A new spring of divine poetrie. I. Day. philomusus composuit

A NEW SPRING OF DIVINE POETRIE .

1. Day philomusus composuit — inest sua gratia parvis .

HEB DDIUV HEB DDIM

Printed at London by T. C. for Humphry Blunden , at his shop neere the Castle Taverne , in Corne-hill . 1637

T ake heede , my Muse , what ? patroniz'd by none ? O ben't o're bold ; can infants stand alone ? M ake haste unto some sheltring place , or now I nvoke the favour of some smiling brow , S tirre not abroad , unlesse some gracious eye T ake pitty on thee in thy infancy . R ather become a silvan Muse , and then I nvolue thy selfe into some private den , Such times as these are not for vulgar notes , B rought through a rusticke pipe , but quainter throtes , R iper inventions , and the nimblest wits , I ngenious faneies , such , these times befits , D ar'st thou to stirre abroad , upheld by none ? G oe , goe and prattle at thy Helicon , E ndeavour for to get Apolloes bayes , T ip thou thy rusticke tongue with silver Phrase , R ipen thy shallow braine , then crouch and sing V nder the shaddow of some sheltring wing , D raw neere , but softly speake , but not to loud , G et some protection else I often voude E ver to keepe thee in eternall night

Vo●um Auctoris . MOst mighty God , thou that alone canst save , And raise a stinking Laz'rus from his grave , That heal'st the sick , and let'st the tongue-tide speake , That mak'st the weakest strong , and strongest weake , Into my fainting Soule , doe thou infuse Thy Spirit , make my tributary Muse , Pay stipend at thy footestoole , let her be No more Apolloes , onely now for thee , Ope thou her sealed lips , that shee may bring Thee glory : teach , O teach her how to sing .

TO HIS FRIEND THE AVTHOVR . FAine would I speake , but yet my tongueti' de muse In Rivers , thirstlesse ; and when she hath most use Of speech , is strucken dumbe : shee 's plenteous poore , And knew shee lesse to say , shee could say more . Shee doth enjoy , and yet shee cannot finde Beginning , too much light hath strucke her blinde ; I could admire thee Iames , and though in truth The downy Characters of blooming youth , Searce write thee man , yet if we measure yeares By vertue , thou a Nestor wilt appeare . For when most men doe fill their greedy mawes With Comicke laughter , and the sweaty plause Of vulgar palmes , others write wounding lines , And will accuse ( though they be worse ) the times . Thou steer'st another course , and spend'st thy oyle In sacred objects , and in holy toyle , No sinfull eloquence thy verse defames , No lustfull sports , nor Cupidinean flames , Thy Poesye doth neither frowne , nor smile , There 's nor Satyricke , nor Venereous stile , And must these workes be hid ? and car'st thou lesse To give them to the mothes , then to the Presse ? Free them from darkenesse Iames , that they may be A light to others , and a crowne to thee ; For ere they shall be long obscur'd , I say Like Phosphorus I le usher in thee DAY . H. G.

TO HIS ESTEEMED LOVING FRIEND IAMES DAY , in Commendation of his Booke . THy shining workes ( O DAY ) doe seeme so bright , Surely Thou 'lt have an ever lasting light ; If these thy radient beames breake forth so soone , How glorious will thy splendor be at noone : T is but thy morning , yet thy Sunne displayes His beauty , and sends downe his golden rayes , Well ( DAY ) I le tell thee this ; though envy spight And Critickes snarle , thou 'lt never have a night . T. I.

The Preface . YOV wanton Lads , that spend your winged time , And chant your eares , in reading lustfull rime , Who like transform'd Acteon range about , And beate the woods to finde Diana out , I's t this you 'ld have ? then hence : here 's no content For you , my Muse ne're knew what Venus meant ; But stay : I may subvert your rude conceit ; And every verse may proove a heavenly baite : O that ye were such captives ! then youl l be Thrice happy : such as these are onely free , Leave , leave your wanton toyes ; and let alone Apollo sporting at his Helicon , Let Vulcan deale with Venus , what s to thee Although shee dandle Cupids on her knee ? Be not inchanted with her wanton charmes , Let her not hugge thee in her whorish armes , But wisely doe ( as Neptune did ) in spite Of all , spue out the Lady Aphrodite , Come , come fond lad , what ? would'st thou faine espye , A glorious object for thy wandring eye ? And glut thy sight with beauty ? would'st behold A visage that will make thy Venus cold ? If this be all , I le give thy eye delight : Come see that face that lendes the Sunne his light , Come see that face that makes the heavens to shine , Come see that glorious face , that lends thee thine , Come and behold that face which if thou see , Aright , t' will make the earth a heaven to thee , Come see that glistring face from which arise Such glorious beames that dazels Angels eyes , What canst have more ; but dost thou thinke that such A comely visage will not let thee touch ? Or dost thou thinke a Sunne that shines so cleare , Will scorne to let a lesser Orbe come neere ? No thou mistak'st : say , dost thou truely thirst , For him ? I dare avouch hee lov'd thee first , Be not dismaid , It needes no more dispute , Come give this glorious face a kinde salute .

