Mœoniæ. Or, Certaine excellent poems and spirituall hymnes: omitted in the last impression of Peters complaint being needefull thereunto to be annexed, as being both diuine and wittie. All composed by R.S.

Moeoniae . OR , CERTAINE excellent Poems and spirituall Hymnes :

Omitted in the last Impression of Peters Complaint ; being needefull thereunto to be annexed , as being both Diuine and Wittie .

All composed by R. S.

LONDON Printed by Valentine Sims , for Iohn Busbie 1595.

The Printer to the Gentlemen Readers .

Hauing beheld ( kind Gentlemen ) the numberlesse Iudges of not to be reckoned labours , with what kind admiration you haue entertained the diuine Complaint of holie Peter ; and hauing in my hands certaine especiall Poems and diuine Meditations , full as woorthie belonging to the same , I thought it a charitable de ede to giue them life in your memories , which els should die in an obscure sacrifice , gently embrace them , gentle censurers of gentle indeuors : so shall you not be fantastike in diuersity of opinions , nor contradict your resolues by denying your former iudgements , but still bee your selues discreetely vertuous , nor could I other wish , but that the courteous reader of these labors , not hauing already bought Peters Complaint , would not for so small a mite of money loose so rich a treasure of heauenly wisdome as these two Treatises should minister vnto him , the one so needefully depending on the other . One thing amongst the rest I am to admonish thee of , that having in this Treatise read Maries visitation , the next that should follow is Christs natiuity , but being afore printed in the ende of Peters Complaint , we have heere of purpose omitted ; that thou shouldest not be abridged of that and the other like comfort which that other treatise profereth thee .

Yours ( kind Gentlemen ) in all his abilities . I. B.

The Virgine Maries conception . OVR second Eue puts on her mortall shroude ▪ Erth breeds a heauen , for Gods new dwelling place , Now riseth vp Elias little cloude That growing , shal distil the showre of grace : Her being now begins , who ere she end , Shall bring our good that shall our ill amend , Both Grace and Nature did their force vnite , To make this babe the summe of all their best , Our most , her least , our million , but her mite : Shee was at easiest rate worth all the rest , What grace to men or Angels God did part , Was all vnited in this infants heart . Foure only wights bred without fault are namde , And all the rest conceiued were in sinne , Without both man and wife was Adam framde Of man , but not of wife did Eue beginne , Wife without touch of man Christs mother was , Of man and wife this babe was borne in grace .

Her Natiuitie . IOy in the rising of our Orient star , That shal bring forth the Sunne that lent her light , Ioy in the peace that shall conclude our war , And soon rebate the edge of Sathans spight , Load-starre of all inclosed in worldly waues , The care and compasse that from ship-wracke saues , The Patriarches and Prophets were the flowers , Which Time by course of ages did distill , And cal'd into his little cloud the showers , Whose gratious drops the world with ioy shall fil , Whose moisture suppleth euerie soule with grace , And bringeth life to Adams dying race . For God on earth which is the royall throne , The chosen cloth to make his mortall weede , The quarry to cut out our corner stone , Soile ful of fruit , yet free from mortall seede , For heauenly flowre shee is the Iessa rod , The childe of man , the parent of a god ,

Her Spousals . WIfe did she liue , yet virgin did she die , Vntaught of man , yet mother of a sonne ▪ To saue her selfe and childe from fatall lie , To end the web wherof the thred was spon In mariage knots to Ioseph she was tide . Vnwonted workes with wonted wiles to hide God lent his paradise to Iosephs care , Wherein he was to plant the tree of life , His sonne of Iosephs child the title bare : Iust cause to make the mother Iosephs wife , O blessed man betroth'd to such a spouse , More bless'd to liue with such a child in house : No carnall loue this sacred league procurde , Al vaine delights were farre from their assent , Though both themselues in wedlocke bands assurde , Yet chaste by vow they seald their chaste intent . Thus had the Virgins , wiues , and widowes crowne , And by chast child-birth doubled their renowne .

