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
tryall Of some new Trade Shall mortall hearts grow old In sorrow Shall my weary Armes infold And underprop my panting sides for ever Is there no charitable hand will sever My well-spun Thred that my imprison'd soule May be deliver'd from this dull darke hole Of dungeon flesh O shall I shall I never Be ransom'd but remaine a slave for ever It is the Lot of man but once to dye But ere that death how many deaths have I What humane madnesse makes the world affraid To entertaine heav'ns joy because conveig'd By th' hand of death Will nakednesse refuse Rich change of robes because the man 's not spruse That brought them Or will Poverty send back Full bags of gold because the bringer's black Life is a Bubble blowne with whining breaths Fil'd with the torments of a thousand deaths Which being prickt by death while death deprives One life presents the soule a thousand lives Of frantick mortall how has earth bewich'd Thy Beldam soule which has so fondly pitch'd Vpon her false delights Delights that cease Before enjoyment finds a time to please Her fickle joyes breed doubtfull feares her feares Bring hopfull Grifes her griefes weep fearefull teares Teares coyne deceitfull hopes hopes carefull doubt And surly passion justles passion out To day wee pamper with a full repast Of lavish mirth at night we weepe as fast To night we swim in wealth and lend To morrow We sink in want and find no friend to borrow In what a Climat does my soule reside Where pale-fac'd murther the first borne of pride Sets up her kingdome in the very smiles And plighted faiths of men-like Crocadiles A land where each embroydred Sattin word Is lin'd with Fraud where Mars his lawlesse sword Exiles Astraeas Balance where that hand Now flayes his brother that new-sow'd his land O that my dayes of bondage would expire In this lewd Soyle Lord how my Soule 's on fire To be dissolved that I might once obtaine These long'd for joyes long'd for so oft in vaine If Moses-like I may not live possest Of this faire Land Lord let me see 't at least S. AUGUST Soliloq Cap. 2. My life is a fraile life a corruptible life A life which the more increases the more decreases The farther it goes the nearer it comes to death A deceitfull life and like a shadow full of the snares of death Now I rejoyce now I languish now I flourish now infirme now I live and straight I dye now I seeme happy alwayes miserable now I laugh now I weepe Thus all things are subject to mutability that nothing continues an houre in one state O Ioy above Ioy exceeding all Ioy without which there is no Ioy when shall I enter into thee that I may see my God that dwels in thee EPIG 7. Art thou so weake O canst thou not digest An houre of travell for a night of Rest Cheare up my soule call home thy spir'ts and beare One bad Good-Friday Full-mouth'd Easter's neare VIII O wretched Man that I am who shall deliver me from the body of this Death Rom 7.24 Will simpson sculp VIII ROM VII XXIV O wretched man that I am who shall deliver me from this body of death BEhold thy darling which thy lustfull care Pampers for which thy restlesse thoughts prepare Such early Cates For whom thy bubbling brow So often sweats and bankrupt eyes doe owe Such midnight scores to Nature for whose sake Base earth is Sainted the Infernall Lake Vnfeard the Crowne of glory poorely rated Thy GOD neglected and thy brother hated Behold thy darling whom thy soule affects So dearely whom thy fond Indulgence decks And puppets up in soft in silken weeds With farre-fetch'd delicates the deare-bought gainer Of ill-spent Time the price of halfe thy paines Behold thy darling who when clad by Thee Derides thy nakednesse and when most free Proclaimes her lover slave and being fed Most full then strikes th'indulgent Feeder dead What meanst thou thus my poore deluded soule To love so fondly Can the burning Cole Of thy Affection last without the fuell Of counter-love Is my Compere so cruell And thou so kind to love unlov'd againe Canst thou sow favours and thus reape disdaine Remember O remember thou art borne Of royall Blood remember thou art sworne A Maid of Honour in the Court of Heav'n Remember what a costly price was giv'n To ransome thee from slav'ry thou wert in And wilt thou now my soule turne slave agin The Son and Heire to Heav'ns Triune JEHOVA Would faine become a Suitor for thy Love And offers for thy dow'r his Fathers Throne To sit for Seraphims to gaze upon Hee 'l give thee Honour Pleasure Wealth and Things Transcending farre the Majesty of Kings And wilt thou prostrate to the odious charmes Of this base Scullion Shall his hollow Armes Hugg thy soft sides Shall these course hands untie The sacred Zone of thy Virginity For shame degen'rous soule let thy desire Be quickned up with more heroick fire Be wisely proud let thy ambitious eye Read nobler objects let thy thoughts defie Such am'rous basenesse Let thy soule disdaine Th' ignoble profers of so base a Swaine Or if thy vowes be past and Himens bands Have ceremonyed your unequall hands Annull at least avoid thy lawlesse Act With insufficience or a Prae contract Or if the Act be good yet maist thou plead A second Freedome for the flesh is dead NAZIANZ Orat. 16. How I am joyned to this body I know not which when it is healthfull provokes me to warre and being damaged by warre affects me with griefe which I both love as a fellow servant and hate as an utter enemy It is a pleasant Foe and a perfidious friend O strange conjunction and Alienation What I feare I embrace and what I love I am affraid of Before I make warre I am reconcil'd Before I enjoy peace I am at variance EPIG 8. What need that House be daub'd with flesh and blood Hang'd round with silks and gold repair'd with food Cost idly spent That cost does