No no eternall sin expects for guerdon Eternall penance or eternall pardon Lay downe thy weapons turne thy wrath away And pardon him that hath no price to pay Enlarge that soule which base presumption binds Thy justice cannot loose what mercy finds O thou that wilt not bruise the broken reed Rub not my sores nor prick the wounds that bleed Lord if the peevish Infant fights and flies With unpar'd weapons at his mothers eyes Her frownes halfe mixt with smiles may chance to shew An angry love-trick on his arme or so Where if the babe but make a lip and cry Her heart begins to melt and by and by She coakes his deawy cheekes her babe she blisses And choaks her language with a thousand kisses I am that child loe here I prostrate lie Pleading for mercy I repent and cry For gracious pardon let thy gentle eares Heare that in words what mothers judge in teares See not my frailties Lord but through my feare And looke on ev'ry trespasse through a teare Then calme thy anger and appeare more mild Remember th' art a Father I a child S. BERN. Ser. 21. in Cant. Miserable man Who shall deliver me from the reproach of this shamefull bondage I am a miserable man but a free man Free because like to God miserable because against God O keeper of mankind why hast thou set me as a marke against thee Thou hast set me because thou hast not hindred me It is just that thy enemy should be my enemy and that he who repugnes thee should repugne me I who am against thee am against my selfe EPIG 6. But form'd and fight But borne and then rebell How small a blast will make a bubble swell But dare the floore affront the hand that laid it So apt is dust to fly in 's face that made it VII Wherefore hidest thou thy face holdest mee for thine Enemy Iob â—3 24 W. S. sc VII IOB XIII XXIV Wherefore hidest thou thy face and holdest me for thine enemie WHy dost thou shade thy lovely face O why Does that ecclipsing hand so long deny The Sun-shining of thy soule-enliv'ning eye Without that Light what light remaines in me Thou art my Life my Way my Light in Thee I live I move and by thy beames I see Thou art my Life If thou but turne away My life 's a thousand deaths thou art my Way Without thee Lord I travell not but stray My Light thou art without thy glorious sight Mine eyes are darkned with perpetuall night My God thou art my Way my Life my Light Thou art my Way I wander if thou flie Thou art my Light It hid how blind am I Thou art my Life If thou withdraw I die Mine eyes are blind and darke I cannot see To whom or whether should my daâ—kenesse flee But to the Light And who 's that Light but Thee My path is lost my wandring steps do stray I cannot safely go nor safely stay Whom should I seek but Thee my Path my Way O I am dead To whom shall I poore I Repaire To whom shall my sad Ashes fly But Life And where is Life but in thine eye And yet thou turn'st away thy face and fly'st me And yet I sue for Grace and thou deny'st me Speake art thou angry Lord or onely try'st me Vnskreene those heav'nly lamps or tell me why Thou shad'st thy face Perhaps thou think'st no eye Can view those flames and not drop downe and die If that be all shine forth and draw thee nigher Let me behold and die for my desire Is Phoenix-like to perish in that Fire Death conquer'd Laz'rus was redeem'd by Thee If I am dead Lord set deaths pris'ner free Am I more spent or stink I worse than he If my pufft light be out give leave to tine My flamelesse snuffe at that bright Lamp of thine O what 's thy Light the lesse for lighting mine If I have lost my Path great Shepheard say Shall I still wander in a doubtfull way Lord shall a Lamb of Isr'els sheepfold stray Thou art the Pilgrims Path the blind mans Eye The dead mans Life on thee my hopes rely If thou remove I erre I grope I die Disclose thy Sun-beames close thy wings and stay See see how I am blind and dead and stray O thou that art my Light my Life my Way S. AUGUST Soliloq cap. 1. Why dost thou hide thy face Happily thou wilt say none can see thy face and live Ah Lord let me die that I may see thee let me see thee that I may die I would not live but die That I may see Christ I desire death that I may live with Christ I despise life ANSELM Med. cap. 5. O excellent hiding which is become my perfection My God thou hidest thy treasure to kindle my desire Thou hidest thy pearle to inflame the seeker thou delay'st to give that thou maist teach me to importune seem'st not to heare to make me persever EPIG 7. If heav'ns all-quickning Eyes vouchsafe to shine Vpon our soules we slight If not we whine Our Equinoctiall hearts can never lie Secure beneath the Tropicks of that eye VIII O that my