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
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
world it selfe and all the worlds Command Is but a Bubble The strong desires of mans insatiate brest May stand possest Of all that earth can give but earth can give no Rest 4 The world 's a seeming Par'dise but her owne And Mans Tormenter Appearing fixt yet but a rolling Stone Without a Tenter It is a vast Circumference where none Can find a Center Of more than earth can earth make none possest and he that least Regards this restlesse world shall in this world find Rest 5 True Rest consists not in the oft revying Of worldly drosse Earths myry Purchase is not worth the buying Her gaine is losse Her rest but giddy toyle if not relying Upon her Crosse How worldlings droyle for trouble That fond brest That is possest Of earth without a Crosse has earth without a Rest CASS. in Ps The Crosse is the invincible Sanctuary of the humble The dejection of the proud the victory of Christ the destruction of the devill the confirmation of the faithfull the death of the unbeleever the life of the just DAMASCEN The Crosse of Christ is the key of Paradise the weake mans staffe the Converts Convoy the upright mans perfection the soule and bodies health the prevention of all evill and the procurer of all Good EPIG 9. Worldling whose whimpâ—ing folly holds the losses Of honour Pleasure health and wealth such Crosses Looke here and tell me what your Armes engrosse When the best end of what ye hugg's a crosse VII Latet hostis et otia ducis W. Marshall sculp VII I PET. V. VIII Be sober Be vigilant because your adversary the devill as a roaring Lion walketh about seeking whom he may devoure 1 WHy dost thou suffer lustfull sloth to creepe Dull Cypâ—ian lad into thy wanton browes Is this a time to pay thine idle vowes At Morpheus Shrine Is this a time to steepe Thy braines in wastfull slumbers up and rouze Thy leaden spirits Is this a time to sleepe Adjourne thy sanguine dreames Awake arise Call in thy Thoughts and let them all advise Hadst thou as many Heads as thou hast wounded Eyes 2 Looke looke what horrid Furies doe await Thy flattring slumbers If thy drowzie head But chance to nod thou fal'st into a Bed Of sulph'rous flames whose Torments want a date Fond Boy be wise let not thy thoughts be fed With Phrygian wisedome Fooles are wise too late Beware betimes and let thy Reason sever Those Gates which passion clos'd wake now or never For if thou nod'st thou fal'st and falling fal'st for ever 3 Mark how the ready hands of death prepare His Bow is bent and he has noch'd his dart He aimes he levels at thy slumbring heart The wound is posting O be wise Beware What has the voice of danger lost the art To raise the spirit of neglected Care Well sleep thy fill and take thy soft reposes But know withall sweet tasts have sower closes And he repents in Thornes that sleeps in Beds of roses 4 Yet sluggard wake and gull thy soule no more With earths false pleasure and the worlds delight Whose fruit is faire and pleasing to the sight But sowre in tast false at the putrid Core Thy flaring Glasse is Gemms at her halfe light She makes thee seming rich but truly poore She boasts a kernell and bestowes a Shell Performes an Inch of her faire promis'd Ell Her words protest a Heav'n Her works produce a Hell 5 O thou the fountaine of whose better part Is earth'd and gravail'd up with vaine desire That daily wallow'st in the fleshly mire And base pollution of a lustfull heart That feel'st no passion but in wanton fire And own'st no torment but from Cupids dart Behold thy Type Thou sitst upon this Baâ—l Of earth secure while death that flings at all Stands ar'md to strike thee down where flames attend thy fall S. BERN. Security is no where It is neither in heaven nor in Paradise much lesse in the world In heaven the Angels fell from the divine presence in Paradise Adam fell from his place of pleasure in the world Iudas fel from the Schoole of our Saviour HUGO J eat secure I drink secure I sleep secure even as though I had past the day of death avoided the day of judgment and escaped the torments of hell fire I play and laugh as though I were already triumphing in the Kingdome of heaven EPIG 7. Get up my soule Redeeme thy slavish eyes From drowzy bondage O beware Be wise Thy Foe 's before thee thou must fight or flieâ— Life lies most open in a closed Eye