No no eternall sin expects for guerdon Eternall penance or eternall pardon Lay downe thy weapons turne thy wrath away And pardon him that hath no price to pay Enlarge that soule which base presumption binds Thy justice cannot loose what mercy finds O thou that wilt not bruise the broken reed Rub not my sores nor prick the wounds that bleed Lord if the peevish Infant fights and flies With unpar'd weapons at his mothers eyes Her frownes halfe mixt with smiles may chance to shew An angry love-trick on his arme or so Where if the babe but make a lip and cry Her heart begins to melt and by and by She coakes his deawy cheekes her babe she blisses And choaks her language with a thousand kisses I am that child loe here I prostrate lie Pleading for mercy I repent and cry For gracious pardon let thy gentle eares Heare that in words what mothers judge in teares See not my frailties Lord but through my feare And looke on ev'ry trespasse through a teare Then calme thy anger and appeare more mild Remember th' art a Father I a child S. BERN. Ser. 21. in Cant. Miserable man Who shall deliver me from the reproach of this shamefull bondage I am a miserable man but a free man Free because like to God miserable because against God O keeper of mankind why hast thou set me as a marke against thee Thou hast set me because thou hast not hindred me It is just that thy enemy should be my enemy and that he who repugnes thee should repugne me I who am against thee am against my selfe EPIG 6. But form'd and fight But borne and then rebell How small a blast will make a bubble swell But dare the floore affront the hand that laid it So apt is dust to fly in 's face that made it VII Wherefore hidest thou thy face holdest mee for thine Enemy Iob â—3 24 W. S. sc VII IOB XIII XXIV Wherefore hidest thou thy face and holdest me for thine enemie WHy dost thou shade thy lovely face O why Does that ecclipsing hand so long deny The Sun-shining of thy soule-enliv'ning eye Without that Light what light remaines in me Thou art my Life my Way my Light in Thee I live I move and by thy beames I see Thou art my Life If thou but turne away My life 's a thousand deaths thou art my Way Without thee Lord I travell not but stray My Light thou art without thy glorious sight Mine eyes are darkned with perpetuall night My God thou art my Way my Life my Light Thou art my Way I wander if thou flie Thou art my Light It hid how blind am I Thou art my Life If thou withdraw I die Mine eyes are blind and darke I cannot see To whom or whether should my daâ—kenesse flee But to the Light And who 's that Light but Thee My path is lost my wandring steps do stray I cannot safely go nor safely stay Whom should I seek but Thee my Path my Way O I am dead To whom shall I poore I Repaire To whom shall my sad Ashes fly But Life And where is Life but in thine eye And yet thou turn'st away thy face and fly'st me And yet I sue for Grace and thou deny'st me Speake art thou angry Lord or onely try'st me Vnskreene those heav'nly lamps or tell me why Thou shad'st thy face Perhaps thou think'st no eye Can view those flames and not drop downe and die If that be all shine forth and draw thee nigher Let me behold and die for my desire Is Phoenix-like to perish in that Fire Death conquer'd Laz'rus was redeem'd by Thee If I am dead Lord set deaths pris'ner free Am I more spent or stink I worse than he If my pufft light be out give leave to tine My flamelesse snuffe at that bright Lamp of thine O what 's thy Light the lesse for lighting mine If I have lost my Path great Shepheard say Shall I still wander in a doubtfull way Lord shall a Lamb of Isr'els sheepfold stray Thou art the Pilgrims Path the blind mans Eye The dead mans Life on thee my hopes rely If thou remove I erre I grope I die Disclose thy Sun-beames close thy wings and stay See see how I am blind and dead and stray O thou that art my Light my Life my Way S. AUGUST Soliloq cap. 1. Why dost thou hide thy face Happily thou wilt say none can see thy face and live Ah Lord let me die that I may see thee let me see thee that I may die I would not live but die That I may see Christ I desire death that I may live with Christ I despise life ANSELM Med. cap. 5. O excellent hiding which is become my perfection My God thou hidest thy treasure to kindle my desire Thou hidest thy pearle to inflame the seeker thou delay'st to give that thou maist teach me to importune seem'st not to heare to make me persever EPIG 7. If heav'ns all-quickning Eyes vouchsafe to shine Vpon our soules we slight If not we whine Our Equinoctiall hearts can never lie Secure beneath the Tropicks of that eye VIII O that my Head were waters and mine eyes a fountaine of teares Ier 9. â— Will. Marshall sculpsit VIII IER IX.I. O that my head were waters and mine eyes a fountaine of teares that I might weepe day and night O That mine eyes were springs and could transforme Their drops to seas