Head were waters and mine eyes a fountaine of teares Ier 9. â— Will. Marshall sculpsit VIII IER IX.I. O that my head were waters and mine eyes a fountaine of teares that I might weepe day and night O That mine eyes were springs and could transforme Their drops to seas My sighs into a storme Of Zeale and sacred Violence wherein This lab'ring vessell laden with her sinne Might suffer sudaine shipwracke and be split Vpon that Rock where my drench'd soule may sit Orewhelm'd with plenteous passion O and there Drop drop into an everlasting teare Ah me that ev'ry sliding veine that wanders Through this vast Isle did worke her wild Meanders In brackish teares in stead of blood and swell This flesh with holy Dropsies from whose Well Made warme with sighs may fume my wasting breath Whilst I dissolve in streames and reeke to death These narrow sluces of my dribling eyes Are much too streight for those quick springs that rise And hourely fill my Temples to the top I cannot shed for ev'ry sin a drop Great builder of mankind why hast thou sent Such swelling floods anâ—â—ade so small a vent O that this flesh had beene compos'd of snow Instead of earth and bones of Ice that so Feeling the Fervor of my sin and loathing The fire I feele I might be thaw'd to nothing O thou that didst with hopefull joy entombe Me thrice three Moones in thy laborious wombe And then with joyfull paine broughtst forth a Son What worth thy labour has thy labour done What was there Ah! what was there in my birth That could deserve the easiest smile of mirth A man was borne Alas and what 's a man A scuttle full of dust a measur'd span Of flitting Time a furnish'd Pack whose wares Are sullen Griefs and soule-tormenting Cares A vale of teares a vessell tunn'd with breath By
are our Traffick and ensnare Our soules the threefold subject of our Care We toyle for Trash we barter solid Ioyes For ayry Triffes sell our Heav'n for Toyes We snatch at Barly graines whilst Pearles stand by Despis'd Such very Fooles are Thou and I Aym'st thou at Honour Does not th'Ideot shake it In his left hand Fond man step forth and take it Or wouldst thou Wealth See how the foole presents thee With a full Basket if such Wealth contents thee Wouldst thou take pleasure If the Foole unstride His prauncing Stallion thou mayst up and ride Fond man Such is the Pleasure Wealth and Honour The earth affords such Fooles as dote upon her Such is the Game whereat earths Ideots flie Such Ideots ah such Fooles are thou and I Had rebell-mans Foole-hardinesse extended No further than himselfe and there had ended It had beene Iust but thus enrag'd to flie Vnon th' eternall eyes of Majesty And drag the Son of Glory from the brest Of his indulgent Father to arrest His great and sacred Person in disgrace To spit and spaule upon his Sun-bright face To taunt him with base termes and being bound To scourge his soft his trembling sides to wound His head with Thornes his heart with humane feares His hands with nayles and his pale Flanck with speares And then to paddle in the purer streame Of his spilt Blood is more than most extreame Great Builder of mankind canst thou propound All this to thy bright eyes and not confound Thy handy-worke O canst Thou choose but see That mad'st the Eye Can ought be hid from Thee Thou seest our persons LORD and not our Guilt Thou seest not what thou maist but what thou wilt The Hand that form'd us is enforc'd to be A Screene set up betwixt thy Work and Thee Look looke upon that Hand and thou shalt spy An open wound a Through-fare for thine Eye Or if that wound be clos'd that passage be Deny'd betweene Thy gracious eyes and me Yet view the Scarre That Starre will countermand Thy Wrath O read my Fortune in thy Hand S. CHRYS Hom. 4. Ioan. Fooles seeme to abound in wealth when they want all things they seeme to enjoy happinesse when indeed they are onely most miserable neither doe they understand that they are deluded by their fancy till they be delivered from their folly S. GREG. in Mor. By so much the more are we inwardly foolish by how much we strive to seeme outwardly wise EPIG 2. Rebellious foole what has thy Folly done Controld thy GOD and crucified His Son How sweetly has the LORD of life deceiv'd thee Thou shedst His Blood and that shed Blood has sav'd thee III. Haue mercy on me o L d for I am weake o L d heale me for my bones are vexed Ps â—2 III. PSAL. VI.II. Have mercy Lord upon me for I am weake O Lord heale me for my bones are vexed Soule Iesuâ— Soul AH Son of David help Ies What sinfull crie Implores the Son of David Soul It is I Ies Who art thou Soul Oh a deepely wounded brest That 's heavy laden and would