closely each other trace And meet the Sun along his annual race While the swift hours are pressing forward still And once gone by are irretrievable Thus envious Time loves on it self to prey And still thro its own Entrails eats its way So wasting Lamps by their own flames expire And kindle at themselves their Fun'ral Fire Thus it s own course the circling Year pursues Till like the Wheels on which 't is mov'd it grows This Truth the Poets weightily exprest When they made Saturn on his Off-spring feast For Time on Months and Years its Children feeds And kills with motion what its motion breeds Hours waste their Days the Days their Months consume And the rapacious Months their Years entomb Thus Years Months Days and Hours still keep their round Till all in vast Eternity are drown'd Then Lord allow my grief some little space To mourn the shortness of my hasty race I wish not time for laughter if I did My circumstances and the place forbid All I desire is time for grief and tears Let that be all th' addition to my years Which tho but short have yet been full of sin More than my time was to repent it in Yet if thou grant'st me some few minutes more They 'll make amends for my short days before Drop then my eyes you cannot flow too fast While you delay what precious time is lost 'T is done my tears have a prevailing force And Heav'n's appeas'd now stop their eager course Hieron ad Paulam Epist 21. â—hen man first sinn'd he chang'd Eternity for Mortality Ninety years or thereabouts But sin increasing by degrees Mans life was contracted to a very short space XIV Oh! that they were wise that they understood this that they would consider their latter end Deut. 32. 29. XIV Oh! that they were wise that they understood this that they would consider their latter-end Deut. 32. 29. SHame on besotted man whose baffled mind Is to all dangers but the present blind Whose thoughts are all imploy'd on mischiefs near But ills remote never fore-see or fear The Soldier is prepar'd before th'allarm The Signal giv'n 't wou'd be too late to arm The Pylot's fore-sight waits each distant blast And loses no advantage in his haste Th' industrious Hind manures and sows the Field Which he expects a plenteous Crop should yield The lab'ring Ant in Summer stores at home Provision against Age and Winter come But oh what means Mans stupid negligence That of the future has no care or sense Does he expect Eternity below A life that shall no alteration know He 's much abus'd inevitable Death Tho it delays will one day stop his breath Vain are the hopes the firmest Leagues produce The Tyrant keeps no Faith regards no Truce He does not to the Peace he makes incline To take advantage is his whole design To him Alliance is an empty name He does all Int'rests but his own disclaim Fiercely the greedy spoiler strikes at all A prey for his insatiate Jaws too small He tears ev'n tender Infants from the breast And wraps them in a Shrowd ere for the Cradle drâ— Nor Sex nor Age the grim Destroyer spares Unmov'd alike by Innocence as Years Like common Soldiers chief Commanders die And like Commanders common Soldiers lie No shining Dust appears in Craesus Urn Tho all he touch'd he seem'd to Gold to turn â—or boasts fair Rachel's face that Beauty here â—or which the Patriarch serv'd his twice-sev'n year â—nd never thought the pleasing Purchase dear Ev'n Dives here from Laz'rus is not known For now One's Purple th' Other's Rags are gone Each has no Mansion but his narrow Cell Equal in colour and alike in smell Why then shou'd man of such vain Treasure boast So difficultly gain'd so eas'ly lost For late or early all resign their breath And bend pale Victims to their Conqu'ror Death Each Sex each Age Profession and Degree Moves tow'rds this Centre of Humanity But did they not a farther Journey go And that to die were all they had to do Cou'd but their Souls dissolve as fast away As their corrupting Carcasses decay They'd covet Death to end their present cares And for prevention of their future fears They'd to the Grave as an Asylum run And court the stroke which now they wish to shuâ— But Death alas ends not their miseries The Soul 's immortal tho the Body dies Which soon as from it s Pris'n of Clay enlarg'd At Heav'ns Tribunal's sentenc'd or discharg'd Before an awful Pow'r just and severe Round whose bright head consuming flames appear The shackl'd Captive dazl'd at his sight Dejected stands and trembles with the fright While with strict scrutiny the God surveys Its heart and close impieties displays The wretch convicted does its guilt confess Nor hopes for mercy for concealment less While He th' Accuser Judge and Witness too Damns it to an Eternity of woe Where since no hope of an Appeal appears ' Twou'd fain dissolve and drown it self in tears What terrors then seize the forsaken Soul That finds no Patron for a Cause so foul â—hen it implores some Mountain to prevent â—y a kind crush its shame and punishment O wretched Soul just Judge hard Sentence too â—hat hardn'd wretch dares sin that thinks on You â—et here alas ends not the fatal grief â—here is another Death another Life Life as boundless as Eternity Death whence shall no Resurrection be â—hat Hell of Torments shall in This be found â—ith what a Heav'n of Joys shall That abound â—hat fill'd with Musick of th' Angelick Choir â—hall the blest Souls with Extasie inspire â—hile This disturb'd at ev'ry hideous yell â—hall in the Damn'd raise a new dread of Hell â—hat knows no sharp excess of cold or heat â— This the wretches always freeze or sweat â—here reign Eternal Rest and soft Repose â—ere painful toil no end or measure knows â—hat void of grief does nought afflictive see â—his still disturb'd from trouble's never free O happy Life O vast unequall'd Bliss O Death accurs'd O endless Miseries Either to That or This we daily bend All our endeavours have no other end Be wise then Man nor let thy care be vain To shun the Mis'ry and the Bliss obtain Give Heav'n thy Heart if thou its Crown wou'dâ— gain Aug. Soliloq cap. 3. What more lamentable and more dreadful can be thought of than that terrible Sentence Go what more delightful than that pleasing Invitation Come They are two words of which nothing can be heard more affrighting than the One nothing more rejoycing than the Other My life is waxen old with heaviness and my years with mourning Psal. 31. 11 XV. My life is waxen old with heaviness and my years with mourning Psal 31. 11. WHat lowring Star rul'd my unhappy Birth And banish'd thence all days of ease and mirth â—hile expectation does delude my mind â—eas'd with vain hope some smiling hour to find â—t still that smiling hour forbears to come â—d sends a row of Mourners
