The Temple

The rest of our Creation Our great Redeemer did remove With the same shake, which at his passion Did th' earth and all things with it move. As Samson bore the doores away,^ Christs hands, though nail'd, wrought our salvation,

And did unhinge that day.

The brightnesse of that day We sullied by our foul offence: Wherefore that robe we cast away, Having a new at his expence, Whose drops of bloud paid the full price. That was required to make us gay.

Thou art a day of mirth: And where the week-dayes trail on ground. Thy flight is higher, as thy birth. O let me take thee at the bound, Leaping with thee from sev'n to sev'n, Till that we both, being toss'd from earth,

Flie hand in hand to heav'n!

AyTONE Y, thou bane of blisse, and sourse of wo, -LVX Whence com'st thou, that thou art so fresh and fine? I know thy parentage is base and low: Man found thee poore and dirtie in a mine.

Surely thou didst so little contribute

To this great kingdome, which thou now hast got,

That he was fain, when thou wert destitute. To digge thee out of thy dark cave and grot:

Then forcing thee, by fire he made thee bright: Nay, thou hast got the face of man; for we Have with our stamp and seal transferred our right:

Thou art the man, and man but drosse to thee.

Man calleth thee his wealth, who made thee rich;

And while he digs out thee, falls in the ditch. A (Mary)

How well her name an j4rmy doth present. In whom the Lord of hosts did pitch his tent!

53. To all Angels and Saints

/^H glorious spirits, who after all your bands See the smooth face of God, without a frown Or strict commands; Where ev'ry one is king, and hath his crown If not upon his head, yet in his hands: ^

Not out of envie or maliciousnesse Do I forbear to crave your speciall aid: I would addresse My vows to thee most gladly, blessed Maid, And Mother of my God, in my distresse.

Thou art the holy ^ mine, whence came the gold, The great restorative for all decay

In young and old; Thou art the cabinet where the jewell lay; Chiefly to thee would I my soul unfold:

But now (alas!) I dare not; for our ^ King, Whom we do all joyntly adore and praise, Bids no such thing: And where his pleasure no injunction layes, ('Tis your own case) ye never move a^ wing.

All worship is prerogative, and a flower

Of his rich^ crown, from whom lyes no appeal

At the last houre: Therefore we dare not from his garland steal. To make a posie for inferiour power.

Although then others court you, if ye know What's done on earth, we shall not fare the worse,

Who do not so; Since we are ever ready to disburse. If any one our Masters hand can show.

TLJ E that is weary, let him sit.

My soul would stirre And trade in courtesies and wit,

Quitting the furre To cold complexions needing it.

Man is no starre, but a quick coal

Who blows it not, nor doth controll A faint desire,

Lets his own ashes choke his soul.

When th' elements did for place contest

Ordain'd the highest to be best;

And by the others is opprest.

Life is a businesse, not good cheer;

Ever in warres. The sunne still shineth there or here.

Whereas the starres Watch an advantage to appeare.

Oh^ that I were an Orenge-tree,

That busie plant! ^ ^ In W, the following is substituted for this stanza:— O that I had the wing and thigh

Then snould I ever laden be,

And never want Some fruit for him that dressed me.

But we are still too ^ young or old;

The man is gone, Before we do our wares unfold:

So we freeze on,^ Untill the grave increase our cold.

"^"V^HEN my devotions could not pierce ' ^ Thy silent eares;

Then was my heart broken, as was my verse: My breast was full of fears And disorder:

My bent thoughts, like a brittle bow. Did flie asunder: Each took his way; some would to pleasures go, Some to the war res and thunder Of alarms.

As good go any where, they say. As to benumme Both knees and heart,^ in crying night and day. Come, come, my God, 0 come, But no hearing.

O that thou shouldst give dust a tongue To crie to thee, And then not heare it crying! all day long My heart was in my knee,

Therefore my soul lay out of sight,^ Untun'd, unstrung: My feeble spirit, unable to look right. Like a nipt blossome, hung Discontented.

O cheer and tune my heartlesse breast, Deferre no time; That so thy favours granting my request.

