shafts already made And seeking Hone to set up thy Trade True Embleme of hy sweets Thy Bees do bring Hony in their moutâ—es but in their tailes a sting IV. Quis leuior cui phis ponderis adds amor Will Marshall sculpsit IV. PSAL. LXII IX To be laid in the ballance it is altogether lighter than vanitie 1 PUt in another weight 'T is yet too light And yet Fond Cupid put another in And yet another Still there 's under weight Put in another Hundred Put agin Add world to world then heape a thousand more To that then to renew thy wasted store Take up more worlds on trust to draw thy Balance lower 2 Put in the flesh with all her loades of pleasure Put in great Mammons endlesse Inventory Put in the pondrous Acts of mighty Caesar Put in the greater weight of Swedens Glory Add Scipio's gauntlet put in Plato's Gowne Put Circes Charmes put in the Triple Crowne Thy Balance will not draw thy Balance will not downe 3 LORD what a world is this which day and night Men seek with so much toyle with so much trouble Which weigh'd in equall Scales is found so light So poorely over-balanc'd with a Bubble Good GOD that frantick mortals should destroy Their higher Hopes and place their idle Ioy Vpon such ayry Trash upon so light a Toy 4 Thou bold Imposture how hast thou befool'd The Tribe of Man with counterfeit desire How has the breath of thy false bellowes cool'd He wâ—ns free-borne flames and kindled bastard fire How hast thou vented Drosse instead of treasure And cheated man with thy false weights and measure Proclaiming Bad for good and gilding death with pleasure 5 The woâ—ld's a crafty Strumpet most affecting And closely following those that most reject her But seeming carelesse nicely disrespecting And coyly flying those that most affect her If thou be free shee 's strange if strange shee 's free Fled and she followes Follow and shee 'l flee Than she there 's none more coy ther 's none more fond than she 6 O what a Crocodilian world is this Compos'd of trech'ries and ensnaring wiles She cloathes destruction in a form all kisse And lodges death in her deceitfull smiles She huggs the soule she hates and there does prove The veryest Tyrant where she vowes to love And is a Serpent most when most she seemes a Dove 7 Thrice happy he whose nobler thoughts despise To make an Object of so easie Gaines Thrice happy he who scornes so poore a Prize Should be the C own of his heroick paines Thrice happy he that nev'r was borne to trie Her frownes or smiles or being borne did lie In his sad Nurses Armes an houre or two and die S. AUGUST lib. Confess O you that dote upon this world for what victory do you fight Your hopes can be crown'd with no greater reward than the world can give and what is the world but a brittle thing ful of dangers wherein we travell from lesser to greater periis O let all her vaine light and momentary glory perish with her self and let us be conversant with more eternall things Alas this world is miserable life is short and death is sure EPIG 4. My soule What 's lighter than a feather Wind Than wind The fire And what then fire The mind What 's lighter than the mind A thought Than Thought This bubble-world What than this Bubble Nought V. His veâ—titue orbis Will. Marshall sculpfit V. I COR. VII XXXI The fashion of this world passeth away 1 GOne are those golden dayes wherein Pale conscience started not at ugly sin When good old Saturnes peacefull Throne Was usurped by his beardlesse Sonne When jealous Ops nev'r fear'd th' abuse Of her chast bed or breach oâ— nuptiall Truce When just Astraea poys'd her Scales In mortall hearts whose absence earth bewailes When froth-borne Venus and her brat With all that spurious brood young Iove begat In horrid shapes were yet unknowne Those Halcyon dayes that golden age is gone There was no Clyent then to wait The leisure of his long tayl'd Advocate The Talion Law was in request And Chaunc'ry courts were kept in ev'ry brest Abused Statutes had no Tenters And men could deale secure without indentures There was no pâ—eping hole to cleare The Wittols eye from his incarnate feare There were no lustfull Cinders then To broyle the Carbonado'd hearts of men The rosie Cheeke did then proclaime A shame of Guilt but not a guilt of shame There was no whining soule to start At Cupids twang or curse his flaming dart The Boy had then but callow wings And fell Erynnis Scorpions had no stings The better acted world did move Upon the fixed Poles of Truth and Love Love essenc'd in the hearts of men Then Reason rul'd There was no Passion then Till Lust and rage began to enter Love the Circumf'rence was and love the Center Untill the wanton dayes of Iove The simple world was all compos'd of Love But Iove grew fleshly false unjust Inferiour beauty fil'd his veines with Lust And Cucqueane Iunos Fury hurld Fierce Balls of Rage into th' incestuous World Astraea fled and love return'd From earth Earth boyl'd with Lustâ— with Rage it burn'd And ever since the world has beene Kept going with the scourge of Lust and Spleene S. AMBROS Lust is a sharpe spurre to vice which alwayes puts the affections into a false Gallop HUGO Lust is an immoderate wantonnesse of the stesh a sweet poyson a cruell pestilence a pernicious potion which weakens the body of man and effeminates the strength of an heroick mind S. AUGUST Envy is the hatred of anothers felicity in respect of Superiours because they are not equall 〈◊〉 them in respect of Inferiours lest they should be equall to them in respect of equals because they are equall to them Through Envy proceeded the fall of the world and the death of Christ EPIG 5. What Cupid must the world be â—â—iht so soone But made at morning and be whipt at noone 'T is like the Wagg that plaâ—es with Venus Doves The more 't is lasht the more perverse it proves VI. In ceuce tuta quies Will Marshall Sculpsit VI. ECCLES II. XVII All is vanitie and vexation of spirit 1 HOw is the anxious soule of man befool'd In his desire That thinks a Hectick Fever may be cool'd In flames of fire Or hopes to rake full heapes of burnisht gold From nasty mire A whining Lover may as well request A scorne full brest To melt in gentle teares as woo the world for rest 2 Let wit and all her studied plots effect The best they can Let smiling Fortune prosper and perfect What wit began Let earth advise with both and so project A happy man Let wit or fawning Fortune vie their best He may be blest With all that earth can give but earth can give no Rest 3 Whose Gold is double with a carefull hand His cares are double The pleasure Honour Wealth of Sea and Land Bring but a trouble Tbe
base And Chymick metall with great Caesars face And with thy bastard Bullion thou hast barterd For wares of price How justly drawne and quarterd VI. Sic decipit orbis Will Marshall sculpsit VI. IOB XV. XXXI Let not him that is deceived trust in vanity for vanity shall be his recompence 1 BElieve her not Her Glasse diffuses False Portraitures Thou canst espie No true reflection She abuses Her mis-inform'd beholders eye Her Chrystal's falsly steel'd It scatters Deceitfull beames Beleeve her not She flatters 2 This flaring Mirrour representes No right Proportion heiw nor Feature Her very looks are Complements They make thee fairer goodlier greater The skilfull Glosse of her reflection But paints the Context of thy course Complexion 3 Were thy dimension but a stride Nay wert thou statur'd but a span Such as the long-bill'd Troopes defi'd A very Fragment of a Man Shee 'l make thee Mimas which ye will The love-slaine Tyrant or th' Ionick Hill 4 Had surfeits or th'ungratious Starre Conspir'd to make one Common place Of all deformities that are Within the Volume of thy face Shee 'd lend thee favour should out-move The Troy-bane Hellen or the Queen of Love 5 Were thy consum'd estate as poore As Lazars or afflicted Iobs Shee 's change thy wants to seeming store And turne thy Raggs to purple Robes Shee 'l make thy hide-bound flanck appeare As plump as theirs that feast it all the yeare 6 Looke off let not thy Opticks be Abus'd thou seest not what thou shouldst Thy selfe 's the Object thou should'st see But 't is thy shadow thou behold'st And shadowes thrive the more in stature The nearer we approach the light of nature 7 Where heav'ns bright beames looke more