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
shafts already made And seeking Hone to set up thy Trade True Embleme of hy sweets Thy Bees do bring Hony in their moutâ—es but in their tailes a sting IV. Quis leuior cui phis ponderis adds amor Will Marshall sculpsit IV. PSAL. LXII IX To be laid in the ballance it is altogether lighter than vanitie 1 PUt in another weight 'T is yet too light And yet Fond Cupid put another in And yet another Still there 's under weight Put in another Hundred Put agin Add world to world then heape a thousand more To that then to renew thy wasted store Take up more worlds on trust to draw thy Balance lower 2 Put in the flesh with all her loades of pleasure Put in great Mammons endlesse Inventory Put in the pondrous Acts of mighty Caesar Put in the greater weight of Swedens Glory Add Scipio's gauntlet put in Plato's Gowne Put Circes Charmes put in the Triple Crowne Thy Balance will not draw thy Balance will not downe 3 LORD what a world is this which day and night Men seek with so much toyle with so much trouble Which weigh'd in equall Scales is found so light So poorely over-balanc'd with a Bubble Good GOD that frantick mortals should destroy Their higher Hopes and place their idle Ioy Vpon such ayry Trash upon so light a Toy 4 Thou bold Imposture how hast thou befool'd The Tribe of Man with counterfeit desire How has the breath of thy false bellowes cool'd He wâ—ns free-borne flames and kindled bastard fire How hast thou vented Drosse instead of treasure And cheated man with thy false weights and measure Proclaiming Bad for good and gilding death with pleasure 5 The woâ—ld's a crafty Strumpet most affecting And closely following those that most reject her But seeming carelesse nicely disrespecting And coyly flying those that most affect her If thou be free shee 's strange if strange shee 's free Fled and she followes Follow and shee 'l flee Than she there 's none more coy ther 's none more fond than she 6 O what a Crocodilian world is this Compos'd of trech'ries and ensnaring wiles She cloathes destruction in a form all kisse And lodges death in her deceitfull smiles She huggs the soule she hates and there does prove The veryest Tyrant where she vowes to love And is a Serpent most when most she seemes a Dove 7 Thrice happy he whose nobler thoughts despise To make an Object of so easie Gaines Thrice happy he who scornes so poore a Prize Should be the C own of his heroick paines Thrice happy he that nev'r was borne to trie Her frownes or smiles or being borne did lie In his sad Nurses Armes an houre or two and die S. AUGUST lib. Confess O you that dote upon this world for what victory do you fight Your hopes can be crown'd with no greater reward than the world can give and what is the world but a brittle thing ful of dangers wherein we travell from lesser to greater periis O let all her vaine light and momentary glory perish with her self and let us be conversant with more eternall things Alas this world is miserable life is short and death is sure EPIG 4. My soule What 's lighter than a feather Wind Than wind The fire And what then fire The mind What 's lighter than the mind A thought Than Thought This bubble-world What than this Bubble Nought V. His veâ—titue orbis Will. Marshall sculpfit V. I COR. VII XXXI The fashion of this world passeth away 1 GOne are those golden dayes wherein Pale conscience started not at ugly sin When good old Saturnes peacefull Throne Was usurped by his beardlesse Sonne When jealous Ops nev'r fear'd th' abuse Of her chast bed or breach oâ— nuptiall Truce When just Astraea poys'd her Scales In mortall hearts whose absence earth bewailes When froth-borne Venus and her brat With all that spurious brood young Iove begat In horrid shapes were yet unknowne Those Halcyon dayes that golden age is gone There was no Clyent then to wait The leisure of his long tayl'd Advocate The Talion Law was in request And Chaunc'ry courts were kept in ev'ry brest Abused Statutes had no Tenters And men could deale secure without indentures There was no pâ—eping hole to cleare The Wittols eye from his incarnate feare There were no lustfull Cinders then To broyle the Carbonado'd hearts of men The rosie Cheeke did then proclaime A shame of Guilt but not a guilt of shame There was no whining soule to start At Cupids twang or curse his flaming dart The Boy had then but callow wings And fell Erynnis Scorpions had no stings The better acted world did move Upon the fixed Poles of Truth and Love Love essenc'd in the hearts of men Then Reason rul'd There was no Passion then Till Lust and rage began to enter Love the Circumf'rence was and love the Center Untill the wanton dayes of Iove The simple world was all compos'd of Love But Iove grew fleshly false unjust Inferiour beauty fil'd his veines with Lust And Cucqueane Iunos Fury hurld Fierce Balls of Rage into th' incestuous World Astraea fled and love return'd From earth Earth boyl'd with Lustâ— with Rage it burn'd And ever since the world has beene Kept going with the scourge of Lust and Spleene S. AMBROS Lust is a sharpe spurre to vice which alwayes puts the affections into a false Gallop HUGO Lust is an immoderate wantonnesse of the stesh a sweet poyson a cruell pestilence a pernicious potion which weakens the body of man and effeminates the strength of an heroick mind S. AUGUST Envy is the hatred of anothers felicity in respect of Superiours because they are not equall 〈◊〉 them in respect of Inferiours lest they should be equall to them in respect of equals because they are equall to them Through Envy proceeded the fall of the world and the death of Christ EPIG 5. What Cupid must the world be â—â—iht so soone But made at morning and be whipt at noone 'T is like the Wagg that plaâ—es with Venus Doves The more 't is lasht the more perverse it proves VI. In ceuce tuta quies Will Marshall Sculpsit VI. ECCLES II. XVII All is vanitie and vexation of spirit 1 HOw is the anxious soule of man befool'd In his desire That thinks a Hectick Fever may be cool'd In flames of fire Or hopes to rake full heapes of burnisht gold From nasty mire A whining Lover may as well request A scorne full brest To melt in gentle teares as woo the world for rest 2 Let wit and all her studied plots effect The best they can Let smiling Fortune prosper and perfect What wit began Let earth advise with both and so project A happy man Let wit or fawning Fortune vie their best He may be blest With all that earth can give but earth can give no Rest 3 Whose Gold is double with a carefull hand His cares are double The pleasure Honour Wealth of Sea and Land Bring but a trouble Tbe