THE WORLDES METAMORPHOSIS . BEfore all time , when every thing did lye , The Chaos . Wrapt in a Chaos of deformity , When all things nothing were , and could present No comely frame , no heaven , no element , No earth , no water , fire or ayre alone But all as t were compounded all in one , Then with a word our Tri-une Iove did bring , This nothing Chaos into every thing ; Yea then our great Iehovah did present A severall region to each element , Then Time , his houres began to measure out , And he most nimbly garison'd about , This new created Orbe : he tooke his flight And hurried restlesse on both day and night , His motion was so quicke , that scarce t was ey'd , He for ten thousand worlds won't squint aside , Nor once turne backe his head ; by chance I viewd His flight ▪ his wings I thought were then renewd . Yea his unwearied feathers did so soare Swiftly , as if they never flew before , As when the Thracians from their snaky bow Did make there featherd darts so swiftly goe , That they out ranne all sight , so time did flie , As if he strove with winged Mercurie ; No weapon all this while for his defence He bore , he dealt with none but innocence , And now those foggy mists that so did lye , Cloyster'd together from eternity Were all dispersd ; yea now t was very bright And darkenesse was unfetter'd from the light ; When this was done , our great Iehovah lent The world ( as yet scarce made ) a firmament , He separated waters wondrous well , Then Seas with surging billowes ganne to swell , And tossed to and fro with every wave , As if the fretfull region would out brave Her owne Creator ; they were not content With their but now appointed regiment , Their watry mountaines did so oft aspire To Heaven , as if they would be placed higher , But now great Iove lookt on they did not dare Surpasse their stations , nay , nor once impaire Their bounds , he quickly queld their lusty prankes , And causd the waves to crouch within their bankes , When he had conquerd this unruly stran , Within two dayes he crownes Leviathan , King of the liquid region , and doth give Ten thousand thousand more with him to live , Then fruitfull earth which is the Ocean barres Appeares , and heavens bespangled all with starres , The Sunne begins his beauty to present , And proudly danceth up the Orient , He nor his horses can no longer sleepe , But gallop from the orientall deepe , He rid so fast that in few houres was spide All bravely wrapt in his meridian pride , But when he clamber'd to the highest brinke , He view'd the fabricke , then began to sinke , And all the way as hee did homewards goe , He laughed , to see so brave a frame below , Still whipping on his Iades , untill his head Was safely laid into his Westerne bed . Silver Lucina as yet did not enter , But lay immured within the reeking center , Whilst he had mounted on his flaming seate , And viewd a glorious orbe , wondrous , compleate , With that the purple Lady straight prepares , Attended with ten thousand thousand starres , Shee clambers up in this her rich aray , And viewes the goodly building all the way , Sweete smiles shee cast from her admiring eye , Whilst all her little babes stood twinkling by , Playing the wantons by their mothers side , As if they were inamour'd with the pride Of such a Fabricke : to expresse their mirth , Some shot from heaven , as though they 'd live on Earth , This done , sweete Phoebe soone beganne to drop Her borrowed beames into her brothers lap , And ever since to see this glorious sight One laughes at day ; the other smiles at night . And can you blame them ? earth is spread with bowres , And trees , and proudly deckt with sundry flowers , Shee that ere while in dunghill Chaos lay , Is now with Vi'lets purp'ld every day , And damaskt all with Roses , yea shee s clad With sweeter herbes then ever Ceres had , Her fruitfull wombe brings forth most dainty cates , And lovely fruites , these are her comely brattes , No rusticke Plowman now doth take the paines To peirce her entrailes , or to squeeze her veines , But heaven and shee unites , they scorne to see A bastard weede , disgrace their pedigree , Shee 's overspread with pinkes and Daffadillies , Carnations , Roses , and the whitest Lilies , Those fondlings lolling in her armes doe lye , Shaking their heads , and in her bosome dye ; These in their mothers sides doe take their rest , Till they doe drop their leaves into her brest , And now the little birds doe every day , Sit singing in the boughs , and chirpe , and play , The Phesant and the Partridge slowly flye , Vndaunted even before the Faulcons eye , Now comes Behemoth with his Lordly gate , Gazing , as if he stood admiring at So rich a frame , first having fixt his sight On glorious earth , he alwayes tooke delight In viewing that ; and would not looke on high , Nay all the glorious spangles of the skye Could not entice him , ever from his birth He spent his time in looking on the earth . All other beasts their greedy eyes did fling On lovely earth , as did their crowned King : Yea now the Lion with the Lambe did goe , And knew not whether blood were sweete or no , The little Kids to shew their wanton pride , Came dancing by the loving Tigers side , The Hare being minded with the Hounds to play , Would give a sporting touch , and so away , And then returne , being willing to be found , And take his turne to chace the wanton Hound . The busie Mice sat sporting all the day , Meane while the Cat did smile to see them play . The Foxe stands still , to see the Geese asleepe , The harmelesse Wolfe now grazeth with the Sheepe , Here was no raping , but all beasts did lye As link'd in one , O Heavenly Sympathy ! The goodly Pastures springing from the Clay , Did wooe their mouthes to banquet , all the way Was spread with dainty herbes , and as they found Occasion , they would oft salute the ground , Those uncontrouled creatures then begunne To sport , and all lay basking in the Sunne , No creature was their Lord , gainesaid by none , As if that Heaven and earth were all their owne . Thus when this mighty builder did inrobe Himselfe with night , and Chaos to a globe Convert , of this he tooke a serious view , And did as t were create it all anew , He made a little Orbe , cald man ▪ the same , Onely compacted in a lesser frame , For what is all this all , that man in one Doth not enjoy . A man that s onely blowne With heavens breath , a man that doth present Life , Spirit , sense , and every element : Yea in this little world great Iove did place His glorious Image , and this miry face Was heavens picture , t was this face alone That still lookt up to his Creators throne , Then God did make ( a place to be admir'd , Surely t was heaven it selfe had then conspir'd , To finde it out , ) a garden sweetly blowne , With pleasant fruite , and man's exempt from none , Of all these plants , except a middle tree , And what can one among a thousand bee ! O glorious place , that God doth now provide For durty clay ! the earth in all her pride , He tramples on : and heav'n that 's so beset With spangles and each glistring Chrysolet Doth give attendance , yea it serves to be A covering for his head , his Canopie . Thus man of heaven and earth is all possest , This span of durt , is Lord of all the rest , Me think's I see how all the Creatures bring Their severall Congies to their new made King , Behemoth which ere while did range about Vncheckt , and tossing up his bony snowt , Feard none : now having cast his rowling eyes Vpon his Lord , see how he crouching lyes , Behind a sheltring bush , he seemes to be , Imploring aide of every spreading tree , The Lyon which ere while was in his pride , Squinting by chance his gogle-eyes aside , Espies his King , he dares not stay for haste , Spues out his meate halfe chaw'd , and will not taste Of his intended food ; but sneakes away , Counting his life to be his chiefest prey , It was but now the raven was espide , Sporting her wings upon the Tigars hide , But now , O how her feather'd say les doe soare , As if shee vowd to touch the earth no more ! See how the Goates doe clamber to the top Of highest mountaines , and the Conies drop Into their holes , see how the Roebucke flings himselfe , almost exchanging legs for wings . Why ? what 's the matter , that ye haste away , Ye that ere while , were sporting all the day ? Tell me yee Creatures , say , what fearefull sight Hath put you to this unexpected flight ? Speake , speake thou giddy lambe , wer 't not thou spide At play but now ? why then dost skip aside ? What ? is it man that frights you ? can his face Stretch out your legs unto their swiftest pace ? Can one looke daunt you all ? what neede this bee ? Are ye not made of Clay , as well as hee ? Have ye not one Creator ? are ye not His elder Brothers , and the first begot ? Why start ye then ? is it not strange to see One weake-one make ten thousand strong ones flee ? But ah I neede not aske , I know it now , You spied your makers image in his brow . T' was even so indeed , no time to stay , Your Lord was comming , fit , he should have way . And thus these Creatures dares not come in sight ; Surely t' was heavens Idea , causd the fright . Now see how flattering earth doth strive alone To please this Lord ; each tree presents a done , See how the fruite hangs with a comely grace , And wooes his hands to rent them from their place , O how they bow , and would not have him bring His hands to them , they bend unto their King , But if by chance he will not plucke and taste , They breake the boughes , and so for griefe they waste . See how the little pinkes when they espie Their Lord , doe Curtsy as he passeth by , The wanton Dazies shake their leavy heads , The purple Vilets startle from their beds , The Primrose sweete and every flowre that growes , Bestrowes his way with odours as he goes ; Thus did the herbes , the trees , the pleasant flowres Welcome their Lord into his Eden bowres . But all this while , the earth with all her pride , Shee nor her store could not aford a bride Fitting for man , no , no , to end the strife The man himselfe must yeeld himselfe a wife , It was not meete for him to be alone . Then did our one-in-three our three-in-one Cast him into a sleepe , and did divide His ribbes , and brought a woman from his side . When this was done , the devill did entice The wife from Gods , unto his Paradice , See how the lying serpent maketh choise Of the forbidden tree : a tacite voice It hath indeede most lovely to the eye , Presents it to her , and shee by and by Forsooth must taste : and so must Adam too . What cannot women by entreaties doe ! God he intends a wife for mans reliefe , But oftentimes shee prooves the greatest griefe . Was there but one forbid ? and must shee bee So base a wretch to taste of such a tree ? Must Adam too ? Ah see how shee pluckes downe Her husbands glory , and kickes off his crowne ! O see how angry God himselfe comes downe , To curse these wretches ! heaven begins to frowne , Alas poore naked soules , me thinkes I see Transformed Adam crouch behind a tree , T' is time to runne when once God doth reject him , T is not his leavy armour can protect him , Heaven and hell with all the spight they can Strive for revenge against this monster man . O how the Creatures frowne , and bend their brow , As if they all conspir'd and tooke a vow Against this caytive , hearke how earth complaines That shee by man is barrd of mod'rate raines , Shee s now become a strumpet , fruitfull seedes , And dainty flowers , are turn'd to bastard weedes , Disrob'd of all her glory , lost her pride , The creatures now lie starving by her side , O how shee sighes , and sends up hideous cryes , To see poore cattell fall before her eyes , For want of foode : they rip their mothers wombe For meate , but finding none , doe makt their tombe , Harke how the buls and angry Lyons roare To heaven , and tell how man decreast their store , Heare how the little Lambes which yesterday Did honour to their King , and gave him way , O how they begge for vengeance to come downe On man , and dispossesse him of his Crowne , See , see what raping and what cruell thrall Is us'd : t is man alone that murders all , The Lion mild ere while for want of foode , Doth fill his paunch with unaccustom'd blood , The wolfe which lately was more apt to keepe The tender lambes , now prosecutes the sheepe , Surely the ravenous beasts ( did not they spye The glimpse of heaven within mans purblind eye , ) Would straight devoure him , did not mercy now Come downe and smooth her fathers wrinkled brow : The earth would scorne to beare him , but divide Her selfe , and make this Dathan sincke in pride ; The earth would not indure the plough to passe Into her iron sides , the heavens as brasse Would soone become , and both doe what they can To starve up this deformed monster man . See how this Caytife causeth discontent , And raiseth discord in each element , How often have I seene the raging fire Vnto the top of highest Towres aspire , And clamber mighty buildings ? t is unbound , Surely t' would burne the fabricke to the ground , Did not our God looke from his mercy seat , And make the watry sister quell the heate . How is the ayre poysned with misty fogges , And churlish vapours ; onely such that clogs The Corps with deadly humours , such that brings The Pestilence , yea such that quickely flings Loathsome diseases alwayes tipt with death , Did not Iove fanne it with his mighty breath . Harke how the impatient seas beginne to thunder , As if they 'd rent their prison walls in sunder ; See how the mounting waves doe swiftly flye To heaven , as if they meant to tell the skye How basely man hath dealt : O how they roare , Beating their foming waves against the shore , Chiding their sister earth that dares to beare So base a wretch ; see how the waves doe teare Her bowels , and with all the spight they can Strive for to drowne this wretched Caytife man .

