shalt be glorious contemne injuries and thou shalt be a conquerer Contemne rest and thou shalt gaine rest Contemne
subjects where repentance corrects where obedience directs where perseverance perfects where power protects where devotion projects where charity connects S. GREG. Which way soever the heart turnes it selfe if carefully it shall commonly observe that in those very things we lose God in those very things we shall find God It shall find the heat of his power in consideration of those things in the love of which things he was most cold and by what things it fell perverted by those things it is raised converted EPIG 15. My heart but wherefore do I call thee so I have renounc'd my Intrest long agoe When thou wert false and fleshly I was thine Mine wert thou never till thou were not mine THE THIRD BOOKE Lord all my Desire is before Thee my groaning is not aid from Theeâ—s 38 The Entertainement ALL you whose better thoughts are newly born And rebaptiz'd with holy fire can scorn The worlds base trash whose necks disdain to beare Th' imperious yoke of Satan whose chast eare No wanton Songs of Syrens can surprize With false delight whose more than Eagle-eyes Can view the glorious flames of Gold and gaze On glittring beames of Honour and not daze Whose soules can spurne at pleasure and deny The loose Suggestions of the flesh draw nigh And you whose am'rous whose select desires Would feele the warmth of those transcendent fires Which like the rising Sun put out the light Of Venus starre and turne her day to night You that would love and have your passions crown'd With greater happinesse than can be found In your own wishes you that would affect Where neither scorn nor guile nor disrespect Shall wound your tortur'd Soules that would enjoy Where neither want can pinch nor fulnesse cloy Nor double doubt afflicts nor baser Feare Vnflames your courage in pursuit draw neare Shake hands with earth and let your soule respect Her Ioyes no further than her Ioyes reflect Vpon her Makers Glory if thou swim In wealth See him in all See all in Him Sink'st thou in want and is thy small Cruise spent See Him in want Enjoy â—im in Content Conceiv'st Him lodg'd in Câ—oste or lost in paine In Pray'r and Patience find Him out againe Make Heav'n thy Mistresse Let no Change remove Thy loyall heart Be fond be sick of Love What if he stop his 〈◊〉 knit his Brow At length hee 'l be as fond as sick as thou Dart up thy Soule in Groanes Thy secret Grone Shall pierce his Eare shall pierce his Eare alone Dart up thp Soule in vowes Thy sacred Vow Shall find him out where heav'n alone shall know Dart up thy Soule in sighs Thy whispring sigh Shall rouze his eares and feare no listner nigh Send up thy Grones thy Sighs thy closet Vow There 's none there 's none shall know but Heav'n and thou Grones fresht with vowes and vowes made salt with teares Vnscale his eyes and scale his conquer'd eares Shoot up the bosome Shafts of thy desire Feather'd with Faith and double forkt with Fire And they will hit Feare not where heav'n bids Come Heav'ns never deafe but when mans heart is dumbe I. My Soul hath desirâ—d Thee in the Night W. Simpson â—c Esaâ— 26 I. ESAY XXIX VI My soule hath desired thee in the Night GOod God! what horrid darkenesse do's surround My groping soule How are my Senses bound In utter shades and muffled from the light Lusk in the bosome of eternall night The bold-fac'd Lamp of heav'n can set and rise And with his morning glory fill the eyes Of gazing Mortals his victorious Ray Can chase the shadowes and restore the day Nights bashfull Empresse though she often wayne As oft repents her darknesse primes againe And with her circling Hornes does re-embrace Her brothers wealth and orbs her silver face But ah my Sun deep swallow'd in his Fall Is set and cannot shine nor rise at all My bankcrupt Waine can beg nor borrow light Alas my darkenesse is perpetuall night Falls have their Risings Wainings have their Primes And desp'rate sorrowes wait their better times Ebbs have their Floods and Autumnes have their Springs All States have Changes hurried with the swings Of Chance and Time still tiding to and fro Terrestriall Bodies and Celestiall too How often have I vainely grop'd about With lengthned Armes to find a passage out That I might catch those Beames mine eye desires And bathe my soule in those Celestiall fires Like as the Hagard cloyster'd in her Mâ—e To scowre her downy Robes and to renew Her broken Flags preparing t'overlooke The tim'rous Malard at the sliding Brooke Iets oft from Perch to Perch from Stock to ground From ground to Wandow thus surveying round Her dove-befeatherd Prison till at length Calling her noble Birth to mind and strength Whereto her wing was borne her ragged Beake Nips off her dangling Iesses strives to breake Her gingling Fetters and begins to bate At ev'ry glimspe and darts at ev'ry grate Ev'n so my weary soule that long has bin An Inmate in this Tenement of Sin Lockt up by Cloud-brow'd Error which invites My cloystred Thoughts to feed on black delights Now scornes her shadowes and begins to dart Her wing'd desires at Thee that onely art The Sun she seeks whose rising beames can fright These duskie Clouds that make so darke a night Shine forth great Glory shine that I may see Both how to loath my selfe and honour Thee But if my weakensse force Thee to deny Thy Flames yet lend the Twilight of thine Eye If I must want those Beames I wish yet grant That I at least may wish those Beames I want S. AUGUST Soliloq cap. 33. There was a great and darke cloud of vanity before mine eyes so that I could not see the Sun of Iustice and the light of Truth I being the Son of darknesse was involved in darknesse I loved my darknesse because I knew not thy Light I was blind and loved my blindnesse and did walke from darkenesse to darkenesse But Lord thou art my God who hast led me from darknesse and the shadow of death hast called me into this glorious light and behold I see EPIG 1. My soule cheare up What if the night belong Heav'n finds an eare when sinners finde a tongue Thy teares are Morning show'rs Heav'n bids me say When Peters Cock begins to crow 't is Day II. O Lord Thou knowest mâ— Foolishnesse my SinÌ„s ari ' not hid froÌ„ Thee Ps 〈…〉 â—o 5. II. PSAL. LXIX III O Lord thou knowest my foolishnesse and my sinnnes are not hid from thee SEest thou this fulsome Ideot In what measure He seemes transported with the anticke pleasure Of childish Baubles Canst thou but admire The empty fulnesse of his vaine desire Canst thou conceive such poore delights as these Can fill th'satiate soule of Man or please The fond Aspect of his deluded eye Reader such very fooles are thou and I False puffes of Honour the deceitfull streames Of wealth the idle vaine and empty dreames Of pleasure
I go my selfe followes me For whatsoever thou flyest O man thou mayst but thy owne Conscience wheresoever O Lord I go I find thee if angry a Revenger if appeas'd a Redeemer What way have I but to flee from thee to thee That thou maist avoid thy God addresse thee to thy Lord. EPIG 12. Hath vengeance found thee Can thy feares command No Rocks to shield thee from her thundring hand Know'st thou not where to scape I le tell thee where My soule make cleane thy Conscience Hide thee there XIII Are not my dayes few Cease then and let me alone that I may bewayle me a little Iob. 10.20 Will. simpson sculpsit XIII IOB X.XX. Are not my dayes few Cease then and let me alone that I may bewaile my selfe a little MY Glasse is halfe unspent Forbeare t'rrest My thriftlesse day too soone My poore request Is that my glasse may run but out the rest My time-devoured minuts will be done Without thy helpe See see how swift they run Cut not thy thred before my thred be spun The gaine 's not great I purchase by this stay What losse sustain'st thou by so small delay To whom ten thousand yeares are but a day My following eye can hardly make a shift To count my winged houres they flye so swift They scarce deserve the bounteous name of gift The secret wheeles of hurrying Time doe give So short a warning and so fast they drive That I am dead before I seeme to live And what 's a life A weary Pilgrimage Whose glory in one day doth fill the stage With Childhood Manhood and decrepit Age. And what 's a Life the flourishing Array Of the proud Summer meadow which to day Weares her greene plush and is to morrow Hay And what 's a Life A blast sustain'd with clothing Maintain'd with food retain'd with vile selfe-loathing Then weary of it selfe again'd to nothing Read on this diall how the shades devoure My short-liv'd winters day How'rs eates up howre Alas the total's but from eight to foure Behold these Lillies which thy hands have made Faire copies of my life and open laid To view how soone they droop how soone they fade Shade not that diall night will blind too soone My nonag'd day already points to noone How simple is my suit How small my Boone Not do I beg this slender inch to while The time away or falsly to beguile My