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
this wooes thee to th' eternall curse O charming Tyrant how hast thou befool'd And slav'd poore man that would not if he could Avoid thy Line thy Lure nay could not if he would 4 Alas thy sweet perfidious voice betrayes His wanton eares with thy Syrenian baits Thou wrapft his eyes in mists then boldly layes Thy Lethall Ginns before their Christall Gaâ—s Thou lock'st up ev'ry Sense with thy false kayes All willing Pris'ners to thy close deceits His eare most nimble whereit deafe should be His eye most blind where most it ought to see And when his heart 's most bound then thinks it self most free 5 Thou grand Imposter how hast thou obtain'd The wardship of the world Are all men turn'd Ideots and Lunaticks Are all retain'd Beneath thy servile bands Is none return'd To his forgotten selfe Has none regain'd His senses Are their senses all adjourn'd What none dismist thy Court will no plumpe Fee Bribe thy false fists to make a glad Decree T'unfoole whom thou hast fool'd and set thy pris'ners free S. BERN. in Ser. In this world is much treacherie little truth here all things are traps here every thing is be set with snares here soules are endanger'd bodies are afflicted Here all things are vanity and vexation of spirit EPIG 3. Nay Cupid pitch thy Trammill where thou please Thou canst not faile to take such fish as these Thy thriving sport will nev'r be spent no need To feare when ev'ry Corck's a world Thou 'lt speed IV. Cuam graue seruitium est quod scuis esca parit IV. HOS XIII III They shal be as the chaffe that is driven with a whirlewind out of the floore and as the smoke out of the chimney FLint-hearted Stoicks you whose marble eyes Contemne a wrinckle and whose soules despise To follow Natures too affected Fashion Or travell in the Regent-walk of Passion Whose rigid hearts disdaine to shrink at Feares Or play at fast and loose with Smiles and Teares Come burst your spleenes with laughter to behold A new found vanity which ' dayes of old Nev'r knew A vanitie that has beset The world and made more slaves then Mahomet That has condemn'd us to the servile yoke Of slavery and made us slaves to smoke But stay why taxe I thus our moderne times For new-blowne Follies and for new-borne Crimes Are we sole guilty and the first Age free No they were smoak'd and slav'd as well as we What 's sweet-lipt Honours blast but smoke What 's treasure But very smoke And what more smoke than pleasure Alas they 'r all but shadowes Fumes and blasts That vanishes this fades the other wasts The restlesse Merchant he that loves to steepe His braines in wealth and layes his soule to sleepe In bags of Bullion sees th' immortall Crowne And faine would mount but Ingots keep him downe He brags today perchance and begs to morrow He lent but now wants Credit now to borrow Blow windes the Treasur's gone the Merchant 's brok A slave to silver 's but a slave to smoke Behold the Glory-vying Childe of Fame That from deep wounds sucks forth an honour'd name Thaâ— thinks no purchase worth the stile of good But what is sold for sweat and seal'd with blood That for a Point a blast of empty breath Vndaunted gazes in the face of death Whose deare bought Bubble fild with vaine renowne Breaks with a Phillip or a Gen'ralls frowne His stroke got Honour staggers with a stroke A Slave to Honour is a Slave to Smoke And that fond soule which wasts his idle dayes In loose delights and sports about the Blaze Of Cupids Candle he that daily spies Twin Babies in his Mistresse Gemenies Whereto his sad devotion does impart The sweet burnt offring of a bleeding heart See how his wings are sing'd in Cyprian fire Whose flames consume with youth in Age expire The world 's a Bubble all the pleasures in it Like morning vapours vanish in a minit The vapours vanish and the Bubble's broke A slave to pleasure is a slave to smoke Now Stoick cease thy laughter and repast Thy pickled cheeks with Teares and weep as fast S. HIEROM That rich man is great who thinkes not himselfe great because he is richâ— the proud man who is the poore man brags outwardly but begs inwardly He is blowne up but not full PETR RAV Vexation and anguish accompany riches and honour The pompe of the world and the favour of the people are but smoake and a blast suddenly vanishing which if they commonly please commonly bring repentance and for a minut of joy they bring an age of sorrow EPIG 4. Cupid thy diet 's strange It dulls It rowzes It cooles It heats it binds and then it looses Dull-sprightly-cold-hot Foole if ev'r it winds thee Into a loosenesse once take heed It binds thee V. Non omne quod hîc micat aurum est Will Marshall sculpsit V PRO. XXIII V Wilt thou set thine eyes upon that which is not for riches make themselves wings they flie away as an Eagle 1 FAlse world thou ly'st Thou canst not lend The least delight Thy favours cannot gaine a Friend They are so sleight Thy morning pleasures make an end To please at night Poore are the wants that thou supply'st And yet thou vaun'st and yet