shafts already made And seeking Hone to set up thy Trade True Embleme of hy sweets Thy Bees do bring Hony in their moutâ—es but in their tailes a sting IV. Quis leuior cui phis ponderis adds amor Will Marshall sculpsit IV. PSAL. LXII IX To be laid in the ballance it is altogether lighter than vanitie 1 PUt in another weight 'T is yet too light And yet Fond Cupid put another in And yet another Still there 's under weight Put in another Hundred Put agin Add world to world then heape a thousand more To that then to renew thy wasted store Take up more worlds on trust to draw thy Balance lower 2 Put in the flesh with all her loades of pleasure Put in great Mammons endlesse Inventory Put in the pondrous Acts of mighty Caesar Put in the greater weight of Swedens Glory Add Scipio's gauntlet put in Plato's Gowne Put Circes Charmes put in the Triple Crowne Thy Balance will not draw thy Balance will not downe 3 LORD what a world is this which day and night Men seek with so much toyle with so much trouble Which weigh'd in equall Scales is found so light So poorely over-balanc'd with a Bubble Good GOD that frantick mortals should destroy Their higher Hopes and place their idle Ioy Vpon such ayry Trash upon so light a Toy 4 Thou bold Imposture how hast thou befool'd The Tribe of Man with counterfeit desire How has the breath of thy false bellowes cool'd He wâ—ns free-borne flames and kindled bastard fire How hast thou vented Drosse instead of treasure And cheated man with thy false weights and measure Proclaiming Bad for good and gilding death with pleasure 5 The woâ—ld's a crafty Strumpet most affecting And closely following those that most reject her But seeming carelesse nicely disrespecting And coyly flying those that most affect her If thou be free shee 's strange if strange shee 's free Fled and she followes Follow and shee 'l flee Than she there 's none more coy ther 's none more fond than she 6 O what a Crocodilian world is this Compos'd of trech'ries and ensnaring wiles She cloathes destruction in a form all kisse And lodges death in her deceitfull smiles She huggs the soule she hates and there does prove The veryest Tyrant where she vowes to love And is a Serpent most when most she seemes a Dove 7 Thrice happy he whose nobler thoughts despise To make an Object of so easie Gaines Thrice happy he who scornes so poore a Prize Should be the C own of his heroick paines Thrice happy he that nev'r was borne to trie Her frownes or smiles or being borne did lie In his sad Nurses Armes an houre or two and die S. AUGUST lib. Confess O you that dote upon this world for what victory do you fight Your hopes can be crown'd with no greater reward than the world can give and what is the world but a brittle thing ful of dangers wherein we travell from lesser to greater periis O let all her vaine light and momentary glory perish with her self and let us be conversant with more eternall things Alas this world is miserable life is short and death is sure EPIG 4. My soule What 's lighter than a feather Wind Than wind The fire And what then fire The mind What 's lighter than the mind A thought Than Thought This bubble-world What than this Bubble Nought V. His veâ—titue orbis Will. Marshall sculpfit V. I COR. VII XXXI The fashion of this world passeth away 1 GOne are those golden dayes wherein Pale conscience started not at ugly sin When good old Saturnes peacefull Throne Was usurped by his beardlesse Sonne When jealous Ops nev'r fear'd th' abuse Of her chast bed or breach oâ— nuptiall Truce When just Astraea poys'd her Scales In mortall hearts whose absence earth bewailes When froth-borne Venus and her brat With all that spurious brood young Iove begat In horrid shapes were yet unknowne Those Halcyon dayes that golden age is gone There was no Clyent then to wait The leisure of his long tayl'd Advocate The Talion Law was in request And Chaunc'ry courts were kept in ev'ry brest Abused Statutes had no Tenters And men could deale secure without indentures There was no pâ—eping hole to cleare The Wittols eye from his incarnate feare There were no lustfull Cinders then To broyle the Carbonado'd hearts of men The rosie Cheeke did then proclaime A shame of Guilt but not a guilt of shame There was no whining soule to start At Cupids twang or curse his flaming dart The Boy had then but callow wings And fell Erynnis Scorpions had no stings The better acted world did move Upon the fixed Poles of Truth and Love Love essenc'd in the hearts of men Then Reason rul'd There was no Passion then Till Lust and rage began to enter Love the Circumf'rence was and love the Center Untill the wanton dayes of Iove The simple world was all compos'd of Love But Iove grew fleshly false unjust Inferiour beauty fil'd his veines with Lust And Cucqueane Iunos Fury hurld Fierce Balls of Rage into th' incestuous World Astraea fled and love return'd From earth Earth boyl'd with Lustâ— with Rage it burn'd And ever since the world has beene Kept going with the scourge of Lust and Spleene S. AMBROS Lust is a sharpe spurre to vice which alwayes puts the affections into a false Gallop HUGO Lust is an immoderate wantonnesse of the stesh a sweet poyson a cruell pestilence a pernicious potion which weakens the body of man and effeminates the strength of an heroick mind S. AUGUST Envy is the hatred of anothers felicity in respect of Superiours because they are not equall 〈◊〉 them in respect of Inferiours lest they should be equall to them in respect of equals because they are equall to them Through Envy proceeded the fall of the world and the death of Christ EPIG 5. What Cupid must the world be â—â—iht so soone But made at morning and be whipt at noone 'T is like the Wagg that plaâ—es with Venus Doves The more 't is lasht the more perverse it proves VI. In ceuce tuta quies Will Marshall Sculpsit VI. ECCLES II. XVII All is vanitie and vexation of spirit 1 HOw is the anxious soule of man befool'd In his desire That thinks a Hectick Fever may be cool'd In flames of fire Or hopes to rake full heapes of burnisht gold From nasty mire A whining Lover may as well request A scorne full brest To melt in gentle teares as woo the world for rest 2 Let wit and all her studied plots effect The best they can Let smiling Fortune prosper and perfect What wit began Let earth advise with both and so project A happy man Let wit or fawning Fortune vie their best He may be blest With all that earth can give but earth can give no Rest 3 Whose Gold is double with a carefull hand His cares are double The pleasure Honour Wealth of Sea and Land Bring but a trouble Tbe
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
