The Temple

... But I fear the heat or my late ague hath dried up those springs by which scholars say the Muses use to take up their habitations. However, I need not their help to reprove the vanity of those many love-poems that are daily writ and consecrated to Venus; nor to bewail that so few are writ that look towards God and heaven. For my own part, my meaning — dear mother — is, in these sonnets, to declare my resolution to be, that my poor abilities in poetry shall be all and ever consecrated to God's glory: and I beg you to receive this as one testimony."

My God, where is that ancient heat towards thee, Wherewith whole shoals of Martyrs once did burn,

Besides their other flames? Doth Poetry- Wear Venus' livery? only serve her turn? Why are not Sonnets made of thee? and lays

Upon thine altar burnt? Cannot thy love

Heighten a spirit to sound out thy praise As well as any she? Cannot thy Dove Outstrip their Cupid easily in flight?

Or, since thy ways are deep, and still the same,.

Will not a verse run smooth that bears thy name?

Why doth that fire, which by thy power and might

Each breast does feel, no braver fuel choose Than that, which one day, worms may chance refuse?

Sure, Lord, there is enough in thee to dry Oceans of ink; for as the Deluge did Cover the Earth, so doth thy Majesty;

Each cloud distils thy praise, and doth forbid

Poets to turn it to another use.

Roses and lilies speak Thee; and to make A pair of cheeks of them, is thy abuse.

Why should I women's eyes for crystal take?

Such poor invention burns in their low mind Whose fire is wild, an3 doth not upward go To praise, and on thee, Lord, some ink bestow.

Open the bones, and you shall nothing find

In the best face but filth; when Lord, in Thee The beauty lies in the discovery.

Quid Vaticanam Bodleianamque ohjicis^ hospes! Unicus est nobis BiUiotheca Liber •

When my dear friend could write no more, He gave this Seal and so gave o'er.

•When winds and waves rise highest I am sure, This Anchor keeps my faith, that, me secure.

Whereas my birth and spirit rather took

The way that takes the town: Thou didst betray me to a lingering book,

And wrap me in a gown: I was entangled in a world of strife, N Before I had the power to change my life.

Yet, for I threaten'd oft the siege to raise,

Not simpering all mine age; Thou often didst with academic praise

Melt and dissolve my rage:

I took the sweeten'd pill, till I came where I could not go away, nor persevere.

Yet, lest perchance I should too happy be

In my unhappiness, Turning my purge to food, thou throwest me

Into more sicknesses. Thus doth thy power cross-bias me, not making Thine own gifts good, yet me from my ways taking.

Now I am here, what thou wilt do with me

None of my books will show. I read, and sigh, and wish I were a tree.

For then sure I should grow To fruit or shade, at least some bird would trust Her household with me, and I would be just.

Yet, though thou troublest me, I must be meek.

In weakness must be stout, Well, I will change my service, and go seek

Some other master out; Ah, my dear God! though I am clean forgot, Let me not love thee, if I love thee not.