The Virgins salutation . SPell Eua backe and Aue shall you finde , The first began , the last reuerst our harmes , An Angels Aue disinchants the charmes , Death first by womans weaknes entred in , In womans vertue life doth now begin . O Virgins breast the heauens to thee incline , In thee they ioy , and soueraigne thee agnize , Too meane their glorie is to match with thine , Whose chaste receit God more then heauen did prize , Haile fairest heauen , that heauen and earth do blesse , Where vertues starre Gods sunne of iustice is , With hauty minde to godhead man aspirde , And was by pride from place of pleasure chac'de , With louing minde our manhood God desirde , And vs by loue in greater pleasure plac'de , Man labouring to ascend procurde our fall , God yeelding to discend cut off our thrall .

The Visitation . PRoclaimed Queene and mother of a God , The light of earth , the soueraigne of Saints , With Pilgrim foote , vp tiring hils she trod , And heuenly stile with handmaids toile acquaints Her youth to age , her selfe to sicke she lends , Her heart to God , to neighbours hand she bends , A prince she is , and mightier prince doth beare , Yet pompe of princely traine she would not haue , But doubtles heauenly Quires attendant were , Her child from harme her selfe from harme to saue , Word to the voice , song to the tune she brings , The voice her word , the tune her dittie sings , Eternall lights inclosed in her breast , Shot out such piercing beames of burning loue , That when her voice her cosens eares possest , The force thereof did cause her babe to moue , With secret signes the children greet each other , But open praise each leaueth to his mother .

His circumcision . THe head is launst to worke the bodies cure , with angry salue it smarts to heal our wound To faultlesse sonne from al offences pure , The faulty vassals scourges do redound , The Iudge is cast the guilty to acquite , The sunne defac'd to lend the starre his light , The vine of life distilleth drops of grace , Our rocke giues issue to an heauenly spring , Tears from the eies , blood runnes from wounded place Which showers to heauen , of ioy a haruest bring ▪ This sacred dew let angels gather vp , Such sacred drops best fit their nectared cup. With weeping eies his mother rewd his smart , If blood from him , teares came from her as fast , The knife that cut his flesh did pierce his heart , The paine that Iesus set did Mary taste , His life and hers hung by one fatall twist , No blow that hit the sonne the mother mist.

The Epiphanie . TO blaze the rising of this glorious sunne , A glittering starre appeareth in the east , Whose sight to pilgrims toile three sages wun To seeke the light they long had in request : And by this starre to nobler starre they pace , Whose armes did their desired sinne imbrace : Stall was the sky wherein those plannets shinde , And want the cloud that did eclipse their raines , Yet through this cloud their passage they did finde , And pierc'd these sages hearts by secret waies , Which made them know the ruler of the skies , By infant tongue and lookes of babish eies , Heauen at her light , earth blushes at her pride , And of their pompe these peeres ashamed be , Their crownes , their robes , their traines they set aside . When Gods poore cottage , clouts , and crew they see , All glorious things their glorie now despise , Sith God Contempt doth more then glory praise , Three gifts they bring , three gifts they beare away , For incense mirre , and gold , faith , hope , and loue , And with their gifts the giuers hearts do stay , Their mind from Christ , no parting can remoue , His humble state , his stall , his poore retinew They fancy more then all their rich reuenew .

The Presentation . TO be redeemed the worlds Redeemer brought Two silly turtle doues for ransome paies , O wares with empires worthy to be bought , This casie rate doth sound , not drowne thy praise , For sith no price can to thy worth amount , A doue , yea loue , due price thou doest account , Old Simeon , cheape penny worth and sweete , Obteind when thee in armes he did imbrace , His weeping eies thy smiling lookes did meet , Thy loue his heart , thy kisses blest his face , O eies , O hart , meane sights and loues auoyde , Base not your selues , your best you haue enioyde , O virgin pure thou dost those doues present As due to lawe , not as an equall price , To buy such ware thou wouldst thy selfe haue spent , The world to reach his worth could not suffice , If God were to be bought , not worldly pelfe , But thou wert fittest price next God himselfe .

