The Temple

And all the bloud of God to run in vain.

Ah wretch! what verse Can thy strange wayes rehearse?

Indeed at first Man was a treasure,

A ring, whose posie was, My pleasure: He was a garden in a Paradise: Glorie and grace Did crown his heart and face.

But sinne hath fool'd him. Now he is A lump of flesh, without a foot or wing

To raise him to the ^ glimpse of blisse: A sick toss'd vessel, dashing on each thing;

"T^THEN first my lines ^ of heavenly joyes

^ ^ made mention. Such was their lustre, they did so excell, That I sought out quaint words, and trim invention;

A box of jewels, shop of rarities,

My thoughts began to burnish,^ sprout,^ and swell, Curling with metaphors a plain intention, Decking ^ the sense, as if it were to sell.

Thousands of notions in my brain did runne,

OfPring their service, if I were not sped:

I often blotted what I had begunne;

This was not quick enough, and that was dead.

Nothing could seem too rich to clothe the sunne,

Much lesse those joyes which trample on his head.

As ^ flames do work and winde, when they ascend, So did I weave my self into the sense. But while I bustled, I might heare a friend Whisper, Ho^ ivide is all this long pretence I There is in love a sweetness e readie penn d: Copie out onely that^ and save expense*

Of what an easie quick accesse, My blessed Lord, art thou! ^ how suddenly May our requests thine eare ^ invade!

To shew that state dislikes not easinesse. If I but lift mine eyes, my suit is made: Thou canst no more not heare, then thou canst die.

Of what supreme almightie power Is thy great arm which spans the east and west,

And tacks the centre to the sphere! By it do all things live their measur'd ^ houre: We cannot ask the thing, which is not there, Blaming the shallownesse of our request.

Of what unmeasureable love Art thou possest, who, when thou couldst not die,

Wert fain to take our flesh and curse. And for our sakes in person sinne reprove. That by destroying that which ty'd thy purse, Thou mightst make way for liberalitie!

Since then these three wait on thy throne, Ease^ Power, and Love; I value prayer so,

That were I to leave all but one. Wealth, fame, endowments, vertues, all should go; I and deare prayer would together dwell. And quickly gain, for each inch lost, an ell.

My God, if writings may Convey a Lordship any way Whither the buyer and the seller please;

Let it not thee displease, If this poore paper do as much as they.

On it my heart doth bleed As many lines^ as there doth need ^ To passe it self and all it hath to thee,

To which I do agree, And here present it as my speciall deed.

If that hereafter Pleasure Cavill, and claim her part and measure, As if this passed with a reservation,

Or some such words in fashion; I here exclude ^ the wrangler from thy treasure.

O let thy sacred will All thy delight in me fulfill! Let me not think an action mine own way,

But as thy love shall sway, Resigning up the rudder to thy skill.

Lord, what h man to thee, That thou shouldst minde a rotten tree? Yet since thou canst not choose but see my actions,

So great are thy perfections, Thou mayst as well my actions guide, as see.

Besides, thy death and bloud Show'd a strange love to all our good: Thy sorrows were in earnest; no faint proffer,

Or superficial! offer Of what we might not take, or be withstood.

Wherefore I all forego: To one word onely I say. No;

Where in the deed there was an intimation

Of a gift or donation^ Lord, let it now by way o{ purchase go.

He that will passe his land, As I have mine, may set his hand And heart unto this deed, when he hath ^ read;

And make the purchase spread To both our goods, if he to it will stand.

How happie were my part, If some kinde man would thrust his heart Into these lines; till in heav'ns court of rolls

They were by winged souls Entred for both, farre above their desert!

Peace pratler, do not lowre: Not a fair look, but thou dost call it foul: Not a sweet dish, but thou dost call it sowre: Musick to thee doth howl. By listning to thy chatting fears I have both lost mine eyes and eares.

Pratler, no more, I say: My thoughts must work, but like a noiselesse sphere;

Harmonious peace must rock them all the day: No room for pratlers there. If thou persistest, I will tell thee, That I have physick to expell thee.

And the receit shall be My Saviours bloud: when ever at his board I do but taste it, straight it cleanseth me, And leaves thee not a word; No, not a tooth or nail to scratch. And at my actions carp, or catch.

Yet if thou talkest still. Besides my physick, know there's some for thee: Some wood and nails to make a stafFe or bill For those that trouble me: The bloudie crosse of my deare Lord Is both my physick and my sword.

LORD, with what glorie wast thou serv'd of old.

When Solomons temple stood and flourished!

Where most things were of purest gold;

The wood was all embellished With flowers and carvings, mysticall and rare: All showed the builders, crav'd the seers care.

Yet all this glorie, all this pomp and state Did not affect thee much, was not thy aim;

Something there was, that sow'd debate: Wherefore thou quitt'st thy ancient claim:

And now thy Architecture meets with sinne;

For all thy frame and fabrick is within.

There thou art struggling with a peevish heart, Which sometimes crosseth thee, thou sometimesit:

The fight is hard on either part.

Great God doth fight, he doth submit. All Solomons sea of brasse and world of stone Is not so deare to thee as one good grone.

And truly brasse and stones are heavie things,

Tombes for the dead, not temples fit for thee: But grones are quick, and full of wings, And all their motions upward be;

And ever as they mount, like larks they sing;

The note is sad, yet musick for a king.

/^OME Lord, my head doth burn, my heart ^ is sick,

While thou dost ever, ever stay: Thy long deferrings wound me to the quick. My spirit gaspeth night and day. O show thy self to me. Or take me up to thee!

How canst thou stay, considering the pace

The bloud did make, which thou didst waste?

When I behold it trickling down thy face, I never saw thing make such haste. O show thy self to me, Or take me up to thee!

When man was lost, thy pitie lookt about

To see what heJp in th' earth or skie:

But there was none; at least no help without: The help did in thy bosome lie.

There lay thy sonne: and must he leave that nest. That hive of sweetnesse, to remove

Thraldome from those, who would not at a feast Leave one poore apple for thy love? O show thy, Sec,

He did, he came: O my Redeemer deare. After all this canst thou be strange?

So many yeares baptizM, and not appeare?

As if thy love could fail or change.

Yet if thou stayest still, why must I stay?

My God, what is this world to me? This world of wo? hence all ye clouds, away,

Away; I must get up and see.

What is this weary world; this meat and drink, That chains us by the teeth so fast?

What is this woman-kinde, which I can wink Into a blacknesse and distaste?

With one small sigh thou gav'st me th' other day

I blasted all the joyes about me: And scouling on them as they pin'd away,

Now come again, said I, and flout me. O show thy self to me, Or take me up to thee!

Nothing but drought and dearth, but bush and brake.

Which way so-e're I look, I see. Some may dream merrily, but when they wake. They dresse themselves and come to thee.

We talk of harvests; there are no such things. But when we leave our corn and hay:

There is no fruitfull yeare, but that which brings The last and lov'd, though dreadfull day.

Oh loose this frame, this knot of man untie!

