THE TEMPLE.  
SACRED POEMS AND PRIVATE EJACULATIONS.  
By M r. GEORGE HERBERT.  PSAL. 29. 
In his Temple doth every man speak of his honour.  
CAMBRIDGE: Printed by Thom. Buck, and Roger Daniel, printers to the University. 1633.   

The Printers to the Reader.  
THe dedication of this work having been made by the Author to the Divine Majesty only, how should we now presume to interest any mortal man in the patronage of it? Much less think we it meet to seek the recommendation of the Muses, for that which himself was confident to have been inspired by a diviner breath than flows from Helicon. The world therefore shall receive it in that naked simplicity, with which he left it, without any addition either of support or ornament, more than is included in itself. We leave it free and unforestalled to every man's judgement, and to the benefit that he shall find by perusal. Only for the clearing of some passages, we have thought it not unfit to make the common Reader privy to some few particularities of the condition and disposition of the Person;  
Being nobly born, and as eminently endued with gifts of the mind, and having by industry and happy education perfected them to that great height of excellency, whereof his fellowship of Trinity College in Cambridge, and his Orator-ship in the University, together with that knowledge which the King's Court ●●d taken of him, could make relation far above ordinary. Quitting both his deserts and all the opportunities that he had for worldly preferment, he betook himself to the Sanctuary and Temple of God, choosing rather to serve at God's Altar, then to seek the honour of State-employments. As for those inward enforcements to this course (for outward there was none) which many of these ensuing verses bear witness of, they detract not from the freedom, but add to the honour of this resolution in him. As God had enabled him, so he accounted him meet not only to be called, but to be compelled to this service: Wherein his faith●full discharge was such, as may make him justly a companion to the primitive Saints, and a pattern or more for the age he lived in.  
To testify his independency upon all others, and to quicken his diligence in this kind, he used in his ordinary speech, when he made mention of the blessed name of our Lord and Saviour Jesus Christ, to add, My Master.  
Next God, he loved that which God himself hath magnified above all things, that is, his Word: so as he hath been heard to make solemn protestation, that he would not part with one leaf thereof for the whole world, if it were offered him in exchange.  
His obedience and conformity to the Church and the discipline thereof was singularly remarkable Though he abounded in private devotions, yet wen● he every morning and evening with his family to the Church; and by his example, exhortations, and encouragements drew the greater part of his parishioners to accompany him daily in the public celebration of Divine Service.  
As for worldly matters, his love and esteem to them was so little, as no man can more ambitiously seek, than he did earnestly endeavour the resignation of an Ecclesiastical dignity, which he was possessor of. But God permitted not the accomplishment of this desire, having ordained him his instrument for re-edifying of the Church belonging thereunto, that had lain ruinated almost twenty years. The reparation whereof, having been uneffectually attempted by public collections, was in the end by his own and some few others private free-will-offerings successfully effected. With the remembrance whereof, as of an especial good work, when a friend went about to comfort him on his deathbed, he made answer, It is a good work, ●f it be sprinkled with the blood of Christ: otherwise ●hen in this respect he could find nothing to glory or comfort himself with, neither in this, nor in any other ●hing.  
And these are but a few of many that might be said, which we have chosen to premise as a glance to some parts of the ensuing book, and for an example to the Reader. We conclude all with his own Motto, with which he used to conclude all things that might seem to tend any way to his own honour;  
Less than the least of God's mercies.   

¶ The Dedication.  
LOrd, my first fruits present themselves to thee;  
Yet not mine neither: for from thee they came,  
And must return. Accept of them and me,  
And make us strive, who shall sing best thy name.  
Turn their eyes hither, who shall make a gain:  
Theirs, who shall hurt themselves or me, refrain.   

The Church-porch. Perirrhanterium.  

THou, whose sweet youth and early hopes enhance  
Thy rate and price, and mark thee for a treasure;  
Harken unto a Verser, who may chance  
Rhyme thee to good, and make a bait of pleasure.  
A verse may find him, who a sermon flies,  
And turn delight into a sacrifice.   

Beware of lust: it doth pollute and foul  
Whom God in Baptism washed with his own blood.  
It blots thy lesson written in thy soul;  
The holy lines cannot be understood.  
How dare those eyes upon a Bible look,  
Much less towards God, whose lust is all their book?   

Abstain wholly, or wed. Thy bounteous Lord  
Allows thee choice of paths: take no byways;  
But gladly welcome what he doth afford;  
Not grudging, that thy lust hath bounds and stays.  
Continence hath his joy: weigh both; and so  
If rottenness have more, let Heaven go.   

If God had laid all common, certainly  
Man would have been th'encloser: but since now  
God hath impaled us, on the contrary  
Man breaks the fence, and every ground will plough.  
O what were man, might he himself misplace!  
Sure to be cross he would shift feet and face.   

Drink not the third glass, which thou canst not tame,  
When once it is within thee; but before  
Mayst rule it, as thou list; and pour the shame,  
Which it would pour on thee, upon the floor.  
It is most just to throw that on the ground,  
Which would throw me there, if I keep the round.   

He that is drunken, may his mother kill  
Big with his sister: he hath lost the reins,  
Is outlawd by himself: all kind of ill  
Did with his liquor slide into his veins.  
The drunkard forfeits Man, and doth divest  
All worldly right, save what he hath by beast.   

Shall I, to please another's wine-sprung mind,  
Lose all mine own? God hath given me a measure  
Short of his can, and body; must I find  
A pain in that, wherein he finds a pleasure?  
Stay at the third glass: if thou lose thy hold,  
Then thou art modest, and the wine grows bold.   

If reason move not Gallants, quit the room,  
(All in a shipwreck shift their several way)  
Let not a common ruin thee entomb:  
Be not a beast in courtesy; but stay,  
Stay at the third cup, or forgo the place.  
Wine above all things doth God's stamp deface.   

Yet, if thou sin in wine or wantonness,  
Boast not thereof; nor make thy shame thy glory.  
Frailtie gets pardon by submissiveness;  
But he that boasts, shuts that out of his story.  
He makes flat war with God, and doth defy  
With his poor clod of earth the spacious sky.   

Take not his name, who made thy mouth, in vain:  
It gets thee nothing, and hath no excuse.  
Lust and wine plead a pleasure, avarice gain:  
But the cheap swearer through his open sluice  
Le's his soul run for nought, as little fearing.  
Were I an Epicure, I could bate swearing.   

When thou dost tell another's jest, therein  
Omit the oaths, which true wit cannot need:  
Pick out of tales the mirth, but not the sin.  
He pares his apple, that will cleanly feed.  
Play not away the virtue of that name,  
Which is thy best stake, when griefs make thee tame.   

The cheapest sins most dear punished are;  
Because to shun them also is so cheap:  
For we have wit to mark them, and to spare.  
O crumble not away thy souls fair heap.  
If thou wilt die, the gates of hell are broad:  
Pride and full sins have made the way a road.   

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

Fly idleness, which yet thou canst not fly  
By dressing, mistressing, and compliment.  
I● those take up thy day, the sun will cry  
Against thee: for his light was only lent.  
God gave thy soul brave wings; put not those feathers  
Into a bed, to sleep out all ill weathers.   

Art thou a Magistrate? then be severe:  
If studious; copy fair, what time hath blurred;  
Redeem truth from his jaws: if soldier,  
Chase brave employments with a naked sword  
Throughout the world. Fool not: for all may have,  
If they dare try, a glorious life, or grave.   

O England! full of sin, but most of sloth;  
Spit out thy phlegm, and fill thy breast with glory:  
Thy Gentry bleats, as if thy native cloth  
Transfus 〈◊〉 sheepishness into thy story:  
Not that they all are so; but that the most  
Are gone to grass, and in the pasture lost.   

This loss springs chiefly from our education.  
Some till their ground, but let weeds choke their son:  
Some mark a partridge, never their child's fashion:  
Some ship them over, and the thing is done.  
Study this art, make it thy great design;  
And if God's image move thee not, let thine.   

Some great estates provide, but do not breed  
A mast'ring mind; so both are lost thereby:  
Or else they breed them tender, make them need  
All that they leave: this is flat poverty.  
For he, that needs five thousand pound to live,  
Is full as poor as he, that needs but five.   

The way to make thy son rich, is to fill  
His mind with rest, before his trunk with riches:  
For wealth without contentment, climbs a hill  
To feel those tempests, which fly over ditches.  
But if thy son can make ten pound his measure,  
Then all thou addest may be called his treasure.   

