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
sicknesse broacht to be drawne out by death A haplesse helplesse thing that borne does cry To feed that feedes to live that lives to die Great God and Man whose eyes spent drops so often For me that cannot weepe enough O soften These marble braines and strike this flinty rock Or if the musick of thy Peters Cock Will more prevaile fill fill my hearkning eares With that sweet sound that I may melt in teares I cannot weepe untill thou broach ruine eye Or give me vent or els I burst and die S. AMBROS in Psal 118. He that commits sinnes to be wept for cannot weepe for sinnes committed And being himselfe most lamentable hath no teares to lament his offences NAZIANZ Orat. 3. Teares are the deluge of sinne and the worlds sacrifice S. HIEROM in Esaiam Prayer appeases God but a teare compels him That moves him but this constraines him EPIG 8. Earth is an Island ported round with Feares The way to Heav'n is through the Sea of teares It is a stormy passage where is found The wracke of many a ship but no man drown'd IX The sorroues of hell haue encompassed me the snares of death haue ouertaken me psal 17 Will simpson IX PSALM XVIII V The sorrowes of hell compassed mee about and the snares of death prevented me IS not this Type well cut In ev'ry part Full of rich cunning fil'd with Zeuxian Art Are not the Hunters and their Stygian Hounds Limm'd full to th' life Didst ever heare the sounds The musicke and the lip-divided breaths Of the strong-winded Horne Recheats and deaths Done more exact Th' infernall Nimrods hollow The lawlesse Purliews and the Game they follow The hidden Engines and the snares that lie So undiscover'd so obscure to th' eye The new-drawne net and her entangled Prey And him that closes it Beholder say Is' t not well done seemes not an em'lous strife Betwixt the rare cut picture and the life These Purlieu-men are Devils And the Hounds Those quick nos'd Canibals that scoure the grounds Temptations and the Game these Frends pursue Are humane soules which still they have in view Whose fury if they chance to scape by flying The skilfull Hunter plants his net close lying On th'unsuspected earth bayted with treasure Ambitious honour and selfe-wasting pleasure Where if the soule but stoope death stands prepar'd To draw the net and drawne the soule 's ensnar'd Poore soule how art thou hurried to and fro Where canst thou safely stay where safely go If stay these hot-mouth'd Hounds are apt to teare thee If goe the snares enclose the nets ensnare thee What good in this bad world has pow'r t' invite thee A willing Guest wherein can earth delight thee Her pleasures are but Itch Her wealth but Cares A world of dangers and a world of snares The close Pursuers busie hands do plant Snares in thy substance Snares attend thy want Snares in thy credit Snares in thy disgrace Snares in thy high estate Snares in thy base Snares tuck thy bed and Snares arround thy boord Snares watch thy thoughts and Snares attache thy word Snares in thy quiet Snares in thy commotion Snares in thy dyet Snares in thy devotion Snares lurk in thy resolves Snares in thy doubt Snares lie within thy heart and Snares without Snares are above thy head and Snares beneath Snares in thy sicknesse Snares are in thy death O if these Purlieus be so full of danger Great God of Harts the worlds sole sov'raigne Ranger Preserve thy Deere and let my soule be blest In thy safe Forrest where I seeke for rest Then let the Hell-hounds roare I feare no ill Rouze me they may but have no pow'r to kill S. AMBROS lib. 4. in cap. 4. Lucae The reward of honours the height of power the delicacie of diet and the beauty of a harlot are the snares of the Devill S. AMBROS de bono mortis Whilest thou seekest pleasures thou runnest into snares for the eye of the harlot is the snare of the Adulterer SAVANAR In eating he sets before us Gluttony In generation luxury In labour sluggishnesse In conversing envy in governing covetousnesse In correcting arger In honour pride In the heart he sets evill thoughts in the mouth evill words in actions evill workes when awake he moves us to evill actions when asleepe to filthy dreames EPIG 9. Be sad my Heart Deep dangers wait thy mirth Thy soule 's way layd by sea by Hell by earth Hell has her hounds Earth snares the Sea a shelfe But most of all my heart beware thy selfe X. Enter not into iudgment with thy seruant for no man liuing shall be iustified in thy sight Will simpson X. PSAL. CXLIII II Enter not into judgement with thy servant for in thy sight shall no man living bee iustified Jesus Justice Sinner Ies BRing forth the prisner Iustice Iust Thy commands Are done just Iudge See here the prisner stands Ies What has the prisner done Say what 's the cause Of his committment Iust He has broke the lawes Of his too gracious God conspir'd the death Of that great Majesty that gave him breath And heapes transgression Lord upon transgression Ies How know'st thou this Iu. Ev'n by his own confessiō His sinnes are crying and they cry'd aloud They cry'd to heav'n they cry'd to heav'n for blood Ies What sayst thou sinner hast thou ought to plead That sentence should not passe Hold up thy head And shew thy brazen thy rebellious face Sin Ah me I dare not I'am too vile and base To tread upon the earth much more to lift Mine eyes to heav'n I need no other shrift Than mine owne conscience Lord I must confesse I am no more than dust and no whit lesse Than my Inditement stiles me Ah if thou Search too severe with too severe a Brow What Flesh can stand I have transgrest thy lawes My merits plead thy vengeance not my cause Iust Lord shall I strike the blow Ies Hold Iustice stay Sinner speake on what hast thou more to say Sin Vile as I am and of my selfe abhor'd I am thy handy-worke thy creature Lord Stampt with thy glorious Image and at first Most like to thee though now a poore accurst Convicted Caitiffe and degen'rous creature Here trembling at thy Bar. Iust Thy fault 's the greater Lord shall I strike the blow Ies Hold Iustice stay Speake sinner hast thou nothing more to say Sin Nothing but Mercy Mercy Lord my state Is miserably poore and desperate I quite renounce my selfe the world and flee From Lord to Iesus from thy selfe to Thee Iust Cease thy vaine hopes my angry God has vow'd Abused mercy must have blood for blood Shall I yet strike the blow Ies Stay Iustice hold My bowels yearne my fainting blood growes cold To view the trembling wretch Me thinks I spye My fathers Image in the pris'ners eye Iust I cannot hold Jes Then turne thy thirsty blade Into my sides let there the wound be made Cheare up deare soule Redeeme thy life with mine My
do I Pant after Thee my GOD whom I must find or die 3 Before a Pack of deep-mouth'd Lusts I flee O they have singled out my panting heart And wanton Cupid sitting in a Tree Hath pierc'd my bosome with a flaming dart My soule being spent for refuge seeks to Thee But cannot find where Thou my refuge art Like as the swift-foot Hart does wounded flie To the desired streames ev'n so do I Pant after Thee my GOD whom I must find or die 4 At length by flight I over-went the Pack Thou drew'st the wanton dart from out my wound The blood that follow'd left a purple track Which brought a Serpent but in shape a Hound We strove He bit me but Thou brak'st his back I left him grov'ling on th'envenom'd ground But as the Serpent-bitten Hart does flie To the long-long'd for streames ev'n so did I Pant after Thee my GOD whom I must find or die 5 If lust should chase my soule made swift by fright Thou art the streames whereto my soule is bound Or if a lav'lin wound my sides in flight Thou art the Balsome that must cure my wound If poyson chance t'infest my soule in fight Thou art the Treacle that must make me sound Ev'n as the wounded Hart embost does flie To th'streames extremely long for so doe I Pant after Thee my GOD whom I must finde or die CYRIL lib. 5. in Ioh. cap. 10. O precious water which quenches the noysome thirst of this world that scoures all the staines of sinnes that waters the earth of our soules with heavenly showers and brings backe the thirsty heart of man to his onely God! S. AUGUST Soliloq 35. O fountaine of life and veine of living waters when shall I leave this forsaken impassible and dry earth and tast the waters of thy sweetnesse that I may behold thy vertue and thy glory and slake my thirst with the streames of thy mercy Lord I thirst Thou art the spring of life satisfie me I thirst Lord I thirst after thee the living God! EPIG 11. The Arrow-smitten Hart deep wounded flies To th' Springs with water in his weeping eyes Heav'n is thy Spring If Sathans fiery dart Pierce thy faint sides do so my wounded Hart. XII When shall I come and appeare before the Lord Ps 42.2 W. M. Sculp XII PSAL. XLII II When shall I come and appeare before God WHat is my soule the better to be tinde With holy fire What boots it to be coynd With Heav'ns owne stamp What vantage can there be To soules of heav'n-descended Pedegree More than to Beasts that grovell Are not they Fed by th' Almighties hand and ev'ry day Fill'd with His Blessing too Doe they not see GOD in His Creatures as direct as we Doe they not tast Thee heare Thee nay what Sense Is not partaker of Thine Excellence What more doe we Alas what serves our reason But like darke lanthornes to accomplish Treason With greater closenesse It affords no light Brings Thee no nearer to our pur blind sight No pleasure rises up the least degree Great GOD but in the clearer view of Thee What priv'ledge more than Sense has Reason than What vantage is it to be borne a Man How often has my patience built deare LORD Vaine Tow'rs of Hope upon Thy gracious Word How often has Thy Hope-reviving Grace Woo'd my suspitious eyes to seeke Thy face How often have I sought Thee Oh how long Hath expectation taught my perfect tongue Repeated pray'rs yet pray'rs could nev'r obtaine In vaine I seeke Thee and I beg in vaine If it be high presumption to behold Thy face why didst Thou make mine eyes so boâ—â— To seeke it If that object be too bright For mans Aspect why did thy lips invite Mine