That my free soul may use her wing. Which now is pinion'd with mortalitie,

What have I left, that I should stay and gronc;

The most of me to heav'n is fled: My thoughts and joyes are all packt up and gone.

And for their old acquaintance plead.

Come dearest Lord, passe not this holy season, My flesh and bones and joynts do pray: And ev'n my verse, when by the ryme and reason The word is, Siay,^ sayes ever. Come, O show thy self to me, Or take me up to thee!

T JOY, deare Mother, when I view ^ Thy perfect lineaments, and hue

Beautie in thee takes up her place, And dates her letters from thy face.

A fine aspect in fit array,

Neither too mean, nor yet too gay,

Outlandish looks may not compare: For all they either painted are.

She on the hills, which wantonly Allureth all, in hope to be

Hath kiss'd so long her painted shrines, That ev'n her face by kissing shines. For her reward.

She in the valley is so shie Of dressing, that her hair doth lie About her eares:

While she avoids her neighbours pride, She wholly goes on th' other side.

But dearest Mother, (what those misse) The mean thy praise and glorie is, And long may be.

Blessed be God, whose love it was To double-moat thee with his grace, And none but thee.

' I ^HE merrie world did on a day

^ With his train-bands and mates agr To meet together, where I lay, And all in sport to geere at me.

First, Beautie crept into a rose. Which when I pluckt not, Sir, said she. Tell me, I pray, Whose hands are those But thou shalt answer, Lord, for me.^

Then Money came, and chinking still, What tune is this, poore man? said he: I heard in Musick you had skill. But thou shalt answer. Lord, for me.

Then came brave Glorie puffing by In silks that whistled, who but he? He scarce allowM me half an eie. But thou shalt answer, Lord, for me.

Then came quick Wit and Conversation, And he would needs a comfort be. And, to be short, make an oration. But thou shalt answer. Lord, for me.

Yet when the houre of thy designe To answer these fine things shall come; Speak not at large, say, I am thine: And then they have their answer home.

poo RE silly soul, whose hope and head lies low;

Whose flat delights on earth do creep and grow; To whom the starres shine not so fair, as eyes; Nor solid work, as false embroyderies; Heark and beware, lest what you now do measure And write for sweet, prove a most sowre displeasure.

O heare betimes, lest thy relenting May come too late!

To purchase heaven for repenting. Is no hard rate.

If souls be made of earthly mold. Let them love gold;

If born on high, Let them unto their kindred flie: For they can never be at rest, Till they regain their ancient nest. Then silly soul take heed; for earthly joy Is but a bubble, and makes thee a boy.

A WAKE sad heart, whom sorrow ever drowns;

Take up thine eyes, which feed on earth; Unfold thy forehead gathered into frowns: Thy Saviour comes, and with him mirth: Awake, awake; And with a thankfull heart his comforts take. But thou dost still lament, and pine, and crie;

And feel his death, but not his victorie.

Arise sad heart; if thou dost not withstand,

Christs resurrection thine may be: Do not by hanging down break from the hand. Which as it riseth, raiseth thee: Arise, arise; And with his buriall-linen drie thine eyes: Christ left his grave-clothes, that we might, when grief

Draws tears, or bloud, not want an handkerchief.

JESU is in my heart, his sacred name Is deeply carved there: but th' other week A great affliction broke the little frame, Ev'n all to pieces: which I went to seek: And first I found the corner, where was t/, After, where E and next where U was graved. When I had got these parcels, instantly I sat me down to spell them, and perceived That to my broken heart he was I ea^e you^

And to my whole is JE S U.

ANST be idle? canst thou play, ^ Foolish soul who sinn'd to day?

Rivers run, and springs each one Know their home, and get them gone: Hast thou tears, or hast thou none?

If, poore soul, thou hast no tears; Would thou hadst no faults or fears! Who hath these, those ill forbears.

Windes still work: it is their plot,

Be the season cold, or hot:

Hast thou sighs, or hast thou not?

If thou hast no sighs or grones, Would thou hadst no flesh and bones! Lesser pains scape greater ones.

Foolish soul, Who di'd for thee?

Who did leave his Fathers throne To assume thy flesh and bone; Had he life, or had he none?

If he had not liv'd for thee. Thou hadst di'd most wretchedly; And two deaths had been thy fee.

He so farre thy good did plot, That his own self he forgot. Did he die, or did he not?

If he had not di'd for thee. Thou hadst liv'd in miserie. Two lives worse then ten deaths be.

And hath any space ^ of breath 'Twixt his sinnes and Saviours death?

He that loseth gold, though drosse, Tells to all he meets, his crosse: He that sinnes, hath he no losse?

He that findes a silver vein, Thinks on it, and thinks again; Brings thy Saviours death no gain?

Who in heart not ever kneels, Neither sinne nor Saviour feels.

CWEETEST Saviour, if my soul ^ Were but worth the having. Quickly should I then controll

Any thought of waving. But when all my care and pains Cannot give the name of gains To thy wretch so full of stains; What delight or hope remains?

What ( childe^ is the hallance thine, Thine the poise and measure P

If I say, Thou shalt be mine; ^ Finger not my treasure.

What the gains in having thee

Who for man 'was sold, can see;

But as I can see no merit. Leading to this favour;

So the way to fit me for it. Is beyond my savour.

As the reason then is thine 5 So the way is none of mine: I disclaim the whole designe: Sinne disclaims and I resigne.

That IS all, if that I could

Get without repining; And my clay my creature ivould

Folloiv my resigning. That as I did freely part With my glorie and desert. Left all joy es to feel all smart — l^^fT'HY do I languish thus, drooping and dull,

^ ^ As if I were all earth?

O give me quicknesse, that I may with mirth Praise thee brim-full!

The wanton lover in a curious strain

Can praise his fairest fair; And with quaint metaphors her curled hair Curl o're again.

Thou art my lovelinesse, my life, my light,

Beautie alone to me: Thy bloudy death and undeserv'd, makes thee Pure red and white.

When all perfections as but one appeare,

That those thy form doth show, The very dust, where thou dost tread and go. Makes beauties here;

Where are my lines then? my approaches? views?

Where are my window-songs? Lovers are still pretending, and ev'n wrongs Sharpen their Muse:

But I am lost in flesh, whose sugred lyes

Still mock me, and grow bold: Sure thou didst put a minde there, if I could Finde where it lies.

Lord, cleare thy gift, that with a constant wit

I may but look towards thee: Look onely; for to lo've thee, who can be. What angel lit?

A S on a window late I cast mine eye,

I saw a vine drop grapes with J and C Anneal'd on every bunch. One standing by Ask'd what it meant. I (who am never loth To spend my iudgement) said, It seem'd to me To be the bodie and the letters both Of Joy and Charitie. Sir, you have not miss'd. The man reply'd; It figures JESUS CHRIST.

OS AC RED Providence, who from end to end

Strongly and sweetly mo vest! ^ shall I write, And not of thee, through whom my fingers bend To hold my quill? shall they not do thee right?