They and my minde ^ may chime, And mend 2 my ryme.^

ALL after pleasures as I rid one day,^

My horse and I, both tir'd, bodie and minde.

With full crie of affections, quite astray; I took up in the next inne I could finde.

There when I came, whom found I but my deare.

My dearest Lord, expecting till the grief

Of pleasures brought me to him, readie there To be all passengers most sweet relief?

O Thou, whose glorious, yet contracted light, Wrapt in nights mantle, stole into a manger; Since my dark soul and brutish is thy right,

To Man of all beasts be not thou a stranger:

Furnish and deck my soul, that thou mayst have A better lodging, then a rack, or grave. ^

My God, no hymne for thee? My soul's a shepherd too; a flock it feeds

Of thoughts, and words, and deeds; The pasture is thy word: the streams, thy grace

Enriching all the place. Shepherd and flock shall sing, and all my powers

Out-sing the day-light houres. Then we will chide the sunne for letting night

Take up his place and right: We sing one common Lord; wherefore he should

Himself the candle hold. I will go searching, till I finde a sunne"

Shall stay, till we have done; A willing shiner, that shall shine as gladly,

As frost-nipt sunnes look sadly.

Then we will sing, and shine all our own day,

And one another pay: His beams shall cheer my breast, and both so

Till ev'n his beams sing, and my musick shine.

T ORD, with what bountie and rare clemencie

Hast thou redeemed us from the grave!

If thou hadst let us runne. Gladly had man ador'd the sunne.

And thought his god most brave; Where now we shall be better gods then he.

Thou hast but two rare cabinets full of treasure,^ The Trinitie and Incarnation:

Thou hast unlockt them both,- And made them jewels to betroth The work of thy creation Unto thy self in everlasting pleasure.

The statelier cabinet is the Trinitie,

Whose sparkling light accesse denies:

Therefore thou dost not show This fully to us,^ till death blow The dust into our eyes: For by that * r>owder thou wilt make us see.

But all thy sweets are packt up in the other; Thy mercies thither flock and flow:

That as the first affrights, This may allure us with delights; Because this box ^ we know; For we have all of us just such another.

But man is close, reservM, and dark to thee: When thou demandest but a heart,

He cavils instantly. In his poore cabinet of bone

Sinnes have their box apart, Defrauding thee, who gavest two for one.

o DO not use me After my sinnes! look not on my desert, Buf on thy glorie! then thou wilt reform And not refuse me: for thou onely art The mightie God, but I a sillie worm;

O do not urge me! For what account can thy ill steward make? I have abus'd thy stock, destroyed thy woods, Suckt all thy magazens: my head did ake. Till it found out how to consume thy goods:

O do not blinde me! I have deserv'd that an Egyptian night Should thicken all my powers; because my lust Hath still sow'd fig-leaves to exclude thy light: But I am frailtie, and already dust;

O do not fill me With the turn'd viall of thy bitter wrath! For thou hast other vessels full of bloud, A. part whereof my Saviour empti'd hath, Ev'n unto death: since he di'd for my good,

But O reprieve me! For thou hast life and death at thy command; Thou art both Judge and Saviour^ feast and rod^ Cordtall SLudCorrosive: put not thy hand Into the bitter box; but O my God,

T OVE built a stately house; where Fortune came.

And spinning phansies, she was heard to say. That her fine cobwebs did support the frame, Whereas they were supported by the same: But Wisdome quickly swept them all away.

Then Pleasure came, who liking not the fashion, Began to make Balcones^ Terraces^

Till she had weakned all by alteration: But rev'rend la^s^ and many a proclamation Reformed all at length ^ with menaces.

Then enter'd Sinne, and with that Sycomore, Whose leaves first sheltred man from drought and dew,2 Working and winding slily evermore, The inward walls and Sommers ^ cleft and tore: But Grace shor'd these, and cut that as it grew.

Then Sinne combin'd with Death in a firm band To rase the building to the very floore: Which they efiFected, none could them withstand. But Love and Grace took Glorie by the hand,'^ And built a braver Palace then before.

