crowned King Yea now the Lion with the Lambe did goe And knew not whether blood were sweete or no The little Kids to shew their wanton pride Came dancing by the loving Tigers side The Hare being minded with the Hounds to play Would give a sporting touch and so away And then returne being willing to be found And take his turne to chace the wanton Hound The busie Mice sat sporting all the day Meane while the Cat did smile to see them play The Foxe stands still to see the Geese asleepe The harmelesse Wolfe now grazeth with the Sheepe Here was no raping but all beasts did lye As link'd in one O Heavenly Sympathy The goodly Pastures springing from the Clay Did wooe their mouthes to banquet all the way Was spread with dainty herbes and as they found Occasion they would oft salute the ground Those uncontrouled creatures then begunne To sport and all lay basking in the Sunne No creature was their Lord gaine said by none As if that Heaven and earth were all their owne Thus when this mighty builder did inrobe Himselfe with night and Chaos to a globe Convert of this he tooke a serious view And did as t were create it all anew He made a little Orbe cald man the same Onely compacted in a lesser frame For what is all this all that man in one Doth not enjoy A man that 's onely blowne With heavens breath a man that doth present Life Spirit sense and every element Yea in this little world great Iove did place His glorious Image and this miry face Was heavens picture t was this face alone That still lookt up to his Creators throne Then God did make a place to be admir'd Surely t was heaven it selfe had then conspir'd To finde it out a garden sweetly blowne With pleasant fruite and man's exempt from none Of all these plants except a middle tree And what can one among a thousand bee O glorious place that God doth now provide For durty clay the earth in all her pride He tramples on and heav'n that 's so beset With spangles and each glistring Chrysolet Doth give attendance yea it serves to be A covering for his head his Canopie Thus man of heaven and earth is all possest This span of durt is Lord of all the rest Me think's I see how all the Creatures bring Their severall Congies to their new made King Behemoth which ere while did range about Vncheckt and tossing up his bony snowt Feard none now having cast his rowling eyes Vpon his Lord see how he crouching lyes Behind a sheltring bush he seemes to be Imploring aide of every spreading tree The Lyon which ere while was in his pride Squinting by chance his gogle-eyes aside Espies his King he dares not stay for haste Spues out his meate halfe chaw'd and will not taste Of his intended food but sneakes away Counting his life to be his chiefest prey It was but now the raven was espide Sporting her wings upon the Tigars hide But now O how her feather'd sayles doe soare As if shee vowd to touch the earth no more See how the Goates doe clamber to the top Of highest mountaines and the Conies drop Into their holes see how the Roebucke flings himselfe almost exchanging legs for wings Why what 's the matter that ye haste away Ye that ere while were sporting all the day Tell me yee Creatures say what fearefull sight Hath put you to this unexpected flight Speake speake thou giddy lambe wer 't not thou spide At play but now why then dost skip aside What is it man that frights you can his face Stretch out your legs unto their swiftest pace Can one looke daunt you all what neede this bee Are ye not made of Clay as well as hee Have ye not one Creator are ye not His elder Brothers and the first begot Why start ye then is it not strange to see One weake-one make ten thousand strong ones flee But ah I neede not aske I know it now You spied your makers image in his brow T' was even so indeed no time to stay Your Lord was comming fit he should have way And thus these Creatures dares not come in sight Surely t' was heavens Idea causd the fright Now see how flattering earth doth strive alone To please this Lord each tree presents a done See how the fruite hangs with a comely grace And wooes his hands to rent them from their place O how they bow and would not have him bring His hands to them they bend unto their King But if by chance he will not plucke and taste They breake the boughes and so for griefe they waste See how the little pinkes when they espie Their Lord doe Curtsy as he passeth by The wanton Dazies shake their leavy heads The purple Vilets startle from their beds The Primrose sweete and every flowre that growes Bestrowes his way with odours as he goes Thus did the herbes the trees the pleasant flowres Welcome their Lord into his Eden bowres But all this while the earth with all her pride Shee nor her store could not aford a bride Fitting for man no no to end the strife The man himselfe must yeeld himselfe a wife It was not meete for him to be alone Then did our one-in-three our three-in-one Cast him into a sleepe and did divide His ribbes and brought a woman from his side When this was done the devill did entice The wife from Gods unto his Paradice See how the lying serpent maketh choise Of the forbidden tree a tacite voice It hath indeede most lovely to the eye Presents it to her and shee by and by Forsooth must taste