The flight into Egypt . ALas our day is forst to flie by night Light without light , and sunne by silent shade , O nature blush that suffrest such a wight , That in thy sunne thy darke eclipse hast made , Day to his eies , light to his steps denie , That hates the light which graceth euery eie , Sunne being fled the starres do loose their light , And shining beames , in bloodie streames they drench ▪ A cruell storme of Herods mortall spight Their liues and lights with bloody showers do quench The tyrant to be sure of murdring one , For feare of sparing him doth pardon none . O blessed babes , first flowers of christian spring , Who though vntimely cropt faire garlandes frame , With open throats and silent mouthes you sing , His praise whom age permits you not to name , Your tunes are teares , your instruments are swords , Your ditty death , and blood in hew of wordes .

Christs returne out of Egypt . WHen death and hell their right in Herod claime , Christ from exile returnes to natiue soile : There , with his life more deepely death to maime Then death did life by all the infantes spoile . He shewed the parents that the babes did mone , That all their liues were lesse then his alone . But hearing Herods sonne to haue the crowne , The impious offspring of the bloudy sire , To Nazareth ( of heauen beloued ) towne , Flowre to a flowre he fitly doth retire , For he is a flower , and in a flower he bred , And from a thorne now to a flowre he fled . And well deserud this flower his fruit to view Where hee inuested was in mortall weede , Where first vnto a tender bud he grew In virgin branch vnstaind with mortall seede . Young flower , with flowers , in flower well may he be : Ripe fruit he must with thornes hang on a tree .

Christes bloody sweat . FAt soile , full spring , sweete oliue , grape of blisse , That yeelds , that streams , that powers , that dost distil Vntild , vndrawne , vnstampt , vntoucht of presse , Deare fruit , cleare brookes , faire oile , sweete wine at will : Thus Christ vnforst preuents in sheeding blood The whips , the thornes , the naile , the speare , and roode . He Pelicans , he Phenix fate doth proue , Whom flames consume when streames enforce to die , How burneth bloud , how bleedeth burning loue ? Can one in flame and streame both bath and frie ? How would he ioine a Phenix fiery paines In fainting Pelicans still bleeding vaines ?

Christs fleeping friends . WHen Christ with care & pangs of death opprest From frighted flesh a bloody sweate did raine , And full of feare without repose or rest In agony did watch and pray in vaine Three sundrie times he his disciples findes With heauie eies , but farre more heauie mindes , With milde rebuke he warned them to wake : Yet sleepe did still their drousie sences hold . As when the sunne the brightest shew doth make In darkest shrouds the night birds them infolde , His foes did watch to worke their cruell spight , His drousie friends slept in his hardest night . As Ionas sayled once from Ioppaes shoare , A boystrous tempest in the aire did broile , The waues did rage , the thundring heauens did roare , The stones , the rockes , the lightnings threatned spoile , The shippe was billowes game , and chaunces pray , Yet carelesse Ionas mute and slumbring lay : So now though Iudas like a blustring gust , Do stirre the furious sea of Iewish ire , Though storming troopes in quarrels most vniust Against the barke of all our blisse conspire , Yet these disciples sleeping lie secure , As though their wonted calmes did still endure . Ionas once his heauie limmes to rest , Did shrowd himselfe in iuy pleasant shade , But lo , while him a heauy sleepe opprest , His shadowy bowre , to withered stalke did fade , A cankered worme did gnaw the root away , And brought the glorious branches to decay ▪ O gracious plant , O tree of heauenly spring , The paragon for lease , for fruit and flower , How sweete a shadow did thy branches bring To shrowd these soules that chose thee for their bower , But now while they with Ionas fall asleepe , To spoile their plant an enuious worme doth creepe . Awake you slumbring wights , lift vp your eies , Marke Iudas how to teare your roote he striues , Alas the glory of your arbor dies , Arise and guard the comfort of your liues . No Ionas iuy , no Zacheus tree , Were to the world so great a losse as he .