direct The shadow shrinks as they grow stronger But when they glaunce their faire aspect The bold-fac'd shade growes larger longer And when their lamp begins to fall Th' increasing shadowes lengthen most of all 8 The soule that seeks the noone of Grace Shrinks in but swels if Grace retreat As heav'n lifts up or veiles his Face Our selfe-esteemes grow lesse or great The least is greatest And who shall Appeare the greatest are the least of all HVGO lib. 3. de anima In vaine he lifts up the eye of his heart to behold his God who is not first rightly advised to behold himselfe First thou must see the viâ—â—ble things of thy selfe before thou canst be prepared to know the invisible things of God for if thou canst not apprehend the things within thee thou canst not comprehend the things above thee The best looking-glasse wherein to see thy God is perfectly to see thy selfe EPIG 6. Be not deceiv'd great Foole There is no losse In being small Great bulks but swell with drosse Man is heav'ns Master-peece If it appeare More great the valu's lesse If lesse more deare VII She pesâ—ima die oâ—tima seviat Will Marshall sculpsit VII DEVT. XXX XIX I have set before thee life and death blessin and cursing therefore choose life that thou and thy seede may live 1 THe world 's a Floore whose swelling heapes retaine The mingled wages of the Ploughmans toyle The world 's a Heape whose yet unwinnowed graine Is lodg'd with chaffe and buried in her soyle All things are mixt the usefull with the vaine The good with bad the noble with the vile The world 's an Ark wherein things pure and grosse Present their lossefull gaine and gainefull losse Where ev'ry dram of Gold containes a pound of drosse 2 This furnisht Ark presents the greedy view With all that earth can give or heav'n can add Here lasting joyes here pleasures hourely new And hourely fading may be wisht and had All points of Honour counterfeit and true Salute thy soule and wealth both good and bad Here maist thou open wide the two-leav'd doore Of all thy wishes to receive that store Which being empty most does overflow the more 3 Come then my soule approach this royall Burse And see what wares our great Exchange retaines Come come here 's that shall make a firme divorse Betwixt thy Wants and thee if want complaines No need to sit in councell with thy purse Here 's nothing good shall cost more price than paines But O my soule take heed If thou relie Vpon thy faithlesse Opticks thou wilt buy Too blind a bargaine know Fooles onely trade by th' Eye 4 The worldly wisedome of the foolish man Is like a Sive that does alone retaine The grosser substance of the worthlesse Bran But thou my soule let thy brave thoughts disdaine So course a purchase O be thou a Fan To purge the Chaffe and keepe the winnow'd Graine Make cleane thy thoughts and dresse thy mixt desires Thou art heav'ns Tasker and thy GOD requires The purest of thy Floore as well as of thy fires 5 Let grace conduct thee to the paths of peace And wisedome blesse thy soules umblemisht wayes No matter then how short or long 's the Lease Whose date determins thy selfe-numbred dayes No need to care for wealths or Fames increase Nor Mars his Palme nor high Apollo's Bayes LORD if thy gracious bounty please to fill The floore of my desires and teach me skill To dresse and chuse the Corn take those the Chaffe that will S. AUGUST lib 1. de doct Christi Temporall things more ravish in the expectation than in fruition but things eternall more in the fruition than expectation Ibidem The life of a man is the middle betweene Angels and beasts If man takes pleasure in carnall things hee is compared to beasts But if he delights in spirituall things he is suited with Angels EPIG 7. Art thou a Child Thou wilt not then be fed But like a Child and with the Childrens bread But thou art fed with chaffe or corne undrest My soule thou savour'st too much of the Brest VIII Haec animanâ—â—â—ueâ—os cymâ—ala at illa 〈◊〉 Will Marshall sculpsit VIII PHIL. III. XIX They minde earthly things but our conversation is in heaven Venus Div. Cupid Ve. WHat meanes this peevish Brat Whish Lullaby What ayles my Babe What ayles my Babe to cry Will nothing still it will it neither be Pleas'd with the Nurses breast nor Mothers knee What ayles my Bird What moves my froward Boy To make such whimpring faces Peace my Ioy Will nothing doe Come come this pettish Brat Thus cry and bawle and cannot tell for what Come busse and friends my lambe whish lullaby What ayles my Babe What ayles my Babe to cry Peace peace my deare alas thy early yeares Had never faults to merit halfe these teares Come smile upon me Let thy mother spie Thy Fathers Image in her Babies eye Husband these guiltlesse drops against the rage Of harder fortunes and the gripes of Age Thine eye 's not ripe for teares whish lullaby What ayles my Babe mine sweet-fac'd Babe to cry Looke looke what 's here A dainty Golden thing See how the dauncing Bells turn round and ring To please my Bantling Here 's a knack will breed A
I cannot live without thee 3 The world 's a Lab'rinth whose anfractious wayes Are all compos'd of Rub's and crook'd Meanders No resting here Hee 's hurried back that stayes A thought And he that goes unguided wanders Her way is dark her path untrod unev'n So hard 's the way from earth so hard 's the way to Heav'n 4 This gyring Lab'rinth is betrench'd about On either hand with streams of sulphrous fire Streames closely sliding erring in and out But seeming pleasant to the fond descrier Where if his footsteps trust their owne Invention He fals without redresse and sinks beyond Demension 5 Where shall I seek a Guide Where shall I meet Some lucky hand to lead my trembling paces What trusty Lanterne will direct my feet To scape the danger of these dang'rous places What hopes have I to passe without a Guide Where one gets safely through a thousand fall beside 6 An unrequested Starre did gently slide Before the Wisemen to a greater Light Back-sliding Isr'el found a double Guide A Pillar and a Cloud by day by night Yet in my desp'rate dangers which be farre More great than theirs I have nor Pillar Cloud nor Starre 7 O that the pineons of a clipping Dove Would cut my passage through the empty Ayre Mine eyes being seeld how would I mount above The reach of danger and forgotten Care My backward eyes should nev'r commit that fault Whose lasting Guilt should build a Monument of Salt 8 Great God that art the flowing Spring of Light Enrich mine eyes with thy refulgent Ray Thou art my Path direct my steps aright I have no other Light no other Way He trust my God and him alone pursue His Law shal be my Path his heav'nly Light my Clue S. AUGUST Soliloq cap. 4. O Lord who art the Light the Way the Truth the Life in whom there is no darkenesse error vanity nor death The light without which there is darkenesse The way without which there is wandring The Truth without which there is errour Life without which there is death Say Lord let there be light and I shall see light and eschue darknesse I shall see the way and avoid wandring I shall see the truth and shun errour I shall see life and escape death Illuminate O illuminate my blind soule which sits in darkenesse and the shadow of death and direct my feet in the way of peace EPIG 2. Pilgrim trudge on What makes thy soule complaine Crownes thy complaint The way to rest is paine The Road to Resolution lies by doubt The next way Home's the farthest way about III. Stay my stepps in thy Pathes that my feet do not slide Ps. â—7 â— W. M. sc III. PSAL XVII V Stay my steps in thy paths that my feet do not slide 1 WHen ere the Old Exchange of Profittings Her silver Saints-bell of uncertaine gaines My merchant soule can stretch both legs and wings How I can run and take unwearied paines The Charmes of Profit are so strong that I Who wanted legs to go finde wings to flye 2 If time-beguiling Pleasure but advance Her lustfull Trump and blow her bold Alarms O how my sportfull soule can frisk and daunce And hug that Syren in her twined Armes The sprightly voyce of sinew-strengthning Pleasure Can lend my bedrid soule both legs and leasure 3 If blazing Honour chance to fill my veines With flattring warmth and flash of Courtly fire My soule can take a pleasure in her paines My loftie strutting steps