Our life is hid with Christ in God* ly/TY words and thoughts do both expresse ^ ^ this notion,

That Life hath with the sun a double motion. The first Is straight, and our diurnal 1 friend, The other Hid^ and doth obliquely bend.

Our life is wrapt In flesh, and tends to earth. The other winds towards Him^ whose happie birth

Taught me to live here so. That still one eye Should aim and shoot at that which Is on high: Quitting with daily labour all My pleasure. To gain at harvest an eternall Treasure,

The fleet Astronomer can bore. And thred the spheres with his quick-piercing minde:

He views their stations, walks from doore to doore.

Surveys, as if he had design'd To make a purchase there: he sees their dances,

And knoweth long before. Both their full-ey'd aspects, and secret glances.

The nimble Diver with his side Cuts through the working waves, that he may fetch

His dearely-earned pearl, which God did hide

On purpose from the ventrous wretch; That he might save his life, and also hers. Who with excessive pride Her own destruction and his danger wears.

The subtil Chymick can devest And strip the creature naked, till he finde The callow principles within their nest:

There he imparts to them his minde, Admitted to their bed-chamber, before

They appeare trim and drest To ordinarie suitours at the doore.

What hath not man sought out and found,

But his deare God? who yet his glorious law Embosomes in us, mellowing the ground

With showres and frosts, with love and aw,

So that we need not say, Where's this command?

Poore man, thou searchest round To finde out deaths but missest life at hand.

"Y^/'ELCOME deare feast of Lent: who

^ ^ loves not thee, He loves not Temperance, or Authoritie, But is composed of passion.^ The Scriptures bid us fast; the Church sayes, noiv:

Give to thy Mother, what thou wouldst allow To ev'ry Corporation.

The humble soul compos' d of love and fear Begins at home, and layes the burden there.

When doctrines disagree. He sayes, in things which use hath justly got, I am a scandall to the Church, and not

True Christians should be glad of an occasion To use their temperance, seeking no evasion,

When good is seasonable; Unlesse Authoritie, which should increase The obligation in us, make it lesse,

And Power it self disable.

Besides the cleannesse of sweet abstinence. Quick thoughts and motions at a small expense,

A face not fearing light: Whereas in fulnesse there are sluttish fumes, Sowre exhalations, and dishonest rheumes,

Then those same pendant profits, which the spring And Easter intimate, enlarge the thing.

And goodnesse of the deed. Neither ought other mens abuse of Lent Spoil the 1 good use; lest by that argument

We forfeit all our Creed.

It's true, we cannot reach Christs fortieth day; Yet to go part of that religious way.

Is better then to rest: We cannot reach our Saviours puritie; Yet are we bid. Be holy ev^n as he.

In both let's do our best.

Who goeth in the way which 2 Christ hath gone, Is much more sure to meet with him, then one That travelleth by-wayes:

Perhaps my God, though he be farre before, May turn, and take me by the hand, and more May strengthen my decayes.

Yet Lord instruct us to improve our fast By starving sinne and taking such repast.

As may our faults ^ controll: That ev'ry man may revell at his doore. Not in his parlour; banquetting the poore,^

And among those his soul.

OWEET day, so cool, so calm, so bright, ^ The bridall of the earth and skie: The dew shall weep thy fall to night;

Sweet rose, whose hue angrie and brave Bids the rash gazer wipe his eye Thy root is ever in its ^ grave,

Sweet spring, full of sweet dayes and roses, A box where sweets compacted lie; My musick shows ye have your closes. And all must die.

Onely a sweet and vertuous soul. Like seasoned timber, never gives; But though the whole world turn to coal. Then chiefly lives.

T KNOW the wayes of learning; both the head And pipes that feed the presse, and make it runne;

What reason hath from nature borrowed,^ Or of it self, like a good huswife, spunne In laws and policie; what the starres conspire, What willing nature speaks, what forc'd by fire; Both th' old discoveries, and the new-found seas. The stock and surplus, cause and historie: All these stand open, or I have the keyes: Yet I love thee.