that Fools are num'rous Wise-men few Nor was the prudent Moses wish in vain When he of Mans destruction did complain O that unthinking Mortals wou'd be wise And place their End before their heedful eyes Then Sins short pleasures they wou'd soon despise Not yield like Wax to ev'ry Stamp of Vice Wou'd any but a strange besotted Rout Th' Existence of a God deny or doubt These that in sin they may uncheck'd go on Perswade themselves to a belief of None Our very Crimes t' improve our Folly tend And we 're infatuate e're we dare offend Nor does the growing frenzy here give o're But from this Ill runs headlong on to more We Castles build in this inferior Air As if to have Eternal Beings here â—t when unthought-of Death shall snatch us hence â—e then shall own the fond Improvidence â—ith endless and unprofitable toil â—e strive t' enrich and beautifie the Soil â—is Soil which we must leave at last behind â— those for whom our pains were ne're design'd How does our toil resemble Childrens play â—hen they erect an Edifice of Clay â—ow idly busie and imploy'd they are â—ere some bring Straw there others Sticks prepare â—is loads his Cart with Dirt that in a Shell â—ings Water that it may be temper'd well â—nd in their work themselves they fondly pride â—hile Age the childish Fabrick does deride â— on our Work Heav'n with contempt looks down â—nd with a breath our Babel-Tow'r's o'rethrown What strange desire of Gems what thirst of Gold â—hose drops of Rain congeal'd that ripned Mold â—et these so much mens nobler Souls debase â—hat they their bliss in such mean trifles place Ah! foolish Ign'rants can your choice approâ— No more exalted Objects of your love That all your time in their pursuit you spend As if Salvation did on them depend Heav'n may be purchas'd at an easie rate But oh how few bid any thing for That Unthinking Sots that Earth to Heav'n prefer And fading Joys to endless Glory there The Crime of such an inconsid'rate choice Ought not pretend to Pardon ev'n in Boys For They from Counters currant Money know Almost as soon as they have learnt to go But Men oh shame prize counterfeit delightâ— Before the Joys to which kind Heav'n invites Oh! for some Artist to retrieve their sense E're more degrees of Folly they commence But by Heav'ns piercing Eye we are descry'd Which does our sins with Follies Mantle hide He 's pleas'd to wink at Errors too in me And seeing seems as tho he did not see He knows I 've but a slender stock of Wit â—nd want a Guardian too to manage it â— then some kind Protection Lord assign â—his Ideot Soul But 't will be best in Thine Chrysost in Joann Hom. 4. They are no better than Fools who are ever as it were dreaming of earthly things and of short continuance III. Haue mercy upon me O Lord for I am Weak O Lord heal me for my bones are vexed Psal 6. 2 III. â—ave mercy upon me O Lord for I am weak O Lord heal me for my bones are vexed Psal 6. 2. SHall my just grief be querulous or mute Full of Disease of Physick destitute â—ought thy Love so constant heretofore â—at Vows were needless to confirm me more â—d dost thou now absent and slight my pain â—at fault of mine has caus'd this cold Disdain O blest Physitian of my love-sick Soul â—ose sight alone will make thy Patient whole â—ou who hast caus'd canst thou forget my grief â—ich only from its Author seeks relief Shou'd they whose Art gave dying Fame new breath â—d rescu'd their surviving names from Death â—y in whose sight no bold Disease durst stand â— trembling vanish'd at their least command They who each Simples sov'rein Virtue knew And to their ends cou'd well apply them too Shou'd they their skill in tedious Consult try All all wou'd fail to ease my misery All their Prescriptions without Thine are vain Thine only sute the nature of my pain Thou who hast caus'd canst thou forget my griâ— Which only from its Author seeks relief See! my parch'd tongue my bodies flame declaâ— And my quick Pulse proclaims intestine Wars While so much blood 's profusely spent within That not one drop can in my cheeks be seen And the same Pulse that gave the brisk Allarms Beats a dead March in my dejected Arms My Doctors sigh and shrugging take their leave And me to Heav'n and a cold Grave bequeath While more than they the fatal sense I feel Of my lost health and their succesless skill What can the Patient hope when sad despair Discourages the lost Physician 's care â—e subtle Poyson creeps through all my Veins â—nd in my Bones the fierce Infection reigns â—y drooping head flies to my hands for aid â—t by the feeble Props is soon betray'd â—ow my last breath is ready to expire â—nd I must next to Deaths dark Cell retire â—ainly I strive my other pains to tell â—or they alas are unaccountable â— this forlorn unpity'd state I lie â—hile he who can relieve me le ts me die â—y Face is strange and out of knowledg grown â—v'n I am scarce perswaded 't is my own â—y Eyes have shrunk for shelter in my head â—nd on my Cheek the Rose hangs pale and dead â—o pow'r cou'd drive the fierce Disease away â—or force the plundring Conqu'rour from his prey My Wounds But oh that word has pierc'd my heart â—he very mention does renew their smart â—y Wounds gape wide as they wou'd let in Death â—nd make quick passage for my flitting breath Nor can they ev'n the lightest touch endure But dread the hand that wou'd attempt their Câ— For Lord my Wounds are from the Darts of â— That rage and torture my griev'd Soul within Here a hydropick thirst of Riches reigns And there Prides flatuous humor puffs my veins Next frantick Passion plays the Tyrants part And Loves o're-spreading Cancer gnaws my heaâ— Oft' to the learn'd I made my suff'rings known Oft' try'd their skill but found redress from none Not all the virtue of Bethesda's Pool Without thy help could ever make me whole Then to what healing Altar shou'd I fly But that whose prostrate Victims never die To Thee Health-giver to the world I kneel Who most canst pity what thy self didst feel There 's no sound part in all my tortur'd Soul But if thou wilt Lord thou canst make me whole See how by Thieves I spoil'd and wounded am Forget not then thy good Samaritan My fainting Spirits with rich Wine revive And for my Wounds some Balm of Gilead give Then take me home lest if I here remain My Foes return and make thy succour vain Aug. de Verb. Dom. Serm. 55. cap. 55 The whole World from East to West lies very sick but to cure this very sick World there descends an Omnipotent Physician who humbled himself even to the Assumption of a mortal body as if he had gone into the bed of the diseased IV. Look