The virgin Mary to Christ on the Crosse. WHat mist hath dimd that glorious face , what seas of griefemy sun doth tosse ? The golden raies of heauenly grace lies now ecclipsed on the crosse . Iesus my loue , my sonne , my God , behold thy mother washt in teares : Thy bloody wounds be made a rod , to chasten these my latter yeares . You cruel Iewes come worke your ire , vpon this worthlesse flesh of mine . And kindle not eternall fire by wounding him which is diuine . Thou messenger that didst impart , his first discent into my womb , Come helpe me now to cleaue my heart , that there I may my sonne intombs . You Angels all that present were , to shew his birth with harmony , Why are you now not ready here , to make a mourning symphony . The cause I know you waile alone , and shed your teares in secresie , Lest I should moued be to mone , by force of heauie company . But waile my soule , thy comfort aies , my wofull wombe lament thy fruit , My heart giueteares vnto my eies , let sorrow string my heauy lute .

A holy Hymne . PRaise , O Sion , praise thy Sauiour , Praise thy Captaine and thy Pastour , With hymnes and solemne harmony . What power affords performe indeede , His works all praises farre exceede : No praise can reach his dignity . A speciall theame of praise is read , A liuing and a life giuing bread Is on this day exhibited Within the supper of our Lord , To twelue disciples at his bord , As doubtlesse t was deliuered . Let our praise be lou'd and free , Full of ioy and decent glee , With mindes and voices melody . For now solemnize we that day , Which doth with ioy to vs display . The priuy vse of this mistery At this borde of our new ruler , Of new Law , new pascall order . The ancient rite abolisheth . Old decrees by new annild , Shadowes are in trueth fulfilld : Day former darkenes finisheth , That at supper Christ performed To be done he straightly charged , For his eternall memory . Guided by his sacred orders Bread and wine vpon our altars To sauing host we sanctifie , Christians are by faith assured , That to flesh the bread is changed , The wine to blood most precious , That no wit nor sence conceiueth Firme and grounded faith belieueth In strange affects not curious . Vnder kindes two in appearance Two in shew but one in substance , Be things beyond comparison : Flesh is meat , blood drinke most heauenly : Yet is Christ in each kinde wholy . Most free from al diuision . None that eateth him doth chew him , None that takes him doth denie him Receiued he whole perseuereth . Be there one or thousands housoled . One as much as all receiued , He by no eating perisheth . Both the good and bad receiue him , But effects are diuers in them , True life , or true destruction , Life to the good , death to the wicked : Marke how both alike receiued With farre vnlike conclusion : When the priest the hoast deuideth , Know that each part abideth : All that the whole hoast couered , Forme of bread not Christ is broken , Not of Christ but of his token Is state or stature altered . Angels bread made Pilgrimes feeding , Truely bread for childrens eating To dogs not to be offered : Signd by Isacke on the alter By the Lambe and paschall supper , And in the manna figured . Iesu food and feeder of vs , Here with mercie feede and friend vs , Then grant in heauen felicitie , Lord of all whom here thou feedest , Fellow heires , guests with thy dearest , Make vs in heauenly company .

S. Peters afflicted minde . IF that the sicke may grone , Or Orphane mourne his losse : If wounded wretch may rue his harmes ▪ Or caitife shew his crosse : If heart consumde with care May vtter signes of paine , Then may my brest be sorrowes home , And tongue with cause complaine . My maladie is sinne , And langour of the minde , My body but a lazars couch , Wherein my soule is pinde . The care of heauenly kinde Is death to my reliefe , Forlorne and left like Orphan child With sighs I feede my griefe . My wounds with mortall smart My dying soule torment , And prisoner to mine owne mishaps My follies I repent , My heart is but the haunt Where all dislikes do keepe : And who can blame so lost a wretch , Though teares of blood he weepe .