disdaine her paines My antick knees can turne upon the hinges Of Complement and skrue a thousand Cringes 4 But when I come to Thee my God that art The royall Mine of everlasting Treasure The reall Honour of my better part And living Fountaine of eternall pleasure How nervelesse are my limbs how faint and slow I have nor wings to flie nor legs to go 5 So when the streames of swift-foot Rhene convay Her upland Riches to the Belgick shore The idle vessell slides the watry lay Without the blast or tug of wind or Oare Her slippry keele divides the silver foame With ease So facile is the way from home 6 But when the home-bound vessell turnes her saileâ— Against the brest of the resisting streame O then she slugs nor Saile nor Oare prevailes The Streame is sturdy and her Tides extreme Each stroke is losse and ev'ry Tug is vaine A Boat-lengths purchase is a League of paine 7 Great All in All that art my Rest my Home My way is tedious and my steps are slow Reach forth thy helpfull hand or bid me come I am thy child O teach thy child to go Conjoyne thy sweet commands to my desire And I will venture though I fall or tire S. AUGUST Ser. 15. de Verb. Apost Be alwayes displeased at what thou art if thou desirest to attaine to what thou art not For where thou hast pleas'd thy selfe there thou abidest But if thou sayest I have enough thou perishest Alwayes add alwayes walke alwayes proceed neither stand still nor go backe nor devâ—â—e He that stands still proceeds not He goes back that coâ—â—inues not He deviates that revolts He goes better that creepes in his way than hee that runs out of his way EPIG 3. Feare not my soule to lose for want of cunning Weepe not heav'n is not alwayes got by running Thy thoughts are swift although thy legs be slow True love will creepe not having strength to goe IV. My flesh trembleth for feare of thee I am afraide of thy Iudgments Ps 119.120 W.M. sculp IV. PSAL. CXIX CXX My flesh trembleth for feare of thee and I am afraid of thy judgements LEt others boaste of Luck and goe their wayes With their faire Game Know vengeance seldome playes To be too forward but does wisely frame Her backward Tables for an After-Game She gives thee leave to venture many a blot And for her owne advantage hits thee not But when her pointed Tables are made faire That she be ready for thee then beware Then if a necessary blot be set She hits thee wins the Game perchance the Set If prosprous Chances make thy Casting high Be wisely temp'rate cast a serious eye On after-dangers and keepe back thy Game Too forward seed-times make thy Harvest lame If left-hand Fortune give thee left-hand chances Be wisely patient let no envious glances Repine to view thy Gamesters heape so faire The hind most Hound takes oft the doubling Hare The worlds great Dice are false sometimes they goe Extremely high sometimes extremely low Of all her Gamesters he that playes the least Lives most at ease playes most secure and best The way to win is to play faire and sweare Thy selfe a servant to the Crowne of Feare Feare is the Primmer of a Gamsters skill Who feares not Bad stands most unarm'd to Ill The Ill that 's wisely fear'd is halfe withstood And feares of Bad is the best foyle to Good True Feare'sth ' Elixar which in dayes of old Turn'd leaden Crosses into Crownes of Gold
mine My flames are full of heav'n and all divine How often have I sought this Bed by night To find that greater by this lesser light How oft has my unwitnest groanes lamented Thy dearest absence Ah how often vented The bitter Tempests of despairing breath And tost my soule upon the waves of death How often has my melting heart made choice Of silent teares teares lowder than a voice To plead my griefe and woo thy absent eare And yet thou wilt not come thou wilt not heare O is thy wonted love become so cold Or do mine eyes not seeke thee where they should Why do I seeke thee if thou art not here Or find thee not if thou art ev'ry where I see my error 'T is not strange I could not Find out my love I sought him where I should not Thou art not found in downy Beds of ease â—as thy musick strikes on harder keyes Nor art thou found by that false feeble light Of Natures Candle Our Aegyptian night Is more than common darkenesse nor can we Expect a morning but what breaks from Thee Well may my empty Bed lament thy losse When thou art lodg'd upon thy shamefull Crosse If thou refuse to share a Bed with me Wee 'l never part I le share a Crosse with Thee ANSELM in Protolog Cap. 1. Lord if thou are not present where shall I seeke thee absent If every where why do I not see thee present Thou dwellest in light inaccessible and where is that inaccessible light Or how shall I have accesse to light inaccessible I beseech thee Lord teach me to seeke thee and show thy selfe to the seeker because I can neither seeke thee unlesse thou teach me nor find thee unlesse thou show thy selfe to me Let me seeke thee in desiring thee and desire thee in seeking thee Let me find thee in loving thee and love thee in finding thee EPIG 10. Where shouldst thou seeke for rest but in thy Bed But now thy Rest is gone thy Rest is fled 'T is vaine to seeke him there My soule be wise Go ask thy sinnes They 'l tell thee where he lies XII Saw yee him whom my Soule loveth It was but a little that I passed from them but I found Him whom my soule loveth I held Him and would not let him goe Cant 3.4 Will sim sculp XII CAN. III. III Have you seene him whom my soule loveth When I had past a little from them then I found him I tooke hold on him and left him not 1 WHat secret corner What unwonted way Has scap'd the ransack of my rambling thoughts The Fox by night nor the dull Owle by day Have never search'd those places I have sought Whilst thy lamented absence taught my brest The ready Road to Griefe without request My day had neither comfort nor my night had rest 2 How has my unregarded language vented The sad Tautologies of lavish passion How often have I languish'd unlamented How oft have I complain'd without compassion I ask the Citie-Watch but some deny'd me The common streit whilst others would misguide me Some would debarre me some divert me some deride me 3 Mark how the widow'd Turtle having lost The faithfull partner of her loyall Heart Stretches her feeble wings from Coast to Coast Haunts ev'ry path thinks ev'ry shade does part Her absent Love and her At length unsped She re-betakes her to her lovely Bed And there bewailes her everlasting widow-head 4 So when my soule had progrest ev'ry place That love and deare affection could contrive I threw me on my Couch resolv'd t' embrace A death for him in whom I ceas'd to live But there injurious Hymen did present His Lanskip joyes my pickled eyes did vent Full streames of briny teares teares never to be spent 5 Whilst thus my sorrow-wasting soule was feeding Vpon the rad'call Humour of her thought Ev'n whilst mine eyes were blind and heart was bleeding He that was sought unfound was found unsought As if the Sun should dart his Orbe of light Into the secrets of the black-brow'd night Ev'n so appear'd my Love my sole my soules delight 6 O how mine eyes now ravish'd at the sight Of my bright Sun shot flames of equall fire Ah! how my soule dissolv'd with ov'r-delight To re-enjoy the Crowne of chast desire How sov'raigne joy depos'd and dispossest Rebellious griefe And how my ravisht brest But who can presse those heights that cannot be exprest 7 O how these Armes these greedy Armes did twine And strongly twist about his yeelding wast The sappy branches of the Thespian vine Nev'r cling'd their lesse beloved Elme so fast Boast not thy flames blind boy nor feather'd shot Let Himens easie snarles be quite forgot Time cannot quench our fires nor death dissolve our knot ORIG. Hom. 10. in divers O most holy Lord and sweetest Master how good art thou to those that are of upright heart and humble spirit O how blessed are they that seeke thee with a simple heart How happy that trust in thee It is a most certaine truth that thou lovest all that love thee and never forsakest those that trust in thee For behold thy Love simply sought thee and undoubtedly found thee She trusted in thee and is not forsaken of thee but hath obtained more by thee than she expected from thee BEDE cap. 3. Cant. The