not fast enough If pleasure becken with her balmey hand Her becke's a strong command If Honour call us with her courtly breath An houres delay is death If profits golden finger'd Charmes enveigle's We clip more swift then Eagles Let Auster weep or blustring Boreas rore Till eyes or lungs be sore Let Neptune swell untill his dropsie-sides Burst into broken Tides Nor threatning Rockes nor windes nor waves nor Fire Can curbe our fierce desire Nor Fire nor Rocks can stop our furious mindes Nor waves nor winds How fast and fearelesse do our footsteps flee The lightfoot Roe-buck's not so swift as wee S. AUGUST sup psal 64. Two severall Lovers built two severall Cities The love of God builds a Ierusalem The love of the world builds a Babylon Let every one enquire of himselfe what he loves and hee shal resolve himselfe of whence he is a Citizen S. AUGUST lib 3. Confess All things are driven by their owne weight and tend to their owne Center My weight is my love By that I am driven whithersoever I am driven Ibidem LORD he loves thee the lesse that loves any thing with thee which hee loves not for thee EPIG 13. Lord scourge my Asse if she should make no hast And curbe my Stagge if he should flee too fast If hee be overswift or shee should prove idle Let Love lend him a spurre Feare her a Bridle XVI Pâ—oâ—â—ce redde diem Will Marshall 〈◊〉 XIV PSAL. XIII III Lighten mine eyes O Lord lest I sleepe the sleepe of death WIl't nere be morning Will that promis'd light Nere breake and cleare these Clouds of nightâ— Sweet Phospher bring the day Whose conqu'ring Ray May chase these fogges Sweet Phospher bring the day How long how long shall these be nighted eyes Languish in shades like feeble Flies Expecting Spring How long shall darknesse soyle The face of earth and thus beguise Our soÌ„ules of rightfull action when will day Begin to dawne whose new-borne Ray May gild the Wether-cocks of our devotion And give out unsoul'd soules new motion Sweet Phospher bring the day Thy light will fray These horrid Mists Sweet Phospher bring the day Let those have night that slily â—ove t'immure Their cloyster'd Crimes and sinne secure Let those have night that blush to let men know The basenesse they nere blush to do Let those have night that love to take a Nappe And loll in Ignorances lappe Let those whose eyes like Oules abhorre the light Let those have Night that love the Night Sweet Phospher bring the day How sad delay Afflicts dull hopes Sweet Phospher bring the day Alas my light-invaine-expecting eyes Can find no Objects but what rise From this poore morall blaze a dying sparke Of Vulcans forge whose flames are darke And dangerous a dull blue burning light As melancholly as the night Here 's all the Sunnes that glister in the Spheare Of earth Ah me what comfort 's here Sweet Phospher bring the day Haste haste away Heav'ns loytring lampe Sweet Phospher bring the day Blow ignorance O thou whose idle knee Rocks earth into a Lethargie And with thy footy fingers hast bedight The worlds faire cheekes blow blow thy spite Since thou hast pufft our greater Tapour doe Puffe on and out the lesser too If ere that breath-exiled flame returne Thou hast not blowne as it will burne Sweet Phospher bring the day Light will repay The wrongs of night Sweet Phospher bring the day S. AUGUST in Ioh. ser 19. God is all to thee If thou be hungry he is bread If thirstie he is water If in darkenesse he is light If naked he is a Robe of Immortality ALANVS de conq nat God is a light that is never darkned An unwearied life that cannot die a Fountaine alwaies flowing a garden of life a Seminary of wisedome a radicall beginning of all goodnesse EPIG 14. My Soule if Ignorance puffe out this light Shee 'l do a favour that intends a spight 'T seemes darke abroad But take this light away Thy windowes will discover breake a day XV. Debilitata fides Terras Astraea reliquit W M scul XV. REVEL XII XII The Devill is come unto you having great wrath because he knoweth that he hath but a short time 1 LORD canst thou see and suffer is thy hand Still bound to th'peace Shall earths black Monarch take A full possession of thy wasted land O will slumbring vengeance never wake Till full-ag'd law-resisting Custome shake The pillours of thy right by false command Unlocke thy Clouds great Thund'rer and come down Behold whose Temples weare thy sacred Crowne Redresse redresse our wrongs revenge revenge thy owne 2 See how the bold Usurper mounts the seat Of royall Majestie How overstrawing Perils with pleasure pointing ev'ry threat With bugbeare death by torments over-awing Thy frighted subjects or by favours drawing Their tempted hearts to his unjust retreat Lord canst thou be so mild and be so bold Or can thy flockes be thriving when the fold Js govern'd by a Fox Lord canst thou see and hold 3 That swift-wing'd Advocate that did commence Our welcome Suits before the King of Kings That sweet Embassadour that hurries hence What Ayres th'harmonious soule or sighs or sings