VIII Et risu necat W. Marshall sc VIII LVKE VI. XXV Woe be to you that laugh now for yee shall mourne and weepe THe world 's a popular disease that raignes Within the froward heart and frantick braines Of poore distemper'd mortals oft arising From ill digestion through th'unequall poysing Of ill-weigh'd Elements whose light directs Malignant humours to maligne Effects One raves and labours with a boyling Liver Rends haire by handfuls cursing Cupids Quiver Another with a Bloody-fluxe of oathes Vowes deepe Revenge one dotes the other loathes One frisks and sings and vyes a Flagon more To drench dry cares and makes the Welkin roare Another droopes the sunshine makes him sad Heav'n cannot please One's moap'd the tother's mad One huggs his Gold Another let sit flie He knowing not for whom nor tother why One spends his day in Plots his night in Play Another sleeps and slugs both night and day One laughs at this thing tother cries for that But neither one nor tother knowes for what Wonder of wonders What we ought t'evite As our disease we hugg as our delight T is held a Symptome of approaching danger When disacquainted Sense becomes a stranger And takes no knowledge of an old disease But when a noysome Griefe begins to please The unresisting sense it is a feare That death has parlyed and compounded there As when the dreadfull Thund'rers awefull hand Powres forth a Viall on th' infected land At first th' affrighted Mortals quake and faeare And ev'ry noise is thought the Thunderer But when the frequent Soule-departing Bell Has pav'd their eares with her familiar knell It is reputed but a nine dayes wonder They neither feare the Thundre'r nor his Thunder So when the world a worse disease began To smart for sinne poore new-created Man Could seek for shelter and his gen'rous Son Knew by his wages what his hands had done But bold-fac'd Mortals in our blushlesse times Can sin and smile and make a sport of Crimes Transgresse of Custome and rebell in ease We false-joy'd fooles can triumph in disease And as the carelesse Pilgrim being bit By the Tarantula begins a Fit Of life-concluding laughter wast our breath In lavish pleasure till we laugh to death HUGO de anima What profit is there in vaine Gloryâ— momentary mirth the worlds power the fleshes pleasure full riches noble descent and great desires Where is their laughter Where is their
O whether meanes her furious Groome to drive What will her rambling Fits be never past For ever ranging never once retrive Will earths perpetuall Progresse nere expire Her Teame continuing in their fresh Careire And yet they never rest And yet they never tyre 2 Sols hot-mouth'd Steeds whose nostrils vomit flame And brazen lungs belch forth quotidian fire Their twelve houres taske perform'd grow stiffe and lame And their immortall Spirits faint and tyre At th' Azure mountaines foot their labours claime The priviledge of Rest where they retyre To quench their burning Fetlocks and to steepe Their flaming nostrils in the Westerne deepe And fresh there tyred soules with strength-restoring sleepe 3 But these prodigious Hackneyes basely got T'wixt men and Devils made for Race not flight CaÌ„n dragge the idle world expecting not The bed of Rest but travell with delight Who neither weighing way nor weather trott Through dust and dirt and droyle both night and day Thus droyle these fâ—ends incarnate whose free paines Are fed with dropsies and veneriall Blaines No need to use the whip but strength to rule the raynes 4 Poore Captive world How has thy lightnesse given A just occasion to thy foes illusion O how art thou betray'd thus fairely driven In seeming Triumph to thy owne confusion How is thy empty universe bereiven Of all true joyes by one false Joyes delusion So have I seene an unblowne virgin fed With suga'rd words so full that shee is fed A faire attended Bride to a false Bankrupts Bed 5 Pull gracious LORD Let not thine Arme forsake The world impounded in her owne devises Thinke of that pleasure that thou once did take Amongst the Lillies and sweet Beds of spices Haâ—e strongly thou whose hand has pow'r to slake The swift foot Fury of ten thousand Vices Let not that dust-devouring Dragon boast His craft has wonne what Judahs Lyon lost Remember what it crav'd Recount the price it cost ISIDOR lib. 1. De summo bono By how much the nearer Satan perceives the world to an end by so much the more fiercely he