but prolong Thy thraldome Foole thou mak'st thy I ayle too strong IX I am in a streight betwixt two haueing a Desire to Depart to be w th Christ Phil 5.23 Will Simpson Sculpsit IX PHIL. I. XXIII I am in a streight betweene two having a desire to be dissolved and to be with Christ 1 WHat meant our carefull parents so to weare And lavish out their ill expended houres To purchase for us large possessions here Which though unpurchas'd are too truly ours What meant they ah what meant they to indure Such loads of needlesse labour to procure And make that thing our own which was our own too sure 2 What meane these liv'ries and possessive kayes What meane these bargaines and these needlesse sales What need these jealous these suspitious wayes Of law-divis'd and law-dissolv'd entailes No need to sweat for gold wherewith to buy Estates of high-priz'd land no need to tie Earth to their heires were
mercy by the charmes of sweat and blood Canst thou forget that drowsie Mount wherein Thy dull Disciples slept Was not my sinne There punish'd in thy soule Did not this brow Then sweat in thine Were not those drops enow Remember Golgotha where that spring-tide Or'e flow'd thy sov'raigne Sacramentall side There was no sinne there was no guilt in Thee That caus'd those paines Thou sweatst thou bledst for me Was there not blood enough when one small drop Had pow'r to ransome thousands worlds and stop The mâ—uth of Iustice Lord I bled before In thy deep wounds Can Iustice challenge more O doe thou vainly labour to hedge in Thy losses from my sides My blood is thin And thy free bounty scornes such easie thrift No no thy blood came not as lone but gift But must I ever grinde And must I earne Nothing buâ— stripes O wi t thou disalterne The rest thou gav'st Hast thou perus'd the curse Thou laydst on Adams fall and made it worse Canst thou repent of mercy Heav'n thought good Lost man should feed in sweat not work in blood Why dost thou wound th'already wounded brest Ah me my life is but a paine at best I am but dying dust my dayes a span What pleasure tak'st thou in the blood of man Spare spare thy scourge and be not so austere Send fewer stroaks or lend more strength to beare S. BERN. Hom. 81. in Cant. Miserable man Who shall deliver me from the reproach of this shamefull bondage I am a miserable man but a free man free because a man Miserable because a servant In regard of my bondage miserable In regard of my will inexcusable For my will that was free be slaved it selfe to sinne by assenting to sinne for he that commits sin is the servant to sinne EPIG 4. Taxe not thy God Thine owne defaults did urge This twofold punishment the Mill the Scourge Thy sin 's the Author of thy selfe tormenting Thou grind'st for sinning scourg'd for not repenting V. Remember I beseech thee that thou hast made me as the clay wilt thou briâ—â— me into dust againe Iob. 〈…〉 will sâ—â—pâ— V. IOB X.IX. Remember I beseech thee that thou hast made me as the clay and wilt thou bring me to dust againe THus from the bosome of the new-made earth Poore man was delv'd and had his unborne birth The same the stuffe the selfe-same hand does trim The Plant that fades the Beast that dies and Him One was their Syre one was their common mother Plants are his sisters and the Beast his brother The elder too Beasts draw the selfe-same breath Waxe old alike and die the selfe-same death Plants grow as he with fairer robes arraid Alike they flourish and alike they fade The beast in sense exceeds him and in growth The three-ag'd Oake doth thrice exceed them both Why look'st thou then so big thou little span Of earth What art thou more in being man I but my great Creator did inspire My chosen earth with that diviner fire Of Reason gave me Iudgement and a Will That to know good this to chuse good from ill He put the raines of pow'r in my free hand And jurisdiction oversea and land He gave me art to lengthen out my span Of life and made me all in being man I but thy Passion has committed treason Against the sacred person of thy Reason Thy Iudgement is corrupt perverse thy Will That knowes no good and this makes choice of ill The greater height sends downe the deeper fall And good declin'd turnes bad turnes worst of all Say then proud inch of living earth what can Thy greatnesse claime the more in being man O but my soule transcends the pitch of nature Borne up by th' Image of her high Creator Out-braves the life of reason and beats downe Her waxen wings kicks off her brazen Crowne My earth 's a living Temple t' entertaine The King of Glory and his glorious traine How can I mend my Title then where can Ambition find a higher stile than man Ah but that Image is defac'd and soil'd Her Temple 's raz'd her altars all defil'd Her vessels are polluted and distain'd With loathed lust her ornaments prophan'd Her oyle forsaken lamps and hallow'd Tapoure Put out her incense breaths unsav'ry vapours Why swel'st thou then so big thou little span Of earth What art thou more in being man Eternall Porter whose blest hands did lay My course foundation from a sod of clay Thou know'st my slender vessell's apt to leake Thou know'st my brittle Temper 's prone to breake Are my Bones Brazzill or my Flesh of Oake O mend what thou hast made what I have broke Looke looke with gentle eyes and in thy day Of vengeance Lord remember I am clay S. AUGUST Soliloq 32. Shall I ask who made me It was thou that madest me without whom nothing was made Thou art my maker and I thy worke I thanke thee my Lord God by whom I live and by whom all things subsist because thou madest me I thanke thee O my Potter because thy hands have made me because thy hands have formed me EPIG 5. Why swell'st thou Man puft up with Fame and Purse Th' art better earth but borne to dig the worse Thou cam'st from earth to