and so must Adam too What cannot women by entreaties doe God he intends a wife for mans reliefe But oftentimes shee prooves the greatest griefe Was there but one forbid and must shee bee So base a wretch to taste of such a tree Must Adam too Ah see how shee pluckes downe Her husbands glory and kickes off his crowne O see how angry God himselfe comes downe To curse these wretches heaven begins to frowne Alas poore naked soules me thinkes I see Transformed Adam crouch behind a tree T' is time to runne when once God doth reject him T is not his leavy armour can protect him Heaven and hell with all the spight they can Strive for revenge against this monster man O how the Creatures frowne and bend their brow As if they all conspir'd and tooke a vow Against this caytive hearke how earth complaines That shee by man is barrd of mod'rate raines Shee s now become a strumpet fruitfull seedes And dainty flowers are turn'd to bastard weedes Disrob'd of all her glory lost her pride The creatures now lie starving by her side O how shee sighes and sends up hideous cryes To see poore cattell fall before her eyes For want of foode they rip their mothers wombe For meate but finding none doe makt their tombe Harke how the buls and angry Lyons roare To heaven and tell
hand that strikes the kayes O Lord from me the sweetest musicke raise If thou don't strike at all how can I speake Thy worthy prayses if too hard I breake Strike mildly Lord strike soft and then I le sing And charoll out the glory of my King A Meditation on an Apes love WHen once the foolish Ape hath fild her nest With little brats there 's one among the rest Shee most affects to shelter this from harmes Shee alwayes hugges it in her wanton armes Vntill at length shee squeezeth out the breath Of this her fondling Loves the cause of death The Worlds this wanton Ape that still delights In hugging some peculiar favourites Of those that are thus dandled by this Ape There doth not one among a thousand scape On contempt of the World A Loft O Soule soare up doe not turmoyle Thy selfe by grabbling on a dunghill soyle Tosse up thy wings and make thy soaring plumes Outreach the loathsome stench and noysome fumes That spring from sordid earth come come and see Thy birth and learne to know thy pedigree What wast thou made of Clay or dost thou owe Homage to earth say is thy blisse below Dost know thy beauty dost thou not excell Can the Creation yeeld a parallel The world can't give a glasse to represent Thy shape and shall a durty element Bewitch thee thinke is not thy birth most high Blowne from the mouth of all the trinity The breath of all-creating Iove the best Of all his workes yea thee of all the rest He chose to be his Picture where can I But in thy selfe see Immortality 'Mong all his earthly creatures Thou art chiefe Of all his workes and shall the world turne theefe And steale away thy love wert not for thee The heav'n aspiring mountaine should not bee The heavens should have no glistring starre no light No Sunne to rule the day no Moone the night The Globe had bin 'twas not the makers will To make it for it selfe a Chaos still Thou art Ioves priestly Aaron to present The creatures service while they give assent By serving thee why then 's the world thy rest 'T is but thy servants servant at the best It gives attendance to refined mire That Iove hath wrapt thee in as thy attire For what 's the body but a lumpe of clay Carv'd neatly out in which the soule beares sway T is servant to the soule what limbe can stirre Nay darst to quatch if once shee make demurre See how the captiv'd members trembling stand Wondrous submissive to her dire command O how the legs doe runne with eager flight To overtake the object of delight See how the armes doe graspe as if they 'd rent To hold the thing that gives the soule content Why what 's the body when the soule 's away Nought but a stincking carkasse made of clay What 's heav'n without a God or what 's the skye If once bright Phoebus close his radiant eye The world was for our bodies they for none But for our soules our soules for God alone What madnesse then for men of such a birth To nuzell all their dayes on dunghill earth Still hunting after with an eager sent An object which can never give content For what contentment in the world can lye That 's onely constant in inconstancy It ebbes and flowes each minuie thou maist brag This day of thousands and to morrow bâ—g The greatest wealth is subject for to reele The globe is plac'd on Fortunes tottering wheele As when the gladding sunne begins to show And scatter all his golden beames below A churlish cloud soone meetes him in the way And sads the beauty of the smiling day Or as a stately ship a while behaves Her selfe most bravely on the slumbring waves And like a Swanne sailes nimbly in her pride The helpefull windes concording with the tide To mend her pace but by and by the wind The fretfull Seas the heav'ns and all combin'd Against this bragging barke O how they fling Her corkey sides to heaven and then they bring Her backe shee that ere while did sayle so brave Cutting the floods now 's tost with every wave Iust so the waving world gives joy and sorrow This day a Croesus and a Iob to morrow How often have I