troubles it with persecution that knowing himselfe is to be damned hee may get company in his damnation CIPRIAN in ep Broad and spatious is the road to infernall life there are enticements and death bringing pleasures There the Devil flatters that hee may deceive Smiles that he may endamage allures that he may destroy EPIG II. Nay soft and faire good world post not too fast Thy journeyes end requires not halfe this hast Unlesse that Arme thou so disdainst reprives thee Alas thou needs must goe the devil drives thee XII Gnoâ—em m◠〈…〉 Will. Marshall Sculpsit XII ISAY LXVI XI Yee may sucke but not be satisfied with the breast of her Consolation 1 WHat never fill'd Be thy lips skre'wd so fast To th' earths full breast For shame for shame unseise thee Thou tak'st a surfeit where thou shouldst but tast And mak'st too much not halfe enough to please thee Ah foole forbeare Thou swallow'st at one breath Both food poyson down Thou draw'st both milk death 2 The ub'rous breasts when fairely drawne repast The thriving Infant with their milkie flood But being overstraind returne at last Unholsome Gulps compos'd of wind and blood A mod'rate use does both repast and please Who straines beyond a meane draws in and gulps disease 3 But O that meane whose good the least abuse Makeâ— bad is too too hard to be directed Can Thornes bring grapes or Crabs a pleasing juce Ther 's nothing wholesome where the whole's infected Unseise thy lips Earths milk's a ripned Core That drops from her disease that matters from her Sore 4 Think'st thou that Paunch that burlyes out thy Coate Is thriving Fat or flesh that seemes so brawny Thy Paunch is dropfied and thy Cheeâ— s are bloat Thy lips are white and thy complexion tawny Thy skin 's a Bladder blowne with watry tumors Thy flesh a trembling Bogge a Quagmire full of humors 5 And thou whose thrivelesse hands are ever straining Earths fluent Brests into an empty Sive That alwaies hast yet alwaies art complaining And whin'st for more then earth has pow'r to give Whose treasure flowes and flees away as fast That ever hast and hast yet hast not what thou hast 6 Goe choose a Substance foole that will remaine within the limits of thy leaking Measure Or else goe seeke an Urne that will retaine The liquid Body of thy slipp'ry Treasure Alas how poorely are thy labours crown'd Thy liquor 's neither sweet nor yet thy vessell sound 7 What lesse then foole is Man to progge and plot And lavish out the Creame of all his care To gaine poore seeming goods which being got Make firme possession but a Thorow-fare Or if they stay they furrow thoughts the deeper And being kept with care they loose their carefull keeper S. GREG. Hom 3. secund parte Ezech. If wee give more to the flesh then wee ought wee nourish an Enemy If we give not to her necessity what we ought we destroy a Citizen The flesh is to bee satisfied so farre as suffices to our good whosoever allowes so much to her as to make her proud knowes not how to be satisfied To be satisfied is a great Art least by the society of the flesh we breake forth into the Iniquity of her folly HUGO de Anima The heart is a small thing but desires great matters It is not sufficient for a Kites dinner yet the whole world is not sufficient for it EPIG 12. What makes thee foole so fat Foole thee so Bare Yee sucke the selfe-same milke the selfe-same aire No meane betwixt all Paunch and skinne and bone The meane's a vertue and the world has none XIII Da mihi froena tiâ—or Da mihi calcar amor Roâ—Vaugahn fâ—cit XIII IOH. III. XIX Men love darknesse rather then light because their deeds are evill LORD when we leave the World and come to Thee How dull how slugge are wee How backward how praeposterous is the motion Of our ungaine devotion Our thoughts are Milstones and our soules are lead And our desires are dead Our vowes are fairely promis'd faintly paid Or broken or not made Our better worke if any good attends Upon our private ends In whose performance one pooâ—e worldly scoffe Foyles us or beates us off If thy sharpe scourge finde out some secret fault Wee grumble or revolt And if thy gentle hand forbeare wee stray Or idly lose the way Is the Roade faire wee loyter cloggd with myre Wee sticke or else retyre A Lambe appeares a Lyon and we feare Each bush we see 's a Beare When our dull soules direct their thoughts to Thee The soft-pac'd Snayle is not so slow as we But when at earth we dart our wing'd desire We burne we burne like fire Like as the am'rous needle joyes to bend To her Magneticke Friend Or as the greedy Lovers eye-balls flye At his faire Mistres eye So we cling to earth we fly and puff Yet fly