Of all the creatures both in sea and land Onely to Man thou hast made known thy wayes, And put the penne alone into his hand. And made him Secretarie ^ of thy praise.

Beasts fain would sing; birds dittie to their notes; Trees would be tuning on their native lute To thy renown: but all their hands and throats Are brought to Man, while they are lame and mute.

Man is the worlds high Priest: he doth present The sacrifice for all; while they below Unto the service mutter an assent. Such as springs use that fall, and windes that blow.

He that to praise and laud thee doth refrain, Doth not refrain unto himself alone,

But robs a thousand who would praise thee fain, And doth commit a world of sinne in one.

The beasts say, Eat me: but, if beasts must teach. The tongue is yours to eat, but mine to praise. The trees say. Pull me: but the hand you stretch. Is mine to write, as it is yours to raise.

Wherefore, most sacred Spirit, I here present For me and all my fellows praise to thee: And just it is that I should pay the rent. Because the benefit accrues to me.

We all acknowledge both thy power and love To be exact, transcendent, and divine; Who dost so strongly and so sweetly move. While all things have their will, yet none but thine.

For either thy command^ or thy permission Lay hands on all: they are thy right and left. The first puts on with speed and expedition; The other curbs sinnes stealing pace and theft.

Nothing escapes them both; all must appeare. And be dispos'd, and dress'd, and tunM by thee. Who sweetly temper' st all. If we could heare Thy skill and art, what musick would it be!

Thou art in small things great, not small in any: Thy even praise can neither rise, nor fall. Thou art in all things one, in each thing many: For thou art infinite in one and all. ^

Tempests are calm to thee; they know thy hand, And hold it fast, as children do their fathers. Which crie and follow. Thou hast made poore sand

Check the proud sea, ev^n when it swells and gathers.

Thy cupboard serves the world: the meat is set. Where all may reach: no beast but knows his feed.

Birds teach us hawking; fishes have their net: The great prey on the lesse, they on some weed.

Nothing ingendred doth prevent his meat: Flies have their table spread, ere they appeare. Some creatures have in winter what to eat; Others do sleep, and envie not their cheer.

How finely dost thou times and seasons spin. And make a twist checkered with night and day! Which as it lengthens windes, and windes us in. As bouls go on, but turning all the way.

Each creature hath a wisdome for his good. The pigeons feed their tender oif-spring, crying. When they are callow; but withdraw their food When they are fledge, that need may teach them flying.

Bees work for man; and yet they never bruise Their masters flower, but leave it, having done, As fair as ever, and as fit to use; So both the flower doth stay, and hony run.

Sheep eat the grasse, and dung the ground for more:

Trees after bearing drop their leaves for soil: Springs vent their streams, and by expense get store:

Clouds cool by heat, and baths by cooling boiL

Who hath the vertue to expresse the rare And curious vertues both of herbs and stones? Is there an herb for that? O that thy care Would show a root, that gives expressions!

And if an herb hath power, what have the starres? A rose, besides his beautie, is a cure. Doubtlesse our plagues and plentie, peace and war res

Are there much surer then our art is sure.

Thou hast hid metals: man may take them thence;

But at his perill: when he digs the place. He makes a grave; as if the thing had sense, And threatned man, that he should fill the space.

Ev'n poysons praise thee. Should a thing be lost?

Should creatures want for want of heed their due? Since where are poysons, antidots are most: The help stands close, and keeps the fear in view.

The sea, which seems to stop the traveller. Is by a ship the speedier passage made.

The windes, who think they rule the mariner, Are rulM by him, and taught to serve his trade*

And as thy house is full, so I adore Thy curious art in marshalling thy goods. The hills with health abound; the vales with store;

The South with marble; North with furres and woods.

Hard things are glorious; easie things good cheap.

The common all men have; that which is rare. Men therefore seek to have, and care to keep. The healthy frosts with summer-fruits compare.

Light without winde is glasse: warm without weight

Is wool] and furres: cool without closenesse, shade:

All countreys have enough to serve their need: If they seek fine things, thou dost make them run For their offence; and then dost turn their speed To be commerce and trade from sunne to sunne.

Nothing wears clothes, but Man; nothing doth need

But he to wear them. Nothing useth fire, But Man alone, to show his heav'nly breed: And onely he hath fuell in desire.

When th' earth was dry, thou mad'st a sea of wet:

When that lay gather'd, thou didst broach the mountains:

When yet some places could no moisture get, The windes grew gard'ners, and the clouds good fountains.

Rain, do not hurt my flowers; but gently spend

Your hony drops; presse not to smell them here:

When they are ripe, their odour will ascend. And at your lodging with their thanks appeare.

How harsh are thorns to pears! and yet they make

A better hedge, and need less reparation. How smooth are silks compared with a stake. Or with a stone! yet make no good foundation.

Sometimes thou dost divide thy gifts to man. Sometimes unite. The Indian nut alone Is clothing, meat and trencher, drink and kan, Boat, cable, sail and needle, all in one.

Most herbs that grow in brooks, are hot and dry.

Cold fruits warm kernells help against the winde.

The lemmons juice and rinde cure mutually. The whey of milk doth loose, the milk doth binde.

Thy creatures leap not, but expresse a feast, Where all the guests sit close, and nothing wants.

Frogs marry fish and flesh; bats, bird and beast; Sponges, non-sense and sense; mines, th' earth and plants.

To show thou art not bound, as if thy lot Were worse then ours; sometimes thou shiftest hands.

Most things move th' under-jaw; the Crocodile not.

Most things sleep lying; th' Elephant leans or stands.

But who hath praise enough? nay who hath any?

None can expresse thy works, but he that knows them:

And none can know thy works, which are so many.

And so complete, but onely he that owes them.

All things that are, though they have sev'rall wayes.

Yet in their being joyn with one advise To honour thee: and so I give thee praise In all my other hymnes, but in this twice.

Each thing that is, although in use and name It go for one, hath many wayes in store To honour thee; and so each hymne thy fame Extolleth many wayes, yet this one more.

T GAVE to Hope a watch of mine: but he ^ An anchor gave to me.

Then an old prayer-book I did present:

And he an optick sent. With that I gave a viall full of tears:

But he a few green eares: Ah Loyterer! I'le no more, no more Fie bring:

^ That my offences course it in a ring. My thoughts are working like a busie flame, Until] their cockatrice they hatch and bring: And when they once have perfected their draughts.

My words take lire from my inflamed thoughts.

My words take fire from my inflamed thoughts. Which spit it forth like the Sicilian hill. They vent the wares, and passe them with their faults.

And by their breathing ventilate the ill.

But words suffice not, where are lewd intentions:

My hands do joyn to finish the inventions.

My hands do joyn to finish the inventions: And so my sinnes ascend three stories high, As Babel grew, before there were dissentions. Yet ill deeds loyter not; for they supplie New thoughts of sinning: wherefore, to my shame,

Ayf EETING with Time, slack thing, said I, Thy sithe is dull; whet it for shame.

No marvel! Sir, he did replie.