When thou dost purpose aught, (within thy power)  
Be sure to do it, though it be but small:  
Constancy knits the bones, and makes us stowre,  
When wanton pleasures beckon us to thrall.  
Who breaks his own bond, forfeiteth himself:  
What nature made a ship, he makes a shelf.   

Do all things like a man, not sneakingly:  
Think the king sees thee still; for his King does.  
Simpering is but a lay-hypocrisie:  
Give it a corner, and the clue undoes.  
Who fears to do ill, sets himself to ta●k:  
Who fears to do well, sure should wear a mask.   

Look to thy mouth; diseases enter there.  
Thou hast two sconces, if thy stomach call;  
Carve, or discourse; do not a famine fear.  
Who carves is kind to two; who talks, to all.  
Look on meat, think it dirt, then eat a bit;  
And say withal, Earth to earth I commit.   

'Slight those who say amidst their sickly healths,  
Thou liv'st by rule. What doth not so, but man?  
Houses are built by rule, and commonwealths.  
Entice the trusty sun, if that you can,  
From his Ecliptic line: beckon the sky.  
Who lives by rule then, keeps good company.   

Who keeps no guard upon himself, is slack,  
And rots to nothing at the next great thaw.  
Man is a shop of rules, a well trussed pack,  
Whose every parcel under-writes a law.  
Lose not thyself, nor give thy humours way:  
God gave them to thee under lock and key.   

By all means use sometimes to be alone.  
Salute thyself: see what thy soul doth wear.  
Dare to look in thy chest; for'tis thine own:  
And tumble up and down what thou findest there.  
Who cannot rest till he good fellows find,  
He breaks up house, turns out of doors his mind.   

Be thrifty, but not covetous: therefore give  
Thy need, thine honour, and thy friend his due.  
Never was scraper brave man. Get to live;  
Then live, and use it: else, it is not true  
That thou hast gotten. Surely use alone  
Makes money not a contemptible stone.   

Never exceed thy income. Youth may make  
Even with the year: but age, if it will hit,  
Shoots a bow short, and lessens still his stake,  
As the day lessens, and his life with it.  
Thy children, kindred, friends upon thee call;  
Before thy journey fairly part with all.   

Yet in thy thriving still misdoubt some evil;  
Lest gaining gain on thee, and make thee dim  
To all things else. Wealth is the conjurer's devil;  
Whom when he thinks he hath, the devil hath him.  
Gold thou mayst safely touch, but if it stick  
Unto thy hands, it woundeth to the quick.   

What skills it, if a bag of stones or gold  
About thy neck do drown thee? raise thy head;  
Take stars for money; stars not to be told  
By any art, yet to be purchased.  
None is so wasteful as the scraping dame.  
She loseth three for one; her soul, rest, fame.   

By no means run in debt: take thine own measure.  
Who cannot live on twenty pound a year,  
Cannot on forty: he's a man of pleasure,  
A kind of thing that's for itself too dear.  
The curious unthrift makes his cloth too wide,  
And spares himself, but would his tailor chide.   

Spend not on hopes. They that by pleading clothes  
Do fortunes seek, when worth and service fail,  
Would have their tale believed for their oaths,  
And are like empty vessels under sail.  
Old courtiers know this; therefore set out so,  
As all the day thou mayst hold out to go.   

In clothes, cheap handsomeness doth bear the bell.  
Wisdom's a trimmer thing, than shop e'er gave.  
Say not then, This with that lace will do well;  
But, This with my discretion will be brave.  
Much curiousness is a perpetual wooing  
Nothing with labour; folly long a doing.   

Play not for gain, but sport. Who plays for more,  
Then he can lose with pleasure, stakes his heart;  
Perhaps his wives too, and whom she hath boar:  
Servants and churches also play their part.  
Only a herald, who that way doth pass,  
Finds his cracked name at length in the church-glasse.   

If yet thou love game at so dear a rate,  
Learn this, that hath old gamesters dearly cost:  
Dost lose? rise up: dost win? rise in that state.  
Who strive to sit out losing hands, are lost.  
Game is a civil gunpowder, in peace  
Blowing up houses with their whole increase.   

In conversation boldness now bears sway.  
But know, that nothing can so foolish be,  
As empty boldness: therefore first assay  
To stuff thy mind with solid bravery;  
Then march on gallant: get substantial worth.  
Boldness guilds finely, and will set it forth.   

Be sweet to all. Is thy complexion sour?  
Then keep such company; make them thy allay:  
Get a sharp wife, a servant that will lower.  
A stumbler stumbles least in rugged way.  
Command thyself in chief. He life's war knows,  
Whom all his p●ssions follow, as he goes.   

Catch not at quarrels. He that dares not speak  
Plainly and home, is coward of the two.  
Think not thy fame at every twitch will break:  
By great deeds show, that thou canst little do;  
And do them not: that shall thy wisdom be;  
And change thy temperance into bravery.   

If that thy fame with every toy be posed,  
'Tis a thin web, which poisonous fancies make▪  
But the great soldier's honour was composed  
Of thicker stuff, which would endure a shake.  
Wisdom picks friends; civility plays the rest.  
A toy shunned cleanly passeth with the best.   

Laugh not too much: the witty man laughs least:  
For wit is news only to ignorance.  
Less at thine own things laugh; lest in the jest  
Thy person share, and the conceit advance.  
Make not thy sport, abuses: for the fly  
That feeds on dung, is coloured thereby.   

Pick out of mirth, like stones out of thy ground,  
Profaneness, filthiness, abusivenesse.  
These are the scum, with which course wits abound:  
The fine may spare these well, yet not go less.  
All things are big with jest: nothing that's plain,  
But may be witty, if thou hast the vein.   

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

A sad wise valour is the brave complexion,  
That leads the van, and swallows up the cities.  
The gigler is a milkmaid, whom infection,  
Or a fired beacon frighteth from his ditties.  
Then he's the sport: the mirth then in him rests,  
And the sad man is cock of all his jests.   

Towards great persons use respective boldness:  
That temper gives them theirs, and yet doth take  
Nothing from thine: in service, care, or coldness  
Doth ratably thy fortunes mar or make.  
Feed no man in his sins: for adulation  
Doth make thee parcell-devil in damnation.   

Envy not greatness: for thou mak'st thereby  
Thyself the worse, and so the distance greater.  
Be not thine own worm: yet such jealousy,  
As hurts not others, but may make thee better,  
Is a good spur. Correct thy passions spite;  
Then may the beasts draw thee to happy light.   

When baseness is exalted, do not bate  
The place its honour, for the persons sake.  
The shrine is that which thou dost venerate;  
And not the beast, that bears it on his back.  
I care not though the cloth of state should be  
Not of rich arras, but mean tapestry.   

Thy friend put in thy bosom: wear his eyes  
Still in thy heart, that he may see what's there.  
If cause require, thou art his sacrifice;  
Thy drops of blood must pay down all his fear:  
But love is lost; the way of friendship's gone,  
Though David had his jonathan, Christ his john.   

Yet be not surety, if thou be a father.  
Love is a personal debt. I cannot give  
My children's right, nor ought he take it: rather  
Both friends should die, then hinder them to live.  
Father's first enter bonds to nature's ends;  
And are her sureties, ere they are a friends.   

If thou be single, all thy goods and ground  
Submit to love; but yet not more than all.  
Give one estate, as one life. None is bound  
To work for two, who brought himself to thrall.  
God made me one man; love makes me no more,  
Till labour come, and make my weakness score.   

In thy discourse, if thou desire to please:  
All such is courteous, useful, new, or witty.  
Usefulnesse comes by labour, wit by ease;  
Courtesy grows in court; news in the city.  
Get a good stock of these, then draw the card;  
That suits him best, of whom thy speech is heard.   

●ntice all neatly to what they know best;  
For so thou dost thyself and him a pleasure:  
(But a proud ignorance will lose his rest,  
Rather than show his cards) steal from his treasure  
What to ask further. Doubts well raised do lock  
The speaker to thee, and preserve thy stock.   

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

Be calm in arguing: for fierceness makes  
Error a fault, and truth discourtesy.  
Why should I feel another man's mistakes  
More, than his sicknesses or poverty?  
In love I should: but anger is not love,  
Nor wisdom neither: therefore gently move:   

Calmness is great advantage: he that lets  
Another chafe, may warm him at his fire:  
Mark all his wanderings, and enjoy his frets;  
As cunning fencers suffer heat to tyre.  
Truth dwells not in the clouds: the bow that's there,  
Doth often aim at, never hit the sphere.   