proceeds not from a consuming but a calcining fire O happy distemper wherein the soule relishes no earthly things but onely savours divine nourishment S. BERN. Scrm. 51. in Cant. By flowers understand faith by fruit good works As the flower or blossome is before the fruit so faith is before goodworks So neither is the fruit without the flower nor good works without faith EPIG 2. Why Apples O my soule Can they remove The Pangs of Griefe or ease the flames of love It was that Fruit which gave the first offence That sent him hither that remov'd him hence III. My Beloued is mine and I am his Hee feedeth among the Lillies Cant 2.16 Will simpson sculp III. CANT II. XVI My beloved is mine and I am his He feedeth among the Lillies 1 EV'n like two little bank-dividing brookes That wash the pebles with their wanton streames And having rang'd and search'd a thousand nookes Meet both at length in silver-brested Thames Where in a greater Current they conjoyne So I my Best Beloveds am so He is mine 2 Ev'n so we met and after long pursuit Ev'n so we joyn'd we both became entire No need foâ— either to renew a Suit For I waâ— Flax and he was Flames of fire Our firm united soules did more than twine So I my Best-Beloveds am so He is mine 3 If all those glittring Monarchs that command The servile Quarters of this earthly Ball Should tender in Exchange their shares of land I would not change my Fortunes for them all Their wealth is but a Counter to my Coyne The world 's but theirs but my Beloved's mine 4 Nay more If the faire Thespian Ladies all Should heape together their diviner treasure That Treasure should be deem'd a price too small To buy a minuts Lease of halfe my Pleasure 'T is not the sacred wealth of all the Nine Can buy my heart from Him or His from being mine 5 Nor Time nor place nor Chance nor Death can bow My least desires unto the least remove Hee 's firmely mine by Oath I His by Vow Hee 's mine by Faith and I am His by Love Hee 's mine by Water I am His by Wine Thus I my Best-beloveds am Thus He is mine 6 He is my Altar I his Holy Place I am his Guest and He my living Food I 'm his by Poenitence He mine by Grace I 'm his by Purchace He is mine by Blood Hee 's my supporting Elme and I his Vine Thus I my Best-Beloveds am Thus He is mine 7 He gives me wealth I give him all my Vowes I give Him songs He gives me length of dayes With wrethes of Grace he crownes my conqu'ring browes And I his Temples with a Crowne of Praise Which be accepts as an everlasting signe That I my best-beloveds am that He is mine S. AUGUST Manu cap. 24. O my soule stampt with the Image of thy God love him of whom thou art so much beloved Bend to him that bowes to thee seeke him that seeks thee Love thy lover by whose love thou art prevented being the cause of thy love Be carefull with those that are carefull want with those that want Bee cleane with the cleane and holy with the holy Choose this friend above all friends who when all are taken away remaines onely faithfull to thee In the day of thy buriall when all leave thee he will not deceive thee but defend thee from the roaring Lions prepared for their prey EPIG 3. Sing Hymen to my soule What lost and found Welcom'd Espous'd enjoy'd so soone and crown'd He did but climbe the Crosse and then came downe To th'Gates of Hell triumph'd and fetch'd a Crowne IV. I am my beloveds his Desire is towards mee Cant 7.10 W. Simpson Scâ— IV. CANT VII.X. I am my Beloveds and his desire is towards mee 1 LIke to the Artick needle that does guide The wandring shade by his Magneticke pow'r And leaves his silken Gnomon to decide The question of the controverted houre First franticks up and downe from side to side And restlesse beats his christall'd Iv'ry case With vaine impatience jets from place to place And seeks the bosome of his frozen Bride At length he slacks his motion and does rest His trembling point at his bright Poles beloved Brest 2 Ev'n so my soule being hurried here and there By ev'ry object that presents delight Faine would be setled but she knowes not where She likes at morning what she loaths at night She bowes to Honour then she lends an eare To that sweet Swan-like voice