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
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
soule at vantage gave my soule the wound Farewell my Bullion Gods whose sov'raigne lookes So ofteâ— catch'd me with their golden hookes Go seek another slave yee must all go I cannot serve my God and Bullion too Farewell false Honour you whose ayry wings Did mount my soule above the Thrones of kings Then flatter'd me tooke pet and in disdaine Nipt my greene buds then kickt me down againe Farewell my Bow Farewell my Cyprian Quiver Farewell deare world farewell deare world for ever O but this most delicious world how sweet Her pleasures relish Ah! How jump they meet The grasping soule And with their sprightly fire Revive and raise and rowze the rapt desire For ever O to part so long What never Meet more Another yeare and then for ever Too quick resolves do resolution wrong What part so soone to be divorc'd so long Things to be done are long to be debated Heav'n is not day'd Repentance is not dated S. AUGUST lib. de util agen paen Goe up my soule into the Tribunall of thy Conscience There set thy guilty selfe before thy selfe Hide not thy selfe behind thy selfe least God bring thee forth before thy selfe S. AUGUST in Soliloq In vaine is that washing where the next sin defiles Hee hath ill repented whose sinnes are repeated that stomack is the worse for vomiting that licks up his vomit ANSELM God hath promised pardon to him that repenteth but he hath not promised repentance to him that sinneth EPIG 13. Braine wounded Cupid had this hasty dart As it hath prickt thy Fancy pierc'd thy heart 'T had beene thy Friend O how has it deceiy'd thee For had this dart but kill'd this dart had say'd thee XIV Post lapsum fortiùs acto 〈◊〉 Marshall sculpsit XIV PRO. XXIV XVI A just man falleth seaven times and riseth up againe but the wicked shall fall into mischiefe 1 T Is but a Foyle at best And that 's the most Your skill can boast My slippry footing fail'd me and you tript Iust as I slipt My wanton weakenesse did her selfe betray With too much play I was too bold He never yet stood sure That stands secure Who ever trusted to his native strength But fell at length The Title 's craz'd the Tenour is not good That claimes by th'Evidence of flesh and Blood 2 Boast not thy skill The Righteous man falls oft Yet falls but soft There may be dirt to mire him but no stones To crush his bones What if he staggers Nay put case he be Foyl'd on his knee That very knee will bend to heav'n and woo For mercy too The true-bred Gamester ups a fresh and then Falls to 't agen Whereas the leaden-hearted Coward lies And yeelds his conquer'd life or cravend dies 3 Boast not thy Conquest thou that ev'ry houre Falst ten times lower Nay hast not pow'r to rise if not in case To fall more base Thou wallow'st where I slip and thou dost tumble Where I but stumble Thou glory'st in thy slav'ries dirty Badges And fal'st for wages Sowre griefe and sad repentance scowres and cleares My staines with teares Thy falling keeps thy falling still in ure But when I slip I stand the more secure 4 LORD what a nothing is this little Span We call a Man What fenny trash maintaines the smooth'ring fires Of his desires How sleight and short are his Resolves at longest How weake at strongest O if a Sinner held by thy fast hand Can hardly stand Good GOD in what a desp'rate case are they That have no stay Mans state implies a necessary Curse When not himselfe hee 's mad when most himself hee 's worse S. AMBROS in Serm. ad vincula Peter stood more firmely after he had lamented his fall than before he fell Insomuch that he found more grace than he lost grace S. CHRYS in Ep. ad Heliod monach It is no such hainous matter to fall afflicted as being downe to lie dejected It is no danger for a souldier to receive a wound in battell but after the wound received through despaire of recovery to refuse a Remedy For wee often see wounded Champions weare the Palme at last and after flight crown'd with victory EPIG 14. Triumph not Cupid His mischance does show Thy Trade does once what thou dost alwayes do Brag not too soone Has thy prevailing hand Foyl'd him Ah Foole Th' ast taught him how to stand VI. Patet â—etheâ— clauditue orbi 〈…〉 XV. IER XXXII XL I will put my feare in their hearts that they shall not depart from me SO now the soule 's sublim'd Her sowre desires Are re-calcin'd in heav'ns well tempred Fires The heart restor'd and purg'd from drossie Nature Now finds the freedeme of a new-borne Creature It lives another life it breaths new Breath It neither feeles nor feares the sting of death Like as the idle vagrant having none That boldly dopts each house he viewes his owne Makes ev'ry