Selected quad for the lemma: spirit_n
Text snippets containing the quad
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A56839
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The shepheards oracles delivered in certain eglogues. By Fra: Quarles.
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Quarles, Francis, 1592-1644.; Quarles, Francis, 1592-1644. Shepheards oracle. aut
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1645
(1645)
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Wing Q115A; ESTC R200445
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54,381
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150
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The thing was told To many Shepheards more that dare be bold To call it Truth to Shepheards that were by That heard and saw and shook as well as I. His face was like the visage of a Childe Round smooth and plump and oftentimes it smil'd It glow'd like fier and his rowling eyes Cast flames like Lightning darted from the skyes His haire was long and curl'd and did infold Like knots of wire compos'd of burnisht Gold His body was uncloath'd His skin did show More white then Iv'ry or the new-faln snow Whose perfect whitenesse made a circling light That where it stood it silverd o're the night And as he spake his wings would now and then Spread as he meant to flye then close agen This news he brought 'T was neither Fame nor I That forg'd it Swain Good Angels cannot lye Canst thou beleeve it If thy faith be strong My greater Tidings shall enlarge my tongue VIG I doe Evangelus though for a season My faith was tyding on the streames of reason Yet now the gale of thy report shall drive Her sailes another course my thoughts shall strive Against that streame and what I cannot understand with my heart I will beleeve and wonder But tell me Swaine what happinesse accrews From this Or else relate thy better news EVANG. Then know Vigilius whilst the Angell spake My spirits trembled and my loines did ake Horror and heart-amazing feares possest The fainting powers of my troubled brest And struck my frighted soule into a swound That I lay senselesse prostrate on the ground With that he stretcht his life-restoring arme He rais'd me up and bid me feare no harme Feare not said he I come not to affright Thy gaster'd soule with terrours of the night My errand Shepheard is not to abuse Thine eyes with horrid shapes I bring thee news Tidings of joy and everlasting peace Stand up and let thy faithlesse trembling cease Collect thy scatter'd senses Swaine and heare The happiest newes that ever beg'd an eare Such news whereat th' harmonious quire of heaven Archangels Angels and the other seven Of those Celestiall Hierarchies the troop Of glorious Saints and soules of Prophets stoop Their joyfull eares and being fully freight With joyes sing forth Hosanna's to the height This night a Virgin hath brought forth a Son A perfect God though clad in flesh and bone Like mortall man th' eternall Prince of Rest And Peace in whom all nations shall be blest This night a Virgin hath brought forth a Child A perfect Man but pure and undefil'd With guilt of sin like you in shape and fashion And for your sakes as subject to your passion A perfect God whose selfe-subsisting nature Required not the help of a Creator A perfect man conceived by the power Of th' holy Ghost and borne this very hower A perfect God beyond the comprehending Of man and infinite without an ending A perfect man objected to the eye And touch of Flesh and Blood and borne to dye Like God eternall yet his life a span Like yours a perfect God a perfect man To you a Son is given the heire of glory Whose Kingdome 's endlesse and untransitory To you a child is borne that shall succeed That princely David and of Davids seed A Son is given whose name redeem'd the earth A world of daies before his mothers birth A Child is borne whose last expiring breath Shall give new dayes and dying conquer death A Son a Child compos'd of Earth and Heaven To you a Child is borne a Son is given We blessed Angels have no need at all Of such a Saviour for we cannnot fall The damned spirits of th' Infernall Throne Receive no profit by this Childe this Son To you the glory of so great a gain Belongs To you these tidings appertain To you thrice happy sons of men we bring This welcome errand from th' eternall King Of endlesse mercy the great Lord of Heaven To you this Childe is born this Son is given Goe Shepheards goe to Bethlem and your eyes Shall see the Babe The blessed Infant lyes In a poor Stable swadled in a Manger Goe Swains and entertain this heavenly Stranger Upon your bended knees See yonder