thou vy'st With heav'n Fond earth thou boasts False world thou ly'st 2 Thy babbling Tongue tels golden Tales Of endlesse Treasure Thy bountie offers easie sales Of lasting pleasure Thou asks the Conscience what she ailes And swear'st to ease her Ther 's none can want where thou supply'st There 's none can give where thou deny'st Alas fond world thou boasts false world thou ly'st 3 What well advised eare regards What earth can say Thy words are Gold but thy rewards Are painted Clay Thy cunning can but pack the Cards Thou canst not play Thy game at weakest still thou vy'st If seen and then revy'd deny'st Thou art not what thou seem'st False world thou ly'st 4 Thy tinsill boosome seemes a Mint Of new-coynd treasure A Paradise that has no stint No change no measure A painted Cask but nothing in 't Nor wealth nor pleasure Vaine earth that falsly thus comply'st With man Vaine man that thus rely'st On earth Vaine man thou dot'st Vaine earth thou ly'st 5 What meane dull soules in this high measure To haberdash In earths base wares whose greatest treasure Is drosse and trash The height of whose inchaunting pleasure Is but a Flash Are these the goods that thou supply'st Vs mortalls with Are these the high'st Can these bring cordiall peace False world thou ly'st PET. BLES This world is deceitfull Her end is doubtfull Her conclusion is horrible Her judge is terrible And her punishment is intolerable S. AUGUST lib. Confess The vaine glory of this world is a deceitfull sweetnesse a fruitlesse labour a perpetuall feare a dangerous honour Her beginning is without providence end her and not without repentance EPIG 5. World th' art a Traytor Thou hast stampt thy
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
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
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
ours She slides from heav'n indeed but not in Danaes showrs Lives she in Honour No. The royall Crowne Builds up a Creature and then batters downe Kings raise thee with a smile and raze thee with a frowne In pleasure No Pleasure begins in rage Acts the fooles part on earths uncertaine Stage Begins the Play in Youth and Epilogues in Age. These these are bastard-goods the best of these Torment the soule with pleasing it and please Like water gulp'd in Fevers with deceitfull ease Earths flattring dainties are but sweet distresses Mole-hils performe the mountaines she professes Alas can earth confer more good than earth possesses Mount mount my soule and let thy thoughts cashiere Earths vaine delights and make their full careire At heav'ns eternall joyes stop stop thy Courier there There shall thy soule possesse uncarefull Treasure There shalt thou swim in never-fading pleasure And blaze in Honour farre above the frownes of Caesar Lord if my hope dare let her Anchor fall On thee the chiefest Good no need to call For earths inferiour trash Thou thou art All in All. S. AUGUST Soliloq cap. 13. I follow this thing I pursue that but am fill'd with nothing But when I found thee who art that immutable individed and onely good in my selfe what I obtained I wanted not for what I obtained not I grieved not with what I was possest my whole desire was satisfied S. BERN. Ser. 9. sup beati qui habent c. Let others pretend merit let him brag of the burthen of the day let him boast of his Sabbath fasts and let him glory that he is not as other men but for me it is good to cleave unto the Lord and to put my trust in my Lord God EPIG 13. Let Boreas blasts and Neptunes waves be joyn'd Thy Eolus commands the waves the wind Feares not the Rocks or worlds imperious waves Thou climbst a Rock my soule a Rock that saves XIV I sat vnder the shadoue of him whom I haue desired Canâ— 2 Will sim son sculp XIV CANT II. III. â— sate under his shadow with great delight and his fruit was sweete to my taste 1 LOok how the sheep whose rambling steps doe stray From the safe blessing of her Shepheards eyes Eftsoone becomes the unprotected Prey To the wing'd Squadron of beleagring flies Where sweltred with the scorching beames of day She frisks from Bush to Brak and wildly flies From her owne selfe ev'n of herselfe affraid She shrouds her troubled browes in ev'ry Glade And craves the mercy of the soft removing shade 2 Ev'n so my wandring Soule that has digrest From her great Shepheard is the hourely prey Of all all my Sinnes These vultures in my Brest Gripe my Promethian heart both night and day I hunt from place to place but find no rest I know not where to go nor where to stay The eye of vengeance burnes her flames invade My sweltring Soule My soule has oft assaid But she can find no shrowd but she can feele no Shade 3 I sought the Shades of Mirth to weare away My slow pac'd houres of soule-consuming griefe I search'd the Shades of Sleepe to ease my day Of griping sorrowes with a nights repriefe I sought the Shades of Death thought there t' allay My finall torments with a full reliefe But Mirth nor Sleepe nor Death can hide my howres In the false Shades of their deceitfull Bowres The first