longer I was in finding whom I sought the more earnestly I held him being found EPIG 12. What found him out Let strong embraces bind him Hee 'l fly perchance where teares can never find him New Sins will lose what old Repentance gaines Wisedome not onely gets but got retaines XIII It is good for me to draw neare to the Lord 〈◊〉 I haue put my trust in the Lord God Ps 73.20 Will Simpson â—â—â—lpsit XIII PSAL. LXXII XXVIII It is good for me to draw neare to God I have put my trust in the Lord God WHere is that Good which wisemen please to call The Chiefest Does there any such befall Within mans reach Or is there such a Good at all If such there be it neither must expire Nor change than which there can be nothing higher Such Good must be the utter point of mans desire It is the Mark to which all hearts must tend Can be desired for no other end Theâ— for it selfe on which all other Goods depend What may this Exc'lence be does it subsist A reall Essence clouded in the midst Of curious Art or cleare to ev'ry eye that list Or is' t a tart Idea to procure An Edge and keepe the practick soule in ure Like that deare Chymick dust or puzzling Quadrature Where shall I seek this Good Where shall I find This Cath'licke pleasure whose extreames may bind My thoughts and fill the gulph of my insatiate mind Lies it in Treasure In full heaps untold Does gowty Mammons griping hand infold This secret Saint in sacred Shrines of sov'raigne Gold No no she lies not there Wealth often sowrs In keeping makes us hers in seeming
TRINITAS EMBLEMES By â—raâ— Quarâ—es LONDON Printed by I.D. for Francis Eglerfeild and 〈…〉 at the 〈◊〉 of the Marigold in St. Pauls Church-yard 1â—7â— Haec Laus hic Apex Sapientiae est ea viventem appetere quae morienti forent appetenda TO MY MVCH HONOVRED AND NO lesse truely beloved Friend EDVV. BENLOVVES Esquire My deare Friend YOu have put the Theorboe into my hand and I have played You gave the Musitian the first encouragement the Musicke returnes to you for Patronage Had it been a light Ayre no doubt but it had taken the most and among them the worst But being a grave Strayne my hopes are that it will please the best and among them You. Toyish Ayres please triviall eares They kisse the fancy and betray it They cry Haile first and after Crucifie Let Dorrs delight to immerd themselves in dung whilst Eagles scorn so poore a Game as Flies Sir you have Art and Candor Let the one judge let the other excuse Your most affectionate Friend FRA. QUARLES TO THE READER AN Embleme is but a silent Parable Let not the tender Eye checke to see the allusion to our blessed SAVIOUR figured in these Types In holy Scripture He is sometimes called a Sower sometimes a Fisher sometimes a Physitian And why not presented so as well to the eye as to the eare Before the knowledge of letters GOD was knowne by Hierogliphicks And indeed what are the Heavens the Earth nay every Creature but Hieroglyphicks and Emblemes of His Glory I have no more to say I wish thee as much pleasure in the reading as I had in the writeing Farewell Reader BY Fathers backt by Holy Writ led on Thou shewst away to Heav'n by Helicon The Muses Font is consecrate by Thee And Poefie baptiz'd Divinitie Blest soule that here embark'st Thou sayl'st a pace 'T is hard to say mov'd more by Wit or Grace Each Muse so plyes her Oare but O the Sayle Is fill'd from heav'n with a Diviner Cale When Poets prove Divines why should not I Approve in Verse this Divine Poetry Let this suffice to licence thee the Presse I must no more nor could the Truth say lesse Sic approbavit RICH. LOVâ— Procan Cantabrigieâ—siâ— Tot Flores QUARLES quot Paradisus habet Lectori bene male-volo Qui legit ex Horto hoc Flores Qui carpit Vterque Jure potest VIOLAS dicere jure ROSAS Non è Parnasso VIOLAM Paestivè ROSETO Carpit Apollo magis quae sit amoena ROSAM Quòt Versus VIOLAS legis Quem verba locutum Credis verba dedit Nam dedit Ille ROSAS Utque Ego non dicam haec VIOLAS suavissima Tuâ—e Ipse facis VIOLAS Livide si violas Nà m veluÌ„tè VIOLIS sibi sugit Aâ—anea virus Vertis ità in succos Hasque ROSASque tuos Quas violas Musas VIOLAS puto quasque reculas Dente tuo rosas has râ—or esse ROSAS Sic rosas facis esse ROSAS dùm Zoile rodis Sic facis has VIOLAS Livide dum violas Brent-Hall 1634. EDVV. BENLOVVES Dum Caesum aspicio Solum despicio 〈◊〉 marshall 〈◊〉 THE FIRST BOOKE The Invocation ROwze thee my soule and dreine thee from the dregs Of vulgar thoughts Skrue up the heightned pegs Of thy Sublime Theorboe foure notes higher And higher yet that so the shrill-mouth'd Quire Of swift wing'd Seraphims may come and joyne And make thy Consort more than halfe divine Invoke no Muse Let heav'n be thy Apollo And let his sacred Influences hallow Thy high-bred Straines Let his full beames inspire Thy ravisht braines with more heroick fire Snatch thee a Quill from the spread Eagles wing And like the morning Lark mount up and sing Cast off these dangling Plummets that so clog Thy lab'ring heart which gropes in this darke fog Of dungeon-earth Let flesh and bloud forbeare To stop thy flight till this base world appeare A thin blew Lanskip Let thy pineons sore So high a pitch that men may seeme no more Than Pismires crawling on this Mole-hill earth Thy eare untroubled with their frantick mirth Let not the frailty of thy flesh disturbe Thy new-concluded peace Let reason curbe Thy â—ot-mouth'd Passion and let heav'ns fire season The flash Conceits of thy corrected Reason Disdaine to warme thee at Lusts smoakie fires Scorne scorne to feed on thy old bloat desires Come come my soule hoyse up thy higher sayles The wind blowes faire Shall we still creepe like Snayles That gild their wayes with their owne native slimes No we must flie like Eagles and our Rhimes Must mount to heav'n and reach th'Olympick eare Our heav'n-blowne fire must seek no other Spheare Thou great Theanthropos that giv'st and crown'st Thy gifts in dust and from our dunghill crown'st Reflected Honour taking by Retayle What thou hast giv'n in grosse from lapsed fraile And sinfull man that drink'st full draughts whereiâ— Thy Childrens leprous fingers scurf'd with Sin Have padled cleanse O cleanse my crafty Soule From secret crimes and let my thoughts controule My thoughts O teach me stoutly to deny My selfe that I may be no longer I Enrich my Fancie clarifie my thoughts Refine my drosse O wink at humane faults And through this slender conduit of my Quill Convey thy Current whose cleare streames may fill The hearts of men with love their tongues with praise Crowne me with Glory Take who list the Bayes I. â—â—us muâ—â—uus in masignâ— mali ligno â—â—tus est 〈◊〉 Marshall sculp I. JAM I.XIV. Every man is tempted when hee is drawne away by his own lust and enticed Serpent Eve Serp. NOt eat Nor tast Not touch Nor cast an eye Upon the fruit of this faire Tree And why Why eat'st thou not what Heav'n ordain'd for food Or canst thou think that bad which heav'n cal'd Good Why was it made if not to be enjoy'd Neglect of favours makes a favour void Blessings unus'd pervert into a Wast As well as Surfeits Woman Do but tast See how the laden boughes make silent Suit To be enjoy'd Looke how their bending Fruit Meet thee halfe way Observe but how they crouch To kisse thy hand Coy woman Do but touch Marke what a pure Vermilian blush has dy'd Their swelling Cheeks and how for shame they hide Their palsie heads to see themselves stand by Neglected Woman Do but cast an eye What bounteous heav'n ordain'd for use refuse not Come pull and eat y'abuse the things ye use not Eve Wisest of Beasts our great Creator did Reserve this Tree and this alone forbid The rest are freely ours which doubtlesse are As pleasing to the Tast to th' eye as faire But touching this his strict commands are such 'T is death to tast no lesse than death to touch Serp. P'sh death 's a fable Did not heav'n inspire Your equall Elements with living Fire Blowne from the spring of life Is not that breath Immortall Come ye are as free from death As He that made ye Can the flames expire Which he has kindled Can ye quench His fire Did not