thoughts with joy Here 's nothing worth a smile No no 'T is not to please my wanton eares With frantick mirth I beg but howres not yeares And what thou giv'st me I will give to teares Draw not that soule which would be rather led That Seed has yet not broke my Serpents head O shall I die before my sinnes are dead Behold these Rags Am I a fitting Guest To tast the dainties of thy royall Feast With hands and face unwash'd ungirt unblest First let the Iordan streames that find supplies From the deepe fountaine of my heart arise And cleanse my spots and cleare my leprous eyes I have a world of sinnes to be lamented I have a sea of teares that must be vented O spare till then and then I die contented S. AUGUST lib. 7. de Civit. Dei cap. 10. The time wherein we live is taken from the space of our life and what remaines is daily made lesse and lesse in somuch that the time of our life is nothing but a passage to death S. GREG. lib. 9. mor. Cap. 44. in Cap. 10. Iob. As moderate afflictions bring teares so immoderate take away teares Insomuch that sorrow becomes no sorrow which swallowing up the mind of the afflicted takes away the sense of the affliction EPIG 13. Fear'st thou to go when such an Arme invites thee Dread'st thou thy loads of sin or what affrights thee If thou begin to feare thy feare begins Foole can he beare thee hence and not thy sins XIV Oh that they were wise then they would vnderstand this they would consider their latter end Deeteron 32. I Payne scult XIV DEVT. XXXII XXIX O that men were wise and that they understood this that they would consider their latter end Flesh Spirit Fl. WHat meanes my sisterâ— eye so oft to passe Through the long entry of that Optick glasse Tell me what secret virtue does invite Thy wrinckled eye to such unknowne delight Sp. It helps the sight makes things remote appeare In perfect view It drawes the object neare Fl. What sence-delighting objects do'st thou spie What does that Glasse present before thine eye Sp. I see thy foe my reconciled friend Grim death even standing at the Glasses end His left hand holds a branch of Palme his right Holds forth a two-edg'd sword Fl. A proper sight And is this all does thy Prospective please Th' abused fancy with no shapes but these Sp. Yes I behold the dark'ned Sun bereav'n Of all his light the battlements of heav'n Sweltring in Flames the Angell-guarded Sonne Of glory on his high Tribunall Throne I see a Brimstone Sea of boyling Fire And Fiends with knotted whips of flaming Wyre Tort'ring poore soules that gnash their teeth in vaine And gnaw their flame-tormented tongues for paine Looke sister how the queazie-stomack'd Graves Vomit their dead and how the purple waves Scal'd their consume lesse bodies strongly cursing All wombes for bearing and all paps for nursing Fl. Can thy distemper'd fancie take delight In view of Tortures These are showes t' affright Looke in this glasse-Triangular looke here Here 's that will ravish eyes Sp. What seest thou there Fl. The world in colours colours that distaine The cheeks of Proteus or the silken Traine Of Floras Nymphs such various sorts of hiew As Sun-confronting Iris never knew Here if thou please to beautifie a Towne Thou maist or with a hand turn't upside downe Here maist thou scant or widen by the measure Of thine owne will make short or long at pleasure Here maist thou tyre thy fancie and advize With showes more apt to please more curious eyes Sp. Ah foole that dot'st on vaine on present toyes And disrespects those true those future joyes How strongly are thy thoughts befool'd Alas To dote on goods that perish with thy Glasse Nay vanish with the turning of a hand Were they but painted colours it might stand With painted reason that they might devote thee But things that have no being to besot thee Foresight of future torments is the way To baulk those ills which present joyes bewray As thou hast fool'd thy selfe so now come hither Break that fond glasse and let 's be wise together BONAVENT de contemptu seculi O that men would be wise understand and foresee Be wise to know three things The multitude of those that are to be damnâ—â— the few number of those that are to be saved and the vanity of transitory things Vnderstand three things the multitude of sinnes the omission of good things and the losse of time Foresee three things the danger of death the last
I cannot live without thee 3 The world 's a Lab'rinth whose anfractious wayes Are all compos'd of Rub's and crook'd Meanders No resting here Hee 's hurried back that stayes A thought And he that goes unguided wanders Her way is dark her path untrod unev'n So hard 's the way from earth so hard 's the way to Heav'n 4 This gyring Lab'rinth is betrench'd about On either hand with streams of sulphrous fire Streames closely sliding erring in and out But seeming pleasant to the fond descrier Where if his footsteps trust their owne Invention He fals without redresse and sinks beyond Demension 5 Where shall I seek a Guide Where shall I meet Some lucky hand to lead my trembling paces What trusty Lanterne will direct my feet To scape the danger of these dang'rous places What hopes have I to passe without a Guide Where one gets safely through a thousand fall beside 6 An unrequested Starre did gently slide Before the Wisemen to a greater Light Back-sliding Isr'el found a double Guide A Pillar and a Cloud by day by night Yet in my desp'rate dangers which be farre More great than theirs I have nor Pillar Cloud nor Starre 7 O that the pineons of a clipping Dove Would cut my passage through the empty Ayre Mine eyes being seeld how would I mount above The reach of danger and forgotten Care My backward eyes should nev'r commit that fault Whose lasting Guilt should build a Monument of Salt 8 Great God that art the flowing Spring of Light Enrich mine eyes with thy refulgent Ray Thou art my Path direct my steps aright I have no other Light no other Way He trust my God and him alone pursue His Law shal be my Path his heav'nly Light my Clue S. AUGUST Soliloq cap. 4. O Lord who art the Light the Way the Truth the Life in whom there is no darkenesse error vanity nor death The light without which there is darkenesse The way without which there is wandring The Truth without which there is errour Life without which there is death Say Lord let there be light and I shall see light and eschue darknesse I shall see the way and avoid wandring I shall see the truth and shun errour I shall see life and escape death Illuminate O illuminate my blind soule which sits in darkenesse and the shadow of death and direct my feet in the way of peace EPIG 2. Pilgrim trudge on What makes thy soule complaine Crownes thy complaint The way to rest is paine The Road to Resolution lies by doubt The next way Home's the farthest way about III. Stay my stepps in thy Pathes that my feet do not slide Ps. â—7 â— W. M. sc III. PSAL XVII V Stay my steps in thy paths that my feet do not slide 1 WHen ere the Old Exchange of Profittings Her silver Saints-bell of uncertaine gaines My merchant soule can stretch both legs and wings How I can run and take unwearied paines The Charmes of Profit are so strong that I Who wanted legs to go finde wings to flye 2 If time-beguiling Pleasure but advance Her lustfull Trump and blow her bold Alarms O how my sportfull soule can frisk and daunce And hug that Syren in her twined Armes The sprightly voyce of sinew-strengthning Pleasure Can lend my bedrid soule both legs and leasure 3 If blazing Honour chance to fill my veines With flattring warmth and flash of Courtly fire My soule can take a pleasure in her paines My loftie strutting steps disdaine her paines My antick knees can turne upon the hinges Of Complement and skrue a thousand Cringes 4 But when I come to Thee my God that art The royall Mine of everlasting Treasure The reall Honour of my better part And living Fountaine of eternall pleasure How nervelesse are my limbs how faint and slow I have nor wings to flie nor legs to go 5 So when the streames of swift-foot Rhene convay Her upland Riches to the Belgick shore The idle vessell slides the watry lay Without the blast or tug of wind or Oare Her slippry keele divides the silver foame With ease So facile is the way from home 6 But when the home-bound vessell turnes her saileâ— Against the brest of the resisting streame O then she slugs nor Saile nor Oare prevailes The Streame is sturdy and her Tides extreme Each stroke is losse and ev'ry Tug is vaine A Boat-lengths purchase is a League of paine 7 Great All in All that art my Rest my Home My way is tedious and my steps are slow Reach forth thy helpfull hand or bid me come I am thy child O teach thy child to go Conjoyne thy sweet commands to my desire And I will venture though I fall or tire S. AUGUST Ser. 15. de Verb. Apost Be alwayes displeased at what thou art if thou desirest to attaine to what thou art not For where thou hast pleas'd thy selfe there thou abidest But if thou sayest I have enough thou perishest Alwayes add alwayes walke alwayes