life more fatal day Than that which took th' Aegyptian Males away No more be numbred in the Calender But in thy place let a large blot appear Or if thou must thy annual station keep Let each hour thunder and each minute weep Let as on Cain some mark be fix'd on Thee That giving life didst worse than murder me Now Friends I find your fatal Aug'ry true My woes each other like my hours pursue Hence the large sources of my tears arise And no dry minute wipes my flowing eyes No sooner had I left my childish plays The harmless pastimes of my happy days Now past a child yet still in Judgment so I study'd first what I was not to know And my first grief was to lament my fate And yet 't was seldom I had time for that My stubborn Soul a long resistance made Impatient thus by Nature to be sway'd Oft' strove to Heav'n to raise its lofty flight As oft' supprest by its gross body's weight But what it cou'd not reach its eyes pursue Then it cry'd Ah God! then shed a briny dew Twice more it wou'd repeat the pleasing noise But struggling sighs restrain'd th'impris'n'd voice Such sure were felt in Babels Monarch's breast When of his Throne and Nature dispossest But conquer'd patience yields at last to grief And thus I vent my wo and beg relief Blest Author of my life hear my complaint And free this captive from its loath'd restraint Speak but the word thy Servant shall be free Thou mad'st me thus o thus unbody me Or if thou wilt not this relief afford Grant some kind Poyson or some friendly Sword Dying I 'll hug the Author of my Death And beg his pardon with my-latest breath But to save man the guilt send some Disease Death in the most afrighting shape will please Were I to act Perillus scorching Scene I shou'd rejoyce to hear my self complain Oh Heav'n my patience is o'recome by grief Is there above no succour no relief The mercy Death is all I thee implore Lord grant it soon lest I blaspheme thy pow'r When for dispatch tormented wretches pray No cruelty's so barbarous as delay Why am I to this noisom carcase ty'd Whose stench is death in all its ghastly pride Then speak the word and I shall soon be free Thou form'dst me thus o thus unbody me Amb. in Psal 118. How does that Soul live that is inclosed in a covering of death I am in a straight between two having a desire to be dissolved and to be with Christ. Philip. 1. 23. IX â— am in a straight between two having a desire to be dissolved and to be with Christ Philip. 1. 23. HOw shall I do to fix my doubtful love Shall I remain below or soar above â—ere Earth detains me and retards my flight â—here Heav'n invites me to sublime delight â—â—av'n calls aloud and bids me haste away â—hile Earth allures and gently whispers stay â—ut hence thou sly Inchantress of my heart â—l break thy fetters and despise thy art â—aste haste kind Fate unlock my Prison door â—ere I releas'd how I aloft wou'd soar â—ee Lord my struggling arms tow'rds Thee are sent â—nd strive to grasp thee in their wide extent â—â— had I pow'r to mount above the Pole â—â— kiss the Centre of my longing Soul But thou above derid'st my weak designs And still opposest what thy word injoyns Vainly I beg what thou dost still deny And stretch my hands toreach what 's plac'd too high Oft' to my self false Joys of Thee I feign And think thou kindly com'st to break my Chain Now now I cry my Soul shall soar above But this alas was all dissembled love Sure this belief some pity might obtain Thou shou'dst at least for this have broke my Chain But if I 'm still confin'd my wings I 'll try And if I fail in high attempts I die But see He comes and as he glides along He beckons me and seems to say come on I 'll rise and flie into his lov'd embrace And snatch a kiss a thousand from his face Now now he 's near his sacred Robe I touch And I shall grasp him at the next approach But he alas has mock'd my vain design And fled these arms these slighted arms of mine For tho the distance ne're so little be It seems th' Extremes of the vast Globe to me Thus does my Love my longing tantalize And bids me follow while too fast he flies Thus sportive Love delights in little cheats Which oft' are punish'd with severe deceits The World has an Original in me To paint deluded Lovers misery And he who has his easie Fair betray'd Finds all his falshood with large Int'rest paid I ne're suspected thou cou'dst faithless be But sad experience has instructed me As a chain'd Mastiff begging to be loose With restless howlings fills the deafned house But if deny'd his teeth the Chain engage And vent on that their inoffensive rage So I complain petition to be freed And humbly prostrate beg the help I need But when you frown and my request deny Deaf as the Rocks to my repeated cry Then I against my hated Clog exclaim And on my Chain lay all the guilty blame Thus grief pretends by giving passion vent To ease the pain of my Imprisonment But I unjustly blame my Chain alone And spare the cruel hand that ty'd it on Well might the barb'rous load of Chains I bear Become a Renegado slave to wear But why this harsh ill usage Love to me Whose whole endeavour is to come to Thee But when my Soul attempts a lofty flight T is still supprest by a gross bodies weight So fare young Birds by Nature wing'd in vain Whom sportful Boys with scanty twines restrain When eager to retrieve their native air They rise a little height and flutter there But having to their utmost limits flown The more they strive to mount they fall the faste dowâ— Each tho it sleeps in its young Tyrants breast And is with Banquets from his lips carest Yet prizes more the freedom of the Wood Than all the Dainties of its dear-bought food Could tears dissolve my Chains O with what ease â—'d weep a Deluge for a quick release But tears are vain reach Lord thy hands to me And in return I 'll streach my Chains to thee Thou canst unty these stubborn bands alone Oh! do thou take them off because thou putst them on Chrysost hom 55. ad pop Antioch How long shall we be fastned here we stick to the Earth as if we should always live there we wallow in the mire God gave us bodies of earth that we should carry them to Heaven not that we should by them debase our Souls to the Earth Bring my Soul out of prison that I may praise thy name Psal. 142. 9. X. Bring my Soul out of prison that I may praise thy name Psal 142. 9. I Who did once thro th'airs wide Regions rove Free Denizon of the vast Realm above Now to a