seene the miser blesse Himselfe in wealth and count it for no lesse Then his adored God straight comes a frowne Flying from unhappy fate and whirleth downe Him and his heapes of gold and all that prize Is lost which he but now did Idolize But grant the world as never 't will to be A thing most sure most full of constancy What is thy wealth unlesse thy God doth blesse Thy store and turne it to a happinesse What though thy Table be compleatly spread With farre-fetcht dainties and the purest bread That fruitfull earth can yeeld all this may bee If thou no stomacke hast what 's all to thee What though thy habitation should excell In beauty and were Edens parallel Thou being pesterd with some dire disease How can thy stately dwelling give thee ease Thy joyes will turne thy griefe thy freedome thrall Vnlesse thy God above doth sweeten all When thou poore soule liest ready to depart And hear'st thy Conscience snarling at thine heart Though heapes of gold should in thy coffers lye And all thy worthlesse friends stand whining by 'T is none 't is none of these can give thee health But thou must languish in the midst of wealth Then cease thou mad man and pursue no more The world and know shee 's but a painted whore Thou catchest shadowes labourst in thy dreames And thirst's amongst th' imaginary streames A Meditation on a meane LOrd in excesse I see there often lies Great dangers and in wants great miseries Send me a meane doe thou my wayes preserve For I may surfet Lord as well as starve On Sathans tempting Eve ARt thou turn'd Fencer Sathan prethee say Surely thou art not active at thy play Challenge a Woman fie thou art to blame Suppose thou getst the day thou getst no fame But prethee speake hast any cause to prate Thou bruis'd her heele what though shee broke thy pate On a Spunge THe Spunge it selfe drinkes water till it swell it But never empties till some strength expell it Lord of our selves we 're apt to soake in sinne But thou art faine to squeeze it out agin A Meditation on a chime of Bells HArke what harmonious Musicke fils mine eare What pleasant raptures yet me thinkes I heare Each Bell that 's rung to beare a various sound Had all one note how quickely t would confound The tune a discord in the bels arise And yet they disagreeing sympathize T is not the greatest makes the sweetest noyse No but the skilfull Ringer still imployes The small as well as great t is every bell Together rung that makes them sound so well Thus t is in Common-weale if every man Kept time and place proportiond to him than How sweetly would our musicke sound t would
whore I will deride Her and her pride For Christ is this and more What though insinuating pleasure Preferres me to her chiefest treasure And every day and every night Doth feede me with a new delight And slumbers me with lullaby Dandling me on her whorish thigh What though with her sublime pretences Shee strives t' imprison all my senses Yet shee shant be A trap to me Her freedome is but thrall Her greatest coy Will but annoy Till Christ doth sweeten all Or what though profit with her Charmes Grasping the world within her armes Vnlades her selfe and bids me see What paines shee takes and all for me And then invites me to her bower Filling my coffers every houre What though shee thus inlarge my store With every day a thousand more Yet let her packe And turne her backe Her purest gold 's but drosse Her greatest paines Produce no gaines Till Christ come all is losse Or what though Fortune should present Her high Olympicke regiment And never my Ambition checke But still be pliant to my becke What though she lends me wings to flie Vnto the top of Dignity And make proud Monarches with her wheele Vncrowne their heads to Crowne my heele I le not depend On such a friend T is Christ is all my stay Shee can revoke The highest spoke Her wheeles turnd every day Let none of these in me take place Fond Venus hath a Vulcans face And so till heaven be pleasd to smile Poore earth sits barren all the while The world that 's apt to winne a foole It is my burden not my stoole Nor pleasure shall enchant my mind Shee s smooth before but stings behind I will disdaine Their greatest gaine And fortun 's but a feather T is none of these Can give me ease But Christ's the same for ever Lord why hidest thou thy face from me WHat drowsie weather 's this the angry skies Doe threaten stormes and heav'n it selfe denies Her lovely visage ah these darkned dayes Doe make my vitals drowsie and decayes My soules delight good God can I controule Or drive these pensive humours from my soule Ah no I can't my lively spirits keepe Such drowsie weather 's fit for nought but sleepe O thou eternall light that hast the sway In Ioves broad wals thou scepter of the day Thou heav'ns bright torch thou glistring worlds bright eye Why dost thou hide and so obscurely lye Come wrap thy selfe in thy compleate attire Shew forth thy glory make my soule admire Thy splendor come and doe no longer stay But with thy glorious beames bestrow my way Extirpe these foggy mists from out mine eyes That I may plainly see where heaven lyes Then I le awake sweete Christ doe thou display Thy glittering beames send out a Summers day I 'le rub my slumbring eyes O then I 'le