proceed neither stand still nor go backe nor devâ—â—e He that stands still proceeds not He goes back that coâ—â—inues not He deviates that revolts He goes better that creepes in his way than hee that runs out of his way EPIG 3. Feare not my soule to lose for want of cunning Weepe not heav'n is not alwayes got by running Thy thoughts are swift although thy legs be slow True love will creepe not having strength to goe IV. My flesh trembleth for feare of thee I am afraide of thy Iudgments Ps 119.120 W.M. sculp IV. PSAL. CXIX CXX My flesh trembleth for feare of thee and I am afraid of thy judgements LEt others boaste of Luck and goe their wayes With their faire Game Know vengeance seldome playes To be too forward but does wisely frame Her backward Tables for an After-Game She gives thee leave to venture many a blot And for her owne advantage hits thee not But when her pointed Tables are made faire That she be ready for thee then beware Then if a necessary blot be set She hits thee wins the Game perchance the Set If prosprous Chances make thy Casting high Be wisely temp'rate cast a serious eye On after-dangers and keepe back thy Game Too forward seed-times make thy Harvest lame If left-hand Fortune give thee left-hand chances Be wisely patient let no envious glances Repine to view thy Gamesters heape so faire The hind most Hound takes oft the doubling Hare The worlds great Dice are false sometimes they goe Extremely high sometimes extremely low Of all her Gamesters he that playes the least Lives most at ease playes most secure and best The way to win is to play faire and sweare Thy selfe a servant to the Crowne of Feare Feare is the Primmer of a Gamsters skill Who feares not Bad stands most unarm'd to Ill The Ill that 's wisely fear'd is halfe withstood And feares of Bad is the best foyle to Good True Feare'sth ' Elixar which in dayes of old Turn'd leaden Crosses into Crownes of Gold
The World 's the Tables Stakes Eternall life The Gamesters Heav'n and I Vnequall strife My Fortunes are my Dice whereby I frame My indisposed Life This Life 's the Game My sins are sev'rall Bloâ— the Lookers on Are Angels and in death the Game is done Lord I 'am a Bungler and my Game does grow Still more and more unshap'd my Dice run low The Stakes are great my carelesse Blots are many And yet thou passest by and hitst not any Thou art too strong And I have none to guide me With the least Iogge The lookers on deride me It is a Conquest undeserving Thee To win a Stake from such a Worme as me I have no more to lose If we persever 'T is lost and that once lost I 'm lost for ever Lord wink at faults and be not too severe And I will play my Game with greater feare O give me Feare ere Feare has past her date Whose blot being hit then feares fear 's then too late S. BERN. Ser. 54. in Cant. There is nothing so effectuall to obtaine Grace to retaine Grace and to regaine Grace as alwayes to be found before God not over-wise but to feare Happy art thou if thy heart be replenished with three feares a feare for received grace a greater feare for lost Grace a greatest feare to recover Grace S. AUGUST super Psalm Present feare begets eternall security Feare God which is above all and no need to feare man at all EPIG 4. Lord shall we grumble when thy flames do scourge us Our sinnes breath fire that fire returnes to purge us Lord what an Alchymist art thou whose skill Transmutes to perfect good from persect ill V. Turne a way myne eyes least thay behold wanite psal 118 â— V. PSAL. CXIX XXXVII Turne away mine eyes from regarding vanitie 1 HOw like to threds of Flaxe That touch the flame are my inflam'd desires How like to yeelding Waxe My soule dissolves before these wanton fires The fire but touch'd the flame but felt Like Flaxe I burne like Waxe I melt 2 O how this flesh does draw My fetter'd soule to that deceitfull fire And how th' eternall Law Is baffled by the law of my desire How truly bad how seeming good Are all the Lawes of Flesh and Blood 3 O wretched state of Men The height of whose Ambition is to borrow What must be paid agen With griping Int'rest of the next dayes sorrow How wild his Thoughts How apt to range How apt to varie Apt to change 4 How intricate and nice Is mans perplexed way to mans desire Sometimes upon the Ice He slips and sometimes fals into the fire His progresse is extreme and bold Or very hot or very cold 5 The common food he doth Sustaine his soule-tormenting thoughts withall Is honey in his mouth To night and in his heart to morrow Gall 'T is oftentimes within an houre Both very sweet and very sowre 6 If sweet Corinna smile A heav'n of Ioy breaks downe into his heart Corinna frownes a while Hels Torments are but Copies of his smart Within a lustfull heart does dwell A seeming Heav'n a very Hell 7 Thus worthlesse vaine and void Of comfort are the fruits of earths imployment Which ere they be enjoyd Distract us and destroy us in th' enjoyment These be the pleasures that are priz'd When heav'ns cheape pen'worth stands despis'd 8 Lord quench these hasty flashes Which dart as lightning from the thundring skies And ev'ry minut dashes Against the wanton windowes of mine eyes Lord close the Casement whilst I stand Behind the curtaine of thy Hand S. AUGUST Soliloq cap. 4. O thou Sonne that illuminates both Heaven and Earth Woe be unto those eyes which doe not behold thee Woe be unto those blind eyes which cannot behold thee Woe be unto those which turne away their eyes that they wil not behold thee Woe be unto those that turne not away their eyes that they may behold vanity S. CHRYS sup Matth. 19. What is an evill women but the enemy of friendship an unavoidable paine a necessary mischiefe a naturall tentation a desiderable calamity a domestick danger a delectable inconvenience and the nature of evill painted over with the colour of good EPIG 5. 'T is vaine great God to close mine eyes from ill When I resolve to keepe the old man still My rambling heart must cov'nant first with Thee Or none can passe betwixt mine eyes and me VI. If I haue found fauour in thy sight let my life be giuen me at my petition Ester 7.3 Will Simpson sculpsit VI. ESTER VII III If I have found favour in thy sight and if it please the King let my life be given me at my petition THou art the great Assuerus whose command Doth stretch from Pole to Pole The World 's thy Land Rebellious Vasht's the corrupted Will Which being cal'd refuses to fulfill Thy just command Hester whose teares condole The razed City 's the Regen'rate Soule A captive maid whom thou wilt please to grace With nuptiall Honour in stout Vashti's place Her kinsman whose unbended knee did thwart Proud Hamans glory is the Fleshly part The sober Eunuch that recal'd to mind The new-built Gibbet Haman had divin'd For his owne ruine fifty Cubits high Is lustfull thought-controlling Chastity Insulting Hâ—man is that fleshly lust Whose red-hot fury for a season must Triumph in Pride and study how to tread On Mordecay till royall Hester plead Great King my sent-for Vashti will not come O let the oyle o' th blessed Virgins wombe Cleanse my poore Hester look O looke upon her With gracious eyes and let thy Beames of honour So scoure her captive staines that she may prove A holy Object of thy heav'nly love Annoint her with the Spiknard of thy graces Then try the sweetnesse of her chast embraces Make her the partner of thy nuptiall Bed And set thy royall Crowne upon her head If then ambitious Haman chance to spend His spleene on Mordecay that scornes to bend The wilfull stiffenesse of his stubborne knee Or basely crouch to any Lord but Thee If weeping Hester should preferre a Grone Before the high Tribunall of thy Throne Hold forth thy Golden Scepter and afford The gentle Audience of a gracious Lord And let thy royall Hester be possest Of halfe thy Kingdome at her deare request Curbe lustfull Haman him that would disgrace Nay ravish thy faire Queene before thy face And as proud Haman was himselfe ensnar'd On that selfe Gibbet that himselfe prepar'd So nayle my lust both Punishment and Guilt On that deare Crosse that mine owne Lusts have built S. AUGUST in Ep. O holy Spirit alwayes inspire we with holy works constraine me that I may doe Counsell me that I may love thee Confirme me that I may hold thee Conserve me that I may not lose thee S. AUGUST sup Ioan. The Spirit rusts where the flesh rests For as the flesh is nourished with sweet things the Spirit is refreshed with sowre Ibidem Wouldst thou that thy flesh