deceiv'd by Acontius with an Apple I havâ— mention'd Eve's being so deluded by the Serpent Anâ— in several other places I have done the like wherâ— thâ—se fabulous stories came in my way as whoever haâ— the curiosity to enquire may find by comparing thâ— English with the Latine And in all this I think â— have rather done my Author a kindness than an injury But there is another thing for which some of the Aâ—thor's friends may perhaps call me to an account thâ— is for omitting several historical passages taken froâ— the Legend of Saints and Martyrologies And foâ— this I must return in my own behalf that it was noâ— out of any disregard to or prejudice against the Sainâ— and holy persons of whom the account is given nor thâ— I superstitiously disbelieve their stories however somâ— perhaps may with too much superstition credit them buâ— the true reasons of my leaving out the mention of them were these â—irst because I knew that great part oâ— â—e Readers would be strangers to their Histories and â—ust consequently be at a loss in understanding the Poems â—econdly because the truth of the relations is not so eviâ—ent as to render them unquestionable I thought them â—tter left out especially since they are only bare recitals â— such passages without any improvement of Fancy or â—ckiness of Thought upon them which could not injure â—e Book by being omitted whereas the inserting that â—art might prejudice some nice judgments against the â—hole And which was my third reason might be a â—inderance to the Impression But however they may censure me for this I hope â—ey will not take it ill that I have left out the Satyriâ—l part of the second Poem of the first Book wherein â—e Author reflects on the Monks and Fryars in their â—ariety of Habits and contests about them for indeed â— thought it something too uncharitable to have any room â— so Divine a Poem And now I am apologizing for â—missions let me not forget to acquaint the Reader that â— have left out some of the Author's sense particularly â— the eighth Poem of the second Book and in the second â—oem of the third Book In the first of which he recounts â—ll the several sorts of Perfumes he can think of and in â—he latter makes a long recital of the various kinds of Flowers both which rather tire than delight the Reaâ—er and he must be unkind if he does not thank me for â—mitting them But still it may be objected against me â—hat I have made bold with my Author in varying â—rom him and sometimes adding to him 'T is true I â—ave done both as in the third Poem of the first Book â—or instance where instead of mentioning Podalirius and Melampus and the other Physicians I have uâ— ten lines of my own and in the fifth Poem of the saâ— Book I have given an account of Mans Creation soâ—thing different from that in my Author both which all the other variations and additions may be known the English Reader by their being printed in the Italiâ— Character But whether I have impair'd the senâ— whether done for the better or the worse I must subâ— my self to the judgment of the Learned whose pardoâ— must beg for whatever is amiss and particularly if â— any thing I have injur'd the worthy Author to whom I aâ— willing to make all the reparation I am able And if â— have injur'd him in other additions I have done him â— kindness in that in the tenth Poem of the third Booâ— where he seems to apologize for Self-murther for whâ— I have there added takes away all possibility of mistakiâ— him who I am confident was too good a Christian â— design any thing of that kind and we find he sufficientâ— condemn'd all such attempts by this Verse O quoties quaesita fugae fuit ansa pudendae which I have render'd How oft' wou'd I attempt a shameful flight where the epithet he gives to slight proves that he haâ— no good opinion of it And this gives me the hint to sâ— something of his wishing for death in the eighth Poeâ— of the same Book which is not any way meant in favoâ— of Self-murther but a pious desire of the Soul to be freâ— from the captivity of the body that it might enjoy iâ— Saviour which is no more than what St. Paul tells â— of himself that he had a desire to be dissolved anâ— to be with Christ More might be urg'd in behalf of â— Author on this account but that he needs no apology â— shall have enough to do to excuse my self for 't is not â—mprobable I shall be accus'd of an indecorum as to Chroâ—ology in bringing in the glorious Saint Martyr King Charles I. with our late and present Monarchs for exâ—mples of the misfortune that oftentimes attends the â—reatest and best of men instead of Menelaus and Dioâ—ysius but I desire the Reader to give me leave to â—form him that I design my Translation to represent â—e Book as if but now first written and where then â—uld I produce more apt examples of the instability of â—ortune and the sufferings of good men than those â—rinces were whose Unhappiness like their Excellenâ—es had no parallel I am sure They must be more suâ—ble than Dionysius whose tyranny made him unpitied â— his misery And having told my Reader my design â— hope he will not blame me for changing the 7th of May which I suppose was my Author's Birth-day to the 7th of July which was my own and applying to my â—lf all that part of the eighth Poem in the third Book â—nd then I am confident I shall not be condemn'd on any and for that digression in the fourteenth Poem of the â—me Book wherein I conceive the joyful reception of his â—te Majesty's Soul in Heaven and the great satisfactiâ— which his present Majesty's succession to the Crown â—ought to those Coelestial Spirits who being lovers of â—ight and Equity must be exceedingly pleas'd to have â—s undoubted Title take place for that they are affectâ— with some transactions here below is evident from â—r Saviour's words that there is joy in Heaven â—ong the Angels over sinners that repent and â—hy not then over the Just that are rewarded I would not willingly tire my Reader with a long Pâ—face and therefore shall only add a word or two in behâ— both of my Author and my self 'T is true the Title-pâ— in the Latine declares him of the Society of Jesus â— his Book shews nothing either of his Order or particuâ— Opinion in Religion but that he is an excellent Christâ— in the main And indeed he seems to me to have desigâ—edly avoided all occasion of offence to his Readers of â— different judgment for tho in the fourteenth Poem of â— first Book he had a fair opportunity of mentioning Pâ—gatory he wholly declines it and takes no notice at â— of such a place And in the twelfth Poem of the thâ— Book he says nothing of