eye t' expect it If it might be seene Why is this envious curtaine drawne betweene My darkned eye and it O tell me why Thou dost command the thing Thou dost deny Why dost thou give me so unpriz'd a treasure And then deny'st my greedy soule the pleasure To view thy gift Alas that gift is void And is no gift that may not be enjoy'd If those refulgent Beames of heav'ns great light Guid not the day what is the day but night The drouzie Shepheard sleeps flowres droop and fade The Birds are sullen and the Beast is sad But if bright Titan dart his golden Ray And with his riches glorifie the day The jolly Shepheard pipes Flowres freshly spring The beast growes gamesome and the birds they sing Thou art my Sun great GOD O when shall I View the full beames of thy Meridian eye Draw draw this fleshly curtaine that denies The gracious presence of thy glorious eyes Or give me Faith and by the eye of Grace I shall behold Thee though not face to face S. AUGUST in Psal 39. Who created all things is better than all things who beautified all things is more beautifull than all things who made strength is stronger than all things who made great things is greater than all things Whatsoever thou lovest hee is that to thee Learne to love the workman in his worke the Creator in his creature Let not that which was made by Him possesse thee lest thou lose Him by whom thy selfe was made S. AUGUST Med. cap. 37. O thou most sweet most gracious most amiable most faire when shall I see Thee when shall I be satisfied with thy beauty When wilt thou lead mee from this darke dungeon that I may confesse thy name EPIG 12. How art thou shaded in this vale of night Behind thy Curtaine flesh Thou seest no light But what thy Pride does challenge as her owne Thy flesh is high Soule take this Curtaine downe XIII Oh that I had the wings of a Doue for then I would fly away be at rest Pâ— 5â— 6 W. Simpson sc XIII PSAL. LVI VI O that I had the wings of a Dove for then I would flee away and be at rest 1 ANd am I sworne a dunghill slave for ever To earths base drudg'ry Shall I never find A night of Rest Shall my Indentures never Be cancel'd Did injurious nature bind My soule earths Prentice with no Clause to leave her No day of freedome Must I ever grinde O that I had the pineons of a Dove That I might quit my Bands and sore above And powre my just Complaints before the great JEHOVA 2 How happy are the Doves that have the pow'r When ere they please to spread their ayry wings Or cloud-dividing Eagles that can tow'r Above the Sent of these inferiour things How happy is the Lark that ev'ry howre Leaves earth and then for joy mounts up and sings Had my dull soule but wings as well as they How I would spring from earth and clip away As wise Astraea did and scorne this ball of Clay 3 O how my soule would spurne this Ball of Clay And loath the dainties of earths painefull pleasure O how I 'de laugh to see men night and day Turmoyle to gaine that
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
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
world it selfe and all the worlds Command Is but a Bubble The strong desires of mans insatiate brest May stand possest Of all that earth can give but earth can give no Rest 4 The world 's a seeming Par'dise but her owne And Mans Tormenter Appearing fixt yet but a rolling Stone Without a Tenter It is a vast Circumference where none Can find a Center Of more than earth can earth make none possest and he that least Regards this restlesse world shall in this world find Rest 5 True Rest consists not in the oft revying Of worldly drosse Earths myry Purchase is not worth the buying Her gaine is losse Her rest but giddy toyle if not relying Upon her Crosse How worldlings droyle for trouble That fond brest That is possest Of earth without a Crosse has earth without a Rest CASS. in Ps The Crosse is the invincible Sanctuary of the humble The dejection of the proud the victory of Christ the destruction of the devill the confirmation of the faithfull the death of the unbeleever the life of the just DAMASCEN The Crosse of Christ is the key of Paradise the weake mans staffe the Converts Convoy the upright mans perfection the soule and bodies health the prevention of all evill and the procurer of all Good EPIG 9. Worldling whose whimpâ—ing folly holds the losses Of honour Pleasure health and wealth such Crosses Looke here and tell me what your Armes engrosse When the best end of what ye hugg's a crosse VII Latet hostis et otia ducis W. Marshall sculp VII I PET. V. VIII Be sober Be vigilant because your adversary the devill as a roaring Lion walketh about seeking whom he may devoure 1 WHy dost thou suffer lustfull sloth to creepe Dull Cypâ—ian lad into thy wanton browes Is this a time to pay thine idle vowes At Morpheus Shrine Is this a time to steepe Thy braines in wastfull slumbers up and rouze Thy leaden spirits Is this a time to sleepe Adjourne thy sanguine dreames Awake arise Call in thy Thoughts and let them all advise Hadst thou as many Heads as thou hast wounded Eyes 2 Looke looke what horrid Furies doe await Thy flattring slumbers If thy drowzie head But chance to nod thou fal'st into a Bed Of sulph'rous flames whose Torments want a date Fond Boy be wise let not thy thoughts be fed With Phrygian wisedome Fooles are wise too late Beware betimes and let thy Reason sever Those Gates which passion clos'd wake now or never For if thou nod'st thou fal'st and falling fal'st for ever 3 Mark how the ready hands of death prepare His Bow is bent and he has noch'd his dart He aimes he levels at thy slumbring heart The wound is posting O be wise Beware What has the voice of danger lost the art To raise the spirit of neglected Care Well sleep thy fill and take thy soft reposes But know withall sweet tasts have sower closes And he repents in Thornes that sleeps in Beds of roses 4 Yet sluggard wake and gull thy soule no more With earths false pleasure and the worlds delight Whose fruit is faire and pleasing to the sight But sowre in tast false at the putrid Core Thy flaring Glasse is Gemms at her halfe light She makes thee seming rich but truly poore She boasts a kernell and bestowes a Shell Performes an Inch of her faire promis'd Ell Her words protest a Heav'n Her works produce a Hell 5 O thou the fountaine of whose better part Is earth'd and gravail'd up with vaine desire That daily wallow'st in the fleshly mire And base pollution of a lustfull heart That feel'st no passion but in wanton fire And own'st no torment but from Cupids dart Behold thy Type Thou sitst upon this Baâ—l Of earth secure while death that flings at all Stands ar'md to strike thee down where flames attend thy fall S. BERN. Security is no where It is neither in heaven nor in Paradise much lesse in the world In heaven the Angels fell from the divine presence in Paradise Adam fell from his place of pleasure in the world Iudas fel from the Schoole of our Saviour HUGO J eat secure I drink secure I sleep secure even as though I had past the day of death avoided the day of judgment and escaped the torments of hell fire I play and laugh as though I were already triumphing in the Kingdome of heaven EPIG 7. Get up my soule Redeeme thy slavish eyes From drowzy bondage O beware Be wise Thy Foe 's before thee thou must fight or flieâ— Life lies most open in a closed Eye VIII Et risu necat W. Marshall sc VIII LVKE VI. XXV Woe be to you that laugh now for yee shall mourne and weepe THe world 's a popular disease that raignes Within the froward heart and frantick braines Of poore distemper'd mortals oft arising From ill digestion through th'unequall poysing Of ill-weigh'd Elements whose light directs Malignant humours to maligne Effects One raves and labours with a boyling Liver Rends haire by handfuls cursing Cupids Quiver Another with a Bloody-fluxe of oathes Vowes deepe Revenge one dotes the other loathes One frisks and sings and vyes a Flagon more To drench dry cares and makes the Welkin roare Another droopes the sunshine makes him sad Heav'n cannot please One's moap'd the tother's mad One huggs his Gold Another let sit flie He knowing not for whom nor tother why One spends his day in Plots his night in Play Another sleeps and slugs both night and day One laughs at this thing tother cries for that But neither one nor tother knowes for what Wonder of wonders What we ought t'evite As our disease we hugg as our delight T is held a Symptome of approaching danger When disacquainted Sense becomes a stranger And takes no knowledge of an old disease But when a noysome Griefe begins to please The unresisting sense it is a feare That death has parlyed and compounded there As when the dreadfull Thund'rers awefull hand Powres forth a Viall on th' infected land At first th' affrighted Mortals quake and faeare And ev'ry noise is thought the Thunderer But when the frequent Soule-departing Bell Has pav'd their eares with her familiar knell It is reputed but a nine dayes wonder They neither feare the Thundre'r nor his Thunder So when the world a worse disease began To smart for sinne poore new-created Man Could seek for shelter and his gen'rous Son Knew by his wages what his hands had done But bold-fac'd Mortals in our blushlesse times Can sin and smile and make a sport of Crimes Transgresse of Custome and rebell in ease We false-joy'd fooles can triumph in disease And as the carelesse Pilgrim being bit By the Tarantula begins a Fit Of life-concluding laughter wast our breath In lavish pleasure till we laugh to death HUGO de anima What profit is there in vaine Gloryâ— momentary mirth the worlds power the fleshes pleasure full riches noble descent and great desires Where is their laughter Where is their
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
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