mirth Where their Insolence their Arrogance From how much joy to how much sadnesse After how much mirth how much misery From how great glory are they fallen to how great torments What hath fallen to them may befal thee because thou art a man Thou art of earth thou livest of earth thou shalt returne to earth Death expects thee every where be wise therefore and expect death every where EPIG 8. What ayles the foole to laugh Does somthing please His vaine conceit Or is 't a meere disease Foole giggle on And wast thy wanton breath Thy morning laughter breeds an ev'ning death IX Fâ—ytâ— quis stâ—â—iâ—em figat in orbe â—â—adien Will Marshall 〈◊〉 IX I IOHN II. XVII The world passeth away and all the lusts thereof 1 DRraw neare brave sparks whose spirits scorne to light Your hallow'd Tapours but at honours flame You whose heroick Actions take delight To varnish over a new painted name Whose high-bred thoughts disdaine to take their flight But on th'Icarian wings of babbling Fame Behold how tottring are your high-built stories Of earth wheron you trust the groundwork of your Glories 2 And you more brain-sick Lovers that can prize A wanton smile before eternall Ioyes That know no heav'n but in your Mistresse eyes That feele no pleasure but what sense enjoyes That can like crowne-distemper'd fooles despise True riches and like Babies whine for Toyes Think ye the Pageants of your hopes are able To stand secure on earth when earth it self 's unstable 3 Come dunghill worldlings you that root like swine And cast up golden Trenches where ye come Whose onely pleasure is to undermine And view the secrets of your mothers wombe Come bring your Saint pouch'd in his leather Shrine And summon all your griping Angels home Behold your world the Bank of all your store The world ye so admire the world ye so adore 4 A feeble world whose hot-mouth'd pleasures tyre Before the Race before the start retrait A faithlesse world whose false delights expire Before the terme of halfe their promis'd Date A fickle world not worth the least desire Where ev'ry Chance proclajmes a Change of State A feeble faithlesse fickle world wherein Each motion proves a vice and ev'ry act a Sin 5 The beauty that of late was in her flowre Is now a ruine not to raise a Lust He that was lately drench'd in Danaes showre Is Master now of neither Gold nor Trust Whose Honour late was mann'd with princely pow'r His glory now lies buried in the dust O who would trust this world or prize what 's in it That gives and takes and chops and changes ev'ry minit 6 Not length of dayes nor solid strength of Braine Can find a place wherein to rest secure The world is various and the Earth is vaine Ther 's nothing certaine here ther 's nothing sure We trudge we travell but from paine to paine And what 's our onely grief 's our onely Cure The World 's a Torment hee that would endeaver To find the way to Rest must seek the way to leave her S. GREG. in ho. Behold the world is withered in it selfe yet flourisheth in our hearts every where death every where griefe every where desolation On every side wee are smitten on every side fill'd with bitternesse and yet with the blind minde of carnall desire we love her bitternesse It flies and we follow it it falls yet we sticke to it And because we cannot enioy it fallen wee fall with it and enjoy it fallen EPIG 9. If Fortune hale or envious Time but spurne The world turnes round and with the world we turne When Fortune sees and Lynx-ey'd Time is blind I l'e trust thy joyes O world Till then the Wind. X. Vtriusque crepundia Merces Will. Marshall Sculptit X IOH. VIII XLIV Yee are of your father the devill and the lusts of your Father yee will doe HEre 's your right ground Wagge gently ore this Black Ti 's a short cast y' are quickly at the Iack Rubbe rubbe an Inch or two Two Crownes to one On this Boules side blow wind T 's fairely throwne The next Boul's worse that comes Come boule away Mammon you know the ground untutor'd Play Your last was gone a yard of strength well spar'd Had touch'd the Block your hand is still too hard Brave pastime Readers to consume that day Which without pastime flyes too swift away See how they labour as if day and night Were both too short to serve their loose delight See how their curved bodies wreath and skrue Such antick shapes as Proteus never knew One raps an oath another deales a curse Hee never better bould this never worse One rubbes his itchlesse Elbow shrugges and laughs The tother bends his beetle-browes and chafes Sometime they whoope sometimes their Stigian cries Send their Black Santos to the blushing Skies Thus mingling Humors in a mad confusion They make bad Premises and worse conclusion But wher 's the Palme that Fortunes hand allowes To blesse the victors honourable Browes Come Reader come I le light thine eye the way To view the Prize the While the Gamesters play Close by the Iack Behold Gill fortune stands To wave the game see in her partiall hands The glorious Garland's held in open show To cheare the Ladds and crowne the Conq'rers brow The world 's the Jack The Gamsters that contend Are Cupid Mammon That juditious Friend That gives the ground is Satan and the Boules Are sinfull Thoughts The Prize a Crowne for Fooles Who breathes that boules not what bold tongue can say Without a blush he hath not bould to day It is the trade of man and every Sinner Has plaid his Rubbers Every Soule 's a winner The vulgar Proverb 's crost He hardly can Be a good Bouler and an honest man Good God turne thou my Brazil thoughts a new New soale my Boules and make their Bras true I 'le cease to game till fairer Ground be given Nor wish to winne untill the Marke be heaven S. BERNARD lib. de Consid O you Sonnes of Adam you covetous Generation what have yee to do with earthly Riches which are neither true nor yours Gold and silver are reall earth red and white which the onely error of man makes or rather reputes pretious Jn short if they be yours carry them with you S. HIEROME in Ep. O Lust thou infernall fire whose Fuell is Gluttony whose Flame is Pride wose sparkles are wanton words whose smoke is Infamie whose Ashes are uncleanesse whose end is Hell EPIG 10. Mammon wel follow'd Cupid brauely leddeâ— oth Touchers Equall Fortunes makes a deadâ— No Reed can measure where the Conquest lies Take my advise Compound and share the Prize XI Munâ—â— in 〈…〉 Will Marshal sculpsâ— XI EPH. II.II. Yee walked according to the course of this world according to the Prince of the Aire 1 O Whether will this mad-braine world at last Be driv'n where will her restlesse wheeles arive Why hurries on her ill match'd payre so fast
not fast enough If pleasure becken with her balmey hand Her becke's a strong command If Honour call us with her courtly breath An houres delay is death If profits golden finger'd Charmes enveigle's We clip more swift then Eagles Let Auster weep or blustring Boreas rore Till eyes or lungs be sore Let Neptune swell untill his dropsie-sides Burst into broken Tides Nor threatning Rockes nor windes nor waves nor Fire Can curbe our fierce desire Nor Fire nor Rocks can stop our furious mindes Nor waves nor winds How fast and fearelesse do our footsteps flee The lightfoot Roe-buck's not so swift as wee S. AUGUST sup psal 64. Two severall Lovers built two severall Cities The love of God builds a Ierusalem The love of the world builds a Babylon Let every one enquire of himselfe what he loves and hee shal resolve himselfe of whence he is a Citizen S. AUGUST lib 3. Confess All things are driven by their owne weight and tend to their owne Center My weight is my love By that I am driven whithersoever I am driven Ibidem LORD he loves thee the lesse that loves any thing with thee which hee loves not for thee EPIG 13. Lord scourge my Asse if she should make no hast And curbe my Stagge if he should flee too fast If hee be overswift or shee should prove idle Let Love lend him a spurre Feare her a Bridle XVI Pâ—oâ—â—ce redde diem Will Marshall 〈◊〉 XIV PSAL. XIII III Lighten mine eyes O Lord lest I sleepe the sleepe of death WIl't nere be morning Will that promis'd light Nere breake and cleare these Clouds of nightâ— Sweet Phospher bring the day Whose conqu'ring Ray May chase these fogges Sweet Phospher bring the day How long how long shall these be nighted eyes Languish in shades like feeble Flies Expecting Spring How long shall darknesse soyle The face of earth and thus beguise Our soÌ„ules of rightfull action when will day Begin to dawne