often spar'd thy conquer'd Foe Less pleas'd to Conquer than to Pardon so No tyrant Passion rages in thy Breast But the meek Dove builds there her peaceful Nest And when thou wou'dst thy height of anger shew A sudden Calm unbends thy threatning brow And thou dost kindly raise the prostrate Foe With the same hand that shou'd have struck thâ— blow Wou'dst thou permit But oh what Eloquencâ— Can with success appear in my defence Yet let me Lord plead for my self and Thee Lest ev'n thy Cause as mine may faulty be â—ord I confess I 've sinn'd but not alone Wilt thou impute a common Guilt to One Thy bare-fac'd Rebels prosper in their sin As if th' Extreme of Vice were meritting Thy brandisht Thunder thou hast oft' laid down And stretch'd a peaceful Olive in its room But ev'ry slip each inadvertency â—s magnify'd t'insuff'rable in me â— am the Mark of ev'ry wounding stroke As if I only did thy wrath provoke This I confess That most of all I do â— hear my Pray'r with my Confession too Accept the good Effects of an ill Cause And pardon sin that gains thee most applause Forgive me Conqu'ror since thou must confess Had I not err'd thy Glory had been less Greg. in 7 cap. Job lib. 8. cap. 23. â—hen God sets Man as a mark against him when Man by sinning has forsaken God But our just Creator set him as a mark against him because he thought him his enemy by his haughtiness Wherefore hidest thou thy face and holdest me for thine enimy Iob. 13. 24. VII Wherefore hidest thou thy face and holdest me for thine enemy Job 13. 24. IS' t my great Error or thy small Respect That I am treated with this cold neglect I thought thy frowns were but dissembled heat And all thy threatning looks an amorous cheat As tender Mothers draw the breast away To urge their pretty Innocents to play Or as the Nurse seems to deny a Kiss To make the fonder suppliant steal the Bliss So I believ'd thou didst avoid my sight Only to heighten my keen appetite But now alas 't is earnest all I find And not pretended Anger but design'd My kind Embrace you coyly entertain As if we never shou'd be Friends again And with such eager haste my presence shun As men from Monsters or Infection run As if my looks wou'd turn you into stone But fear not that the work 's already done So cold you are so senseless of my smart Some Magick sure has petrify'd your heart O let me know what Crime I must deplore That lets me see your dear-lov'd Face no more Why must I Love that Face no longer see That ne're till now once look'd awry on me Sure you believe there 's poyson in my breath Or that my eyes dart unavoided Death Prevent the danger with thy conqu'ring eye Unsheath its Rays and let let'Offender die Or else discharge a frown and strike me dead For more than Death I your Displeasure dread Your eyes are all I wish let them be mine The Sun unmist by me may cease to shine But if depriv'd of them not his faint light Nor all its Objects can reprize my sight Then think my Love with pity and remorse How I am tortur'd by this sad Divorce Think on the pains of unregarded Love And blame their cause if them you disapprove Amb. Apolog. pro David If any of our Servants offend us we are wont not to look upon them If this be thought a punishment among Men how much more with God for you see that God turned away his face from the Offering of Cain O that my Head were Waters and mine Eyes a fountain of Tears that I might weep day and night Ier. 9. 1. VIII O that my Head were Waters and mine Eyes a fountain of Tears that I might weep day and night Jer. 9. 1. OH that my head were one vast source of tears With bubling streams as num'rous as my hairs That grief with inexhaustible supplies Wou'd fill the Cisterns of my flowing eyes Till the fierce torrents which those springs impart Flow down my breast and stagnate round my heart Not all the tears the Royal Psalmist shed With which his Couch was wash'd himself was fed Nor those which once the weeping Mary powr'd To wash the feet of her forgiving Lord Nor those which drown'd the great Apostle's breast Whose boasted Zeal shrunk at th' affrighting Test Nor these nor more than these can e're suffice To cleanse the stains of my Impieties Give me the undiscover'd source of Nile That with sev'n Streams o'reflows th' Aegyptian So Or let Noe's wondrous Deluge be renew'd Till I am drown'd in the impetuous Flood O that these Fountains wou'd their course begin And flow as fast as I made haste to sin The weeping Limbecks never shou'd give o're Till the last drop had empty'd all their store How do I grudge the Clouds their envy'd Rain How wish the boundless Treasures of the Main Then shou'd my Tears like that just motion keep And I shou'd take a strange delight to weép Nor the swift current of my grief forbid Till in the waves this little World were hid Hid as the neighb'ring Valleys are o'respread When the warm Sun melts Pindus snowy head The blest Assyrian found in Jordans Seas A happy Med'cine for his foul Disease â—â—t what kind Torrent will my Cure begin And cleanse my filthier Leprosie of Sin See! from my Saviour's side a stream of Blood â—ll bath my self in that Redeeming Flood â—hat healing Torrent was on purpose spilt â—o wash my stains and expiate all my guilt â—hat ever-flowing Ocean will suffice â—or the defect of my exhausted Eyes Hieron in Jerem. cap. 9. If I were all dissolv'd to Tears and those not only some few drops but an Ocean or a Deluge I should never weep enough The Pains of Hell came about me the snares of Death overtook me Psal 18. 4. IX The pains of Hell came about me the snares of Death overtook me Psal 18. 4. WHile in this sad distress my self I view Methinks I make Actaeon's story true Long I the pleasures of the Wood pursu'd Till like its Beasts my self grew wild and rude I hop'd with Hunting to divert my care But ran at last into the secret Snare Yet to those Woods alas I did not go Whose inn'cent Sports give health and pleasure too I spread no Toils to take the tim'rous Deer Nor aim'd my Javlin at the rugged Bear Happy had I my time so well imploy'd Nor had I been by my own Game destroy'd I had not then mis-spent my youthful days Nor torn my flesh among sharp thorny ways But I alas still ply'd the sparkling Wine That poys'nous Juice of the pernicious Vine And this expos'd me to Loves fatal Dart The false betray'r of my unguarded heart Love not contented with his Bowe alone Has more destructive Instruments than One Nor Wine alone on its own strength depends But uses Arts t'intoxicate its Friend Thus Sampson by his