earth and thou shalt find Heaven HUGO lib. de Vanit mundi The world is a vanity which affords neither beauty to the amorous nor reward to the laborious nor incouragement to the industrious EPIG 10. This house is to be let for life or yeares Her rent is sorrow and her In-come Teares Cupid 't' as long stood void Her bills make knowne She must be dearely Let or let alone XI Erras hâc itur ad illam Will Marshall sculpsit XI MAT. VII XIV Narrow is the way that leadeth unto life and few there be that finde it PRepost'rous foole thou troul'st amisse Thou err'st That 's not the way 'T is this Thy hopes instructed by thine Eye Make thee appeare more neare than I My floore is not so flat so fine And has more obvious Rubs than thine 'T is true my way is hard and strait And leads me through a thorny Gate Whose ranckling pricks are sharpe and fell The common way to Heav'n's by Hell 'T is true Thy path is short and faire And free of Rubbs Ah foole beware The safest Road's not alwayes ev'n The way to Hell 's a seeming Heav'n Think'st thou the Crown of Glory 's had With idle ease fond Cyprian Lad Think'st thou that mirth and vaine delights High feed and shadow-shortning nights Soft knees full bones and Beds of Downe Are proper Prologues to a Crowne Or canst thou hope to come and view Like prosperous Caesar and subdue The bond-slave Vsurer will trudge In spite of Gouts will turne a drudge And serve his soule-condemning purse T' increase it with the widdowes Curse And shall the Crowne of glory stand Not worth the waving of a hand The fleshly wanton to obtaine His minit-lust will count it gaine To lose his freedome his Estate Vpon so deare so sweet a rate Shall pleasures thus be priz'd and must Heav'ns Palme be cheaper than a lust The true-bred Spark to hoyse his name Vpon the waxen wings of Fame Will fight undaunted in a Flood That 's rais'd with brackish drops and blood And shall the promis'd Crowne of life Be thought a Toy not worth a Strife An easie Good brings easie Gaines But things of price are bought with paines The pleasing way is not the right He that would conquer heav'n must fight S. HIEROM in Ep. No labour is hard no time is long wherein the glory of Eternity is the marke we levell at S. GREG. lib. 8. Mor. The valâ—ur of a just man is to conquer the flesh to contradict his owne will to quench the delights of this present life to endure and love the miseries of this world for the reward of a better to contemne the flatteries of prosperity and inwardly to overcome the feares of adversity EPIG 11. O Cupid if thy smoother way were right I should mistrust this Crowne were counterfeit The way 's not easie where the Prize is great I hope no vertues where I smell no sweat XII In cruce 〈◊〉 securus amor 〈…〉 XII GAL. VI. XIV God forbid that I should glory save in the Crosse 1 CAn nothing settle my uncertaine brest And fix my rambling Love Can my affections find out nothing best But still and still remove Has earth no mercy Will no Ark of Rest Receive my restlesse Dove Is there no Good than which ther 's nothing higher To blesse my full desire With Ioyes that never change with Ioyes that nev'r expire 2 I wanted wealth and at my deare request Earth lent a quick supply I wanted Mirth to charme my sullen brest And who more brisk than I I wanted Fame to glorifie the rest My fame flew Eagle-high My Ioy not fully ripe but all decaid Wealth vanisht like a shade My mirth began to flag my Fame began to fade 3 The world 's an Ocean hurried to and fro With evry blast of passion Her lustfull streames when either ebb or flow Are tides of mans vexation They alter daily and they daily grow The worse by alteration The Earth's a Cask full tun'd yet wanting measure Her precious wine is pleasure Her Yest is Honours puffe Her Lees are wordly treasure 4 My trust is in the Crosse Let Beauty flag Her loose her wanton saile Let count'nance-gilding Honour cease to brag In courtly termes and vale Let ditch-bred wealth henceforth forget to wag Her base though golden taile False beauties conquest is but reall losse And wealth but golden drosse Best Honon's but a blast my trust is in the Crosse 5 My trust is in the Crosse There lies my rest My fast my sole delight Let cold-mouth'd Boreas or the hot-mouth'd East Blow till they burst with spight Let earth and hell conspire their worst their best And joyne their twisted might Let showres of Thunderbolts dart down and wound me And troupes of Fiends surround me All this may well confront all this shall nev'r confound me S. AUGUST Christs Crosse is the Chriscrosse of all our happinesse It delivers us from all blindnesse of errour and enriches our darkenesse with light It restores the troubled soule to rest It brings strangers to Gods Acquaintance It makes remote forreiners neare neighbours It cuts off discord concludes a league of everlasting peace and is the bounteous Author of all Good S. BERNARD in Ser. de resur Wee find glory in the Crosse To us that are saved it is the power of God and the fulnesse of all vertues EPIG 12. I follow'd Rest Rest sled and soone forsooke me I ran from Griefe Griefe ran and over-tooke me What shall I doe Lest I be too much tost On worldly Crosses LORD let me be crost XIII 〈◊〉 â—â—â—era â—â—mâ—n 〈◊〉 Marshall sculpsit XIII PRO. XXVI XI As a Dog returneth to his vomit so a foole returneth to his follie O I am wounded And my wounds doe smart Beyond my patience or great Chirons Art I yeeld I yeeld The day the Palme is thine Thy Bow 's more true thy shafts more fierce than mine Hold hold O hold thy conq'ring hand What need To send more darts The first has done the deed Oft have we struggled when our equall Armes Shot equall shafts inflicted equall harmes But this exceeds and with her flaming head Twyfork'd with death has struck my Conscience dead But must I die Ah me If that were all Then then I 'd stroke my bleeding wounds and call This dart a Cordiall and with joy endure These harsh Ingredients where my Griefe 's my Cure But something whispers in my dying eare There is an After-day which day I feaâ—e The slender debt to Nature's quickly payd Discharg'd perchance with greater ease than made But if that pale-fac'd Sergeant make Attest Ten thousand Actions would whereof the least Is more than all this lower world can bayle Be entred and condemne me to the Iayle Of Stygian darkenesse bound in red-hot Chaines And grip'd with Tortures worse than Tytian paines Farewell my vaine farewell my loose delights Farewell my rambling dayes my rev'ling nights 'T was you betrayd me first and when ye found My
soule at vantage gave my soule the wound Farewell my Bullion Gods whose sov'raigne lookes So ofteâ— catch'd me with their golden hookes Go seek another slave yee must all go I cannot serve my God and Bullion too Farewell false Honour you whose ayry wings Did mount my soule above the Thrones of kings Then flatter'd me tooke pet and in disdaine Nipt my greene buds then kickt me down againe Farewell my Bow Farewell my Cyprian Quiver Farewell deare world farewell deare world for ever O but this most delicious world how sweet Her pleasures relish Ah! How jump they meet The grasping soule And with their sprightly fire Revive and raise and rowze the rapt desire For ever O to part so long What never Meet more Another yeare and then for ever Too quick resolves do resolution wrong What part so soone to be divorc'd so long Things to be done are long to be debated Heav'n is not day'd Repentance is not dated S. AUGUST lib. de util agen paen Goe up my soule into the Tribunall of thy Conscience There set thy guilty selfe before thy selfe Hide not thy selfe behind thy selfe least God bring thee forth before thy selfe S. AUGUST in Soliloq In vaine is that washing where the next sin defiles Hee hath ill repented whose sinnes are repeated that stomack is the worse for vomiting that licks up his vomit ANSELM God hath promised pardon to him that repenteth but he hath not promised repentance to him that sinneth EPIG 13. Braine wounded Cupid had this hasty dart As it hath prickt thy Fancy pierc'd thy heart 'T had beene thy Friend O how has it deceiy'd thee For had this dart but kill'd this dart had say'd thee XIV Post lapsum fortiùs acto 〈◊〉 Marshall sculpsit XIV PRO. XXIV XVI A just man falleth seaven times and riseth up againe but the wicked shall fall into mischiefe 1 T Is but a Foyle at best And that 's the most Your skill can boast My slippry footing fail'd me and you tript Iust as I slipt My wanton weakenesse did her selfe betray With too much play I was too bold He never yet stood sure That stands secure Who ever trusted to his native strength But fell at length The Title 's craz'd the Tenour is not good That claimes by th'Evidence of flesh and Blood 2 Boast not thy skill The Righteous man falls oft Yet falls but soft There may be dirt to mire him but no stones To crush his bones What if he staggers Nay put case he be Foyl'd on his knee That very knee will bend to heav'n and woo For mercy too The true-bred Gamester ups a fresh and then Falls to 't agen Whereas the leaden-hearted Coward lies And yeelds his conquer'd life or cravend dies 3 Boast not thy Conquest thou that ev'ry houre Falst ten times lower Nay hast not pow'r to rise if not in case To fall more base Thou wallow'st where I slip and thou dost tumble Where I but stumble Thou glory'st in thy slav'ries dirty Badges And fal'st for wages Sowre griefe and sad repentance scowres and cleares My staines with teares Thy falling keeps thy falling still in ure But when I slip I stand the more secure 4 LORD what a nothing is this little Span We call a Man What fenny trash maintaines the smooth'ring fires Of his desires How sleight and short are his Resolves at longest How weake at strongest O if a Sinner held by thy fast hand Can hardly stand Good GOD in what a desp'rate case are they That have no stay Mans state implies a necessary Curse When not himselfe hee 's mad when most himself hee 's worse S. AMBROS in Serm. ad vincula Peter stood more firmely after he had lamented his fall than before he fell Insomuch that he found more grace than he lost grace S. CHRYS in Ep. ad Heliod monach It is no such hainous matter to fall afflicted as being downe to lie dejected It is no danger for a souldier to receive a wound in battell but after the wound received through despaire of recovery to refuse a Remedy For wee often see wounded Champions weare the Palme at last and after flight crown'd with victory EPIG 