Mark what another says: for many are  
Full of themselves, and answer their own notion.  
Take all into thee; then with equal care  
Ballance each dram of reason, like a potion.  
If truth be with thy friend, be with them both:  
Share in the conquest, and confess a troth.   

Be useful where thou livest, that they may  
Both want, and wish thy pleasing presence still.  
Kindness, good parts, great places are the way  
To compass this. Find out men's wants and will,  
And meet them there. All worldly joys go less  
To the one joy of doing kindnesses.   

Pitch thy behaviour low, thy projects high;  
So shalt thou humble and magnanimous be:  
Sink not in spirit: who aimeth at the sky,  
Shoots higher much than he that means a tree.  
A grain of glory mixed with humbleness  
Cures both a fever and lethargicknesse.   

Let thy mind still be bend, still plotting where,  
And when, and how the business may be done.  
Slackness breeds worms; but the sure traveller,  
Though he alight sometimes, still goeth on.  
Active and stirring spirits live alone.  
Write on the others, Here lies such a one.   

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

Scorn no man's love, though of a mean degree;  
(Love is a present for a mighty king)  
Much less make any one thine enemy.  
As guns destroy, so may a little sling.  
The cunning workman never doth refuse  
The meanest tool, that he may chance to use.   

〈◊〉 foreign wisdom doth amount to this,  
To take all that is given; whether wealth,  
Or love, or language; nothing comes amiss:  
A good digestion turneth all to health:  
And then as far as fair behaviour may,  
Strike off all scores; none are so clear as they.   

Keep all thy native good, and naturalise  
All foreign of that name; but scorn their ill:  
Embrace their activeness, not vanities.  
Who follows all things, forfeiteth his will.  
If thou observest strangers in each fit,  
In time they'll run thee out of all thy wit.   

Affect in things about thee cleanliness,  
That all may gladly board thee, as a flower.  
Slovens take up their stock of noisomeness  
Beforehand, and anticipate their last hour.  
Let thy mind's sweetness have his operation  
Upon thy body, clothes, and habitation.   

In Alms regard thy means, and others merit.  
Think heaven a better bargain, then to give  
Only thy single market-money for it.  
Join hands with God to make a man to live.  
Give to all something; to a good poor man,  
Till thou change names, and be where he began.   

Man is God's image; but a poor man is  
Christ's stamp to boot: both images regard.  
God reckons for him, counts the favour his:  
Write, So much given to God; thou shalt be heard.  
Let thy alms go before, and keep heaven's gate  
Open for thee; or both may come too late.   

Restore to God his due in tithe and time:  
A tithe purloined cankers the whole estate.  
Sundays observe: think when the bells do chime,  
'Tis angel's music; therefore come not late.  
God then deals blessings: If a king did so,  
Who would not haste, nay give, to see the show?   

Twice on the day his due is understood;  
For all the week thy food so oft he gave thee.  
Thy cheer is mended; bate not of the food,  
Because 'tis better, and perhaps may save thee.  
Thwart not th' Almighty God: O be not cross.  
Fast when thou wilt; but then 'tis gain, not loss.   

Though private prayer be a brave design,  
Yet public hath more promises, more love:  
And love's a weight to hearts, to eyes a sign.  
We all are but cold suitors; let us move  
Where it is warmest. Leave thy six and seven;  
Pray with the most: for where most pray, is heave●   

When once thy foot enters the church, be bare.  
God is more there, than thou: for thou art there  
Only by his permission. Then beware,  
And make thyself all reverence and fear.  
Kneeling ne'er spoiled silk stocking: quit thy state.  
All equal are within the church's gate.   

Resort to sermons, but to prayers most:  
Praying 's the end of preaching. O be dressed;  
Stay not for th' other pin: why thou hast lost  
A joy for it worth worlds. Thus hell doth jest  
Away thy blessings, and extremely flout thee,  
Thy clothes being fast, but thy soul lose about thee.   

In time of service seal up both thine eyes,  
And send them to thine heart; that spying sin,  
Th●y may weep out the stains by them did rise:  
Those doors being shut, all by the ear comes in.  
Who marks in church-time others symmetry,  
Makes all their beauty his deformity.   

Let vain or busy thoughts have there no part:  
Bring not thy plough, thy plots, thy pleasures thither.  
Christ purged his temple; so must thou thy heart.  
All worldly thoughts are but thiefs met together  
To cousin thee. Look to thy actions well:  
For churches are either our heaven or hell.   

Judge not the preacher; for he is thy Judge:  
If thou mislike him, thou conceivest him not.  
God calleth preaching folly. Do not grudge  
To pick out treasures from an earthen pot.  
The worst speak something good: if all want sense,  
God takes a text, and preacheth patience.   

He that gets patience, and the blessing which  
Preachers conclude with, hath not lost his pains.  
He that by being at church escapes the ditch,  
Which he might fall in by companions, gains.  
He that loves God's abode, and to combine  
With saints on earth, shall one day with them shine.   

Jest not at preachers language, or expression:  
How knowst thou, but thy sins made him miscarry?  
Then turn thy faults and his into confession:  
God sent him, whatsoever he be: O tarry,  
And love him for his Master: his condition,  
Though it be ill, makes him no ill Physician.   

None shall in hell such bitter pangs endure,  
As those, who mock at God's way of salvation.  
Whom oil and balsams kill, what salve can cure?  
They drink with greediness a full damnation.  
The Jews refused thunder; and we, folly.  
Though God do hedge us in, yet who is holy?   

Summe up at night, what thou hast done by day;  
And in the morning, what thou hast to do.  
Dress and undress thy soul: mark the decay  
And growth of it: if with thy watch, that too  
Be down, than wind up both; since we shall be  
Most surely judged, make thy accounts agree.   

In brief, acquit thee bravely; play the man.  
Look not on pleasures as they come, but go.  
Defer not the least virtue: life's poor span  
Make not an ell, by trifling in thy wo.  
If thou do ill; the joy fades, not the pains:  
If well; the pain doth fade, the joy remains.    

Superliminare.  

THou, whom the former precepts have  
Sprinkled and taught, how to behave  
Thyself in church; approach, and taste  
The churches mystical repast.   

AVoid profaneness; come not here:  
Nothing but holy, pure, and clear,  
Or that which groaneth to be so,  
May at his peril further go.    

The Altar.  
A broken ALTAR, Lord, thy servant rea●  
Made of a heart, and cemented with te●●  
Whose parts are as thy hand did frame;  
No workman's tool hath touched the same.  
A HEART alone  
Is such a stone,  
As nothing but  
Thy power doth cut.  
Wherefore each part  
Of my hard heart  
Meets in this frame,  
To praise thy name.  
That if I chance to hold my peace,  
These stones to praise thee may not cease.  
O let thy blessed SACRIFICE be mi●  
And sanctify this ALTAR to be th●●   

¶ The Sacrifice.  

OH all ye, who pass by, whose eyes and mind  
To worldly things are sharp, but to me blind;  
To me, who took eyes that I might you find:  
Was ever grief like mine?   

The Princes of my people make a head  
Against their Maker: they do wish me dead,  
Who cannot wish, except I give them bread:  
Was ever grief like mine?   

Without me each one, who doth now me brave,  
Had to this day been an Egyptian slave.  
They use that power against me, which I gave:  
Was ever grief like mine?   

Mine own Apostle, who the bag did bear,  
Though he had all I had, did not forbear  
To sell me also, and to put me there:  
Was ever grief, etc.   

For thirty pence he did my death devise,  
Who at three hundred did the ointment prize,  
Not half so sweet as my sweet sacrifice:  
Was ever grief, etc.   

Therefore my soul melts, and my hearts dear treasure  
Drops blood (the only beads) my words to measure:  
O ●et this cup pass, if it be thy pleasure:  
Was ever grief, etc.   

●hese drops being tempered with a sinners tears,  
●Balsome are for both the Hemispheres▪  
●●ring all wounds, but mine; all, but my fears:  
Was ever grief, etc.   

Yet my Disciples sleep: I cannot gain  
One hour of watching; but their drowsy brain  
Comforts not me, and doth my doctrine slain:  
Was ever grief like 〈◊〉   

Arise, arise, they come. Look how they run.  
Alas! what hast they make to be undone!  
How with their lanterns do they seek the sun▪  
Was ever grief, etc.   

With clubs and staves they seek me, as a thief,  
Who am the way of truth, the true relief;  
Most true to those, who are my greatest grief:  
Was ever grief, etc.   

judas, dost thou betray me with a kiss?  
Canst thou find hell about my lips? and miss  
Of life, just at the gates of life and bliss?  
Was ever grief, etc.   