earth thou must returne And art but earth cast from the wombe to th'â—ne VI. What shall I do vnto thee O thow â— preserver of men why hast thou set mee as a marke against thee Iob. 7.2 VI. IOB VII XX I have sinned What shall I doe unto thee O thou preserver of men why hast thou set me as a marke against thee LOrd I have done and Lord I have misdone 'T is folly to contest to strive with one That is too strong 't is folly to assaile Or prove an Arme that will that must prevaile Iv'e done I 've done these trembling hands have throwne Their daring weapons downe The day 's thine owne Forbeare to strike where thou hast won the field The palme the palme is thine I yeeld I yeeld These treach'rous hands that were so vainly bold To try a thrivelesse combat and to hold Selfe-wounding weapons up are now extended For mercy from thy hand that knee that bended Vpon her guardlesse guard does now repent Vpon this naked floore See both are bent And sue for pitie O my ragged wound Is deep and desp'rate it is drench'd and drown'd In blood and briny teares It does begin To stinke without and putrifie within Let that victorious hand that now appeares Iust in my blood prove gracious to my teares Thou great Preserver of presumptuous man What shall I do What satisfaction can Poore dust and ashes make O if that blood That yet remaines unshed were halfe as good As blood of Oxen if my death might be An offring to attone my God and me I would disdaine injurious life and stand A suiter to be wounded from thy hand But may thy wrongs be measur'd by the span Of life or balanc'd with the blood of man
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
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
Patent will Wouldst thou live long Keepe Time in high esteeme Whom gone if thou canst not recall redeeme Nec sine nec Tecum Will Marshall sculpsit His light shall be dark and his candle shall be put out IOB 18.6 What ayles our Tapour Is her luster fled Or foyl'd What dire disaster bred This Change that thus she vailes her golden head 2 It was but very now she shin'd as faire As Venus starre Her glory might compare With Cynthia burnisht with her brothers haire 3 There was no Cave-begotten damp that mought Abuse her beames no wind that went about To breake her peace no Puffe to put her out 4 Lift up thy wondring thoughts and thou shalt spye A Cause will cleare thy doubts but cloud thine eye Subiects must vaile when as their Sov'raign's by 5 Canst thou behold bright Phoebus and thy sight No whit impayr'd The object is too bright The weaker yeelds unto the stronger Light 6 Great God I am thy Tapour Thou my Sunne From thee the Spring of Light my Light begun Yet if thy Light but shine my light is done 7 If thou withdraw thy Light my light will shine If thine appeare how poore a light is mine My light is darknesse if compar'd to thine 8 Thy Sun beames are too strong for my weake eye If thou but shine how nothing Lord am I Ah who can see thy visage and not die 9 If intervening earth should make a night My wanton flame would then shine forth too bright My earth would ev'n presume t' eclipse thy Light 10 And if thy Light be shadow'd and mine fade If thine be dark and my dark light decayd I should be cloathed with a double shade 11 What shall I doe O what shall I desire What help can my distracted thoughts require That thus am wasting twixt a double Fire 12 In what a streight in what a streight am I Twixt two extreames how my rackt fortunes lie See I thy face or see it not I die 13 O let the steame of my Redeemers blood That breaths fro'my sick soule be made a Cloud T' inter pose these Lights and be my shroud 14 Lord what am I or what 's the light I have May it but light my Ashes to their Grave And so from thence to Thee 't is all I crave 15 O make my Light that all the world may see Thy Glory by 't If not It seemes to me Honour enough to be put out by Thee O Light inaccessible in respect of which my light is utter darknes so reflect upon my weaknes that all the world may behold thy strength O Majesty incomprehensible in respect of which my glory is meere shame so shine upon my misery that all the world may behold thy glory EPIG 7. Wilt thou complaine because thou art bereav'n Of all thy light Wilt thou vie Lights with Heav'n Can thy bright eye not brooke the daily light Take heed I feare thou art a Child of night Nec Virtus obscurapetit Will Marshall sculpsit Let your light so shine that men seeing your good workes may glorifie your Father which is in Heaven MAT. 5.16 WAs it for this the breath of Heav'n was blowne Into the nostrils of this Heav'nly Creature Was it for this that sacred Three in One Conspir'd to make this Quintessence of Nature Did heav'nly Providence intend So rare a Fabrick for so poore an end 2 Was Man the highest Master-peece of Nature The curious Abstract of the whole Creation Whose soule was copied from his great Creator Made to give Light and set for Observation Ordain'd for this To spend his Light In a darke-Lanthorne Cloystred up in night 3 Tell me recluse Monastick can it be A disadvandtage to thy beames to shine A thousand Tapours may gaine light from Thee Is thy Light lesse or worse for lighting mine If wanting Light I stumble shall Thy darknesse not be guilty of my fall 4 Why dost thou lurk so close Is it for feare Some busie eye should pry into thy flame And spie a Thiefe or else some blemish there Or being spy'd shrink'st thou thy head for shame Come come fond Tapour shine but cleare Thou needst not shrinke for shame nor shroud for feare 5 Remember O remember thou wert set For men to see the Great Creator by Thy flame is not thy owne It is a Det Thou ow'st thy Maker And wilt thou deny To pay the Int'rest of thy Light And skulk in Corners and play least in sight 6 Art thou affraid to trust thy