14. Triumph not Cupid His mischance does show Thy Trade does once what thou dost alwayes do Brag not too soone Has thy prevailing hand Foyl'd him Ah Foole Th' ast taught him how to stand VI. Patet â—etheâ— clauditue orbi 〈…〉 XV. IER XXXII XL I will put my feare in their hearts that they shall not depart from me SO now the soule 's sublim'd Her sowre desires Are re-calcin'd in heav'ns well tempred Fires The heart restor'd and purg'd from drossie Nature Now finds the freedeme of a new-borne Creature It lives another life it breaths new Breath It neither feeles nor feares the sting of death Like as the idle vagrant having none That boldly dopts each house he viewes his owne Makes ev'ry purse his Chequer and at 's pleasure Walks forth and taxes all the world like Caesar At length by vertue of a just command His sides are lent to a severer hand Whereon his Passe not fully understood Is taxed in a Manuscript of Blood Thus past from towne to towne untill he come A sore Repentant to his native home Ev'n so the rambling heart that idly roves From Crime to Sin and uncontrol'd removes From lust to lust when wanton flesh invites From old-worne pleasures to new choice delights At length corrected by the filiall Rod Of his offended but his gracious GOD And lasht from Sinnes to sighs and by degrees From sighs to vowes From vowes to bended knees From bended knees to a true pensive brest From thence to torments not by tongues exprest Returnes and from his sinfull selfe exil'd Finds a glad Father He a welcome Child O then it lives O then it lives involv'd In secret Raptures pants to be dissolv'd The royall Of-spring of a second Birth Sets ope to heav'n and shuts the doores to earth If love-sicke love-commanded Clouds should hap To raine such show'rs as quickned Danaes lap Or dogs far kinder than their purple Master Should lick his sores he laughs nor weepes the faster If Earth Heav'ns Rivall dart her idle Ray To heav'n 't is Wax and to the world 't is Clay If earth present delights it scornes to draw But like the Iet unrub'd disdaines that straw No hope deceives it and no doubt divides it No Griefe disturbes it and no Errour guides it No Feare distracts it and no Rage inflames it No Guilt condemnes it and no Folly shames it No sloth besots it and no lust inthrals it No Scorne afflicts it and no Passion gawles it It is a Carknet of immortall life An Arke of peace The Lists of sacred Strife A purer peece of endlesse Transitory A Shrine of Grace A little Throne of Glory A Heav'n borne Of-spring of a new-borne birth An earthly Heav'n An ounce of heav'nly Earth S. AUGUST de spir anima O happie heart where piety affects where humility
soule shall smart My heart shall bleed for thine Sin O ground-lesse deepes O love beyond degree Th' offended dies to set th' offender free S. AUGUST Lord if I have done that for which thou mayest damne mee thou hast not lost that whereby thou mayest save me Remember not sweet Jesus thy justice against the sinner but thy benignity towards thy Creature Remember not to proceed against a guilty soule but remember thy mercy towards a miserable wretch Forget the insolence of the provoker and behold the misery of the invoker for what is Jesus but a Saviour ANSELM Have respect to what thy Sonne hath done for me and forget what my sinnes have done against thee My flesh hath provoked thee to vengeance let the flesh of Christ move thee to mercy It is much that my rebellions have deserved but it is more that my Redeemer hath merited EPIG 10. Mercie of mercies He that was my drudge Is now my Advocate is now my Iudge He suffers pleads and sentences alone Three I adore and yet adore but One. XI Let not the water-flood overflow me neither let the deepe swallow me vp Ps 69.15 Will Simpson sculpsit XI PSAL. LXIX XV Let not the water-flood over-flow me neither let the deepes swallow me up THe world 's a Sea my flesh a ship that 's man'd With lab'ring Thoughts and steer'd by Reasons hand My heart 's the Sea-mans Card whereby she sailes My loose Affections are the greater Sailes The Top-saile is my Fancy and the Gusts That fill these wanton Sheets are worldly Lusts Pray'r is the Cable at whose end appeares The Anchor Hope nev'r slipt but in our feares My Will 's th'unconstant Pilot that commands The staggring Keele my Sinnes are like the Sands Repentance is the Bucket and mine Eye The Pumpe unus'd but in extreames and dry My conscience is the Plummet that does presse The deepes but seldom cryes A fathom lesse Smooth Calm's security The Gulph despaire My Freight's Corruption and this life 's my Fan My soule 's the Passenger confus'dly driven From feare to fright her landing Port is Heaven My seas are stormy and my Ship does leake My Saylers rude My Steersman faint and weake My Canvace torne it flaps from side to side My Cable's crakt my Anchor 's slightly ty'd My Pilot's craz'd my shipwrack sands are cloak'd My Bucket's broken and my Pump is choak'd My Calm's deceitfull and my Gulph too neare My Wares are flubber'd and my Fare's too deare My Plummet's light it cannot sink nor sound O shall my Rock-be threatned Soule be drown'd Lord still the seas and shield my ship from harme Instruct my Saylours guide my Steersmans Arme Touch thou my Compasse and renew my Sailes Send stiffer courage or send milder gales Make strong my Cable bind my Anchor faster Direct my Pilot and be thou his Master Object the Sands to my more serious view Make sound my Bucket bore my Pump anew New cast my Plummet make it apt to try Where the Rocks lurke and where the Quicksands lie Guard thou the Gulph with love my Calmes with Care Cleanse thou my Freight accept my slender Fare Refresh the Sea-sick passenger cut short His Voyage land him in his wished Port Thou thou whom winds and stormy seas obay That through the deepes gav'st grumbling Isr'ell way Say to my soule be safe and then mine eye Shall scorne grim death although grim death stand by O thou whose strength-reviving Arme did cherish Thy sinking Peter at the point to perish Reach forth thy hand or bid me tread the Wave I le come I le come The voice that calls will save S. AMBROS Apol. post pro David Cap. 3. The confluence of lusts make a great Tempest which in this sea disturbes the sea-faring soule that reason cannot governe it S. AUGUST Soliloq Cap. 35. We labour in a boysterous sea Thou standest upon the shore and seest our dangers Give us grace to hold a middle course betwixt Scylla and Charybdis that both daâ—gers escaped we may arrive at our Port secure EPIG 11. My soule the seas are rough and thou a stranger In these false coasts O keepe aloofe ther 's danger Cast forth thy Plummet see a rock appeares Thy ship wants sea-roome Make it with thy teares XII O that thow wouldst protect me in the graue and hide me ontill thy furie be past Iob 14 Will simpson sculp XII IOB XIV XIII O that thou wouldst hide mee in the grave that thou wouldst keepe me secret untill thy wrath be past O Whether shall I flye what path untrod Shall I seeke out to scape the flaming rod Of my offended of my angry God Where shall I sojourne What kind sea will hide My head from Thunder where shall I abide Vntill his flames be quench'd or laid aside What if my feet should take their hasty flight And seeke protection in the shades of night Alas no shades can blind the God of Light What if my soule should take the wings of day And find some desart if she spring away The wings of vengeance clip as fast as they What if some solid Rock should entertaine My frighted soule Can solid Rocks restraine The stroke of Iustice and not cleave in twaine Nor Sea nor Shade nor Shield nor Rock nor Cave Nor silent desarts nor the sullen grave Where flame ey'd fury meanes to smite can save The Seas will part graves open Rocks will splâ—t The shield will cleave the frighted shadowes flit Where Iustice armes her fiery darts must hit No no if sterne-brow'd vengeance meanes to thunder There is no place above beneath nor under So close but will unlocke or rive in sunder 'T is vaine to flee 'T is neither here nor there Can scape that hand untill that hand forbeare Ah me where is he not that 's every where 'T is vaine to flee till gentle mercy show Her better eye the farther off we goe The swing of Iustice deales the mightier blow Th' ingenious child corrected does not flie His angry mothers hand but clings more nigh And quenches with his teares her flaming eye Shadowes are faithlesse and the rockes are false No trust in brasse no trust in marble walls Poore Cotts are e'ven as safe as Princes Halls Great God there is no safety here below Thou art my Fortresse though thou seem'st my foe 'T is thou that strik'st the stroke must guard the blow Thou art my God by thee I fall or stand Thy Grace hath giv'n me courage to withstand All tortures but my Conscience and thy Hand I know thy Iustice is thy selfe I know Iust God thy very selfe is mercy too If not to thee where whether should I go Then worke thy will If passion bid me flee My Reason shall obey my wings shall be Stretcht out no further than from Thee to Thee S. AUGUST in Psal 30. Whether flie I To what place can I safely flie To what mountaine To what den To what strong house What Castle shall I hold What walls shall hold me Whethersoever