If it at length deserve some blame:

But where one man would have me grinde it, Twentie for one too sharp do finde it.

Perhaps some such of old did passe,

Who above all things lov'd this life;

To whom thy sithe a hatchet was,

Which now is but a pruning-knife.

Christs coming hath made man thy debter, Since by thy cutting he grows better.

And in his blessing thou art blest:

For where thou onely wert before

Thou art a gard'ner now, and more, An usher to convey our souls Beyond the utmost starres and poles.

And this is that makes life so long, While it detains us from our God. Ev'n pleasures here increase the wrong, And length of dayes lengthen the rod.

Who wants the place, where God doth dwell,

Partakes already half of hell.

Of what strange length must that needs be. Which ev'n eternitie excludes! Thus farre Time heard me patiently: Then chafing said, This man deludes:

What do I hear before his doore?

He doth not crave lesse time, but more.

'TpHOU that hast giv'n so much to me,

^ Give one thing more, a gratefull heart,^ See how thy beggar works on thee By art.

He makes thy gifts occasion more. And sayes. If he in this be crost, All thou hast giv'n him heretofore Is lost.

But thou didst reckon, when at first Thy word our hearts and hands did crave, What it would come to at the worst To save.

Perpetual! knockings at thy doore, Tears sullying thy transparent rooms, Gift upon gift, much would have more, And comes.

This not withstanding, thou wentst on, And didst allow us all our noise: Nay thou hast made a sigh and grone Thy joyes.

Not that thou hast not still above Much better tunes, then grones can make; But that these countrey -aires thy love Did take.

Wherefore I crie, and crie again; And in no quiet canst thou be. Till I a thankfull heart obtain Of thee:

Not thankfull, when it pleaseth me; As if thy blessings had spare dayes: But such a heart, whose pulse may be Thy praise.

OWEET Peace, where dost thou dwell? ^ humbly crave,

Let me once know. I sought thee in a secret cave. And ask'd, if Peace were there. A hollow winde did seem to answer. No:

I did; and going did a rainbow note:

Surely, thought I, This is the lace of Peaces coat; I will search out the matter. But while I lookt, the clouds immediately

Then went I to a garden, and did spy A gallant flower, The crown Imperial 1: Sure, said I, Peace at the root must dwell. But when I digg'd, I saw a worm devoure

At length I met a rev'rend good old man.

Whom when for Peace I did demand; he thus began; There was a Prince of old At Salem dwelt, who liv'd with good increase Of flock and fold.

He sweetly liv'd; yet sweetnesse did not save His life from foes. But after death out of his grave There sprang twelve stalks of wheat; Which many wondring at, got some of those To plant and set.

It prospered strangely, and did soon disperse Through all the earth: For they that taste it do rehearse, That vertue lies therein, A secret vertue bringing peace and mirth By flight of sinne.

Take of this grain, which in my garden grows, And grows for you; Make bread of it: and that repose And peace which ev'ry where With so much earnestnesse you do pursue Is onely there.

O WHAT a cunning guest Is this same grief! within my heart I made

Closets; and in them many a chest;

And like a master in my trade, In those chests, boxes; in each box, a till: Yet grief knows all, and enters when he will.

No scrue, no piercer can Into a piece of timber work and winde, As Gods afflictions into man. When he a torture hath design'd. They are too subtill for the subt'llest hearts; And fall, like rheumes, upon the tendrest parts.

We are the earth; and they. Like moles within us, heave, and cast about; And till they foot and clutch their prey. They never cool, much lesse give out. No smith can make such locks, but they have keyes:

Closets are halls to them; and hearts, highwayes.

Onely an open breast Doth shut them out, so that they cannot enter; Or, if they enter, cannot rest, But quickly seek some new adventure. Smooth open hearts no fastning have; but fiction Doth give a hold and handle to affliction.

Wherefore my faults and sinnes, Lord, I acknowledge; take thy plagues away: For since confession pardon winnes, I challenge here the brightest day, The clearest diamond: let them do their best, They shall be thick and cloudie to my breast.

/^H, what a thing is man! how farre from power.

From setled peace and rest! He is some twentie sev'rall men at least Each sev'rall houre.

One while he counts of heav'n, as of his treasure:

But then a thought creeps in. And calls him coward, who for fear of sinne

Now he will fight it out, and to the warres;

Now eat his bread in peace. And snudge ^ in quiet: now he scorns increase 5

He builds a house, which quickly down must

As if a whirlwinde blew And crusht the building: and it's partly true, His minde is so.

O what a sight were Man, if his attires Did alter with his minde;

And like a Dolphins skinne, his clothes combined With his desires!

Surely if each one saw anothers heart,

There would be no commerce.

No sale or bargain passe: all would disperse. And live apart.

Lord, mend or rather make us: one creation

Will not suffice our turn: Except thou make us dayly, we shall spurn

JOY, I did lock thee up: but some bad man Hath let thee out again: And now, me thinks, I am where I began Sev'n yeares ago: one vogue and vein, One aire of thoughts usurps my brain. I did toward Canaan draw; but now I am Brought back to the Red sea, the sea of shame.

For as the Jews of old by Gods command

Traveird, and saw no town: So now each Christian hath his journeys spann'd:

Their storie pennes and sets us down.

A single deed is small renown. Gods works are wide, and let in future times; His ancient justice overflows our crimes.

Then have we too our guardian fires and clouds;

Our Scripture-dew drops fast: We have our sands and serpents, tents and shrowds;

Alas! our murmurings come not last.

But where' s the cluster? where' s the taste Of mine inheritance? Lord, if I must borrow, Let me as well take up their joy, as sorrow.

But can he want the grape, who hath the wine?

I have their fruit and more. Blessed be God, who prospered Noahs vine,

And made it bring forth grapes good store. But much more him I must adore, Who of the laws sowre juice sweet wine did make,

Ev'n God himself, being pressed for my sake.

T^EARE Friend, sit down, the tale is long and sad:

And in my faintings I presume your loue Will more complie, then help. A Lord I had,

And have, of whom some grounds which may improve,

I hold for two lives, and both lives in me. To him I brought a dish of fruit one day, And in the middle plac'd my heart. But he

(I sigh to say) Lookt on. a seruant, who did know his eye Better then you know me, or (which is one) Then I my self. The servant instantly Quitting the fruit, seiz'd on my heart alone. And threw it in a font, wherein did fall A stream of bloud, which issu'd from the side Of a great rock: I well remember all. And have good cause: there it was dipt and di'd.

And washt, and wrung: the very wringing yet Enforceth tears. Tour heart <zvas foul, I fear. Indeed 'tis true. I did and do commit Many a fault more then my lease will bear; Yet still askt pardon, and was not deni'd. But you shall heare. After my heart was well, And clean and fair, as I one even-tide

(I sigh to tell) Walkt by my self abroad, I saw a large And spacious fornace flaming, and thereon A boyling caldron, round about whose verge Was in great letters set AFFLICTION. The greatnesse shewM the owner. So I went To fetch a sacrifice out of my fold. Thinking with that, which I did thus present. To warm his love, which I did fear grew cold. But as my heart did tender it, the man Who was to take it from me, slipt his hand.

