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A46242
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Divine raptvres; or, Piety in poesie digested into a queint diversity of sacred fancies / composed by Tho. Iordan ...
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Jordan, Thomas, 1612?-1685?
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1646
(1646)
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Wing J1028; ESTC R10497
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24,003
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58
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DIVINE RAPTVRES OR PIETY IN POESIE Digested Into a Queint Diversity of sacred FANCIES Composed by Tho. Iordan Gent. Demost Plus â—lâ—i quam vini mihi consumptum est LONDON Printed by Authoritie for the use of the Author 1646. The Preface YOV wanton Lads that spend your winged time And chant your eares in reading lustfull rime Who like transform'd Acteon range about And beate the woods to finde Diana out I' st this you 'ld have then hence here 's no content For you my Muse ne're knew what Venus meant But stay I may subvert your rude conceit And every verse may proove a heavenly baite O that ye were such captives then you ld be Thrice happy such as these are onely free Leave leave your wanton toyes and let alone Apollo sporting at his Helicon Let Vulcan deale with Venus what 's to thee Although shee dandle Cupids on her knee Be not inchanted with her wanton charmes Let her not hugge thee in her whorish armes But wisely doe as Neptune did in spite Of all spue out the Lady Aphrodite Come come fond lad what would'st thou faine espye A glorious object for thy wandring eye And glut thy sight with beauty would'st behold A visage that will make thy Venus cold If this be all I le give thy eye delight Come see that face that lendes the Sunne his light Come see that face that makes the heavens to shine Come see that glorious face that lends thee thine Come and behold that face which if thou see Aright t' will make the earth a heaven to thee Come see that glistring face from which arise Such glorious beames that dazels Angels eyes What canst have more but dost thou thinke that such A comely visage will not let thee touch Or dost thou thinke a Sunne that shines so cleare Will scorne to let a lesser Orbe come neere No thou mistak'st say dost thou tâ—uely thirst For him I dare avouch hee lov'd thee first Be not dismaid It needes no more dispute Come give this glorious face a kinde salute THE WORLDES METAMORPHOSIS BEfore all time when every thing did lye Wrapt in a Chaos of deformity When all things nothing were and could present No comely frame no heaven no element No earth no water fire or ayre alone But all as t were compounded all in one Then with a word our Tri-une Iove did bring This nothing Chaos into every thing Yea then our great Iehovah did present A severall region to each element Then Time his houres began to measure out And he most nimbly garison'd about This new created Orbe he tooke his flight And hurried restlesse on both day and night His motion was so quicke that scarce t was ey'd He for ten thousand worlds won't squint aside Nor once turne backe his head by chance I viewd His flight his wings I thought were then renewd Yea his unwearied feathers did so soare Swiftly as if they never flew before As when the Thracians from their snaky bow Did make there featherd darts so swiftly goe That they out ranne all sight so time did flie As if he strove with winged Mercurie No weapon all this while for his defence He bore he dealt with none but innocence And now those feggy mists that so did lye Cloyster'd together from eternity Were all dispersd yea now t was very bright And darkenesse was unfetter'd from the light When this was done our great Iehovah lent The world as yet scarce made a firmament He separated waters wondrous well Then Seas with surging billowes ganne to swell And tossed to and fro with every wave As if the fretfull region would out brave Her owne Creator they were not content With their but now appointed regiment Their watry mountaines did so oft aspire To Heaven as if they would be placed higher But now great Iove lookt on they did not dare Surpasse their stations nay nor once impaire Their bounds he quickly queld their lusty prankes And causd the waves to crouch within their bankes When he had conquerd this unruly stran Within two dayes he crownes Leviathan King of the liquid region and doth give Ten thousand thousand more with him to live Then fruitfull earth which is the Ocean barres 〈…〉 and heavens