" Madam, — At my last parting from you, I w -o the better content, because I was in hope I should myself carry all sickness out of your family: but since I know I did not, and that your share continues, or rather increaseth, I wish earnestly that I were again with you; and would quickly make good my wish, but that my employment does fix me here, it being now but a month to our commencement: wherein my absence, by how much it naturally augmenteth suspicion, by so much shall it make my prayers the more constant and the more earnest for you to the God of all consolation. In the meantime, I beseech you to be cheerful, and comfort your- self in the God of all comfort, who is not willing to behold any sorrow but for sin. — What hath affliction grievous in it more than for a moment? or why should our afflictions here have so much power or boldness as to oppose the hope of our joys hereafter? Madam, as the earth is but a point in respect of the heavens, so are earthly troubles compared to heavenly joys; therefore, if either age or sickness lead you to those joys, consider what advantage you have over youth and health, who are now so near those true comforts. Your last letter gave me earthly preferment, and I hope kept heavenly for yourself: but would you divide and choose too? Our college customs allow not that: and I should account myself most happy, if I might change with you; for I have always observed the thread of life to be like other threads or skeins of silk, full of snarles and incumbrances. Happy is he, whose bottom is wound up, and laid ready for work in the New Jerusalem. For myself, dear mother, I always feared sickness more than death, because sickness hath made me unable to perform those offices for which I came into the world, and must yet be kept in it; but you are freed from that fear, who have already abundantly discharged that part, having both ordered your family and so brought up your children, that they have attained to the years of discretion, and competent maintenance. So that now, if they do not well, the fault cannot be charged on you, whose example and care of them will justify you both to the world and your own conscience; insomuch that, whether you turn your thoughts on the life past, or on the joys that are to come, you have strong preservatives against all disquiet. And for temporal afflictions, I beseech you consider, all that can happen to you are either afflictions of estate, or body, or mind. For those of estate, of what poor regard ought they to be? since, if we had riches, we are commanded to give them away: so that the best use of them is, having, not to have them. But perhaps, being above the common people, our credit and estimation calls on us to live in a more splendid fashion: but, O God! how easily is that answered, when we consider that the blessings in the holy scripture are never given to the rich, but to the poor. I never find ' Blessed be the rich,' or ' Blessed be the noble '; but ' Blessed be the meek,' and * Blessed be the poor,' and ' Blessed be the mourners, for they shall be comforted.' And yet, O God! most carry themselves so as if they not only not desired, but even feared to be blessed. And for afflictions of the body, dear madam, remember the holy martyrs of God, how they have been burned by thousands, and have endured such other tortures, as the very mention of them might beget amazement: but their fiery trials have had an end; and yours — which, praised be God, are less — are not like to continue long. I beseech you, let such thoughts as these moderate your present fear and sorrow: and know that if any of yours should prove a Goliah-like trouble, yet you may say with David, ' That God, who hath delivered me out of the paws of the lion and bear, will also deliver me out of the hands of this uncircumcised Philistine/ Lastly, for those afflictions of the soul; consider that God intends that to be as a sacred temple for himself to dwell in, and will not allow any room there for such an inmate as grief; or allow that any sadness shall be his competitor. And, above all, if any care of future things molest you, remember those admirable words of the Psalmist: ^ Cast thy care on the Lord, and he shall nourish thee/ To which join that of St. Peter, ' Casting all your care on the Lord, for he careth for you.' What an admirable thing is this, that God puts his shoulder to our burden, and entertains our care for us, that we may the more quietly intend his service! To conclude, let me commend only one place more to you: Philipp. iv. 4. St. Paul saith there, * Rejoice in the Lord always: and again I say. Rejoice.' He doubles it, to take away the scruple of those that might say. What, shall we rejoice in afflictions? Yes, I say again, rejoice; so that it is not left to us to rejoice, or not rejoice; but, whatsoever befalls us, we must always, at all times, rejoice in the Lord, who taketh care for us. And it follows in the next verses: * Let your moderation appear to all men: The Lord is at hand: Be careful for nothing.' What can be said more comfortably? Trouble not yourselves; God is at hand, to deliver us from all, or in all. Dear madam.

pardon my boldness, and accept the good meaning of

That, through these labyrinths, not my grovelling wit.

But thy silk twist, let down from Heaven to me, Bid both conduct, and teach me, how by it

If thou chance for to find

A new house to thy mind, And built without thy cost;

As God gives thee store, And then my. labour's not lost.

The Parson's knowledge. The Parson on Sundays. The Parson praying. The Parson preaching. The Parson's charity. The Parson comforting the sick. The Parson arguing.

The Parson condescending.

The Parson in his journey. The Parson in his mirth. The Parson with his

" One cure for these distempers would be for the clergy themselves to keep the ember-weeks strictly, and beg of their parishioners to join with them in fasting and prayers for a more religious clergy.

"And another cure would be for themselves to restore the great and, neglected duty of catechising, on which the salvation of so many of the poor and ignorant lay-people does depend; but principally, that the clergy themselves would be sure to live unblamably; and that the dignified clergy especially which preach temperance would avoid surfeiting and take all occasions to express a visible humility and charity in their lives; for this would force a love and an imitation, and an unfeigned reverence from all that knew them to be such." (And for proof of this, we need no other testimony than the life and death of Dr. Lake, late Lord Bishop of Bath and Wells.) "This," said Mr. Herbert, would be a cure for the wickedness and growing atheism of our age. And, my dear brother, till this be done by us, and done in earnest, let no man expect a reformation of the manners of the laity; for ^tis not learning, but this, this only that must do it; and, till then, the fault must lie at our doors."