S. Peters remorse . REmorse vpbraids my faults , Selfe blaming conscience cries , Sinne claimes the hoast of humbled thoughts , And streames of weeping eies ▪ Let penance Lord preuaile , Let sorrow sue release , Let loue be vmpier in my cause , And passe the doome of peace , If doome go by desert , My least desert is death , That robs from soule immortall ioies , From body mortall breath ▪ But in so high a God , So base a wormes annoy Can adde no praise vnto thy power , No blisse vnto thy ioy . Well may I frie in flames Due fuell to hell fire , But on a wretch to wreake thy wrath Can not be worth thine ire . Yet sith so vile a woorme Hath wrought his greatest spight , Of highest treason well thou maist In rigor him endite ▪ But mercy may relent And temper iustice rod : For mercy doth as much belong As iustice to a God . If former time or place More right to mercy winne , Thou first wert author of my selfe , The vmpier of my sinne . Did mercie spin the thread To weaue in Iustice loome , Wert thou a father to conclude With dreadfull Iudges doome ? It is a small reliefe To say I was thy child , If as an ill deseruing foe From grace I am exilde . I was , I had , I could , All words importing want ▪ They are but dust of dead supplies , Where needefull helpes are scant . Once to haue beene in blisse That hardly can returne , Doth but bewray from whence I fell , And wherefore now I mourne . All thoughts of passed hopes Encrease my present crosse : Like ruines of decaied ioies , They still vpbraide my losse . O milde and mightie Lord , Amend that is amisse : My sinne my soare , thy loue my salue , Thy cure my comfort is . Comfirme thy former deedes , Reforme that is defilde : I was , I am , I will remaine Thy charge , thy choice , thy childe .

Man to the wound in Christs side . O Pleasant port , O place of rest , O royall rist , O worthy wound , Come harbour me a wearie guest , That in the world no case haue found , I lie lamenting at thy gate , Yet dare I not aduenture in : I beare with me a troublous mate , And cumbred am , with heape of sinne ▪ Discharge me of this heauie load , That easier passage I may finde . Within this bowre to make aboade , And in this glorious tombe be shrin'd ▪ Here must I liue , here must I die , Here would I vtter all my griefe : Heere would I all those paines discrie , Which heere did meete for my releefe Here would I view the bloudy sore , Which dint of spitefull speare did breed , The bloody wounds laid there in store Would force a stony heart to bleede . Heere is the spring of trickling teares , The mirror of all mourning wights , With dolefull tunes , for dumpish cares And solemne shewes for sorrowed sights . O happie soule that flies so hie , As to attaine this sacred caue : Lord send me wings that I may flie , And in this harbour quiet haue .

Vpon the Image of death . BEfore my face the picture hangs , That daily should put me in mind Of those cold names and bitter pangs , That shortly I am like to finde : But yet alas full little I Do thinke hereon that I must die . I often looke vpon a face Most vgly , grisly , bare and thinne , I often view the hollow place , Where eies , and nose , haue sometimes bin I see the bones acrosse that lie : Yet little thinke that I must die . I reade the Labell vnderneath That telleth me whereto I must , I see the sentence eake that saith , Remember man that thou art dust : But yet alas but seldome I Do thinke indeede that I must die . Continually at my beds head , A hearse doth hang which doth me tel , That I yer morning may be dead , Though now I feele my selfe full well : But now alas , for all this I Haue little mind that I must die . The gowne which I do vse to weare , The knife wherewith I cut my meate , And eke that old and ancient chaire , Which is my onely vsuall seate : All those do tell me I must die , And yet my life amend not I. My ancestors are turnd to clay , And many of my mates are gone , My yongers dayly drop away , And can I thinke to scape alone ? No , no , I know that I must die ▪ And yet my life amend not I ▪ Not Salomon for all his wits , Nor Sampson though he were so strong , No king nor euer person yet Could scape , but death laid him along : Wherefore I know that I must die ? And yet my life amend not I. Though all the East did quake to heare , Of Alexanders dreadfull name , And all the West did likewise feare . To heare of Iulius Cesars fame , Yet both by death in dust now lie , Who then can scape but he must die : If none can scape deaths dreadfull dart , If rich and poore his becke obey , If strong , if wise , if all do smart , Then I to scape shall haue no way . Oh grant me grace O God that I , My life may mend sith I must die .