distracts the next disturbes the last devours 4 Where shall I turn To whom shall I apply me Are there no Streames where a faint soule may wade Thy Godhead IESVS are the flames that fry me Has thy All-glorious Deity nev'r a Shade Where I may sit and vengeance never eye me Where I might sit refresht or unaffraid Is there no Comfort Is there no Refection Is there no Covert that will give Protection T' a fainting soule the subject of thy wraths reflexion 5 Looke up my soule advance thy lowly stature Of thy sad Thoughts advance thy humble eye See here 's a Shadow found The humane nature Is made th'Vmbrella to the Deity To catch the Sun-beames of thy just Creator Beneath this Covert thou maist safely lie Permit thine eyes to climbe this fruitfull Tree As quick Zacheus did and thou shalt see A Cloud of dying flesh betwixt those Beames and thee GUILL in cap. 2. Cant. Who can in dure the fierce rayes of the Sunne of Iustice Who shall not be consumed by his beames Therefore the Sun of Iustice tooke flesh that through the conjunction of that Sun and this humane body a shadow may be made S. AUGUST Med. cap. 37. Lord let my soule flee from the scorching thoughts of the world under the Covert of thy wings that being refreshed by the moderation of thy shadow shee may sing merrily In peace will I lay me downe and rest EPIG 14. Ah treach'rous soule would not thy Pleasures give That Lord which made thee living leave to live See what thy sinnes haue done Thy sinnes have made The Sun of Glory now become thy Shade XV. How shall we sing the song of the Lord in a strang Land w s. scul XV. PSAL. CXXXVII IV How shall we sing a song of the Lord in a strange land VRge me no more This Ayry mirth belongs To better times These times are not for songs The sprightly Twang of the melodious Lute Agrees not with my voice and both unsuit My untun'd fortunes The affected measure Of straines that are constrain'd affoord no pleasure Musick 's the Child of mirth where griefes assaile The troubled soule both voice and fingers faile Let such as ravill out their lavish dayes In honourable Ryot that can raise Dejected hearts and conjure up a Sprite Of madnesse by the Magick of delight Let those of Cupids Hospitall that lie Impatient Patients to a smiling eye That cannot rest untill vaine hope beguile Their flatter'd Torments with a wanton smile Let such redeeme their peace and salve the wrongs Of froward Fortune with their frolick Songs My grief my griefe 's too great for smiling eyes To cure or Counter-charmes to exorzise The Ravens dismall Croakes the midnight howles Of empty Wolves mixt with the screech of Owles The nine sad knowls of a dull Passing Bell With the loud language of a nighty knell And horrid out cries of revenged Crimes Ioyn'd in a Medley's Musick for these Times These are no Times to touch the merry string Of Orpheus No these are no times to sing Can hide bound Prisners that have spent their soules And famish'd Bodies in the noysome holes Of hell-black dungeons apt their rougher throats Growne hoarse with begging Almes to warble notes Can the sad Pilgrim that has lost his way In the vast desart there condemn'd a Prey To the wild subject or his Salvage Kings Ronze up his palsey smitten spir'ts and sing Can I a Pilgrim and a Prisner too Alas where I am neither knowne nor know Ought but my Torments an unransom'd stranger In this strange Climat in a land
of danger O can my voyce be pleasant or my hand Thus made a Prisner to a forreigne land How can my musick relish in your eares That cannot speake for sobs nor sing for teares Ah if my voyce could Orpheus-like unspell My poore Euridicê my soule from hell Of earths misconstru'd Heav'n O then my brest Should warble Ayres whose Rapsodies should feast The eares of Serathims and entertaine Heav'ns highest Deity with their lofty straine A straine well drencht in the true Thespian Well Till then earths Semiquaver mirth farewell S. AUGUST Med. cap. 33. O infinitely happy are those heavenly virtues which are able to praise thee in holinesse and purity with excessive sweetnesse and inutterable exultation From thence they praise thee from whence they rejoyce because they continually see for what they rejoyce for what they praise thee But we prest downe with this burthen of flesh farre remov'd from thy countenance in this pilgrimage and blowne up with wordly vanities cannot worthily praise thee We praise thee by faith not face to face but those Argelicall Spirits praise thee face to face and not by faith EPIG 15. Did I refuse to sing Said I these times Were not for Songs nor musick for these Climes It was my Errour Are not Groanes and teares Harmonious Raptures in th' Almighties cares THE FIFT BOOKE I. I charge yow o yee Daughters of Ierusalem if yee finde my beloved that yow tell him that I am sicke of loue Canâ—t â— w. simpsen scupsit I. CANT V. VIII I charge you O daughters of Ierusalem if you find my beloved that you tell him that I am sick of love 1 YOu holy Virgins that so oft surround The Cities Saphyre Wals whose snowy feâ—â— Measure