See, they lay hold on me, not with the hands  
Of faith, but fury: yet at their commands  
I suffer binding, who have loosed their bands:  
Was ever grief, etc.   

All my Disciples fly; fear puts a bar  
Betwixt my friends and me. They leave the star,  
That brought the wise men of the East from far.  
Was ever grief, etc.   

Then from one ruler to another bound  
They lead me; urging, that it was not sound  
What I taught: Comments would the text confou●  
Was ever grief, etc.   

The Priest and rulers all false witness seek  
Against him, who seeks not life, but is the meek  
And ready Paschal Lamb of this great week:  
Was ever grief, etc.   

〈◊〉 they accuse me of great blasphemy,  
〈◊〉 I did thrust into the Deity,  
〈◊〉 never thought that any robbery:  
Was ever grief like mine?   

〈◊〉 said, that I the Temple to the floor  
〈◊〉 three days razed, and raised as before.  
〈◊〉 he that built the world can do much more:  
Was ever grief, etc.   

Then they condemn me all with that same breath,  
Which I do give them daily, unto death.  
Thus Adam my first breathing rendereth:  
Was ever grief, etc.   

They bind, and lead me unto Herod: he  
Sends me to Pilate. This makes them agree;  
But yet their friendship is my enmity:  
Was ever grief, etc.   

Herod and all his bands do set me light,  
Who teach all hands to war, fingers to fight,  
And only am the Lord of hosts and might:  
Was ever grief, etc.   

Herod in judgement sits, while I do stand;  
〈◊〉 mines me with a censorious hand:  
〈◊〉 m obey, who all things else command:  
Was ever grief, etc.   

T●e jews accuse me with despitefulness;  
A●d vying malice with my gentleness,  
〈◊〉 k quarrels with their only happiness:  
Was ever grief, etc.   

I answer nothing, but with patience prove  
destonie hearts will melt with gentle love.  
〈◊〉 t who does hawk at eagles with a dove?  
Was ever grief, etc.   

My silence rather doth augment their cry;  
My dove doth back into my bosom fly,  
Because the raging waters still are high:  
Was ever grief like 〈◊〉   

Hark how they cry aloud still, Crucify:  
It is not fit he live a day, they cry,  
Who cannot live less then eternally:  
Was ever grief, etc.   

Pilate a stranger holdeth off; but they,  
Mine own dear people, cry, Away, away,  
With noises confused frighting the day:  
Was ever grief, etc.   

Yet still they shout, and cry, and stop their ears,  
Putting my life among their sins and fears,  
And therefore wish my blood on them and theirs:  
Was ever grief, etc.   

See how spite cankers things. These words aright  
Used, and wished, are the whole world's light:  
But honey is their gall, brightness their night:  
Was ever grief, etc.   

They choose a murderer, and all agree  
In him to do themselves a courtesy:  
For it was their own cause who killed me:  
Was ever grief, etc.   

And a seditious murderer he was:  
But I the Prince of peace; peace that doth pass  
All understanding, more than heaven doth glass:  
Was ever grief, etc.   

Why, Cesar is their only King, not I:  
He clavae the stony rock, when they were dry;  
But surely not their hearts, as I well try:  
Was ever grief, etc.   

〈◊〉 owe they scourge me! yet my tenderness  
〈◊〉 les each lash: and yet their bitterness  
〈◊〉 es up my grief to a mysteriousness:  
Was ever grief like mine?   

They buffet me, and box me as they list,  
Who grasp the earth and heaven with my fist,  
And never yet, whom I would punish, missed:  
Was ever grief, etc.   

Beh●ld, they spit on me in scornful wise,  
Who by my spittle gave the blind man eyes,  
Le●●ing his blindness to mine enemies:  
Was ever grief, etc.   

My face they cover, though it be divine.  
〈◊〉 Moses face was vailed, so is mine,  
Lest on their double-dark souls either shine:  
Was ever grief, etc.   

Ser●●nts and abjects flout me; they are witty:  
〈◊〉 prophesy who strikes thee, is their ditty.  
So they in me deny themselves all pity:  
Was ever grief, etc.   

And now I am delivered unto death,  
Which each one calls for so with utmost breath,  
That he before me well nigh suffereth:  
Was ever grief, etc.   

W●●p not, dear friends, since I for both have wept  
W●en all my tears were blood, the while you slept:  
Y●●r tears for your own fortunes should be kept:  
Was ever grief, etc.   

The soldiers lead me to the common hall;  
T●ere they deride me, they abuse me all:  
〈◊〉 for twelve heavenly legions I could call:  
Was ever grief, etc.   

Then with a scarlet robe they me array;  
Which shows my blood to be the only way,  
And cordial left to repair man's decay:  
Was ever grief like mine▪   

Then on my head a crown of thorns I wear:  
For these are all the grapes Zion doth bear,  
Though I my vine planted and watered there:  
Was ever grief, etc.   

So sits the earth's great curse in Adam's fall  
Upon my head: so I remove it all  
From th' earth unto my brows, and bear the thrall:  
Was ever grief, etc.   

Then with the reed they gave to me before,  
They strike my head, the rock from whence all 〈◊〉  
Of heavenly blessings issue evermore:  
Was ever grief, etc.   

They bow their knees to me, and cry, Hail king:  
What ever scoffs or scornfulness can bring,  
I am the floor, the sink, where they it fling:  
Was ever grief, etc.   

Yet since man's sceptres are as frail as reeds,  
And thorny all their crowns, bloody their weeds;  
I, who am Truth, turn into truth their deeds:  
Was ever grief, etc.   

The soldiers also spit upon that face,  
Which Angels did desire to have the grace,  
And Prophets once to see, but found no place:  
Was ever grief, etc.   

Thus trimmed forth they bring me to the rout,  
Who Crucify him, cry with one strong shout.  
God holds his peace at man, and man cries out:  
Was ever grief, etc.   

●●ey lead me in once more, and putting then  
●he own clothes on, they lead me out again.  
●●om devils fly, thus is he tossed of men:  
Was ever grief like mine?   

●●d now weary of sport, glad to engross  
〈◊〉 spite in one, counting my life their loss,  
●●ey carry me to my most bitter cross:  
Was ever grief, etc.   

〈◊〉 cross I bear myself, until I faint:  
●●en Simon bears it for me by constraint,  
●●e decreed burden of each mortal Saint:  
Was ever grief, etc.   

〈◊〉 all ye who pass by, behold and see;  
●●n stole the frui●, but I must climb the tree;  
The tree of life to all, but only me:  
Was ever grief, etc.   

〈◊〉, here I hang, charged with a world of sin,  
●●e greater world o'th' two; for that came in  
〈◊〉 words, but this by sorrow I must win:  
Was ever grief, etc.   

Such sorrow, as if sinful man could feel,  
〈◊〉 feel his part, he would not cease to kneel,  
●●ll all were melted, though he were all steel:  
Was ever grief, etc.   

●●●t, O my God, my God why leav'st thou me,  
The son, in whom thou dost delight to be?  
●●y God, my God—  
Never was grief like mine.   

●●●me tears my soul, my body many a wound;  
●●arp nails pierce this, but sharper that confound;  
reproaches, which are free, while I am bound.  
Was ever grief, etc.   

Now heal thyself, Physician; now come down.  
Alas! I did so, when I left my crown  
And father's smile for you, to feel his frown:  
Was ever grief like mine▪   

In healing not myself, there doth consist  
All that salvation, which ye now resist;  
Your safety in my sickness doth subsist:  
Was ever grief, etc.   

Betwixt two thiefs I spend my utmost breath,  
As he that for some robbery suffereth.  
Alas! what have I stolen from you? death:  
Was ever grief, etc.   

A king my title is, prefixed on high;  
Yet by my subjects am condemned to die  
A servile death in servile company:  
Was ever grief, etc.   

They gave me vinegar mingled with gall,  
But more with malice: yet, when they did call,  
With Manna, Angel's food, I fed them all:  
Was ever grief, etc.   

They part my garments, and by lot dispose  
My coat, the type of love, which once cured those  
Who sought for help, never malicious foes:  
Was ever grief, etc.   

Nay, after death their spite shall further go;  
For they will pierce my side, I full well know;  
That as sin came, so Sacraments might flow:  
Was ever grief, etc.   