CHRISTS BIRTH AND PASSION . O Thou most Sacred Dove that I may write Thy praises , drop thou from thy soaring flight A quill : come aide my muse , for shee intends To sing such love no mortall comprehends , Guide thou her stamring tongue , and let her be Strongly protected in her infancy , Then shee 'll tell how the King of Kings by birth Forsooke his throne , to live on dunghill earth , Then shee 'le declare how great creating Iove , Whose starre-bepaved pallace is above All whose attendance is a glorious troope , Of glitt'ring cherubs , unto whom doe stoope Each glorious Angell , flinging himselfe downe , Presenting at his feete his pearely crowne , To be his pallace heaven it selfe 's not meete , And dunghill earth 's too little for his feete ; Yet this great King-creating King did slide To earth , and laid his Diadem aside , Exchanging it for thornes , and did untire His glorious selfe , and clad himselfe in mire ; At whose appearance singing Angels shot Like starres from heaven ( newes nere to be forgot ) Yea winged Cherubs from the highest came As Heavens Heralds to divulge his fame . All heaven did obey sance but for earth ( Vngratefull soile unworthy of the birth Of such a babe ) t was readier to intombe The dying Lord , then to afford a roome , Proud Salem was too high to entertaine Poore Maries babe , t was kept for Herods traine , And Rome that seavenhild Citty was too greate To lodge this Child , t is Caesars royall seate , T' is Bethlem , little Bethlem must suffice To lighten Iosephs Consorts weary thighes , And that s almost too proud to lodge him in , No private house , but even a vulgar Inne , And tha 're not harbourd in the choisest roomes , No , not so well as with the common groomes , But this ( ah most unworthy ) worthy guests Is thrust ( and gladly too ) among the beasts , He that before was wont to take his rest , All coverd in his fathers silken breast , Is now constrained to lay his worthy head , Vpon an undeserved strawy bed , He that was wont to heare the pleasant tones Of sweete-voyc'd Angels , now the saddest grones Of dolefull Mary , mixt with brinish teares , These onely these are harbour'd in his eares , The Babe is scarcely borne , but sought to dye , As yet not learn'd to goe , but forc'd to flye , And to avoid the Tetrarchs furious Curse , Hard hearted Egypt's now become a Nurse , He that can make both Heaven and earth to dread , Loe patiently takes all , and hides his head , Yet hee 'le returne , no , not the bitter wrongs , Nor spightfull usage , nor the smarting thongs , Nor sharpest scourges , no nor blackest hell , Can quench the boundlesse love , nor yet expell His strong affections , let the traitors set A thorny crowne on 's head , and also wet His glorious face with spittle , and deride , And scourge till blood falls trickling downe his side , Nay though he be constrain'd to leave his breath , And 's dying soule is heavy unto death , He can't but smile upon his bitter foe , And love the traitors whe're they will or no , Yet see how sordid man repayeth all His kindnesse , with an undeserved thrall , Whil'st he ( sad soule ) lay prostrate all alone , Fast fixing both his eyes at heavens throne , And sending up such sighes , as though he 'd make The weakned vaults of heaven and earth to shake , His sweate dropt downe like dew , and as he stood He staind Mount Olives with his Crimson blood , Whilst all his sad Disciples drowsy lye , Scarce able to hold up a sluggish eye , Now he 's betraid by Iudas , he that bore The bagge , and was intrusted with the store , He that did scorne the traitors name , and cry , Who shall betray thee Lord ? Lord speake ? is 't I ? Yet now an abject Christ becomes , to be , And thirty pence is valu'd more then he , The bloody steward with a treacherous kisse Forsooke his Master and eternall blisse , And sould the body of a Lord so good To souldiers , such as thirsted after blood , And then for feare the Innocent should passe Vntoucht , was straight accused by Caiaphas , Condemn'd by Pontius Pilate , to expell The guilt , he washt his hands , and all was well , O see what force weake water had to quench His sparkling Conscience , and his flaming sence ! Alas not Nilus , no nor Iordans flood Can cleanse the staines of such a Crimson blood ; No t is the streames of a repenting eye T is onely this takes out a scarlet dye , Thus our Astrea stands arraign'd to dye And nothing's to be heard but Crucifye : When this alarum sounded to the hight And heav'n and hell conspired both to fight Against this Captaine , then his daunted troope Forsooke their Lord , each soule began to droope ; Yet gracious he imparted his renowne He wonne the battell and gave them the Crowne , Yea he became a curse that knew no sinne He was inrob'd and disinrob'd ag'in , His temples crown'd with thornes , his glorious face Was spit upon and beate with all disgrace That abject slaves could use , and then they cry , To blinded Christ who beate thee ? prophecy . Ah stupid soules as if that piercing sight That viewes all secrets in the darkest night , That tries the thoughts of every heart , and stares Into each soule is now as blind as theirs ; Thus was he basely us'd , but all 's not done The hell-invented fury is to come , By vulgar slaves the very Sonne of God Is falsely scourg'd and forc'd to kisse the rod , Yea he whose nostrils able are to cast Out flame , and burne the world at every blast , Whose mighty breath is able for to fanne Ten thousand worlds , and puffe out every man Like chaffe , and make the flanting world to tosse Like waves , is now compeld to beare his crosse ; Whereon his body in a vulgar streete Hung naked pierc'd with nayles both hands and feete : The well of water , he that gave the first To all his creatures , now 's himselfe a thirst , Yea he to whom all thirsty creatures call For drinke , must now drinke vinegar with gall , They pierc'd his side from whence came watry blood , More soveraigne farre then all Bethesda's flood , These tyrants thus ( though to themselves denide ) Did make a way to heaven through his side . Alas my muse for sighes can scarce prolong The fatall tuning of so dire a song , To see heavens faire Idea seeme so foule Sobbing and sighing out his burdned soule , Those eyes which now seeme dim , were once so bright , From hence it was that Phoebus begd his light , Those armes which now hang weake did from their birth Support the tottring vaults of heaven and earth , That tongue that now lyes speechlesse in his head , A word of that would soone revive the dead , One touch of those Pale fingers would suffice To heale the sicke and make the dead man rise : Those legges which now are peircd by abject slaves were kindly entertaind amongst the waves : The coate whose warmth did give his sides reliefe The hem , the very hem could cure a griefe ; But now strength's weake , th'omnipotent's a crying For aid , health's sicke and life it self 's a dying , His head hangs drooping and his eyes are fixt , His weakned armes growne pale , the sunne's eclipst ( O boundlesse love , thus thus thou didst expose Thy selfe to damned paines to save thy foes ) Hell fought against him , heaven began to frowne And justice soone sent vengeance posting downe , Who clad with fury , being angry shakes Her ugly head whose haire doth nurture snakes , Shee layes about her greedy of her prey Quencheth her thirst with blood and so away , And mercy now lies cover'd in a cloud And will not heare although his sighes are loud ( Although his cries are such that cause a stone To heare , yet sinne makes heav'n forget her owne ) Heav'n frownes as if shee had her owne forgot , Mercy lookes off as if shee knew him not , He suffred paines that hell it selfe devisd , So much , that justice cride I am suffic'd : His tortures were so high , so great , so sore , That hell cride out : I can inflict no more : Which done the heavens closd up their lamping light And turn'd the day into a dismall night ; Bright Phoebus vaild his face and would not see , Wormes actors of so bloody treachery : And quivering earth her wonted rigour lackt And straight stood trembling at so dire a fact : The buri'd Saints arose to see betwixt Two dusky clouds , their glorious Sunne eclipst : Thus heav'n it selfe with the terrestriall Ball ' Doth joyne to celebrate his funerall : The Landlord of the globe who first did raise Earths fabricke , was a tenant for three dayes ; But when once Christ did cease to be turmoyld Heaven and he was gladly reconcil'd , Mercy came dancing from the angry denne Tost off her cloudy mantle , smild againe , Pearch'd on her brightest throne , and makes a vow To smooth the wrinckled furrowes of her brow : And grim fac'd vengeance shee that s onely fed With poyson , dares not shew her snaky head For feare : all anger s banisht cleane away , Sterne justice now hath not a word to say , And now the Fathers anger being done Double imbraces entertaine the Sonne : As when a tender mother sometime beates Her wanton boy for his unruly feates Shee wipes his blubberd face and by and by Presents a thousand gugoyes to his eye , Shee angry with her selfe beginnes to seeke His former love teares trickling downe her cheeke , Quickly forgetting what was done amisse , Ending her anger in a lovely kisse , Doubtlesse her fondling burnes the rod and then Come peace my babe kisse and be friends agen . Iust so when God inflicted on his Sonne His bittrest wrath , the anger being done O then how soone he doubled his renowne ? Adorn'd his Temple with a richer Crowne ? Angry with those that would not heare his moane Ready to fling grim vengeance from his throne , And chide with mercy shee that once did runne To hide her selfe from this his dying Sonne , And for this fact would surely overthrow The fabricke , did not Iustice hold the blow . Thus heaven was friends againe , but sordid man Poore mortall dust whose dayes are but a span Doth strive against his God , like dogges that storme And barke and brawle and fome at Phoebes horne : Ah Lord , why are they so extreame to thee ? What is the cause thou madst their blindmen see ? Or why didst thou their fury thus inrage ? Because thou didst revive their dead mens age ? Me thinkes t is strange good God thou shouldst enflame Their anger by restoring legges too lame . How is it Lord thou sowedst glorious seedes And loe a harvest all compact of weedes ? Thou gavest them life , and spentst thy dearest breath For them , and now thou art repaid with death : What griefe was ere like thine ? would not thy mone Quickly dissolve an adamantine stone ? Wold not those sighs ( which could not peirce their eares ) Have turnd a rocke into a sea of teares ? Would not those wrongs thou bor'st without reliefe , Make every cave , to echo out thy griefe ? For greedy Lions are more kind then men , They entertaind thy limbe within their denne : Forget their wonted humours and became As carefull shepherdes to thy tender Lambe , The croking raven , shee whose natures wilde Became a tender nurse unto thy Childe , And to obey thy voice the stony rocke Became a springing fountaiue to thy flocke , Yea rather then thy babes shall live in thrall , The very sea it selfe provides a wall , The flames forget their force , through thy constraint Lose heate and know not how to burne a Saint , Yea when thy souldiers wanted day to fight , The Sun stood still and lent them longer light : When boistrous seas did shew their lusty prancks , Scorning to be imprison'd in their banckes , And with their billowes vaulted up so high , As if they meant to scale the starry sky , And boundlesse Boreas from his frozen Cave Rusht out and proudly challeng'd every wave , One nod of thine did quell those seas agen , And sent proud Boreas to his sullen denne : Thus thou the senselesse creatures oft did'st checke , And mad'st the proudest pliant to thy becke , For devils trembled and that breath of thine Made them seeke shelter in a heard of swine , They knew thy greatnesse and confest thy name . Hell sent forth Heraulds to divulge thy fame But man ( Lord what s he made of ? ) stupid soule Is now more greedy then the raping foule : Harder then flint , his nature is so grimme , That questionlesse the Lyon chang'd with him : Hotter then flame , more boystrous then the winde , More fierce then waves , and hels not more unkinde . Yet thou ( O matchlesse love ) didst undergoe An undeserved curse to save thy foe : Yea guiltlesse thou because thou would'st suffice For guilty man , becom'st a Sacrifice . Thou Grand Physitian for thy patients good Didst mixe thy Physicke with thy dearest blood : Man from the sweetest flower did sucke his griefe But thou from venome didst extract reliefe , From pleasures limbecke man distild his paine Thou out of sorrow pleasure drawd againe , Sweete Eden was the garden where there grew Such sugred flowers , yet there our poyson blew , Sad Gethseman the arbour where was pluckt , Though bitter herbes , yet thence was hony suckt : So have I seene the busie Bee to feed , Extracting honey from the sowrest weed , Whilst Spiders wandring through a pleasant bowre Sucke deadly poyson from the sweetest flower , Thus , thus sweete Christ , thy sicknesse was our health , Thy death , our life , thy poverty our wealth , Thy griefe our mirth , our freedome was thy thrall , Thus thou by being conquerd conquerest all .