faine have rest Ies I have no scraps and dogs must not be fed Like houshold Children with the childrens bread Soul True Lord yet tolerate a hungry whelp To lick their crums O Son of David help Ies Poore Soule what ail'st thou Soul O I burne I fry I cannot rest I know not where to fly To find some case I turne my blubber'd face From man to man I roule from place to place T' avoid my tortures to obtaine reliefe But still am dogg'd and haunted with my griefe My midnight torments call the sluggish light And when the morning 's come they woo the night Ies Surcease thy teares and speake thy free desires Soul Quench quench my flames swage these scorching fires Ies Canst thou believe my hand can cure thy griefe Soul Lord I believe Lord helpe my unbeliefe Ies Hold forth thy Arme and let my fingers try Thy Pulse where chiefly does thy torment lie Soul From head to foot it raignes in ev'ry part But playes the selfe-law'd Tyrant in my heart Ies Canst thou digest canst relish wholesome food How stands thy tast Soul To nothing that is good All sinfull trash and earths unsav'ry stuffe I can digest and relish well enough Ies Is not thy blood as cold as hot by turnes Soul Cold to what 's good to what is bad it burnes Ies How old 's thy griefe Soul I tooke it at the Fall With eating Fruit. Ies 'T is Epidemicall Thy blood 's infected and th' Infection sprung From a bad Liver 'T is a feaver strong And full of death unlesse with present speed A veine be op'ned Thou must die or bleed Soul O I am faint and spent That Launce that shall Let forth my blood le ts forth my life withall My soule wants Cordials and has greater need Of blood than being spent so farre to bleed I faint already If I bleed I die Ies 'T is either thou must bleed sick soule or I My blood 's a Cordiall He that sucks my veines Shall cleanse his owne and conquer greater paines Than these Cheere up this precious Blood of mine Shall cure thy Griefe my heart shall bleed for thine Believe and view me with a faithfull eye Thy soule shall neither languish bleed nor die S. AUGUST lib. 10. Confess Lord Be mercifull unto me Ah me Behold I hide not my wounds Thou art a Physician and I am sicke Thou art mercifull and I am miserable S. GREG. in Pastoral O Wisedome with how sweet an art does thy wine and oyle restore health to my healthlesse soule How powerfully mercifull how mercifully powerfull art thou Powerfull for me Mercifull to me EPIG 3. Canst thou be sick and such a Doctor by Thou canst not live unlesse thy Doctor die Strange kind of griefe that finds no med'cine good To swage her paines but the Physicians Blood IV. Looke â—pon my AfflictioÌ„ miâ—â—â—y forgiue mee all my Sinne 〈…〉 IV. PSAL. XXV XVIII Looke upon my affliction and my paine and forgive all my sinnes BOth worke and stroakes Both lash and labour too What more could Edom or proud Ashur doe Stripes after stripes and blowes succeeding blowes Lord has thy scourge no mercy and my woes No end My paines no ease No intermission Is this the state Is this the sad condition Of those that trust thee Will thy goodnesse please T' allow no other favours None but these Will not the Rethrick of my torments move Are these the symptoms these the signes of love Is' t not enough enough that I fulfill The toylsome task of thy laborious Mill May not this labour expiate and purge My sinne without th' addition of thy scourge Looke on my cloudy brow how fast it raines Sad showers of sweat the fruites of fruitlesse paines Behold these ridges see what purple furrowes Thy plow has made O thinke upon those sorrowes That once were thine wilt wilt thou not be woo'd To
sicknesse broacht to be drawne out by death A haplesse helplesse thing that borne does cry To feed that feedes to live that lives to die Great God and Man whose eyes spent drops so often For me that cannot weepe enough O soften These marble braines and strike this flinty rock Or if the musick of thy Peters Cock Will more prevaile fill fill my hearkning eares With that sweet sound that I may melt in teares I cannot weepe untill thou broach ruine eye Or give me vent or els I burst and die S. AMBROS in Psal 118. He that commits sinnes to be wept for cannot weepe for sinnes committed And being himselfe most lamentable hath no teares to lament his offences NAZIANZ Orat. 3. Teares are the deluge of sinne and the worlds sacrifice S. HIEROM in Esaiam Prayer appeases God but a teare compels him That moves him but this constraines him EPIG 8. Earth is an Island ported round with Feares The way to Heav'n is through the Sea of teares It is a stormy passage where is found The wracke of many a ship but no man drown'd IX The sorroues of