purse his Chequer and at 's pleasure Walks forth and taxes all the world like Caesar At length by vertue of a just command His sides are lent to a severer hand Whereon his Passe not fully understood Is taxed in a Manuscript of Blood Thus past from towne to towne untill he come A sore Repentant to his native home Ev'n so the rambling heart that idly roves From Crime to Sin and uncontrol'd removes From lust to lust when wanton flesh invites From old-worne pleasures to new choice delights At length corrected by the filiall Rod Of his offended but his gracious GOD And lasht from Sinnes to sighs and by degrees From sighs to vowes From vowes to bended knees From bended knees to a true pensive brest From thence to torments not by tongues exprest Returnes and from his sinfull selfe exil'd Finds a glad Father He a welcome Child O then it lives O then it lives involv'd In secret Raptures pants to be dissolv'd The royall Of-spring of a second Birth Sets ope to heav'n and shuts the doores to earth If love-sicke love-commanded Clouds should hap To raine such show'rs as quickned Danaes lap Or dogs far kinder than their purple Master Should lick his sores he laughs nor weepes the faster If Earth Heav'ns Rivall dart her idle Ray To heav'n 't is Wax and to the world 't is Clay If earth present delights it scornes to draw But like the Iet unrub'd disdaines that straw No hope deceives it and no doubt divides it No Griefe disturbes it and no Errour guides it No Feare distracts it and no Rage inflames it No Guilt condemnes it and no Folly shames it No sloth besots it and no lust inthrals it No Scorne afflicts it and no Passion gawles it It is a Carknet of immortall life An Arke of peace The Lists of sacred Strife A purer peece of endlesse Transitory A Shrine of Grace A little Throne of Glory A Heav'n borne Of-spring of a new-borne birth An earthly Heav'n An ounce of heav'nly Earth S. AUGUST de spir anima O happie heart where piety affects where humility
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
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
soule shall smart My heart shall bleed for thine Sin O ground-lesse deepes O love beyond degree Th' offended dies to set th' offender free S. AUGUST Lord if I have done that for which thou mayest damne mee thou hast not lost that whereby thou mayest save me Remember not sweet Jesus thy justice against the sinner but thy benignity towards thy Creature Remember not to proceed against a guilty soule but remember thy mercy towards a miserable wretch Forget the insolence of the provoker and behold the misery of the invoker for what is Jesus but a Saviour ANSELM Have respect to what thy Sonne hath done for me and forget what my sinnes have done against thee My flesh hath provoked thee to vengeance let the flesh of Christ move thee to mercy It is much that my rebellions have deserved but it is more that my Redeemer hath merited EPIG 10. Mercie of mercies He that was my drudge Is now my Advocate is now my Iudge He suffers pleads and sentences alone Three I adore and yet adore but One. XI Let not the water-flood overflow me neither let the deepe swallow me vp Ps 69.15 Will Simpson sculpsit XI PSAL. LXIX XV Let not the water-flood over-flow me neither let the deepes swallow me up THe world 's a Sea my flesh a ship that 's man'd With lab'ring Thoughts and steer'd by Reasons hand My heart 's the Sea-mans Card whereby she sailes My loose Affections are the greater Sailes The Top-saile is my Fancy and the Gusts That fill these wanton Sheets are worldly Lusts Pray'r is the Cable at whose end appeares The Anchor Hope nev'r slipt but in our feares My Will 's th'unconstant Pilot that commands The staggring Keele my Sinnes are like the Sands Repentance is the Bucket and mine Eye The Pumpe unus'd but in extreames and dry My conscience is the Plummet that does presse The deepes but seldom cryes A fathom lesse Smooth Calm's security The Gulph despaire My Freight's Corruption and this life 's my Fan My soule 's the Passenger confus'dly driven From feare to fright her landing Port is Heaven My seas are stormy and my Ship does leake My Saylers rude My Steersman faint and weake My Canvace torne it flaps from side to side My Cable's crakt my Anchor 's slightly ty'd My Pilot's craz'd my shipwrack sands are cloak'd My Bucket's broken and my Pump is choak'd My Calm's deceitfull and my Gulph too neare My Wares are flubber'd and my Fare's too deare My Plummet's light it cannot sink nor sound O shall my Rock-be threatned Soule be drown'd Lord still the seas and shield my ship from harme Instruct my Saylours guide my Steersmans Arme Touch thou my Compasse and renew my Sailes Send stiffer courage or send milder