My sighs into a storme Of Zeale and sacred Violence wherein This lab'ring vessell laden with her sinne Might suffer sudaine shipwracke and be split Vpon that Rock where my drench'd soule may sit Orewhelm'd with plenteous passion O and there Drop drop into an everlasting teare Ah me that ev'ry sliding veine that wanders Through this vast Isle did worke her wild Meanders In brackish teares in stead of blood and swell This flesh with holy Dropsies from whose Well Made warme with sighs may fume my wasting breath Whilst I dissolve in streames and reeke to death These narrow sluces of my dribling eyes Are much too streight for those quick springs that rise And hourely fill my Temples to the top I cannot shed for ev'ry sin a drop Great builder of mankind why hast thou sent Such swelling floods anâ—â—ade so small a vent O that this flesh had beene compos'd of snow Instead of earth and bones of Ice that so Feeling the Fervor of my sin and loathing The fire I feele I might be thaw'd to nothing O thou that didst with hopefull joy entombe Me thrice three Moones in thy laborious wombe And then with joyfull paine broughtst forth a Son What worth thy labour has thy labour done What was there Ah! what was there in my birth That could deserve the easiest smile of mirth A man was borne Alas and what 's a man A scuttle full of dust a measur'd span Of flitting Time a furnish'd Pack whose wares Are sullen Griefs and soule-tormenting Cares A vale of teares a vessell tunn'd with breath By
tryall Of some new Trade Shall mortall hearts grow old In sorrow Shall my weary Armes infold And underprop my panting sides for ever Is there no charitable hand will sever My well-spun Thred that my imprison'd soule May be deliver'd from this dull darke hole Of dungeon flesh O shall I shall I never Be ransom'd but remaine a slave for ever It is the Lot of man but once to dye But ere that death how many deaths have I What humane madnesse makes the world affraid To entertaine heav'ns joy because conveig'd By th' hand of death Will nakednesse refuse Rich change of robes because the man 's not spruse That brought them Or will Poverty send back Full bags of gold because the bringer's black Life is a Bubble blowne with whining breaths Fil'd with the torments of a thousand deaths Which being prickt by death while death deprives One life presents the soule a thousand lives Of frantick mortall how has earth bewich'd Thy Beldam soule which has so fondly pitch'd Vpon her false delights Delights that cease Before enjoyment finds a time to please Her fickle joyes breed doubtfull feares her feares Bring hopfull Grifes her griefes weep fearefull teares Teares coyne deceitfull hopes hopes carefull doubt And surly passion justles passion out To day wee pamper with a full repast Of lavish mirth at night we weepe as fast To night we swim in wealth and lend To morrow We sink in want and find no friend to borrow In what a Climat does my soule reside Where pale-fac'd murther the first borne of pride Sets up her kingdome in the very smiles And plighted faiths of men-like Crocadiles A land where each embroydred Sattin word Is lin'd with Fraud where Mars his lawlesse sword Exiles Astraeas Balance where that hand Now flayes his brother that new-sow'd his land O that my dayes of bondage would expire In this lewd Soyle Lord how my Soule 's on fire To be dissolved that I might once obtaine These long'd for joyes long'd for so oft in vaine If Moses-like I may not live possest Of this faire Land Lord let me see 't at least S. AUGUST Soliloq Cap. 2. My life is a fraile life a corruptible life A life which the more increases the more decreases The farther it goes the nearer it comes to death A deceitfull life and like a shadow full of the snares of death Now I rejoyce now I languish now I flourish now infirme now I live and straight I dye now I seeme happy alwayes miserable now I laugh now I weepe Thus all things are subject to mutability that nothing continues an houre in one state O Ioy above Ioy exceeding all Ioy without which there is no Ioy when shall I enter into thee that I may see my God that dwels in thee EPIG 7. Art thou so weake O canst thou not digest An houre of travell for a night of Rest Cheare up my soule call home thy spir'ts and beare One bad Good-Friday Full-mouth'd Easter's neare VIII O wretched Man that I am who shall deliver me from the body of this Death Rom 7.24 Will simpson sculp VIII ROM VII XXIV O wretched man that I am who shall deliver me from this body of death BEhold thy darling which thy lustfull care Pampers for which thy restlesse thoughts prepare Such early Cates For whom thy bubbling brow So often sweats and bankrupt eyes doe owe Such midnight scores to Nature for whose sake Base earth is Sainted the Infernall Lake Vnfeard the Crowne of glory poorely rated Thy GOD neglected and thy brother hated Behold thy darling whom thy soule affects So dearely whom