hundred kisses Here 's a knack indeed So now my bird is white and looks as faire As Pelops shoulder or my milke-white paire Here 's right the Fathers smile when Mars beguil'd Sick Venus of her heart just thus he smil'd DIVIN CVPID Well may they smile alike Thy base-bred Boy And his base Syre had both one Cause A Toy How well their subjects and their smiles agree Thy Cupid finds a Toy and Mars found thee False Queene of Beauty Queene of false delights Thy knee presents an Embleme that invites Man to himselfe whose selfe-transported heart Ov'rwhelm'd with native sorrowes and the smart Of purchas'd griefes lies whining night and day Not knowing why till heavy-heeld delay The dull-brow'd Pander of despaire layes by His leaden Buskins and presents his eye With antick Trifles which th'indulgent earth Makes proper Objects of mans childish mirth These be the coyne that passe the sweets that please There 's nothing good there 's nothing great but these These be the Pipes that base-borne minds daunce after And turne immod'rate teares to lavish laughter Whilst heav'nly Raptures passe without regard Their strings are harsh and their high straines unheard The plough mans Whistle or the triviall Flute Find more respect than great Apollo's Lute Wee 'l looke to heav'n and trust to higher Ioyes Let Swine love Husks and children whine for Toyes S. BERN. That is the true and chiefe joy which is not conceived from the creature but received from the Creator which being once possest thereof none can take from thee whereto all pleasure being compared is torment all joy is griefe sweet things are bitter all glory is basenesse and all delectable things are despicable S. BERN. Ioy in a changeable subject must necessarily change as the subject changes EPIG 8. Peace childish Cupid peace Thy finger'd eye But cries for what in time will make thee cry But are thy peevish wranglings thus appeas'd Well maist thou cry that art so poorely pleas'd IX Venturum exhorresco diem Will Marshal sculpsit IX ESAY X.III. What will ye do in the day of your visitation to whom will ye flie for help and where will ye leave your glory 1 IS this that jolly God whose Cyprian Bow Has shot so many flaming darts And made so many wounded Beauties goe Sadly perplext with whimpering hearts Is this that Sov'raigne Deity that brings The slavish world in awe and stings The blundring soules of swaines and stoops the hearts of Kings 2 What Circean Charme what Hecatean spight Has thus abus'd the God of love Great Iove was vanquisht by his greater might And who is stronger-arm'd than Iove Or has our lustfull God perform'd a Rape And fearing Argus eyes would scape The view of jealous earth in this prodigious shape 3 Where be those Rosie Cheeks that lately scorn'd The malice of injurious Fates Ah wher 's that pearle Percullis that adorn'd Those dainty two-leav'd Ruby gates Where be those killing eyes that so controld The world And locks that did infold Like knots of flaming wyre like Curles of burnisht Gold 4 No no 'T was neither Hecatean spite Nor Charme below nor pow'r above 'T was neither Circes spell nor Stigian sprite That thus transform'd our God of Love 'T was owle-ey'd Lust more potent farre than they Whose eyes and actions hate the day Whom all the world observe whom all the world obay 5 See how the latter Trumpets dreadfull blast Affrights stout Mars his trembling Son See how he startles how he stands agast And scrambles from his melting Throne Hark how the direfull hand of vengeance teares The sweltring Clouds whilst heav'n appeares A Circle fil'd with flame and centerd with his feares 6 This is that day whose oft report hath worne Neglected Tongues of Prophets bare The faithlesse subject of the worldlings scorne The summe of men and Angels pray'r This this the day whose All-descerning light Ransacks the secret dens of night And severs Good from Bad true Ioyes from false Delight 7 You grov'ling Worldlings you whose wisedome trades Where light nev'r shot his Golden Ray That hide your Actions in Cymerian shades How will your eyes indure this day Hils wil be deafe and mountaines will not heare There be no Caves no Corners there To shade your soules from fire to shield your hearts from feare HUGO O the extreame loathsomnesse of fleshly lust which not onely effeminates the mind but enerves the body which not onely distaines the soule but disguises the person It is usher'd with fury and wantonnesse It is accompanied with filthinesse and uncleannesse and it is followed with griefe and repentance EPIG 9. What sweet-fac'd Cupid has thy bastard-treasure Thy boasted Honours and thy bold-fac'd pleasure Perplext thee now I told thee long ago To what they 'd bring thee foole To wit to woe X. Tinnit â—inanâ— est X NAH II.X. Shee is emptie and void and waste 1 SHe 's empty Hark she sounds There 's nothing there But noyse to fill thy eare Thy vaine enquiry can at length but find A blast of murm'ring wind It is a Cask that seems as full as faire But meerely tunn'd with Ayres Fond youth go build thy hopes on better grounds Thy soule that vainely founds Her joyes upon this world but feeds on empty sounds 2 Shee 's empty Hark she sounds Ther 's nothing in 't The spark-ingendring Flint Shall sooner melt and hardest Raunce shall first Dissolve and quench thy thirst Ere this false world shall still thy stormy brest With smooth fac'd Calmes of Rest Thou mayst as well expect Meridian light From shades of black-mouth'd night As in this empty world to find a full delight 3 Shee 's empty Hark she sounds 'T is void and vast What if some flattring blast Of flatuous Honour should perchance be there And whisper in thine eare It is but wind and blowes but where it list And vanishes like a Mist Poore Honour earth can give What gen'rous mind Would be so base to bind Her heav'n-bred soule a slave to serve a Blast of wind 4 Shee 's empty Hark She sounds 'T is but a Ball For Fooles to play with all The painted filme but of a stronger Bubble That 's lin'd with silken trouble It is a world whose Worke and Recreation Is vanity and vexation A Hagg repair'd with vice-complexion paint A Questhouse of complaint It is a Saint a Fiend worse Fiend when most a Saint 5 Shee 's empty Hark she sounds 'T is vaine and void What 's here to be enjoyed But Griefe and sicknesse and large bills of sorrow Drawne now and crost to morrow Or what are Men but puffs of dying breath Reviv'd with living death Fond lad O build thy hopes on surer grounds Than what dull flesh propounds Trust not this hollow world shee 's empty Hark she sounds S. CHRYS in Ep. ad Heb. Contemne riches and thou shalt be rich Contemne glory and thou shalt be glorious contemne injuries and thou shalt be a conquerer Contemne rest and thou shalt gaine rest Contemne