I know the wayes of honour, what maintains The quick returns of courtesie and wit: In vies of favours whether partie gains. When glorie swells the heart, and moldeth it To all expressions both of hand and eye. Which on the world a true-love-knot may tie, And bear the bundle, wheresoe're it goes: How many drammes of spirit there must be To sell my life unto my friends or foes: Yet I love thee.

I know the wayes of pleasure, the sweet strains. The lullings and the relishes of it; The propositions of hot bloud and brains; What mirth and musick mean; what love and wit

Have done these twentie ^ hundred yeares, and more:

I 2 know the projects of unbridled store: My stufFe is flesh, not brasse; my senses live, And grumble oft, that they have more in me Then he that curbs them, being but one to five: Yet I love thee.

I know all these, and have them in my hand: Therefore not sealed,^ but with open eyes I flie to thee, and fully understand Both the main sale, and the commodities;• And at what rate and price I have thy love; With all the circumstances that may move: Yet through the ^ labyrinths, not my groveling wit,

But thy silk twist let down from heav'n to me, Did both conduct and teach me, how by it To climbe to thee.

T> ROKEN in pieces all asunder,

Once a poore creature, now a wonder,^ A wonder tortur'd in the space Betwixt this world and that of grace.

My thoughts are all a case of knives, Wounding my heart With scatter'd smart. As watring pots give flowers their lives. Nothing their furie can controll. While they do wound and prick ^ my soul.

All my attendants are at strife. Quitting their place Unto my face: Nothing performs the task of life:

The elements are let loose to light. And while I live, trie out their right.

Oh help, my God! let not their plot Kill them and me, And also thee. Who art my life: dissolve the knot. As the sunne scatters by his light All the rebellions of the night.

Then shall those powers, which work for grief, Enter thy pay, And day by day Labour thy praise, and my relief;

With care and courage building me,

Till I reach heav'n, and much more thee.

My God, I heard this day, That none doth build ^ a stately habitation, But he that means to dwell therein. What house more stately hath there been. Or can be, then is Man? to whose creation All things are in decay.

For Man is ev'ry thing, And more: He is a tree, yet bears no fruit; ^ A beast, yet is, or should be more: Reason and speech we onely bring. Parrats may thank us, if they are not mute, They go upon the score.

Man is all symmetric. Full of proportions, one limbe to another. And all to all the world besides: Each part may call the farthest, brother: For head v/ith foot hath private amitie. And both with moons and tides.

Nothing hath got so farre, But Man hath ^ caught and kept it, as his prey. His eyes dismount the highest starre: He is in little all the sphere. Herbs gladly cure our flesh; because that they Finde their acquaintance there.

For us the windes do blow, The earth doth rest, heav'n move, and fountains flow.2

Nothing we see, but means our good. As our delight^ or as our treasure: The whole is, either our cupboard of food^ Or cabinet pleasure.

The starres have us to bed; Night draws the curtain, which the sunne withdraws;

Musick and light attend our head. All things unto our Jlesh are kinde In their descent and being; to our m 'lnde In their ascent and cause.

Each thing is full of dutie: Waters united are our navigation; Distinguished, our habitation; Below, our drink; above, our meat; Both are our cleanlinesse. Hath one such beautie? ^

Then how are all things neat?

More servants wait on Man, Then he'l take notice of: in ev'ry path

He treads down that which doth befriend him. When sicknesse makes him pale and wan. Oh mightie love! Man is one world, and hath Another to attend him.

Since then, my God, thou hast So brave a Palace built; O dwell in it. That it may dwell with thee at last! Till then, afford us so much wit; That, as the world serves us, we may serve thee, And both thy servants be.^

Chor. pRAISED be the God of love, ^ Men, Here below.

Cho, Who hath dealt his mercies so, •Ang, To his friend. Men. And to his foe;

Cho, That both grace and glorie tend Ang, Us of old. Men, And us in th' end.

Cho, The great shepherd of the fold Ang, Us did make. Men, For us was sold.

Cho, He our foes in pieces brake;

Men. And him we take. Cho. Wherefore since that he is such,

Cho. Lord, thy praises should be more.^ Men. We have none, j^ng. And we no store. ^

Cho. Praised be the God alone,

Who hath made of two folds one.