easie flame To the injurious wast of Fortunes puffe Ah Coward rouze and quit thy selfe for shame Who dies in service hath liv'd long enough Who shines and makes no eye partaker Vsurps himselfe and closely robbs his Maker 7 Take not thy selfe a Pris'ner that art free Why dost thou turne thy Palace to a Iaile Thou art an Eagle And befits it thee To live immured like a cloysterd Snaile Let Toies seeke Corners Things of cost Gaine worth by view Hid Iewels are but lost 8 My God my light is dark enough at lightest Encrease her flame and give her strength to shine T is fraile at best T is dimme enough at brightest But 't is her glory to be foyld by Thine Let others lurke My light shall be Propos'd to all men and by them to Thee S. BERN. If thou be one of the foolish Virgins the Congregation is necessary for thee If thou be one of the wise Virgins thou art necessary for the Congregation HUGO Monasticks make Cloysters to inclose the outward man O would to God they would do the like to restraine the inward Man EPIG 8 Affraid of eyes What still play least in sight T is much to be presum'd all is not right Too close endeavours bring forth dark events Come forth Monastick Here 's no Parliaments Vt Luna Infantia torpet Will. Marshall sculpsit He cometh forth like a Flower and is cut downe IOB 14.2 1 Behold How short a span Was long enough of old To measure out the life of Man In those wel temper'd dayes his time was then Survey'd cast up and found but threescore years and ten 2 Alas And what is that They come slide and passe Before my Pen can tell thee what The Posts of Time are swift which having run Their sev'n short stages 'ore their short liv'd task is done 3 Our dayes Begun wee lend To sleepe to antick plaies And Toyes untill the first stage end 12. waining Moons twise 5. times told we give To unrecover'd loss Wee rather breathe then live 4 Wee spend A ten years breath Before wee apprehend What is to live or feare a death Our childish dreams are fil'd with painted joyes which please our sense a while waking prove but Toies 5 How vaine How wretched is Poore man that doth remaine A slave to such a State as this His daies are short at longest few at most They are but bad at best yet lavisht out or lost 6 They bee The secret Springs That make our
base And Chymick metall with great Caesars face And with thy bastard Bullion thou hast barterd For wares of price How justly drawne and quarterd VI. Sic decipit orbis Will Marshall sculpsit VI. IOB XV. XXXI Let not him that is deceived trust in vanity for vanity shall be his recompence 1 BElieve her not Her Glasse diffuses False Portraitures Thou canst espie No true reflection She abuses Her mis-inform'd beholders eye Her Chrystal's falsly steel'd It scatters Deceitfull beames Beleeve her not She flatters 2 This flaring Mirrour representes No right Proportion heiw nor Feature Her very looks are Complements They make thee fairer goodlier greater The skilfull Glosse of her reflection But paints the Context of thy course Complexion 3 Were thy dimension but a stride Nay wert thou statur'd but a span Such as the long-bill'd Troopes defi'd A very Fragment of a Man Shee 'l make thee Mimas which ye will The love-slaine Tyrant or th' Ionick Hill 4 Had surfeits or th'ungratious Starre Conspir'd to make one Common place Of all deformities that are Within the Volume of thy face Shee 'd lend thee favour should out-move The Troy-bane Hellen or the Queen of Love 5 Were thy consum'd estate as poore As Lazars or afflicted Iobs Shee 's change thy wants to seeming store And turne thy Raggs to purple Robes Shee 'l make thy hide-bound flanck appeare As plump as theirs that feast it all the yeare 6 Looke off let not thy Opticks be Abus'd thou seest not what thou shouldst Thy selfe 's the Object thou should'st see But 't is thy shadow thou behold'st And shadowes thrive the more in stature The nearer we approach the light of nature 7 Where heav'ns bright beames looke more direct The shadow shrinks as they grow stronger But when they glaunce their faire aspect The bold-fac'd shade growes larger longer And when their lamp begins to fall Th' increasing shadowes lengthen most of all 8 The soule that seeks the noone of Grace Shrinks in but swels if Grace retreat As heav'n lifts up or veiles his Face Our selfe-esteemes grow lesse or great The least is greatest And who shall Appeare the greatest are the least of all HVGO lib. 3. de anima In vaine he lifts up the eye of his heart to behold his God who is not first rightly advised to behold himselfe First thou must see the viâ—â—ble things of thy selfe before thou canst be prepared to know the invisible things of God for if thou canst not apprehend the things within thee thou canst not comprehend the things above thee The best looking-glasse wherein to see thy God is perfectly to see thy selfe EPIG 6. Be not deceiv'd great Foole There is no losse In being small Great bulks but swell with drosse Man is heav'ns Master-peece If it appeare More great the valu's lesse If lesse more deare VII She pesâ—ima die oâ—tima seviat Will Marshall sculpsit VII DEVT. XXX XIX I have set before thee life and death blessin and cursing therefore choose life that thou and thy seede may live 1 THe world 's a Floore whose swelling heapes retaine The mingled wages of the Ploughmans toyle The world 's a Heape whose yet unwinnowed graine Is lodg'd with chaffe and buried in her soyle All things are mixt the usefull with the vaine The good with bad the noble with the vile The world 's an Ark wherein things pure and grosse Present their lossefull gaine and gainefull losse Where ev'ry dram of Gold containes a pound of drosse 2 This furnisht Ark presents the greedy view With all that earth can give or heav'n can add Here lasting joyes here pleasures hourely new And