mine My flames are full of heav'n and all divine How often have I sought this Bed by night To find that greater by this lesser light How oft has my unwitnest groanes lamented Thy dearest absence Ah how often vented The bitter Tempests of despairing breath And tost my soule upon the waves of death How often has my melting heart made choice Of silent teares teares lowder than a voice To plead my griefe and woo thy absent eare And yet thou wilt not come thou wilt not heare O is thy wonted love become so cold Or do mine eyes not seeke thee where they should Why do I seeke thee if thou art not here Or find thee not if thou art ev'ry where I see my error 'T is not strange I could not Find out my love I sought him where I should not Thou art not found in downy Beds of ease â—as thy musick strikes on harder keyes Nor art thou found by that false feeble light Of Natures Candle Our Aegyptian night Is more than common darkenesse nor can we Expect a morning but what breaks from Thee Well may my empty Bed lament thy losse When thou art lodg'd upon thy shamefull Crosse If thou refuse to share a Bed with me Wee 'l never part I le share a Crosse with Thee ANSELM in Protolog Cap. 1. Lord if thou are not present where shall I seeke thee absent If every where why do I not see thee present Thou dwellest in light inaccessible and where is that inaccessible light Or how shall I have accesse to light inaccessible I beseech thee Lord teach me to seeke thee and show thy selfe to the seeker because I can neither seeke thee unlesse thou teach me nor find thee unlesse thou show thy selfe to me Let me seeke thee in desiring thee and desire thee in seeking thee Let me find thee in loving thee and love thee in finding thee EPIG 10. Where shouldst thou seeke for rest but in thy Bed But now thy Rest is gone thy Rest is fled 'T is vaine to seeke him there My soule be wise Go ask thy sinnes They 'l tell thee where he lies XII Saw yee him whom my Soule loveth It was but a little that I passed from them but I found Him whom my soule loveth I held Him and would not let him goe Cant 3.4 Will sim sculp XII CAN. III. III Have you seene him whom my soule loveth When I had past a little from them then I found him I tooke hold on him and left him not 1 WHat secret corner What unwonted way Has scap'd the ransack of my rambling thoughts The Fox by night nor the dull Owle by day Have never search'd those places I have sought Whilst thy lamented absence taught my brest The ready Road to Griefe without request My day had neither comfort nor my night had rest 2 How has my unregarded language vented The sad Tautologies of lavish passion How often have I languish'd unlamented How oft have I complain'd without compassion I ask the Citie-Watch but some deny'd me The common streit whilst others would misguide me Some would debarre me some divert me some deride me 3 Mark how the widow'd Turtle having lost The faithfull partner of her loyall Heart Stretches her feeble wings from Coast to Coast Haunts ev'ry path thinks ev'ry shade does part Her absent Love and her At length unsped She re-betakes her to her lovely Bed And there bewailes her everlasting widow-head 4 So when my soule had progrest ev'ry place That love and deare affection could contrive I threw me on my Couch resolv'd t' embrace A death for him in whom I ceas'd to live But there injurious Hymen did present His Lanskip joyes my pickled eyes did vent Full streames of briny teares teares never to be spent 5 Whilst thus my sorrow-wasting soule was feeding Vpon the rad'call Humour of her thought Ev'n whilst mine eyes were blind and heart was bleeding He that was sought unfound was found unsought As if the Sun should dart his Orbe of light Into the secrets of the black-brow'd night Ev'n so appear'd my Love my sole my soules delight 6 O how mine eyes now ravish'd at the sight Of my bright Sun shot flames of equall fire Ah! how my soule dissolv'd with ov'r-delight To re-enjoy the Crowne of chast desire How sov'raigne joy depos'd and dispossest Rebellious griefe And how my ravisht brest But who can presse those heights that cannot be exprest 7 O how these Armes these greedy Armes did twine And strongly twist about his yeelding wast The sappy branches of the Thespian vine Nev'r cling'd their lesse beloved Elme so fast Boast not thy flames blind boy nor feather'd shot Let Himens easie snarles be quite forgot Time cannot quench our fires nor death dissolve our knot ORIG. Hom. 10. in divers O most holy Lord and sweetest Master how good art thou to those that are of upright heart and humble spirit O how blessed are they that seeke thee with a simple heart How happy that trust in thee It is a most certaine truth that thou lovest all that love thee and never forsakest those that trust in thee For behold thy Love simply sought thee and undoubtedly found thee She trusted in thee and is not forsaken of thee but hath obtained more by thee than she expected from thee BEDE cap. 3. Cant. The longer I was in finding whom I sought the more earnestly I held him being found EPIG 12. What found him out Let strong embraces bind him Hee 'l fly perchance where teares can never find him New Sins will lose what old Repentance gaines Wisedome not onely gets but got retaines XIII It is good for me to draw neare to the Lord 〈◊〉 I haue put my trust in the Lord God Ps 73.20 Will Simpson â—â—â—lpsit XIII PSAL. LXXII XXVIII It is good for me to draw neare to God I have put my trust in the Lord God WHere is that Good which wisemen please to call The Chiefest Does there any such befall Within mans reach Or is there such a Good at all If such there be it neither must expire Nor change than which there can be nothing higher Such Good must be the utter point of mans desire It is the Mark to which all hearts must tend Can be desired for no other end Theâ— for it selfe on which all other Goods depend What may this Exc'lence be does it subsist A reall Essence clouded in the midst Of curious Art or cleare to ev'ry eye that list Or is' t a tart Idea to procure An Edge and keepe the practick soule in ure Like that deare Chymick dust or puzzling Quadrature Where shall I seek this Good Where shall I find This Cath'licke pleasure whose extreames may bind My thoughts and fill the gulph of my insatiate mind Lies it in Treasure In full heaps untold Does gowty Mammons griping hand infold This secret Saint in sacred Shrines of sov'raigne Gold No no she lies not there Wealth often sowrs In keeping makes us hers in seeming