in its room â—op'd alternate courses in each day â—d that the foul to fairer wou'd give way â—d as the Sun dispels the Clouds of Night â—hen he to Heav'n restores his welcom Light â— as the Moons kind infl'ence brings again â—e refluous motion of the low-ebb'd Main â—â— with insuccesful Augury â—esag'd things so as I wou'd have them be But oh my grief exceeds in length and sum The Widows Tribute at her Husbands Tomb She when the Author of her Joy is gone Is twice-six months confin'd to mourn alone Yet the last half she does not as before Hide her smooth Fore-head in a close Bendore But all my years are in deep mourning spent There 's not a month not one short day exempt No rules give bounds or measure to my woes But their increase like the feign'd Hydra's grow My life so much in sighs and tears is spent It minds that least for which 't was chiefly meant 'T is true Storms often make the Ocean swell But the most violent are shortest still For when with eager fury they engage They lose themselves in their excess of rage And when their Winter-blasts dis-robe the Wood Their Summer-airs make all the trespass good So that while thus the inj'ry they repair The loss proves gainful to the sufferer But grief does all my hapless years imploy Nor grants me one Parenthesis of Joy My Musick is in sighs and groans exprest With my own hands extorted from my breast This sad diversion is my sole delight This my companion of the day and night How oft' have sighs while I my words confin'd Broke Prison and betray'd my troubl'd mind How oft' have I in tears consum'd the day And in complaints pass'd the long night away Oft' you my Friends condemn'd my sorrows so That oft' I labor'd to suppress them too Let loose the reins to mirth you always cry'd To lose the reins alas in vain I try'd For when with laughter I a sigh supprest â—t rais'd a fatal conflict in my breast And if I wish for sleep to close my eyes Still a fresh show'r that envy'd bliss denies Then if I stop its course impetuous grown T will force its way and bear the Sluces down Each Brook whose stream my tears have made to rise Each shady Grove fill'd with my mournful cries Each lonely Vale and ev'ry conscious Hill The kind repeaters of my sorrows still These know the troubles which I wish'd conceâ— Were by loud throbbings of my heart reveal'd Till mov'd with pity of my sad complaint The Ecchoes too grew sorrowfully quaint My secret moans they vented o're again By turns we wept and did by turns complain So mov'd by Progne's lamentable Note Sad Philomel unlocks her mournful throat As if the em'lous Rivals were at strife Whose tongue shou'd best express the height of grâ— The widow'd Turtle so bewails her Mate With grief unalterable as his Fate And so the Stars have my sad life design'd That not one minute shou'd be fair or kind And that my sorrows may not find relief By wanting new occasions for my grief 'T is their decree That as my Infant-breath Began with sighs so I shou'd sigh to death Chrysost in Psal 115. Ought we not worthily to lament who are in a strange Countrey and banish'd to a Climate remote from our Native Soil My soul breaketh out for the very fervent desire that it hath allways to thy Iudgments Psal 119. 20. DESIRES OF THE Religious Soul BOOK the Second I. My soul breaketh out for the very fervent desire that it hath always unto thy Judgments Psal 119. 20. WHile Heav'n and Earth solicite me to love My doubtful choice is puzl'd which t' approve â—eav'n cries obey while Earth proclaims be free â—eav'n urges duty Earth pleads liberty Call'd hence by Heav'n by Earth I 'm call'd agaiâ— Tost like a Vessel on the restless Main These diff'rent Wo'ers a doubtful Combat wage And thus obstruct the choice they wou'd engage Ah! t is enough let my long-harast mind In the best choice a quiet Haven find Oh! my dear God or let me never love Or let me only Thy commands approve 'T is true 't is pleasant to be free to choose And when we will accept when not refuse Freedom of choice endures restraint but ill 'T is usurpation on th' unbounded will So from his Harness loos'd the neighing Steed Hasts to the Pastures where he loves to feed So the glad Ox from the Ploughs burthen freed Runs lowing on to wanton in the Mead And when the Hinde their freedom wou'd revokâ— This scorns his Harness That defies the Yoak For freedom in our choice we count a bliss Eager to choose tho oft' we choose amiss So the young Prodigal impatient grown To manage his entire Estate alone Takes from his prudent Father's frugal care His Stock by that improv'd and thriv'n there But his own Steward made with eager haste He does the slow-gain'd Patrimony waste Till starv'd by riot and with want opprest He feeds with Swine himself the greater Beast Thus in Destruction often we rejoyce Pleas'd with our ruin since it was our choice How do we weary Heav'n with diff'rent Pray'rs The medly sure ridiculous appears One begs a Wife nor thinks a greater bliss Another's earnest to be rid of his This prays for Children That o're-stock'd repines At the too fruitful Issue of his Loins This asks his Father's days may be prolong'd That if his Father lives complains he 's wrong'd This covets to be old while That opprest With Age wou'd of his burthen be releast Scarce in Ten thousand any Two agree Nay some dislike what they just wish'd to be None knows this minute what he shou'd require Since ev'n the next begets a new desire So Women pine with various Longing-fits When Breeding has deprav'd their appetites The humorsom impertinent Disease Makes that which pleas'd them most as much diâ—pleasâ— Oh! why like them grown restless with desire Do my vain thoughts to boundless hopes aspire Be gone false hopes vain wishes anxious fears Hence you disturbers of my peaceful years Oh! my dear God or let me never love Or let me only Thy commands approve For to obey the Precepts giv'n by Thee Exceeds the Worlds pretended liberty Aug. Solil cap. 12. Allure O Lord my desires with thy sweetness which thou hast hid from them that fear thee that they may desire thee with eternal longings lest the inward relish being deceived may mistake bitter for sweet and sweet for bitter II O that my ways were made so direct that I might keep thy Statutes Psal 119. 5. II. O that my ways were made so direct that I might keep thy Statutes Psal 119. 5. IN what a maze of Error do I stray Where various paths confound my doubtful way This to the right That to the left-hand lies Here Vales descend there swelling Mountains rise This has an easie That a rugged way The treach'ry This conceals That does betray But whither these so diff'rent courses go