gales Make strong my Cable bind my Anchor faster Direct my Pilot and be thou his Master Object the Sands to my more serious view Make sound my Bucket bore my Pump anew New cast my Plummet make it apt to try Where the Rocks lurke and where the Quicksands lie Guard thou the Gulph with love my Calmes with Care Cleanse thou my Freight accept my slender Fare Refresh the Sea-sick passenger cut short His Voyage land him in his wished Port Thou thou whom winds and stormy seas obay That through the deepes gav'st grumbling Isr'ell way Say to my soule be safe and then mine eye Shall scorne grim death although grim death stand by O thou whose strength-reviving Arme did cherish Thy sinking Peter at the point to perish Reach forth thy hand or bid me tread the Wave I le come I le come The voice that calls will save S. AMBROS Apol. post pro David Cap. 3. The confluence of lusts make a great Tempest which in this sea disturbes the sea-faring soule that reason cannot governe it S. AUGUST Soliloq Cap. 35. We labour in a boysterous sea Thou standest upon the shore and seest our dangers Give us grace to hold a middle course betwixt Scylla and Charybdis that both daâ—gers escaped we may arrive at our Port secure EPIG 11. My soule the seas are rough and thou a stranger In these false coasts O keepe aloofe ther 's danger Cast forth thy Plummet see a rock appeares Thy ship wants sea-roome Make it with thy teares XII O that thow wouldst protect me in the graue and hide me ontill thy furie be past Iob 14 Will simpson sculp XII IOB XIV XIII O that thou wouldst hide mee in the grave that thou wouldst keepe me secret untill thy wrath be past O Whether shall I flye what path untrod Shall I seeke out to scape the flaming rod Of my offended of my angry God Where shall I sojourne What kind sea will hide My head from Thunder where shall I abide Vntill his flames be quench'd or laid aside What if my feet should take their hasty flight And seeke protection in the shades of night Alas no shades can blind the God of Light What if my soule should take the wings of day And find some desart if she spring away The wings of vengeance clip as fast as they What if some solid Rock should entertaine My frighted soule Can solid Rocks restraine The stroke of Iustice and not cleave in twaine Nor Sea nor Shade nor Shield nor Rock nor Cave Nor silent desarts nor the sullen grave Where flame ey'd fury meanes to smite can save The Seas will part graves open Rocks will splâ—t The shield will cleave the frighted shadowes flit Where Iustice armes her fiery darts must hit No no if sterne-brow'd vengeance meanes to thunder There is no place above beneath nor under So close but will unlocke or rive in sunder 'T is vaine to flee 'T is neither here nor there Can scape that hand untill that hand forbeare Ah me where is he not that 's every where 'T is vaine to flee till gentle mercy show Her better eye the farther off we goe The swing of Iustice deales the mightier blow Th' ingenious child corrected does not flie His angry mothers hand but clings more nigh And quenches with his teares her flaming eye Shadowes are faithlesse and the rockes are false No trust in brasse no trust in marble walls Poore Cotts are e'ven as safe as Princes Halls Great God there is no safety here below Thou art my Fortresse though thou seem'st my foe 'T is thou that strik'st the stroke must guard the blow Thou art my God by thee I fall or stand Thy Grace hath giv'n me courage to withstand All tortures but my Conscience and thy Hand I know thy Iustice is thy selfe I know Iust God thy very selfe is mercy too If not to thee where whether should I go Then worke thy will If passion bid me flee My Reason shall obey my wings shall be Stretcht out no further than from Thee to Thee S. AUGUST in Psal 30. Whether flie I To what place can I safely flie To what mountaine To what den To what strong house What Castle shall I hold What walls shall hold me Whethersoever
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
of danger O can my voyce be pleasant or my hand Thus made a Prisner to a forreigne land How can my musick relish in your eares That cannot speake for sobs nor sing for teares Ah if my voyce could Orpheus-like unspell My poore Euridicê my soule from hell Of earths misconstru'd Heav'n O then my brest Should warble Ayres whose Rapsodies should feast The eares of Serathims and entertaine Heav'ns highest Deity with their lofty straine A straine well drencht in the true Thespian Well Till then earths Semiquaver mirth farewell S. AUGUST Med. cap. 33. O infinitely happy are those heavenly virtues which are able to praise thee in holinesse and purity with excessive sweetnesse and inutterable exultation From thence