I go my selfe followes me For whatsoever thou flyest O man thou mayst but thy owne Conscience wheresoever O Lord I go I find thee if angry a Revenger if appeas'd a Redeemer What way have I but to flee from thee to thee That thou maist avoid thy God addresse thee to thy Lord. EPIG 12. Hath vengeance found thee Can thy feares command No Rocks to shield thee from her thundring hand Know'st thou not where to scape I le tell thee where My soule make cleane thy Conscience Hide thee there XIII Are not my dayes few Cease then and let me alone that I may bewayle me a little Iob. 10.20 Will. simpson sculpsit XIII IOB X.XX. Are not my dayes few Cease then and let me alone that I may bewaile my selfe a little MY Glasse is halfe unspent Forbeare t'rrest My thriftlesse day too soone My poore request Is that my glasse may run but out the rest My time-devoured minuts will be done Without thy helpe See see how swift they run Cut not thy thred before my thred be spun The gaine 's not great I purchase by this stay What losse sustain'st thou by so small delay To whom ten thousand yeares are but a day My following eye can hardly make a shift To count my winged houres they flye so swift They scarce deserve the bounteous name of gift The secret wheeles of hurrying Time doe give So short a warning and so fast they drive That I am dead before I seeme to live And what 's a life A weary Pilgrimage Whose glory in one day doth fill the stage With Childhood Manhood and decrepit Age. And what 's a Life the flourishing Array Of the proud Summer meadow which to day Weares her greene plush and is to morrow Hay And what 's a Life A blast sustain'd with clothing Maintain'd with food retain'd with vile selfe-loathing Then weary of it selfe again'd to nothing Read on this diall how the shades devoure My short-liv'd winters day How'rs eates up howre Alas the total's but from eight to foure Behold these Lillies which thy hands have made Faire copies of my life and open laid To view how soone they droop how soone they fade Shade not that diall night will blind too soone My nonag'd day already points to noone How simple is my suit How small my Boone Not do I beg this slender inch to while The time away or falsly to beguile My thoughts with joy Here 's nothing worth a smile No no 'T is not to please my wanton eares With frantick mirth I beg but howres not yeares And what thou giv'st me I will give to teares Draw not that soule which would be rather led That Seed has yet not broke my Serpents head O shall I die before my sinnes are dead Behold these Rags Am I a fitting Guest To tast the dainties of thy royall Feast With hands and face unwash'd ungirt unblest First let the Iordan streames that find supplies From the deepe fountaine of my heart arise And cleanse my spots and cleare my leprous eyes I have a world of sinnes to be lamented I have a sea of teares that must be vented O spare till then and then I die contented S. AUGUST lib. 7. de Civit. Dei cap. 10. The time wherein we live is taken from the space of our life and what remaines is daily made lesse and lesse in somuch that the time of our life is nothing but a passage to death S. GREG. lib. 9. mor. Cap. 44. in Cap. 10. Iob. As moderate afflictions bring teares so immoderate take away teares Insomuch that sorrow becomes no sorrow which swallowing up the mind of the afflicted takes away the sense of the affliction EPIG 13. Fear'st thou to go when such an Arme invites thee Dread'st thou thy loads of sin or what affrights thee If thou begin to feare thy feare begins Foole can he beare thee hence and not thy sins XIV Oh that they were wise then they would vnderstand this they would consider their latter end Deeteron 32. I Payne scult XIV DEVT. XXXII XXIX O that men were wise and that they understood this that they would consider their latter end Flesh Spirit Fl. WHat meanes my sisterâ— eye so oft to passe Through the long entry of that Optick glasse Tell me what secret virtue does invite Thy wrinckled eye to such unknowne delight Sp. It helps the sight makes things remote appeare In perfect view It drawes the object neare Fl. What sence-delighting objects do'st thou spie What does that Glasse present before thine eye Sp. I see thy foe my reconciled friend Grim death even standing at the Glasses end His left hand holds a branch of Palme his right Holds forth a two-edg'd sword Fl. A proper sight And is this all does thy Prospective please Th' abused fancy with no shapes but these Sp. Yes I behold the dark'ned Sun bereav'n Of all his light the battlements of heav'n Sweltring in Flames the Angell-guarded Sonne Of glory on his high Tribunall Throne I see a Brimstone Sea of boyling Fire And Fiends with knotted whips of flaming Wyre Tort'ring poore soules that gnash their teeth in vaine And gnaw their flame-tormented tongues for paine Looke sister how the queazie-stomack'd Graves Vomit their dead and how the purple waves Scal'd their consume lesse bodies strongly cursing All wombes for bearing and all paps for nursing Fl. Can thy distemper'd fancie take delight In view of Tortures These are showes t' affright Looke in this glasse-Triangular looke here Here 's that will ravish eyes Sp. What seest thou there Fl. The world in colours colours that distaine The cheeks of Proteus or the silken Traine Of Floras Nymphs such various sorts of hiew As Sun-confronting Iris never knew Here if thou please to beautifie a Towne Thou maist or with a hand turn't upside downe Here maist thou scant or widen by the measure Of thine owne will make short or long at pleasure Here maist thou tyre thy fancie and advize With showes more apt to please more curious eyes Sp. Ah foole that dot'st on vaine on present toyes And disrespects those true those future joyes How strongly are thy thoughts befool'd Alas To dote on goods that perish with thy Glasse Nay vanish with the turning of a hand Were they but painted colours it might stand With painted reason that they might devote thee But things that have no being to besot thee Foresight of future torments is the way To baulk those ills which present joyes bewray As thou hast fool'd thy selfe so now come hither Break that fond glasse and let 's be wise together BONAVENT de contemptu seculi O that men would be wise understand and foresee Be wise to know three things The multitude of those that are to be damnâ—â— the few number of those that are to be saved and the vanity of transitory things Vnderstand three things the multitude of sinnes the omission of good things and the losse of time Foresee three things the danger of death the last
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
The World 's the Tables Stakes Eternall life The Gamesters Heav'n and I Vnequall strife My Fortunes are my Dice whereby I frame My indisposed Life This Life 's the Game My sins are sev'rall Bloâ— the Lookers on Are Angels and in death the Game is done Lord I 'am a Bungler and my Game does grow Still more and more unshap'd my Dice run low The Stakes are great my carelesse Blots are many And yet thou passest by and hitst not any Thou art too strong And I have none to guide me With the least Iogge The lookers on deride me It is a Conquest undeserving Thee To win a Stake from such a Worme as me I have no more to lose If we persever 'T is lost and that once lost I 'm lost for ever Lord wink at faults and be not too severe And I will play my Game with greater feare O give me Feare ere Feare has past her date Whose blot being hit then feares fear 's then too late S. BERN. Ser. 54. in Cant. There is nothing so effectuall to obtaine Grace to retaine Grace and to regaine Grace as alwayes to be found before God not over-wise but to feare Happy art thou if thy heart be replenished with three feares a feare for received grace a greater feare for lost Grace a greatest feare to recover Grace S. AUGUST super Psalm Present feare begets eternall security Feare God which is above all and no need to feare man at all EPIG 4. Lord shall we grumble when thy flames do scourge us Our sinnes breath fire that fire returnes to purge us Lord what an Alchymist art thou whose skill Transmutes to perfect good from persect ill V. Turne a way myne eyes least thay behold wanite psal 118 â— V. PSAL. CXIX XXXVII Turne away mine eyes from regarding vanitie 1 HOw like to threds of Flaxe That touch the flame are my inflam'd desires How like to yeelding Waxe My soule dissolves before these wanton fires The fire but touch'd the flame but felt Like Flaxe I burne like Waxe I melt 2 O how this flesh does draw My fetter'd soule to that deceitfull fire And how th' eternall Law Is baffled by the law of my desire How truly bad how seeming good Are all the Lawes of Flesh and Blood 3 O wretched state of Men The height of whose Ambition is to borrow What must be paid agen With griping Int'rest of the next dayes sorrow How wild his Thoughts How apt to range How apt to varie Apt to change 4 How intricate and nice Is mans perplexed way to mans desire Sometimes upon the Ice He slips and sometimes fals into the fire His progresse is extreme and bold Or very hot or very cold 5 The common food he doth Sustaine his soule-tormenting thoughts withall Is honey in his mouth To night and in his heart to morrow Gall 'T is oftentimes within an houre Both very sweet and very sowre 6 If sweet Corinna smile A heav'n of Ioy breaks downe into his heart Corinna frownes a while Hels Torments are but Copies of his smart Within a lustfull heart does dwell A seeming Heav'n a very Hell 7 Thus worthlesse vaine and void Of comfort are the fruits of earths imployment Which ere they be enjoyd Distract us and destroy us in th' enjoyment These be the pleasures that are priz'd When heav'ns cheape pen'worth stands despis'd 8 Lord quench these hasty flashes Which dart as lightning from the thundring skies And ev'ry minut dashes Against the wanton windowes of mine eyes Lord close the Casement whilst I stand Behind the curtaine of thy Hand S. AUGUST Soliloq cap. 4. O thou Sonne that illuminates both Heaven and Earth Woe be unto those eyes which doe not behold thee Woe be unto those blind eyes which cannot behold thee Woe be unto those which turne away their eyes that they wil not behold thee Woe be unto those that turne not away their eyes that they may behold vanity S. CHRYS sup Matth. 19. What is an evill women but the enemy of friendship an unavoidable paine a necessary mischiefe a naturall tentation a desiderable calamity a domestick danger a delectable inconvenience and the nature of evill painted over with the colour of good EPIG 5. 