of dying Pleasure Then tumbles in the scatter'd heapes of Treasure Now flatter'd with false hope now foyl'd with feare Thus finding all the world delights to be But empty toyes good GOD she point's alone to Thee But has the virtu'd Steele a pow'r to move Or can the untouch'd Needle point aright Or can my wandring Thoughts forbeare to rove Vnguided by the vertue of thy Spirit O has my leaden Soule the Art t' improve Her wasted Talent and unrais'd aspire In this sad moulting time of her desire Not first belov'd have I the pow'r to love I cannot stirre but as thou please to move me Nor can my heart returne thee love untill thou love me 4 The still Commandresse of the silent night Borrowes her beames from her bright brothers Eye His faire aspect fils her sharp hornes with light If he withdraw her flames are quench'd and die Ev'n so the beames of thy enlightning Sp'rite Infus'd and shot into my dark desire Inflame my thoughts and fill my soule with fire That I am ravisht with a new delight But if thou shroud thy face my glory fades And I remaine a Nothing all compos'd of shades 5 Eternall God O thou that onely art The sacred Fountaine of eternall light And blessed Loadstone of my better part O thou my hearts desire my soules delight Reflect upon my soule and touch my heart And then my heart shall prize no good above thee And then my soule shall know thee knowing love thee And then my trembling thoughts shall never start From thy commands or swerve the least degree Or once presume to move but as they move in thee S. AUGUST Med. Cap. 25. If man can love man with so entire affection that the one can scarce brooke the others absence If a Bride can be joyned to her Bride-groome with so great an ardency of mind that for the extremity of love she can enjoy no rest not suffering his absence without great anxiety with what affection with what fervency ought the soule whom thou hast espoused by faith and compassion to love thee her true God and glorious Bridegroome EPIG 4. My soule thy love is deare T' was thought a good And easie pen'worth of thy Saviours Blood But be not proud All matters rightly scan'd 'T was over brought 'T was sold at second hand I. My Soule melted when my beloved spake Cant 5.6 Will Simpson scul V. CANT V.VI. My Soule melted whilst my Beloved spake LOrd has the
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
Physitian MAT. 9.12 ALwayes pruning alwaies cropping Is her brightnesse still obscur'd Ever dressing ever topping Alwayes cureing never cur'd Too much snuffing makes a waste When the spirits spend too fast They will shrinke at ev'ry blast 2 You that alwaies are bestowing Costly paines in life repairing Are but alwaies overthrowing Natures worke by overcaring Nature meeting with her Foe In a worke she hath to doe Takes a pride to overthrow 3 Nature knowes her owne perfection And her pride disdaines a Tutor Can not stoope to Arts correction And she scornes a Coadjutor Saucy Art should not appeare Till she Whisper in her eare Hagar flees if Sara beare 3 Nature worketh for the better If not hindred that she cannot Art stand by as her A bettor Ending nothing she began not If distemper chance to seize Nature foyl'd with the disease Art may helpe her if she please 5 But to make a Trade of trying Drugs and Dofies alwayes pruning Is to dye for feare of dying Hee 's untun'd that 's alwayes tuneing He that often loves to lack Deare bought Drugs has found a Knack To foyle the man and feede the Quack 6 O the sad the fraile Condition Of the pride of Natures glory How infirme his Composition And at best how Transitory When his Ryot doth impayre Natures weaknesse then his care Adds more ruine by repaire 7 Hold thy hand healths Deare maintainer Life perchance may burne the stronger Having substance to sustaine her She untoucht may last the longer When the Artist goes about To redresse her flame I doubt Oftentimes he snuffes it out NICOCLES Physitians of all men are most happy what good successe soever they have the world proclaimes and what faults they commit the earth covers EPIG 4. My purse be'ng heavy if my Light appeare But Dimme Quack comes to make all cleare Quack leave thy trade Thy Dealings are not right Thou tak'st our weighty gold to give us light Te auxiliante resurgo Will Marshall sculpsit And hee will give his Angels charge over thee PSAL. 91. 