obey thy Spirit Then let thy Spirit obey God Thou must be govern'd that thou mayst governe EPIG 6. Of Merc ' and Iustice is thy Kingdome built This plagues my Sin and that removes my guilt When ere I sue Assuerus like decline Thy Scepter Lord say Halfe my kingdome 's thine VII Come my beloved let vs goe forth into the fields let vs remaine in the Villages Cant 7. ij W. Simpson sculp VII CANT VII XI Come my beloved let us goe forth into the fields and let us remaine in the villages 1 Christ Soule Chr. COme come my deare and let us both retire And whiffe the dainties of the fragrant fields Where warbling Phil'mel and the shrill-mouth'd Quire Chaunt forth their raptures where the Turtle builds Her lovely nest and where the new-borne Bryer Breaths forth the sweetnesse that her Aprill yeelds Come come my lovely faire and let us try These rurall delicates where thou and I May melt in private flames and feare no stander by 2 Soul My hearts eternall Ioy in lieu of whom The earth 's a blast and all the world a Buble Our Citie-mansion is the fairer Home But Country-sweets are tang'd with lesser Trouble Let 's try them both and choose the better Come A change in pleasure makes the pleasure double On thy Commands depends my Goe or Tarieâ— I le stirre with Martha or I le stay with Marie Our hearts are firmly fixt although our pleasures varie 3 Chr. Our Country-Mansion situate on high With various Objects still renewes delight Her arched Roofe 's of unstain'd Ivory Her wals of fiery sparkling Chrysolite Her pavement is of hardest Porphery Her spacious windowes are all glaz'd with bright And flaming Carbuncles no need require Titans faint rayes or Vulcans feebler fire And ev'ry Gate 's a Pearle and ev'ry Pearle entire 4 Soul Foole that I was how were my thoughts deceiv'd How falsly was my fond conceit possest I tooke it for an Hermitage but pav'd And daub'd with neighbring dirt thatch'd at best Alas I nev'r expected more nor crav'd A Turtle hop'd but for a Turtles nest Come come my deare and let no idle stay Neglect th' advantage of the head-strong day How pleasure grates that feeles the curb of dull delay 5 Chr. Come then my Ioy let our divided paces Conduct us to our fairest Territory O there wee 'l twine our soules in sweet embraces Sou. And in thine Armes I le tell my passion story Chr. O there I le crowne thy head with all my Graces Sou. And all those Graces shall reflect thy Glory Chr. O there I le feed thee with celestiall Manna I le be thy Elkanah Soul And I thy Hanna Chr. I le sound my Trump of Ioy. So. And I le resound Hosanna S. BERN. O blessed Contemplation The death of vices and the life of virtues Thee the Law and Prophets admire Who ever attain'd perfection if not by thee O blessed Solitude the Magazen of celestiall Treasure by thee things earthly and transitory are chang'd into heavenly and eternall S. BERN. in Ep. Happy is that house and blessed is that Congregation where Martha still complaines of Mary EPIG 7. Mechanick soule thou must not onely doe With Martha but with Mary ponder too Happy 's that house where these faire sisters vary But most when Martha's reconcil'd to Mary VIII Draw me we will run after thee because of the sauour of thy good oyntments Cant â—4 Will simpson sculp VIII CANT I.III. Draw me we will follow after thee by the savour of thy Oyntments THus like a lump of the corrupted Masse I lie secure long lost before I was And like a Block beneath whose burthen lies That undiscover'd Worme that never dies I have no will to rouze I have no pow'r to rise Can stinking Lazarus compound or strive With deaths entangling Fetters and revive Or can the water-buried Axe implore A hand to raise it or it selfe restore And from her sandy deepes approach the dry-foot shore So hard 's the task for sinfull flesh and Blood To lend the smallest step to what is Good My God I cannot move the least degree Ah! If but onely those that active be None should thy glory see none should thy Glory see But if the Potter please t' informe the Clay Or some strong hand remove the Block away Their lowly fortunes soone are mounted higher That proves a vessell which before was myre And this being hewne may serve for better use than fire And if that life-restoring voice command Dead Laz'rus forth or that great Prophets hand Should charme the sullen waters and begin To beckon or to dart a Stick but in Dead Laz'rus must revive and th' Axe must float againe Lord as I am I have no powe'r at all To heare thy voice to Eccho to thy call The gloomy Clouds of mine owne Guilt be night me Thy glorious beames or dainty sweets invite me They neither can direct nor these at all delight me See how my Sin-bemangled body lies Nor having pow'r to will nor will to rise Shine home upon thy Creature and inspire My livelesse will with thy regen'rate fire The first degree to do is onely to desire Give me the pow'r to will the will to doe O raise me up and I will strive to go Draw me O draw me with thy treble twist That have no pow'r but meerely to resist O lend me strength to do and then command thy List My Soule 's a Clock whose wheels for want of use And winding up being subject to th' abuse Of eating Rust wants vigour to fulfill Her twelve hours taske and show her makers skill But idly sleepes unmoov'd and standeth vainly still Great God it is thy work and therefore Good If thou be pleas'd to cleanse it with thy Blood And winde it up with thy soule-moving kayes Her busie wheeles shall serve thee all her dayes Her hand shall point thy pow'r her Hammer strike thy praise S. BERN. Serm. 21. in Cant. Let us run let us run but in the savour of thy Oyntments not in the confidence of our merits nor in the greatnesse of our strength we trust to run but in the multitude of thy mercies for though we run are willing it is not in him that wills nor in him that runs but in God that sheweth mercy O let thy mercy returne and we will run Thou like a Gyant run'st by thy owne power We unlesse thy oyntment breath upon us cannot run EPIG 8. Looke not my Watch being once repair'd to stand Expecting motion from thy makers hand H 'as wound thee up and cleans'd thy Coggs with blood If now thy wheeles stand still thou art not good IX O that thow wert as my Brother that Sucked the Brests of my Mother Cant â— W. marshall sc IX CANT VIII I O that thou wert as my brother that sucked the brests of thy mother I would find thee without and I will kisse thee 1 COme come my blessed Infant and immure thee Within the Temple of my
mine My flames are full of heav'n and all divine How often have I sought this Bed by night To find that greater by this lesser light How oft has my unwitnest groanes lamented Thy dearest absence Ah how often vented The bitter Tempests of despairing breath And tost my soule upon the waves of death How often has my melting heart made choice Of silent teares teares lowder than a voice To plead my griefe and woo thy absent eare And yet thou wilt not come thou wilt not heare O is thy wonted love become so cold Or do mine eyes not seeke thee where they should Why do I seeke thee if thou art not here Or find thee not if thou art ev'ry where I see my error 'T is not strange I could not Find out my love I sought him where I should not Thou art not found in downy Beds of ease â—as thy musick strikes on harder keyes Nor art thou found by that false feeble light Of Natures Candle Our Aegyptian night Is more than common darkenesse nor can we Expect a morning but what breaks from Thee Well may my empty Bed lament thy losse When thou art lodg'd upon thy shamefull Crosse If thou refuse to share a Bed with me Wee 'l never part I le share a Crosse with Thee ANSELM in Protolog Cap. 1. Lord if thou are not present where shall I seeke thee absent If every where why do I not see thee present Thou dwellest in light inaccessible and where is that inaccessible light Or how shall I have accesse to light inaccessible I beseech thee Lord teach me to seeke thee and show thy selfe to the seeker because I can neither seeke thee unlesse thou teach me nor find thee unlesse thou show thy selfe to me Let me seeke thee in desiring thee and desire thee in seeking thee Let me find thee in loving thee and love thee in finding thee EPIG 10. Where shouldst thou seeke for rest but in thy Bed But now thy Rest is gone thy Rest is fled 'T is vaine to seeke him there My soule be wise Go ask thy sinnes They 'l tell thee where he lies XII Saw yee him whom my Soule loveth It was but a little that I passed from them but I found Him whom my soule loveth I held Him and would not let him goe Cant 3.4 Will sim sculp XII CAN. III. III Have you seene him whom my soule loveth When I had past a little from them then I found him I tooke hold on him and left him not 1 WHat secret corner What unwonted way Has scap'd the ransack of my rambling thoughts The Fox by night nor the dull Owle by day Have never search'd those places I have sought Whilst thy lamented absence taught my brest The ready Road to Griefe without request My day had neither comfort nor my night had rest 2 How has my unregarded language vented The sad Tautologies of lavish passion How often have I languish'd unlamented How oft have I complain'd without compassion I ask the Citie-Watch but some deny'd me The common streit whilst others would misguide me Some would debarre me some divert me some deride me 3 Mark how the widow'd Turtle having lost The faithfull partner of her loyall Heart Stretches her feeble wings from Coast to Coast Haunts ev'ry path thinks ev'ry shade does part Her absent Love and her At length