But now I die; now all is finished.  
My woe, man's weal: and now I bow my head.  
Only let others say, when I am dead,  
Never was grief like mine▪    

¶ The Thanksgiving.  
OH King of grief! (a title strange, yet true,  
To thee of all kings only due)  
Oh King of wounds! how shall I grieve for thee,  
Who in all grief preventest me?  
Shall I weep blood? why thou hast wept such store  
That all thy body was one door.  
Shall I be scourged, flouted, boxed, sold?  
'Tis but to tell the tale is told.  
My God, my God, why dost thou part from me?  
Was such a grief as cannot be.  
Shall I then sing, skipping, thy doleful story,  
And side with thy triumphant glory?  
Shall thy strokes be my stroking? thorns, my flower●  
Thy rod, my posy? cross, my bower?  
But how then shall I imitate thee, and  
Copy thy fair, though bloody hand?  
St●●dy I will revenge me on thy love,  
And try who shall victorious prove.  
If thou dost give me wealth; I will restore  
All back unto thee by the poor.  
If thou dost give me honour; men shall see,  
The honour doth belong to thee.  
I will not marry; or, if she be mine,  
She and her children shall be thine.  
My bosom friend, if he blaspheme thy name,  
I will tear thence his love and fame.  
One half of me being gone, the rest I give  
Unto some Chapel, die or live.  
A● for thy passion— But of that anon,  
When with the other I have done.  
〈◊〉 thy predestination I'll contrive,  
That three years hence, if I survive,  
I'll build a spittle, or mend common ways,  
But mend mine own without delays.  
Then I will use the works of thy creation,  
As if I used them but for fashion.  
The world and I will quarrel; and the year  
Shall not perceive, that I am here.  
My music shall find thee, and every string  
Shall have his attribute to sing;  
That all together may accord in thee,  
And prove one God, one harmony.  
If thou shalt give me wit, it shall appear,  
If thou hast given it me, 'tis here.  
Nay, I will read thy book, and never move  
Till I have found therein thy love;  
Thy art of love, which I'll turn back on thee,  
O my dear Saviour, Victory!  
Then for thy passion— I will do for that—  
Alas, my God, I know not what.   

¶ The reprisal.  

I Have considered it, and find  
There is no dealing with thy mighty passion:  
For though I die for thee, I am behind;  
My sins deserve the condemnation.   

O make me innocent, that I  
May give a disentangled state and free:  
And yet thy wounds still my attempts defy,  
For by thy death I die for thee.   

Ah! was it not enough that thou  
By thy eternal glory didst outgo me?  
Couldst thou not griefs sad conquests me allow,  
But in all victories overthrow me?   

Yet by confession will I come  
●●to the conquest. Though I can do nought  
●gainst thee, in thee I will overcome  
The man, who once against thee fought.    

¶ The Agony.  

Philosopher's have measured mountains,  
fathomed the depths of seas, of states, and kings,  
Walked with a staff to heaven, and traced fountains:  
But there are two vast, spacious things,  
The which to measure it doth more behoof:  
●et few there are that sound them; Sin and Love.   

Who would know Sin, let him repair  
●nto mount Olivet; there shall he see  
● man so wrung with pains, that all his hair,  
His skin, his garments bloody be.  
●nne is that press and vice, which forceth pain  
●o hunt his cruel food through every vein.   

Who knows not Love, let him assay  
●nd taste that juice, which on the cross a pike  
●nd set again abroach; then let him say  
If ever he did taste the like.  
●ove is that liquor sweet and most divine,  
Which my God feels as blood; but I, as wine.    

¶ The Sinner.  
LOrd, how I am all ague, when I seek  
What I have treasured in my memory!  
Since, if my soul make even with the week,  
Each seventh note by right is due to thee.  
I find there quarries of piled vanities,  
But shreds of holiness, that dare not venture  
To show their face, since cross to thy decrees  
There the circumference earth is, heaven the centre.  
In so much dregs the quintessence is small:  
The spirit and good extract of my heart  
Comes to about the many hundredth part.  
Yet Lord restore thine image, hear my call:  
And though my hard heart scarce to thee can groan▪  
Remember that thou once didst write in stone▪   

¶ Good Friday.  

O My chief good,  
How shall I measure out thy blood?  
How shall I count what thee befell,  
And each grief tell?   

Shall I thy woes  
Number according to thy foes?  
Or, since one star showed thy first breath,  
Shall all thy death?   

Or shall each leaf,  
Which falls in Autumn, score a grief?  
Or cannot leaves, but fruit, be sign  
Of the true vine?   

Then let each hour  
Of my whole life one grief devour;  
That thy distress through all may run,  
And be my sun.   

Or rather let  
My several sins their sorrows get;  
That as each beast his cure doth know,  
Each sin may so.   

Since blood is fittest, Lord, to write  
Thy sorrows in, and bloody sight;  
My heart hath store, write there, where in  
One box doth lie both ink and sin:   

That when sin spies so many foes,  
Thy whips, thy nails, thy wounds, thy woes,  
All come to lodge there, sin may say,  
No room for me, and fly away.   

Sin being gone, oh fill the place,  
And keep possession with thy grace;  
Lest sin take courage and return,  
And all the writings blot or burn.    

¶ Redemption.  

HAving been tenant long to a rich Lord,  
Not thriving, I resolved to be bold,  
And make a suit unto him, to afford  
A new small-rented lease, and cancel th' old.   

In heaven at his manor I him sought:  
They told me there, that he was lately gone  
About some land, which he had dearly bought  
Long since on earth, to take possession.   

I strait returned, and knowing his great birth,  
Sought him accordingly in great resorts;  
In cities, theaters, gardens, parks, and courts▪  
At length I heard a ragged noise and mirth   

Of thiefs and murderers: there I him espied●  
Who strait, Your suit is granted, said, & die●    

¶ Sepulchre.  

O Blessed body! Whither art thou thrown?  
No lodging for thee, but a cold hard stone?  
So many hearts on earth, and yet not one  
Receive thee?   

Sure there is room within our hearts good store;  
For they can lodge transgressions by the score:  
Thousands of toys dwell there, yet out of door  
They leave thee.   

But that which shows them large, shows them unfit.  
What ever sin did this pure rock commit,  
Which holds thee now? Who hath indicted it  
Of murder?   

Where our hard hearts have took up stones to brain thee,  
And missing this, most falsely did arraign thee;  
Only these stones in quiet entertain thee,  
And order.   

And as of old, the law by heavenly art  
Was writ in stone; so thou, which also art  
The letter of the word, findest no fit heart  
To hold thee.   

Yet do we still persist as we began,  
And so should perish, but that nothing can,  
Though it be cold, hard, foul, from loving man  
Withold thee.    

¶ Easter.  

RIse heart; thy Lord is risen. Sing his praise  
Without delays,  
●ho takes thee by the hand, that thou likewise  
With him mayst rise:  
●hat, as his death calcined thee to dust,  
●is life may make thee gold, and much more just.   

awake, my lute, and struggle for thy part  
With all thy art.  
The cross taught all wood to resound his name,  
Who bore the same.  
●is stretched sinews taught all strings, what key  
〈◊〉 best to celebrate this most high day.   

Consort both heart and lute, and twist a song  
Pleasant and long:  
Or since all music is but three parts vied  
And multiplied;  
O let thy blessed Spirit bear a part,  
And make up our defects with his sweet art.   

〈◊〉 got me flowers to straw thy way;  
〈◊〉 got me boughs off many a tree:  
But thou wast up by break of day,  
And brought'st thy sweets along with thee.   

The Sun arising in the East,  
Though he give light, & th' East perfume;  
If they should offer to contest  
With thy arising, they presume.   

Can there be any day but this,  
Though many suns to shine endeavour?  
We count three hundred, but we miss:  
There is but one, and that one ever.    

¶ Easter wings.  
Lord, who createdst man in wealth and store,  
Though foolishly he lost the same,  
Decaying more and more,  
Till he became  
Most poor:  
With thee  
O let me rise  
As larks, harmoniously,  
And sing this day thy victories:  
Then shall the fall further the flight in me▪   

¶ Easter wings.  
My tender age in sorrow did begin▪  
And still with sicknesses and shame  
Thou didst so punish sin,  
That I became  
Most thin.  
With thee  
Let me combine,  
And feel this day thy victory:  
For, if I imp my wing on thine,  
Affliction shall advance the flight in me.   

¶ H. Baptism.  