thy fond Indulgence decks And puppets up in soft in silken weeds With farre-fetch'd delicates the deare-bought gainer Of ill-spent Time the price of halfe thy paines Behold thy darling who when clad by Thee Derides thy nakednesse and when most free Proclaimes her lover slave and being fed Most full then strikes th'indulgent Feeder dead What meanst thou thus my poore deluded soule To love so fondly Can the burning Cole Of thy Affection last without the fuell Of counter-love Is my Compere so cruell And thou so kind to love unlov'd againe Canst thou sow favours and thus reape disdaine Remember O remember thou art borne Of royall Blood remember thou art sworne A Maid of Honour in the Court of Heav'n Remember what a costly price was giv'n To ransome thee from slav'ry thou wert in And wilt thou now my soule turne slave agin The Son and Heire to Heav'ns Triune JEHOVA Would faine become a Suitor for thy Love And offers for thy dow'r his Fathers Throne To sit for Seraphims to gaze upon Hee 'l give thee Honour Pleasure Wealth and Things Transcending farre the Majesty of Kings And wilt thou prostrate to the odious charmes Of this base Scullion Shall his hollow Armes Hugg thy soft sides Shall these course hands untie The sacred Zone of thy Virginity For shame degen'rous soule let thy desire Be quickned up with more heroick fire Be wisely proud let thy ambitious eye Read nobler objects let thy thoughts defie Such am'rous basenesse Let thy soule disdaine Th' ignoble profers of so base a Swaine Or if thy vowes be past and Himens bands Have ceremonyed your unequall hands Annull at least avoid thy lawlesse Act With insufficience or a Prae contract Or if the Act be good yet maist thou plead A second Freedome for the flesh is dead NAZIANZ Orat. 16. How I am joyned to this body I know not which when it is healthfull provokes me to warre and being damaged by warre affects me with griefe which I both love as a fellow servant and hate as an utter enemy It is a pleasant Foe and a perfidious friend O strange conjunction and Alienation What I feare I embrace and what I love I am affraid of Before I make warre I am reconcil'd Before I enjoy peace I am at variance EPIG 8. What need that House be daub'd with flesh and blood Hang'd round with silks and gold repair'd with food Cost idly spent That cost does but prolong Thy thraldome Foole thou mak'st thy I ayle too strong IX I am in a streight betwixt two haueing a Desire to Depart to be w th Christ Phil 5.23 Will Simpson Sculpsit IX PHIL. I. XXIII I am in a streight betweene two having a desire to be dissolved and to be with Christ 1 WHat meant our carefull parents so to weare And lavish out their ill expended houres To purchase for us large possessions here Which though unpurchas'd are too truly ours What meant they ah what meant they to indure Such loads of needlesse labour to procure And make that thing our own which was our own too sure 2 What meane these liv'ries and possessive kayes What meane these bargaines and these needlesse sales What need these jealous these suspitious wayes Of law-divis'd and law-dissolv'd entailes No need to sweat for gold wherewith to buy Estates of high-priz'd land no need to tie Earth to their heires were
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 Patent will Wouldst thou live long Keepe Time in
mercy by the charmes of sweat and blood Canst thou forget that drowsie Mount wherein Thy dull Disciples slept Was not my sinne There punish'd in thy soule Did not this brow Then sweat in thine Were not those drops enow Remember Golgotha where that spring-tide Or'e flow'd thy sov'raigne Sacramentall side There was no sinne there was no guilt in Thee That caus'd those paines Thou sweatst thou bledst for me Was there not blood enough when one small drop Had pow'r to ransome thousands worlds and stop The mâ—uth of Iustice Lord I bled before In thy deep wounds Can Iustice challenge more O doe thou vainly labour to hedge in Thy losses from my sides My blood is thin And thy free bounty scornes such easie thrift No no thy blood came not as lone but gift But must I ever grinde And must I earne Nothing buâ— stripes O wi t thou disalterne The rest thou gav'st Hast thou perus'd the curse Thou laydst on Adams fall and made it worse Canst thou repent of mercy Heav'n thought good Lost man should feed in sweat not work in blood Why dost thou wound th'already wounded brest Ah me my life is but a paine at best I am but dying dust my dayes a span What pleasure tak'st thou in the blood of man Spare spare thy scourge and be not so austere Send fewer stroaks or lend more strength to beare S. BERN. Hom. 81. in Cant. Miserable man Who shall deliver me from the reproach of this shamefull bondage I am a miserable man but a free man free because a man Miserable because a servant In regard of my bondage miserable In regard of my will inexcusable For my will that was free be slaved it selfe to sinne by assenting to sinne for he that commits sin is the servant to sinne EPIG 4. Taxe not thy God Thine owne defaults did urge This twofold punishment the Mill the Scourge Thy sin 's the Author of thy selfe tormenting Thou grind'st for sinning scourg'd for not repenting V. Remember I beseech thee that thou hast made me as the clay wilt thou briâ—â— me into dust againe Iob. 