proceeds not from a consuming but a calcining fire O happy distemper wherein the soule relishes no earthly things but onely savours divine nourishment S. BERN. Scrm. 51. in Cant. By flowers understand faith by fruit good works As the flower or blossome is before the fruit so faith is before goodworks So neither is the fruit without the flower nor good works without faith EPIG 2. Why Apples O my soule Can they remove The Pangs of Griefe or ease the flames of love It was that Fruit which gave the first offence That sent him hither that remov'd him hence III. My Beloued is mine and I am his Hee feedeth among the Lillies Cant 2.16 Will simpson sculp III. CANT II. XVI My beloved is mine and I am his He feedeth among the Lillies 1 EV'n like two little bank-dividing brookes That wash the pebles with their wanton streames And having rang'd and search'd a thousand nookes Meet both at length in silver-brested Thames Where in a greater Current they conjoyne So I my Best Beloveds am so He is mine 2 Ev'n so we met and after long pursuit Ev'n so we joyn'd we both became entire No need foâ— either to renew a Suit For I waâ— Flax and he was Flames of fire Our firm united soules did more than twine So I my Best-Beloveds am so He is mine 3 If all those glittring Monarchs that command The servile Quarters of this earthly Ball Should tender in Exchange their shares of land I would not change my Fortunes for them all Their wealth is but a Counter to my Coyne The world 's but theirs but my Beloved's mine 4 Nay more If the faire Thespian Ladies all Should heape together their diviner treasure That Treasure should be deem'd a price too small To buy a minuts Lease of halfe my Pleasure 'T is not the sacred wealth of all the Nine Can buy my heart from Him or His from being mine 5 Nor Time nor place nor Chance nor Death can bow My least desires unto the least remove Hee 's firmely mine by Oath I His by Vow Hee 's mine by Faith and I am His by Love Hee 's mine by Water I am His by Wine Thus I my Best-beloveds am Thus He is mine 6 He is my Altar I his Holy Place I am his Guest and He my living Food I 'm his by Poenitence He mine by Grace I 'm his by Purchace He is mine by Blood Hee 's my supporting Elme and I his Vine Thus I my Best-Beloveds am Thus He is mine 7 He gives me wealth I give him all my Vowes I give Him songs He gives me length of dayes With wrethes of Grace he crownes my conqu'ring browes And I his Temples with a Crowne of Praise Which be accepts as an everlasting signe That I my best-beloveds am that He is mine S. AUGUST Manu cap. 24. O my soule stampt with the Image of thy God love him of whom thou art so much beloved Bend to him that bowes to thee seeke him that seeks thee Love thy lover by whose love thou art prevented being the cause of thy love Be carefull with those that are carefull want with those that want Bee cleane with the cleane and holy with the holy Choose this friend above all friends who when all are taken away remaines onely faithfull to thee In the day of thy buriall when all leave thee he will not deceive thee but defend thee from the roaring Lions prepared for their prey EPIG 3. Sing Hymen to my soule What lost and found Welcom'd Espous'd enjoy'd so soone and crown'd He did but climbe the Crosse and then came downe To th'Gates of Hell triumph'd and fetch'd a Crowne IV. I am my beloveds his Desire is towards mee Cant 7.10 W. Simpson Scâ— IV. CANT VII.X. I am my Beloveds and his desire is towards mee 1 LIke to the Artick needle that does guide The wandring shade by his Magneticke pow'r And leaves his silken Gnomon to decide The question of the controverted houre First franticks up and downe from side to side And restlesse beats his christall'd Iv'ry case With vaine impatience jets from place to place And seeks the bosome of his frozen Bride At length he slacks his motion and does rest His trembling point at his bright Poles beloved Brest 2 Ev'n so my soule being hurried here and there By ev'ry object that presents delight Faine would be setled but she knowes not where She likes at morning what she loaths at night She bowes to Honour then she lends an eare To that sweet Swan-like voice of dying Pleasure Then tumbles in the scatter'd heapes of Treasure Now flatter'd with false hope now foyl'd with feare Thus finding all the world delights to be But empty toyes good GOD she point's alone to Thee But has the virtu'd Steele a pow'r to move Or can the untouch'd Needle point aright Or can my wandring Thoughts forbeare to rove Vnguided by the vertue of thy Spirit O has my leaden Soule the Art t' improve Her wasted Talent and unrais'd aspire In this sad moulting time of her desire Not first belov'd have I the pow'r to love I cannot stirre but as thou please to move me Nor can my heart returne thee love untill thou love me 4 The still Commandresse of the silent night Borrowes her beames from her bright brothers Eye His faire aspect fils her sharp hornes with light If he withdraw her flames are quench'd and die Ev'n so the beames of thy enlightning Sp'rite Infus'd and shot into my dark desire Inflame my thoughts and fill my soule with fire That I am ravisht with a new delight But if thou shroud thy face my glory fades And I remaine a Nothing all compos'd of shades 5 Eternall God O thou that onely art The sacred Fountaine of eternall light And blessed Loadstone of my better part O thou my hearts desire my soules delight Reflect upon my soule and touch my heart And then my heart shall prize no good above thee And then my soule shall know thee knowing love thee And then my trembling thoughts shall never start From thy commands or swerve the least degree Or once presume to move but as they move in thee S. AUGUST Med. Cap. 25. If man can love man with so entire affection that the one can scarce brooke the others absence If a Bride can be joyned to her Bride-groome with so great an ardency of mind that for the extremity of love she can enjoy no rest not suffering his absence without great anxiety with what affection with what fervency ought the soule whom thou hast espoused by faith and compassion to love thee her true God and glorious Bridegroome EPIG 4. My soule thy love is deare T' was thought a good And easie pen'worth of thy Saviours Blood But be not proud All matters rightly scan'd 'T was over brought 'T was sold at second hand I. My Soule melted when my beloved spake Cant 5.6 Will Simpson scul V. CANT V.VI. My Soule melted whilst my Beloved spake LOrd has the
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