Religion stands a tiptoe in our land, Ready to pass to the American strand,

My music shall find thee,

And every string Shall have his attribute to sing.

The Sundays of man's life, Threaded together on time's string,

Make bracelets to adorn the wife Of the eternal glorious King: On Sundays Heaven's door stands ope; Blessings are plentiful and rife, More plentiful than hope.

Lord, my Jirst fruits present themselves to thee; Tet not mine neither: for from thee they came^ And must return, Accept of them and me, And make us strive, nvho shall sing best thy name. Turn their eyes hither, 'ivho shall make a gain: Theirs, who shall hurt themselves or me, refrain.

Lesse then the least of God^s mercies.

' I ^HOU, whose sweet youth and early hopes

^ inhance Thy rate and price, ^ and mark thee for a treasure \ Hearken unto a Verser, who may chance Ryme thee to good, and make a bait of pleasure.

A verse may finde him, who a sermon flies,

And turn delight into a sacrifice.

Beware of lust: ^ it doth pollute and foul Whom God in Baptisme washt with his own blood.

It blots thy lesson written in thy soul;

The holy lines cannot be understood.

How dare those eyes upon a Bible look, Much lesse towards God, whose lust is all their book?

Abstain wholly,^ or wed. Thy bounteous Lord

Allows thee choise of paths: take no by-wayes;

But gladly welcome what he doth afford;

Not grudging, that thy lust hath bounds and staies. Continence hath his joy: weigh both; and so If rottennesse have more, let Heaven go.

If God had laid all common, certainly

Man would have been th' incloser: but since now

God hath impaFd us on the contrarie Man breaks the fence, and every ground will plough.

O what were man, might he himself misplace Sure to be crosse he would shift feet and face.

Drink not the third glasse, which thou canst not tame.

When once it is within thee; but before Mayst rule it, as thou list; and poure the shame, Which it would poure on thee, upon the floore. It is most just to throw that on the ground, Which would throw me there, if T keep the round.

He that is drunken, may his mother kill Bigge with" his sister; he hath lost the reins. Is outlawd by himself: ail kinde ^ of ill Did with his liquour slide into his veins.

The drunkard forfets Man, and doth devest All worldly right, save what he hath by beast.^

Shall I, to please anothers wine-sprung minde. Lose all mine own? God hath giv'n me a measure

Short of his canne, and bodie; must I finde A pain in that, wherein he findes a pleasure?

Stay at the third glasse: if thou lose thy hold, Then thou art modest, and the wine grows bold.

If reason move not Gallants, quit the room, (All in a ship wrack shift their severall way) Let not a common ruine thee intombe: Be not a beast in courtesie; but stay.

Stay at the third cup, or forego the place.

Wine above all things doth Gods stamp deface.

Yet, if thou sinne in wine or wantonnesse.

Boast not thereof; nor make thy shame thy glorie.

Frailtie gets pardon by submissivenesse;

But he that boasts, shuts that out of his storie. He makes flat warre with God, and doth defie With his poore clod of earth the spacious sky.

Take not his name, who made thy mouth, in vain: It gets thee nothing, and hath ^ no excuse. Lust and wine plead a pleasure, avarice ^ gain: But the cheap swearer through his open sluce

Lets his soul runne for nought, as little fearing.

Were I an Epicure^ I could bate swearing.

When thou dost tell anothers jest, therein Omit the oathes, which true wit cannot need: Pick out of tales the mirth, but not the sinne. He pares his apple, that will cleanly feed.^

Play not away the vertue of that name, Which is thy best stake, when griefs make thee tame.

The cheapest sinnes most dearely punisht are;

Because to shun them also is so cheap:

For we have wit to mark them, and to spare.

O crumble not away thy souls fair heap.

If thou wilt die, the gates of hell are broad: Pride and full sinnes have made the way a road.