'T is vaine great God to close mine eyes from ill When I resolve to keepe the old man still My rambling heart must cov'nant first with Thee Or none can passe betwixt mine eyes and me VI. If I haue found fauour in thy sight let my life be giuen me at my petition Ester 7.3 Will Simpson sculpsit VI. ESTER VII III If I have found favour in thy sight and if it please the King let my life be given me at my petition THou art the great Assuerus whose command Doth stretch from Pole to Pole The World 's thy Land Rebellious Vasht's the corrupted Will Which being cal'd refuses to fulfill Thy just command Hester whose teares condole The razed City 's the Regen'rate Soule A captive maid whom thou wilt please to grace With nuptiall Honour in stout Vashti's place Her kinsman whose unbended knee did thwart Proud Hamans glory is the Fleshly part The sober Eunuch that recal'd to mind The new-built Gibbet Haman had divin'd For his owne ruine fifty Cubits high Is lustfull thought-controlling Chastity Insulting Hâ—man is that fleshly lust Whose red-hot fury for a season must Triumph in Pride and study how to tread On Mordecay till royall Hester plead Great King my sent-for Vashti will not come O let the oyle o' th blessed Virgins wombe Cleanse my poore Hester look O looke upon her With gracious eyes and let thy Beames of honour So scoure her captive staines that she may prove A holy Object of thy heav'nly love Annoint her with the Spiknard of thy graces Then try the sweetnesse of her chast embraces Make her the partner of thy nuptiall Bed And set thy royall Crowne upon her head If then ambitious Haman chance to spend His spleene on Mordecay that scornes to bend The wilfull stiffenesse of his stubborne knee Or basely crouch to any Lord but Thee If weeping Hester should preferre a Grone Before the high Tribunall of thy Throne Hold forth thy Golden Scepter and afford The gentle Audience of a gracious Lord And let thy royall Hester be possest Of halfe thy Kingdome at her deare request Curbe lustfull Haman him that would disgrace Nay ravish thy faire Queene before thy face And as proud Haman was himselfe ensnar'd On that selfe Gibbet that himselfe prepar'd So nayle my lust both Punishment and Guilt On that deare Crosse that mine owne Lusts have built S. AUGUST in Ep. O holy Spirit alwayes inspire we with holy works constraine me that I may doe Counsell me that I may love thee Confirme me that I may hold thee Conserve me that I may not lose thee S. AUGUST sup Ioan. The Spirit rusts where the flesh rests For as the flesh is nourished with sweet things the Spirit is refreshed with sowre Ibidem Wouldst thou that thy flesh
ours She slides from heav'n indeed but not in Danaes showrs Lives she in Honour No. The royall Crowne Builds up a Creature and then batters downe Kings raise thee with a smile and raze thee with a frowne In pleasure No Pleasure begins in rage Acts the fooles part on earths uncertaine Stage Begins the Play in Youth and Epilogues in Age. These these are bastard-goods the best of these Torment the soule with pleasing it and please Like water gulp'd in Fevers with deceitfull ease Earths flattring dainties are but sweet distresses Mole-hils performe the mountaines she professes Alas can earth confer more good than earth possesses Mount mount my soule and let thy thoughts cashiere Earths vaine delights and make their full careire At heav'ns eternall joyes stop stop thy Courier there There shall thy soule possesse uncarefull Treasure There shalt thou swim in never-fading pleasure And blaze in Honour farre above the frownes of Caesar Lord if my hope dare let her Anchor fall On thee the chiefest Good no need to call For earths inferiour trash Thou thou art All in All. S. AUGUST Soliloq cap. 13. I follow this thing I pursue that but am fill'd with nothing But when I found thee who art that immutable individed and onely good in my selfe what I obtained I wanted not for what I obtained not I grieved not with what I was possest my whole desire was satisfied S. BERN. Ser. 9. sup beati qui habent c. Let others pretend merit let him brag of the burthen of the day let him boast of his Sabbath fasts and let him glory that he is not as other men but for me it is good to cleave unto the Lord and to put my trust in my Lord God EPIG 13. Let Boreas blasts and Neptunes waves be joyn'd Thy Eolus commands the waves the wind Feares not the Rocks or worlds imperious waves Thou climbst a Rock my soule a Rock that saves XIV I sat vnder the shadoue of him whom I haue desired Canâ— 2 Will sim son sculp XIV CANT II. III. â— sate under his shadow with great delight and his fruit was sweete to my taste 1 LOok how the sheep whose rambling steps doe stray From the safe blessing of her Shepheards eyes Eftsoone becomes the unprotected Prey To the wing'd Squadron of beleagring flies Where sweltred with the scorching beames of day She frisks from Bush to Brak and wildly flies From her owne selfe ev'n of herselfe affraid She shrouds her troubled browes in ev'ry Glade And craves the mercy of the soft removing shade 2 Ev'n so my wandring Soule that has digrest From her great Shepheard is the hourely prey Of all all my Sinnes These vultures in my Brest Gripe my Promethian heart both night and day I hunt from place to place but find no rest I know not where to go nor where to stay The eye of vengeance burnes her flames invade My sweltring Soule My soule has oft assaid But she can find no shrowd but she can feele no Shade 3 I sought the Shades of Mirth to weare away My slow pac'd houres of soule-consuming griefe I search'd the Shades of Sleepe to ease my day Of griping sorrowes with a nights repriefe I sought the Shades of Death thought there t' allay My finall torments with a full reliefe But Mirth nor Sleepe nor Death can hide my howres In the false Shades of their deceitfull Bowres The first distracts the next disturbes the last devours 4 Where shall I turn To whom shall I apply me Are there no Streames where a faint soule may wade Thy Godhead IESVS are the flames that fry me Has thy All-glorious Deity nev'r a Shade Where I may sit and vengeance never eye me Where I might sit refresht or unaffraid Is there no Comfort Is there no Refection Is there no Covert that will give Protection T' a fainting soule the subject of thy wraths reflexion 5 Looke up my soule advance thy lowly stature Of thy sad Thoughts advance thy humble eye See here 's a Shadow found The humane nature Is made th'Vmbrella to the Deity To catch the Sun-beames of thy just Creator Beneath this Covert thou maist safely lie Permit thine eyes to climbe this fruitfull Tree As quick Zacheus did and thou shalt see A Cloud of dying flesh betwixt those Beames and thee GUILL in cap. 2. Cant. Who can in dure the fierce rayes of the Sunne of Iustice Who shall not be consumed by his beames Therefore the Sun of Iustice tooke flesh that through the conjunction of that Sun and this humane body a shadow may be made S. AUGUST Med. cap. 37. Lord let my soule flee from the scorching thoughts of the world under the Covert of thy wings that being refreshed by the moderation of thy shadow shee may sing merrily In peace will I lay me downe and rest EPIG 14. Ah treach'rous soule would not thy Pleasures give That Lord which made thee living leave to live See what thy sinnes haue done Thy sinnes have made The Sun of Glory now become thy Shade XV. How shall we sing the song of the Lord in a strang Land w s. scul XV. PSAL. CXXXVII IV How shall we sing a song of the Lord in a strange land VRge me no more This Ayry mirth belongs To better times These times are not for songs The sprightly Twang of the melodious Lute Agrees not with my voice and both unsuit My untun'd fortunes The affected measure Of straines that are constrain'd affoord no pleasure Musick 's the Child of mirth where griefes assaile The troubled soule both voice and fingers faile Let such as ravill out their lavish dayes In honourable Ryot that can raise Dejected hearts and conjure up a Sprite Of madnesse by the Magick of delight Let those of Cupids Hospitall that lie Impatient Patients to a smiling eye That cannot rest untill vaine hope beguile Their flatter'd Torments with a wanton smile Let such redeeme their peace and salve the wrongs Of froward Fortune with their frolick Songs My grief my griefe 's too great for smiling eyes To cure or Counter-charmes to exorzise The Ravens dismall Croakes the midnight howles Of empty Wolves mixt with the screech of Owles The nine sad knowls of a dull Passing Bell With the loud language of a nighty knell And horrid out cries of revenged Crimes Ioyn'd in a Medley's Musick for these Times These are no Times to touch the merry string Of Orpheus No these are no times to sing Can hide bound Prisners that have spent their soules And famish'd Bodies in the noysome holes Of hell-black dungeons apt their rougher throats Growne hoarse with begging Almes to warble notes Can the sad Pilgrim that has lost his way In the vast desart there condemn'd a Prey To the wild subject or his Salvage Kings Ronze up his palsey smitten spir'ts and sing Can I a Pilgrim and a Prisner too Alas where I am neither knowne nor know Ought but my Torments an unransom'd stranger In this strange Climat in a land