subjects where repentance corrects where obedience directs where perseverance perfects where power protects where devotion projects where charity connects S. GREG. Which way soever the heart turnes it selfe if carefully it shall commonly observe that in those very things we lose God in those very things we shall find God It shall find the heat of his power in consideration of those things in the love of which things he was most cold and by what things it fell perverted by those things it is raised converted EPIG 15. My heart but wherefore do I call thee so I have renounc'd my Intrest long agoe When thou wert false and fleshly I was thine Mine wert thou never till thou were not mine THE THIRD BOOKE Lord all my Desire is before Thee my groaning is not aid from Theeâ—s 38 The Entertainement ALL you whose better thoughts are newly born And rebaptiz'd with holy fire can scorn The worlds base trash whose necks disdain to beare Th' imperious yoke of Satan whose chast eare No wanton Songs of Syrens can surprize With false delight whose more than Eagle-eyes Can view the glorious flames of Gold and gaze On glittring beames of Honour and not daze Whose soules can spurne at pleasure and deny The loose Suggestions of the flesh draw nigh And you whose am'rous whose select desires Would feele the warmth of those transcendent fires Which like the rising Sun put out the light Of Venus starre and turne her day to night You that would love and have your passions crown'd With greater happinesse than can be found In your own wishes you that would affect Where neither scorn nor guile nor disrespect Shall wound your tortur'd Soules that would enjoy Where neither want can pinch nor fulnesse cloy Nor double doubt afflicts nor baser Feare Vnflames your courage in pursuit draw neare Shake hands with earth and let your soule respect Her Ioyes no further than her Ioyes reflect Vpon her Makers Glory if thou swim In wealth See him in all See all in Him Sink'st thou in want and is thy small Cruise spent See Him in want Enjoy â—im in Content Conceiv'st Him lodg'd in Câ—oste or lost in paine In Pray'r and Patience find Him out againe Make Heav'n thy Mistresse Let no Change remove Thy loyall heart Be fond be sick of Love What if he stop his 〈◊〉 knit his Brow At length hee 'l be as fond as sick as thou Dart up thy Soule in Groanes Thy secret Grone Shall pierce his Eare shall pierce his Eare alone Dart up thp Soule in vowes Thy sacred Vow Shall find him out where heav'n alone shall know Dart up thy Soule in sighs Thy whispring sigh Shall rouze his eares and feare no listner nigh Send up thy Grones thy Sighs thy closet Vow There 's none there 's none shall know but Heav'n and thou Grones fresht with vowes and vowes made salt with teares Vnscale his eyes and scale his conquer'd eares Shoot up the bosome Shafts of thy desire Feather'd with Faith and double forkt with Fire And they will hit Feare not where heav'n bids Come Heav'ns never deafe but when mans heart is dumbe I. My Soul hath desirâ—d Thee in the Night W. Simpson â—c Esaâ— 26 I. ESAY XXIX VI My soule hath desired thee in the Night GOod God! what horrid darkenesse do's surround My groping soule How are my Senses bound In utter shades and muffled from the light Lusk in the bosome of eternall night The bold-fac'd Lamp of heav'n can set and rise And with his morning glory fill the eyes Of gazing Mortals his victorious Ray Can chase the shadowes and restore the day Nights bashfull Empresse though she often wayne As oft repents her darknesse primes againe And with her circling Hornes does re-embrace Her brothers wealth and orbs her silver face But ah my Sun deep swallow'd in his Fall Is set and cannot shine nor rise at all My bankcrupt Waine can beg nor borrow light Alas my darkenesse is perpetuall night Falls have their Risings Wainings have their Primes And desp'rate sorrowes wait their better times Ebbs have their Floods and Autumnes have their Springs All States have Changes hurried with the swings Of Chance and Time still tiding to and fro Terrestriall Bodies and Celestiall too How often have I vainely grop'd about With lengthned Armes to find a passage out That I might catch those Beames mine eye desires And bathe my soule in those Celestiall fires Like as the Hagard cloyster'd in her Mâ—e To scowre her downy Robes and to renew Her broken Flags preparing t'overlooke The tim'rous Malard at the sliding Brooke Iets oft from Perch to Perch from Stock to ground From ground to Wandow thus surveying round Her dove-befeatherd Prison till at length Calling her noble Birth to mind and strength Whereto her wing was borne her ragged Beake Nips off her dangling Iesses strives to breake Her gingling Fetters and begins to bate At ev'ry glimspe and darts at ev'ry grate Ev'n so my weary soule that long has bin An Inmate in this Tenement of Sin Lockt up by Cloud-brow'd Error which invites My cloystred Thoughts to feed on black delights Now scornes her shadowes and begins to dart Her wing'd desires at Thee that onely art The Sun she seeks whose rising beames can fright These duskie Clouds that make so darke a night Shine forth great Glory shine that I may see Both how to loath my selfe and honour Thee But if my weakensse force Thee to deny Thy Flames yet lend the Twilight of thine Eye If I must want those Beames I wish yet grant That I at least may wish those Beames I want S. AUGUST Soliloq cap. 33. There was a great and darke cloud of vanity before mine eyes so that I could not see the Sun of Iustice and the light of Truth I being the Son of darknesse was involved in darknesse I loved my darknesse because I knew not thy Light I was blind and loved my blindnesse and did walke from darkenesse to darkenesse But Lord thou art my God who hast led me from darknesse and the shadow of death hast called me into this glorious light and behold I see EPIG 1. My soule cheare up What if the night belong Heav'n finds an eare when sinners finde a tongue Thy teares are Morning show'rs Heav'n bids me say When Peters Cock begins to crow 't is Day II. O Lord Thou knowest mâ— Foolishnesse my SinÌ„s ari ' not hid froÌ„ Thee Ps 〈…〉 â—o 5. II. PSAL. LXIX III O Lord thou knowest my foolishnesse and my sinnnes are not hid from thee SEest thou this fulsome Ideot In what measure He seemes transported with the anticke pleasure Of childish Baubles Canst thou but admire The empty fulnesse of his vaine desire Canst thou conceive such poore delights as these Can fill th'satiate soule of Man or please The fond Aspect of his deluded eye Reader such very fooles are thou and I False puffes of Honour the deceitfull streames Of wealth the idle vaine and empty dreames Of pleasure
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
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