1 O How mine eyes could please themselves and spend Perpetuall Ages in this precious sight How I could woo Eternity to lend My wasting day an Antidote for night And how my flesh could with my flesh contend That views this object with no more delight My work is great my Tapour spends too fast 'T is all I have and soone would out or wast Did not this blessed Screene protect it from this blast 2 O I have lost the Iewell of my soule And I must finde it out or I must dye Alas my sin-made darknesse doth controule The bright endeavour of my carefull eye I must go search and ransack ev'ry hole Nor have I other light to seek it by O if this light be spent my work not done My labour 's worse than lost my Iewel 's gone And I am quite forlorne and I am quite undone 3 You blessed Angels you that doe enjoy The full fruition of eternall Glory Will you be pleas'd to fancy such a Toy As man and quit your glorious Territory And stoop to earth vouchsafing to imploy Your care to guard the dust that lies before yee Disdaine you not these lumps of dying Clay That for your paines doe oftentimes repay Neglect if not disdaine and send you griev'd away 4 This Tapour of our lifes that once was plac'd In the faire Suburbs of Eternity Is now alas confin'd to ev'ry blast And turn'd a May-pole for the sporting Fly And will you sacred Spirits please to cast Your care on us and lend a gracious eye How had this slender Inch of Tapour beene Blasted and blaz'd had not this heav'nly Screene Curb'd the proud blast and timely stept betweene 5. O Godnesse farre transcending the report Of lavish tongues too vast to comprehend I Amazed Quill how farre dost thou come short T' expresse expressions that so farre transcend You blessed Courtiers of th' eternall Court Whose full-mouth'd Hallelujahs have no end Receive that world of praises that belongs To your great Sov'raigne fill your holy tongues With our Hosannas mixt with your Seraphick Songs S. BERN. If thou desirest the helpe of Angels flee the comforts of the world and resist the Temptations of the Devill He will give his Angels charge over thee O what reverence what love what confidence deserves so sweet a saying For their presence reverence for their good will love for their tuition confidence EPIG 5. My flame art thou disturb'd diseas'd and driv'n To Death with stormes of griefe Poynt thou to heav'n One Angel there shall ease thee more alone Then thrice as many thousands of thy owne Tempus erit Will Marshall sculpsit To every thing there is an appointed time ECCLES 3.1 Time Death Time BEhold the frailty of this slender snuffe Alas it hath not long to last Without the helpe of either Thiefe or puffe Her weaknesse knowes the way to wast Nature hath made her Substance apt enough To spend it selfe and spend too fast It needs the help of none That is so prone To lavish out untoucht and languish all alone 2 Death Time hold thy peace and shake thy flow pac'd Sand Thy idle Minits make no way Thy glasse exceeds her how'r or else does stand I can not hold I can not stay Surcease thy pleading and enlarge my hand I surfet with too long delay This brisk this boldfac'd Light Does burne too bright Darknesse adornes my throne my day is darkest night 3 Time Great Prince of darkenesse hold thy needless hand Thy Captiv's fast and can not flee What arme can rescue Who can countermand What pow'r can set thy Pris'ner free Or if they could what close what forrein land Can hide that head that flees from Thee But if her harmelesse light Offend thy sight What needst thou snatch at noone what will be thine at night Death I have outstaid my patience My quick Trade Growes dull and makes too flow returne This long liv'd det is due and should bin paid When first her flame began to burne But I have staid too long I have delayd To store my vast my craving Vrne My Patent gives me pow'r Each day each how'r To strike the Peasants thatch and shake the Princely Tow'r 5 Time Thou count'st too fast Thy Patent gives no Pow'r Till Time shall please to say Amen Death Canst thou appoint my shaft Time Or thou my How'r Death T is I bid doe Time T is I bid When. Alas thou canst not make the poorest Flow't To hang the drooping head tell then Thy shafts can neither Kill Nor strike untill My power give them wings and pleasure arme thy will S. AUGUST Thou knowest not what Time he will come Wait alwayes that because thou knowest not the time of his comming thou maiest be prepared against the time he comes And for this perchance thou knowest not the Time because thou mayest be prepared against all times EPIG 6. Expect but feare not Death Death cannot Kill Till Time that first must seale her