loath'd place conspire â—o silence me and hinder your desire â—hall I driv'n far from the Seraphick Choir â—ouch the sweet Nerves of my Caelestial Lire Ah! Fortunes wounded Captive kindly spare My voice has lost its pleasing accents here Sorrow disorders and distorts my face I cannot give my Songs their former grace Shou'd I begin to sing or play 't wou'd be Some doleful Emblem of my misery My thoughts are all on my lost srate intent And close Companions of my Banishment Then why am I desir'd to play or sing Now grief has broke my voice and slackned ev'râ— string Oh! my lov'd Countrey when I think on thee My Lute my Voice my Mind all lose their harmonâ— But if to Thee I happily return Then they shall all rejoyce as much as now thâ— moâ—â— Aug. Medit. cap. 35. â— that I could say such things as the Hymn-singing Choir of Angels How willingly would I powr forth my self in thy praises I charge you O Daughters of Ierusalem if you find my Beloved that you tell him that I am sick of Love Cant. 5. 8. EXTASIES OF THE Enamour'd Soul BOOK the Third I. I charge you O Daughters of Jerusalem if you find my Beloved that you tell him that I am sick of Love Cant. 5. 8. BLest Residents on the bright Thrones above Who are transform'd to the sublimest Love To my Belov'd my restless Passion bear And gently whisper 't in his sacred ear To him my sighs my languishments relate Tell him my flame dissolves me with its heat Tell him I pine beneath Loves torrid Zone As withering Flow'rs before the scorching Sun For scattering round his Darts among the rest He shot himself into my love-sick breast Thro all my flesh the Shaft like Lightning stole And with strange infl'ence seiz'd my melting Soâ— Now in a flame unquenchable I burn Which does my breast t'another Aetna turn If a more full account he wou'd receive For Lovers always are inquisitive Tell him how pale how languishing I look And how I fainted when I wou'd have spoke If he enquires what pace my Feaver moves Oh! tell him I no Feaver feel but Love's Or if he asks what danger 's of my death Tell him I cou'd not tell for want of breath Tell him you bring no message sent by me But a relation of my misery Yet if he questions how in death I look Say how my Beauty has my face forsook Thus then delineate me amidst my woe That he my suff'rings and their cause may know Tell him I lie seiz'd with a deadly swoon A bloodless Corps stretch'd on the naked ground Tell him my eyes swim round my dizzy head And on my breast my feeble hand is laid The Corral of my Lips grows sickly pale And on my Cheeks the withering Roses fail My Veins tho chaf'd have lost their azure hue And this decay shews Nature failing too Nor any signs express remaining life But the worst symptoms sighs that vent my grief And yet I cannot any reason feign Why tho unhurt so often I complain I know not why unless the Tyrant Love Compels me thus his mighty Pow'r to prove This this was sure my sorrows only cause I lov'd yet knew not what a Lover was This from my breast extorted frequent fighs Ad prest the tears from my o'reflowing eyes This was the cause that when I strove to frame Remote discourse it ended with his Name Oh! then Tell the lov'd Object of my thought and eye How I his Martyr and his Victim die Distill'd in Loves Alimbeck I expire Parch'd up like Roses by too warm a fire Or dry'd like Lillies which have long in vain Begg'd the refreshment of a gentle Rain Tell Him the cause of all my grief will prove Without his help my Death for oh 't is LOVâ— Rupert in Cant. Tell him That I am sick of Love thro the great desire I have of seeing his face I endure the weariness of life and I can hardly bear the delay of my present Exile Stay me with flagons comfort me with apples for I am sick of Love Cant 2. 5. II. Stay me with flagons comfort me with apples for I am sick of love Cant. 2. 5. HOw strangely Love dost thou my will controul Thou pleasing Tyrant of my captiv'd Soul Oh! wou'dst thou have thy fiery torment last Slacken its heat for I consume too fast On other hearts imply thy Arrows pow'r For mine alas has now no room for more O spare thy own Artill'ry and my breath For the next shaft comes wing'd with certain Death Oh! I am lost and from my self estrang'd To Love my voice to Love my blood is chang'd From part to part insensibly he stole Till the sly Conqu'ror had subdu'd the whole Alas will no one pity my distress Will neither Earth nor Heav'n afford redress Canst Thou the author of my miseries Canst Thou behold me with relentless eyes Oh! haste you bright Inhabitants above My fellow-patients in this charming Love Rifle the Orchards and disrobe the Fields Bring all the Treasure Natures Store-house yields Bind fragrant Rose-buds to my temples first Then with cool apples quench my fiery thirst These may allay the Feaver of my blood Oh no! there 's nothing nothing does me good Against Loves force what Salve can Roses make Since ev'n themselves may hide the pois'nous Snake And Apples sure can small assistance give In one of them th' Old Serpent did deceive O then to slacken this tormenting fire The Rose of Sharon only I desire And for an Apple to asswage my grief Give it oh give it from the Tree of Life Then strow them gently on my Virgin-bed And as the withering Rose declines its head Compos'd to Death's long sleep my rest I 'll take Dream of my Love and in his arms awake Gislen in Cant. cap. 2. â—t is certainly a good languishment when the Disease is not to Death but Life that God may be glorified by it when that Heat and Feaver does not proceed from a consuming but rather from an improving fire My Beloved is mine and I am his he feedeth among the Lillies Cant. 2. 16. III. â—y Beloved is mine and I am his he feedeth among the Lillies Cant. 2. 16. BLest souls whose hearts burn with such equal fire As never but together will expire â—o your content I wou'd not Crowns prefer â—or all Heav'ns blessings are dilated there â—nd when with equal flames two Souls engage â—hat happy minute is Love's Golden age â—uch bliss I wish'd when Love at first possest â—nd rais'd his Standard in my trembling breast â—ow oft' I pray'd Whene're in Love I burn Grant me great Pow'r to find a just return The God return'd this answer to my pray'r â—ove first that Love its breaches may repair â— it thy will Almighty Love I cry'd â—'inlist a Soldier in thy Wars untry'd 'T is true my fellow-Maids have told me long The promis'd Joys of thy adoring throng But oft' my Nurse acquainted with the cheat Told me 't was all