T ORD, make me coy and tender to offend; In friendship, first I think, if that agree, Which I intend. Unto my friends intent and end. I would not use a friend, as I use Thee.

If any touch my friend, or his good name; It is my honour and my love to free

His blasted ^ fame From the least spot or thought of blame I could not use a friend, as I use Thee.

My friend may spit upon my curious fioore: Would he have gold? I lend it instantly;

But let the poore, And thou within them starve at doore. I cannot use a friend, as I use Thee.

When that my friend pretendeth to a place, I quit my interest, and leave it free:

But when thy grace Sues for ray heart, I thee displace, Nor would I use a friend, as I use Thee.

Yet can a friend what thou hast done fulfill? O write in brasse. My God upon a tree His hloud did spill Onely to purchase my good-^ill: Tet use I not my foes, as I use thee.

T MADE a posie, while the day ran by:

Here will I smell my remnant out, and tie My life within this band. But time did becken to the flowers, and they By noon most cunningly did steal away.

My hand was next to them, and then my heart: I took, without more thinking, in good part

Times gentle admonition: Who did so sweetly deaths sad taste convey, Making my minde to smell my fatall day;

Yet sugring the suspicion.

Farewell deare flowers, sweetly your time ye spent,

Fit, while ye liv'd, for smell or ornament.

And after death for curesc I follow straight without complaints or grief, Since if my sent be good, I care not, if

T>UT that Thou art my wisdome. Lord, ^ And both mine eyes are thine. My minde would be extreamly stirr'd For missing my designe.

Were it not better to bestow

Some place and power on me?

Then should thy praises with me grow. And share in my degree.

But when I thus dispute and grieve,

I do resume my fight. And pilfring what I once did give.

Disseize thee of thy right.

How know I, if thou shouldst me raise. That I should then raise thee?

Perhaps great places and thy praise Do not so well agree.

Wherefore unto my gift I stand;

I will no more advise: Onely do thou lend me a hand,

Since thou hast both mine eyes.

I CANNOT skill of these thy wayes. Lordy thou didst make me, yet thou ivoundest me; Lordy thou dost nvound me, yet thou dost relieve

Lord, thou relievest, yet I die hy thee:

ZiOrd, thou dost kill me, yet thou dost reprieve me.

But when I mark my life and praise, Thy justice me most fitly payes: For, / do praise thee, yet I praise thee not: My prayers mean thee, yet my prayers stray: I ivould do ivell, yet sinne the hand hath got: My soul doth love thee, yet it loves delay, I cannot skill of these my wayes.

TS^HO reade a chapter when they rise, ^ ^ Shall ne're be troubled with ill ^ eyes.

A poore mans rod, when thou dost ride, Is both a weapon and a guide. ^

Who shuts his hand, hath lost his gold: Who opens it, hath it twice told.

Who goes to bed and doth 1 not pray, Maketh two nights to ev'ry day.^

Who by aspersions throw a stone

At th' head ^ of others, hit their own.^

Who ^ looks on ground with humble eyes, Findes himself there, and seeks to rise.

When th' hair is sweet through pride or lust, The powder doth ^ forget the dust.

Take one from ten, and what remains? Ten still, if sermons go for gains. ^

In shallow waters heav'n doth show; But who drinks on, to hell may go.

My God, I read this day. That planted Paradise was not so firm, As was and is thy floting Ark; whose stay And anchor thou art onely, to confirm And strengthen it in ev'ry age. When waves do rise, and tempests rage.

At first we liv'd in pleasure; Thine own delights thou didst to us impart: When we grew wanton, thou didst use displeasure To make us thine: yet that we might not part. As we at first did board with thee, Now thou wouldst taste our miserie.

There is but joy and grief; If either will convert us, we are thine: Some Angels us' d the first; if our relief Take up the second, then thy double line And sev'rall baits in either kinde Furnish thy table to thy minde.

Affliction then is ours; We are the trees, whom shaking fastens more. While blustring windes destroy the wanton bowres.