cannot show Nor beare Some fruits shall never weare Apollos sacred Bow Excesse And surfet uses To wait upon these daies Full feed and flowing cups of wine Conjure the fancy forcing up a Spright By the base Magick of deboyâ—d delight Ah pittie twiseborne Bacchus Vine should starve Apollo's Bayes And drown those Muses That blesse And calme the peacefull soule when storms of cares oppâ— Strong light Boast not those beames That can but onely rise And blaze a while and then away There is no Solstice in thy day Thy midnight glory lies Betwixt th' extrems Of night A Glory foyld with shame and foold with false delight Hast thou climbd up to the full age of thy few daies Look backwards and thou shalt see the frailty of thy youth the folly of thy Childhood and the waste of thy Infancy Looke forwards thou shalt see the cares of the world the troubles of thy mind the diseases of thy body EPIG 12. To the middle ag'd Thou that art prauncing on the lustie Noone Of thy full Age boast not thy selfe too soone Convert that breath to wayle thy fickle state Take heed thou l't brag too soone or boast too late Et Martem spirat et arma Will Marshall sculpsit He must encrease but I must decrease IOH. 3.30 TIme voyds the Table Dinner 's done And now our daies declining Sun Hath hurried his diurnall Loade To th'Borders of the Westerne roade Fierce Phlegon with his fellow Steeds Now puffes and pants and blowes and bleeds And froths and fumes remembring still Their lashes up th'Olympick Hill Which having conquerd now disdaine The whip and champs the frothy reyn And with a full Career they bend Their paces to their Iournies end Our blazing Tapour now hath lost Her better halfe Nature hath crost Her forenoone book and cleard that score But scarce gives trust for so much more And now the gen'rous Sappe forsakes Her seir-grown twig A breath ev'n shakes The down-ripe fruit fruit soone divorc'd From her deare Branch untouchd unforc'd Now sanguine Venus doth begin To draw her wanton colours in And flees neglected in disgace Whil'st Mars supplies her luke warme place Blood turnes to Choler What this Age Loses in strength it fines in Rage That rich Ennamell which of old Damaskt the downy Cheeke and told A harmelesse guilt unaskt is now Worne off from the audacious brow Luxurious Dalliance midnight Revells Loose Ryot and those veniall evils Which inconsiderate youth of late Could pleade now wants an Advocate And what appeard in former times Whispring as faults now roare as crimes And now all yee whose lippes were wont To drench their Currall in the Font Of forkt Parnassus you that be The Sons of Phoebus and can flee On wings of Fancy to display The Flagge of high Invention stay Repose your Quills Your veines grow sower Tempt not your Salt beyond her power If your pall'd Fancies but decline Censure will strike at every line And wound your names The popular eare Weighs what you are not what you were Thus hackney like we tire our Age Spurgall'd with Change from Stage to Stage Seest thou the daily light of the greater world When attaind to the highest pitch of Meridian glory it staieth not but by the same degrees it ascended it descends And is the light of the lesser world more premanent Continuance is the Child of Eternity not of Time EPIG 13 To the young Man Young man rejoyce And let thy rising daies Cheare thy glad heart Thinkst thou these uphill waies Leade to deaths dungeon No but know withall Arising is but Prologue to a Fall Invidiosa Senectus Will Marshall sculpsit Yet a little while is the light with you IOH. 12.35 1 THe day growes old The low pitcht Lamp hath made No lesse than treble shade And the descending damp does now prepare T'uncurle bright Titans haire Whose Westerne Wardrobe now begins t' unfold Her purples fring'd with gold To cloath his evening glory when th' alarmes Of Rest shall call to rest in restlesse Thetis armes 2 Nature now calls to Supper to refresh The spirits of all flesh The toyling ploughman drives his Thirsty Teames To tast the slipp'ry Streames The droyling Swineheard knocks away and feasts His hungry-whining guests The boxbill Ouzle and the dappled Thrush Like hungry Rivals meet at their beloved bush 3 And now the cold Autumnall dewes