delight is wanting on this Coast Ha! Said I no delight was wanting here Yes you want All alas you want my Dear Farewell you Stars and you bright Forms adieu My bus'ness here was with my Love not you There 's nothing good below without my Love Nor any thing worth a faint Wish above One World subdu'd the Conqu'ror did deplore That niggard Fate had not allow'd him more My vaster thoughts a thousand Worlds despise Nor lose one wish on such a worthless prize Not all the Universe from Pole to Pole Heav'n Earth and Sea can fill my boundless Soul What neither Earths wide limits can contain Nor the large Empire of the spreading Main Nor Heav'n whose vaster Globe does both inclose â—hat's the sole Object my ambition knows â—ill now alas my Soul at shadows caught â—nd always was deceiv'd in what it sought â—hou Lord alone art Heav'n Earth Sea to me â—hou Lord art All all nothing without Thee Aug. Solil cap. 20. â—hatever is contained within the compass of Heaven is beneath the Soul of Man which was made to enjoy the chiefest Good above in whose possession alone it can be happy Wo is me that I am constrained to dwell with Mesech and to have my habitation among the tents of Kedar Psal. 120. 4. VII â—o is me that I am constrained to dwell with Mesech and to have my habitation among the tents of Kedar Psal 120. 4. Till does the Sun with usual motion steer The revolutions of the circling Year Gibeons wondrous Solstice is renew'd â—â—en at the mighty Joshua 's beck he stood â— sure his motion 's become retrograde â— â—nce he turn'd the Hebrew Dial's shade â—hy else shou'd I who now am past the age â—ow'd to tread this Worlds unhappy Stage â—y shou'd I be deny'd an Exit now â—e play'd my part and have no more to do â—here on Earth a Blessing to repair â— injurious force of my detainâ—r there â—â— wou'd I welcom any fav'ring death â—ease me of the burthen of my breath By one sure stroke kind Fate my soul reprieve For 't is continual dying here to live Here our chief bliss is an uncertain Joy Which swift vicissitudes of ill destroy Just as the Sun who rising bright and gay In Clouds and Show'rs concludes the weeping day So boisterous gusts oft' tender Flow'rs invade By tempting winds too soon abroad betray'd Here envious of each others settlement All things contend each other to supplant The second minute drives the first away And Night 's impatient to succeed the Day The eager Summer thinks the Spring too long And Autumn frets that Summer is not gone But Autumn 's self to Winter must give way Lest its cold Frosts o'retake and punish his delay Behold you Sea how smooth without a frown See while I speak how curl'd how rough 't is grown Look how serene's the sky how calm the air Now hark it thunders round the Hemisphere This great Inconstancy of human state Corrupts each minute of our happy fate But oh the worst of ills is still behind The rav'nous converse with our beastly kind â—â—re Nature first in anger did intend A plague of Monsters o're the world to send Then brought forth her most brutish Off-spring Men And turn'd each house into a savage den â—â— this rapacious species we may find All that 's destructive in the preying kind Lion Wolf Tyger Bear and Crocodile Strong to devour and cunning to beguile These Beasts are led to prey by appetite And that once pleas'd in no more blood delight But Man like Hell has an insatiate thirst And still is keenest when so full to burst This raises Fraud makes Treach'ry fine and gay While banish'd Justice flies disrob'd away This fills the world with loud allarms of War And turns the peaceful Plough-share to a hostile Spear Who wou'd be slave to such a Tyrant-life That still engages him in noise and strife Long since alas I did my years compleat And serv'd for freedom still deny'd by Fate When I compute to what a price amount My mis-spent days I 'm bankrupt in th' account Oh! what strange frenzy does those men possess Who rashly deem long life a happiness They sure are strangers to the Joys above Who more than Home a wretched Exile love But Heav'n's remote and its far-distant bliss Appears minute to our mistaken eyes Ah! why my Countrey art thou plac'd so far That I am still a tedious wanderer Happier the Exiles of old Heathen Rome Whom only Tyber did divide from home While to remoter banishment design'd A vast Abyss 'twixt Heav'n and me I find The Hebrew slaves in Harvest were set free My Harvest 's come why not my Liberty The swift fore-runner of the welcom Spring Finds after Winters cold a time to sing She who did long in dark recesses lie Now flys abroad and re-salutes the Sky But I still live excluded from above Deny'd the Object of my Bliss and Love Haste haste my God and take me up to Thee There let me live where I was made to be Aug. Serm. 43. There are two tormentors of the Soul which do not torture it together but by turns Their names are Fear and Grief When it is well with you you fear when ill you grieve O wretched man that I am who shall deliver me from the body of this death Rom. 7. 24. VIII O wretched man that I am who shall deliver me from the body of this death Rom. 7. 24. WHere are the lost delights for which I grieve But which my sorrows never shall retrieve Such vast delights but mention not the loss Whose sad remembrance is thy greatest cross And fate is kindest when it robs us so To take away our sense of suffering too On our first Parents folly we exclaim As if They only were as first to blame On Eve and Adam we discharge our rage And thus expose our naked Parentage But I alas condemn not them alone Nor while I mind their fall forget my own With Eve I was consenting to the cheat Impos'd on Adam and helpt him to eat Hence I my nakedness and shame deriv'd And skins of Beasts to cover both receiv'd And from my forfeit Eden justly driv'n The curse of Earth and the contempt of Heav'n Nor do I now the general loss bemoan My grief 's deficient to bewail my own The tragick story from my Birth I 'll take For early grief did my first silence break 'T was Julyes month the gratefull'st of the year Tho all my life December did appear The Twenty-seventh Oh! had it been my last I had not mourn'd nor that made too much haste That was the fatal day that gave me breath Which prov'd almost my teeming Parent 's death And still as then to her alas I 've been A true Benoni not a Benjamin No sooner was I for the Cradle drest But a strange horror all around possest Who with one dire prophetick voice presage Th' attending mis'ries of my growing age Why didst thou give me