they praise thee from whence they rejoyce because they continually see for what they rejoyce for what they praise thee But we prest downe with this burthen of flesh farre remov'd from thy countenance in this pilgrimage and blowne up with wordly vanities cannot worthily praise thee We praise thee by faith not face to face but those Argelicall Spirits praise thee face to face and not by faith EPIG 15. Did I refuse to sing Said I these times Were not for Songs nor musick for these Climes It was my Errour Are not Groanes and teares Harmonious Raptures in th' Almighties cares THE FIFT BOOKE I. I charge yow o yee Daughters of Ierusalem if yee finde my beloved that yow tell him that I am sicke of loue Canâ—t â— w. simpsen scupsit I. CANT V. VIII I charge you O daughters of Ierusalem if you find my beloved that you tell him that I am sick of love 1 YOu holy Virgins that so oft surround The Cities Saphyre Wals whose snowy feâ—â— Measure the pearly Paths of sacred ground And trace the new Jerus'lems Iasper street Ah you whose care-forsaken hearts are crown'd With your best wishes that enjoy the sweet Of all your Hopes If ere you chance to spie My absent Love O tell him that I lie Deepe wounded with the flames that furnac'd from his eye 2 I charge you Virgins as you hope to heare The heav'nly Musick of your Lovers voice I charge you by the solemne faith ye beare To plighted vowes and to the loyall choice Of your affections or if ought more deare You hold by Hymen by your marriage joyes I charge you tell him that a flaming dart Shot from his Eye hath pierc'd my bleeding heart And I am sick of love and languish in my smart 3 Tell him O tell him how my panting brest Is scorch'd with flames and how my soule is pin'd Tell him O tell him how I lie opprest With the full torments of a troubled mind O tell him tell him that he loves in jest But I in earnest Tell him hee 's unkind But if a discontented frowne appeares Vpon his angry Brow accoast his eares With soft and fewer words and act the rest in teares 4 O tell him that his cruelties deprive My soule of peace while peace in vaine she seeks Tell him those Damask roses that did strive With white both fade upon my sallow cheeks Tell him no token does proclaime I live But teares and sighs and sobs and sudden shreeks Thus if your piercing words should chance to bore His harkning eare and move a sigh give ore To speak and tell him Tell him that I could no more 5 If your elegious breath should hap to rouze A happy teare close harb'ring in his eye Then urge his plighted faith the sacred vowes Which neither I can break nor He deny Bewaile the Torments of his loyall Spouse That for his sake would make a sport to die O blessed Virgins how my passion tires Beneath the burthen of her vaine desires Heav'n never shot such flames Earth never felt such fires S. AUGUST Med. cap. 40. What shall I say What shall I doe Whether shall I goe Where shall I seeke him Or when shall I find him Whom shall I aske Who will tell my beloved that I am sick of love GVLIEL in Cap. 5. Cant. I live But not I It is my beloved that lives in me I love my selfe not with my owne love but with the love of my beloved that loves me I love not my selfe in my selfe but my selfe in him and him in me EPIG 1. Grieve not my soule nor let thy love waxe faint Weepst thou to lose the cause of thy Complaint Hee 'l come Love nev'r was bound to Times nor Lawes Till then thy teares complaine without a Cause II. Stay me with Flowers Comfort me with Apples for I am sick of loue Cant 2.5 Will Marshall sculpsit II. CANT II.V. Stay me with Flowers and comfort me with Apples for I am sicke with love 1 O Tyrant love how does thy sov'raigne pow'r Subject poore soules to thy imperious thrall They say thy Cup 's compos'd of sweet and sowre They say thy diet 's Honey mixt with Gall How comes it then to passe these lips of our Still trade in bitter taste no sweet at all O tyrant love Shall our perpetuall toyle Nev'r find a Sabbath to refresh a while Our drooping soules Art thou all frowns and nev'r a smile 2 You blessed Maids of Honour that frequent The royall Courts of our renown'd JEHOVE With Flow'rs restore my spirits faint and spent O fetch me Apples from Loves fruitfull Grove To coole my palat and renew my sent For I am sick for I am sick of Love These will revive my dry my wasted pow'rs And they will sweeten my unsav'ry houres Refresh me then with Fruit and comfort me with Flow'rs 3 O bring me Apples to asswage that fire Which Aetna-like inflames my flaming brest Nor is it ev'ry Apple I desire Nor that which pleases ev'ry Palat best 'T is not the lasting Deuzan I require Nor yet the red-cheek'd Queening I request Nor that which first beshrewd