A vale of teares . A Vale there is enwrapt with dreadful shades , Which thicke of mourning pines shrouds from the sunne Where hanging clifts yeld short & dumpish glades , And snowie flouds with broken streames doe runne , Where eie-roume is from rocke to cloudie skie , From thence to dales which stormie ruines shroud , Then to the crushed waters frothie frie , Which tumbleth from the tops where snow is thow'd : Where eares of other sound can haue no choice , But various blustring of the stubburne winde In trees , in caues , in straits with diuers noise , Which now doth hisse , now howle , now roare by kinde : Where waters wrastle with encountering stones , That breake their streames and turne them into foame , The hollow clouds ful fraught with thundering groans , With hideous thumps discharge their pregnant wombe . And in the horror of this fearefull quier , Consists the musicke of this dolefull place . All pleasant birds their tunes from thence retire , Where none but heauie notes haue any grace . Resort there is of none but pilgrim wights , That passe with trembling foot and panting heart , With terrour cast in cold and shuddring frights , And all the place to terrour framde by art : Yet natures worke it is of arte vntoucht , So strait indeede , so vast vnto the eie , With such disordred order strangely coucht , And so with pleasing horror low and hie . That who it viewes must needes remaine agast , Much at the worke , more at the makers might , And muse how Nature such a plot could cast , Where nothing seemed wrong , yet nothing right : A place for mated minds , and onely bower , Where euerie thing doth sooth a dumpish mood . Earth lics forlorne , the cloudie skie doth lower , The wind here weepes , her sighs , her cries aloude . The strugling floud betweene the marble grones , Then roring beates vpon the craggie sides , A little off amidst the pibble stones , With bubling streames a purling noise it glides : The pines thicke set , hie growne , and euer greene , Stil cloathe the place with shade and mourning vaile . Here gaping cliffes , there mosse growne plaine is seene , Here hope doth spring , and there againe doth quaile . Huge massie stones that hang by tickle stay , Still threaten foule , and seeme to hang in feare , Some withered trees ashamde of their decay , Be set with greene , and forcde gray coats to weare . Here christall springs crept out of secret vaine , Strait finde some enuious hole that hides their graine . Here seared tufts lament the wants of grace , There thunder wracke giues terror to the place . All pangs and heauie passions here may find A thousand motiues suitly to their griefes , To feede the sorrowes of their troubled mind , And chase away dame pleasures vaine reliefes . To plaining thoughts this vaile a rest may bee , To which from wordly toyes they may retire . Where sorrow springs from water , stone and tree , Where euerie thing with mourners doth conspire . Sit here my soule mourne teares afloate , Here all thy sinfull foiles alone recount , Of solemne tunes make thou the dolefulst note , That to thy ditties dolor may amount , When Eccho doth repeat thy painfull cries , Thinke that the verie stones thy sinnes bewray , And now accuse thee with their sad replies , As heauen and earth shall in the latter day , Let former faults be fuell of the fire , For griefe the Limbecke of thy heart to still . Thy pensiue thoughts , and dumps of thy desire , And vapoure teares vp to thy eyes at will . Let teares to tunes , and pains to plaints be prest , And let this be the burthen to thy song , Come deepe remorse , possesse my sinfull brest : Delights adue I harbourd you too long .