hourely fading may be wisht and had All points of Honour counterfeit and true Salute thy soule and wealth both good and bad Here maist thou open wide the two-leav'd doore Of all thy wishes to receive that store Which being empty most does overflow the more 3 Come then my soule approach this royall Burse And see what wares our great Exchange retaines Come come here 's that shall make a firme divorse Betwixt thy Wants and thee if want complaines No need to sit in councell with thy purse Here 's nothing good shall cost more price than paines But O my soule take heed If thou relie Vpon thy faithlesse Opticks thou wilt buy Too blind a bargaine know Fooles onely trade by th' Eye 4 The worldly wisedome of the foolish man Is like a Sive that does alone retaine The grosser substance of the worthlesse Bran But thou my soule let thy brave thoughts disdaine So course a purchase O be thou a Fan To purge the Chaffe and keepe the winnow'd Graine Make cleane thy thoughts and dresse thy mixt desires Thou art heav'ns Tasker and thy GOD requires The purest of thy Floore as well as of thy fires 5 Let grace conduct thee to the paths of peace And wisedome blesse thy soules umblemisht wayes No matter then how short or long 's the Lease Whose date determins thy selfe-numbred dayes No need to care for wealths or Fames increase Nor Mars his Palme nor high Apollo's Bayes LORD if thy gracious bounty please to fill The floore of my desires and teach me skill To dresse and chuse the Corn take those the Chaffe that will S. AUGUST lib 1. de doct Christi Temporall things more ravish in the expectation than in fruition but things eternall more in the fruition than expectation Ibidem The life of a man is the middle betweene Angels and beasts If man takes pleasure in carnall things hee is compared to beasts But if he delights in spirituall things he is suited with Angels EPIG 7. Art thou a Child Thou wilt not then be fed But like a Child and with the Childrens bread But thou art fed with chaffe or corne undrest My soule thou savour'st too much of the Brest VIII Haec animanâ—â—â—ueâ—os cymâ—ala at illa 〈◊〉 Will Marshall sculpsit VIII PHIL. III. XIX They minde earthly things but our conversation is in heaven Venus Div. Cupid Ve. WHat meanes this peevish Brat Whish Lullaby What ayles my Babe What ayles my Babe to cry Will nothing still it will it neither be Pleas'd with the Nurses breast nor Mothers knee What ayles my Bird What moves my froward Boy To make such whimpring faces Peace my Ioy Will nothing doe Come come this pettish Brat Thus cry and bawle and cannot tell for what Come busse and friends my lambe whish lullaby What ayles my Babe What ayles my Babe to cry Peace peace my deare alas thy early yeares Had never faults to merit halfe these teares Come smile upon me Let thy mother spie Thy Fathers Image in her Babies eye Husband these guiltlesse drops against the rage Of harder fortunes and the gripes of Age Thine eye 's not ripe for teares whish lullaby What ayles my Babe mine sweet-fac'd Babe to cry Looke looke what 's here A dainty Golden thing See how the dauncing Bells turn round and ring To please my Bantling Here 's a knack will breed A
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
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
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
ours She slides from heav'n indeed but not in Danaes showrs Lives she in Honour No. The royall Crowne Builds up a Creature and then batters downe Kings raise thee with a smile and raze thee with a frowne In pleasure No Pleasure begins in rage Acts the fooles part on earths uncertaine Stage Begins the Play in Youth and Epilogues in Age. These these are bastard-goods the best of these Torment the soule with pleasing it and please Like water gulp'd in Fevers with deceitfull ease Earths flattring dainties are but sweet distresses Mole-hils performe the mountaines she professes Alas can earth confer more good than earth possesses Mount mount my soule and let thy thoughts cashiere Earths vaine delights and make their full careire At heav'ns eternall joyes stop stop thy Courier there There shall thy soule possesse uncarefull Treasure There shalt thou swim in never-fading pleasure And blaze in Honour farre above the frownes of Caesar Lord if my hope dare let her Anchor fall On thee the chiefest Good no need to call For earths inferiour trash Thou thou art All in All. S. AUGUST Soliloq cap. 13. I follow this thing I pursue that but am fill'd with nothing But when I found thee who art that immutable individed and onely good in my selfe what I obtained I wanted not for what I obtained not I grieved not with what I was possest my whole desire was satisfied S. BERN. Ser. 9. sup beati qui habent c. Let others pretend merit let him brag of the burthen of the day let him boast of his Sabbath fasts and let him glory that he is not as other men but for me it is good to cleave unto the Lord and to put my trust in my Lord God EPIG 13. Let Boreas blasts and Neptunes waves be joyn'd Thy Eolus commands the waves the wind Feares not the Rocks or worlds imperious waves Thou climbst a Rock my soule a Rock that saves XIV I sat vnder the shadoue of him whom I haue desired Canâ— 2 Will sim son sculp XIV CANT II. III. â— sate under his shadow with great delight and his fruit was sweete to my taste 1 LOok how the sheep whose rambling steps doe stray From the safe blessing of her Shepheards eyes Eftsoone becomes the unprotected Prey To the wing'd Squadron of beleagring flies Where sweltred with the scorching beames of day She frisks from Bush to Brak and wildly flies From her owne selfe ev'n of herselfe affraid She shrouds her troubled browes in ev'ry Glade And craves the mercy of the soft removing shade 2 Ev'n so my wandring Soule that has digrest