roame A life-time journey from my native home The soule will sleepe and can't hold up her eyes Vntill the sunne of righteousnesse arise Christs Resurrection COme Rise my heart thy Master 's risen Why slug'st thou in thy grave Dost thou not know he broke the prison Thou art no more a slave He rowled of the sealed stone That once so pondrous lay And left the watchmen all alone And bravely scapt away When flesh the world and Satan too Wont suffer thee to quatch Learne of thy Master what to doe And cozen all the watch Let not these clogging earthly things Make thee poore soule forsake him Goe ask of Faith she 'le lend thee wings Haste fly and overtake him But harke my soule I 'le tell thee where Thy Master sits in state Goe knocke at heavens dore for there He entred in of late If Peter now had kept the key Thou mightst get in with ease But Iustice onely beares the sway And le ts in whom shee please Shee 's wondrous sterne and suffers not A passenger to enter Without thy Masters ticket got Thou mayst not touch her Center But come my soule let me advise What needst thou to implore The Saints for ayde I know where lies For thee a private doore Dost not remember since the pride Of base perfidious men Did thrust thy Master through the side Wert not thou wounded then When Iustice is so sterne that thou Vnto a straight art driven Come hearke and I will tell thee now Creepe through that wound to heaven Sanctificat O My head alas my bones O my wounded joynts doe smart Flesh ere while as hard as stones Now it akes in every part Lord 't is thy Art All thy Iudgements could not scare Me nor make my soule to fly Now one angry looke can reare Me and make me pensive lye In misery Lord there where I tooke my rise There did I begin to reele Surfetted in Paradise And there I got a bruised heele Which now I feele Surely my disease was great Sicke and yet I felt no paine Hungry yet I could not eate Sore yet could I not complaine Yet all was gaine For good God thy care was such That thou gavest me much reliefe Yea thou lendedst me a Crutch And didst make me know my griefe Lord thou art chiefe Thou hast made the rocke to weepe And my stony heart to groane Thou hast rais'd me from my sleepe And dost smile to heare my tone And lov'st my mone But what need'st thou lend a Crutch Thou canst make me perfect whole Thou canst heale me with a touch By this thou know'st a woman stole Cure for her dole When leave I this halting pace When shall I most perfect be When thou shalt my glistring face In the land of glory see Lord perfect me A Meditation on a Mans shadow WHen as the Sunne flings downe his richest rayes And with his shining beames adornes my wayes See how my shadow trackes me where I goe I stop that stops I walke and that doth so I runne with winged flight and still I spye My waiting shadow runne as fast as I. But when a sable cloud doth disaray The Sunne and robs me of my smiling day My shadow leaves me helpelesse all alone And when I most neede comfort I have none Iust so it is let him that hath the hight Of outward pompe expect a parasite If thou art great thy honours will draw nigh These are the shadowes to prosperity O how the worldlings make pursuite to thee With cap in hand and with a bended knee But if disastrous fate should come betwixt Thee and thy Sunne thy splendor's all eclipst Thy friends forsake thee and thy shadow 's gone And thou poore sunne-lesse thou art left alone This is thy Soules estate the worldly gaine And greatest pompe in stormy times are vaine They are but shadowes when distresse comes nigh They are as nothing to a faithfull eye Yet here 's my comfort Lord if I can see My shadow I must needes a substance be O let me not with worldly shadowes clogge My selfe grant me more wit then Esops dogge A Meditation on Childrens rashnesse WHen Mothers are desirous for to play The
be The emblem of an Heavenly harmony Where each man would be great the land enjoyes No musicke but a base prepostrous noyse Each Bell sounds well what though the tenor be The big'st the treble seemes as sweete to me Le ts not aspire too high experience tels The choisest chimes makes use of petty bels But howsoever Lord least I disgrace Thy sweet-voic'd chime make me keepe time and place A Meditation on the burning a torch at noone day WHen Sol doth in his flaming throne remaine My Blazing torch doth spend it selfe in vaine But when the sunne goes downe and once t is night O then how welcome is my torches Light Sols radient beames at noone doe so surmount They make my tapers light of small accompt So Lord when thou dost great abundance send We cannot then so well esteeme a friend We slight their helpes they alwaies seeme most bright When dire affliction sends a dismall night A Meditation on the sound of a crackt Bell. HArke how the Hoarsemouth'd Bell extends a tone Into mine eares delightfull unto none The Mettal's good t is some unwelcome skar Some fatall cracke that makes the musicke jarre But what of this although the sound be rough T will call me to the temple well enough Such are those ill-lived Teachers who confound The sweetnesse of their soule converting sound By flawes seene in their unbeseeming lives By which their heavenly calling lesser thrives Yet Lord I know