whose new-borne Ray May gild the Wether-cocks of our devotion And give out unsoul'd soules new motion Sweet Phospher bring the day Thy light will fray These horrid Mists Sweet Phospher bring the day Let those have night that slily â—ove t'immure Their cloyster'd Crimes and sinne secure Let those have night that blush to let men know The basenesse they nere blush to do Let those have night that love to take a Nappe And loll in Ignorances lappe Let those whose eyes like Oules abhorre the light Let those have Night that love the Night Sweet Phospher bring the day How sad delay Afflicts dull hopes Sweet Phospher bring the day Alas my light-invaine-expecting eyes Can find no Objects but what rise From this poore morall blaze a dying sparke Of Vulcans forge whose flames are darke And dangerous a dull blue burning light As melancholly as the night Here 's all the Sunnes that glister in the Spheare Of earth Ah me what comfort 's here Sweet Phospher bring the day Haste haste away Heav'ns loytring lampe Sweet Phospher bring the day Blow ignorance O thou whose idle knee Rocks earth into a Lethargie And with thy footy fingers hast bedight The worlds faire cheekes blow blow thy spite Since thou hast pufft our greater Tapour doe Puffe on and out the lesser too If ere that breath-exiled flame returne Thou hast not blowne as it will burne Sweet Phospher bring the day Light will repay The wrongs of night Sweet Phospher bring the day S. AUGUST in Ioh. ser 19. God is all to thee If thou be hungry he is bread If thirstie he is water If in darkenesse he is light If naked he is a Robe of Immortality ALANVS de conq nat God is a light that is never darkned An unwearied life that cannot die a Fountaine alwaies flowing a garden of life a Seminary of wisedome a radicall beginning of all goodnesse EPIG 14. My Soule if Ignorance puffe out this light Shee 'l do a favour that intends a spight 'T seemes darke abroad But take this light away Thy windowes will discover breake a day XV. Debilitata fides Terras Astraea reliquit W M scul XV. REVEL XII XII The Devill is come unto you having great wrath because he knoweth that he hath but a short time 1 LORD canst thou see and suffer is thy hand Still bound to th'peace Shall earths black Monarch take A full possession of thy wasted land O will slumbring vengeance never wake Till full-ag'd law-resisting Custome shake The pillours of thy right by false command Unlocke thy Clouds great Thund'rer and come down Behold whose Temples weare thy sacred Crowne Redresse redresse our wrongs revenge revenge thy owne 2 See how the bold Usurper mounts the seat Of royall Majestie How overstrawing Perils with pleasure pointing ev'ry threat With bugbeare death by torments over-awing Thy frighted subjects or by favours drawing Their tempted hearts to his unjust retreat Lord canst thou be so mild and be so bold Or can thy flockes be thriving when the fold Js govern'd by a Fox Lord canst thou see and hold 3 That swift-wing'd Advocate that did commence Our welcome Suits before the King of Kings That sweet Embassadour that hurries hence What Ayres th'harmonious soule or sighs or sings See how shee flutters with her idle wings Her wings are clipt and eyes put out by Sense Sense conq'ring Faith is now growne blind and cold And basely cravend that in times of old Did conquer heav'n it selfe do what th' Almighty could 4 Behold how double fraud does scourge and teare Astraeas wounded sides plough'd up and rent With knotted cords whose fury has no eare See how she stands a Pris'ner to be sent A Slave into eternall banishment I know not whither O I know not where Her Patent must be cancel'd in disgrace And sweet-lipt Fraud with her divided face Must act Astraeas part must take Astraeas place 5 Faiths pineons clipt And faire Astraea gone Quick seeing Faith now blind And Iustice see Has Iustice now found wings And has Faith none What doe we here who would not wish to bee Dissolv'd from earth and with Astraea flee From this blinde dungeon to that Sunne-bright Throne Lord is thy Scepter lost or laid aside Is hell broke loose and all her Fiends untyed Lord rise and rowze and rule and crush their furious Pride PETR RAV in Math. The Devill is the author of evill the fountaine of wickednesse the Adversary of the Truth the corrupter of the world mans perpetuall Enemy He plants snares digs ditches spurres bodies he goads soules He suggests thoughts belches Anger exposes vertue to hatred makes vices beloved sowes Errors nourishes contention disturbes peace and scatters Affections MACAR Let us suffer with those that suffer and be crucified with those that are crucified that we may be glorified with those that are glorified SAVANAR If there he no enemy no fight if no fight no victory if no victory no crowne EPIG 15. My Soule sit thou a patient looker on Iudge not the Play before the Play is done Her
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
proceeds not from a consuming but a calcining fire O happy distemper wherein the soule relishes no earthly things but onely savours divine nourishment S. BERN. Scrm. 51. in Cant. By flowers understand faith by fruit good works As the flower or blossome is before the fruit so faith is before goodworks So neither is the fruit without the flower nor good works without faith EPIG 2. Why Apples O my soule Can they remove The Pangs of Griefe or ease the flames of love It was that Fruit which gave the first offence That sent him hither that remov'd him hence III. My Beloued is mine and I am his Hee feedeth among the Lillies Cant 2.16 Will simpson sculp III. CANT II. XVI My beloved is mine and I am his He feedeth among the Lillies 1 EV'n like two little bank-dividing brookes That wash the pebles with their wanton streames And having rang'd and search'd a thousand nookes Meet both at length in silver-brested Thames Where in a greater Current they conjoyne So I my Best Beloveds am so He is mine 2 Ev'n so we met and after long pursuit Ev'n so we joyn'd we both became entire No need foâ— either to renew a Suit For I waâ— Flax and he was Flames of fire Our firm united soules did more than twine So I my Best-Beloveds am so He is mine 3 If all those glittring Monarchs that command The servile Quarters of this earthly Ball Should tender in Exchange their shares of land I would not change my Fortunes for them all Their wealth is but a Counter to my Coyne The world 's but theirs but my Beloved's mine 4 Nay more If the faire Thespian Ladies all Should heape together their diviner treasure That Treasure should be deem'd a price too small To buy a minuts Lease of halfe my Pleasure 'T is not the sacred wealth of all the Nine Can buy my heart from Him or His from being mine 5 Nor Time nor place nor Chance nor Death can bow My least desires unto the least remove Hee 's firmely mine by Oath I His by Vow Hee 's mine by Faith and I am His by Love Hee 's mine by Water I am His by Wine Thus I my Best-beloveds am Thus He is mine 6 He is my Altar I his Holy Place I am his Guest and He my living Food I 'm his by Poenitence He mine by Grace I 'm his by Purchace He is mine by Blood Hee 's my supporting Elme and I his Vine Thus I my Best-Beloveds am Thus He is mine 7 He gives me wealth I give him all my Vowes I give Him songs He gives me length of dayes With wrethes of Grace he crownes my conqu'ring browes And I his Temples with a Crowne of Praise Which be accepts as an everlasting signe That I my best-beloveds am that He is mine S. AUGUST Manu cap. 24. O my soule stampt with the Image of thy God love him of whom thou art so much beloved Bend to him that bowes to thee seeke him that seeks thee Love thy lover by whose love thou art prevented being the cause of thy love Be carefull with those that are carefull want with those that want Bee cleane with the cleane and holy with the holy Choose this friend above all friends who when all are taken away remaines onely faithfull to thee In the day of thy buriall when all leave thee he will not deceive thee but defend thee from the roaring Lions prepared for their prey EPIG 3. Sing Hymen to my soule What lost and found Welcom'd Espous'd enjoy'd so soone and crown'd He did but climbe the Crosse and then came downe To th'Gates of Hell triumph'd and fetch'd a Crowne IV. I am my beloveds his