And threw my heart into the scalding pan; My heart, that brought it (do you understand?) The offerers heart. Tour heart luas hardy I fear.

Indeed 'tis true. I found a callous matter Began to spread and to expatiate there: But with a richer drug, then scalding water, I bath'd it often, ev'n with holy bloud, Which at a board, while many drunk bare wine, A friend did steal into my cup for good, Ev'n taken inwardly, and most divine To supple hardnesses. But at the length Out of the caldron getting, soon I fled Unto my house, where to repair the strength Which I had lost, I hasted to my bed. But when I thought to sleep out all these faults

(I sigh to speak) I found that some had stuff' d the bed with thoughts,

I would say thorns. Deare, could my heart not break.

When with my pleasures ev'n my rest was gone? Full well I understood, who had been there: For I had giv'n the key to none, but one: It must be he. Tour heart <was dull^ I fear. Indeed a slack and sleepie state of minde Did oft possesse me, so that when I pray'd. Though my lips went, my heart did stay behinde.

But all my scores were by another paid, Who took the debt upon him. Truly^ Friendy For ought I heare, your Master shoivs to you More favour then you ivot of Mark the end.

The Font did onely^ ^what <was old, reneiv. The Caldron suppled, ^what ivas groivn too hard: The Thorns did quicken, ivhat was groivn too dull:

All did hut strive to mend, ivhat you had marred. Wherefore be cheered, and praise him to the full Each day, each houre, each moment of the <week, Who fain ivould have you he, new, tender, quick,.

tJEARK, how the birds do sing, And woods do ring. All creatures have their joy: and man hath his. Yet if we rightly measure,

Mans joy and pleasure Rather hereafter, then in present, is.

To this life things of sense

Make their pretence: In th' other Angels have a right by birth: Man ties them both alone.

And makes them one. With th' one hand touching heav'n, with th' other earth.

In soul he mounts and flies. In flesh he dies. He wears a stufFe whose thread is coarse and round,

But trimm'd with curious lace. And should take place After the trimming, not the stuffe and ground.

Not, that he may not here

Taste of the cheer, But as birds drink, and straight lift up their head, So must he sip and think. Of better drink

He may attain to, after he is dead.

But as his joyes are double;

So is his trouble. He hath two winters, other things but one: Both frosts and thoughts do nip. And bite his lip; And he of all things fears two deaths alone.

Yet ev'n the greatest griefs May be reliefs, Could he but take them right, and in their wayes. Happie is he, whose heart

Hath found the art To turn his double pains to double praise.

T F as the windes and waters here below ^ Do flie and flow.

My sighs and tears as busie were above;

Sure they would move And much affect thee, as tempestuous times Amaze poore mortals, and object ^ their crimes.

Starres have tneir storms, ev'n in a high degree, As well as we.

A throbbing conscience spurred by remorse

It quits the earth, and mounting more and more^

Dares to assault thee, and besiege thy doore.

There it stands knocking, to thy musicks wrong. And drowns the song. Glorie and honour are set by till it

An answer get. Poets have wrong'd poore storms: such dayes are best;

They purge the aire without, within the breast.

T BLESSE thee, Lord, because i grow ^ Among thy trees, which in a row To thee both fruit and order o w.

What open force, or hidden charm Can blast my fruit, or bring me harm. While the inclosure is thine arm?

Inclose me still for fear I start. Be to me rather sharp and tart. Then let me want thy hand and art.

When thou dost greater judgements spare, And with thy knife but prune and pare, Ev'n fruitfull trees more fruitfull are.

Such sharpnes shows the sweetest f r e n d Such cuttings rather heal then rend: And such beginnings touch their end.

PoORE heart, lament. For since thy God refuseth still, There is some rub, some discontent.

Thy Father could Quickly effect, what thou dost move; For he is Poiver*: and sure he <ivould\

Go search this thing, Tumble thy breast, and turn thy book. If thou hadst lost a glove or ring,

What do I see Written above there? Yesterday I did heha'oe me carelesly.

And should Gods eare To such indifferents chained be, Who do not their own motions heare?

But stay! what's there I Late IV hen I ^ould have something done, I had a motion to forbear^

And should Gods eare, Which needs not man, be ty'd to those Who heare not him, but quickly heare

Then once more pray: Down with thy knees, up with thy voice. Seek pardon first, and God will say,

A S men, for fear the starres should sleep and ^ nod.

And trip at night, have spheres suppli'd; As if a starre were duller then a clod.

Which knows his way without a guide:

Just so the other heav'n they also serve.

Divinities transcendent skie: Which with the edge of wit they cut and carve.

Reason triumphs, and faith lies by.

Could not that wisdome, which first broacht the wine.

Have thicken'd it with definitions? And jagg' d his seamlesse coat, had that been fine.

With curious questions and divisions?

But all the doctrine, which he taught and gave, Was cleare as heav'n, from whence it came.

At least those beams of truth, which onely save, Surpasse in brightnesse any flame.

Lo've God, and love your neighbour. Watch and pray.

Do as ye <would he done unto. O dark instructions; ev'n as dark as day! Who can these Gordian knots undo?

But he doth bid us take his bloud for wine.

Bid what he please; yet I am sure. To take and taste what he doth there designe,

Is all that saves, and not obscure.

Then burn thy Epicycles, foolish man;

Break all thy spheres, and save thy head. Faith needs no stafl^e of flesh, but stoutly can

To heav'n alone both go, and leade.

Grieve not the Holy Spirit, ksfc

A ND art thou grieved, sweet and sacred ^ Dove,

When I am sowre, And crosse thy love? Grieved for me? the God of strength and power Griev'd for a worm, which when I tread, I passe away and leave it dead?

Then weep mine eyes, the God of love doth grieve:

Weep foolish heart. And weeping live: For death is drie as dust. Yet if ye part, End as the night, whose sable hue Your sinnes expresse; melt into dew.

When sawcie mirth shall knock or call at doore.

Cry out. Get hence. Or cry no more. Almightie God doth grieve, he puts on sense: I sinne not to my grief alone. But to my Gods too; he doth grone.

Oh take thy lute, and tune it to a strain. Which may with thee All day complain. There can no discord but in.ceasing be. Marbles can weep; and surely strings More bowels have, then such hard things.

Lord, I adjudge my self to tears and grief, Ev'n endlesse tears Without relief. If a cleare spring for me no time forbears, But runnes, although I be not drie; I am no Crystall, what shall I?

Yet if I wail not still, since still to wail Nature denies; And flesh would fail, If my deserts were masters of mine eyes:

Lord, pardon, for thy sonne makes good My want of tears with store of bloud.

ITfTHAT doth this noise of thoughts within ^ ^ my heart

As if they had a part? What do these loud complaints and puling fears, As if there were no rule or eares?

But, Lord, the house and familie are thine,

Though some of them repine. Turn out these wranglers, which defile thy seat: For where thou dwellest all is neat.