unsped She re-betakes her to her lovely Bed And there bewailes her everlasting widow-head 4 So when my soule had progrest ev'ry place That love and deare affection could contrive I threw me on my Couch resolv'd t' embrace A death for him in whom I ceas'd to live But there injurious Hymen did present His Lanskip joyes my pickled eyes did vent Full streames of briny teares teares never to be spent 5 Whilst thus my sorrow-wasting soule was feeding Vpon the rad'call Humour of her thought Ev'n whilst mine eyes were blind and heart was bleeding He that was sought unfound was found unsought As if the Sun should dart his Orbe of light Into the secrets of the black-brow'd night Ev'n so appear'd my Love my sole my soules delight 6 O how mine eyes now ravish'd at the sight Of my bright Sun shot flames of equall fire Ah! how my soule dissolv'd with ov'r-delight To re-enjoy the Crowne of chast desire How sov'raigne joy depos'd and dispossest Rebellious griefe And how my ravisht brest But who can presse those heights that cannot be exprest 7 O how these Armes these greedy Armes did twine And strongly twist about his yeelding wast The sappy branches of the Thespian vine Nev'r cling'd their lesse beloved Elme so fast Boast not thy flames blind boy nor feather'd shot Let Himens easie snarles be quite forgot Time cannot quench our fires nor death dissolve our knot ORIG. Hom. 10. in divers O most holy Lord and sweetest Master how good art thou to those that are of upright heart and humble spirit O how blessed are they that seeke thee with a simple heart How happy that trust in thee It is a most certaine truth that thou lovest all that love thee and never forsakest those that trust in thee For behold thy Love simply sought thee and undoubtedly found thee She trusted in thee and is not forsaken of thee but hath obtained more by thee than she expected from thee BEDE cap. 3. Cant. The longer I was in finding whom I sought the more earnestly I held him being found EPIG 12. What found him out Let strong embraces bind him Hee 'l fly perchance where teares can never find him New Sins will lose what old Repentance gaines Wisedome not onely gets but got retaines XIII It is good for me to draw neare to the Lord 〈◊〉 I haue put my trust in the Lord God Ps 73.20 Will Simpson â—â—â—lpsit XIII PSAL. LXXII XXVIII It is good for me to draw neare to God I have put my trust in the Lord God WHere is that Good which wisemen please to call The Chiefest Does there any such befall Within mans reach Or is there such a Good at all If such there be it neither must expire Nor change than which there can be nothing higher Such Good must be the utter point of mans desire It is the Mark to which all hearts must tend Can be desired for no other end Theâ— for it selfe on which all other Goods depend What may this Exc'lence be does it subsist A reall Essence clouded in the midst Of curious Art or cleare to ev'ry eye that list Or is' t a tart Idea to procure An Edge and keepe the practick soule in ure Like that deare Chymick dust or puzzling Quadrature Where shall I seek this Good Where shall I find This Cath'licke pleasure whose extreames may bind My thoughts and fill the gulph of my insatiate mind Lies it in Treasure In full heaps untold Does gowty Mammons griping hand infold This secret Saint in sacred Shrines of sov'raigne Gold No no she lies not there Wealth often sowrs In keeping makes us hers in seeming
proceeds not from a consuming but a calcining fire O happy distemper wherein the soule relishes no earthly things but onely savours divine nourishment S. BERN. Scrm. 51. in Cant. By flowers understand faith by fruit good works As the flower or blossome is before the fruit so faith is before goodworks So neither is the fruit without the flower nor good works without faith EPIG 2. Why Apples O my soule Can they remove The Pangs of Griefe or ease the flames of love It was that Fruit which gave the first offence That sent him hither that remov'd him hence III. My Beloued is mine and I am his Hee feedeth among the Lillies Cant 2.16 Will simpson sculp III. CANT II. XVI My beloved is mine and I am his He feedeth among the Lillies 1 EV'n like two little bank-dividing brookes That wash the pebles with their wanton streames And having rang'd and search'd a thousand nookes Meet both at length in silver-brested Thames Where in a greater Current they conjoyne So I my Best Beloveds am so He is mine 2 Ev'n so we met and after long pursuit Ev'n so we joyn'd we both became entire No need foâ— either to renew a Suit For I waâ— Flax and he was Flames of fire Our firm united soules did more than twine So I my Best-Beloveds am so He is mine 3 If all those glittring Monarchs that command The servile Quarters of this earthly Ball Should tender in Exchange their shares of land I would not change my Fortunes for them all Their wealth is but a Counter to my Coyne The world 's but theirs but my Beloved's mine 4 Nay more If the faire Thespian Ladies all Should heape together their diviner treasure That Treasure should be deem'd a price too small To buy a minuts Lease of halfe my Pleasure 'T is not the sacred wealth of all the Nine Can buy my heart from Him or His from being mine 5 Nor Time nor place nor Chance nor Death can bow My least desires unto the least remove Hee 's firmely mine by Oath I His by Vow Hee 's mine by Faith and I am His by Love Hee 's mine by Water I am His by Wine Thus I my Best-beloveds am Thus He is mine 6 He is my Altar I his Holy Place I am his Guest and He my living Food I 'm his by Poenitence He mine by Grace I 'm his by Purchace He is mine by Blood Hee 's my supporting Elme and I his Vine Thus I my Best-Beloveds am Thus He is mine 7 He gives me wealth I give him all my Vowes I give Him songs He gives me length of dayes With wrethes of Grace he crownes my conqu'ring browes And I his Temples with a Crowne of Praise Which be accepts as an everlasting signe That I my best-beloveds am that He is mine S. AUGUST Manu cap. 24. O my soule stampt with the Image of thy God love him of whom thou art so much beloved Bend to him that bowes to thee seeke him that seeks thee Love thy lover by whose love thou art prevented being the cause of thy love Be carefull with those that are carefull want with those that want Bee cleane with the cleane and holy with the holy Choose this friend above all friends who when all are taken away remaines onely faithfull to thee In the day of thy buriall when all leave thee he will not deceive thee but defend thee from the roaring Lions prepared for their prey EPIG 3. Sing Hymen to my soule What lost and found Welcom'd Espous'd enjoy'd so soone and crown'd He did but climbe the Crosse and then came downe To th'Gates of Hell triumph'd and fetch'd a Crowne IV. I am my beloveds his Desire is towards mee Cant 7.10 W. Simpson Scâ— IV. CANT VII.X. I am my Beloveds and his desire is towards mee 1 LIke to the Artick needle that does guide The wandring shade by his Magneticke pow'r And leaves his silken Gnomon to decide The question of the controverted houre First franticks up and downe from side to side And restlesse beats his christall'd Iv'ry case With vaine impatience jets from place to place And seeks the bosome of his frozen Bride At length he slacks his motion and does rest His trembling point at his bright Poles beloved Brest 2 Ev'n so my soule being hurried here and there By ev'ry object that presents delight Faine would be setled but she knowes not where She likes at morning what she loaths at night She bowes to Honour then she lends an eare To that sweet Swan-like voice of dying Pleasure Then tumbles in the scatter'd heapes of Treasure Now flatter'd with false hope now foyl'd with feare Thus finding all the world delights to be But empty toyes good GOD she point's alone to Thee But has the virtu'd Steele a pow'r to move Or can the untouch'd Needle point aright Or can my wandring Thoughts forbeare to rove Vnguided by the vertue of thy Spirit O has my leaden Soule the Art t' improve Her wasted Talent and unrais'd aspire In this sad moulting time of her desire Not first belov'd have I the pow'r to love I cannot stirre but as thou please to move me Nor can my heart returne thee love untill thou love me 4 The still Commandresse of the silent night Borrowes her beames from her bright brothers Eye His faire aspect fils her sharp hornes with light If he withdraw her flames are quench'd and die Ev'n so the beames of thy enlightning Sp'rite Infus'd and shot into my dark desire Inflame my thoughts and fill my soule with fire That I am ravisht with a new delight But if thou shroud thy face my glory fades And I remaine a Nothing all compos'd of shades 5 Eternall God O thou that onely art The sacred Fountaine of eternall light And blessed Loadstone of my better part O thou my hearts desire my soules delight Reflect upon my soule and touch my heart And then my heart shall prize no good above thee And then my soule shall know thee knowing love thee And then my trembling thoughts shall never start From thy commands or swerve the least degree Or once presume to move but as they move in thee S. AUGUST Med. Cap. 25. If man can love man with so entire affection that the one can scarce brooke the others absence If a Bride can be joyned to her Bride-groome with so great an ardency of mind that for the extremity of love she can enjoy no rest not suffering his absence without great anxiety with what affection with what fervency ought the soule whom thou hast espoused by faith and compassion to love thee her true God and glorious Bridegroome EPIG 4. My soule thy love is deare T' was thought a good And easie pen'worth of thy Saviours Blood But be not proud All matters rightly scan'd 'T was over brought 'T was sold at second hand I. My Soule melted when my beloved spake Cant 5.6 Will Simpson scul V. CANT V.VI. My Soule melted whilst my Beloved spake LOrd has the