The prodigall childs soule wracke . DIsankered from a blisfull shore , and lancht into the meane of cares Grown rich in vice , in vertue poore , from freedom faln in fatal snares I found my selfe on euerie side enwrapped in the waues of wo , And tossed with a toile some tide , could to no port for refuge go . The wrastling wind with raging blasts still hold me in a cruel chace . They breake my anchors , saile , and masts , permitting no reposing place . The boistrous seas with swelling flouds , on every side did work their spight Heauen ouercast with stormie clouds , denide the Planets guiding light . The hellish furies lay in wait , to winne my soule into their power , To make me bite at euery bait , wherein my bane I might deuoure . Thus heauen and hel , thus sea land , thus storms and tempests did conspire With iust reuenge of scourging hand , to witnes Gods deserued ire , I plunged in this heauie plight , found in my faults iust cause to feare : My darkenesse taught to know my light , the losse whereof enforced teares . I felt my inward bleeding sores , my festred wounds began to smart ▪ Stept far within deaths fatal doores , the pangs wherof were nere my hart I cried truce , I craued peace , a league with death I would conclude , But vaine it was to sue release , subdue I must or be subdude . Death deceit had pitcht their snares & put their wonted proofes in vre To sinke me in dispairing cares , or make me stoupe to pleasures lure : They fought by their bewitching charmes , so to enchant my erring sense , That when they sought my greatest harmes , I might neglect my best defence . My dazled eies could take no view , no heede of their receiuing shifts , So often did they alter hew , and practise new deuised drifts : With sirens song they fed mine eares , till luld a sleepe on errors lap , I found their tunes turnd into teares , and short delights to long mishap . For I inticed to their lore , and soothed with their idle toies Was trained to their prison doore , the end of all such flying ioies : Where chainde in sinne I lay in thrall , next to the dungeon of dispaire , Till mercie raisde me from my fall , and grace my ruine did repaire .

Mans ciuill warre . MY houering thoughts would flie to heauen , and quiet nestle in the skie , Faine would my ship in virtues shore without remoue at anchor lie : But mounted thoughts are hailed down with heauie poise of mortal load , And blustring stormes denie my ship , in vertues hauen sure abode . When inward eie to heauenly sights doth draw my longing hearts desire , The world with lesses of delights , would to her pearch my thoughts retire , Fond fancie traines to pleasures lure , though reason stiffely do repine . Thogh wisedom woo me to the saint , yet sense would win me to the shrine , Where reason loathes , there fancie loues , and euer rules the captiue wil Foes senses ; and to vertues lore , they draw the wit their wish to fill . Neede craues consent of soule to sence , yet diuers bents breed ciuil fray , Hard hap where halues must disagree , or trust of halues the hole betray , O cruel fight where fighting frend with loue doth kil a fauouring foe , Where peace with sense is warre with God and selfdelight the seed of wo. Dame pleasures drugges are steept in sin , their sugred tast doth breed anoy , O fickle sense beware her ginne , sell not thy soule for brittle toy .

Seeke flowers of heauen . SOare vp my soule vnto thy rest , cast off this loathsome lode : Long is the date of thy exile , too long the strickt abode , Graze not on worldly withered weede , it fitteth not thy taste , The flowers of euerlasting spring , do grow for thy repaste . Their leaues are staind in beauties die , and blazed with their beames , Their stalks inameld with delight , and limbde with glorious gleames . Life giuing iuice of liuing loue their sugred vaines doth fill , And watred with euerlasting showers ▪ they nectared drops distill . These flowers do spring from fertile soile , though from vnmanurde field , Most glittering gold in lieu of glebe these fragrant flowers do yeeld : Whose soueraigne sent surpassing sense , so rauisheth the minde , That worldly weedes needes must he loath , that can these flowers find . FINIS .