bespangled all with starres The â—unne begins 〈…〉 And proudly danceth up the Orient He nor his horses can no longer sleepe But gallop from the orientall deepe He rid so fast that in few houres was spide All bravely wrapt in his meridian pride But when he clamber'd to the highest brinke He view'd the fabricke then began to sinke And all the way as hee did homewards goe He laughed to see so brave a frame below Still whipping on his Iades untill his head Was safely laid into his Westerne bed Silver Lucina as yet did not enter But lay immured within the reeking center Whilst he had mounted on his flaming seate And viewd a glorious orbe wondrous compleate With that the purple Lady straight prepares Attended with ten thousand thousand starres Shee clambers up in this her rich aray And viewes the goodly building all the way Sweete smiles shee cast from her admiring eye Whilst all her little babes stood twinkling by Playing the wantons by their mothers side As if they were inamour'd with the pride Of such a Fabricke to expresse their mirth Some shot from heaven as though they 'd live on Earth This done sweete Phoebe soone beganne to drop Her borrowed beames into her brothers lap And ever since to see this glorious sight One laughes at day the other smiles at night And can you blame them earth is spread with bowres And trees and proudly deckt with sundry flowers Shee that ere while in dunghill Chaos lay Is now with Vi'lets purp'ld every day And damaskt all with Roses yea shee s clad With sweeter herbes then ever Ceres had Her fruitfull wombe brings forth most dainty cates And lovely fruites these are her comely brattes No rusticke Plowman now doth take the paines To peirce her entrailes or to squeeze her veines But heaven and shee unites they scorne to see A bastard weede disgrace their pedigree Shee 's overspread with pinkes and Daffadillies Carnations Roses and the whitest Lilies Those fondlings lolling in her armes doe lye Shaking their heads and in her bosome dye These in their mothers sides doe take their rest Till they doe drop their leaves into her brest And now the little birds doe every day Sit singing in the boughs and chirpe and play The Phesant and the Partridge slowly flye Vndaunted even before the Faulcons eye Now comes Behemoth with his Lordly gate Gazing as if he stood admiring at So rich a frame first having fixt his sight On glorious earth he alwayes tooke delight In viewing that and would not looke on high Nay all the glorious spangles of the skye Could not entice him ever from his birth He spent his time in looking on the earth All other beasts their greedy eyes did fling On lovely earth as did their
name Hell sent forth Heraulds to divulge thy fame But man Lord what 's he made of stupid soule Is now more greedy then the raping foule Harder then slint his nature is so grimme That questionlesse the Lyon chang'd with him Hotter then flame more boystrous then the winde More fierce then waves and hels not more unkinde Yet thou O match lesse love didst undergoe An undeserved curse to save thy foe Yea guiltlesse thou because thou would'st suffice For guilty man becom'st a Sacrifice Thou Grand Physitian for thy patients good Didst mixe thy Physicke with thy dearest blood Man from the sweetest flower did sucke his griefe But thou from venome didst extract reliefe From pleasures limbecke man distild his paine Thou out of sorrow pleasure drawd againe Sweete Eden was the garden where there grew Such sugred flowers yet there our poyson blew Sad Gethseman the arbour where was pluckt Though bitter herbes yet thence was hony suckt So have I seene the busie Bee to feed Extracting honey from the sowrest weed Whilst Spiders wandring through a pleasant bowre Sucke deadly poyson from the sweetest flower Thus thus sweete Christ thy sicknesse was our health Thy death our life thy poverty our wealth Thy griefe our mirth our freedome was thy thrall Thus thou by being conquerd conquerest all CANT. 8.7 Much water cannot quench love neither can the floods drowne it O How my heart is ravisht thoughts aspire To thinke on thee my Christ my zeales on fire What shall I doe my love me thinkes mine eyes Behold thee still yet still I Tantalize Ten thousand lets stand arm'd and all agree Conspiring how to part my love and me Presumption like Olympus scales the skye A mountaine for to part my Love and I. Despaire presents a gulfe a greedy grave Much like the jawes of the internall Cave But what of this though hils are nere so high Whose sunne-confronting tops upbraide the skye I le trample o're and make them know t is meete Their proudest heads should stoope