See how shee flutters with her idle wings Her wings are clipt and eyes put out by Sense Sense conq'ring Faith is now growne blind and cold And basely cravend that in times of old Did conquer heav'n it selfe do what th' Almighty could 4 Behold how double fraud does scourge and teare Astraeas wounded sides plough'd up and rent With knotted cords whose fury has no eare See how she stands a Pris'ner to be sent A Slave into eternall banishment I know not whither O I know not where Her Patent must be cancel'd in disgrace And sweet-lipt Fraud with her divided face Must act Astraeas part must take Astraeas place 5 Faiths pineons clipt And faire Astraea gone Quick seeing Faith now blind And Iustice see Has Iustice now found wings And has Faith none What doe we here who would not wish to bee Dissolv'd from earth and with Astraea flee From this blinde dungeon to that Sunne-bright Throne Lord is thy Scepter lost or laid aside Is hell broke loose and all her Fiends untyed Lord rise and rowze and rule and crush their furious Pride PETR RAV in Math. The Devill is the author of evill the fountaine of wickednesse the Adversary of the Truth the corrupter of the world mans perpetuall Enemy He plants snares digs ditches spurres bodies he goads soules He suggests thoughts belches Anger exposes vertue to hatred makes vices beloved sowes Errors nourishes contention disturbes peace and scatters Affections MACAR Let us suffer with those that suffer and be crucified with those that are crucified that we may be glorified with those that are glorified SAVANAR If there he no enemy no fight if no fight no victory if no victory no crowne EPIG 15. My Soule sit thou a patient looker on Iudge not the Play before the Play is done Her
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
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
sicknesse broacht to be drawne out by death A haplesse helplesse thing that borne does cry To feed that feedes to live that lives to die Great God and Man whose eyes spent drops so often For me that cannot weepe enough O soften These marble braines and strike this flinty rock Or if the musick of thy Peters Cock Will more prevaile fill fill my hearkning eares With that sweet sound that I may melt in teares I cannot weepe untill thou broach ruine eye Or give me vent or els I burst and die S. AMBROS in Psal 118. He that commits sinnes to be wept for cannot weepe for sinnes committed And being himselfe most lamentable hath no teares to lament his offences NAZIANZ Orat. 3. Teares are the deluge of sinne and the worlds sacrifice S. HIEROM in Esaiam Prayer appeases God but a teare compels him That moves him but this constraines him EPIG 8. Earth is an Island ported round with Feares The way to Heav'n is through the Sea of teares It is a stormy passage where is found The wracke of many a ship but no man drown'd IX The sorroues of hell haue encompassed me the snares of death haue ouertaken me psal 17 Will simpson IX PSALM XVIII V The sorrowes of hell compassed mee about and the snares of death prevented me IS not this Type well cut In ev'ry part Full of rich cunning fil'd with Zeuxian Art Are not the Hunters and their Stygian Hounds Limm'd full to th' life Didst ever heare the sounds The musicke and the lip-divided breaths Of the strong-winded Horne Recheats and deaths Done more exact Th' infernall Nimrods hollow The lawlesse Purliews and the Game they follow The hidden Engines and the snares that lie So undiscover'd so obscure to th' eye The new-drawne net and her entangled Prey And him that closes it Beholder say Is' t not well done seemes not an em'lous strife Betwixt the rare cut picture and the life These Purlieu-men are Devils And the Hounds Those quick nos'd Canibals that scoure the grounds Temptations and the Game these Frends pursue Are humane soules which still they have in view Whose fury if they chance to scape by flying The skilfull Hunter plants his net close lying On th'unsuspected earth bayted with treasure Ambitious honour and selfe-wasting pleasure Where if the soule but stoope death stands prepar'd To draw the net and drawne the soule 's ensnar'd Poore soule how art thou hurried to and fro Where canst thou safely stay where safely go If stay these hot-mouth'd Hounds are apt to teare thee If goe the snares enclose the nets ensnare thee What good in this bad world has pow'r t' invite thee A willing Guest wherein can earth delight thee Her pleasures are but Itch Her wealth but Cares A world of dangers and a world of snares The close Pursuers busie hands do plant Snares in thy substance Snares attend thy want Snares in thy credit Snares in thy disgrace Snares in thy high estate Snares in thy base Snares tuck thy bed and Snares arround thy boord Snares watch thy thoughts and Snares attache thy word Snares in thy quiet Snares in thy commotion Snares in thy dyet Snares in thy devotion Snares lurk in thy resolves Snares in thy doubt Snares lie within thy heart and Snares without Snares are above thy head and Snares beneath Snares in thy sicknesse Snares are in thy death O if these Purlieus be so full of danger Great God of Harts the worlds sole sov'raigne Ranger Preserve thy Deere and let my soule be blest In thy safe Forrest where I seeke for rest Then let the Hell-hounds roare I feare no ill Rouze me they may but have no pow'r to kill S. AMBROS lib. 4. in cap. 4. Lucae The reward of honours the height of power the delicacie of diet and the beauty of a harlot are the snares of the Devill S. AMBROS de bono mortis Whilest thou seekest pleasures thou runnest into snares for the eye of the harlot is the snare of the Adulterer SAVANAR In eating he sets before us Gluttony In generation luxury In labour sluggishnesse In conversing envy in governing covetousnesse In correcting arger In honour pride In the