of danger O can my voyce be pleasant or my hand Thus made a Prisner to a forreigne land How can my musick relish in your eares That cannot speake for sobs nor sing for teares Ah if my voyce could Orpheus-like unspell My poore Euridicê my soule from hell Of earths misconstru'd Heav'n O then my brest Should warble Ayres whose Rapsodies should feast The eares of Serathims and entertaine Heav'ns highest Deity with their lofty straine A straine well drencht in the true Thespian Well Till then earths Semiquaver mirth farewell S. AUGUST Med. cap. 33. O infinitely happy are those heavenly virtues which are able to praise thee in holinesse and purity with excessive sweetnesse and inutterable exultation From thence they praise thee from whence they rejoyce because they continually see for what they rejoyce for what they praise thee But we prest downe with this burthen of flesh farre remov'd from thy countenance in this pilgrimage and blowne up with wordly vanities cannot worthily praise thee We praise thee by faith not face to face but those Argelicall Spirits praise thee face to face and not by faith EPIG 15. Did I refuse to sing Said I these times Were not for Songs nor musick for these Climes It was my Errour Are not Groanes and teares Harmonious Raptures in th' Almighties cares THE FIFT BOOKE I. I charge yow o yee Daughters of Ierusalem if yee finde my beloved that yow tell him that I am sicke of loue Canâ—t â— w. simpsen scupsit I. CANT V. VIII I charge you O daughters of Ierusalem if you find my beloved that you tell him that I am sick of love 1 YOu holy Virgins that so oft surround The Cities Saphyre Wals whose snowy feâ—â— Measure the pearly Paths of sacred ground And trace the new Jerus'lems Iasper street Ah you whose care-forsaken hearts are crown'd With your best wishes that enjoy the sweet Of all your Hopes If ere you chance to spie My absent Love O tell him that I lie Deepe wounded with the flames that furnac'd from his eye 2 I charge you Virgins as you hope to heare The heav'nly Musick of your Lovers voice I charge you by the solemne faith ye beare To plighted vowes and to the loyall choice Of your affections or if ought more deare You hold by Hymen by your marriage joyes I charge you tell him that a flaming dart Shot from his Eye hath pierc'd my bleeding heart And I am sick of love and languish in my smart 3 Tell him O tell him how my panting brest Is scorch'd with flames and how my soule is pin'd Tell him O tell him how I lie opprest With the full torments of a troubled mind O tell him tell him that he loves in jest But I in earnest Tell him hee 's unkind But if a discontented frowne appeares Vpon his angry Brow accoast his eares With soft and fewer words and act the rest in teares 4 O tell him that his cruelties deprive My soule of peace while peace in vaine she seeks Tell him those Damask roses that did strive With white both fade upon my sallow cheeks Tell him no token does proclaime I live But teares and sighs and sobs and sudden shreeks Thus if your piercing words should chance to bore His harkning eare and move a sigh give ore To speak and tell him Tell him that I could no more 5 If your elegious breath should hap to rouze A happy teare close harb'ring in his eye Then urge his plighted faith the sacred vowes Which neither I can break nor He deny Bewaile the Torments of his loyall Spouse That for his sake would make a sport to die O blessed Virgins how my passion tires Beneath the burthen of her vaine desires Heav'n never shot such flames Earth never felt such fires S. AUGUST Med. cap. 40. What shall I say What shall I doe Whether shall I goe Where shall I seeke him Or when shall I find him Whom shall I aske Who will tell my beloved that I am sick of love GVLIEL in Cap. 5. Cant. I live But not I It is my beloved that lives in me I love my selfe not with my owne love but with the love of my beloved that loves me I love not my selfe in my selfe but my selfe in him and him in me EPIG 1. Grieve not my soule nor let thy love waxe faint Weepst thou to lose the cause of thy Complaint Hee 'l come Love nev'r was bound to Times nor Lawes Till then thy teares complaine without a Cause II. Stay me with Flowers Comfort me with Apples for I am sick of loue Cant 2.5 Will Marshall sculpsit II. CANT II.V. Stay me with Flowers and comfort me with Apples for I am sicke with love 1 O Tyrant love how does thy sov'raigne pow'r Subject poore soules to thy imperious thrall They say thy Cup 's compos'd of sweet and sowre They say thy diet 's Honey mixt with Gall How comes it then to passe these lips of our Still trade in bitter taste no sweet at all O tyrant love Shall our perpetuall toyle Nev'r find a Sabbath to refresh a while Our drooping soules Art thou all frowns and nev'r a smile 2 You blessed Maids of Honour that frequent The royall Courts of our renown'd JEHOVE With Flow'rs restore my spirits faint and spent O fetch me Apples from Loves fruitfull Grove To coole my palat and renew my sent For I am sick for I am sick of Love These will revive my dry my wasted pow'rs And they will sweeten my unsav'ry houres Refresh me then with Fruit and comfort me with Flow'rs 3 O bring me Apples to asswage that fire Which Aetna-like inflames my flaming brest Nor is it ev'ry Apple I desire Nor that which pleases ev'ry Palat best 'T is not the lasting Deuzan I require Nor yet the red-cheek'd Queening I request Nor that which first beshrewd the name of wife Nor that whose beauty caus'd the golden strife No no bring me an Apple from the Tree of life 4 Virgins tuck up your silken laps and fill ye With the faire wealth of Floras Magazine The purple Vy'let and the pale-fac'd Lilly The Pauncy and the Organ Colombine The flowring Thyme the guilt-boule Daffadilly The lowly Pinck the lofty Eglentine The blushing Rose the Queene of flow'rs and be Of Floras beauty but above the rest Let Iesses sov'raigne Flow'r perfume my qualming brest 5 Haste Virgins haste for I lie weake and faint Beneath the pangs of love why stand ye mute As if your silence neither car'd to grant Nor yet your language to deny my suit No key can lock the doore of my complaint Vntill I smell this Flow'r or taste that Fruit Go Virgins seeke this Tree and search that Bow'r O how my soule shall blesse that happy houre That brings to me such fruit that brings me such a Flow'r GISTEEN in cap. 2. Cant. Expos 3. O happy sicknesse where the infirmity is not to death but to life that God may be glorified by it O happy fever that
they but clog'd with earth as I. 3 O were their soules but clog'd with earth as I They would not purchase with so salt an Itch They would not take of Almes what now they buy Nor call him happy whom the world counts rich They would not take such paines project and prog To charge their shoulders with so great a log Who has the greater lands has but the greater clog 4 I cannot do an act which earth disdaines not I cannot thinke a thought which earth corrupts not I cannot speake a word which earth prophanes not I cannot make a vow earth interrupts not If I but offer up an early groane Or spread my wings to heav'ns long long'd for Throne She darkens my complaints and drags my Offring downe 5 Ev'n like the Hawlk whose keepers wary hands Have made a prisner to her wethring stock Forgetting quite the pow'r of her fast bands Makes a rank Bate from her forsaken Block But her too faithfull Leash does soone restraine Her broken flight attempted oft in vaine It gives her loynes a twitch and tugs her back againe 6 So when my soule directs her better eye To heav'ns bright Pallace where my treasure lies I spread my willing wings but cannot flie Earth hales me downe I cannot cannot rise When I but strive to mount the least degree Earth gives a jerk and foiles me on my knee LORD how my soule is rackt betwixt the world and Thee 7 Great GOD I spend my feeble wings in vaine In vaine I offer my extended hands I cannot mount till thou unlink my chaine I cannot come till thou release my Bands Which if thou please to break and then supply My wings with spirit th' Eagle shall not flie A pitch that 's halfe so faire nor halfe so swift as I. BONAVENT cap. 1. Soliloq Ah sweet Iesus pierce the marrow of my soule with the healthfull shafts of thy love that if may truly burne and melt and languish with the onely desire of thee that it may desire to be dissolv'd and to be with thee Let it hunger alone for the bread of life let it thirst after thee the spring and fountaine of eternall light the streame of true pleasure let it alwayes desire thee seeke thee and find thee and sweetly rest in thee EPIG 9. What will thy shackles neither loose nor breake Are they too strong or is thy Arme too weake Art will prevaile where knotty strength denies My soule there 's Aquafortis in thine eyes X. Bring my soule out of Prison that I may praise thy Name Ps 142.7 Will simpson sculpsit X. PSAL. CXLII VII Bring my soule out of prison that I may praise thy Name MY Soule is like a Bird my Flesh the Cage Wherein she weares her weary Pilgrimage Of houres as few as evill dayly fed With sacred Wine and Sacramentall Bread The keyes that locks her in and lets her out Are Birth and Death 'twixt both she hops about From perch to perch from Sense to reason then From higher Reason downe to Sense agen From Sense she climbs to Faith where for a season She sits and sings then downe againe to Reason From Reason back to Faith and straight from thence She rudely flutters to the Perch of Sense From Sense to Hope then hops from Hope to Doubt From Doubt to dull Despaire there seekes about For desp'rate Freedome and at ev'ry Grate She wildly thrusts and begs th' untimely date Of unexpired thraldome to release Th' afflicted Captive that can find no peace Thus am I coop'd within this fleshly Gage I weare my youth and wast my weary Age Spending that breath which was ordain'd to chaunt Heav'ns praises forth in sighs and sad complaint Whilst happier birds can spread their nimble wing From Shrubs to Cedars and there chirp and sing In choice of raptures the harmonious story Of mans Redemption and his Makers Glory You glorious Martyrs you illustrious Troopes That once were cloyster'd in your fleshly Coopes As fast as I what Reth'rick had your tongues What dextrous Art had your Elegiak Songs What Paul-like pow'r had your admir'd devotion What shackle breaking Faith infus'd such motion To your strong Pray'rs that could obtaine the boone To be inlarg'd to be uncag'd so soone When I poore I can sing my daily teares Growne old in Bondage and can find no eares You great partakers of eternall Glory That with your heav'n-prevailing Oratory Releas'd your soules from your terrestriall Cage Permit the passion of my holy Rage To recommend my sorrowes dearely knowne To you in dayes of old and once your owne To your best thoughts but oh't does not befit ye To moove your pray'rs you love and joy not pitie Great LORD of soules to whom should prisners flie But Thee Thou hadst thy Cage as well as I And for my sake thy pleasure was to know The sorrowes that it brought and feltst them too O set me free and I will spend those dayes Which now I wast in begging in Thy praise ANSELM in Protolog cap. 1. O miserable condition of mankind that has lost that for which he was created Alas What has he left And what has hee found He has lost happinesse for which he was made and found misery for which he was not made What is gone and what is left That thing is gone without which hee is unhappy that thing is left by which he is miserable