CANT. 8. 7. Much water cannot quench love , neither can the floods drowne it . O How my heart is ravisht ! thoughts aspire To thinke on thee my Christ : my zeales on fire , What shall I doe my love ? me thinkes mine eyes Behold thee still , yet still I Tantalize ; Ten thousand lets stand arm'd and all agree , Conspiring how to part my love and me . Presumption like Olympus scales the skye , A mountaine for to part my Love and I. Despaire presents a gulfe , a greedy grave Much like the jawes of the infernall Cave : But what of this ? though hils are nere so high Whose sunne-confronting tops upbraide the skye I le trample o're , and make them know t is meete Their proudest heads should stoope and kisse my feete : I le stride o're cares deeper then Neptunes well , Whose threatning jawes doe yawne as wide as hell : Although the sea boyles in her angry tides And watry mountaines knocke at Heavens sides , Though every puffe of Neptunes angry breath Should raise a wave and every wave a death , I le scorne his threates should stop my course , or quell My pace , though every death presents a hell : Yea I le adventure through those swelling stormes Whose billowes seemes to quench great Phoebes hornes , Mountaines shall be as molehilles , every wave Tost in the fretfull region , shall outbrave No more then streames that shew their wanton pranckes , Gliding along by Thames his petty banckes : But grant that seas should swell , and tossing tides With stormes should crush my waving vessels sides : Suppose for footemen mountaines are too steepe , Each hill too high , and every cave too deepe : Suppose all earth conspire to stop : care I ? My faith will lend me wings and then I le flye : O how I le laugh to see that mounting clay ! O how I le smile at that that stopt my way ! O how I laugh to see the Ocean straine Her banckes for to oppose and all in vaine ! And can you blame me ? when I 'me once above I le care for none , for none but thou my Love . Thou art my path : I shall not goe awry : My sight shall never faile : thou art my eye : Thou art my clothing : I shan't naked be : I am no bondman : thou hast made me free ; I am not pin'd with sickenesse : thou art health : I am no whit impoverisht , thou art wealth .