〈…〉 will sâ—â—pâ— V. IOB X.IX. Remember I beseech thee that thou hast made me as the clay and wilt thou bring me to dust againe THus from the bosome of the new-made earth Poore man was delv'd and had his unborne birth The same the stuffe the selfe-same hand does trim The Plant that fades the Beast that dies and Him One was their Syre one was their common mother Plants are his sisters and the Beast his brother The elder too Beasts draw the selfe-same breath Waxe old alike and die the selfe-same death Plants grow as he with fairer robes arraid Alike they flourish and alike they fade The beast in sense exceeds him and in growth The three-ag'd Oake doth thrice exceed them both Why look'st thou then so big thou little span Of earth What art thou more in being man I but my great Creator did inspire My chosen earth with that diviner fire Of Reason gave me Iudgement and a Will That to know good this to chuse good from ill He put the raines of pow'r in my free hand And jurisdiction oversea and land He gave me art to lengthen out my span Of life and made me all in being man I but thy Passion has committed treason Against the sacred person of thy Reason Thy Iudgement is corrupt perverse thy Will That knowes no good and this makes choice of ill The greater height sends downe the deeper fall And good declin'd turnes bad turnes worst of all Say then proud inch of living earth what can Thy greatnesse claime the more in being man O but my soule transcends the pitch of nature Borne up by th' Image of her high Creator Out-braves the life of reason and beats downe Her waxen wings kicks off her brazen Crowne My earth 's a living Temple t' entertaine The King of Glory and his glorious traine How can I mend my Title then where can Ambition find a higher stile than man Ah but that Image is defac'd and soil'd Her Temple 's raz'd her altars all defil'd Her vessels are polluted and distain'd With loathed lust her ornaments prophan'd Her oyle forsaken lamps and hallow'd Tapoure Put out her incense breaths unsav'ry vapours Why swel'st thou then so big thou little span Of earth What art thou more in being man Eternall Porter whose blest hands did lay My course foundation from a sod of clay Thou know'st my slender vessell's apt to leake Thou know'st my brittle Temper 's prone to breake Are my Bones Brazzill or my Flesh of Oake O mend what thou hast made what I have broke Looke looke with gentle eyes and in thy day Of vengeance Lord remember I am clay S. AUGUST Soliloq 32. Shall I ask who made me It was thou that madest me without whom nothing was made Thou art my maker and I thy worke I thanke thee my Lord God by whom I live and by whom all things subsist because thou madest me I thanke thee O my Potter because thy hands have made me because thy hands have formed me EPIG 5. Why swell'st thou Man puft up with Fame and Purse Th' art better earth but borne to dig the worse Thou cam'st from earth to earth thou must returne And art but earth cast from the wombe to th'â—ne VI. What shall I do vnto thee O thow â— preserver of men why hast thou set mee as a marke against thee Iob. 7.2 VI. IOB VII XX I have sinned What shall I doe unto thee O thou preserver of men why hast thou set me as a marke against thee LOrd I have done and Lord I have misdone 'T is folly to contest to strive with one That is too strong 't is folly to assaile Or prove an Arme that will that must prevaile Iv'e done I 've done these trembling hands have throwne Their daring weapons downe The day 's thine owne Forbeare to strike where thou hast won the field The palme the palme is thine I yeeld I yeeld These treach'rous hands that were so vainly bold To try a thrivelesse combat and to hold Selfe-wounding weapons up are now extended For mercy from thy hand that knee that bended Vpon her guardlesse guard does now repent Vpon this naked floore See both are bent And sue for pitie O my ragged wound Is deep and desp'rate it is drench'd and drown'd In blood and briny teares It does begin To stinke without and putrifie within Let that victorious hand that now appeares Iust in my blood prove gracious to my teares Thou great Preserver of presumptuous man What shall I do What satisfaction can Poore dust and ashes make O if that blood That yet remaines unshed were halfe as good As blood of Oxen if my death might be An offring to attone my God and me I would disdaine injurious life and stand A suiter to be wounded from thy hand But may thy wrongs be measur'd by the span Of life or balanc'd with the blood of man