heart he sets evill thoughts in the mouth evill words in actions evill workes when awake he moves us to evill actions when asleepe to filthy dreames EPIG 9. Be sad my Heart Deep dangers wait thy mirth Thy soule 's way layd by sea by Hell by earth Hell has her hounds Earth snares the Sea a shelfe But most of all my heart beware thy selfe X. Enter not into iudgment with thy seruant for no man liuing shall be iustified in thy sight Will simpson X. PSAL. CXLIII II Enter not into judgement with thy servant for in thy sight shall no man living bee iustified Jesus Justice Sinner Ies BRing forth the prisner Iustice Iust Thy commands Are done just Iudge See here the prisner stands Ies What has the prisner done Say what 's the cause Of his committment Iust He has broke the lawes Of his too gracious God conspir'd the death Of that great Majesty that gave him breath And heapes transgression Lord upon transgression Ies How know'st thou this Iu. Ev'n by his own confessiō His sinnes are crying and they cry'd aloud They cry'd to heav'n they cry'd to heav'n for blood Ies What sayst thou sinner hast thou ought to plead That sentence should not passe Hold up thy head And shew thy brazen thy rebellious face Sin Ah me I dare not I'am too vile and base To tread upon the earth much more to lift Mine eyes to heav'n I need no other shrift Than mine owne conscience Lord I must confesse I am no more than dust and no whit lesse Than my Inditement stiles me Ah if thou Search too severe with too severe a Brow What Flesh can stand I have transgrest thy lawes My merits plead thy vengeance not my cause Iust Lord shall I strike the blow Ies Hold Iustice stay Sinner speake on what hast thou more to say Sin Vile as I am and of my selfe abhor'd I am thy handy-worke thy creature Lord Stampt with thy glorious Image and at first Most like to thee though now a poore accurst Convicted Caitiffe and degen'rous creature Here trembling at thy Bar. Iust Thy fault 's the greater Lord shall I strike the blow Ies Hold Iustice stay Speake sinner hast thou nothing more to say Sin Nothing but Mercy Mercy Lord my state Is miserably poore and desperate I quite renounce my selfe the world and flee From Lord to Iesus from thy selfe to Thee Iust Cease thy vaine hopes my angry God has vow'd Abused mercy must have blood for blood Shall I yet strike the blow Ies Stay Iustice hold My bowels yearne my fainting blood growes cold To view the trembling wretch Me thinks I spye My fathers Image in the pris'ners eye Iust I cannot hold Jes Then turne thy thirsty blade Into my sides let there the wound be made Cheare up deare soule Redeeme thy life with mine My
judgement and eternall punishment EPIG 14. What soule no farther yet what nev'r commence Master in Faith Still Bachelour of Sense Is' t insufficiency Or what has made thee Ore slip thy lost degree Thy lusts have staid thee XV. My life is spent with grief my yeeres with Sighing Ps 30 10. W M. sculp XV. PSAL. XXX.X. My life is spent with griefe and my yeares with sighing WHat sullen Starre rul'd my untimely birth That would not lend my dayes one houre of mirth How oft have these bare knees been bent to gaine The slender Almes of one poore smile in vaine How often tir'd with the fastidious light Have my faint lips implor'd the shades of night How often have my nightly Torments praid For lingring twilight glutted with the shade Day worse than night night worse than day appeares In feares I spend my nights my dayes in teares I moane unpitti'd groane without reliefe There is nor end nor measure of my griefe The smiling flow'r salutes the day it growes Vntouch'd with care It neither spins nor sowes O that my tedious life were like this flow'r Or freed from griefe or furlish'd with an houre Why was I borne Why was I borne a man And why proportion'd by so large a Span Or why suspended from the common lot And being borne to die why die I not Ah me why is my sorrow-wasted breath Deny'd the easie priviledge of death The branded Slave that tugs the weary Oare Obtaines the Sabbath of a welcome Shore His ransom'd stripes are heal'd His native soyle â—weetens the mem'ry of his forreigne toyle But ah my sorrowes are not halfe so blest My labour finds no point my paines no rest I barter sighs for teares and teares for Groanes Still vainely rolling Sysiphaean stones Thou just Observer of our flying houres That with thy Adarmantine fangs devours The brazen Monuments of renowned Kings Does thy glasse stand Or be thy moulting wings Vnapt to flie If not why dost thou spare A willing brest a brest that stands so faire A dying brest that has but onely breath To beg a wound and strength to crave a death O that the pleased Heav'ns would once dissolve These fleshly fetters that so fast involve My hampred soule then should my soule be blest From all these ills and wrapher thoughts in rest Till then my dayes are moneths my moneths are yeares My yeares are ages to be spent in teares My Grief 's entayl'd upon my wastfull breath Which no Recov'ry can cut off but death Breath drawne in Cottages pufft out in Thrones Begins continues and concludes in Grones INNOCENT de vilitate condit humanae O who will give mine eyes a fountaine of teares that I may bewaile the miserable ingresse of mans condition the sinfull progresse of mans conversation the damnable egresse in mans dissolution I will consider with teares whereof man was made what man does and what man is to doe Alas he is formed of earth conceived in sinne borne to punishment Hee does evill things which are not lawfull He does filthy things which are not decent He does vaine things which are not expedient EPIG 15. My heart Thy life 's a debt by Bond which beares A secret date The use is Grones and Teares Plead not Vsurious Nature will have all As well the Int'rest as the Princâ—pall THE FOVRTH BOOKE