O wretched men From whence are we expell'd To what are we impell'd Whence are we throwne And whether are we burried From our home into banishment from the slight of God into our own blindnesse from the pleasure of immortality to the bitternesse of death Miserable change From how great a good to how great an evill Ah me What have I enterprized What have I done Whither did I goe Whither am I come EPIG 10. Pauls Midnight voice prevail'd his musicks thunder Vnhing'd the prison doores split bolts in sunder And sitst thou here and hang'st the feeble wing And whinst to be enlarg'd Soule learne to sing XI As the Hart panteth after the waterbrooks so panteth my soule after thee o Lord. Will Simpson Sculpsit XI PSAL. XLII I As the Hart panteth after the water-brooks so panteth my soule after thee O God 1 HOw shall my tongue expresse that hollow'd fire Which heav'n has kindled in my ravisht heart What Muse shall I invoke that will inspire My lowly Quill to act a lofty part What Art shall I divise t' expresse desire Too intricate to be exprest by Art Let all the nine be silent I refuse Their old in this high task for they abuse The flames of Love too much Assist me Davids Muse 2 Not as the thirsty soyle desires soft showres To quicken and refresh her Embrion graine Nor as the drooping Crests of fading flowres Request the bounty of a morning Raine Do I desire my GOD These in few houres Re-wish what late their wishes did obtaine But as the swift-foot Hart does wounded flie To th' much desired streames ev'n so
cannot show Nor beare Some fruits shall never weare Apollos sacred Bow Excesse And surfet uses To wait upon these daies Full feed and flowing cups of wine Conjure the fancy forcing up a Spright By the base Magick of deboyâ—d delight Ah pittie twiseborne Bacchus Vine should starve Apollo's Bayes And drown those Muses That blesse And calme the peacefull soule when storms of cares oppâ— Strong light Boast not those beames That can but onely rise And blaze a while and then away There is no Solstice in thy day Thy midnight glory lies Betwixt th' extrems Of night A Glory foyld with shame and foold with false delight Hast thou climbd up to the full age of thy few daies Look backwards and thou shalt see the frailty of thy youth the folly of thy Childhood and the waste of thy Infancy Looke forwards thou shalt see the cares of the world the troubles of thy mind the diseases of thy body EPIG 12. To the middle ag'd Thou that art prauncing on the lustie Noone Of thy full Age boast not thy selfe too soone Convert that breath to wayle thy fickle state Take heed thou l't brag too soone or boast too late Et Martem spirat et arma Will Marshall sculpsit He must encrease but I must decrease IOH. 3.30 TIme voyds the Table Dinner 's done And now our daies declining Sun Hath hurried his diurnall Loade To th'Borders of the Westerne roade Fierce Phlegon with his fellow Steeds Now puffes and pants and blowes and bleeds And froths and fumes remembring still Their lashes up th'Olympick Hill Which having conquerd now disdaine The whip and champs the frothy reyn And with a full Career they bend Their paces to their Iournies end Our blazing Tapour now hath lost Her better halfe Nature hath crost Her forenoone book and cleard that score But scarce gives trust for so much more And now the gen'rous Sappe forsakes Her seir-grown twig A breath ev'n shakes The down-ripe fruit fruit soone divorc'd From her deare Branch untouchd unforc'd Now sanguine Venus doth begin To draw her wanton colours in And flees neglected in disgace Whil'st Mars supplies her luke warme place Blood turnes to Choler What this Age Loses in strength it fines in Rage That rich Ennamell which of old Damaskt the downy Cheeke and told A harmelesse guilt unaskt is now Worne off from the audacious brow Luxurious Dalliance midnight Revells Loose Ryot and those veniall evils Which inconsiderate youth of late Could pleade now wants an Advocate And what appeard in former times Whispring as faults now roare as crimes And now all yee whose lippes were wont To drench their Currall in the Font Of forkt Parnassus you that be The Sons of Phoebus and can flee On wings of Fancy to display The Flagge of high Invention stay Repose your Quills Your veines grow sower Tempt not your Salt beyond her power If your pall'd Fancies but decline Censure will strike at every line And wound your names The popular eare Weighs what you are not what you were Thus hackney like we tire our Age Spurgall'd with Change from Stage to Stage Seest thou the daily light of the greater world When attaind to the highest pitch of Meridian glory it staieth not but by the same degrees it ascended it descends And is the light of the lesser world more premanent Continuance is the Child of Eternity not of Time EPIG 13 To the young Man Young man rejoyce And let thy rising daies Cheare thy glad heart Thinkst thou these uphill waies Leade to deaths dungeon No but know withall Arising is but Prologue to a Fall Invidiosa Senectus Will Marshall sculpsit Yet a little while is the light with you IOH. 12.35 1 THe day growes old The low pitcht Lamp hath made No lesse than treble shade And the descending damp does now prepare T'uncurle bright Titans haire Whose Westerne Wardrobe now begins t' unfold Her purples fring'd with gold To cloath his evening glory when th' alarmes Of Rest shall call to rest in restlesse Thetis armes 2 Nature now calls to Supper to refresh The spirits of all flesh The toyling ploughman drives his Thirsty Teames To tast the slipp'ry Streames The droyling Swineheard knocks away and feasts His hungry-whining guests The boxbill Ouzle and the dappled Thrush Like hungry Rivals meet at their beloved bush 3 And now the cold Autumnall dewes are seene To copwebbe every Greene And by the low-shorne Rowins doth appeare The fast-declining yeare The Saplesse Branches d'off their summer Suits And waine their winter fruits And stormy blasts hare forc'd the quaking Trees To wrap their trembling limbs in Suits of mossie Freeze 4 Our wasted Tapour now hath brought her light To the next dore to night Her sprightlesse flame grown great with snuffe does turn Sad as her neigbr'ring Vrne Her slender Inch that yet unspent remaines Lights but to further paines And in a silent language bids her guest Prepare his wearie limbes to take eternall Rest 5 Now carkfull Age hath pitcht her painefull plough Vpon the surrow'd brow And snowie blasts of discontented Care Hath blancht the falling haire Suspitious envie mixt with jealous Spight Disturb's his wearie night He threatens youth with age And now alas He ownes not what he is but vaunts the Man he was 6 Gray haires peruse thy dayes And let thy past Reade lectures to thy last Those hastie wings that hurri'd them away Will give these dayes no Day The constant wheeles of Nature scorne to tyre Vntill her works expire That blast that nipt thy youth will ruine Thee That hand that shooke the branch will quickly strike the Tree S. CHRYS Gray hayres are honorable when the behaviour suits with gray hayres But when an ancient man hath childish manners he becomes more rediculous than a child SEN. Thou art in vaine attained to old yeares that repeatest thy youthfulnesse EPIG 14. To the Youth Seest thou this good old man He represents Thy Future Thou his Preterperfect Tense Thou go'st to labour He prepares to Rest Thou break'st thy Fast He suppes Now which is best Plumbeus in terram Will Marshall sculpsit The dayes of our yeares are threescore years and ten PSAL. 90.10 1 SO have I seene th' illustrious Prince of Light Rising in glory from his Crocean bed And trampling downe the horrid shades of night Advancing more and more his conq'ring head Pause first decline at length begin to shroud His fainting browes within a cole black cloud 2 So have I seene a well built Castle stand Vpon the Tiptoes of a lofty Hill Whose active pow'r commands both Sea and Land And curbs the pride of the Beleag'rers will At length her ag'd Foundation failes her trust And layes her tottring ruines in the Dust 3 So have I seene the blazing Tapour shoot Her golden head into the feeble Ayre Whose shadow-gilding Ray spread round about Makes the foule face of black brow'd darkenesse faire Till at the length her wasting glory fades And leaves the night to her invet'rate shades 4 Ev'n so this little world of living Cloy The pride of Nature glorified by Art Whom earth adores and all her hosts obay Ally'd to Heav'n by his Diviner part Triumphs a while then droops and then decayes And worne by Age death cancells all his dayes 5 That glorious Sun that whilom shone so bright Is now ev'n ravisht from our darkned eyes That sturdy Castle man'd with so much might Lyes now a Monument of her owne disguize That blazing Tapour that disdain'd the puffe Of troubled Ayre scarce ownes the name of Snuffe 6 Poore bedrid Man where is that glory now Thy Youth so vaunted Where that Majesty Which sat enthron'd upon thy manly brow Where where that braving Arme that daring eye Those buxom tunes Those Bacchanalian Tones Those swelling veynes those marrow-flaming bones 7 Thy drooping Glory 's blurrd and prostrate lyes Grov'ling in dust And frightfull Horror now Sharpens the glaunces of thy gashfull eyes Whilst feare perplexes thy distracted brow Thy panting brest vents all her breath by groanes And Death enervs thy marrow-wasted bones 8 Thus Man that 's borne of woman can remaine But a short tine His dayes are full of sorrow His life 's a penance and his death 's a paine Springs like a flow'r to day and fades to morrow His breath 's a bubble and his dayes a Span T is glorious misery to be borne a Man CYPR. When eyes are dimme eares deafe visage pale teeth decaied skin withered breath tainted pipes furred knees trembling hands fumbling feet fayling the sudden downefall of thy fleshy house is neare at hand S. AUGUST All vices wax old by Age Covetousnesse done growes young EPIG 15. To the Infant What he doth spending in groanes thou spendst in teares Iudgement and strength 's alike in both your yeares Hee 's helpesse so art thou What difference than Hee 's an old Infant Thou a young old Man THE END