judgement and eternall punishment EPIG 14. What soule no farther yet what nev'r commence Master in Faith Still Bachelour of Sense Is' t insufficiency Or what has made thee Ore slip thy lost degree Thy lusts have staid thee XV. My life is spent with grief my yeeres with Sighing Ps 30 10. W M. sculp XV. PSAL. XXX.X. My life is spent with griefe and my yeares with sighing WHat sullen Starre rul'd my untimely birth That would not lend my dayes one houre of mirth How oft have these bare knees been bent to gaine The slender Almes of one poore smile in vaine How often tir'd with the fastidious light Have my faint lips implor'd the shades of night How often have my nightly Torments praid For lingring twilight glutted with the shade Day worse than night night worse than day appeares In feares I spend my nights my dayes in teares I moane unpitti'd groane without reliefe There is nor end nor measure of my griefe The smiling flow'r salutes the day it growes Vntouch'd with care It neither spins nor sowes O that my tedious life were like this flow'r Or freed from griefe or furlish'd with an houre Why was I borne Why was I borne a man And why proportion'd by so large a Span Or why suspended from the common lot And being borne to die why die I not Ah me why is my sorrow-wasted breath Deny'd the easie priviledge of death The branded Slave that tugs the weary Oare Obtaines the Sabbath of a welcome Shore His ransom'd stripes are heal'd His native soyle â—weetens the mem'ry of his forreigne toyle But ah my sorrowes are not halfe so blest My labour finds no point my paines no rest I barter sighs for teares and teares for Groanes Still vainely rolling Sysiphaean stones Thou just Observer of our flying houres That with thy Adarmantine fangs devours The brazen Monuments of renowned Kings Does thy glasse stand Or be thy moulting wings Vnapt to flie If not why dost thou spare A willing brest a brest that stands so faire A dying brest that has but onely breath To beg a wound and strength to crave a death O that the pleased Heav'ns would once dissolve These fleshly fetters that so fast involve My hampred soule then should my soule be blest From all these ills and wrapher thoughts in rest Till then my dayes are moneths my moneths are yeares My yeares are ages to be spent in teares My Grief 's entayl'd upon my wastfull breath Which no Recov'ry can cut off but death Breath drawne in Cottages pufft out in Thrones Begins continues and concludes in Grones INNOCENT de vilitate condit humanae O who will give mine eyes a fountaine of teares that I may bewaile the miserable ingresse of mans condition the sinfull progresse of mans conversation the damnable egresse in mans dissolution I will consider with teares whereof man was made what man does and what man is to doe Alas he is formed of earth conceived in sinne borne to punishment Hee does evill things which are not lawfull He does filthy things which are not decent He does vaine things which are not expedient EPIG 15. My heart Thy life 's a debt by Bond which beares A secret date The use is Grones and Teares Plead not Vsurious Nature will have all As well the Int'rest as the Princâ—pall THE FOVRTH BOOKE I. My soule hath Coueted to desire thy iudgement psal 119 Will simpson I. ROM VII XXIII I see another Law in my members warring against the Law of my mind bringing me into captivitie to the Law of sin 1 O How my will is hurried to and fro And how my unresolv'd resolves do varie I know not where to fix sometimes I goe This way then that and then the quite contrary I like dislike I lament for what I could not I doe undoe yet still doe what I should not And at the selfe same instant will the Thing I would not 2 Thus are my weather-beaten thoughts opprest With th'earth-bred winds of my prodigious will Thus am I hourely tost from East to West Vpon the rouling streames of Good and Ill Thus am I driv'n upon these slippry Sudds From reall Ills to false apparent Goods My life 's a troubled sea compos'd of Ebbs and Floods 3 The curious Penman having trim'd his Page With the dead language of his dabled Quill Le ts fall a heedlesse drop then in a Rage Cashieres the fruit of his unlucky skill Ev'n so my pregnant soule in th'infant bud Of her best thoughts showres down a Cole-black flood Of unadvised Ills and cancels all her Good 4 Sometimes a sudden flash of sacred heat Warmes my chill soule and sets my thoughts in frame But soone that fire is shouldred from her seat By lustfull Cupids much inferiour flame I feele two flames and yet no flame entire Thus are the Mungrill thoughts of mixt desire Consum'd betweene that heav'nly and this earthly fire 5 Sometimes my trash-disdaining thoughts out-passe The common Period of terrene conceit O then me thinkes I scorne the Thing I was Whilst I stand ravisht at my new Estate But when th'Icarian Wings of my desire Feele but the warmth of their own native fire O then they melt and plunge