the name of wife Nor that whose beauty caus'd the golden strife No no bring me an Apple from the Tree of life 4 Virgins tuck up your silken laps and fill ye With the faire wealth of Floras Magazine The purple Vy'let and the pale-fac'd Lilly The Pauncy and the Organ Colombine The flowring Thyme the guilt-boule Daffadilly The lowly Pinck the lofty Eglentine The blushing Rose the Queene of flow'rs and be Of Floras beauty but above the rest Let Iesses sov'raigne Flow'r perfume my qualming brest 5 Haste Virgins haste for I lie weake and faint Beneath the pangs of love why stand ye mute As if your silence neither car'd to grant Nor yet your language to deny my suit No key can lock the doore of my complaint Vntill I smell this Flow'r or taste that Fruit Go Virgins seeke this Tree and search that Bow'r O how my soule shall blesse that happy houre That brings to me such fruit that brings me such a Flow'r GISTEEN in cap. 2. Cant. Expos 3. O happy sicknesse where the infirmity is not to death but to life that God may be glorified by it O happy fever that
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
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
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
mercy by the charmes of sweat and blood Canst thou forget that drowsie Mount wherein Thy dull Disciples slept Was not my sinne There punish'd in thy soule Did not this brow Then sweat in thine Were not those drops enow Remember Golgotha where that spring-tide Or'e flow'd thy sov'raigne Sacramentall side There was no sinne there was no guilt in Thee That caus'd those paines Thou sweatst thou bledst for me Was there not blood enough when one small drop Had pow'r to ransome thousands worlds and stop The mâ—uth of Iustice Lord I bled before In thy deep wounds Can Iustice challenge more O doe thou vainly labour to hedge in Thy losses from my sides My blood is thin And thy free bounty scornes such easie thrift No no thy blood came not as lone but gift But must I ever grinde And must I earne Nothing buâ— stripes O wi t thou disalterne The rest thou gav'st Hast thou perus'd the curse Thou laydst on Adams fall and made it worse Canst thou repent of mercy Heav'n thought good Lost man should feed in sweat not work in blood Why dost thou wound th'already wounded brest Ah me my life is but a paine at best I am but dying dust my dayes a span What pleasure tak'st thou in the blood of man Spare spare thy scourge and be not so austere Send fewer stroaks or lend more strength to beare S. BERN. Hom. 81. in Cant. Miserable man Who shall deliver me from the reproach of this shamefull bondage I am a miserable man but a free man free because a man Miserable because a servant In regard of my bondage miserable In regard of my will inexcusable For my will that was free be slaved it selfe to sinne by assenting to sinne for he that commits sin is the servant to sinne EPIG 4. Taxe not thy God Thine owne defaults did urge This twofold punishment the Mill the Scourge Thy sin 's the Author of thy selfe tormenting Thou grind'st for sinning scourg'd for not repenting V. Remember I beseech thee that thou hast made me as the clay wilt thou briâ—â— me into dust againe Iob. 〈…〉 will sâ—â—pâ— V. IOB X.IX. Remember I beseech thee that thou hast made me as the clay and wilt thou bring me to dust againe THus from the bosome of the new-made earth Poore man was delv'd and had his unborne birth The same the stuffe the selfe-same hand does trim The Plant that fades the Beast that dies and Him One was their Syre one was their common mother Plants are his sisters and the Beast his brother The elder too Beasts draw the selfe-same breath Waxe old alike and die the selfe-same death Plants grow as he with fairer robes arraid Alike they flourish and alike they fade The beast in sense exceeds him and in growth The three-ag'd Oake doth thrice exceed them both Why look'st thou then so big thou little span Of earth What art thou more in being man I but my great Creator did inspire My chosen earth with that diviner fire Of Reason gave me Iudgement and a Will That to know good this to chuse good from ill He put the raines of pow'r in my free hand And jurisdiction oversea and land He gave me art to lengthen out my span Of life and made me all in being man I but thy Passion has committed treason Against the sacred person of thy Reason Thy Iudgement is corrupt perverse thy Will That knowes no good and this makes choice of ill The greater height sends downe the deeper fall And good declin'd turnes bad turnes worst of all Say then proud inch of living earth what can Thy greatnesse claime the more in being man O but my soule transcends the pitch of nature Borne up by th' Image of