I. My soule hath Coueted to desire thy iudgement psal 119 Will simpson I. ROM VII XXIII I see another Law in my members warring against the Law of my mind bringing me into captivitie to the Law of sin 1 O How my will is hurried to and fro And how my unresolv'd resolves do varie I know not where to fix sometimes I goe This way then that and then the quite contrary I like dislike I lament for what I could not I doe undoe yet still doe what I should not And at the selfe same instant will the Thing I would not 2 Thus are my weather-beaten thoughts opprest With th'earth-bred winds of my prodigious will Thus am I hourely tost from East to West Vpon the rouling streames of Good and Ill Thus am I driv'n upon these slippry Sudds From reall Ills to false apparent Goods My life 's a troubled sea compos'd of Ebbs and Floods 3 The curious Penman having trim'd his Page With the dead language of his dabled Quill Le ts fall a heedlesse drop then in a Rage Cashieres the fruit of his unlucky skill Ev'n so my pregnant soule in th'infant bud Of her best thoughts showres down a Cole-black flood Of unadvised Ills and cancels all her Good 4 Sometimes a sudden flash of sacred heat Warmes my chill soule and sets my thoughts in frame But soone that fire is shouldred from her seat By lustfull Cupids much inferiour flame I feele two flames and yet no flame entire Thus are the Mungrill thoughts of mixt desire Consum'd betweene that heav'nly and this earthly fire 5 Sometimes my trash-disdaining thoughts out-passe The common Period of terrene conceit O then me thinkes I scorne the Thing I was Whilst I stand ravisht at my new Estate But when th'Icarian Wings of my desire Feele but the warmth of their own native fire O then they melt and plunge within their wonted mire 6 I know the nature of my wav'ring mind I know the frailty of my fleshly will My Passion 's Eagle-ey'd my Iudgment blind I know what 's good but yet make choice of ill When th' Ostrich wings of my desires shall be So dull they cannot mount the least degree Yet grant my soule desire but of desiring Thee S. BERN. Med. 9. My heart is a vaine heart a vagabond and instable heart while it is led by its owne judgement and wanting divine counsell cannot subsist in it selfe and whilst it divers wayes seekes rest finds none but remaines miserable through labour and void of peace It agrees not with it selfe it dissents from it selfe it alters resolutions changes the judgement frames new thoughts puls downe the old and builds them up againe It wils and wils not and never remaines in the same state EPIG 1. My soule how are thy thoughts disturb'd confin'd Enlarg'd betwixt thy Members and thy Mind Fix here or there Thy doubt-depending cause Can nev'r expect one verdict twixt two Lawes II. Oh that my wayes were Directed to keepe thy Statutes Ps. 119.5 W. Simpson Sculy II. PSAL. CXIX V O that my wayes were directed to keepe thy statutes 1 THus I the object of the worlds disdaine With Pilgrim-pace surround the weary earth I onely relish what the world counts vaine Her mirth 's my griefe her sullen Griefe my mirth Her light my darknesse and her Truth my Error Her freedome is my Iayle and her delight my Terror 2 Fond earth Proportion not my seeming love To my long stay let not thy thoughts deceive thee Thou art my Prison and my Home's above My life 's a Preparation but to leave thee Like one that seekes a doore I walke about thee With thee I cannot live
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
sacred Armes Secure mine Armes mine Armes shall then secure thee From Herods fury or the High-Priests Harmes Or if thy danger'd life sustaine a losse My folded Armes shall turne thy dying Crosse 2 But ah what savage Tyrant can behold The beauty of so sweet a face as this is And not himselfe be by himselfe controld And change his fury to a thousand kisses One smile of thine is worth more mines of treasure Than there be Myriads in the dayes of Caesar 3 O had the Tetrarch as he knew thy birth So knowne thy Stock he had not sought to paddle In thy deare Blood but prostrate on the earth Had vayld his Crowne before thy royall Cradle And laid the Scepter of his Glory downe And beg'd a heav'nly for an earthly Crowne 4 Illustrious Babe How is thy handmaid grac'd With a rich Armefull How dost thou decline Thy Majesty that wert so late embrac'd In thy great Fathers Armes and now in mine How humbly gracious art thou to refresh Me with thy Spirit and assume my flesh 5 But must the Treason of a Traitors Haile Abuse the sweetnesse of these rubie lips Shall marble hearted Cruelty assaile These Alablaster sides with knotted whips And must these smiling Roses entertaine The blowes of scorne and Flurts of base disdaine 6 Ah! must these dainty little sprigs that twine So fast about my neck be pierc'd and torne With ragged nailes And must these Browes resigne Their Crowne of Glory for a Crowne of thorne Ah must this blessed Infant tast the paine Of deaths injurious pangs nay worse be slaine 7 Sweete Babe At what deare rates do wretched I Commit a sin Lord ev'ry sin 's a dart And ev'ry trespasse lets a javelin fly And ev'ry javelin wounds thy bleeding heart Pardon sweet Babe what I have done amisse And seale that granted pardon with a kisse BONAVENT Soliloq Cap 1. O sweet Iesu I knew not that thy kisses were so sweet nor thy society so delectable nor thy attraction so vertuous For when I love thee I am cleane when I touch thee I am chast when I receive thee I am a virgin O most sweet Iesu thy embraces defile not but cleanse thy attraction pollutes not but sanctifies O Iesu the fountaine of universall sweetnesse pardon me that I believed so late that so much sweetnesse is in thy embraces EPIG 9. My burthen's greatest Let not Atlas bost Impartiall Reader judge which beares the most He beares but Heav'n My folded