within their wonted mire 6 I know the nature of my wav'ring mind I know the frailty of my fleshly will My Passion 's Eagle-ey'd my Iudgment blind I know what 's good but yet make choice of ill When th' Ostrich wings of my desires shall be So dull they cannot mount the least degree Yet grant my soule desire but of desiring Thee S. BERN. Med. 9. My heart is a vaine heart a vagabond and instable heart while it is led by its owne judgement and wanting divine counsell cannot subsist in it selfe and whilst it divers wayes seekes rest finds none but remaines miserable through labour and void of peace It agrees not with it selfe it dissents from it selfe it alters resolutions changes the judgement frames new thoughts puls downe the old and builds them up againe It wils and wils not and never remaines in the same state EPIG 1. My soule how are thy thoughts disturb'd confin'd Enlarg'd betwixt thy Members and thy Mind Fix here or there Thy doubt-depending cause Can nev'r expect one verdict twixt two Lawes II. Oh that my wayes were Directed to keepe thy Statutes Ps. 119.5 W. Simpson Sculy II. PSAL. CXIX V O that my wayes were directed to keepe thy statutes 1 THus I the object of the worlds disdaine With Pilgrim-pace surround the weary earth I onely relish what the world counts vaine Her mirth 's my griefe her sullen Griefe my mirth Her light my darknesse and her Truth my Error Her freedome is my Iayle and her delight my Terror 2 Fond earth Proportion not my seeming love To my long stay let not thy thoughts deceive thee Thou art my Prison and my Home's above My life 's a Preparation but to leave thee Like one that seekes a doore I walke about thee With thee I cannot live
obey thy Spirit Then let thy Spirit obey God Thou must be govern'd that thou mayst governe EPIG 6. Of Merc ' and Iustice is thy Kingdome built This plagues my Sin and that removes my guilt When ere I sue Assuerus like decline Thy Scepter Lord say Halfe my kingdome 's thine VII Come my beloved let vs goe forth into the fields let vs remaine in the Villages Cant 7. ij W. Simpson sculp VII CANT VII XI Come my beloved let us goe forth into the fields and let us remaine in the villages 1 Christ Soule Chr. COme come my deare and let us both retire And whiffe the dainties of the fragrant fields Where warbling Phil'mel and the shrill-mouth'd Quire Chaunt forth their raptures where the Turtle builds Her lovely nest and where the new-borne Bryer Breaths forth the sweetnesse that her Aprill yeelds Come come my lovely faire and let us try These rurall delicates where thou and I May melt in private flames and feare no stander by 2 Soul My hearts eternall Ioy in lieu of whom The earth 's a blast and all the world a Buble Our Citie-mansion is the fairer Home But Country-sweets are tang'd with lesser Trouble Let 's try them both and choose the better Come A change in pleasure makes the pleasure double On thy Commands depends my Goe or Tarieâ— I le stirre with Martha or I le stay with Marie Our hearts are firmly fixt although our pleasures varie 3 Chr. Our Country-Mansion situate on high With various Objects still renewes delight Her arched Roofe 's of unstain'd Ivory Her wals of fiery sparkling Chrysolite Her pavement is of hardest Porphery Her spacious windowes are all glaz'd with bright And flaming Carbuncles no need require Titans faint rayes or Vulcans feebler fire And ev'ry Gate 's a Pearle and ev'ry Pearle entire 4 Soul Foole that I was how were my thoughts deceiv'd How falsly was my fond conceit possest I tooke it for an Hermitage but pav'd And daub'd with neighbring dirt thatch'd at best Alas I nev'r expected more nor crav'd A Turtle hop'd but for a Turtles nest Come come my deare and let no idle stay Neglect th' advantage of the head-strong day How pleasure grates that feeles the curb of dull delay 5 Chr. Come then my Ioy let our divided paces Conduct us to our fairest Territory O there wee 'l twine our soules in sweet embraces Sou. And in thine Armes I le tell my passion story Chr. O there I le crowne thy head with all my Graces Sou. And all those Graces shall reflect thy Glory Chr. O there I le feed thee with celestiall Manna I le be thy Elkanah Soul And I thy Hanna Chr. I le sound my Trump of Ioy. So. And I le resound Hosanna S. BERN. O blessed Contemplation The death of vices and the life of virtues Thee the Law and Prophets admire Who ever attain'd perfection if not by thee O blessed Solitude the Magazen of celestiall Treasure by thee things earthly and transitory are chang'd into heavenly and eternall S. BERN. in Ep. Happy is that house and blessed is that Congregation where Martha still complaines of Mary EPIG 7. Mechanick soule thou must not onely doe With Martha but with Mary ponder too Happy 's that house where these faire sisters vary But most when Martha's reconcil'd to Mary VIII Draw me we will run after thee because of the sauour of thy good oyntments Cant â—4 