hell haue encompassed me the snares of death haue ouertaken me psal 17 Will simpson IX PSALM XVIII V The sorrowes of hell compassed mee about and the snares of death prevented me IS not this Type well cut In ev'ry part Full of rich cunning fil'd with Zeuxian Art Are not the Hunters and their Stygian Hounds Limm'd full to th' life Didst ever heare the sounds The musicke and the lip-divided breaths Of the strong-winded Horne Recheats and deaths Done more exact Th' infernall Nimrods hollow The lawlesse Purliews and the Game they follow The hidden Engines and the snares that lie So undiscover'd so obscure to th' eye The new-drawne net and her entangled Prey And him that closes it Beholder say Is' t not well done seemes not an em'lous strife Betwixt the rare cut picture and the life These Purlieu-men are Devils And the Hounds Those quick nos'd Canibals that scoure the grounds Temptations and the Game these Frends pursue Are humane soules which still they have in view Whose fury if they chance to scape by flying The skilfull Hunter plants his net close lying On th'unsuspected earth bayted with treasure Ambitious honour and selfe-wasting pleasure Where if the soule but stoope death stands prepar'd To draw the net and drawne the soule 's ensnar'd Poore soule how art thou hurried to and fro Where canst thou safely stay where safely go If stay these hot-mouth'd Hounds are apt to teare thee If goe the snares enclose the nets ensnare thee What good in this bad world has pow'r t' invite thee A willing Guest wherein can earth delight thee Her pleasures are but Itch Her wealth but Cares A world of dangers and a world of snares The close Pursuers busie hands do plant Snares in thy substance Snares attend thy want Snares in thy credit Snares in thy disgrace Snares in thy high estate Snares in thy base Snares tuck thy bed and Snares arround thy boord Snares watch thy thoughts and Snares attache thy word Snares in thy quiet Snares in thy commotion Snares in thy dyet Snares in thy devotion Snares lurk in thy resolves Snares in thy doubt Snares lie within thy heart and Snares without Snares are above thy head and Snares beneath Snares in thy sicknesse Snares are in thy death O if these Purlieus be so full of danger Great God of Harts the worlds sole sov'raigne Ranger Preserve thy Deere and let my soule be blest In thy safe Forrest where I seeke for rest Then let the Hell-hounds roare I feare no ill Rouze me they may but have no pow'r to kill S. AMBROS lib. 4. in cap. 4. Lucae The reward of honours the height of power the delicacie of diet and the beauty of a harlot are the snares of the Devill S. AMBROS de bono mortis Whilest thou seekest pleasures thou runnest into snares for the eye of the harlot is the snare of the Adulterer SAVANAR In eating he sets before us Gluttony In generation luxury In labour sluggishnesse In conversing envy in governing covetousnesse In correcting arger In honour pride In the heart he sets evill thoughts in the mouth evill words in actions evill workes when awake he moves us to evill actions when asleepe to filthy dreames EPIG 9. Be sad my Heart Deep dangers wait thy mirth Thy soule 's way layd by sea by Hell by earth Hell has her hounds Earth snares the Sea a shelfe But most of all my heart beware thy selfe X. Enter not into iudgment with thy seruant for no man liuing shall be iustified in thy sight Will simpson X. PSAL. CXLIII II Enter not into judgement with thy servant for in thy sight shall no man living bee iustified Jesus Justice Sinner Ies BRing forth the prisner Iustice Iust Thy commands Are done just Iudge See here the prisner stands Ies What has the prisner done Say what 's the cause Of his committment Iust He has broke the lawes Of his too gracious God conspir'd the death Of that great Majesty that gave him breath And heapes transgression Lord upon transgression Ies How know'st thou this Iu. Ev'n by his own confessiō His sinnes are crying and they cry'd aloud They cry'd to heav'n they cry'd to heav'n for blood Ies What sayst thou sinner hast thou ought to plead That sentence should not passe Hold up thy head And shew thy brazen thy rebellious face Sin Ah me I dare not I'am too vile and base To tread upon the earth much more to lift Mine eyes to heav'n I need no other shrift Than mine owne conscience Lord I must confesse I am no more than dust and no whit lesse Than my Inditement stiles me Ah if thou Search too severe with too severe a Brow What Flesh can stand I have transgrest thy lawes My merits plead thy vengeance not my cause Iust Lord shall I strike the blow Ies Hold Iustice stay Sinner speake on what hast thou more to say Sin Vile