Mans naturall infirmity . WHat meanes my God ? why dost present to me Such glorious objects ? can a blind man see ? Why dost thou call ? why dost thou becken so ? Wouldst have me come ? Lord can a Cripple go ? Or why dost thou expect that I should raise Thy glory with my voice ? the dumbe can't praise . Vnscale my duskye eyes , then I le expresse Thy glorious objects strong attractivenesse : Dip thou my limbes in thy Bethesdaes lake , I le scorne my earthly crutches , I le forsake My selfe : touch thou my tongue and then I le sing An Allelujah to my glorious King . Raise me from this my grave , then I shall be Alive , and I le bestow my life on thee Till thou Eliah-like dost overspread My limbs , l'me blind , l'me lame , I 'me dumbe , I 'me dead :

The Melancholicke Soules comfort . O That I had a sweete melodious voice ! O that I could obtaine the chiefest choice Of sweetest musicke ! pre-thee David lend Thy well-resounding harpe , that I may send Some praises to my God : I know not how To pay by songs my heart-resolved vow : How shall I sing good God ? thou dost afford Ten thousand mercies , trebled songs O Lord Cannot requite thee ! O that I could pay With lifetime songs the mercies of one day ! I oft beginne to sing , and then before My songs halfe finisht , God gives sense for more . Alas poore soule art puzzeld ? canst not bring Thy God some honour though thou strive to sing ? The Cause is this , thou art become his debter Hee le make thee play-on musicke that is better . I Cannot play , my sobs doe stop my course , My grones doe make my musicke sound the worse . What nought but grones ? ah shall th' Almighties eares Be fild with sighes all vsherd in with teares ? I this is musicke : such a tune prolongs Gods love , and makes him listen to thy songs : T is this that makes his ravisht soule draw nigher , T is this outstrips the Thracian with his Lyre , T is this inchants thy God , t is this alone That drags thy spouse from heaven to heare thy tone : No better Musicke then thy sobs and cries , If not a Davids harpe , get Peters eyes .