Lie not; but let thy heart be true to God, Thy mouth to it, thy actions to them both: Cowards tell lies, and those that fear the rod; The stormie working soul spits lies and froth. Dare to be true. Nothing can need a ly: A fault, which needs it most, grows two thereby.

Flie idlenesse, which yet thou canst not flie By dressing, mistressing, and complement. ^ If those take up thy day,^ the sunne will crie Against thee: for his light was onely lent.

God gave thy soul brave wings; put not those feathers Into a bed, to sleep out ail ill weathers.

Art thou a Magistrate? then be severe: If studious; copie fair, what time hath blurr'd; Redeem truth from his jawes: if souldier. Chase brave employments ^ with a naked sword Throughout the world. Fool not: for all may have,

If they dare try, a glorious life, or grave. ^

O England! full of sinne, but most ^ of sloth; Spit out thy flegme, and fill thy brest with glorie: Thy Gentrie bleats, as if thy native cloth Transfus'd a sheepishnesse into thy storie: Not that they all are so; but that the most Are gone to grasse, and in the pasture lost.

This losse springs chiefly from our education. Some till their ground, but let weeds choke their sonne;

Some mark a partridge, never their childes fashion:

Some ship them over, and the thing is done. Studie this art, make it thy great designe; And if God's image move thee not, let thine.

Some great estates provide, but doe not breed A mastering minde; so both are lost thereby: Or els they breed them tender, make them need All that they leave: ^ this is flat povertie.

For he, that needs five thousand pound to live, Is full as poore as he, that needs but five.

The way to make thy sonne rich, is to fill His minde with rest, before his trunk ^ with riches:

For wealth without contentment, climbes a hill To feel those tempests, which fly over ditches. But if thy sonne can make ten pound his measure, Then all thou addest may be call'd his treasure.

When thou dost purpose ought, (within thy power) Be sure to doe it, though it be but small: Constancie knits the bones, and makes us stowre,^ When wanton pleasures becken us to thrall.

Who breaks his own bond, forfeiteth himself: What nature made a ship, he makes a shelf. ^

Doe all things like a man, not sneakingly: Think the king sees thee still; for his King does.

Simpring is but a lay-hypocrisie: Give it a corner, and the clue undoes. Who fears to do ill, sets himself to task: Who fears to do well, sure should wear a mask.

Look to thy mouth; diseases enter there. Thou hast two sconses,^ if thy stomack call; Carve, or discourse; do not a famine fear. Who carves, is kind to two; who talks, to all.

Look on meat, think it dirt, then eat a bit;

And ^ say withall. Earth to earth I commit.

Slight those who say amidst their sickly healths, Thou liv'st by rule. What doth ^ not so, but man?

Houses are built by rule, and common-wealths. Entice the trusty sunne, if that you^ can.

From his Ecliptick line: becken the skie.

Who lives by rule then, keeps good companie.

Who keeps no guard upon himself, is slack, And rots to nothing at the next great thaw. Man is a shop of rules, a well-truss'd pack, Whose every parcell under-writes a law.

Lose not thy self, nor give thy humours way:

God gave them to thee under lock and key.

By all means use sometimes to be alone. Salute thy self: see what thy soul doth wear. Dare to look in thy chest; for 'tis thine own: And tumble up and down what thou find'st there.

Who cannot rest till hee good fellows finde, He breaks up house, turns out of doores his minde.

Be thriftie, but not covetous: therefore give Thy need, thine honour, and thy friend his due.

Never was scraper brave man. Get to live;

Then live, and use it: els, it is not true That thou hast gotten. Surely use alone Makes money not a contemptible stone.

Never exceed thy income. Youth may make Ev'n with the yeare: but age, if it will hit. Shoots a bow short, and lessens still his stake, As the day lessens, and his life with it.

Thy children, kindred, friends upon thee call;

Before thy journey fairly part with all.

Yet 1 in thy thriving still misdoubt some evil; Lest gaining gain on thee, and make thee dimme To all things els. Wealth is the conjurers devil;

Whom when he thinks he hath, the devil hath him.

Gold thou mayst safely touch; but if it stick Unto thy hands, it woundeth to the quick.