From her great Shepheard is the hourely prey Of all all my Sinnes These vultures in my Brest Gripe my Promethian heart both night and day I hunt from place to place but find no rest I know not where to go nor where to stay The eye of vengeance burnes her flames invade My sweltring Soule My soule has oft assaid But she can find no shrowd but she can feele no Shade 3 I sought the Shades of Mirth to weare away My slow pac'd houres of soule-consuming griefe I search'd the Shades of Sleepe to ease my day Of griping sorrowes with a nights repriefe I sought the Shades of Death thought there t' allay My finall torments with a full reliefe But Mirth nor Sleepe nor Death can hide my howres In the false Shades of their deceitfull Bowres The first distracts the next disturbes the last devours 4 Where shall I turn To whom shall I apply me Are there no Streames where a faint soule may wade Thy Godhead IESVS are the flames that fry me Has thy All-glorious Deity nev'r a Shade Where I may sit and vengeance never eye me Where I might sit refresht or unaffraid Is there no Comfort Is there no Refection Is there no Covert that will give Protection T' a fainting soule the subject of thy wraths reflexion 5 Looke up my soule advance thy lowly stature Of thy sad Thoughts advance thy humble eye See here 's a Shadow found The humane nature Is made th'Vmbrella to the Deity To catch the Sun-beames of thy just Creator Beneath this Covert thou maist safely lie Permit thine eyes to climbe this fruitfull Tree As quick Zacheus did and thou shalt see A Cloud of dying flesh betwixt those Beames and thee GUILL in cap. 2. Cant. Who can in dure the fierce rayes of the Sunne of Iustice Who shall not be consumed by his beames Therefore the Sun of Iustice tooke flesh that through the conjunction of that Sun and this humane body a shadow may be made S. AUGUST Med. cap. 37. Lord let my soule flee from the scorching thoughts of the world under the Covert of thy wings that being refreshed by the moderation of thy shadow shee may sing merrily In peace will I lay me downe and rest EPIG 14. Ah treach'rous soule would not thy Pleasures give That Lord which made thee living leave to live See what thy sinnes haue done Thy sinnes have made The Sun of Glory now become thy Shade XV. How shall we sing the song of the Lord in a strang Land w s. scul XV. PSAL. CXXXVII IV How shall we sing a song of the Lord in a strange land VRge me no more This Ayry mirth belongs To better times These times are not for songs The sprightly Twang of the melodious Lute Agrees not with my voice and both unsuit My untun'd fortunes The affected measure Of straines that are constrain'd affoord no pleasure Musick 's the Child of mirth where griefes assaile The troubled soule both voice and fingers faile Let such as ravill out their lavish dayes In honourable Ryot that can raise Dejected hearts and conjure up a Sprite Of madnesse by the Magick of delight Let those of Cupids Hospitall that lie Impatient Patients to a smiling eye That cannot rest untill vaine hope beguile Their flatter'd Torments with a wanton smile Let such redeeme their peace and salve the wrongs Of froward Fortune with their frolick Songs My grief my griefe 's too great for smiling eyes To cure or Counter-charmes to exorzise The Ravens dismall Croakes the midnight howles Of empty Wolves mixt with the screech of Owles The nine sad knowls of a dull Passing Bell With the loud language of a nighty knell And horrid out cries of revenged Crimes Ioyn'd in a Medley's Musick for these Times These are no Times to touch the merry string Of Orpheus No these are no times to sing Can hide bound Prisners that have spent their soules And famish'd Bodies in the noysome holes Of hell-black dungeons apt their rougher throats Growne hoarse with begging Almes to warble notes Can the sad Pilgrim that has lost his way In the vast desart there condemn'd a Prey To the wild subject or his Salvage Kings Ronze up his palsey smitten spir'ts and sing Can I a Pilgrim and a Prisner too Alas where I am neither knowne nor know Ought but my Torments an unransom'd stranger In this strange Climat in a land
feeble voice of flesh and blood The pow'r to worke thine eares into a flood Of melted Mercy or the strenth t'unlocke The gates of Heav'n and to dissolve a Rock Of marbel Clouds into a morning show'r Or has the breath of whining dust the pow'r To stop or snatch a falling Thunderbolt From thy fierce hand and make thy hand revolt From resolute Confusion and in stead Of Vyals poure full Blessings on our head Or shall the wants of famisht Ravens cry And move thy mercy to a quick supply Or shall the silent suits of drooping flowr's Woo thee for drops and be refresh'd with Showr's Alas what marvell then great GOD what wonder If thy Hell-rouzing voice that splits in sunder The brazen Portals of eternall death What wonder if that life-restoring breath Which drag'd me from th' infernall shades of night Should melt my ravisht soule with ore-delight O can my frozen gutters choose but run That feele the warmth of such a glorious Sun Me thinks his language like a flaming Arrow Doth pierce my bones and melts their wounded marrow Thy flames O Cupid though the ioyfull heart Feeles neither tang of griefe nor feares the smart Of jealous doubts but drunk with full desires Are torments weigh'd with these celestiall fires Pleasures that ravish in so high a measure That O I languish in excesse of pleasure What ravisht heart that feeles these melting Ioyes Would not despise and loathe the trech'rous Toyes Of dunghill earth what soule would not be proud Of wry-mouth'd scornes the worst that flesh and blood Had rancor to divise Who would not beare The worlds derision with a thankfull eare What palat would refuse full bowles of spight To gaine a minuts tast