Starre Shall be your Pilot where these wonders are And as he spake that word not fully ended Ten thousand Angels in a Troop descended But here my tongue must fail not having might To tell the glory of that glorious sight Nay had I power thine ears would prove as weak To apprehend as my poor tongue 's to speak They joyn'd their warbling notes and in a height Beyond the curious frailty of conceit Their voices sweetned our delighted fears And with this Caroll blest our ravisht ears GLory to God on high and jolly mirth Twixt man and man and peace on earth This night a childe is born This night a Son is given This Son this Childe Hath reconcil'd Poor man that was forlorne And th' angry God of heaven Hosanna sing Hosanna Now now that joyfull Day That blessed howre is come That was foretold In dayes of old Wherein all nations may Blesse blesse the Virgins wombe Hosanna sing Hosanna Let heaven triumph above Let earth rejoyce below Let heaven and earth Be fill'd with mirth For peace and lasting love Atones your God and you Hosanna sing Hosanna With that their Air-dividing plumes they spred And with Hosanna in their mouths they fled But Shepheard ah how far does my report Ah how extreamly my poor words come short To blaze such glory How have I transgrest T' expresse such Raptures not to be exprest VIG O Swain how could I lose my self to hear Thy blest discourse O how my greedy ear Clings to thy cordiall lips whose soveraign breath Brings Antidotes against the fangs of death How happy are these times How blest are wee Above all ages that are born to see This joyfull day whose glory was deny'd To Kings and holy Prophets that rely'd Upon the self-same hopes How more then they Are we poor Shepheards blest to see this day EVANG. O Shepheard had our Princely David seen This happy how'r how had his spirit been Inflam'd with Joy and Zeal What heavenly skill Had passion lent to his diviner Quill What Odes what Lyrick Raptures had inspir'd His ravisht soul that was already fir'd With hopes alone that these rare things should bee In after days which now his eyes should see VIG No question but an infinite delight Had easily sprung from so divine a sight It had bin Joy sufficient that a Sonne Was born to sit upon his Princely Throne O but that Son to be a Saviour too Able to conquer death and overthrow The very Gates of Hell and by his breath To drag his soul from the deep Jaile of death Had bin a Joy too high to be exprest By tongues or trusted to a common brest But hold whilst we endevour to make known Anothers Joy we o're neglect our own The day is broke The Eastern Lamps begin To fail and draw
Shepheards may not feast They must bin sober keep their bodies chast A Shepheards calling is to watch and fast Their lips must tast no Cates their eyes no sleep Such diet Brito Roman Shepheards keep BRI. Or should good Luscus Shepheards love their ease Too well to make a dye of that disease Their faces are not alwayes faithfull signes Of hide-bound Ribs and narrow wasted loynes Shepheards can make Good-friday on their Cheeke When their full hearts at home keep Easter weeke LUSC. Curse on those Shepheards that bin so untrue BRI. That Curse I feare belongs to some of you Your Roman faces can look thin by art Their eye can weep teares strangers to their heart LUS Rash are those censures and those words misguided Where Hearts and Charity are so farre divided But tell me Brito what have we misdone To earne so sharp a censure Whereupon Ground'st thou thy harsh conceit what has our nation Committed worthy of so foul taxation BRI. I 'le tell thee if thy patience will but lend A quiet eare Plain dealing speakes a friend LUS Speake freely then Luscus shall find an eare Thou shalt not speake what Luscus will not heare BRI. When our great Master-shepheard under whom We serve being substituted in his roome Forsooke this vale and tooke his journey on To take possession of his fathers Throne He cal'd his under Shepheards to whose care He lent his flocks those flocks he priz'd more deare Then his owne life to them he recommended The highest trust that ever yet depended On care of man To them he did enlarge His strict Commands to execute that charge With greatest faith and loyalty to keep His Lambs from danger and to feed his Sheep Nay Luscus the more fully to declare His gracious pleasure and his tender care In that behalfe what his desire did move His zeale did quicken on the Bands of love Nay more that word whose accent had the power To ruine Heaven and Earth and in one hower To build a thousand more whose very breath At the first motion could blow life or death He thrice repeated O my Shepheards keep My Flocks O feed my Lambs