Desire is towards mee Cant 7.10 W. Simpson Scâ— IV. CANT VII.X. I am my Beloveds and his desire is towards mee 1 LIke to the Artick needle that does guide The wandring shade by his Magneticke pow'r And leaves his silken Gnomon to decide The question of the controverted houre First franticks up and downe from side to side And restlesse beats his christall'd Iv'ry case With vaine impatience jets from place to place And seeks the bosome of his frozen Bride At length he slacks his motion and does rest His trembling point at his bright Poles beloved Brest 2 Ev'n so my soule being hurried here and there By ev'ry object that presents delight Faine would be setled but she knowes not where She likes at morning what she loaths at night She bowes to Honour then she lends an eare To that sweet Swan-like voice of dying Pleasure Then tumbles in the scatter'd heapes of Treasure Now flatter'd with false hope now foyl'd with feare Thus finding all the world delights to be But empty toyes good GOD she point's alone to Thee But has the virtu'd Steele a pow'r to move Or can the untouch'd Needle point aright Or can my wandring Thoughts forbeare to rove Vnguided by the vertue of thy Spirit O has my leaden Soule the Art t' improve Her wasted Talent and unrais'd aspire In this sad moulting time of her desire Not first belov'd have I the pow'r to love I cannot stirre but as thou please to move me Nor can my heart returne thee love untill thou love me 4 The still Commandresse of the silent night Borrowes her beames from her bright brothers Eye His faire aspect fils her sharp hornes with light If he withdraw her flames are quench'd and die Ev'n so the beames of thy enlightning Sp'rite Infus'd and shot into my dark desire Inflame my thoughts and fill my soule with fire That I am ravisht with a new delight But if thou shroud thy face my glory fades And I remaine a Nothing all compos'd of shades 5 Eternall God O thou that onely art The sacred Fountaine of eternall light And blessed Loadstone of my better part O thou my hearts desire my soules delight Reflect upon my soule and touch my heart And then my heart shall prize no good above thee And then my soule shall know thee knowing love thee And then my trembling thoughts shall never start From thy commands or swerve the least degree Or once presume to move but as they move in thee S. AUGUST Med. Cap. 25. If man can love man with so entire affection that the one can scarce brooke the others absence If a Bride can be joyned to her Bride-groome with so great an ardency of mind that for the extremity of love she can enjoy no rest not suffering his absence without great anxiety with what affection with what fervency ought the soule whom thou hast espoused by faith and compassion to love thee her true God and glorious Bridegroome EPIG 4. My soule thy love is deare T' was thought a good And easie pen'worth of thy Saviours Blood But be not proud All matters rightly scan'd 'T was over brought 'T was sold at second hand I. My Soule melted when my beloved spake Cant 5.6 Will Simpson scul V. CANT V.VI. My Soule melted whilst my Beloved spake LOrd has the
feeble voice of flesh and blood The pow'r to worke thine eares into a flood Of melted Mercy or the strenth t'unlocke The gates of Heav'n and to dissolve a Rock Of marbel Clouds into a morning show'r Or has the breath of whining dust the pow'r To stop or snatch a falling Thunderbolt From thy fierce hand and make thy hand revolt From resolute Confusion and in stead Of Vyals poure full Blessings on our head Or shall the wants of famisht Ravens cry And move thy mercy to a quick supply Or shall the silent suits of drooping flowr's Woo thee for drops and be refresh'd with Showr's Alas what marvell then great GOD what wonder If thy Hell-rouzing voice that splits in sunder The brazen Portals of eternall death What wonder if that life-restoring breath Which drag'd me from th' infernall shades of night Should melt my ravisht soule with ore-delight O can my frozen gutters choose but run That feele the warmth of such a glorious Sun Me thinks his language like a flaming Arrow Doth pierce my bones and melts their wounded marrow Thy flames O Cupid though the ioyfull heart Feeles neither tang of griefe nor feares the smart Of jealous doubts but drunk with full desires Are torments weigh'd with these celestiall fires Pleasures that ravish in so high a measure That O I languish in excesse of pleasure What ravisht heart that feeles these melting Ioyes Would not despise and loathe the trech'rous Toyes Of dunghill earth what soule would not be proud Of wry-mouth'd scornes the worst that flesh and blood Had rancor to divise Who would not beare The worlds derision with a thankfull eare What palat would refuse full bowles of spight To gaine a minuts tast of such delight Great spring of light in whom there is no shade But what my interposed sinnes have made Whose marrow-melting Fires admit no screene But what my owne rebellions put betweene Their precious flames and my obdurate care Disperse these plague-distilling Clouds and cleare My mungy Soule into a glorious day Transplant this screene remoove this Barre away Then then my fluent soule shall feele the fires Of thy sweet voice and my dissolv'd desires Shall turne a sov'raigne Balsome to make whole Those wounds my sinnes inflicted on thy soule S. AUGUST Soliloqu Chap. 34. What fire is this that so warmes my heart What light is this that so enlightens my soule O fire that alwayes burnest and never goest out kindle me O light which ever shinest and art never darkned illuminate me O that I had my heat from thee most holy fire How sweetly doest thou burne How secretly dost thou shine How desiderably doest thou inflame me BONAVENT Stim amoris Chap. 8. It makes God man and man God things temporall eternall mortall immortall it makes an enemy a friend a servant a Sonne vile things glorious cold hearts fiery and hard things liquid EPIG 5. My soule Thy gold is true but full of drosse Thy SAVIOURS breath refines thee with some losse His gentle Fornace makes thee pure as true Thou must be melted ere th' art cast anew VI. Whom haue I in heaven but thee what desire I on earth in respect of thee Ps 73. â— W. S. sc VI. PSAL. LXXIII XXV Whom have I in heav'n but Thee and what desire I on earth in respect of Thee 1 I Love and have some cause to love the earth She is my Makers Creature therefore Good She is my Mother for she gave me birth She is my tender Nurse she gives me food But what 's a Creature Lord compar'd with Thee Or what 's my mother or my nurse to me 2 I love the Ayre her dainty sweets refresh My drooping soule and to new sweets invite me Her shrill-mouth'd Quire sustaine me with their flesh And with their Polyphonian notes delight me But what 's the Ayre or all the sweets that she Can blesse my soule withall compar'd to Thee 3 I love the Sea She is my fellow-Creature My carefull Purveyor She provides me store Shee wals me round She makes my diet greater She wafts my treasure from a forreigne shore But Lord of Oceans when compar'd with thee What is the Ocean or her wealth to me 4 To heav'ns high City I direct my Iourney Whose spangled Suburbs entertaine mine eye Mine Eye by Contemplations great Atturney Transcends the Chrystall pavement of the sky But what is heav'n great GOD compar'd to Thee Without Thy presence Heav'n's no Heav'n to me 5 Without Thy presence Earth gives no Refection Without Thy presence Sea affords no treasure Without Thy presence Ayre 's a rank Infection Without Thy presence Heav'n it self 's no pleasure If not possest if not enjoy'd in Thee What 's Earth or Sea or Ayre or Heav'n to me 6 The highest Honours that the world can boast Are subjects farre too low for my desire The brightest beames of glory are at most But dying sparkles of thy living fire The proudest flames that earth can kindle be But nighâ—ly Glow-wormes if compar'd to Thee 7 Without Thy presence wealth are Bags of Cares Wisedome but Folly Joy disquiet sadnesse Friendship is Treason and Delights are snares Pleasures but paine and mirth but pleasing Madnesse Without Thee Lord things be not what they be Nor have they being when compar'd with Thee 8 In having all things and not Thee what have I Not having Thee what have my labours got Ler me enjoy but Thee