of such delight Great spring of light in whom there is no shade But what my interposed sinnes have made Whose marrow-melting Fires admit no screene But what my owne rebellions put betweene Their precious flames and my obdurate care Disperse these plague-distilling Clouds and cleare My mungy Soule into a glorious day Transplant this screene remoove this Barre away Then then my fluent soule shall feele the fires Of thy sweet voice and my dissolv'd desires Shall turne a sov'raigne Balsome to make whole Those wounds my sinnes inflicted on thy soule S. AUGUST Soliloqu Chap. 34. What fire is this that so warmes my heart What light is this that so enlightens my soule O fire that alwayes burnest and never goest out kindle me O light which ever shinest and art never darkned illuminate me O that I had my heat from thee most holy fire How sweetly doest thou burne How secretly dost thou shine How desiderably doest thou inflame me BONAVENT Stim amoris Chap. 8. It makes God man and man God things temporall eternall mortall immortall it makes an enemy a friend a servant a Sonne vile things glorious cold hearts fiery and hard things liquid EPIG 5. My soule Thy gold is true but full of drosse Thy SAVIOURS breath refines thee with some losse His gentle Fornace makes thee pure as true Thou must be melted ere th' art cast anew VI. Whom haue I in heaven but thee what desire I on earth in respect of thee Ps 73. â— W. S. sc VI. PSAL. LXXIII XXV Whom have I in heav'n but Thee and what desire I on earth in respect of Thee 1 I Love and have some cause to love the earth She is my Makers Creature therefore Good She is my Mother for she gave me birth She is my tender Nurse she gives me food But what 's a Creature Lord compar'd with Thee Or what 's my mother or my nurse to me 2 I love the Ayre her dainty sweets refresh My drooping soule and to new sweets invite me Her shrill-mouth'd Quire sustaine me with their flesh And with their Polyphonian notes delight me But what 's the Ayre or all the sweets that she Can blesse my soule withall compar'd to Thee 3 I love the Sea She is my fellow-Creature My carefull Purveyor She provides me store Shee wals me round She makes my diet greater She wafts my treasure from a forreigne shore But Lord of Oceans when compar'd with thee What is the Ocean or her wealth to me 4 To heav'ns high City I direct my Iourney Whose spangled Suburbs entertaine mine eye Mine Eye by Contemplations great Atturney Transcends the Chrystall pavement of the sky But what is heav'n great GOD compar'd to Thee Without Thy presence Heav'n's no Heav'n to me 5 Without Thy presence Earth gives no Refection Without Thy presence Sea affords no treasure Without Thy presence Ayre 's a rank Infection Without Thy presence Heav'n it self 's no pleasure If not possest if not enjoy'd in Thee What 's Earth or Sea or Ayre or Heav'n to me 6 The highest Honours that the world can boast Are subjects farre too low for my desire The brightest beames of glory are at most But dying sparkles of thy living fire The proudest flames that earth can kindle be But nighâ—ly Glow-wormes if compar'd to Thee 7 Without Thy presence wealth are Bags of Cares Wisedome but Folly Joy disquiet sadnesse Friendship is Treason and Delights are snares Pleasures but paine and mirth but pleasing Madnesse Without Thee Lord things be not what they be Nor have they being when compar'd with Thee 8 In having all things and not Thee what have I Not having Thee what have my labours got Ler me enjoy but Thee what farther crave I And having Thee alone what have I not I wish nor Sea nor Land nor would I be Possest of Heav'n Heav'n unpossest of Thee BONAVENT Cap. 1. Soliloq Alas my God now I Vnderstand but blush to confesse that the beauty of thy Creatures haue deceived mine eyes and I have not observed that thou art more amiable than all thy creatures to which thou hast communicated but one drop of thy inestimable beauty For who hath adorned the heauens with Starres Who hath stored the ayre with fowle the waters with fish the earth with plants and flowers But what are all these but a small sparke of divine beauty S. CHR. Hom. 5. in Ep ad Rom. In having nothing I have all things because I have Christ Having therefore all things in Him I seeke no other reward for he is the universall Reward EPIG 6. Who would not throw his better thoughts about him And scorne this drosse within him that without him Cast up my soule thy clearer eye Behold If thou be fully melted There 's the Mold VII Woe is me that I am constrained to dwell with Meseth to haue my habitation among the tent of Cedar Psal. 120.4 Will. simpson sculpsit VII PSAL. CXX.V. Woe is to me that I remaine in Meshech and dwell in the Tents of Kedar IS Natures course dissolv'd Does Times glasse stand Or has some frolick heart set back the hand Of Fates perpetuall Clock Wil't never strike Is crazy Time growne lazy faint or sick With very Age Or has that great Purroyall Of Adamantine sisters late made
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