Trash they call their treasure O how I 'de smile to see what plots they lay To catch a blast or owne a smile from Caesar Had I the pineons of a mounting Dove How would I sore and sing and hate the Love Of transitory Toyes and feed on Ioyes above 4 There should I find that everlasting Pleasure Which Change removes not which Chance prevents not There should I find that everlasting Treasure Which force deprives not fortune dis-augments not There should I find that everlasting Caesar Whose hand recals not and whose heart repents not Had I the pineons of a clipping Dove How I would climbe the skies and hate the Love Of transitory Toyes and joy in Things above 5 No rank-mouth'd flander there shall give offence Or blast our blooming names as here they doe No liver scalding Lust shall there incense Our boyling veines There is no Cupids Bow LORD give my soule the milke-white Innocence Of Doves and I shall have their pineons too Had I the pineons of a sprightly Dove How I would quit this earth and sore above And heav'ns blest kingdom find with heav'ns blest King IEHOVE S. AUGUST in Psal 38. What wings should I desire but the two precepts of love on which the Law and the Prophets depend O if I could obtaine these wings I could flye from thy face to thy face from the face of thy Iustice to the face of thy Mercy Let us find those wings by love which we have lost by lust S. AUGUST in Psal 76. Let us cast off whatsoever hinders entangles or burthens our flight untill we attaine that which satisfies beyond which nothing is beneath which all things are of which all things are EPIG 13. Tell me my wishing soule didst ever trie How fast the wings of Red-crost Faith can flie Why beg'st thou then the pineons of a Dove Faiths wings are swifter but the swiftest Love XIV How amiable are thy Tabernacles O Lord of Hosts my Soule longeth yâ—â— euen fainteth for the courts of the Lord Pâ—â—4 Will Marshall Sculâ— XIV PSAL. LXXXIV I How amiable are thy Tabernacles O God of Hosts ANcient of dayes to whom all times are Now Before whose Glory Seraphims do bow Their blushing Cheekes and vale their blemisht faces That uncontain'd at once dost fill all places How glorious O how farre beyond the height Of puzzled Quils or the obtuse conceit Of flesh and Blood or the too flat reports Of mortall tongues are thy experssesse Courts Whose glory to paint forth with greater Art Ravish my Fancy and inspire my heart Excuse my bold attempt and pardon me For shewing Sence what Faith alone should see Ten thousand Millions and ten thousand more Of Angell-measur'd leagues from th'Easterne shore Of dungeon earth this glorious Palace stands Before whose pearly gates ten thousand Bands Of armed Angels wait to entertaine Those purged soules for whom the Lamb was slaine Whose guiltlesse death and voluntary yeelding Of whose giv'n life gave this brave Court her building The lukewarme Blood of this deare Lamb being spilt To Rubies turn'd whereof her posts were built And what dropt downe in cold and gelid gore Did turne rich Saphyrs and impav'd her floore The brighter flames that from his eye-balls ray'd Grew Chrysolites whereof her walls were made The milder glaunces sparkled on the Ground And grunsild ev'ry doore with Diamond But dying darted upwards and did fix A Battlement of purest Sardonix Her streets with burnisht Gold are paved round Starres lie like pebbles scattred on the ground Pearle mixt with Onyx and the Iasper stone Made gravil'd Causwayes to be trampled on There shines no Sun by day no Moone by night The Pallace glory is the Pallace light There is no time to measure motion by There time is swallow'd with Eternity Wry-mouth'd disdaine and corner-haunting lust And twy-fac'd Fraud and beetle-brow'd Distrust Soule-boyling Rage and trouble-state sedition And giddy doubt and goggle-ey'd suspition And lumpish sorrow and degen'rous feare Are banisht thence and death 's a stranger there But simple love and sempeternall joyes Whose sweetnesse neither gluts nor fulnesse cloyes Where face to face our ravish't eye shall see Great ELOHIM that glorious One in Three And Three in One and seeing Him shall blesse Him And blessing love Him and in love possesse Him Here stay my soule and ravish in relation Thy words being spent spend now in Contemplation S. GREG. in Psal 7. poenitent Sweet Iesus the Word of the Father the brightnesse of paternall glory whom Angels delight to view teach me to do thy will that led by thy good Spirit I may come to that blessed City where day is eternall where there is certaine security and secure eternity and eternall peace and peacefull happinesse and happy sweetnesse and sweet pleasure where thou O God with the Father and the holy Spirit livest and raignest world without end Ibid. There is light without darkenesse Ioy without griefe desire without punishment love without sadnesse satiety without loathing safety without feare health without disease and life without death EIPG. 14. My soule pry not too nearely The Complexion Of Sols bright face is seene but by Reflexion But wouldst thou know what 's heav'n I le tell thee what Think what thou canst not thinke and Heav'n is that XV. Make hast my Beloved and be Thow like to a Roe or to a yong Hart vpon the Mountaines of Spices Cant 8.14 Will sâ—â—sc XV. CANT VIII XIV Make hast my Beloved and be like the Roe or the young Hart upon the Mountaines of Spices GO Gentle Tyrant go thy flames doe pierce My soule too deep thy flames are too too fierce My marrow melts my fainting Spirits fry Ith'torrid Zone of thy Meridian Eye Away away thy sweets are too perfuming Turne turne thy face Thy fires are too consuming Hast hence and let thy winged steps out-goe The frighted Roe-buck and his flying Roe But wilt thou leave me then O thou that art Life of my Soule Soule of my dying heart Without the sweet Aspect of whose faire Eyes My soule does languish and her solace dies Art thou so easily woo'd So apt to heare The frantick language of my foolish feare Leave leave me not nor turne thy beauty from me Looke looke upon me though thine eâ—es ov'rcome me O how they wound But how my wounds content me How sweetly these delightfull paines torment me How I am tortur'd in excessive measure Of pleasing cruelties too cruell pleasure Turne turne away remove thy scorching beames I languish with these bitter-sweet extreames Hast then and let thy winged steps out-goe The flying Roe-buck and his frighted Roe Turne back my deare O let my ravisht eye Once more behold thy face before thou flie What shall we part without a mutuall kisse O who can leave so sweet a face as this Looke full upon me for my soule desires To turne a holy Martyr in those fires O leave me not nor turne thy beauty from me Looke looke upon me though thy flames ov'rcome me