O fold my Sheep Yet did our bounteous Master not regard His good alone our Pan was not so hard Although our lifes and all that we enjoy Lye prostrate at his pleasure to imploy The busie hands of us poore Shepheard swaines Or to require our unrewarded paines He gives us peace and freedome He sustaines us With full and wholsome diet He maintaines us In needfull raiment keeps us sound in health Gives us content the very height of wealth Besides at every Shearing he allowes A golden Girland to adorne our browes And when our faithfull hands shall give account Of our improv'd endeavours we shall mount Into our Masters joy where being drest In Robes and Crownes we shall enjoy that rest Prepar'd for faithfull Shepheards and there sing Perpetuall Past'rals to our Shepheard-King But they whose slumbring eyes have misattended Their wandring flocks whose hands have not defended Their worried lambs those Shepheards shal make good Their owne defaults with their owne dearest blood LUSC. Brito this night the Moone begins to gain Her wanedlight I feare she threatens rain These busie Gnats I doubt conspire together To bring us tidings of some change of weather BRI. Luscus 't were much for faithlesse Shepheards ease If no worse Gnats might suck their blood then these LUSC. The Sun shines hot the Southern wind blows warme But kindly showers would do these grounds no harme BRI. Lesse harme good Luscus if my thoughts bin true Then this discourse which you so baulk does you We talk of Shepheards our discourse relates Of thriving flocks and you of Showres and Gnats A pleasing subject may command your eare But what you like not you are slow to heare A Roman Swain can heare and yet can choose His eares like Jugglers can play fast and loose For his advantage nay and what appeares More strange he can be deaf to what he heares LUSC. What ayles this peevish Shepheard I attended Till I was tyred and his Tale was ended What would'st thou more with my obtunded eare BRI. That Shepheard which thou seem'st so loth to heare That which observed with attentive heed Will make thy heart-strings crack and thy heart bleed LUSC. Speake Shepheard then whilst I renew my eare A Roman spirit scornes a childish Feare BRI. I Luscus 't is the want of Childish feare That makes thee lend a fear-disdaining eare Thou art a Shepheard else the fouler shame T' usurp the honour of so high a name A Roman Shepheard too that does professe To feed the flock and yet does nothing lesse You take the croppe your flocks alas but gleane And what makes you so fat makes them so leane God knows you feed your selves by what Commission Plough you those Pastures for your owne provision Which our good Shepheard sever'd out to keep And to maintaine his poore deceived sheep Who gave you licence thus bold Swaines to pinch Your Masters gracious bounty and to inch His bounteous favours that can but allow The Headlands but the margents of your Plough To feed so faire a flock Nay more then so They are forbid those slender Headlands too Vntill the slow-pac'd sythe has shorne them downe So late that winter flouds have overflowne Their saplesse swaths and fill'd them so with sand And earthy trash brought downe from th' upper land By th' unresisted current of the flood That 't is but flatter'd with the name of food Nay more then that poore flocks they are forbid To feed at large as heretofore they did They must betether'd now must be bereaven Of the sweet moysture of the dew of heaven Nor must their slender food be simply such As heaven had made it no ' tmust have a touch Of new Invention which our wise God Pan Ne're thought on since devis'd by wiser man It must be mingled with fast growing Flagges Mire-rooted rushes sweet'ned with the Bragges Of pious Thrift nor must the hungry flocks Take what they please it must be serv'd in Locks And Ostry Bottles neither when they would They must be fed nor yet with what they should To day they must be dieted and fast From common food no lesse then death to tast To morrow pamper'd with excesse and nurst With a full hand may ravin till they burst Brave Shepheards Luscus fit to serve such flocks Where you command Lambs need not feare the Fox LUS No wonder Brito that your Censures be So sharpe to us that so much disagree Among your selves you Britain Shepheards are So strangely factious that you would even jarre With your owne shadowes had no substance been Subjected to the venome of your spleen Look first at home and seek to reconcile Your selves that mixe like Vineger with Oyle Then snarle Till heaven shall send you such a season It is your Faction speakes and not your Reason BRI. We have our factions Swaine you speake but true They