Ignorance do thou assist My feeble Quill Reflect thy sacred Rayes Vpon these lines that they may light the wayes That lead to thee So guide my heart my hand That I may doe what others understand Let my heart practice what my hand shall write Till then I am a Tapour wanting light This golden Precept Know thy selfe came downe From heav'ns high Court It was an Art unknowne To flesh and blood The men of Nature tooke Great Iournies in it Their dim eyes did looke But through a Mist Like Pilgrims they did spend Their idle steps but knew no Iournies end The way to know thy selfe is first to cast Thy fraile beginning Progresse and thy Last This is the Summe of Man But now returne And view this Tapour standing in this Vrne Behold her Substance sordid and impure Vselesse and raine and wanting light obscure T is but a Span at longest nor can last Beyond that Span ordain'd and made to wast Ev'n such was Man before his soule gave light To his vile substance a meere Child of night Ere he had life estated in his Vrne And markt for death by nature borne to burne Thus livelesse lightlesse worthlesse first began That glorious that presumptuous thing call'd Man S. AUGUST Consider ô men what thou wert before thy Birth and what thou art from thy birth to thy death and what thou shalt be after death Thou wert made of an impure substance cloathed and nourished in thy Mothers blood EPIG 1. Forbeare fond Tapour What thou seek'st is Fire Thy owne destructions lodg'd in thy desire Thy wants are farre more safe than their supply He that begins to live begins to die Nescius Vnde Will. Marshall 〈◊〉 And God said Let there bee light and there was light GEN. 1.3 THis flame-expecting Tapour hath at length Received fyre and now begins to burne It hath no vigour yet it hath no strength Apt to be puft and quencht at ev'ry turne It was a gracious hand that thus endow'd This snuffe with flame But marke this hand doth shroud It selfe from mortall eyes and folds it in a Cloud 2 Thus man begins to live An unknowne flame Quickens his finisht Organs now possest With motion and which motion doth proclame An active soule though in a feeble brest But how and when infus'd ask not my Pen Here flyes a Cloud before the eyes of men I cannot tell thee how nor canst thou tell mee when 3 Was it a parcell of celestiall fire Infus'd by Heav'n into this fleshly mould Or was it thinke you made a soule entire Then was it new created Or of old Or is' t a propagated Spark rak'd out From Natures embers While we goe about By reason to resolve the more we raise a doubt 4 If it be part of that celestiall Flame It must be ev'n as pure as free from spot As that eternall fountaine whence it came If pure and spotless then whence came the blot It selfe being pure could not it selfe defile Nor hath unactive Matter pow'r to soile Her pure and active Forme as Iarrs corrupt their Oyle 5 Or if it were created tell me when If in the first six dayes where kept till now Or if the soule were new created then Heav'n did not all at first he had to doe Six dayes expired all Creation ceast All kinds even from the greatest to the least Were finisht and compleat before the day of Rest 6 But why should Man the Lord of Creatures want That priviledge which Plants and Beasts obtaine Beasts bring forth Beasts the Plant a perfect Plant And every like brings forth her like againe Shall fowles and fishes beasts and plants convey Life to their issue And Man lesse than they Shall these get living soules And Man dead lumps of clay 7 Must humane soules be generated then My water ebbs behold a Rock is nigh If Natures worke produce the soules of men Mans soule is mortall All that 's borne must die What shall we then conclude What sun-shine will Disperse this gloomy cloud Till then be still My vainely striving thoughts Lie down my puzzl'd quill ISODOR Why doest thou wonder ô man at the height of the Starres or the depth of the Sea Enter into thine owne soule and wonder there The soule by creating is infused by infusion created EPIG 2. What art thou now the better by this flame Thou knowst not how nor when nor whence it came Poore kind of happinesse that can returne No more accompt but this to say I burne Quo me cunque rapit Will Marshall â—â—â—sit The wind passeth over it and it is gone PSAL. 103.16 NO sooner is this lighted Tapour set Vpon the transitory Stage Of eye-bedarkning night But it is straight subjected to the threat Of envious windes whose wast full rage Disturbs her peace full light And makes her substance wast and makes her flame lesse bright 2 No sooner are we borne no sooner come To take possession of this vast This soule-afflicting earth But Danger meets us at the very wombe And Sorrow with her full mouth'd blast Salutes our painfull birth To put out all our Ioyes and puffe out all our mirth 3 Nor Infant Innocence nor childish teares Nor youthfull wit not manly power Nor politick old age Nor virgins pleading nor the widows prayers Nor lowely Cell nor lofty Tower Nor Prince nor Peere nor Page Can scape this common blast or curb her stormy rage 4 Our life is but a pilgrimage of blasts And ev'ry blast brings forth a feare And ev'ry feare a death The more it lengthens ah the more it wasts Were were we to continue here The dayes of long lif'd Seth Our sorrowes would renew as we renew our breath 5. Tost too and fro our frighted thoughts are driv'n With ev'ry puffe with every Tide Of self-consuming Care Our peacefull flame that would point up to heav'n Is still disturb'd and turnd aside And ev'ry blast of Ayre Commits such wast in man as man can not repaire 6 W' are all borne Detters and we firmely stand Oblig'd for our first Parents Det Besides our Interest Alas we haue no harmelesse Counterband And we are ev'ry hou'r beset With threatnings of Arrest And till we pay the Det we can expect no Rest 7 What may this sorrow-shaken life present To the false relish of our Tast That 's worth the name of sweet Her minits pleasure's choakt with discontent Her glory foyld with ev'ry blast How many dangers meet Poore man betwixt the Biggin and the Winding sheet S. AUGUST In this world not to be grieved not to be afflicted not to be in danger is impossible Ibid. Behold the world is full of troubles yet beloved What if it were a pleasing world How wouldst thou delight in her Calmes that canst so well endure her stormes EPIG 3 Art thou consum'd with soule-afflicting crosses Disturb'd with griefe annoy'd with worldly losses Hold up thy head the Tapour lifted high Will brooke the wind when lower Tapors dye Curando Labascit The whole need not the