Armes sustaine Heav'ns maker whom heav'ns heav'n cannot containe X. By night on my bed I sought him whom my soule loueth I sought him but I found him not Cant â—â— Will simpson sculpsit X. CANT III.I. In my bed by night I sought him that my soule loved I sought him but I found him out THe learned Cynick having lost the way To honest men did in the height of day By Taper-light divide his steps about The peopled Streets to find this dainty out But fail'd The Cynick search'd not where he ought The thing he sought for was not where he sought The Wisemens taske seem'd harder to be done The Wisemen did by Starre-light seeke the Son And found the Wisemen search'd it where they ought The thing they hop'd to find was where they sought One seeks his wishes where he should but then Perchance he seeks not as he should nor when Another searches when he should but there He failes not seeking as he should nor where Whose soule desires the good it wants and would Obtaine must seek Where As and when he should How often have my wilde Affections led My wasted soule to this my widdow'd Bed To seek my Lover whom my soule desires I speak not Cupid of thy wanton fires 3 Where have my busie eyes not pry'd O where Of whom hath not my thred-bare tongue demanded I search'd this glorious City Hee 's not here I sought the Countrey She stands empty-handed I search'd the Court He is a stranger there I ask'd the land Hee 's shipp'd the sea hee 's landed I climb'd the ayre my thoughts began t' aspire But ah the wings of my too bold desire Soaring too neare the Sun were sing'd with sacred fire 4 I moov'd the Merchants eare alas but he Knew neither what I said nor what to say I ask'd the Lawyer He demands a Fee And then demurres me with a vaine delay I ask'd the Schoole-man His advise was free But scor'd me out too intricate a way I ask'd the Watch-man best of all the foure Whose gentle answer could resolve no more But that he lately left him at the Temple doore 5 Thus having sought and made my great Inquest In ev'ry place and search'd in ev'ry eare I threw me on my Bed but ah my rest Was poyson'd with th'extreames of griefe and feare Where looking downe into my troubled breast The Magazen of wounds I found him there Let others hunt and show their sportfull Art I wish to catch the Hare before she start As Potchers use to do Heav'ns Form's a troubled heart S. AMBROS Lib. 3. de Virg. Christ is not in the market nor in the streets For Christ is peace in the market are strifes Christ is Iustice in the market is iniquity Christ is a Labourer in the market is idlenesse Christ is Charity in the Market is slander Christ is Faith in the market is fraud Let us not therefore seeke Christ where we cannot find Christ S. HIEROM Ep. 22. Eustoch Iesus is jealous He will not have thy face seene Let foolish virgins ramble abroad seeke thou thy Love at home EPIG 11. What lost thy Love Will neither Bed nor Board Receive him Not by teares to be implor'd It is the Ship that moves and not the Coast I feare I feare my soule 't is thou art lost XI I will rise now goe about the citie in the Streetes in the broad wayes I will seeke him whom my Soule loveth I sought him but I found him not Cant. 3.2 Will simpson XI CANT III. II I will rise and go about in the Citie and will seeke him that my soule loveth I sought him but I found him not 1 O How my disappointed soule 's perplext How restlesse thoughts swarme in my troubled brest How vainely pleas'd with hopes then crossely vext With feares And how betwixt them both distrest What place is left unransack'd Oh I Where next Shall I goe seek the Author of my Rest Of what blest Angell shall my lips enquire The undiscover'd way to that entire And everlasting solace of my hearts desire 2 Looke how the stricken Hart that wounded flies Ov'r hills and dales and seeks the lower grounds For running streames the whil'st his weeping eyes Beg silent mercy from the following Hounds At length embost he droopes drops downe and lies Beneath the burthen of his bleeding wounds Ev'n so my gasping soule dissolv'd in teares Doth search for thee my God Whose deafned eares Leave me th'unransom'd Prisner to my panick feares Where Thy fires are all but dying sparks to
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
ours She slides from heav'n indeed but not in Danaes showrs Lives she in Honour No. The royall Crowne Builds up a Creature and then batters downe Kings raise thee with a smile and raze thee with a frowne In pleasure No Pleasure begins in rage Acts the fooles part on earths uncertaine Stage Begins the Play in Youth and Epilogues in Age. These these are bastard-goods the best of these Torment the soule with pleasing it and please Like water gulp'd in Fevers with deceitfull ease Earths flattring dainties are but sweet distresses Mole-hils performe the mountaines she professes Alas can earth confer more good than earth possesses Mount mount my soule and let thy thoughts cashiere Earths vaine delights and make their full careire At heav'ns eternall joyes stop stop thy Courier there There shall thy soule possesse uncarefull Treasure There shalt thou swim in never-fading pleasure And blaze in Honour farre above the frownes of Caesar Lord if my hope dare let her Anchor fall On thee the chiefest Good no need to call For earths inferiour trash Thou thou art All in All. S. AUGUST Soliloq cap. 13. I follow this thing I pursue that but am fill'd with nothing But when I found thee who art that immutable individed and onely good in my selfe what I obtained I wanted not for what I obtained not I grieved not with what I was possest my whole desire was satisfied S. BERN. Ser. 9. sup beati qui habent c. Let others pretend merit let him brag of the burthen of the day let him boast of his Sabbath fasts and let him glory that he is not as other men but