The Soule in love with Christ . WHat though my Love doth neate appeare ? And makes Aurora blush to see her ? Though nature paints her cheekes with red And makes proud Venus hide her head ? What though her crimson lips so mute Doe alwayes wooe a new salute , What though her wanton eyes doe shine Like glistring starres and dazell mine ? T is Christ alone , Shall be my owne , T is him I will embrace , T is he shall be A Spouse to me , All beauty 's in his face . What though the earth for me prepares A present from her golden Quarres , And braggeth of her earely gaines , Exhausted from her silver vaines ? What though shee shew her painted brates And bids me smell her Violates ? And deckes her selfe in spring attire , To make my ravisht soule admire ? Yet all this shant My Soule inchant I le smile to see her pride I know where lies A better prize For Christ hath broch'd his side . What though the world doth me invite And daily play the Parasite ? Or with her gilded tales intice Me , to a seeming Paradise ? And paints her face and all day long Sits breathing out a Syrens song ? And shewes her pompe , and then in fine Tells me , that shee and hers are mine ? Yet none of this , Shall be my blisse , I le scorne the painted whore I will deride Her and her pride For Christ is this and more . What though insinuating pleasure , Preferres me to her chiefest treasure And every day , and every night Doth feede me with a new delight And slumbers me with lullaby Dandling me on her whorish thigh ? What though with her sublime pretencēs Shee strives t' imprison all my senses ? Yet shee shant be A trap to me Her freedome is but thrall , Her greatest coy Will but annoy , Till Christ doth sweeten all . Or what though profit with her Charmes Grasping the world within her armes Vnlades her selfe ? and bids me see What paines shee takes , and all for me ; And then invites me to her bower Filling my coffers every houre ? What though shee thus inlarge my store With every day a thousand more ? Yet let her packe And turne her backe , Her purest gold's but-drosse Her greatest paines Produce no gaines Till Christ come all is losse . Or what though Fortune should present Her high Olympicke regiment . And never my Ambition checke , But still be pliant to my becke ? What though she lends me wings to flie Vnto the top of Dignity , And make proud Monarches with her wheele Vncrowne their heads to Crowne my heele , I le not depend On such a friend , T is Christ is all my stay : Shee can revoke The highest spoke , Her wheeles turnd every day . Let none of these in me take place : Fond Venus hath a Vulcans face : And so till heaven be pleasd to smile Poore earth sits barren all the while : The world that s apt to winne a foole It is my burden , not my stoole : Nor pleasure shall enchant my mind , Shee s smooth before , but stings behind : I will disdaine Their greatest gaine , And fortun 's but a feather , T is none of these Can give me ease , But Christ's the same for ever .

Lord why hidest thou thy face from me . WHat drowsie weather 's this ? the angry skies Doe threaten stormes , and heav'n it selfe denies Her lovely visage , ah these darkned dayes Doe make my vitals drowsie , and decayes My soules delight : good God can I controule Or drive these pensive humours from my soule ? Ah no I can't my lively spirits keepe , Such drowsie weather 's fit for nought but sleepe . O thou eternall light that hast the sway In Ioves broad wals , thouscepter of the day , Thou heav'ns bright torch , thouglistring worlds bright eye , Why dost thou hide and so obscurely lye ? Come wrap thy selfe in thy compleate attire , Shew forth thy glory , make my soule admire Thy splendor , come and doe no longer stay But with thy glorious beames bestrow my way , Extirpe these foggy mists from out mine eyes , That I may plainly see where heaven lyes . Then I le awake , sweete Christ , doe thou display Thy glittering beames , send out a Summers day , I 'le rub my slumbring eyes , O then I 'le roame A life-time journey from my native home : The soule will sleepe and can't hold up her eyes Vntill the sunne of righteousnesse arise .

Christs Resurrection . COme Rise my heart , thy Master 's risen , Why slug'st thou in thy grave ? Dost thou not know he broke the prison ? Thou art no more a slave . He rowled of the sealed stone That once so pondrous lay , And left the watchmen all alone And bravely scapt away . When flesh , the world , and Satan too Wont suffer thee to quatch , Learne of thy Master what to doe And cozen all the watch . Let not these clogging earthly things Make thee ( poore soule ) forsake him , Goe , ask of Faith , she 'le lend thee wings , Haste , fly , and overtake him . But harke my soule , I 'le tell thee where Thy Master sits in state : Goe knocke at heavens dore , for there He entred in of late . If Peter now had kept the key Thou mightst get in with ease , But Iustice onely beares the sway And le ts in whom shee please . Shee 's wondrous sterne and suffers not A passenger to enter , Without thy Masters ticket got Thou mayst not touch her Center . But come my soule , let me advise , What needst thou to implore The Saints for ayde ? I know where lies For thee a private doore . Dost not remember since the pride Of base perfidious men Did thrust thy Master through the side ( We rt not thou wounded then . ) When Iustice is so sterne that thou Vnto a straight art driven , ( Come hearke and I will tell thee now ) Creepe through that wound to heaven .

Sanctificat . O My head , alas my bones , O my wounded joynts doe smart , Flesh ere while as hard as stones , Now it akes in every part : Lord 't is thy Art . All thy Iudgements could not scare Me , nor make my soule to fly , Now one angry looke can reare Me , and make me pensive lye In misery . Lord there where I tooke my rise , There did I begin to reele , Surfetted in Paradise , And there I got a bruised heele , Which now I feele . Surely my disease was great , Sicke , and yet I felt no paine ; Hungry , yet I could not eate : Sore , yet could I not complaine : Yet all was gaine . For , good God , thy care was such That thou gavest me much reliefe , Yea thou lendedst me a Crutch , And didst make me know my griefe : Lord thou art chiefe . Thou hast made the rocke to weepe And my stony heart to groane , Thou hast rais'd me from my sleepe , And dost smile to heare my tone ; And lov'st my mone . But what need'st thou lend a Crutch , Thou canst make me perfect whole ? Thou canst heale me with a touch , By this thou know'st a woman stole , Cure for her dole . When leave I this halting pace ? When shall I most perfect be ? When thou shalt my glistring face , In the land of glory see . Lord perfect me .

A Meditation on a Mans shadow . WHen as the Sunne flings downe his richest rayes , And with his shining beames adornes my wayes , See how my shadow trackes me where I goe , I stop , that stops ; I walke , and that doth so : I runne with winged flight , and still I spye My waiting shadow runne as fast as I. But when a sable cloud doth disaray The Sunne , and robs me of my smiling day : My shadow leaves me helpelesse all alone , And when I most neede comfort I have none : Iust so it is ; let him that hath the hight Of outward pompe , expect a parasite : If thou art great , thy honours will draw nigh : These are the shadowes to prosperity : O how the worldlings make pursuite to thee , With cap in hand and with a bended knee : But if disastrous fate should come betwixt Thee and thy Sunne , thy splendor's all eclipst : Thy friends forsake thee , and thy shadow 's gone , And thou ( poore sunne-lesse thou ) art left alone , This is thy Soules estate , the worldly gaine And greatest pompe , in stormy times are vaine : They are but shadowes when distresse comes nigh , They are as nothing to a faithfull eye . Yet here 's my comfort Lord , if I can see My shadow , I must needes a substance be . O let me not with worldly shadowes clogge My selfe , grant me more wit then Esops dogge .