her high Creator Out-braves the life of reason and beats downe Her waxen wings kicks off her brazen Crowne My earth 's a living Temple t' entertaine The King of Glory and his glorious traine How can I mend my Title then where can Ambition find a higher stile than man Ah but that Image is defac'd and soil'd Her Temple 's raz'd her altars all defil'd Her vessels are polluted and distain'd With loathed lust her ornaments prophan'd Her oyle forsaken lamps and hallow'd Tapoure Put out her incense breaths unsav'ry vapours Why swel'st thou then so big thou little span Of earth What art thou more in being man Eternall Porter whose blest hands did lay My course foundation from a sod of clay Thou know'st my slender vessell's apt to leake Thou know'st my brittle Temper 's prone to breake Are my Bones Brazzill or my Flesh of Oake O mend what thou hast made what I have broke Looke looke with gentle eyes and in thy day Of vengeance Lord remember I am clay S. AUGUST Soliloq 32. Shall I ask who made me It was thou that madest me without whom nothing was made Thou art my maker and I thy worke I thanke thee my Lord God by whom I live and by whom all things subsist because thou madest me I thanke thee O my Potter because thy hands have made me because thy hands have formed me EPIG 5. Why swell'st thou Man puft up with Fame and Purse Th' art better earth but borne to dig the worse Thou cam'st from earth to earth thou must returne And art but earth cast from the wombe to th'â—ne VI. What shall I do vnto thee O thow â— preserver of men why hast thou set mee as a marke against thee Iob. 7.2 VI. IOB VII XX I have sinned What shall I doe unto thee O thou preserver of men why hast thou set me as a marke against thee LOrd I have done and Lord I have misdone 'T is folly to contest to strive with one That is too strong 't is folly to assaile Or prove an Arme that will that must prevaile Iv'e done I 've done these trembling hands have throwne Their daring weapons downe The day 's thine owne Forbeare to strike where thou hast won the field The palme the palme is thine I yeeld I yeeld These treach'rous hands that were so vainly bold To try a thrivelesse combat and to hold Selfe-wounding weapons up are now extended For mercy from thy hand that knee that bended Vpon her guardlesse guard does now repent Vpon this naked floore See both are bent And sue for pitie O my ragged wound Is deep and desp'rate it is drench'd and drown'd In blood and briny teares It does begin To stinke without and putrifie within Let that victorious hand that now appeares Iust in my blood prove gracious to my teares Thou great Preserver of presumptuous man What shall I do What satisfaction can Poore dust and ashes make O if that blood That yet remaines unshed were halfe as good As blood of Oxen if my death might be An offring to attone my God and me I would disdaine injurious life and stand A suiter to be wounded from thy hand But may thy wrongs be measur'd by the span Of life or balanc'd with the blood of man
No no eternall sin expects for guerdon Eternall penance or eternall pardon Lay downe thy weapons turne thy wrath away And pardon him that hath no price to pay Enlarge that soule which base presumption binds Thy justice cannot loose what mercy finds O thou that wilt not bruise the broken reed Rub not my sores nor prick the wounds that bleed Lord if the peevish Infant fights and flies With unpar'd weapons at his mothers eyes Her frownes halfe mixt with smiles may chance to shew An angry love-trick on his arme or so Where if the babe but make a lip and cry Her heart begins to melt and by and by She coakes his deawy cheekes her babe she blisses And choaks her language with a thousand kisses I am that child loe here I prostrate lie Pleading for mercy I repent and cry For gracious pardon let thy gentle eares Heare that in words what mothers judge in teares See not my frailties Lord but through my feare And looke on ev'ry trespasse through a teare Then calme thy anger and appeare more mild Remember th' art a Father I a child S. BERN. Ser. 21. in Cant. Miserable man Who shall deliver me from the reproach of this shamefull bondage I am a miserable man but a free man Free because like to God miserable because against God O keeper of mankind why hast thou set me as a marke against thee Thou hast set me because thou hast not hindred me It is just that thy enemy should be my enemy and that he who repugnes thee should repugne me I who am against thee am against my selfe EPIG 6. But form'd and fight But borne and then rebell How small a blast will make a bubble swell But dare the floore affront the hand that laid it So apt is dust to fly in 's face that made it VII Wherefore hidest