for me it is good to cleave unto the Lord and to put my trust in my Lord God EPIG 13. Let Boreas blasts and Neptunes waves be joyn'd Thy Eolus commands the waves the wind Feares not the Rocks or worlds imperious waves Thou climbst a Rock my soule a Rock that saves XIV I sat vnder the shadoue of him whom I haue desired Canâ— 2 Will sim son sculp XIV CANT II. III. â— sate under his shadow with great delight and his fruit was sweete to my taste 1 LOok how the sheep whose rambling steps doe stray From the safe blessing of her Shepheards eyes Eftsoone becomes the unprotected Prey To the wing'd Squadron of beleagring flies Where sweltred with the scorching beames of day She frisks from Bush to Brak and wildly flies From her owne selfe ev'n of herselfe affraid She shrouds her troubled browes in ev'ry Glade And craves the mercy of the soft removing shade 2 Ev'n so my wandring Soule that has digrest From her great Shepheard is the hourely prey Of all all my Sinnes These vultures in my Brest Gripe my Promethian heart both night and day I hunt from place to place but find no rest I know not where to go nor where to stay The eye of vengeance burnes her flames invade My sweltring Soule My soule has oft assaid But she can find no shrowd but she can feele no Shade 3 I sought the Shades of Mirth to weare away My slow pac'd houres of soule-consuming griefe I search'd the Shades of Sleepe to ease my day Of griping sorrowes with a nights repriefe I sought the Shades of Death thought there t' allay My finall torments with a full reliefe But Mirth nor Sleepe nor Death can hide my howres In the false Shades of their deceitfull Bowres The first distracts the next disturbes the last devours 4 Where shall I turn To whom shall I apply me Are there no Streames where a faint soule may wade Thy Godhead IESVS are the flames that fry me Has thy All-glorious Deity nev'r a Shade Where I may sit and vengeance never eye me Where I might sit refresht or unaffraid Is there no Comfort Is there no Refection Is there no Covert that will give Protection T' a fainting soule the subject of thy wraths reflexion 5 Looke up my soule advance thy lowly stature Of thy sad Thoughts advance thy humble eye See here 's a Shadow found The humane nature Is made th'Vmbrella to the Deity To catch the Sun-beames of thy just Creator Beneath this Covert thou maist safely lie Permit thine eyes to climbe this fruitfull Tree As quick Zacheus did and thou shalt see A Cloud of dying flesh betwixt those Beames and thee GUILL in cap. 2. Cant. Who can in dure the fierce rayes of the Sunne of Iustice Who shall not be consumed by his beames Therefore the Sun of Iustice tooke flesh that through the conjunction of that Sun and this humane body a shadow may be made S. AUGUST Med. cap. 37. Lord let my soule flee from the scorching thoughts of the world under the Covert of thy wings that being refreshed by the moderation of thy shadow shee may sing merrily In peace will I lay me downe and rest EPIG 14. Ah treach'rous soule would not thy Pleasures give That Lord which made thee living leave to live See what thy sinnes haue done Thy sinnes have made The Sun of Glory now become thy Shade XV. How shall we sing the song of the Lord in a strang Land w s. scul XV. PSAL. CXXXVII IV How shall we sing a song of the Lord in a strange land VRge me no more This Ayry mirth belongs To better times These times are not for songs The sprightly Twang of the melodious Lute Agrees not with my voice and both unsuit My untun'd fortunes The affected measure Of straines that are constrain'd affoord no pleasure Musick 's the Child of mirth where griefes assaile The troubled soule both voice and fingers faile Let such as ravill out their lavish dayes In honourable Ryot that can raise Dejected hearts and conjure up a Sprite Of madnesse by the Magick of delight Let those of Cupids Hospitall that lie Impatient Patients to a smiling eye That cannot rest untill vaine hope beguile Their flatter'd Torments with a wanton smile Let such redeeme their peace and salve the wrongs Of froward Fortune with their frolick Songs My grief my griefe 's too great for smiling eyes To cure or Counter-charmes to exorzise The Ravens dismall Croakes the midnight howles Of empty Wolves mixt with the screech of Owles The nine sad knowls of a dull Passing Bell With the loud language of a nighty knell And horrid out cries of revenged Crimes Ioyn'd in a Medley's Musick for these Times These are no Times to touch the merry string Of Orpheus No these are no times to sing Can hide bound Prisners that have spent their soules And famish'd Bodies in the noysome holes Of hell-black dungeons apt their rougher throats Growne hoarse with begging Almes to warble notes Can the sad Pilgrim that has lost his way In the vast desart there condemn'd a Prey To the wild subject or his Salvage Kings Ronze up his palsey smitten spir'ts and sing Can I a Pilgrim and a Prisner too Alas where I am neither knowne nor know Ought but my Torments an unransom'd stranger In this strange Climat in a land