What skills it, if a bag of stones or gold About thy neck do drown thee? raise thy head; Take starres for money; starres not to be told By any art, yet to be purchased.

None is so wasteful! as the scraping dame.

She loseth three for one; her soul, rest, fame.

By no means runne in debt: take thine own measure.

Who cannot live on twentie pound a yeare, Cannot on fourtie: he's a man of pleasure, A kinde of thing that's for it self too deare. The curious unthrift makes his cloth ^ too wide.

And spares nmiself, but would his taylor chide.

Spend not on hopes. They that by pleading clothes 1

Do fortunes seek, when worth and service fail, Would have their tale beleeved for their oathes, And are like empty vessels under sail.

Old courtiers know this; therefore set out so, As 2 all the day thou mayst hold out to go.

In clothes, cheap handsomenesse doth bear the bell.3

Say not then. This with that lace will do well;

But, This with my discretion will be brave. Much curiousnesse is a perpetuall wooing Nothing with labour; folly long a doing.

Play not for gain, but sport. Who pi ayes for more,

Then he can lose with pleasure, stakes his heart; Perhaps his wives too, and whom she hath bore: Servants and churches also play their part. Onely a herauld, who that way doth passe, Findes his crackt name at length in the church-glasse.

If yet' thou love game at so deere a rate, Learn this, that hath old gamesters deerely cost:

Dost lose? rise up: dost winne? rise in that state.

Who strive to sit out losing hands, are lost. Game is a civil gunpowder, in peace Blowing up houses with their whole increase.

In conversation boldnesse now bears sway. But know, that nothing can so foolish be, As empty boldnesse: therefore first assay To stuffe thy minde with solid braverie;

Then march on gallant: get substantiall worth.

Boldnesse guilds finely, and will set it forth.

Be sweet to all. Is thy complexion sowre? Then keep such companie; make them thy allay:

Get a sharp wife, a servant that will lowre. A stumbler stumbles least in rugged way.

Command thy self in chief. He lifes warre knows.

Whom all his passions follow, as he goes.

Catch not at quarrels. He that dares not speak Plainly and home, is coward of the two. Think not thy fame at ev'ry twitch will break: By great deeds shew, that thou canst little do;

And do them not: that shall thy wisdome be;.

And change thy temperance into braverie.

If that thy fame with ev'ry toy be pos'd, 'Tis a thinne webbe, which poysonous fancies make:

But the great souldiers honour was compos'd Of thicker stufFe, which would endure a shake. Wisdome picks friends; civilitie playes the rest.

A toy shunn'd cleanly passeth with the best.^

Laugh not too much: the wittie man laughs least:

For wit is newes onely to ignorance. Lesse at thine own things laugh; lest in the jest Thy person share, and the conceit advance.^ Make not thy sport, abuses: for the fly That feeds on dung, is coloured thereby.

Pick out of mirth, like stones out of thy ground, Profanenesse, filthinesse, abusivenesse. These are the scumme, wit^ which coarse wits abound:

The fine may spare these well, yet not go lesse. All things are bigge with jest; nothing that's plain.

But may be wittie, if thou hast the vein.

Wit's an unruly engine, wildly striking Sometimes a friend, sometimes the engineer. Hast thou the knack? pamper it not with liking: But if thou want it, buy it not too deere. Many affecting wit beyond their power, Have got to be a deare fool for an houre.

A sad wise valour is the brave complexion, That leads the van, and swallows up the cities. The gigler is a milk-maid, whom infection. Or a fir'd beacon frighteth from his ditties. Then he's the sport: the mirth then in him rests,

And the sad man is cock of all his jests.

Towards great persons use respective ^ boldnesse: That temper gives them theirs, and yet doth take Nothing from thine: in service, care, or coldnesse

Doth ratably thy fortunes marre or make. Feed no man in his sinnes: for adulation Doth make thee^ parcell-devil in damnation.

Envie not greatnesse: for thou mak'st thereby Thy self the worse, and so the distance greater. Be not thine own worm: yet such jealousie. As hurts not others, but may make thee better,

Is a good spurre. Correct thy passions spite;

Then may the beasts draw thee to happy light.