A Meditation on Childrens rashnesse . WHen Mothers are desirous for to play The wantons with their babes , and shew the way To finde their feete : to give their brats content , They wagge their sporting fingers , and present A penny in the forehead , or some pap , To win the Children to the Mothers lap : How soone will they their little grissels stretch , And runne apace , aspiring for to fetch This petty object ? never caring though Their way be full of stumbling blockes below : Thou art that Mother Lord , thou usest charmes , And still art dandling , Christ within thine armes Presents most glorious objects to our eyes , And shewes us where thy choisest mercies lies ; Why then are we so backward ? why so slow ? Or why so loth into thy armes to goe ? Small molehils seeme as mountaines in our way , And every light affliction makes us stay : Why should we stop at petty strawes below ? Make us thy Children Lord we shant doe so .

A Meditation on a good Father having a bad Sonne . QVerkus of late was minded to dispute Of this , A tree that s good brings forth good fruite . Hence he concludes such parents that have bin Converted , bring forth children void of sinne . Peace Querkus peace , and hold thy tongue for shame Dost not perceive that thy conclusion's lame ? May not a graine that s free from chaffe and cleare Cast in the ground , bring forth a chaffy eare .

A Meditation on a Weathercocke . SEe how the trembling Weathercocke can find Noe setled place , but turnes with every wind , If blustring Zephyr blowes and gives a checke , How soon's this cocke made pliant to his becke , If Boreas gets the day , t will change its side , And turne inspite of bragging Zephyrs pride : Thus temporizers turne at every puffe , And yet forsooth they thinke they 're good enough , If stand , they stand : if he that seemes to be The greatest turne , they turne as fast as he , I wonder at such wav'ring feathers , did I So often turne t' would make me wondrous giddy . Lord let that wind that blowes upon thy flocke , Turne me , and make me Lord thy weather cocke .

A Meditation on Cockfighting . SEe how those angry creatures disagree , Whilst the spectators sit and laugh to see . Doe not two neighbours often doe the same , Whilst that the Lawyers laugh to see the game ?

A Meditation on an Echo and a Picture . SEe how Apelles with his curious art , Pourtraies the picture out in every part : If he can give 't a voyce , no doubt he can Compleatly make the shape a living man : Surely his worke would to his praise redound , Could he but give the shape he made , a sound : What wants the Echo of a living creature But Shape ? and what but voice this comely feature ? Yet both can't meete together : God alone , Will have this secret Art to be his owne .

A Meditation on Noahs Dove . WHen God the floods from lands did undivide And made the skye aspiring mountaines hide , When heaven raind seas , and fountaines were unbound , And all mankind except eight soules were drownd ; Then did Ioves Pilot Noah make an Arke And thrust this little world into a barke : Yea then he sent a Dove to range about The Floods , to answer his uncertaine doubt : O how shee wanders up and downe the Seas , Fluttring her weary wings but findes no ease ! Shee sees no food , no resting place , no parke , But soone returnes into her wished Arke . Observe how tender Noah , full of Love , Opens the window to this weary Dove . Puts forth his hands to meete her , takes her in , But by and by shee flutters out agin : Shee findes an Olive leafe , and that shee brings Betweene her bill , hov'ring her tyred wings Vpon the Arke : still Noah is the same , Le ts in his wandring Dove that s now made tame With restlesse flight ; once more shee gets away , And now shee spies the earth ( that lately lay Sok'd in the impartiall deluge ) in her pride , Adornd with dainty hearbes on every side ; When food is plenty , this ungratefull Dove Forgets her Noah , and his former love : Minds nothing but her selfe , shee that before Did crouch unto thee Arke , returnes no more . Thou art that Noah Lord , and Christ the boate , Afflictions are the waters that doe floate : Man is that wandring Dove , that often flies Vnto his Christ for shelter , else he dyes . How apt are we good God to use our wings , And flye to thee when all these outward things With floods are drowned up , though we have bin So vile , how apt art thou to catch us in ? O how our God when we have bin astray Puts forth his armes to meete us in the way , And take us home ! we are no sooner in But by and by we flutter out agin : This time by chance like Noahs Dove we see , The upper branches of some Olive tree , I meane some petty shelter : still we flye Vnto our God for aide or else we dye . How apt are we , when outward things forsake us , To haste to God ? how apt's our God to take us ? The third time we are gone , now floods are husht The Sun confronting mountaines bravely washt , The Seas give place , the lowest vallies seene , Yea all the earth most sweetly deckt in greene : Now we forget our God and post away , And after make an everlasting stay : When worldly wealth comes in , and we can rest Vpon the creature : O how we detest Our former refuge ! if we find a Parke , We ne're returne unto our wonted Arke .

A Meditation on a Shippe . MArke how the floting vessell shewes her pride And is extold with every lofty tide ; But when it ebbes , and all the floods retire See how the bragging barke is plungd in mire : Iust so good God , how apt are we to swim When mercies fill our banckes unto the brim ? When worldly wealth appeares , and we can see Such outward blessings flow : then who but we ? But when it ebbes , and thou dost once unlinke These mercies from us : O how soone we sinke ; Good God let not the great estate possesse Me with presumption , nor despaire the lesse : Let me not sinke when such an ebbe appeares , No , let me swim in true repentant teares :

A Meditation on a Windmill . OBserve it alwaies t is the makers skill To place the windmill on the highest hill ; It stands unusefull till the potent windes Puffe up the lofty sayles and then it grinds : Iust thus it is : the hypocrite's the mill , His actions sayles , ambition is the hill , The wind that drives him is a blast of fame , If blowne with this he runnes , if not hee 's tame : He stirres not till a puffe of praise doth fill His sailes : but then , O how he turnes the mill ! Lord drive me with thy Spirit , then I le be Thy windmill , and will grind a grist for thee .

A Meditation on Organs . HArke how the Organist most sweetely plaiēs His Psalmes upon the tone-divided Kayes : Each touch a sound , but if the hand don't come And strike the kayes , how soon's the musicke dumbē ? A mod'rate stroke doth well , but if too hard The Organ's broke , and all the raptures mard . I am that Organ Lord , and thou alone Canst play , each prayer is a pleasant tone , Affliction is the hand that strikes the kayes : ( O Lord from me the sweetest musicke raise ; ) If thou don't strike at all how can I speake Thy worthy prayses , if too hard I breake : Strike mildly Lord , strike soft , and then I le sing , And charoll out the glory of my King .

A Meditation on an Apes love . WHen once the foolish Ape hath fild her nest With little brats , there 's one among the rest , Shee most affects : to shelter this from harmes , Shee alwayes hugges it in her wanton armes . Vntill at length shee squeezeth out the breath , Of this her fondling , Loves the cause of death : The Worlds this wanton Ape , that still delights In hugging some peculiar favourites , Of those that are thus dandled by this Ape , There doth not one among a thousand scape .