as I am and of my selfe abhor'd I am thy handy-worke thy creature Lord Stampt with thy glorious Image and at first Most like to thee though now a poore accurst Convicted Caitiffe and degen'rous creature Here trembling at thy Bar. Iust Thy fault 's the greater Lord shall I strike the blow Ies Hold Iustice stay Speake sinner hast thou nothing more to say Sin Nothing but Mercy Mercy Lord my state Is miserably poore and desperate I quite renounce my selfe the world and flee From Lord to Iesus from thy selfe to Thee Iust Cease thy vaine hopes my angry God has vow'd Abused mercy must have blood for blood Shall I yet strike the blow Ies Stay Iustice hold My bowels yearne my fainting blood growes cold To view the trembling wretch Me thinks I spye My fathers Image in the pris'ners eye Iust I cannot hold Jes Then turne thy thirsty blade Into my sides let there the wound be made Cheare up deare soule Redeeme thy life with mine My
sacred Armes Secure mine Armes mine Armes shall then secure thee From Herods fury or the High-Priests Harmes Or if thy danger'd life sustaine a losse My folded Armes shall turne thy dying Crosse 2 But ah what savage Tyrant can behold The beauty of so sweet a face as this is And not himselfe be by himselfe controld And change his fury to a thousand kisses One smile of thine is worth more mines of treasure Than there be Myriads in the dayes of Caesar 3 O had the Tetrarch as he knew thy birth So knowne thy Stock he had not sought to paddle In thy deare Blood but prostrate on the earth Had vayld his Crowne before thy royall Cradle And laid the Scepter of his Glory downe And beg'd a heav'nly for an earthly Crowne 4 Illustrious Babe How is thy handmaid grac'd With a rich Armefull How dost thou decline Thy Majesty that wert so late embrac'd In thy great Fathers Armes and now in mine How humbly gracious art thou to refresh Me with thy Spirit and assume my flesh 5 But must the Treason of a Traitors Haile Abuse the sweetnesse of these rubie lips Shall marble hearted Cruelty assaile These Alablaster sides with knotted whips And must these smiling Roses entertaine The blowes of scorne and Flurts of base disdaine 6 Ah! must these dainty little sprigs that twine So fast about my neck be pierc'd and torne With ragged nailes And must these Browes resigne Their Crowne of Glory for a Crowne of thorne Ah must this blessed Infant tast the paine Of deaths injurious pangs nay worse be slaine 7 Sweete Babe At what deare rates do wretched I Commit a sin Lord ev'ry sin 's a dart And ev'ry trespasse lets a javelin fly And ev'ry javelin wounds thy bleeding heart Pardon sweet Babe what I have done amisse And seale that granted pardon with a kisse BONAVENT Soliloq Cap 1. O sweet Iesu I knew not that thy kisses were so sweet nor thy society so delectable nor thy attraction so vertuous For when I love thee I am cleane when I touch thee I am chast when I receive thee I am a virgin O most sweet Iesu thy embraces defile not but cleanse thy attraction pollutes not but sanctifies O Iesu the fountaine of universall sweetnesse pardon me that I believed so late that so much sweetnesse is in thy embraces EPIG 9. My burthen's greatest Let not Atlas bost Impartiall Reader judge which beares the most He beares but Heav'n My folded Armes sustaine Heav'ns maker whom heav'ns heav'n cannot containe X. By night on my bed I sought him whom my soule loueth I sought him but I found him not Cant â—â— Will simpson sculpsit X. CANT III.I. In my bed by night I sought him that my soule loved I sought him but I found him out THe learned Cynick having lost the way To honest men did in the height of day By Taper-light divide his steps about The peopled Streets to find this dainty out But fail'd The Cynick search'd not where he ought The thing he sought for was not where he sought The Wisemens taske seem'd harder to be done The Wisemen did by Starre-light seeke the Son And found the Wisemen search'd it where they ought The thing they hop'd to find was where they sought One seeks his wishes where he should but then Perchance he seeks not as he should nor when Another searches when he should but there He failes not seeking as he should nor where Whose soule desires the good it wants and would Obtaine must seek Where As and when he should How often have my wilde Affections led My wasted soule to this my widdow'd Bed To seek my Lover whom my soule desires I speak not Cupid of thy wanton fires 3 Where have my busie eyes not pry'd O where Of whom hath not my thred-bare tongue demanded I search'd this glorious City Hee 's not here I sought the Countrey She stands empty-handed I search'd the Court He is a