When basenesse is exalted,^ do not bate

The place its honour, for the persons sake.

The shrine is that which thou dost venerate;

And not the beast, that bears it on his back. I care not though the cloth of state should be Not of rich arras, but mean tapestrie.

Thy friend put in thy bosome: wear his eies Still in thy heart, and he may see what's there. If cause require, thou art his sacrifice; Thy drops of bloud must pay down all his fear: But love is lost; the way^ of friendship's gone.

Yet be not surety, if thou be a father.

Love is a personall debt. I cannot give

My childrens right, nor ought he take it: rather

Both friends should die, then hinder them to live.

Fathers first enter bonds to natures ends;

And are her sureties, ere they are a friends.

If thou be single, all thy goods and ground Submit to love; but yet not more then all. Give one estate, as one life. None is bound To work for two, who^ brought himself to thrall.

God made me one man; love makes me no more,

Till labour come, and make my weaknesse score.

In thy discourse, if thou desire to please: All such is courteous, usefull, new, or wittie. Usefulnesse comes by labour, wit by ease; Courtesie grows in ^ court; news in the citie.

Get a good stock of these, then draw the card;

That suites him best, of whom thy speech is heard.

Entice all neatly to what they know best; For so thou dost thy self and him a pleasure: ( But a proud ignorance will lose his rest, Rather then shew his cards) steal from his treasure

What to ask further. Doubts well rais'd do lock

The speaker to thee, and preserve thy stock.

If thou be Master-gunner, spend not all That thou canst speak, at once; but husband it. And give men turns of speech: do not forestall By lavishnesse thine own, and others wit, As if thou mad' St thy will. A civil guest Will no more talk all, then eat all the feast.

Be calm in arguing: for fiercenesse makes Errour a fault, and truth discourtesie. Why should I feel another mans mistakes More, then his sicknesses or povertie? In love I should: but anger is not love. Nor wisdome neither: therefore gently move.

Calmnesse is great advantage: he that lets Another chafe, may warm him at his lire: Mark all his wandrings, and enjoy his frets; As cunning fencers suffer heat to tire.

Doth often aim at, never hit the sphere.

Mark what another sayes: for many are Full of themselves, and answer their own notion* Take all into thee; then with equall care Ballance each dramme of reason, like a potion. If truth be with thy friend, be with them both:

Share in the conquest, and confesse a troth.

Be usefull where thou livest, that they may Both want, and wish thy pleasing presence still.2

Kindnesse, good parts, great places are the way To compasse this. Finde out mens wants and will.

And meet them there. All worldly joyes go lesse

To the ^ one joy of doing kindnesses.

Pitch thy behaviour low, thy projects high; So shalt thou humble and magnanimous be: ^ Sink not in spirit: who aimeth at the sky. Shoots higher much then he that means a tree.^

A grain of glorie mixt with humblenesse Cures both a fever and lethargicknesse.^

Let thy minde still be bent, still plotting where, And when, and how the businesse may be done. Slacknesse breeds worms; but the sure traveller. Though he alight sometimes, still goeth on.

Active and stirring spirits live alone.

Write on the others, Here lies such a one.

Slight not the smallest losse, whether it be In love or honour; take account of all; Shine like the sunne in every corner: see Whether thy stock of credit swell, or fall. Who say, I care not, those I give for lost; ^ And to instruct them, 'twill not qait the cost.

Scorn no mans love, though of a mean degree;

Much lesse make any one thine ^ enemie.

As gunnes destroy, so may a little sling. ^ The cunning workman never doth refuse The meanest tool, that he may chance to use.

All forrain wisdome doth amount to this. To take all that is given; whether wealth,

Or love, or language; nothing comes amisse: A good digestion turneth all to health: And then as farre as fair behaviour may, Strike off all scores; none are so cleare as they.

Keep all thy native good, and naturalize All forrain of that name; but scorn their ill: Embrace their activenesse, not vanities. Who follows all things, forfeiteth his will. If thou observest strangers in each fit. In time theyM runne thee out of all thy wit.