thou thy face holdest mee for thine Enemy Iob â—3 24 W. S. sc VII IOB XIII XXIV Wherefore hidest thou thy face and holdest me for thine enemie WHy dost thou shade thy lovely face O why Does that ecclipsing hand so long deny The Sun-shining of thy soule-enliv'ning eye Without that Light what light remaines in me Thou art my Life my Way my Light in Thee I live I move and by thy beames I see Thou art my Life If thou but turne away My life 's a thousand deaths thou art my Way Without thee Lord I travell not but stray My Light thou art without thy glorious sight Mine eyes are darkned with perpetuall night My God thou art my Way my Life my Light Thou art my Way I wander if thou flie Thou art my Light It hid how blind am I Thou art my Life If thou withdraw I die Mine eyes are blind and darke I cannot see To whom or whether should my daâ—kenesse flee But to the Light And who 's that Light but Thee My path is lost my wandring steps do stray I cannot safely go nor safely stay Whom should I seek but Thee my Path my Way O I am dead To whom shall I poore I Repaire To whom shall my sad Ashes fly But Life And where is Life but in thine eye And yet thou turn'st away thy face and fly'st me And yet I sue for Grace and thou deny'st me Speake art thou angry Lord or onely try'st me Vnskreene those heav'nly lamps or tell me why Thou shad'st thy face Perhaps thou think'st no eye Can view those flames and not drop downe and die If that be all shine forth and draw thee nigher Let me behold and die for my desire Is Phoenix-like to perish in that Fire Death conquer'd Laz'rus was redeem'd by Thee If I am dead Lord set deaths pris'ner free Am I more spent or stink I worse than he If my pufft light be out give leave to tine My flamelesse snuffe at that bright Lamp of thine O what 's thy Light the lesse for lighting mine If I have lost my Path great Shepheard say Shall I still wander in a doubtfull way Lord shall a Lamb of Isr'els sheepfold stray Thou art the Pilgrims Path the blind mans Eye The dead mans Life on thee my hopes rely If thou remove I erre I grope I die Disclose thy Sun-beames close thy wings and stay See see how I am blind and dead and stray O thou that art my Light my Life my Way S. AUGUST Soliloq cap. 1. Why dost thou hide thy face Happily thou wilt say none can see thy face and live Ah Lord let me die that I may see thee let me see thee that I may die I would not live but die That I may see Christ I desire death that I may live with Christ I despise life ANSELM Med. cap. 5. O excellent hiding which is become my perfection My God thou hidest thy treasure to kindle my desire Thou hidest thy pearle to inflame the seeker thou delay'st to give that thou maist teach me to importune seem'st not to heare to make me persever EPIG 7. If heav'ns all-quickning Eyes vouchsafe to shine Vpon our soules we slight If not we whine Our Equinoctiall hearts can never lie Secure beneath the Tropicks of that eye VIII O that my Head were waters and mine eyes a fountaine of teares Ier 9. â— Will. Marshall sculpsit VIII IER IX.I. O that my head were waters and mine eyes a fountaine of teares that I might weepe day and night O That mine eyes were springs and could transforme Their drops to seas My sighs into a storme Of Zeale and sacred Violence wherein This lab'ring vessell laden with her sinne Might suffer sudaine shipwracke and be split Vpon that Rock where my drench'd soule may sit Orewhelm'd with plenteous passion O and there Drop drop into an everlasting teare Ah me that ev'ry sliding veine that wanders Through this vast Isle did worke her wild Meanders In brackish teares in stead of blood and swell This flesh with holy Dropsies from whose Well Made warme with sighs may fume my wasting breath Whilst I dissolve in streames and reeke to death These narrow sluces of my dribling eyes Are much too streight for those quick springs that rise And hourely fill my Temples to the top I cannot shed for ev'ry sin a drop Great builder of mankind why hast thou sent Such swelling floods anâ—â—ade so small a vent O that this flesh had beene compos'd of snow Instead of earth and bones of Ice that so Feeling the Fervor of my sin and loathing The fire I feele I might be thaw'd to nothing O thou that didst with hopefull joy entombe Me thrice three Moones in thy laborious wombe And then with joyfull paine broughtst forth a Son What worth thy labour has thy labour done What was there Ah! what was there in my birth That could deserve the easiest smile of mirth A man was borne Alas and what 's a man A scuttle full of dust a measur'd span Of flitting Time a furnish'd Pack whose wares Are sullen Griefs and soule-tormenting Cares A vale of teares a vessell tunn'd with breath By