AS he that sees a dark and shady grove,  
Stays not, but looks beyond it on the sky;  
So when I view my sins, mine eyes remove  
More backward still, and to that water fly,   

Which is above the heavens, whose spring and rent  
Is in my dear Redeemers pierced side.  
O blessed streams! either ye do prevent  
And stop our sins from growing thick and wide,   

Or else give tears to drown them, as they grow.  
In you Redemption measures all my time,  
And spreads the plaster equal to the crime:  
You taught the book of life my name, that so   

What ever future sins should me miscall,  
Your first acquaintance might discredit all.    

¶ H. Baptism.  

SInce, Lord, to thee  
A narrow way and little gate  
Is all the passage, on my infancy  
Thou didst lay hold, and antedate  
My faith in me.   

O let me still  
Write thee great God, and me a child:  
Let me be soft and supple to thy will,  
Small to myself, to others mild,  
Behither ill.   

Although by stealth  
My flesh get on, yet let her sister  
My soul bid nothing, but preserve her wealth:  
The growth of flesh is but a blister;  
Childhood is health.    

¶ Nature.  

FUll of rebellion, I would die,  
Or fight, or travel, or deny  
That thou hast aught to do with me.  
O tame my heart;  
It is thy highest art  
To captivate strong holds to thee.   

●f thou shalt let this venom lurk,  
And in suggestions fume and work,  
My soul will turn to bubbles strait,  
And thence by kind  
Vanish into a wind,  
Making thy workmanship deceit.   

O smooth my rugged heart, and there  
Engrave thy reverend law and fear;  
Or make a new one, since the old  
Is sapless grown,  
And a much fitter stone  
To hide my dust, then thee to hold.    

¶ Sinne.  

LOrd, with what care hast thou begirt us round!  
Parent's first season us: then schoolmasters  
Deliver us to laws; they send us bound  
To rules of reason, holy messengers,   

Pulpits and sundays, sorrow dogging sin,  
Afflictions sorted, anguish of all sizes,  
Fine nets and stratagems to catch us in,  
Bibles laid open, millions of surprises,   

Blessings beforehand, ties of gratefulness,  
The sound of glory ringing in our ears:  
Without, our shame; within, our consciences;  
Angels and grace, eternal hopes and fears.   

Yet all these fences and their whole array  
One cunning bosome-sinne blows quite away.    

¶ Affliction.  

WHen first thou didst entice to thee my heart,  
I thought the service brave:  
So many joys I writ down for my part,  
Besides what I might have  
Out of my stock of natural delights,  
Augmented with thy gracious benefits.   

I looked on thy furniture so fine,  
And made it fine to me:  
Thy glorious householdstuff did me entwine,  
And 'tice me unto thee.  
Such stars I counted mine: both heaven and earth  
Paid me my wages in a world of mirth.   

What pleasures could I want, whose King I served?  
Where joys my fellows were.  
Thus argued into hopes, my thoughts reserved  
No place for grief or fear.  
Therefore my sudden soul caught at the place,  
And made her youth and fierceness seek thy face.   

At first thou gav'st me milk and sweetnesses;  
I had my wish and way:  
My days were strawed with flowers and happiness;  
There was no month but May.  
But with my year's sorrow did twist and grow,  
And made a party unawares for wo.   

●y flesh began unto my soul in pain,  
Sicknesses cleave my bones;  
consuming agues dwell in every vein,  
And tune my breath to groans.  
●orrow was all my soul; I scarce believed,  
●ill grief did tell me roundly, that I lived.   

●hen I got health, thou took'st away my life,  
And more; for my friends die:  
●y mirth and edge was lost; a blunted knife  
Was of more use than I.  
Thus thin and lean without a fence or friend,  
●was blown through with every storm and wind.   

Whereas my birth and spirit rather took  
The way that takes the town;  
Thou didst betray me to a lingering book,  
And wrap me in a gown.  
I was entangled in the world of strife,  
Before I had the power to change my life.   

Yet, for I threatened oft the siege to raise,  
Not simpering all mine age,  
Thou often didst with Academic praise  
Melt and dissolve my rage.  
I took thy sweetened pill, till I came near;  
I could not go away, nor persevere.   

Yet left perchance I should too happy be  
In my unhappiness,  
Turning my purge to food, thou throwest me  
Into more sicknesses.  
Thus doth thy power crosse-bias me, not making  
Thine own gift good, yet me from my ways taking.   

Now I am here, what thou wilt do with me  
None of my books will show  
I read, and sigh, and wish I were a tree;  
For sure than I should grow  
To fruit or shade: at least some bird would trust  
Her household to me, and I should be just.   

Yet, though thou troublest me, I must be meek;  
In weakness must be stout.  
Well, I will change the service, and go seek  
Some other master out.  
Ah my dear God though I am clean forgot,  
Let me not love thee, if I love thee not.    

¶ Repentance.  

LOrd, I confess my sin is great;  
Great is my sin: Oh! gently treat  
With thy quick flower, thy moment any bloom;  
Whose life still pressing  
Is one undressing,  
A steady aiming at a tomb.   

Man's age is two hours' work, or three:  
Each day doth round about us see.  
Thus are we to delights: but we are all  
To sorrows old,  
If life be told  
From what life feeleth, Adam's fall.   

O let thy height of mercy then  
Compassionate short-breathed men.  
Cut me not off for my most foul transgression:  
I do confess  
My foolishness;  
My God, accept of my confession.   

Sweeten at length this bitter bowl,  
Which thou hast poured into my soul;  
●hy wormwood turn to health, winds to fair weather:  
For if thou stay,  
I and this day,  
As we did rise, we die together.   

When thou for sin rebukest man,  
Forthwith he waxeth woe and wan:  
Bitterness fills our bowels; all our heart's  
Pine, and decay,  
And drop away,  
And carry with them th' other parts.   

But thou wilt sin and grief destroy;  
That so the broken bones may joy,  
And tune together in a well-set song,  
Full of his praises,  
Who dead men raises.  
Fractures well cured make us more strong.    

¶ Faith.  

LOrd, how couldst thou so much appease  
Thy wrath for sin, as when man's sight was dim,  
And could see little, to regard his ease,  
And bring by Faith all things to him?   

Hungry I was, and had no meat:  
● did conceit a most delicious feast;  
● had it strait, and did as truly eat,  
As ever did a welcome guest.   

There is a rare outlandish root,  
Which when I could not get, I thought it here:  
That apprehension cured so well my foot,  
That I can walk to heaven well near.   

I owed thousands and much more:  
I did believe that I did nothing owe,  
And lived accordingly; my creditor  
Believes so too, and lets me go.   

Faith makes me any thing, or all  
That I believe is in the sacred story:  
And where sin placeth me in Adam's fall,  
Faith sets me higher in his glory▪   

If I go lower in the book,  
What can be lower than the common manger?  
Faith puts me there with him, who sweetly took  
Our flesh and frailty, death and danger.   

If bliss had lain in art or strength,  
None but the wise or strong had gained it:  
Where now by Faith all arms are of a length;  
One size doth all conditions fit.   

A peasant may believe as much  
As a great Clerk, and reach the highest stature.  
Thus dost thou make proud knowledge bend & crou●  
While grace fills up uneven nature.   

When creatures had no real light  
Inherent in them, thou didst make the sun,  
Impute a lustre, and allow them bright;  
And in this show, what Christ hath done.   

That which before was darkened clean  
With bushy groves, pricking the looker's eye,  
Vanished away, when Faith did change the scene:  
And then appeared a glorious sky.   

What though my body run to dust?  
Faith cleaves unto it, counting every grain  
With an exact and most particular trust,  
Reserving all for flesh again.    

¶ Prayer.  

PRayer the Church's banquet, Angel's age,  
God's breath in man returning to his birth,  
The soul in paraphrase, heart in pilgrimage,  
●he Christian plummet sounding heaven and earth;   

●●gine against th' Almighty, sinner's tower,  
Reversed thunder, Christ-side-piercing spear,  
The six-days world-transposing in an hour,  
A kind of tune, which all things hear and fear,   

Softness, and peace, and joy, and love, and bliss,  
Exalted Manna, gladness of the best,  
Heaven in ordinary, man well dressed,  
The milky way, the bird of Paradise,   

Church-bels beyond the stars heard, the souls blood,  
The land of spices; something understood.    

¶ The H. Communion.  

NOt in rich furniture, or fine array,  
Nor in a wedge of gold,  
Thou, who from me wast sold,  
To me dost now thyself convey;  
For so thou shouldst without me still have been,  
Leaving within me sin:   

But by the way of nourishment and strength  
Thou creepest into my breast;  
Making thy way my rest,  
And thy small quantities my length;  
Which spread their forces into every part,  
Meeting sins force and art.   