what farther crave I And having Thee alone what have I not I wish nor Sea nor Land nor would I be Possest of Heav'n Heav'n unpossest of Thee BONAVENT Cap. 1. Soliloq Alas my God now I Vnderstand but blush to confesse that the beauty of thy Creatures haue deceived mine eyes and I have not observed that thou art more amiable than all thy creatures to which thou hast communicated but one drop of thy inestimable beauty For who hath adorned the heauens with Starres Who hath stored the ayre with fowle the waters with fish the earth with plants and flowers But what are all these but a small sparke of divine beauty S. CHR. Hom. 5. in Ep ad Rom. In having nothing I have all things because I have Christ Having therefore all things in Him I seeke no other reward for he is the universall Reward EPIG 6. Who would not throw his better thoughts about him And scorne this drosse within him that without him Cast up my soule thy clearer eye Behold If thou be fully melted There 's the Mold VII Woe is me that I am constrained to dwell with Meseth to haue my habitation among the tent of Cedar Psal. 120.4 Will. simpson sculpsit VII PSAL. CXX.V. Woe is to me that I remaine in Meshech and dwell in the Tents of Kedar IS Natures course dissolv'd Does Times glasse stand Or has some frolick heart set back the hand Of Fates perpetuall Clock Wil't never strike Is crazy Time growne lazy faint or sick With very Age Or has that great Purroyall Of Adamantine sisters late made
Trash they call their treasure O how I 'de smile to see what plots they lay To catch a blast or owne a smile from Caesar Had I the pineons of a mounting Dove How would I sore and sing and hate the Love Of transitory Toyes and feed on Ioyes above 4 There should I find that everlasting Pleasure Which Change removes not which Chance prevents not There should I find that everlasting Treasure Which force deprives not fortune dis-augments not There should I find that everlasting Caesar Whose hand recals not and whose heart repents not Had I the pineons of a clipping Dove How I would climbe the skies and hate the Love Of transitory Toyes and joy in Things above 5 No rank-mouth'd flander there shall give offence Or blast our blooming names as here they doe No liver scalding Lust shall there incense Our boyling veines There is no Cupids Bow LORD give my soule the milke-white Innocence Of Doves and I shall have their pineons too Had I the pineons of a sprightly Dove How I would quit this earth and sore above And heav'ns blest kingdom find with heav'ns blest King IEHOVE S. AUGUST in Psal 38. What wings should I desire but the two precepts of love on which the Law and the Prophets depend O if I could obtaine these wings I could flye from thy face to thy face from the face of thy Iustice to the face of thy Mercy Let us find those wings by love which we have lost by lust S. AUGUST in Psal 76. Let us cast off whatsoever hinders entangles or burthens our flight untill we attaine that which satisfies beyond which nothing is beneath which all things are of which all things are EPIG 13. Tell me my wishing soule didst ever trie How fast the wings of Red-crost Faith can flie Why beg'st thou then the pineons of a Dove Faiths wings are swifter but the swiftest Love XIV How amiable are thy Tabernacles O Lord of Hosts my Soule longeth yâ—â— euen fainteth for the courts of the Lord Pâ—â—4 Will Marshall Sculâ— XIV PSAL. LXXXIV I How amiable are thy Tabernacles O God of Hosts ANcient of dayes to whom all times are Now Before whose Glory Seraphims do bow Their blushing Cheekes and vale their blemisht faces That uncontain'd at once dost fill all places How glorious O how farre beyond the height Of puzzled Quils or the obtuse conceit Of flesh and Blood or the too flat reports Of mortall tongues are thy experssesse Courts Whose glory to paint forth with greater Art Ravish my Fancy and inspire my heart Excuse my bold attempt and pardon me For shewing Sence what Faith alone should see Ten thousand Millions and ten thousand more Of Angell-measur'd leagues from th'Easterne shore Of dungeon earth this glorious Palace stands Before whose pearly gates ten thousand Bands Of armed Angels wait to entertaine Those purged soules for whom the Lamb was slaine Whose guiltlesse death and voluntary yeelding Of whose giv'n life gave this brave Court her building The lukewarme Blood of this deare Lamb being spilt To Rubies turn'd whereof her posts were built And what dropt downe in cold and gelid gore Did turne rich Saphyrs and impav'd her floore The brighter flames that from his eye-balls ray'd Grew Chrysolites whereof her walls were made The milder glaunces sparkled on the Ground And grunsild ev'ry doore with Diamond But dying darted upwards and did fix A Battlement of purest Sardonix Her streets with burnisht Gold are paved round Starres lie like pebbles scattred on the ground Pearle mixt with Onyx and the Iasper stone Made gravil'd Causwayes to be trampled on There shines no Sun by day no Moone by night The Pallace glory is the Pallace light There is no time to measure motion by There time is swallow'd with Eternity Wry-mouth'd disdaine and corner-haunting lust And twy-fac'd Fraud and beetle-brow'd Distrust Soule-boyling Rage and trouble-state sedition And giddy doubt and goggle-ey'd suspition And lumpish sorrow and degen'rous feare Are banisht thence and death 's a stranger there But simple love and sempeternall joyes Whose sweetnesse neither gluts nor fulnesse cloyes Where face to face our ravish't eye shall see Great ELOHIM that glorious One in Three And Three in One and seeing Him shall blesse Him And blessing love Him and in love possesse Him Here stay my soule and ravish in relation Thy words being spent spend now in Contemplation S. GREG. in Psal 7. poenitent Sweet Iesus the Word of the Father the brightnesse of paternall glory whom Angels delight to view teach me to do thy will that led by thy good Spirit I may come to that blessed City where day is eternall where there is certaine security and secure eternity and eternall peace and peacefull happinesse and happy sweetnesse and sweet pleasure where thou O God with the Father and the holy Spirit livest and raignest world without end Ibid. There is light without darkenesse Ioy without griefe desire without punishment love without sadnesse satiety without loathing safety without feare health without disease and life without death EIPG. 14. My soule pry not too nearely The Complexion Of Sols bright face is seene but by Reflexion But wouldst thou know what 's heav'n I le tell thee what Think what thou canst not thinke and Heav'n is that XV. Make hast my Beloved and be Thow like to a Roe or to a yong Hart vpon the Mountaines of Spices Cant 8.14 Will sâ—â—sc XV. CANT VIII XIV Make hast my Beloved and be like the Roe or the young Hart upon the Mountaines of Spices GO Gentle Tyrant go thy flames doe pierce My soule too deep thy flames are too too fierce My marrow melts my fainting Spirits fry Ith'torrid Zone of thy Meridian Eye Away away thy sweets are too perfuming Turne turne thy face Thy fires are too consuming Hast hence and let thy winged steps out-goe The frighted Roe-buck and his flying Roe But wilt thou leave me then O thou that art Life of my Soule Soule of my dying heart Without the sweet Aspect of whose faire Eyes My soule does languish and her solace dies Art thou so easily woo'd So apt to heare The frantick language of my foolish feare Leave leave me not nor turne thy beauty from me Looke looke upon me though thine eâ—es ov'rcome me O how they wound But how my wounds content me How sweetly these delightfull paines torment me How I am tortur'd in excessive measure Of pleasing cruelties too cruell pleasure Turne turne away remove thy scorching beames I languish with these bitter-sweet extreames Hast then and let thy winged steps out-goe The flying Roe-buck and his frighted Roe Turne back my deare O let my ravisht eye Once more behold thy face before thou flie What shall we part without a mutuall kisse O who can leave so sweet a face as this Looke full upon me for my soule desires To turne a holy Martyr in those fires O leave me not nor turne thy beauty from me Looke looke upon me though thy flames ov'rcome me
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