Affect 1 in things about thee cleanlinesse, That all may gladly board thee, as a flowre. Slovens take up their stock of noisomnesse Beforehand, and anticipate their last houre. Let thy mindes sweetnesse have his operation Upon thy body, clothes, and habitation.

In Almes regard thy means, and others merit. Think heav'n a better bargain, then to give Onely thy single market-money for it. Joyn hands with God to make a man to live.

Give to all something; to a good poore man. Till thou change names, and be where he began.

Man is God's image; but a poore man is Christs stamp to boot: both images regard. God reckons for him, counts the favour his: Write, So much giv'n to God; thou shalt be heard.

Let thy almes go before, and keep heav'ns gate

Open for thee; or both ^ may come too late.

Restore to God his due in tithe and time: A tithe purloin' d cankers the whole estate. Sundaies observe: think when the bells do chime,

'Tis angels musick; therefore come not late. God then deals blessings; If a king did so. Who would not haste, nay give, to see the show?

Twice on the ^ day his due is understood; For all the week thy food so oft he gave thee. Thy cheere is mended; bate not of the food. Because 'tis better, and perhaps may save thee. Thwart not th' Almighty God: ^ O be not crosse.

Fast when thou wilt; but then 'tis gain, not losse.

Though private prayer be a brave designe, Yet publick hath ^ more promises, more love: And love's a weight to hearts, to eies a signe. We all are but cold suitours; let us move Where it is warmest. Leave thy six and seven;

Pray with the most: for where most pray, is heaven.

When once thy foot enters the church, be bare. God is more there, then thou: for thou art there Onely by his permission. Then beware, And make thy self all reverence and fear.

All equall are within the churches gate.

Resort to sermons, but to prayers most: Praying 's the end of preaching. O be drest; Stay not for th' other pin: why thou hast lost A joy for it worth worlds. Thus hell doth jest Away thy blessings,^ and extreamly flout thee.

Thy clothes being fast, but thy soul loose about thee.

In time of service seal up both thine eies. And send them to thine ^ heart; that spying sinne,

They may weep out the stains by them did rise: Those doores being shut, all by the eare comes in. Who marks in church-time others symmetric,^ Makes all their beautie his deformitie.

Let vain or ^ busie thoughts have there no part: Bring not thy plough, thy plots, thy pleasures thither.

Christ purg'd his temple; so must thou thy heart.

All worldly thoughts are but theeves met together To couzin thee. Look to thy actions well: For churches are either our heav'n or hell.

Judge not the preacher; for he is thy Judge: If thou mislike him, thou conceiv'st him not. God calleth preaching folly. ^ Do not grudge To pick out treasures from an earthen pot.** The worst speak something good: if all want sense,

God takes a text, and preacheth patience.

He that gets patience, and the blessing which Preachers conclude with, hath not lost his pains.

He that by being at church escapes the ditch, Which he might fall in by companions, gains.

He that loves Gods abode, and to combine With saints on earth, shall one day with them shine.

Jest not at preachers language, or expression; How know'st thou, but thy sinnes made him miscarrie?

Then turn thy faults and his into confession: God sent him, whatsoe're he be: O tarry, And love him for his Master: his condition, Though it be ill, makes him no ill Physician.

None shall in hell such bitter pangs endure. As those, who mock at Gods way of salvation. Whom oil and balsames ^ kill, what salve can cure?

They drink with greedinesse a full damnation. The Jews refused thunder; and we, folly. Though God do hedge us in, yet who is holy?

Summe up at night, what thou hast done by day; ^ And in the morning, what thou hast to do. Dresse and undresse thy soul: mark the decay And growth of it: if with thy watch, that too Be down, then winde up both, since we shall be

Most surely judg'd, make thy accounts agree.

In brief, acquit thee bravely; play the man. Look not on pleasures as they come, but go.

Deferre not the least vertue: lifes poore span Make not an ell, by trifling in thy wo.

If thou do ill; the joy fades, not the pains:

If well; the pain doth fade, the joy remains.

npHOU, whom the former precepts have Sprinkled and taught, how to behave Thy self in church; approach, and taste The churches mysticall repast.

A VOID profanenesse; ^ come not here: Nothing but holy, pure, and cleare, ' Or that which groneth to be so. May at his perill further go.