First Peace and Silence all disputes controll, Then Order plaies the soul; And giving all things their set forms and houres. Makes of wilde woods sweet walks and bowres.

Humble Obedience neare the doore doth stand.

Expecting a command: Then whom in waiting nothing seems more slow, Nothing more quick when she doth go.

Joyes oft are there, and griefs as oft as joyes;

But griefs without a noise: Yet speak they louder, then distemper'd fears. What is so shrill as silent tears?

This is thy house, with these it doth abound:

And where these are not found, Perhaps thou com'st sometimes, and for a day; But not to make a constant stay.

Content thee, greedie heart. Modest and moderate joyes to those, that have Title to more hereafter when they part, Are passing brave. Let th' upper springs into the low Descend and fall, and thou dost flow.

What though some have a fraught Of cloves and nutmegs, and in cinamon sail; If thou hast wherewithall to spice a draught, When griefs prevail; And for the future time art heir To th' Isle of spices? Is't not fair?

To be in both worlds full Is more then God was, who was hungrie here. Wouldst thou his laws of fasting disanull? Enact good cheer? Lay out thy joy, yet hope to save it? Wouldst thou both eat thy cake, and have it?

Great joyes are all at once; But little do reserve themselves for more: Those have their hopes; these what they have renounce,

And live on score: Those are at home; these journey still, And meet the rest on Sions hill.

Thy Saviour sentenc'd joy, And in the flesh condemn'd it as unfit. At least in lump: for such doth oft destroy; ^ Whereas a bit Doth tice us on to hopes of more. And for the present health restore.

A Christians state and case Is not a corpulent, but a thinne and spare, « Yet active strength: whose long and bonie face Content and care Do seem to equally divide. Like a pretender, not a bride.

Wherefore sit down, good heart;

Grasp not at much, for fear thou losest all.

If comforts fell according to desert,^

They would great frosts and snows destroy: For we should count. Since the last joy.

Then close again the seam, Which thou hast open'd: do not spread thy robe In hope of great things. Call to minde thy dream. An earthly globe, On whose meridian was engraven, These seas are tears ^ and heaven the haven •

A S I one ev'ning sat before my cell, ^ Me thoughts a starre did shoot into my lap* I rose, and shook my clothes, as knowing well, That from small fires comes oft not small mishap. When suddenly I heard one say. Do as thou usest^ disobey^ Expell good motions from thy hreasty Which have the face of fire^ hut end in rest,

I, who had heard of musick in the spheres. But not of speech in starres, began to muse: But turning to my God, whose ministers The starres and all things are; If I refuse. Dread Lord, said I, so oft my good; Then I refuse not ev'n with bloud To wash away my stubborn thought: For I will do, or suffer what I ought.

But I have also starres and shooters too. Born where thy servants both artilleries use. My tears and prayers night and day do wooe. And work up to thee; yet thou dost refuse.

Not, but I am (I must say still) Much more oblig'd to do thy will, Then thou to grant mine: but because Thy promise now hath ev'n set thee thv laws.

Then we are shooters both, and thou dost deigne To enter combate with us, and contest With thine own clay. But I would parley fain: Shunne not my arrows, and behold my breast.

Yet if thou shunnest^ I am thine: *

I must be so, if I am mine.

There is no articling with thee: I am but finite, yet thine infinitely.

"DRAVE rose, (alas I) where art thou? in the chair

Where thou didst lately so triumph and shine, A worm doth sit, whose many feet and hair Are the more foul, the more thou wert divine. This, this hath done it, this did bite the root And bottome of the leaves: which when the winde

Did once perceive, it blew them under foot. Where rude unhallow'd steps do crush and grinde

Their beauteous glories. Onely shreds of thee.

And those all bitten, in thy chair I see.

Why doth my Mother blush? is she the rose, And shows it so? Indeed Christs precious bloud Gave you a colour once; which when your foes Thought to let out, the bleeding did you good, And made you look much fresher then before. But when debates and fretting jealousies Did worm and work within you more and more, Your colour faded, and calamities

Turned your ruddie into pale and bleak: Your health and beautie both began to break.

Then did your sev'rall parts unloose and start: Which when your neighbours saw, like a northwinde.

They rushed in, and cast them in the dirt Where Pagans tread. O Mother deare and kinde.

Where shall I get me eyes enough to weep. As many eyes as starres? since it is night. And much of Asia and Europe fast asleep. And ev'n all Africk; would at least I might With these two poore ones lick up all the dew.

Which falls by night, and poure it out for you!

r\ DREADFUL L Justice, what a fright and terrour

Wast thou of old. When sinne and errour

Did show and shape thy looks to me. And through their glasse discolour thee!

He that did but look up, was proud and bold.

The dishes of thy ballance seem'd to gape. Like two great pits; The be^m and scape ^ Did like some tort'ring ^ engine show:

Thy hand above did burn and glow, Danting the stoutest hearts, the proudest wits.

But now that Christs pure vail presents the sight,

Thy hand is white, Thy scales like buckets, which attend And interchangeably descend. Lifting to heaven from this well of tears.

For where before thou still didst call on me, Now I still touch And harp on thee. Gods promises have made thee mine; Why should I justice now decline? Against me there is none, but for me much.

T TRAVELLED on, seeing the hill, where lay My expectation. A long it was and weary way. The gloomy cave of Desperation I left on th' one, and on the other side. The rock of Pride.

And so I came to phansies medow strow'd With many a flower: Fain would I here have made a"bode, But I was quicken'd by my houre. So to cares cops I came, and there got through With much ado.

That led me to the wilde of passion, which Some call the wold; A wasted place, but sometimes rich. Here I was robb'd of all my gold, Save one good Angell, which a friend had ti'd Close to my side.

At length I got unto the gladsome hill, Where lay my hope, Where lay my heart; and climbing still.

When I had gained the brow and top,

A lake of brackish waters on the ground Was all I found.

With that abash'd and struck with many a sting

Of swarming fears, I fell, and cry'd, Alas my King; Can both the way and end be tears i Yet taking heart I rose, and then perceived

My hill was further: so I flung away. Yet heard a crie Just as I went. None goes that ivay And lives: If that be all, said I, After so foul a journey death is fair. And but a chair.

T THREATNED to observe the strict decree Of my deare God with all my power and might.

But I was told by one, it could not be; Yet I might trust in God to be my light.

Then will I trust, said I, in him alone.

Nay, ev'n to trust in him, was also his: We must confesse, that nothing is our own.

Then I confesse that he my succour is:

But to have nought is ours, not to confesse

That we have nought. I stood amaz'd at this,

Much troubled, till I heard a friend expresse, That all things were more ours by being his. What Adam had, and forfeited for all, Christ keepeth now, who cannot fail or fall.

1~\0 not beguile my heart, Because thou art My power and wisdome. Put me not to shame. Because I am Thy clay that weeps, thy dust that calls.

Thou art the Lord of glorie;

The deed and storie Are both thy due: but I a silly flie. That live or die According as the weather falls.