Will simpson sculp VIII CANT I.III. Draw me we will follow after thee by the savour of thy Oyntments THus like a lump of the corrupted Masse I lie secure long lost before I was And like a Block beneath whose burthen lies That undiscover'd Worme that never dies I have no will to rouze I have no pow'r to rise Can stinking Lazarus compound or strive With deaths entangling Fetters and revive Or can the water-buried Axe implore A hand to raise it or it selfe restore And from her sandy deepes approach the dry-foot shore So hard 's the task for sinfull flesh and Blood To lend the smallest step to what is Good My God I cannot move the least degree Ah! If but onely those that active be None should thy glory see none should thy Glory see But if the Potter please t' informe the Clay Or some strong hand remove the Block away Their lowly fortunes soone are mounted higher That proves a vessell which before was myre And this being hewne may serve for better use than fire And if that life-restoring voice command Dead Laz'rus forth or that great Prophets hand Should charme the sullen waters and begin To beckon or to dart a Stick but in Dead Laz'rus must revive and th' Axe must float againe Lord as I am I have no powe'r at all To heare thy voice to Eccho to thy call The gloomy Clouds of mine owne Guilt be night me Thy glorious beames or dainty sweets invite me They neither can direct nor these at all delight me See how my Sin-bemangled body lies Nor having pow'r to will nor will to rise Shine home upon thy Creature and inspire My livelesse will with thy regen'rate fire The first degree to do is onely to desire Give me the pow'r to will the will to doe O raise me up and I will strive to go Draw me O draw me with thy treble twist That have no pow'r but meerely to resist O lend me strength to do and then command thy List My Soule 's a Clock whose wheels for want of use And winding up being subject to th' abuse Of eating Rust wants vigour to fulfill Her twelve hours taske and show her makers skill But idly sleepes unmoov'd and standeth vainly still Great God it is thy work and therefore Good If thou be pleas'd to cleanse it with thy Blood And winde it up with thy soule-moving kayes Her busie wheeles shall serve thee all her dayes Her hand shall point thy pow'r her Hammer strike thy praise S. BERN. Serm. 21. in Cant. Let us run let us run but in the savour of thy Oyntments not in the confidence of our merits nor in the greatnesse of our strength we trust to run but in the multitude of thy mercies for though we run are willing it is not in him that wills nor in him that runs but in God that sheweth mercy O let thy mercy returne and we will run Thou like a Gyant run'st by thy owne power We unlesse thy oyntment breath upon us cannot run EPIG 8. Looke not my Watch being once repair'd to stand Expecting motion from thy makers hand H 'as wound thee up and cleans'd thy Coggs with blood If now thy wheeles stand still thou art not good IX O that thow wert as my Brother that Sucked the Brests of my Mother Cant â— W. marshall sc IX CANT VIII I O that thou wert as my brother that sucked the brests of thy mother I would find thee without and I will kisse thee 1 COme come my blessed Infant and immure thee Within the Temple of my
If thou becloud the Sun-shine of thine eye I freeze to death and if it shine I frie Which like a Fever that my soule has got Makes me to burne too cold or freeze too hot Alas I cannot beare so sweet a smart Nor canst thou be lesse glorious than thou art Hast then and let thy winged steps out-goe The frighted Roe-buck and his flying Roe But goe not farre beyond the reach of breath Too large a distance makes another death My youth is in her Sping Autumnall vowes Will make me riper for so sweet a Spouse When after-times have burnish'd my desire I 'le shoot thee flames for flames and fire for fire O leave me not nor turne thy beauty from me Looke looke upon me though thy flames ov'rcome me Author sealae Paradisi Tom. 9. Aug Cap 8. Feare not O Bride nor despaire Thinke not thy selfe contemn'd if thy Bridegroome withdraw his face a while All things co-operate for the best Both from his absence and his presence thou gainest light He comes to thee and he goes from thee He comes to make thee consolate He goes to make thee cautious lest thy abundant consolation puffe thee up He comes that thy languishing soule may be comforted He goes left his familiarity should be contemned and being absent to be more desired and being desired to be more earnestly sought and being long sought to be more acceptably found EPIG 15. My soule sinnes monster whom with greater ease Ten thousand fold thy GOD could make than pleases What wouldst thou have Nor pleas'd with Sun nor shade Heav'n knowes not what to make of what He made â—â— Fidesque Coronat aâ— araâ— Will marshall-sculp THE FAREWELL REVEL II.X. Be thou faithfull unto death and I will give thee the