are seene To copwebbe every Greene And by the low-shorne Rowins doth appeare The fast-declining yeare The Saplesse Branches d'off their summer Suits And waine their winter fruits And stormy blasts hare forc'd the quaking Trees To wrap their trembling limbs in Suits of mossie Freeze 4 Our wasted Tapour now hath brought her light To the next dore to night Her sprightlesse flame grown great with snuffe does turn Sad as her neigbr'ring Vrne Her slender Inch that yet unspent remaines Lights but to further paines And in a silent language bids her guest Prepare his wearie limbes to take eternall Rest 5 Now carkfull Age hath pitcht her painefull plough Vpon the surrow'd brow And snowie blasts of discontented Care Hath blancht the falling haire Suspitious envie mixt with jealous Spight Disturb's his wearie night He threatens youth with age And now alas He ownes not what he is but vaunts the Man he was 6 Gray haires peruse thy dayes And let thy past Reade lectures to thy last Those hastie wings that hurri'd them away Will give these dayes no Day The constant wheeles of Nature scorne to tyre Vntill her works expire That blast that nipt thy youth will ruine Thee That hand that shooke the branch will quickly strike the Tree S. CHRYS Gray hayres are honorable when the behaviour suits with gray hayres But when an ancient man hath childish manners he becomes more rediculous than a child SEN. Thou art in vaine attained to old yeares that repeatest thy youthfulnesse EPIG 14. To the Youth Seest thou this good old man He represents Thy Future Thou his Preterperfect Tense Thou go'st to labour He prepares to Rest Thou break'st thy Fast He suppes Now which is best Plumbeus in terram Will Marshall sculpsit The dayes of our yeares are threescore years and ten PSAL. 90.10 1 SO have I seene th' illustrious Prince of Light Rising in glory from his Crocean bed And trampling downe the horrid shades of night Advancing more and more his conq'ring head Pause first decline at length begin to shroud His fainting browes within a cole black cloud 2 So have I seene a well built Castle stand Vpon the Tiptoes of a lofty Hill Whose active pow'r commands both Sea and Land And curbs the pride of the Beleag'rers will At length her ag'd Foundation failes her trust And layes her tottring ruines in the Dust 3 So have I seene the blazing Tapour shoot Her golden head into the feeble Ayre Whose shadow-gilding Ray spread round about Makes the foule face of black brow'd darkenesse faire Till at the length her wasting glory fades And leaves the night to her invet'rate shades 4 Ev'n so this little world of living Cloy The pride of Nature glorified by Art Whom earth adores and all her hosts obay Ally'd to Heav'n by his Diviner part Triumphs a while then droops and then decayes And worne by Age death cancells all his dayes 5 That glorious Sun that whilom shone so bright Is now ev'n ravisht from our darkned eyes That sturdy Castle man'd with so much might Lyes now a Monument of her owne disguize That blazing Tapour that disdain'd the puffe Of troubled Ayre scarce ownes the name of Snuffe 6 Poore bedrid Man where is that glory now Thy Youth so vaunted Where that Majesty Which sat enthron'd upon thy manly brow Where where that braving Arme that daring eye Those buxom tunes Those Bacchanalian Tones Those swelling veynes those marrow-flaming bones 7 Thy drooping Glory 's blurrd and prostrate lyes Grov'ling in dust And frightfull Horror now Sharpens the glaunces of thy gashfull eyes Whilst feare perplexes thy distracted brow Thy panting brest vents all her breath by groanes And Death enervs thy marrow-wasted bones 8 Thus Man that 's borne of woman can remaine But a short tine His dayes are full of sorrow His life 's a penance and his death 's a paine Springs like a flow'r to day and fades to morrow His breath 's a bubble and his dayes a Span T is glorious misery to be borne a Man CYPR. When eyes are dimme eares deafe visage pale teeth decaied skin withered breath tainted pipes furred knees trembling hands fumbling feet fayling the sudden downefall of thy fleshy house is neare at hand S. AUGUST All vices wax old by Age Covetousnesse done growes young EPIG 15. To the Infant What he doth spending in groanes thou spendst in teares Iudgement and strength 's alike in both your yeares Hee 's helpesse so art thou What difference than Hee 's an old Infant Thou a young old Man THE END