stranger there I ask'd the land Hee 's shipp'd the sea hee 's landed I climb'd the ayre my thoughts began t' aspire But ah the wings of my too bold desire Soaring too neare the Sun were sing'd with sacred fire 4 I moov'd the Merchants eare alas but he Knew neither what I said nor what to say I ask'd the Lawyer He demands a Fee And then demurres me with a vaine delay I ask'd the Schoole-man His advise was free But scor'd me out too intricate a way I ask'd the Watch-man best of all the foure Whose gentle answer could resolve no more But that he lately left him at the Temple doore 5 Thus having sought and made my great Inquest In ev'ry place and search'd in ev'ry eare I threw me on my Bed but ah my rest Was poyson'd with th'extreames of griefe and feare Where looking downe into my troubled breast The Magazen of wounds I found him there Let others hunt and show their sportfull Art I wish to catch the Hare before she start As Potchers use to do Heav'ns Form's a troubled heart S. AMBROS Lib. 3. de Virg. Christ is not in the market nor in the streets For Christ is peace in the market are strifes Christ is Iustice in the market is iniquity Christ is a Labourer in the market is idlenesse Christ is Charity in the Market is slander Christ is Faith in the market is fraud Let us not therefore seeke Christ where we cannot find Christ S. HIEROM Ep. 22. Eustoch Iesus is jealous He will not have thy face seene Let foolish virgins ramble abroad seeke thou thy Love at home EPIG 11. What lost thy Love Will neither Bed nor Board Receive him Not by teares to be implor'd It is the Ship that moves and not the Coast I feare I feare my soule 't is thou art lost XI I will rise now goe about the citie in the Streetes in the broad wayes I will seeke him whom my Soule loveth I sought him but I found him not Cant. 3.2 Will simpson XI CANT III. II I will rise and go about in the Citie and will seeke him that my soule loveth I sought him but I found him not 1 O How my disappointed soule 's perplext How restlesse thoughts swarme in my troubled brest How vainely pleas'd with hopes then crossely vext With feares And how betwixt them both distrest What place is left unransack'd Oh I Where next Shall I goe seek the Author of my Rest Of what blest Angell shall my lips enquire The undiscover'd way to that entire And everlasting solace of my hearts desire 2 Looke how the stricken Hart that wounded flies Ov'r hills and dales and seeks the lower grounds For running streames the whil'st his weeping eyes Beg silent mercy from the following Hounds At length embost he droopes drops downe and lies Beneath the burthen of his bleeding wounds Ev'n so my gasping soule dissolv'd in teares Doth search for thee my God Whose deafned eares Leave me th'unransom'd Prisner to my panick feares Where Thy fires are all but dying sparks to
do I Pant after Thee my GOD whom I must find or die 3 Before a Pack of deep-mouth'd Lusts I flee O they have singled out my panting heart And wanton Cupid sitting in a Tree Hath pierc'd my bosome with a flaming dart My soule being spent for refuge seeks to Thee But cannot find where Thou my refuge art Like as the swift-foot Hart does wounded flie To the desired streames ev'n so do I Pant after Thee my GOD whom I must find or die 4 At length by flight I over-went the Pack Thou drew'st the wanton dart from out my wound The blood that follow'd left a purple track Which brought a Serpent but in shape a Hound We strove He bit me but Thou brak'st his back I left him grov'ling on th'envenom'd ground But as the Serpent-bitten Hart does flie To the long-long'd for streames ev'n so did I Pant after Thee my GOD whom I must find or die 5 If lust should chase my soule made swift by fright Thou art the streames whereto my soule is bound Or if a lav'lin wound my sides in flight Thou art the Balsome that must cure my wound If poyson chance t'infest my soule in fight Thou art the Treacle that must make me sound Ev'n as the wounded Hart embost does flie To th'streames extremely long for so doe I Pant after Thee my GOD whom I must finde or die CYRIL lib. 5. in Ioh. cap. 10. O precious water which quenches the noysome thirst of this world that scoures all the staines of sinnes that waters the earth of our soules with heavenly showers and brings backe the thirsty heart of man to his onely God! S. AUGUST Soliloq 35. O fountaine of life and veine of living waters when shall I leave this forsaken impassible and dry earth and tast the waters of thy sweetnesse that I may behold thy vertue and thy glory and slake my thirst with the streames of thy mercy Lord I thirst Thou art the spring of life satisfie me I