And ruffle all their curious knots and store. My God, so temper joy and wo, That thy bright beams may tame thy bow.

How soon doth ^ man decay! When clothes are taken from a chest of sweets To swaddle infants, whose young breath

Scarce knows the way; Those clouts 2 are little winding sheets, Which do consigne and send them unto death.

When boyes go first to bed. They step into their voluntarie graves,

Sleep bindes them fast; onely their breath

Makes them not dead: Successive nights, like rolling waves, Convey them quickly, who are bound for death.

When youth is frank and free, And calls for musick, while his veins do swell, All day exchanging mirth and breath

In companie; That musick summons to the knell, Which shall befriend him at the house of death.

When man grows staid and wise. Getting a house and home, where he may move Within the circle of his breath.

Schooling his eyes; That dumbe inclosure maketh love Unto, the coffin, that attends his death.

When age grows low and weak, Marking his grave, and thawing ev'ry yeare, Till all do melt, and drown his breath

When he would speak; A chair or litter shows the biere. Which shall convey him to the house ^ of death*

Man, ere he is aware. Hath put together a solemnitie,

And drest his herse, while he has breath

As yet to spare: Yet Lord, instruct us so to die. That all these dyings may be life in death.

OWEET were the dayes, when thou didst ^ lodge with Lot, Struggle with Jacob, sit with Gideon, Advise with Abraham, when thy power could not Encounter Moses strong complaints and mone: Thy words were then. Let me alone

One might have sought and found thee presently At some fair oak, or bush, or cave, or well: Is my God this way? No, they would reply: He is to Sinai gone, as we heard tell:

List, ye may heare great Aarons bell.

But now thou dost thy self immure and close In some one corner of a feeble heart: Where yet both Sinne and Satan, thy old foes, Do pinch and straiten thee, and use much art To gain thy thirds and little part.

I see the world grows old, when as the heat Of thy great love once spread, as in an urn Doth closet up it self, and still retreat. Cold sinne still forcing it, till it return.

And calling Justice, all things burn.

Lord, let the Angels praise thy name. Man is a foolish thing, a foolish thing.

Folly and Sinne play all his game.^ His house still burns, and yet he still doth sing, Man is but grassCy He kno<ws it y Jill the glasse.

How canst thou brook his foolishnesse? Why he'l not lose a cup of drink for thee:

Bid him but temper his excesse; Not he: he knows, where he can better be, As he will swear, Then to serve thee in fear.

What strange pollutions doth he wed. And make his own? as if none knew, but he. No man shall beat into his head,

That thou within his curtains drawn canst see: ^ They are of cloth, Where never yet came moth.

The best of men, turn but thy hand For one poore minute, stumble at a pinne:

They would not have their actions scann'd, Nor any sorrow tell them that they sinne. Though it be small. And measure not their fall.

They quarrell thee, and would give over The bargain made to serve thee: but thy love

Holds them unto it, and doth cover Their follies with the wing ^ of thy milde Dove, Not suffering those Who would, to be thy foes.

My God, Man cannot praise thy name: Thou art all brightnesse, perfect puritie;

The sunne holds down his head for shame. Dead with eclipses, when we speak of thee: How shall infection Presume on thy perfection?

As dirtie hands foul all they touch, And those things most, which are most pure and fine;

So our clay hearts, ev'n when we crouch To sing thy praises, make them lesse divine. Yet either this. Or none thy portion is.

Man ^ cannot serve thee; let him go, And serve the swine: there, there is his delight:

He doth not like this vertue, no; Give him his dirt to wallow in all night: These Preachers make His head to shoot and ake.

Oh foolish man! where are thine eyes? How hast thou lost them in a croud of cares?

Thou pull'st the rug,^ and wilt not rise, No not to purchase the whole pack of starres: There let them shine, Thou must go sleep, or dine.

The bird that sees a daintie bowre Made in the tree, where she was wont to sit.

Wonders and sings, but not his power Who made the arbour: this exceeds her wit. But Man doth know The spring, whence all things flow:

And yet as though he knew it not. His knowledge winks, and lets his humours reigne; They make his life a constant blot.