and kisse my feete I le stride o're cares deeper then Neptunes well Whose threatning jawes doe yawne as wide as hell Although the sea boyles in her angry tides And watry mountaines knocke at Heavens sides Though every puffe of Neptunes angry breath Should raise a wave and every wave a death I le scorne his threates should stop my course or quell My pace though every death presents a hell Yea I le adventure through those swelling stormes Whose billowes seemes to quench great Phoebes hornes Mountaines shall be as molehilles every wave Tost in the fretfull region shall outbrave No more then streames that shew their wanton pranckes Gliding along by Thames his petty banckes But grant that seas should swell and tossing tides With stormes should crush my waving vessels sides Suppose for footemen mountaines are too steepe Each hill too high and every cave too deepe Suppose all earth conspire to stop care I My faith will lend me wings and then I le flye O how I le laugh to see that mounting clay O how I le smile at that that stopt my way O how I laugh to see the Ocean straine Her banckes for to oppose and all in vaine And can you blame me when I 'me once above I le care for none for none but thou my Love Thou art my path I shall not goe awry My sight shall never faile thou art my eye Thou art my clothing I shan't naked be I am no bondman thou hast made me free I am not pin'd with sickenesse thou art health I am no whit impoverisht thou art wealth Mans naturall infirmity WHat meanes my God why dost present to me Such glorious objects can a blind man see Why dost thou call why dost thou becken so Wouldst have me come Lord can a Cripple go Or why dost thou expect that I should raise Thy glory with my voice the dumbe can't praise Vnscale my duskye eyes then I le expresse Thy glorious objects strong attractivenesse Dip thou my limbes in thy Bethesdaes lake I le scorne my earthly crutches I le forsake My selfe touch thou my tongue and then I le sing An Allelujah to my glorious King Raise me from this my grave then I shall be Alive and I le bestow my life on thee Till thou Eliah-like dost overspread My limbs I 'me blind I 'me lame I 'me dumbe I 'me dead The Melancholicke Soules comfort O That I had a sweete melodious voice O that I could obtaine the chiefest choice Of sweetest musicke pre-three David lend Thy well-resounding harpe that I may send Some praises to my God I know not how To pay by songs my heart-resolved vow How shall I sing good God thou dost afford Ten thousand mercies trebled songs O Lord Cannot requite thee O that I could pay With lifetime songs the mercies of one day I oft beginne to sing and then before My songs halfe finisht God gives sense for more Alas poore soule art puzzeld canst not bring Thy God some honour though thou strive to sing The Cause is this thou art become his debter Hee le make thee play on musicke that is better I Cannot play my sobs doe stop my course My grones doe make my musicke sound the worse What nought but grones ah shall th' Almighties eares Be fild with sighes all vsherd in with teares I this is musicke such a tune prolongs Gods love and makes him listen to thy songs T is this that makes his ravisht soule draw nigher T is this outstrips the Thracian with his Lyre T is this inchants thy God t is this alone That drags thy spouse from heaven to heare thy tone No better Musicke then thy sobs and cries If not a Davids harpe get Peters eyes The Soule in love with Christ WHat though my Love doth neate appeare And makes Aurora blush to see her Though nature paints her cheekes with red And makes proud Venus hide her head What though her crimson lips so mute Doe alwayes wooe a new salute What though her wanâ—on eyes doe shine Like glistring starres and dazell mine T is Christ alone Shall be my owne T is him I will embrace T is he shall be A Spouse to me All beauty 's in his face What though the earth for me prepares A present from her golden Quarres And braggeth of her earely gaines Exhausted from her silver vaines What though shee shew her painted brates And bids me smell her Violates And deckes her selfe in spring attire To make my ravisht soule admire Yet all this shant My Soule inchant I le smile to see her pride I know where lies A better prize For Christ hath broch'd his side What though the world doth me invite And daily play the Parasite Or with her gilded tales intice Me to a seeming Paradise And paints her face and all day long Sits breathing out a Syrens song And shewes her pompe and then in fine Tells me that shee and hers are mine Yet none of this Shall be my blisse I le scorne the painted