On contempt of the World . A Loft O Soule ; soare up , doe not turmoyle Thy selfe by grabbling on a dunghill soyle : Tosse up thy wings , and make thy soaring plumes Outreach the loathsome stench and noysome fumes That spring from sordid earth : come , come , and see Thy birth , and learne to know thy pedigree : What ? wa st thou made of Clay ? or dost thou owe Homage to earth ? say , is thy blisse below ? Dost know thy beauty ? dost thou not excell ? Can the Creation yeeld a parallel ? The world can't give a glasse to represent Thy shape , and shall a durty element Bewitch thee ? thinke , is not thy birth most high ? Blowne from the mouth of all the trinity , The breath of all-creating Iove , the best Of all his workes , yea thee of all the rest He chose to be his Picture : where can I But in thy selfe see Immortality 'Mong all his earthly creatures ? Thou art chiefe Of all his workes : and shall the world turne theefe And steale away thy love ? wert not for thee The heav'n aspiring mountaine should not bee , The heavens should have no glistring starre , no light , No Sunne to rule the day , no Moone the night : The Globe had bin ( 't was not the makers will To make it for it selfe ) a Chaos still : Thou art Ioves priestly Aaron to present The creatures service , while they give assent By serving thee , why then 's the world thy rest ? 'T is but thy servants servant at the best : It gives attendance to refined mire , That Iove hath wrapt thee in as thy attire ; For what s the body but a lumpe of clay Carv'd neatly out , in which the soule beares sway ? T is servant to the soule : what limbe can stirre , Nay darst to quatch , if once shee make demurre ? See how the captiv'd members trembling stand Wondrous submissive to her dire command ! O how the legs doe runne with eager flight To overtake the object of delight ! See how the armes doe graspe as if they 'd rent To hold the thing that gives the soule content . Why what s the body when the soule 's away ? Nought but a stincking carkasse made of clay . What 's heav'n without a God ? or what 's the skye If once bright Phoebus close his radiant eye ? The world was for our bodies , they for none But for our soules , our soules for God alone : What madnesse then for men of such a birth To nuzell all their dayes on dunghill earth , Still hunting after with an eager sent An object which can never give content ; For what contentment in the world can lye , That 's onely constant in inconstancy ? It ebbes and flowes each minuie : thou maist brag This day of thousands , and to morrow beg : The greatest wealth is subject for to reele , The globe is plac'd on Fortunes tottering wheele : As when the gladding sunne begins to show And scatter all his golden beames below , A churlish cloud soone meetes him in the way , And sads the beauty of the smiling day : Or as a stately ship a while behaves Herselfe most bravely on the slumbring waves , And like a Swanne sailes nimbly in her pride The helpefull windes concording with the tide To mend her pace : but by and by , the wind The fretfull Seas , the heav'ns and all combin'd Against this bragging barke , O how they fling Her corkey sides to heaven , and then they bring Her backe : shee that ere while did sayle so brave Cutting the floods , now 's tost with every wave : Iust so , the waving world gives joy and sorrow , This day a Croesus , and a Iob to morrow : How often have I seene the miser blesse Himselfe in wealth , and count it for no lesse Then his adored God : straight comes a frowne Flying from unhappy fate , and whirleth downe Him , and his heapes of gold , and all that prize Is lost , which he but now did Idolize . But grant the world ( as never 't will ) to be A thing most sure most full of constancy , What is thy wealth unlesse thy God doth blesse Thy store , and turne it to a happinesse ? What though thy Table be compleatly spread With farre-fetcht dainties , and the purest bread That fruitfull earth can yeeld ? all this may bee , If thou no stomacke hast , what 's all to thee ? What though thy habitation should excell In beauty , and were Edens parallel ? Thou being pesterd with some dire disease , How can thy stately dwelling give thee ease ? Thy joyes will turne thy griefe , thy freedome thrall , Vnlesse thy God above doth sweeten all : When thou ( poore soule ) liest ready to depart , And hear'st thy Conscience snarling at thine heart , Though heapes of gold should in thy coffers lye , And all thy worthlesse friends stand whining by , 'T is none , 't is none of these can give thee health , But thou must languish in the midst of wealth . Then cease thou mad man and pursue no more The world , and know shee 's but a painted whore , Thou catchest shadowes , labourst in thy dreames , And thirst's amongst th' imaginary streames .

A Meditation on a meane . LOrd in excesse I see there often lies Great dangers , and in wants great miseries : Send me a meane , doe thou my wayes preserve , For I may surfet Lord , as well as starve .

On Sathans tempting Eve . ARt thou turn'd Fencer Sathan ? prethee say ? Surely thou art not active at thy play . Challenge a Woman ? fie thou art to blame , Suppo●e thou getst the day , thou getst no fame . But prethee speake , hast any cause to prate ? Thou bruis'd her heele , what though ? shee broke thy pate .

On a Spunge . THe Spunge it selfe drinkes water till it swell it , But never empties till some strength expell it : Lord , of our selves we 're apt to soake in sinne , But thou art faine to squeeze it out agin .

On Cain and Abels offerings . ARt angry Cain ? what doe thy thoughts repine ? Is Abels offring better tooke then thine ? Didst not thou bring thy God a lovely prize And crowne his Altar with a sacrifice , Art not thou elder ? did not thy offring too Come from thy God ? what more could Abell doe ? I le tell thee Cain how Abel got the start , He with his offring , offered up his heart .

On an Apprentices Boxe . THe Prentise after all his yearely paines , Filleth his small mouth'd box with Christmas gaines , Yet though he fill his box unto the brim Vnlesse he breake it up , what s all to him ? A miser's such a Boxe , that s nothing worth , Till death doth breake it up , then all comes forth : Convert good God , or strike with some disease , Breake up such small mouth'd boxes , Lord as these .

On Eves Apple . EVE for thy fruite thou gav'st too deare a price , What ? for an Apple give a Paradise ? If now a dayes of fruite such gaines were made A Costermonger were a devillish trade .

On a faire house having ill passage to it . A House to which the builders did impart The full perfection of their curious art , Most bravely furnisht , in whose roomes did lye , Footeclothes of Velvet , and of tapestry ; I wondred at ( as who could not but doe it ) To see so rough so hard a passage to it : So Lord I know thy heaven 's a glorious place , Wherein the beauty of thy glistring face Inlightens all : thou in the wals dost fixe , The Iasper and the purest sardonyx , Thy gates are pearles , and every dore beset With Saphires , Emeralds , and the Chrysolet : Each Subject weares a crowne , the which he brings And flings it downe to thee , the King of Kings . But why 's the way so thorny ? t is great pitty The passage is no wider to thy Citty , Poore Daniel through his den and Shadrake's driven With his associates through the fire to Heaven , But yet we can't complaine , we may recall The time to minde when there was none at all , T' was Christ that made this way , and shall we be Who are his Servants , farre more nice then he ? No , I le adventure too , nay , I le get in , I le tracke my Captaine thorow thicke and thin . FINIS .

Notes, typically marginal, from the original text

Notes for div A19974-e1830