feeble voice of flesh and blood The pow'r to worke thine eares into a flood Of melted Mercy or the strenth t'unlocke The gates of Heav'n and to dissolve a Rock Of marbel Clouds into a morning show'r Or has the breath of whining dust the pow'r To stop or snatch a falling Thunderbolt From thy fierce hand and make thy hand revolt From resolute Confusion and in stead Of Vyals poure full Blessings on our head Or shall the wants of famisht Ravens cry And move thy mercy to a quick supply Or shall the silent suits of drooping flowr's Woo thee for drops and be refresh'd with Showr's Alas what marvell then great GOD what wonder If thy Hell-rouzing voice that splits in sunder The brazen Portals of eternall death What wonder if that life-restoring breath Which drag'd me from th' infernall shades of night Should melt my ravisht soule with ore-delight O can my frozen gutters choose but run That feele the warmth of such a glorious Sun Me thinks his language like a flaming Arrow Doth pierce my bones and melts their wounded marrow Thy flames O Cupid though the ioyfull heart Feeles neither tang of griefe nor feares the smart Of jealous doubts but drunk with full desires Are torments weigh'd with these celestiall fires Pleasures that ravish in so high a measure That O I languish in excesse of pleasure What ravisht heart that feeles these melting Ioyes Would not despise and loathe the trech'rous Toyes Of dunghill earth what soule would not be proud Of wry-mouth'd scornes the worst that flesh and blood Had rancor to divise Who would not beare The worlds derision with a thankfull eare What palat would refuse full bowles of spight To gaine a minuts tast of such delight Great spring of light in whom there is no shade But what my interposed sinnes have made Whose marrow-melting Fires admit no screene But what my owne rebellions put betweene Their precious flames and my obdurate care Disperse these plague-distilling Clouds and cleare My mungy Soule into a glorious day Transplant this screene remoove this Barre away Then then my fluent soule shall feele the fires Of thy sweet voice and my dissolv'd desires Shall turne a sov'raigne Balsome to make whole Those wounds my sinnes inflicted on thy soule S. AUGUST Soliloqu Chap. 34. What fire is this that so warmes my heart What light is this that so enlightens my soule O fire that alwayes burnest and never goest out kindle me O light which ever shinest and art never darkned illuminate me O that I had my heat from thee most holy fire How sweetly doest thou burne How secretly dost thou shine How desiderably doest thou inflame me BONAVENT Stim amoris Chap. 8. It makes God man and man God things temporall eternall mortall immortall it makes an enemy a friend a servant a Sonne vile things glorious cold hearts fiery and hard things liquid EPIG 5. My soule Thy gold is true but full of drosse Thy SAVIOURS breath refines thee with some losse His gentle Fornace makes thee pure as true Thou must be melted ere th' art cast anew VI. Whom haue I in heaven but thee what desire I on earth in respect of thee Ps 73. â— W. S. sc VI. PSAL. LXXIII XXV Whom have I in heav'n but Thee and what desire I on earth in respect of Thee 1 I Love and have some cause to love the earth She is my Makers Creature therefore Good She is my Mother for she gave me birth She is my tender Nurse she gives me food But what 's a Creature Lord compar'd with Thee Or what 's my mother or my nurse to me 2 I love the Ayre her dainty sweets refresh My drooping soule and to new sweets invite me Her shrill-mouth'd Quire sustaine me with their flesh And with their Polyphonian notes delight me But what 's the Ayre or all the sweets that she Can blesse my soule withall compar'd to Thee 3 I love the Sea She is my fellow-Creature My carefull Purveyor She provides me store Shee wals me round She makes my diet greater She wafts my treasure from a forreigne shore But Lord of Oceans when compar'd with thee What is the Ocean or her wealth to me 4 To heav'ns high City I direct my Iourney Whose spangled Suburbs entertaine mine eye Mine Eye by Contemplations great Atturney Transcends the Chrystall pavement of the sky But what is heav'n great GOD compar'd to Thee Without Thy presence Heav'n's no Heav'n to me 5 Without Thy presence Earth gives no Refection Without Thy presence Sea affords no treasure Without Thy presence Ayre 's a rank Infection Without Thy presence Heav'n it self 's no pleasure If not possest if not enjoy'd in Thee What 's Earth or Sea or Ayre or Heav'n to me 6 The highest Honours that the world can boast Are subjects farre too low for my desire The brightest beames of glory are at most But dying sparkles of thy living fire The proudest flames that earth can kindle be But nighâ—ly Glow-wormes if compar'd to Thee 7 Without Thy presence wealth are Bags of Cares Wisedome but Folly Joy disquiet sadnesse Friendship is Treason and Delights are snares Pleasures but paine and mirth but pleasing Madnesse Without Thee Lord things be not what they be Nor have they being when compar'd with Thee 8 In having all things and not Thee what have I Not having Thee what have my labours got Ler me enjoy but Thee what farther crave I And having Thee alone what have I not I wish nor Sea nor Land nor would I be Possest of Heav'n Heav'n unpossest of Thee BONAVENT Cap. 1. Soliloq Alas my God now I Vnderstand but blush to confesse that the beauty of thy Creatures haue deceived mine eyes and I have not observed that thou art more amiable than all thy creatures to which thou hast communicated but one drop of thy inestimable beauty For who hath adorned the heauens with Starres Who hath stored the ayre with fowle the waters with fish the earth with plants and flowers But what are all these but a small sparke of divine beauty S. CHR. Hom. 5. in Ep ad Rom. In having nothing I have all things because I have Christ Having therefore all things in Him I seeke no other reward for he is the universall Reward EPIG 6. Who would not throw his better thoughts about him And scorne this drosse within him that without him Cast up my soule thy clearer eye Behold If thou be fully melted There 's the Mold VII Woe is me that I am constrained to dwell with Meseth to haue my habitation among the tent of Cedar Psal. 120.4 Will. simpson sculpsit VII PSAL. CXX.V. Woe is to me that I remaine in Meshech and dwell in the Tents of Kedar IS Natures course dissolv'd Does Times glasse stand Or has some frolick heart set back the hand Of Fates perpetuall Clock Wil't never strike Is crazy Time growne lazy faint or sick With very Age Or has that great Purroyall Of Adamantine sisters late made
do I Pant after Thee my GOD whom I must find or die 3 Before a Pack of deep-mouth'd Lusts I flee O they have singled out my panting heart And wanton Cupid sitting in a Tree Hath pierc'd my bosome with a flaming dart My soule being spent for refuge seeks to Thee But cannot find where Thou my refuge art Like as the swift-foot Hart does wounded flie To the desired streames ev'n so do I Pant after Thee my GOD whom I must find or die 4 At length by flight I over-went the Pack Thou drew'st the wanton dart from out my wound The blood that follow'd left a purple track Which brought a Serpent but in shape a Hound We strove He bit me but Thou brak'st his back I left him grov'ling on th'envenom'd ground But as the Serpent-bitten Hart does flie To the long-long'd for streames ev'n so did I Pant after Thee my GOD whom I must find or die 5 If lust should chase my soule made swift by fright Thou art the streames whereto my soule is bound Or if a lav'lin wound my sides in flight Thou art the Balsome that must cure my wound If poyson chance t'infest my soule in fight Thou art the Treacle that must make me sound Ev'n as the wounded Hart embost does flie To th'streames extremely long for so doe I Pant after Thee my GOD whom I must finde or die CYRIL lib. 5. in Ioh. cap. 10. O precious water which quenches the noysome thirst of this world that scoures all the staines of sinnes that waters the earth of our soules with heavenly showers and brings backe the thirsty heart of man to his onely God! S. AUGUST