thirst Lord I thirst after thee the living God! EPIG 11. The Arrow-smitten Hart deep wounded flies To th' Springs with water in his weeping eyes Heav'n is thy Spring If Sathans fiery dart Pierce thy faint sides do so my wounded Hart. XII When shall I come and appeare before the Lord Ps 42.2 W. M. Sculp XII PSAL. XLII II When shall I come and appeare before God WHat is my soule the better to be tinde With holy fire What boots it to be coynd With Heav'ns owne stamp What vantage can there be To soules of heav'n-descended Pedegree More than to Beasts that grovell Are not they Fed by th' Almighties hand and ev'ry day Fill'd with His Blessing too Doe they not see GOD in His Creatures as direct as we Doe they not tast Thee heare Thee nay what Sense Is not partaker of Thine Excellence What more doe we Alas what serves our reason But like darke lanthornes to accomplish Treason With greater closenesse It affords no light Brings Thee no nearer to our pur blind sight No pleasure rises up the least degree Great GOD but in the clearer view of Thee What priv'ledge more than Sense has Reason than What vantage is it to be borne a Man How often has my patience built deare LORD Vaine Tow'rs of Hope upon Thy gracious Word How often has Thy Hope-reviving Grace Woo'd my suspitious eyes to seeke Thy face How often have I sought Thee Oh how long Hath expectation taught my perfect tongue Repeated pray'rs yet pray'rs could nev'r obtaine In vaine I seeke Thee and I beg in vaine If it be high presumption to behold Thy face why didst Thou make mine eyes so boâ—â— To seeke it If that object be too bright For mans Aspect why did thy lips invite Mine eye t' expect it If it might be seene Why is this envious curtaine drawne betweene My darkned eye and it O tell me why Thou dost command the thing Thou dost deny Why dost thou give me so unpriz'd a treasure And then deny'st my greedy soule the pleasure To view thy gift Alas that gift is void And is no gift that may not be enjoy'd If those refulgent Beames of heav'ns great light Guid not the day what is the day but night The drouzie Shepheard sleeps flowres droop and fade The Birds are sullen and the Beast is sad But if bright Titan dart his golden Ray And with his riches glorifie the day The jolly Shepheard pipes Flowres freshly spring The beast growes gamesome and the birds they sing Thou art my Sun great GOD O when shall I View the full beames of thy Meridian eye Draw draw this fleshly curtaine that denies The gracious presence of thy glorious eyes Or give me Faith and by the eye of Grace I shall behold Thee though not face to face S. AUGUST in Psal 39. Who created all things is better than all things who beautified all things is more beautifull than all things who made strength is stronger than all things who made great things is greater than all things Whatsoever thou lovest hee is that to thee Learne to love the workman in his worke the Creator in his creature Let not that which was made by Him possesse thee lest thou lose Him by whom thy selfe was made S. AUGUST Med. cap. 37. O thou most sweet most gracious most amiable most faire when shall I see Thee when shall I be satisfied with thy beauty When wilt thou lead mee from this darke dungeon that I may confesse thy name EPIG 12. How art thou shaded in this vale of night Behind thy Curtaine flesh Thou seest no light But what thy Pride does challenge as her owne Thy flesh is high Soule take this Curtaine downe XIII Oh that I had the wings of a Doue for then I would fly away be at rest Pâ— 5â— 6 W. Simpson sc XIII PSAL. LVI VI O that I had the wings of a Dove for then I would flee away and be at rest 1 ANd am I sworne a dunghill slave for ever To earths base drudg'ry Shall I never find A night of Rest Shall my Indentures never Be cancel'd Did injurious nature bind My soule earths Prentice with no Clause to leave her No day of freedome Must I ever grinde O that I had the pineons of a Dove That I might quit my Bands and sore above And powre my just Complaints before the great JEHOVA 2 How happy are the Doves that have the pow'r When ere they please to spread their ayry wings Or cloud-dividing Eagles that can tow'r Above the Sent of these inferiour things How happy is the Lark that ev'ry howre Leaves earth and then for joy mounts up and sings Had my dull soule but wings as well as they How I would spring from earth and clip away As wise Astraea did and scorne this ball of Clay 3 O how my soule would spurne this Ball of Clay And loath the dainties of earths painefull pleasure O how I 'de laugh to see men night and day Turmoyle to gaine that
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