the pearly Paths of sacred ground And trace the new Jerus'lems Iasper street Ah you whose care-forsaken hearts are crown'd With your best wishes that enjoy the sweet Of all your Hopes If ere you chance to spie My absent Love O tell him that I lie Deepe wounded with the flames that furnac'd from his eye 2 I charge you Virgins as you hope to heare The heav'nly Musick of your Lovers voice I charge you by the solemne faith ye beare To plighted vowes and to the loyall choice Of your affections or if ought more deare You hold by Hymen by your marriage joyes I charge you tell him that a flaming dart Shot from his Eye hath pierc'd my bleeding heart And I am sick of love and languish in my smart 3 Tell him O tell him how my panting brest Is scorch'd with flames and how my soule is pin'd Tell him O tell him how I lie opprest With the full torments of a troubled mind O tell him tell him that he loves in jest But I in earnest Tell him hee 's unkind But if a discontented frowne appeares Vpon his angry Brow accoast his eares With soft and fewer words and act the rest in teares 4 O tell him that his cruelties deprive My soule of peace while peace in vaine she seeks Tell him those Damask roses that did strive With white both fade upon my sallow cheeks Tell him no token does proclaime I live But teares and sighs and sobs and sudden shreeks Thus if your piercing words should chance to bore His harkning eare and move a sigh give ore To speak and tell him Tell him that I could no more 5 If your elegious breath should hap to rouze A happy teare close harb'ring in his eye Then urge his plighted faith the sacred vowes Which neither I can break nor He deny Bewaile the Torments of his loyall Spouse That for his sake would make a sport to die O blessed Virgins how my passion tires Beneath the burthen of her vaine desires Heav'n never shot such flames Earth never felt such fires S. AUGUST Med. cap. 40. What shall I say What shall I doe Whether shall I goe Where shall I seeke him Or when shall I find him Whom shall I aske Who will tell my beloved that I am sick of love GVLIEL in Cap. 5. Cant. I live But not I It is my beloved that lives in me I love my selfe not with my owne love but with the love of my beloved that loves me I love not my selfe in my selfe but my selfe in him and him in me EPIG 1. Grieve not my soule nor let thy love waxe faint Weepst thou to lose the cause of thy Complaint Hee 'l come Love nev'r was bound to Times nor Lawes Till then thy teares complaine without a Cause II. Stay me with Flowers Comfort me with Apples for I am sick of loue Cant 2.5 Will Marshall sculpsit II. CANT II.V. Stay me with Flowers and comfort me with Apples for I am sicke with love 1 O Tyrant love how does thy sov'raigne pow'r Subject poore soules to thy imperious thrall They say thy Cup 's compos'd of sweet and sowre They say thy diet 's Honey mixt with Gall How comes it then to passe these lips of our Still trade in bitter taste no sweet at all O tyrant love Shall our perpetuall toyle Nev'r find a Sabbath to refresh a while Our drooping soules Art thou all frowns and nev'r a smile 2 You blessed Maids of Honour that frequent The royall Courts of our renown'd JEHOVE With Flow'rs restore my spirits faint and spent O fetch me Apples from Loves fruitfull Grove To coole my palat and renew my sent For I am sick for I am sick of Love These will revive my dry my wasted pow'rs And they will sweeten my unsav'ry houres Refresh me then with Fruit and comfort me with Flow'rs 3 O bring me Apples to asswage that fire Which Aetna-like inflames my flaming brest Nor is it ev'ry Apple I desire Nor that which pleases ev'ry Palat best 'T is not the lasting Deuzan I require Nor yet the red-cheek'd Queening I request Nor that which first beshrewd the name of wife Nor that whose beauty caus'd the golden strife No no bring me an Apple from the Tree of life 4 Virgins tuck up your silken laps and fill ye With the faire wealth of Floras Magazine The purple Vy'let and the pale-fac'd Lilly The Pauncy and the Organ Colombine The flowring Thyme the guilt-boule Daffadilly The lowly Pinck the lofty Eglentine The blushing Rose the Queene of flow'rs and be Of Floras beauty but above the rest Let Iesses sov'raigne Flow'r perfume my qualming brest 5 Haste Virgins haste for I lie weake and faint Beneath the pangs of love why stand ye mute As if your silence neither car'd to grant Nor yet your language to deny my suit No key can lock the doore of my complaint Vntill I smell this Flow'r or taste that Fruit Go Virgins seeke this Tree and search that Bow'r O how my soule shall blesse that happy houre That brings to me such fruit that brings me such a Flow'r GISTEEN in cap. 2. Cant. Expos 3. O happy sicknesse where the infirmity is not to death but to life that God may be glorified by it O happy fever that
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
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
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
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