If thou becloud the Sun-shine of thine eye I freeze to death and if it shine I frie Which like a Fever that my soule has got Makes me to burne too cold or freeze too hot Alas I cannot beare so sweet a smart Nor canst thou be lesse glorious than thou art Hast then and let thy winged steps out-goe The frighted Roe-buck and his flying Roe But goe not farre beyond the reach of breath Too large a distance makes another death My youth is in her Sping Autumnall vowes Will make me riper for so sweet a Spouse When after-times have burnish'd my desire I 'le shoot thee flames for flames and fire for fire O leave me not nor turne thy beauty from me Looke looke upon me though thy flames ov'rcome me Author sealae Paradisi Tom. 9. Aug Cap 8. Feare not O Bride nor despaire Thinke not thy selfe contemn'd if thy Bridegroome withdraw his face a while All things co-operate for the best Both from his absence and his presence thou gainest light He comes to thee and he goes from thee He comes to make thee consolate He goes to make thee cautious lest thy abundant consolation puffe thee up He comes that thy languishing soule may be comforted He goes left his familiarity should be contemned and being absent to be more desired and being desired to be more earnestly sought and being long sought to be more acceptably found EPIG 15. My soule sinnes monster whom with greater ease Ten thousand fold thy GOD could make than pleases What wouldst thou have Nor pleas'd with Sun nor shade Heav'n knowes not what to make of what He made â—â— Fidesque Coronat aâ— araâ— Will marshall-sculp THE FAREWELL REVEL II.X. Be thou faithfull unto death and I will give thee the crowne of life 1 BE faithfull LORD what 's that Believe 'T is easie to Believe But what That He whom thy hard heart has wounded And whom thy scorne has spit upon Has paid thy Fine and has compounded For those soule deeds thy hands have done Believe that He whose gentle palmes Thy needle-pointed Sinnes have nail'd Hath borne thy slavish load of Almes And made supply where thou hast fail'd Did ever mis'ry find so strange Reliefe It is a Love too strong for mans Beliefe 2 Believe that He whose side Thy crimes have pierc'd with their rebellions di'd To save thy guilty soule from dying Ten thousand horrid deaths from whence There was no scape there was no flying But through his dearest bloods expence Believe this dying Friend requires No other thanks for all his paine But ev'n the truth of weake desires And for his love but love againe Did ever mis'ry find so true a Friend It is a love too vast to comprehend 3 With Floods of teares baptize And drench these dry these unregen'rate eyes LORD whet my dull my blunt beliefe And break this fleshly rock in sunder That from this heart this hell of griefe May spring a Heav'n of love and wonder O if thy mercies will remove And melt this lead from my beliefe My griefe will then refine my love My love will then refresh my griefe Then weepe mine eyes as He has bled vouchsafe To drop for ev'ry drop an Epitaph 4 But is the Crowde of Glory The wages of a lamentable Story Or can so great a purchase rise From a salt Humour Can mine eye Run fast enough t' obtaine this Prize If so LORD who 's so mad to die Thy Teares are Trifles Thou must doe Alas I cannot Then endeavour I will But will a tugg or two Suffice the turne Thou must persever I le strive till death And shall my feeble strife Be crown'd I le crowne it with a Crowne of life 5 But is there such a dearth That thou must buy what is thy due by birth He whom Thy hands did forme of dust And gave him breath upon Condition To love his great Creator must He now be thine by Composition Art thou a gracious GOD and mild Or head-strong man rebellious rather O man 's a base rebellious Child And thou a very gracious Father The Gift is Thine we strive thou crown'st our strife Thou giv'st us Faith and Faith a Crowne of Life THE END The minde of the Frontispeece This Bubble's Man Hope Feare False Ioy and Trouble Are those Foure Winds which daily tosse this Bubble Hieroglyphica haec de vitâ hominis perlegi digna censeo quae typis mandentur Ian. 9. 1637. Tho Wykes R. P. Episc Lond. Capell domest Hieroglyphikes of the life of Man Fra. Quarles LONDON Printed by Iohn Dawson for Francis Eglessield and are to be sold by him at the signe of the Marigold in Pauls Church-yard 1639. TO THE RIGHT HONORABLE both in Blood and Virtue and most accomplisht LADIE MARY COVNTESS OF DORSET LADY GOVERNESS to the most Illustrious CHARLES Prince of great BRITAIN and IAMES Duke of YORKE Excellent Lady I Present these Tapours to burne under the safe Protection of your honorable Name where I presume they stand secure from the Damps of Ignorance and blasts of Censure It is a small part of that abundant service which my thankefull heart owes your incomparable Goodness Be pleased to honour it with your noble Acceptance which shall bee nothing but what your own esteem shall make it Madam Your La pps most humble servant FRA QVARLES To The Reader IF you are satisfied with my Emblems I here set before you a second service It is an Aegyptian dish drest on the English fashion They at their Feasts used to present a Deaths-head at their second course This will serve for both You need not feare a surfet Here is but little And that light of digestion If it but please your Palate I question not your stomack Fall too and much good may 't doe you Covivio addit Minerval E. B. Rem Regem Regimen Regionem Relligionem Exornat celebrat laudat honorat amat BENEVOLUS Sine Lumine inane Behold I was shapen in Iniquity and in sinne did my mother conceive me PSAL. 51.5 MAn is mans ABC There is none that can Reade God aright unlesse he first spell Man Man is the Stayres whereby his knowledge climes To his Creator though it oftentimes Stumbles for want of light and sometimes trippes For want of carefull heed and sometimes slips Through unadvised hast and when at length His weary steps have reach'd the top his strength Oft fayles to stand his giddy braines turne round And Phaeton-like falls headlong to the ground These stayres are often darke and full of danger To him whom want of practice makes a stranger To this blind way The Lamp of nature lends But a false Light and lights to her owne ends These be the wayes to Heav'n These paths require A Light that springs from that diviner fire Whose humane soule-enlightning sunbeames dart Through the bright Crannies of th' immortall part And here thou great Originall of Light Whose error-chaceing Beames do unbenight The very soule of Darknesse and untwist The Clouds of