Art thou all justice. Lord?

Shows not thy word More attributes? Am I all throat or eye, To weep or crie? Have I no parts but those of grief?

Let not thy wrathful! power Afflict my houre, My inch of life: or let thy gracious power Contract my houre, That I may climbe and finde relief.

r>USIE enquiring heart, what wouldst thou ^ know?

Why dost thou prie, And turn, and leer, and with a licorous eye Look high and low; And in thy lookings stretch and grow?

Hast thou not made thy counts, and summed up all?

Did not thy heart Give up the whole, and with the whole depart?

Let what will fall: That which is past who can recall?

Thy life is Gods, thy time to come is gone. And is his right.

He is thy night at noon: he is at night Thy noon alone. The crop is his, for he hath sown.

And well it was for thee, when this befell. That God did make

Thy businesse his, and in thy life partake: For thou canst tell, If it be his once, all is well.

Onely the present is thy part and fee.

And happy thou, If, though thou didst not beat thy future brow,

Thou couldst well see What present things required of thee.

They ask enough; why shouldst thou further go?

Raise not the mudde Of future depths, but drink the cleare and good.

Dig not for wo In times to come; for it will grow.

Man and the present fit: if he provide,

This houre is mine: if for the next I care, I grow too wide, And do encroach upon deaths side.

For death each houre environs and surrounds.

He that would know And care for future chances, cannot go

Unto those grounds. But through a Church-yard which them bounds.

Things present shrink and die: but they that spend

Their thoughts and sense On future grief, do not remove it thence, But it extend, And draw the bottome out an end.

God chains the dog till night: wilt loose the chain,

And wake thy sorrow? Wilt thou forestall it, and now grieve to morrow, And then again Greive over freshly all thy pain?

Either grief will not come: or if it must. Do not forecast.

And while it cometh, it is almost past.

Away distrust: My God hath promis'd, he is just.

And that love may never cease, I will move thee.

Thou hast granted my request,

Thou didst note my working breast, Thou hast spar'd me.

Wherefore with my utmost art I will sing thee.

And the cream of all my heart I will bring thee.

Though my sinnes against me cried.

And alone, when they replied,

Sev'n whole dayes, not one in seven, I will praise thee.

In my heart, though not in heaven, I can raise thee.

Thou grew'st soft and moist with tears, Thou relentedst:

And when Justice calFd for fears, Thou d^ssentedst.

Small it is, in this poore sort

Ev'n eternitie is too short

/^OME, bring thy gift. If blessings were as ^ slow

As mens returns, what would become of fools? What hast thou there? a heart? but is it pure? Search well and see; for hearts have many holes.

Yet one pure heart is nothing to bestow: In Christ two natures met to be thy cure.

O that within us hearts had propagation. Since many gifts do challenge many hearts! Yet one, if good, may title to a number; And single things grow fruitfull by deserts.

In publick judgements one may be a nation, And fence a plague, while others sleep and slumber.

But all I fear is lest thy heart displease. As neither good, nor one: so oft divisions Thy lusts have made, and not thy lusts alone; Thy passions also have their set partitions. These parcel] out thy heart: recover these. And thou mayst offer many gifts in one.

There is a balsome, or indeed a bloud. Dropping from heav'n, which doth both cleanse and close

All sorts of wounds; of such strange force it is. Seek out this All-heal, and seek no repose. Until! thou finde and use it to thy good: Then bring thy gift; and let thy hymne be this;

Since my sadnesse Into gladnesse Lord thou dost convert, O accept

What thou hast kept, As thy due desert.

Had I any, (For this heart is none)

And none of mine: Surely thine alone.

Yet thy favour May give savour

And it raise To be thy praise,

With sick and famisht eyes, With doubling knees and weary bones, To thee my cries. To thee my grones, To thee my sighs, my tears ascend: ' ' No end?

My throat, my soul is hoarse; My heart is withered like a ground

Which thou dost curse. My thoughts turn round. And make me giddie; Lord, I fall, Yet call.

From thee all pitie flows. Mothers are kinde, because thou art. And dost dispose To them a part: Their infants, them; and they suck thee More free.

Bowels of pitle, heare! Lord of my soul, love of my minde, Bow down thine eare! Let not the winde Scatter my words, and in the same Thy name!

Look on my sorrows round! Mark well my furnace! O what flames. What heats abound! What griefs, what shames Consider, Lord; Lord, bow thine eare, And heare!

Lord Jesu, thou didst bow Thy dying head upon the tree: O be not now More dead to me! Lord heare 1 Shall he that made the eare. Not heare? 1

Behold, thy dust doth stirre, It moves, it creeps, it aims at thee: Wilt thou deferre To succour me, Thy pile of dust, wherein each crumme Sayes, Come I

To thee help appertains. Hast thou left all things to their course.

And laid the reins Upon the horse? Is all lockt? hath a sinners plea No key?

Indeed the world's thy book, Where all things have their lease assign'd: Yet a meek look Hath interlin'd. Thy board is full, yet humble guests Finde nests.

Thou tarriest, while I die. And fall to nothing: thou dost reigne. And rule on high, While I remain In bitter grief: yet am I stil'd

Lord, didst thou leave thy throne. Not to relieve? how can it be.

That thou art grown Thus hard to me? Were sinne alive, good cause there were To bear.

But now both sinne is dead. And all thy promises live and bide.

That wants his head; These speak and chide. And in thy bosome poure my tears. As theirs.

Lord Jesu, heare my heart, Which hath been broken now so long, That ev'ry part Hath got a tongue! Thy beggars grow; rid them away To day.

My love,, my sweetnesse, heare! By these thy feet, at which my heart Lies all the yeare, Pluck out thy dart. And heal my troubled breast which cryes, Which dyes.

A WAY despair; my gracious Lord doth heare.

Though windes and waves assault my keel, He doth preserve it: he doth steer, Ev'n when the boat seems most to reel. Storms are the triumph of his art: Well may he close his eyes, but not his heart.

Hast thou not heard, that my Lord Jesus di'd? Then let me tell thee a strange storie. The God of power, as he did ride In his majestick robes of glorie, Resolv'd to light; and so one day

He did descend, undressing ail the way.

The starres his tire of light and rings obtained, The cloud his bow, the fire his spear, The sky his azure mantle gain'd. And when they ask'd, what he would wear; He smilM and said as he did go,

He had new clothes a making here below.

When he was come, as travellers are wont,

He did repair unto an inne.

Both then, and after, many a brunt

He did endure to cancell sinne;

And having giv'n the rest before, Here he gave up his life to pay our score.

But as he was returning, there came one That ran upon him with a spear. He, who came hither all alone. Bringing nor man, nor arms, nor fear, Receiv'd the blow upon his side,

And straight he turn'd, and to his brethren cry*d,

If ye have anything to send or write, (I have no bag, but here is room) Unto my fathers hands and sight (Beleeve me) it shall safely come. That I shall minde, what you impart;

Look, you may put it very neare my heart.