Yet can these not get over to my soul,  
Leaping the wall that parts  
Our souls and fleshly hearts;  
But as th' outworks, they may control  
My rebel-flesh, and carrying thy name,  
Affright both sin and shame.   

Only thy grace, which with these elements comes,  
Knoweth the ready way,  
And hath the privy key,  
Opening the souls most subtle rooms;  
While those to spirits refined, at door attend  
Dispatches from their friend.   

Give me my captive soul, or take  
My body also thither.  
Another lift like this will make  
Them both to be together.   

Before that sin turned flesh to stone,  
And all our lump to leaven;  
A fervent sigh might well have blown  
Our innocent earth to heaven.   

For sure when Adam did not know  
To sin, or sin to smother;  
He might to heaven from Paradise go,  
As from one room t'another.   

Thou hast restored us to this ease  
By this thy heavenly blood;  
Which I can go to, when I please,  
And leave th' earth to their food.    

¶ Antiphon.  

Cho. LEt all the world in every corner sing,  
My God and King.   

Vers. The heavens are not too high,  
His praise may thither fly:  
The earth is not too low,  
His praises there may grow.   

Cho. Let all the world in every corner sing,  
My God and King.   

Vers. The church with psalms must shou●  
No door can keep them out:  
But above all, the heart  
Must bear the longest part.   

Cho. Let all the world in every corner sing,  
My God and King.    

¶ Love 1  

Immortal Love, author of this great frame,  
Sprung from that beauty which can never fade;  
How hath man parcelled out thy glorious name,  
And thrown it on that dust which thou hast made,   

While mortal love doth all the title gain!  
Which siding with invention, they together  
Bear all the sway, possessing heart and brain,  
(Thy workmanship) and give thee share in neither.   

Wit fancies beauty, beauty raiseth wit:  
The world is theirs; they two play out the game,  
Thou standing by: and though thy glorious n●●●  
Wrought our deliverance from th' infernal pit,   

Who sings thy praise? only a skarf or glove  
Doth warm our hands, and make them write 〈…〉    

II.  

Immortal Heat, O let thy greater flame  
Attract the lesser to it: let those fires,  
Which shall consume the world, first make it tam●  
And kindle in our hearts such true desires,   

As may consume our lusts, and make thee way.  
Then shall our hearts pant thee; then shall our brain  
All her invention on thine Altar lay,  
And there in hymns send back thy fire again:   

Our eyes shall see thee, which before saw dust;  
Dust blown by wit, till that they both were blind●  
Thou shalt recover all thy goods in kind,  
Who wert disseized by usurping lust:   

All knees shall bow to thee; all wits shall rise,  
And praise him who did make and mend our eyes.    

¶ The Temper.  

HOw should I praise thee, Lord! how should my rhymes  
Gladly engrave thy love in steel,  
If what my soul doth feel sometimes,  
My soul might ever feel!   

●●though there were some forty heavens, or more,  
Sometimes I peer above them all;  
Sometimes I hardly reach a score,  
Sometimes to hell I fall.   

〈◊〉 rack me not to such a vast extent;  
Those distances belong to thee:  
The world's too little for thy tent,  
A grave too big for me.   

●●lt thou meet arms with man, that thou dost stretch  
A crumb of dust from heaven to hell?  
Will great God measure with a wretch?  
Shall he thy stature spell?   

O let me, when thy roof my soul hath hid,  
O let me roost and nestle there:  
Then of a sinner thou art rid,  
And I of hope and fear.   

Yet take thy way; for sure thy way is best:  
Stretch or contract me thy poor debtor:  
This is but tuning of my breast,  
To make the music better.   

Whether I fly with angels, fall with dust,  
Thy hands made both, and I am there:  
Thy power and love, my love and trust  
Make one place every where.    

¶ The Temper.  

IT cannot be. Where is that mighty joy,  
Which just now took up all my heart?  
Lord, if thou must needs use thy dart,  
Save that, and me; or sin for both destroy.   

The grosser world stands to thy word and art;  
But thy diviner world of grace  
Thou suddenly dost raise and race,  
And every day a new Creator art.   

O fix thy chair of grace, that all my powers  
May also fix their reverence:  
For when thou dost depart from hence,  
They grow unruly, and sit in thy bowers.   

Scatter, or bind them all to bend to thee:  
Though elements change, and heaven move,  
Let not thy higher Court remove,  
But keep a standing Majesty in me.    

¶ Jordan.  

WHo says that fictions only and false hair  
Become a verse? Is there in truth no beauty  
Is all good structure in a winding stair?  
May no lines pass, except they do their duty  
Not to a true, but painted chair?   

Is it no verse, except enchanted groves  
And sudden arbours shadow course-spunne lines?  
Must purling streams refresh a lover's loves?  
Must all be veiled, while he that reads, divines,  
Catching the sense at two removes?   

Shepherds are honest people; let them sing:  
Riddle who list, for me, and pull for Prime:  
I envy no man's nightingale or spring;  
Nor let them punish me with loss of rhyme,  
Who plainly say, My God, My King.    

¶ Employment.  

IF as a flower doth spread and die,  
Thou wouldst extend me to some good,  
●●fore I were by frosts extremity  
Nipped in the bud;   

The sweetness and the praise were thine;  
But the extension and the room,  
●hich in thy garland I should fill, were mine  
At thy great doom.   

For as thou dost impart thy grace,  
The greater shall our glory be.  
●he measure of our joys is in this place,  
The stuff with thee.   

Let me not languish then, and spend  
A life as barren to thy praise,  
●s is the dust, to which that life doth tend,  
But with delays.   

All things are busy; only I  
Neither bring honey with the bees,  
Nor flowers to make that, nor the husbandry  
To water these.   

I am no link of thy great chain,  
But all my company is a weed.  
Lord place me in thy consort; give one strain  
To my poor reed.    

¶ The H. Scriptures. I.  

OH Book! infinite sweetness! let my heart  
Suck every letter, and a honey gain,  
Precious for any grief in any part;  
To clear the breast, to mollify all pain.   

Thou art all health, health thriving, till it make  
A full eternity: thou art a mass  
Of strange delights, where we may wish & 〈◊〉  
Ladies, look here; this is the thankful glass,   

That mends the lookers eyes: this is the well  
That washes what it shows. Who can ind●●●  
Thy praise too much? thou art heavens Li 〈…〉  
Working against the states of death and hell.   

Thou art joys handsel: heaven lies flat in the●  
Subject to every mounters bended knee.    

II.  

OH that I knew how all thy lights combine,  
And the configurations of their glory!  
Seeing not only how each verse doth shine,  
But all the constellations of the story.   

This verse marks tha●, and both do make a motion  
Unto a third, that ten leaves off doth lie:  
Then as dispersed herbs do watch a potion,  
These three make up some Christians destiny:   

〈◊〉 are thy secrets, which my life makes good,  
And comments on thee: for in every thing  
Thy words do find me out, & parallels bring,  
〈◊〉 in another make me understood.   

Stars are poor books, & oftentimes do miss:  
This book of stars lights to eternal bliss.    

¶ Whitsunday.  

LIsten sweet Dove unto my song,  
And spread thy golden wings in me;  
Hatching my tender heart so long,  
●ll it get wing, and fly away with thee.   

Where is that fire which once descended  
On thy Apostles? thou didst then  
Keep open house, richly attended,  
●asting all comers by twelve chosen men.   

Such glorious gifts thou didst bestow,  
That th' earth did like a heaven appear;  
The stars were coming down to know  
〈◊〉 they might mend their wages, and serve here.   

The sun, which once did shine alone,  
Hung down his head, and wished for night,  
When he beheld twelve suns for one  
●oing about the world, and giving light.   

But since those pipes of gold, which brought  
That cordial water to our ground,  
Were cut and martyred by the fault  
Of those, who did themselves through their side wound   

Thou shutt'st the door, and keep'st within;  
Scarce a good joy creeps through the chink:  
And if the braves of conquering sin  
Did not excite thee, we should wholly sink.   

Lord, though we change, thou art the same;  
The same sweet God of love and light:  
Restore this day, for thy great name,  
Unto his ancient and miraculous right.    

¶ Grace.  

MY stock lies dead, and no increase  
Doth my dull husbandry improve:  
O let thy graces without cease  
Drop from above!   

If still the sun should hide his face,  
Thy house would but a dungeon prove,  
Thy works nights captives: O let grace  
Drop from above!   