judgement and eternall punishment EPIG 14. What soule no farther yet what nev'r commence Master in Faith Still Bachelour of Sense Is' t insufficiency Or what has made thee Ore slip thy lost degree Thy lusts have staid thee XV. My life is spent with grief my yeeres with Sighing Ps 30 10. W M. sculp XV. PSAL. XXX.X. My life is spent with griefe and my yeares with sighing WHat sullen Starre rul'd my untimely birth That would not lend my dayes one houre of mirth How oft have these bare knees been bent to gaine The slender Almes of one poore smile in vaine How often tir'd with the fastidious light Have my faint lips implor'd the shades of night How often have my nightly Torments praid For lingring twilight glutted with the shade Day worse than night night worse than day appeares In feares I spend my nights my dayes in teares I moane unpitti'd groane without reliefe There is nor end nor measure of my griefe The smiling flow'r salutes the day it growes Vntouch'd with care It neither spins nor sowes O that my tedious life were like this flow'r Or freed from griefe or furlish'd with an houre Why was I borne Why was I borne a man And why proportion'd by so large a Span Or why suspended from the common lot And being borne to die why die I not Ah me why is my sorrow-wasted breath Deny'd the easie priviledge of death The branded Slave that tugs the weary Oare Obtaines the Sabbath of a welcome Shore His ransom'd stripes are heal'd His native soyle â—weetens the mem'ry of his forreigne toyle But ah my sorrowes are not halfe so blest My labour finds no point my paines no rest I barter sighs for teares and teares for Groanes Still vainely rolling Sysiphaean stones Thou just Observer of our flying houres That with thy Adarmantine fangs devours The brazen Monuments of renowned Kings Does thy glasse stand Or be thy moulting wings Vnapt to flie If not why dost thou spare A willing brest a brest that stands so faire A dying brest that has but onely breath To beg a wound and strength to crave a death O that the pleased Heav'ns would once dissolve These fleshly fetters that so fast involve My hampred soule then should my soule be blest From all these ills and wrapher thoughts in rest Till then my dayes are moneths my moneths are yeares My yeares are ages to be spent in teares My Grief 's entayl'd upon my wastfull breath Which no Recov'ry can cut off but death Breath drawne in Cottages pufft out in Thrones Begins continues and concludes in Grones INNOCENT de vilitate condit humanae O who will give mine eyes a fountaine of teares that I may bewaile the miserable ingresse of mans condition the sinfull progresse of mans conversation the damnable egresse in mans dissolution I will consider with teares whereof man was made what man does and what man is to doe Alas he is formed of earth conceived in sinne borne to punishment Hee does evill things which are not lawfull He does filthy things which are not decent He does vaine things which are not expedient EPIG 15. My heart Thy life 's a debt by Bond which beares A secret date The use is Grones and Teares Plead not Vsurious Nature will have all As well the Int'rest as the Princâ—pall THE FOVRTH BOOKE I. My soule hath Coueted to desire thy iudgement psal 119 Will simpson I. ROM VII XXIII I see another Law in my members warring against the Law of my mind bringing me into captivitie to the Law of sin 1 O How my will is hurried to and fro And how my unresolv'd resolves do varie I know not where to fix sometimes I goe This way then that and then the quite contrary I like dislike I lament for what I could not I doe undoe yet still doe what I should not And at the selfe same instant will the Thing I would not 2 Thus are my weather-beaten thoughts opprest With th'earth-bred winds of my prodigious will Thus am I hourely tost from East to West Vpon the rouling streames of Good and Ill Thus am I driv'n upon these slippry Sudds From reall Ills to false apparent Goods My life 's a troubled sea compos'd of Ebbs and Floods 3 The curious Penman having trim'd his Page With the dead language of his dabled Quill Le ts fall a heedlesse drop then in a Rage Cashieres the fruit of his unlucky skill Ev'n so my pregnant soule in th'infant bud Of her best thoughts showres down a Cole-black flood Of unadvised Ills and cancels all her Good 4 Sometimes a sudden flash of sacred heat Warmes my chill soule and sets my thoughts in frame But soone that fire is shouldred from her seat By lustfull Cupids much inferiour flame I feele two flames and yet no flame entire Thus are the Mungrill thoughts of mixt desire Consum'd betweene that heav'nly and this earthly fire 5 Sometimes my trash-disdaining thoughts out-passe The common Period of terrene conceit O then me thinkes I scorne the Thing I was Whilst I stand ravisht at my new Estate But when th'Icarian Wings of my desire Feele but the warmth of their own native fire O then they melt and plunge within their wonted mire 6 I know the nature of my wav'ring mind I know the frailty of my fleshly will My Passion 's Eagle-ey'd my Iudgment blind I know what 's good but yet make choice of ill When th' Ostrich wings of my desires shall be So dull they cannot mount the least degree Yet grant my soule desire but of desiring Thee S. BERN. Med. 9. My heart is a vaine heart a vagabond and instable heart while it is led by its owne judgement and wanting divine counsell cannot subsist in it selfe and whilst it divers wayes seekes rest finds none but remaines miserable through labour and void of peace It agrees not with it selfe it dissents from it selfe it alters resolutions changes the judgement frames new thoughts puls downe the old and builds them up againe It wils and wils not and never remaines in the same state EPIG 1. My soule how are thy thoughts disturb'd confin'd Enlarg'd betwixt thy Members and thy Mind Fix here or there Thy doubt-depending cause Can nev'r expect one verdict twixt two Lawes II. Oh that my wayes were Directed to keepe thy Statutes Ps. 119.5 W. Simpson Sculy II. PSAL. CXIX V O that my wayes were directed to keepe thy statutes 1 THus I the object of the worlds disdaine With Pilgrim-pace surround the weary earth I onely relish what the world counts vaine Her mirth 's my griefe her sullen Griefe my mirth Her light my darknesse and her Truth my Error Her freedome is my Iayle and her delight my Terror 2 Fond earth Proportion not my seeming love To my long stay let not thy thoughts deceive thee Thou art my Prison and my Home's above My life 's a Preparation but to leave thee Like one that seekes a doore I walke about thee With thee I cannot live
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