Or if hereafter any of my friends

Will use me in this kinde, the doore Shall still be open; what he sends I will present, and somewhat more, Not to his hurt. Sighs will convey

Any thing to me. Heark despair, away.

poo RE nation, whose sweet sap, and juice

Our cyens^ have purloin'd, and left you drie: Whose streams we got by the Apostles sluce, And use in baptisme, while ye pine and die: Who by not keeping once, became a debter; And now by keeping lose the letter:

Oh that my prayers! mine, alas! Oh that some Angel might a trumpet sound; At which the Church falling upon her face Should crie so loud, untill the trump were drown'd,

And by that crie of her deare Lord obtain, That your sweet sap might come again!

What? shall I ever sigh and pine? My lines and life are free; free as the rode, Loose as the winde, as large as store.

Shall I be still in suit? Have I no harvest but a thorn

To let me bloud, and not restore What I have lost with cordiall fruit?

Sure there was wine Before my sighs did drie it: there was corn Before my tears did drown it. Is the yeare onely lost to me?

Have I no bayes to crown it? No flowers, no garlands gay? all blasted?

All wasted? Not so, my heart: but there is fruit,

And thou hast hands. Recover all thy sigh-blown age On double pleasures: leave thy cold dispute Of what is fit, and not forsake thy cage. Thy rope of sands. Which pettie thoughts have made, and made to thee

Good cable, to enforce and draw. And be thy law, While thou didst wink and wouldst not see.

Away; take heed: I will abroad. Call in thy deaths head there: tie up thy fears.

He that forbears To suit and serve his need. Deserves his load. But as I rav'd and grew more fierce and wilde At every word. Me thoughts I heard one calling, Childe:

Whither away delight? Thou cam'st but now; wilt thou so soon depart.

And give me up to night? For many weeks of lingring pain and smart But one half houre of comfort for my heart?

Me thinks delight should have More skill in musick, and keep better time.

Wert thou a winde or wave, They quickly go and come with lesser crime: Flowers look about, and die not in their prime*

Thy short abode and stay Feeds not, but addes to the desire of meat.

Lime begg'd of old (they say) A neighbour spring to cool his inward heat; Which by the springs accesse grew much more great.

In hope of thee my heart Pickt here and there a crumme, and would not die;

But constant to his part When as my fears foretold this, did replie, A slender thread a gentle guest will tie.

Yet if the heart that wept Must let thee go, return when it doth knock. Although thy heap be kept

For future times, the droppings of the stock May oft break forth, and never break the lock.

If 1 have more to spinne. The wheel shall go, so that thy stay be short.

Thou knowst how grief and sinne Disturb the work. O make me not their sport, Who by thy coming may be made a court!

O SPITEFULL bitter thought! Bitterly spiteful! thought! Couldst thou invent So high a torture? Is such poyson bought? Doubtlesse, but in the way of punishment. When wit contrives to meet with thee, No such rank poyson can there be.

Thou said'st but even now, That all was not so fair, as I conceived. Betwixt my God and me; that I allow And coin large hopes; but, that I was deceived:

Either the league was broke, or neare it;

And, that I had great cause to fear it.

And what to this? what more Could poyson, if it had a tongue, expresse? What is thy aim? wouldst thou unlock the doore To cold despairs, and gnawing pensivenesse i

Wouldst thou raise devils? I see, I know, I writ thy purpose long ago.

But I will to my Father, Who heard thee say it. O most gracious Lord, If all the hope and comfort that I gather, Were from my self, I had not half a word, Not half a letter to oppose

What is objected by my foes. '

But thou art my desert: And in this league, which now my foes invade. Thou art not onely to perform thy part. But also mine; as when the league was made Thou didst at once thy self indite. And hold my hand, while I did write.

Wherefore if thou canst fail. Then can thy truth and I: but while rocks stand. And rivers stirre, thou canst not shrink or quail: Yea, when both rocks and all things shall disband.

Then shalt thou be my rock and tower, • And make their ruine praise thy power.

Now foolish thought go on. Spin out thy thread, and make thereof a coat To hide thy shame: for thou hast cast a bone Which bounds on thee, and will not down thy throat:

What for it self love once began, Now love and truth will end in man.

^ Such a Way, as gives us breath: Such a Truth, as ends all strife: And such a Life, as killeth death.

Come, my Light, my Feast, my Strength: Such a Light, as shows a feast: Such a Feast, as mends in length: Such a Strength, as makes his guest.

Come, my Joy, my Love, my Heart: Such a Joy, as none can move: Such a Love, as none can part: Such a Heart, as joyes in love.

ORD, thou art mine, and I am thine,

If mine I am: and thine much more, Then I or ought, or can be mine. Yet to be thine, doth me restore; So that again I now am mine. And with advantage mine the more. Since this being mine, brings with it thine. And thou with me dost thee restore. If I without thee would be mine, I neither should be mine nor thine.

Lord, I am thine, and thou art mine: So mine thou art, that something more I may presume thee mine, then thine. For thou didst suffer to restore Not thee, but me, and to be mine: And with advantage mine the more. Since thou in death wast none of thine. Yet then as mine didst me restore.

O be mine still! still make me thine!

Or rather make no Thine and Mine!

T ORD, I will mean and speak thy praise, ^ Thy praise alone.

My busie heart shall spin it all my dayes: And when it stops for want of store.

Then will I wring it with a sigh or grone. That thou mayst yet have more.

When thou dost favour any action, It runnes, it flies: All things concurre to give it a perfection.

That which had but two legs before. When thou dost blesse, hath twelve: one wheel doth rise

To twentie then, or more.

But when thou dost on businesse blow, It hangs, it clogs: Not all the teams of Albion in a row Can hale or draw it out of doore.

Legs are but stumps, and Pharaohs wheels but logs,

And struggling hinders more.

Thousands of things do thee employ In ruling all This spacious globe: Angels must have their joy.

Devils their rod, the sea his shore, The windes their stint: and yet when I did call. Thou heardst my call, and more.

I have not lost one single tear:

But when mine eyes Did weep to heav'n, they found a bottle there

(As we have boxes for the poore) Readie to take them in; yet of a size

That would contain much more.

But after thou hadst slipt a drop

From thy right eye, (Which there did hang like streamers neare the top

Of some fair church to show the sore And bloudie battell which thou once didst trie) The glasse was full and more.

Wherefore I sing. Yet since my heart.

Though press'd, runnes thin; O that I might some other hearts convert,

And so take up at use good store: That to thy chests there might be coming in Both all my praise, and more 1

^ ^ Thrown down I fall into a bed, and rest: Sorrow hath chang'd its note: such is his will. Who changeth all things, as him pleaseth best.

For well he knows, if but one grief and smart Among my many had his full career, Sure it would carrie with it ev'n my heart. And both would runne untill they found a biere

To fetch the bodie; both being due to grief. But he hath spoil'd the race; and giv'n to anguish One of Joyes coats, ticing it with relief To linger in me, and together languish.

I live to shew his power, who once did bring yij joyes to ^eep^ and now my griefs to sing.