Soliloq 35. O fountaine of life and veine of living waters when shall I leave this forsaken impassible and dry earth and tast the waters of thy sweetnesse that I may behold thy vertue and thy glory and slake my thirst with the streames of thy mercy Lord I thirst Thou art the spring of life satisfie me I thirst Lord I thirst after thee the living God! EPIG 11. The Arrow-smitten Hart deep wounded flies To th' Springs with water in his weeping eyes Heav'n is thy Spring If Sathans fiery dart Pierce thy faint sides do so my wounded Hart. XII When shall I come and appeare before the Lord Ps 42.2 W. M. Sculp XII PSAL. XLII II When shall I come and appeare before God WHat is my soule the better to be tinde With holy fire What boots it to be coynd With Heav'ns owne stamp What vantage can there be To soules of heav'n-descended Pedegree More than to Beasts that grovell Are not they Fed by th' Almighties hand and ev'ry day Fill'd with His Blessing too Doe they not see GOD in His Creatures as direct as we Doe they not tast Thee heare Thee nay what Sense Is not partaker of Thine Excellence What more doe we Alas what serves our reason But like darke lanthornes to accomplish Treason With greater closenesse It affords no light Brings Thee no nearer to our pur blind sight No pleasure rises up the least degree Great GOD but in the clearer view of Thee What priv'ledge more than Sense has Reason than What vantage is it to be borne a Man How often has my patience built deare LORD Vaine Tow'rs of Hope upon Thy gracious Word How often has Thy Hope-reviving Grace Woo'd my suspitious eyes to seeke Thy face How often have I sought Thee Oh how long Hath expectation taught my perfect tongue Repeated pray'rs yet pray'rs could nev'r obtaine In vaine I seeke Thee and I beg in vaine If it be high presumption to behold Thy face why didst Thou make mine eyes so boâ—â— To seeke it If that object be too bright For mans Aspect why did thy lips invite Mine eye t' expect it If it might be seene Why is this envious curtaine drawne betweene My darkned eye and it O tell me why Thou dost command the thing Thou dost deny Why dost thou give me so unpriz'd a treasure And then deny'st my greedy soule the pleasure To view thy gift Alas that gift is void And is no gift that may not be enjoy'd If those refulgent Beames of heav'ns great light Guid not the day what is the day but night The drouzie Shepheard sleeps flowres droop and fade The Birds are sullen and the Beast is sad But if bright Titan dart his golden Ray And with his riches glorifie the day The jolly Shepheard pipes Flowres freshly spring The beast growes gamesome and the birds they sing Thou art my Sun great GOD O when shall I View the full beames of thy Meridian eye Draw draw this fleshly curtaine that denies The gracious presence of thy glorious eyes Or give me Faith and by the eye of Grace I shall behold Thee though not face to face S. AUGUST in Psal 39. Who created all things is better than all things who beautified all things is more beautifull than all things who made strength is stronger than all things who made great things is greater than all things Whatsoever thou lovest hee is that to thee Learne to love the workman in his worke the Creator in his creature Let not that which was made by Him possesse thee lest thou lose Him by whom thy selfe was made S. AUGUST Med. cap. 37. O thou most sweet most gracious most amiable most faire when shall I see Thee when shall I be satisfied with thy beauty When wilt thou lead mee from this darke dungeon that I may confesse thy name EPIG 12. How art thou shaded in this vale of night Behind thy Curtaine flesh Thou seest no light But what thy Pride does challenge as her owne Thy flesh is high Soule take this Curtaine downe XIII Oh that I had the wings of a Doue for then I would fly away be at rest Pâ— 5â— 6 W. Simpson sc XIII PSAL. LVI VI O that I had the wings of a Dove for then I would flee away and be at rest 1 ANd am I sworne a dunghill slave for ever To earths base drudg'ry Shall I never find A night of Rest Shall my Indentures never Be cancel'd Did injurious nature bind My soule earths Prentice with no Clause to leave her No day of freedome Must I ever grinde O that I had the pineons of a Dove That I might quit my Bands and sore above And powre my just Complaints before the great JEHOVA 2 How happy are the Doves that have the pow'r When ere they please to spread their ayry wings Or cloud-dividing Eagles that can tow'r Above the Sent of these inferiour things How happy is the Lark that ev'ry howre Leaves earth and then for joy mounts up and sings Had my dull soule but wings as well as they How I would spring from earth and clip away As wise Astraea did and scorne this ball of Clay 3 O how my soule would spurne this Ball of Clay And loath the dainties of earths painefull pleasure O how I 'de laugh to see men night and day Turmoyle to gaine that
If thou becloud the Sun-shine of thine eye I freeze to death and if it shine I frie Which like a Fever that my soule has got Makes me to burne too cold or freeze too hot Alas I cannot beare so sweet a smart Nor canst thou be lesse glorious than thou art Hast then and let thy winged steps out-goe The frighted Roe-buck and his flying Roe But goe not farre beyond the reach of breath Too large a distance makes another death My youth is in her Sping Autumnall vowes Will make me riper for so sweet a Spouse When after-times have burnish'd my desire I 'le shoot thee flames for flames and fire for fire O leave me not nor turne thy beauty from me Looke looke upon me though thy flames ov'rcome me Author sealae Paradisi Tom. 9. Aug Cap 8. Feare not O Bride nor despaire Thinke not thy selfe contemn'd if thy Bridegroome withdraw his face a while All things co-operate for the best Both from his absence and his presence thou gainest light He comes to thee and he goes from thee He comes to make thee consolate He goes to make thee cautious lest thy abundant consolation puffe thee up He comes that thy languishing soule may be comforted He goes left his familiarity should be contemned and being absent to be more desired and being desired to be more earnestly sought and being long sought to be more acceptably found EPIG 15. My soule sinnes monster whom with greater ease Ten thousand fold thy GOD could make than pleases What wouldst thou have Nor pleas'd with Sun nor shade Heav'n knowes not what to make of what He made â—â— Fidesque Coronat aâ— araâ— Will marshall-sculp THE FAREWELL REVEL II.X. Be thou faithfull unto death and I will give thee the crowne of life 1 BE faithfull LORD what 's that Believe 'T is easie to Believe But what That He whom thy hard heart has wounded And whom thy scorne has spit upon Has paid thy Fine and has compounded For those soule deeds thy hands have done Believe that He whose gentle palmes Thy needle-pointed Sinnes have nail'd Hath borne thy slavish load of Almes And made supply where thou hast fail'd Did ever mis'ry find so strange Reliefe It is a Love too strong for mans Beliefe 2 Believe that He whose side Thy crimes have pierc'd with their rebellions di'd To save thy guilty soule from dying Ten thousand horrid deaths from whence There was no scape there was no flying But through his dearest bloods expence Believe this dying Friend requires No other thanks for all his paine But ev'n the truth of weake desires And for his love but love againe Did ever mis'ry find so true a Friend It is a love too vast to comprehend 3 With Floods of teares baptize And drench these dry these unregen'rate eyes LORD whet my dull my blunt beliefe And break this fleshly rock in sunder That from this heart this hell of griefe May spring a Heav'n of love and wonder O if thy mercies will remove And melt this lead from my beliefe My griefe will then refine my love My love will then refresh my griefe Then weepe mine eyes as He has bled vouchsafe To drop for ev'ry drop an Epitaph 4 But is the Crowde of Glory The wages of a lamentable Story Or can so great a purchase rise From a salt Humour Can mine eye Run fast enough t' obtaine this Prize If so LORD who 's so mad to die Thy Teares are Trifles Thou must doe Alas I cannot Then endeavour I will But will a tugg or two Suffice the turne Thou must persever I le strive till death And shall my feeble strife Be crown'd I le crowne it with a Crowne of life 5 But is there such a dearth That thou must buy what is thy due by birth He whom Thy hands did forme of dust And gave him breath upon Condition To love his great Creator must He now be thine by Composition Art thou a gracious GOD and mild Or head-strong man rebellious rather O man 's a base rebellious Child And thou a very gracious Father The Gift is Thine we strive thou crown'st our strife Thou giv'st us Faith and Faith a Crowne of Life THE END The minde of the Frontispeece This Bubble's Man Hope Feare False Ioy and Trouble Are those Foure Winds which daily tosse this Bubble Hieroglyphica haec de vitâ hominis perlegi digna censeo quae typis mandentur Ian. 9. 