crowne of life 1 BE faithfull LORD what 's that Believe 'T is easie to Believe But what That He whom thy hard heart has wounded And whom thy scorne has spit upon Has paid thy Fine and has compounded For those soule deeds thy hands have done Believe that He whose gentle palmes Thy needle-pointed Sinnes have nail'd Hath borne thy slavish load of Almes And made supply where thou hast fail'd Did ever mis'ry find so strange Reliefe It is a Love too strong for mans Beliefe 2 Believe that He whose side Thy crimes have pierc'd with their rebellions di'd To save thy guilty soule from dying Ten thousand horrid deaths from whence There was no scape there was no flying But through his dearest bloods expence Believe this dying Friend requires No other thanks for all his paine But ev'n the truth of weake desires And for his love but love againe Did ever mis'ry find so true a Friend It is a love too vast to comprehend 3 With Floods of teares baptize And drench these dry these unregen'rate eyes LORD whet my dull my blunt beliefe And break this fleshly rock in sunder That from this heart this hell of griefe May spring a Heav'n of love and wonder O if thy mercies will remove And melt this lead from my beliefe My griefe will then refine my love My love will then refresh my griefe Then weepe mine eyes as He has bled vouchsafe To drop for ev'ry drop an Epitaph 4 But is the Crowde of Glory The wages of a lamentable Story Or can so great a purchase rise From a salt Humour Can mine eye Run fast enough t' obtaine this Prize If so LORD who 's so mad to die Thy Teares are Trifles Thou must doe Alas I cannot Then endeavour I will But will a tugg or two Suffice the turne Thou must persever I le strive till death And shall my feeble strife Be crown'd I le crowne it with a Crowne of life 5 But is there such a dearth That thou must buy what is thy due by birth He whom Thy hands did forme of dust And gave him breath upon Condition To love his great Creator must He now be thine by Composition Art thou a gracious GOD and mild Or head-strong man rebellious rather O man 's a base rebellious Child And thou a very gracious Father The Gift is Thine we strive thou crown'st our strife Thou giv'st us Faith and Faith a Crowne of Life THE END The minde of the Frontispeece This Bubble's Man Hope Feare False Ioy and Trouble Are those Foure Winds which daily tosse this Bubble Hieroglyphica haec de vitâ hominis perlegi digna censeo quae typis mandentur Ian. 9. 1637. Tho Wykes R. P. Episc Lond. Capell domest Hieroglyphikes of the life of Man Fra. Quarles LONDON Printed by Iohn Dawson for Francis Eglessield and are to be sold by him at the signe of the Marigold in Pauls Church-yard 1639. TO THE RIGHT HONORABLE both in Blood and Virtue and most accomplisht LADIE MARY COVNTESS OF DORSET LADY GOVERNESS to the most Illustrious CHARLES Prince of great BRITAIN and IAMES Duke of YORKE Excellent Lady I Present these Tapours to burne under the safe Protection of your honorable Name where I presume they stand secure from the Damps of Ignorance and blasts of Censure It is a small part of that abundant service which my thankefull heart owes your incomparable Goodness Be pleased to honour it with your noble Acceptance which shall bee nothing but what your own esteem shall make it Madam Your La pps most humble servant FRA QVARLES To The Reader IF you are satisfied with my Emblems I here set before you a second service It is an Aegyptian dish drest on the English fashion They at their Feasts used to present a Deaths-head at their second course This will serve for both You need not feare a surfet Here is but little And that light of digestion If it but please your Palate I question not your stomack Fall too and much good may 't doe you Covivio addit Minerval E. B. Rem Regem Regimen Regionem Relligionem Exornat celebrat laudat honorat amat BENEVOLUS Sine Lumine inane Behold I was shapen in Iniquity and in sinne did my mother conceive me PSAL. 51.5 MAn is mans ABC There is none that can Reade God aright unlesse he first spell Man Man is the Stayres whereby his knowledge climes To his Creator though it oftentimes Stumbles for want of light and sometimes trippes For want of carefull heed and sometimes slips Through unadvised hast and when at length His weary steps have reach'd the top his strength Oft fayles to stand his giddy braines turne round And Phaeton-like falls headlong to the ground These stayres are often darke and full of danger To him whom want of practice makes a stranger To this blind way The Lamp of nature lends But a false Light and lights to her owne ends These be the wayes to Heav'n These paths require A Light that springs from that diviner fire Whose humane soule-enlightning sunbeames dart Through the bright Crannies of th' immortall part And here thou great Originall of Light Whose error-chaceing Beames do unbenight The very soule of Darknesse and untwist The Clouds of