they 're able for to bring My Soule to heaven though with so hoarse a ring But since thou dost such jarring tunes disdaine Melt thou this mettall cast these bels againe A Meditation on a silly Sheepe WHen all the Winds shew forth their boystrous pride And every cloud unloads his spungy side When Boreus blowes and all the Heavens weepe And with their stormes disturbe the grazing sheepe See how the harmelesse creature much dismaide Doth crouch unto the bramble bush for aide 'T is true the bramble hides her from the winde But yet it makes her leave her fleece behinde Who can but smile at such that knowes not how To take the frownings of an angry brow Whose base revengefull spirits strive to crush Their foes though fleece themselves at law'ers bush Guide me good God let me revenge no more When once the cure growes worse then the sore A Meditation on the Flowers of the Sunne MArke how the flowers at night doe hang their heads As if they 'd drop their leaves into their beds But when the morning sunne doth once arise They represent their glory to mine eyes Then they unvaile their tops and doe attire Themselves in beauty as the Sunne goes higher Thus Lord thy Saints on earth when thou do'st hide They cover all the glory of their pride Their drooping soules doe wither all their mirth Is gone they finde no pleasure in the earth But when the Sunne of righteousnesse appeares Then they display their beauty and their feares Are all extinct O Lord doe thou make me Thy Saint that I may fall and rise with thee A Meditation on a Loadstone and Iet WHen once the Loadstone shewes it selfe then straight The Iron carelesse of its wonted waight Vnto its wished object doth aspire As if it did enjoy the sense Desire And thus the blacke-fac'd Iet is apt to draw The dust and to inchant the wanton straw This Iet and Loadstone well me thinkes imparts An embleme of our fond-attractiv'd hearts The Spirit is that Loadstone that doth plucke Our Iron hearts that once so fast were stucke Plung'd in the depth of sinne and sets them sure In spight of devillish mallice to indure The World 's the Iet that often doth controule Vaine frothy man and steale away his soule With her inchanting trickes thus Iet can bring Light strawes submissive to so vaine a thing Be thou my Loadstone Lord then thou shalt see My Iron heart will quickely cleave to thee A Meditation on false lookin-glasses MAdam looke off why peep'st thou O forbeare T will either make thee proud or else despaire Th' one glasse doth flatter thee above desart The other makes thee blacker then thou art Tell me sweete Lady now thou hast both there Dost not most love the glasse that makes thee faire T is our condition we can seldome see A man that tels us truely what we be Our friends doe often flatter and present Too fine a shape and all to give content Our rough-mouth'd foes do strive to lay a skar On us and make us worser then we are But yet of both our lofty nature's such Indeed we love our flattering friends too much Give me a perfect Glasse Lord cleare my sight That I may see my selfe and thee aright A Meditation on hunting the Hare OBserve how nature tutors senslesse Beasts How quickly will they poste into their nests For feare of harme O how the trembling Hare Will shunne the dogge and ev'ry bird the snare See how the crafty Fox doth take his rounds And clamber mountaines to avoid the hounds If Nature shewes this to such creatures too O what doth Reason and Religion doe How is it then that Man so little feares The plots of Sathan and those dev'lish snares How apt are we good God to trample in Nay t' urge occasions for to act our sinne Vnlesse we by thy spirit are possest We are more stupid then the senslesse beast A Meditation on the pride of Womens apparrell SEe how some borrow'd off cast vaine attire Can puffe up pamper'd clay and dirty mire Tell me whence had'st thy cloath's that makes thee fine Wast not the silly Sheeps before t was thine Doth not the Silke worme and the Oxes hide Serve to maintaine thee in thy cheefest pride Do'st not thou often with those feathers vaile Thy face with which the Ostridge hides her taile What art thou proud of then me thinks 't is fit Thou should'st be humble for the wearing it Tell me proud Madam thou that art so nise How were thy parents clad in Paradise At first they wore the armour of defence And were compleatly wrapt in innocence Had not they sin'd they ne're had beene dismaid Nor needed not the Fig-trees leavy ayde What ever state O Lord thou place me in Let me not glory in th' effect of sinne A Meditation on a Wax Candle lighted SEe how my burning Taper gives his light And guids my wayes in the obscurest night It wasts it selfe for me and when t is spent The snuffe doth leave behind a wholsome sent Thus doe thy Pastors Lord who shine most bright They spend themselves to give thy people light And when by thee their posting time 's confind They dye and leave a lovely smell behind A Meditation on an Elephant THe Elephant doth alwayes chuse to drinke In durty ponds and makes his paw to sinke And raise the mud that so he may escape Without the shadow of his ugly shape Thus t is with guilty soules who dare not peepe Into themselves but make their conscience sleepe Cleanse me