1637. Tho Wykes R. P. Episc Lond. Capell domest Hieroglyphikes of the life of Man Fra. Quarles LONDON Printed by Iohn Dawson for Francis Eglessield and are to be sold by him at the signe of the Marigold in Pauls Church-yard 1639. TO THE RIGHT HONORABLE both in Blood and Virtue and most accomplisht LADIE MARY COVNTESS OF DORSET LADY GOVERNESS to the most Illustrious CHARLES Prince of great BRITAIN and IAMES Duke of YORKE Excellent Lady I Present these Tapours to burne under the safe Protection of your honorable Name where I presume they stand secure from the Damps of Ignorance and blasts of Censure It is a small part of that abundant service which my thankefull heart owes your incomparable Goodness Be pleased to honour it with your noble Acceptance which shall bee nothing but what your own esteem shall make it Madam Your La pps most humble servant FRA QVARLES To The Reader IF you are satisfied with my Emblems I here set before you a second service It is an Aegyptian dish drest on the English fashion They at their Feasts used to present a Deaths-head at their second course This will serve for both You need not feare a surfet Here is but little And that light of digestion If it but please your Palate I question not your stomack Fall too and much good may 't doe you Covivio addit Minerval E. B. Rem Regem Regimen Regionem Relligionem Exornat celebrat laudat honorat amat BENEVOLUS Sine Lumine inane Behold I was shapen in Iniquity and in sinne did my mother conceive me PSAL. 51.5 MAn is mans ABC There is none that can Reade God aright unlesse he first spell Man Man is the Stayres whereby his knowledge climes To his Creator though it oftentimes Stumbles for want of light and sometimes trippes For want of carefull heed and sometimes slips Through unadvised hast and when at length His weary steps have reach'd the top his strength Oft fayles to stand his giddy braines turne round And Phaeton-like falls headlong to the ground These stayres are often darke and full of danger To him whom want of practice makes a stranger To this blind way The Lamp of nature lends But a false Light and lights to her owne ends These be the wayes to Heav'n These paths require A Light that springs from that diviner fire Whose humane soule-enlightning sunbeames dart Through the bright Crannies of th' immortall part And here thou great Originall of Light Whose error-chaceing Beames do unbenight The very soule of Darknesse and untwist The Clouds of
Ignorance do thou assist My feeble Quill Reflect thy sacred Rayes Vpon these lines that they may light the wayes That lead to thee So guide my heart my hand That I may doe what others understand Let my heart practice what my hand shall write Till then I am a Tapour wanting light This golden Precept Know thy selfe came downe From heav'ns high Court It was an Art unknowne To flesh and blood The men of Nature tooke Great Iournies in it Their dim eyes did looke But through a Mist Like Pilgrims they did spend Their idle steps but knew no Iournies end The way to know thy selfe is first to cast Thy fraile beginning Progresse and thy Last This is the Summe of Man But now returne And view this Tapour standing in this Vrne Behold her Substance sordid and impure Vselesse and raine and wanting light obscure T is but a Span at longest nor can last Beyond that Span ordain'd and made to wast Ev'n such was Man before his soule gave light To his vile substance a meere Child of night Ere he had life estated in his Vrne And markt for death by nature borne to burne Thus livelesse lightlesse worthlesse first began That glorious that presumptuous thing call'd Man S. AUGUST Consider ô men what thou wert before thy Birth and what thou art from thy birth to thy death and what thou shalt be after death Thou wert made of an impure substance cloathed and nourished in thy Mothers blood EPIG 1. Forbeare fond Tapour What thou seek'st is Fire Thy owne destructions lodg'd in thy desire Thy wants are farre more safe than their supply He that begins to live begins to die Nescius Vnde Will. Marshall 〈◊〉 And God said Let there bee light and there was light GEN. 1.3 THis flame-expecting Tapour hath at length Received fyre and now begins to burne It hath no vigour yet it hath no strength Apt to be puft and quencht at ev'ry turne It was a gracious hand that thus endow'd This snuffe with flame But marke this hand doth shroud It selfe from mortall eyes and folds it in a Cloud 2 Thus man begins to live An unknowne flame Quickens his finisht Organs now possest With motion and which motion doth proclame An active soule though in a feeble brest But how and when infus'd ask not my Pen Here flyes a Cloud before the eyes of men I cannot tell thee how nor canst thou tell mee when 3 Was it a parcell of celestiall fire Infus'd by Heav'n into this fleshly mould Or was it thinke you made a soule entire Then was it new created Or of old Or is' t a propagated Spark rak'd out From Natures embers While we goe about By reason to resolve the more we raise a doubt 4 If it be part of that celestiall Flame It must be ev'n as pure as free from spot As that eternall fountaine whence it came If pure and spotless then whence came the blot It selfe being pure could not it selfe defile Nor hath unactive Matter pow'r to soile Her pure and active Forme as Iarrs corrupt their Oyle 5 Or if it were created tell me when If in the first six dayes where kept till now Or if the soule were new created then Heav'n did not all at first he had to doe Six dayes expired all Creation ceast All kinds even from the greatest to the least Were finisht and compleat before the day of Rest 6 But why should Man the Lord of Creatures want That priviledge which Plants and Beasts obtaine Beasts bring forth Beasts the Plant a perfect Plant And every like brings forth her like againe Shall fowles and fishes beasts and plants convey Life to their issue And Man lesse than they Shall these get living soules And Man dead lumps of clay 7 Must humane soules be generated then My water ebbs behold a Rock is nigh If Natures worke produce the soules of men Mans soule is mortall All that 's borne must die What shall we then conclude What sun-shine will Disperse this gloomy cloud Till then be still My vainely striving thoughts Lie down my puzzl'd quill ISODOR Why doest thou wonder ô man at the height of the Starres or the depth of the Sea Enter into thine owne soule and wonder there The soule by creating is infused by infusion created EPIG 2. What art thou now the better by this flame Thou knowst not how nor when nor whence it came Poore kind of happinesse that can returne No more accompt but this to say I burne Quo me cunque rapit Will Marshall â—â—â—sit The wind passeth over it and it is gone PSAL. 103.16 NO sooner is this lighted Tapour set Vpon the transitory Stage Of eye-bedarkning night But it is straight subjected to the threat Of envious windes whose wast full rage Disturbs her peace full light And makes her substance wast and makes her flame lesse bright 2 No sooner are we borne no sooner come To take possession of this vast This soule-afflicting earth But Danger meets us at the very wombe And Sorrow with her full mouth'd blast Salutes our painfull birth To put out all our Ioyes and puffe out all our mirth 3 Nor Infant Innocence nor childish teares Nor youthfull wit not manly power Nor politick old age Nor virgins pleading nor the widows prayers Nor lowely Cell nor lofty Tower Nor Prince nor Peere nor Page Can scape this common blast or curb her stormy rage 4 Our life is but a pilgrimage of blasts And ev'ry blast brings forth a feare And ev'ry feare a death The more it lengthens ah the more it wasts Were were we to continue here The dayes of long lif'd Seth Our sorrowes would renew as we renew our breath 5. Tost too and fro our frighted thoughts are driv'n With ev'ry puffe with every Tide Of self-consuming Care Our peacefull flame that would point up to heav'n Is still disturb'd and turnd aside And ev'ry blast of Ayre Commits such wast in man as man can not repaire 6 W' are all borne Detters and we firmely stand Oblig'd for our first Parents Det Besides our Interest Alas we haue no harmelesse Counterband And we are ev'ry hou'r beset With threatnings of Arrest And till we pay the Det we can expect no Rest 7 What may this sorrow-shaken life present To the false relish of our Tast That 's worth the name of sweet Her minits pleasure's choakt with discontent Her glory foyld with ev'ry blast How many dangers meet Poore man betwixt the Biggin and the Winding sheet S. AUGUST In this world not to be grieved not to be afflicted not to be in danger is impossible Ibid. Behold the world is full of troubles yet beloved What if it were a pleasing world How wouldst thou delight in her Calmes that canst so well endure her stormes EPIG 3 Art thou consum'd with soule-afflicting crosses Disturb'd with griefe annoy'd with worldly losses Hold up thy head the Tapour lifted high Will brooke the wind when lower Tapors dye Curando Labascit The whole need not the