they but clog'd with earth as I. 3 O were their soules but clog'd with earth as I They would not purchase with so salt an Itch They would not take of Almes what now they buy Nor call him happy whom the world counts rich They would not take such paines project and prog To charge their shoulders with so great a log Who has the greater lands has but the greater clog 4 I cannot do an act which earth disdaines not I cannot thinke a thought which earth corrupts not I cannot speake a word which earth prophanes not I cannot make a vow earth interrupts not If I but offer up an early groane Or spread my wings to heav'ns long long'd for Throne She darkens my complaints and drags my Offring downe 5 Ev'n like the Hawlk whose keepers wary hands Have made a prisner to her wethring stock Forgetting quite the pow'r of her fast bands Makes a rank Bate from her forsaken Block But her too faithfull Leash does soone restraine Her broken flight attempted oft in vaine It gives her loynes a twitch and tugs her back againe 6 So when my soule directs her better eye To heav'ns bright Pallace where my treasure lies I spread my willing wings but cannot flie Earth hales me downe I cannot cannot rise When I but strive to mount the least degree Earth gives a jerk and foiles me on my knee LORD how my soule is rackt betwixt the world and Thee 7 Great GOD I spend my feeble wings in vaine In vaine I offer my extended hands I cannot mount till thou unlink my chaine I cannot come till thou release my Bands Which if thou please to break and then supply My wings with spirit th' Eagle shall not flie A pitch that 's halfe so faire nor halfe so swift as I. BONAVENT cap. 1. Soliloq Ah sweet Iesus pierce the marrow of my soule with the healthfull shafts of thy love that if may truly burne and melt and languish with the onely desire of thee that it may desire to be dissolv'd and to be with thee Let it hunger alone for the bread of life let it thirst after thee the spring and fountaine of eternall light the streame of true pleasure let it alwayes desire thee seeke thee and find thee and sweetly rest in thee EPIG 9. What will thy shackles neither loose nor breake Are they too strong or is thy Arme too weake Art will prevaile where knotty strength denies My soule there 's Aquafortis in thine eyes X. Bring my soule out of Prison that I may praise thy Name Ps 142.7 Will simpson sculpsit X. PSAL. CXLII VII Bring my soule out of prison that I may praise thy Name MY Soule is like a Bird my Flesh the Cage Wherein she weares her weary Pilgrimage Of houres as few as evill dayly fed With sacred Wine and Sacramentall Bread The keyes that locks her in and lets her out Are Birth and Death 'twixt both she hops about From perch to perch from Sense to reason then From higher Reason downe to Sense agen From Sense she climbs to Faith where for a season She sits and sings then downe againe to Reason From Reason back to Faith and straight from thence She rudely flutters to the Perch of Sense From Sense to Hope then hops from Hope to Doubt From Doubt to dull Despaire there seekes about For desp'rate Freedome and at ev'ry Grate She wildly thrusts and begs th' untimely date Of unexpired thraldome to release Th' afflicted Captive that can find no peace Thus am I coop'd within this fleshly Gage I weare my youth and wast my weary Age Spending that breath which was ordain'd to chaunt Heav'ns praises forth in sighs and sad complaint Whilst happier birds can spread their nimble wing From Shrubs to Cedars and there chirp and sing In choice of raptures the harmonious story Of mans Redemption and his Makers Glory You glorious Martyrs you illustrious Troopes That once were cloyster'd in your fleshly Coopes As fast as I what Reth'rick had your tongues What dextrous Art had your Elegiak Songs What Paul-like pow'r had your admir'd devotion What shackle breaking Faith infus'd such motion To your strong Pray'rs that could obtaine the boone To be inlarg'd to be uncag'd so soone When I poore I can sing my daily teares Growne old in Bondage and can find no eares You great partakers of eternall Glory That with your heav'n-prevailing Oratory Releas'd your soules from your terrestriall Cage Permit the passion of my holy Rage To recommend my sorrowes dearely knowne To you in dayes of old and once your owne To your best thoughts but oh't does not befit ye To moove your pray'rs you love and joy not pitie Great LORD of soules to whom should prisners flie But Thee Thou hadst thy Cage as well as I And for my sake thy pleasure was to know The sorrowes that it brought and feltst them too O set me free and I will spend those dayes Which now I wast in begging in Thy praise ANSELM in Protolog cap. 1. O miserable condition of mankind that has lost that for which he was created Alas What has he left And what has hee found He has lost happinesse for which he was made and found misery for which he was not made What is gone and what is left That thing is gone without which hee is unhappy that thing is left by which he is miserable O wretched men From whence are we expell'd To what are we impell'd Whence are we throwne And whether are we burried From our home into banishment from the slight of God into our own blindnesse from the pleasure of immortality to the bitternesse of death Miserable change From how great a good to how great an evill Ah me What have I enterprized What have I done Whither did I goe Whither am I come EPIG 10. Pauls Midnight voice prevail'd his musicks thunder Vnhing'd the prison doores split bolts in sunder And sitst thou here and hang'st the feeble wing And whinst to be enlarg'd Soule learne to sing XI As the Hart panteth after the waterbrooks so panteth my soule after thee o Lord. Will Simpson Sculpsit XI PSAL. XLII I As the Hart panteth after the water-brooks so panteth my soule after thee O God 1 HOw shall my tongue expresse that hollow'd fire Which heav'n has kindled in my ravisht heart What Muse shall I invoke that will inspire My lowly Quill to act a lofty part What Art shall I divise t' expresse desire Too intricate to be exprest by Art Let all the nine be silent I refuse Their old in this high task for they abuse The flames of Love too much Assist me Davids Muse 2 Not as the thirsty soyle desires soft showres To quicken and refresh her Embrion graine Nor as the drooping Crests of fading flowres Request the bounty of a morning Raine Do I desire my GOD These in few houres Re-wish what late their wishes did obtaine But as the swift-foot Hart does wounded flie To th' much desired streames ev'n so
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