The dew doth every morning fall;  
And shall the dew outstrip thy dove?  
The dew, for which grass cannot call,  
Drop from above▪   

Death is still working like a mole,  
And digs my grave at each remove:  
Let grace work too, and on my soul  
Drop from above.   

Sin is still hammering my heart  
Unto a hardness, void of love:  
Let suppling grace, to cross his art,  
Drop from above.   

〈◊〉 come! for thou dost know the way.  
●r if to me thou wilt not move,  
remove me, where I need not say,  
Drop from above.    

¶ Praise.  

TO write a verse or two, is all the praise,  
That I can raise:  
Mend my estate in any ways,  
Thou shalt have more.   

〈◊〉 go to Church; help me to wings, and I  
Will thither fly;  
Or, if I mount unto the sky,  
I will do more.   

●an is all weakness; there is no such thing  
As Prince or King:  
His arm is short; yet with a sling  
He may do more.   

●n herb destilled, and drunk, may dwell next door,  
On the same floor,  
To a brave soul: Exalt the poor,  
They can do more.   

O raise me then! poor bees, that work all day,  
Sting my delay,  
Who have a work, as well as they,  
And much, much more.    

¶ Affliction.  

KIll me not every day,  
●hou Lord of life; since thy one death for me  
Is more than all my deaths can be,  
Though I in broken pay  
●ie over each hour of Methusalems' stay.   

If all men's tears were let  
Into one common sewer, sea, and brine;  
What were they all, compared to thi●●  
Wherein if they were set,  
They would discolour thy most bloody sweat.   

Thou art my grief alone,  
Thou Lord conceal it not: and as thou art  
All my delight, so all my smart:  
Thy cross took up in one▪  
By way of impressed, all my future moan.    

¶ Matins.  

I Cannot open mine eyes,  
But thou art ready there to catch  
My morning-soul and sacrifice:  
Then we must needs for that day make a match.   

My God, what is a heart?  
Silver, or gold, or precious stone,  
Or star, or rainbow, or a part  
Of all these things, or all of them in one?   

My God, what is a heart,  
That thou shouldst it so eye, and woo,  
Pouring upon it all thy art,  
As if that thou hadst nothing else to do?   

Indeed man's whole estate  
Amounts (and richly) to serve thee:  
He did not heaven and earth create,  
Yet studies them, not him by whom they be.   

Teach me thy love to know;  
That this new light, which now I see,  
May both the work and workman show:  
Then by a sunne-beam I will climb to thee.    

¶ Sinne.  

O That I could a sin once see!  
We paint the devil foul, yet he  
Hath some good in him, all agree.  
Sin is flat opposite to th' Almighty, seeing  
●t wants the good of virtue, and of being.   

But God more care of us hath had:  
If apparitions make us sad,  
By sight of sin we should grow mad.  
Yet as in sleep we see foul death, and live:  
So devils are our sins in perspective.    

¶ Evensong.  

Blessed be the God of love,  
Who gave me eyes, and light, and power this day,  
Both to be busy, and to play.  
But much more blessed be God above,   

Who gave me sight alone,  
Which to himself he did deny:  
For when he sees my ways, I die:  
But I have got his son, and he hath none.   

What have I brought thee home  
For this thy love? have I discharged the debt,  
Which this day's favour did beget?  
I ran; but all I brought, was ●ome.   

Thy diet, care, and cost  
Do end in bubbles, balls of wind;  
Of wind to thee whom I have crossed,  
But balls of wildfire to my troubled mind.   

Yet still thou goest on,  
And now with darkness closest weary eyes,  
Saying to man, It doth suffice:  
Henceforth repose; your work is done.   

Thus in thy Ebony box  
Thou dost enclose us, till the day  
Put our amendment in our way,  
And give new wheels to our disordered clocks.   

I muse, which shows more love▪  
The day or night: that is the gale, this th'harbour;  
That is the walk, and this the arbour;  
Or that the garden, this the grove.   

My God, thou art all love.  
Not one poor minute escapes thy breast,  
But brings a favour from above;  
And in this love, more than in bed, I rest.    

¶ Church-monuments.  

WHile that my soul repairs to her devotion,  
Here I entomb my flesh, that it betimes  
May take acquaintance of this heap of dust;  
To which the blast of deaths incessant motion,  
Fed with the exhalation of our crimes,  
Drives all at last. Therefore I gladly trust   

My body to this school, that it may learn  
To spell his elements, and find his birth  
Written in dusty heraldry and lines;  
Which dissolution sure doth best discern,  
Comparing dust with dust, and earth with earth.  
These laugh at jet, and Marble put for signs,   

●o sever the good fellowship of dust,  
●nd spoil the meeting. What shall point out them,  
●hen they shall bow, and kneel, and fall down flat  
●o kiss those heaps, which now they have in trust?  
●eare flesh, while I do pray, learn here thy stem  
●nd true descent; that when thou shalt grow fat,   

●nd wanton in thy cravings, thou mayst know,  
●hat flesh is but the glass, which holds the dust  
That measures all our time; which also shall  
●e crumbled into dust. Mark here below  
●ow tame these ashes are, how free from lust,  
That thou mayst fit thyself against thy fall.    

¶ Church-music.  

SWeetest of sweets, I thank you: when displeasure  
Did through my body wound my mind,  
You took me thence, and in your house of pleasure  
A dainty lodging me assigned.   

Now I in you without a body move,  
Rising and falling with your wings:  
We both together sweetly live and love,  
Yet say sometimes, God help poor Kings.   

Comfort, I'll die; for if you post from me,  
Sure I shall do so, and much more:  
But if I travel in your company,  
You know the way to heaven's door.    

¶ Church-lock and key.  

I Know it is my sin, which locks thine ears,  
And binds thy hands,  
Out-crying my requests, drowning my tears;  
Or else the chillness of my faint demands.   

But as cold hands are angry with the fire,  
And mend it still;  
So I do lay the want of my desire,  
Not on my sins, or coldness, but thy will.   

Yet hear, O God, only for his blood's sake  
Which pleads for me:  
For though sins plead too, yet like stones they ma●●  
His bloods sweet current much more loud to be.    

¶ The Church-floore.  

MArk you the floor? that square & speckled ston●  
Which looks so firm and strong,  
Is Patience:   

And th'other black and grave, wherewith each one  
Is chequered all along,  
Humility:   

The gentle rising, which on either hand  
Leads to the Choir above,  
Is Confidence:   

But the sweet cement, which in one sure band  
Ties the whole frame, is Love  
And Charity.   

Hither sometimes Sin steals, and stains  
The marbles neat and curious veins:  
But all is cleansed when the marble weeps.  
Sometimes Death, puffing at the door,  
Blows all the dust about the floor:  
But while he thinks to spoil the room, he sweeps.  
Blessed be the Architect, whose art  
Could build so strong in a weak heart.    

¶ The Windows.  

LOrd, how can man preach thy eternal word?  
He is a brittle crazy glass:  
●et in thy temple thou dost him afford  
This glorious and transcendent place,  
To be a window, through thy grace.   

But when thou dost anneal in glass thy story,  
Making thy life to shine within  
The holy Preachers; then the light and glory  
More reverend grows, & more doth wine  
Which else shows waterish, bleak, & thin.   

Doctrine and life, colours and light, in one  
When they combine and mingle, bring  
A strong regard and awe: but speech alone  
Doth vanish like a flaring thing,  
And in the ear, not conscience ring.    

¶ Trinity Sunday.  

LOrd, who hast formed me out of mud,  
And hast redeemed me through thy blood,  
And sanctified me to do good;   

Purge all my sins done heretofore:  
For I confess my heavy score,  
And I will strive to sin no more.   

every my heart, mouth, hands in me,  
With faith, with hope, with charity;  
That I may run, rise, rest with thee.    

¶ Content.  

PEace muttering thoughts, and do not grudge to keep  
Within the walls of your own breast:  
Who cannot on his own bed sweetly sleep,  
Can on another's hardly rest.   

Gad not abroad at every quest and call  
Of an untrained hope or passion.  
To court each place or fortune that doth fall,  
Is wantonness in contemplation.   

Mark how the fire in flints doth quiet lie,  
Content and warm t' itself alone:  
But when it would appear to others eye,  
Without a knock it never shone.   

Give me the pliant mind, whose gentle measure  
Complies and suits with all estates;  
Which can let loose to a crown, and yet with pleasure  
Take up within a cloisters gates.   

This soul doth span the world, and hang content  
From either pole unto the centre:  
Where in each room of the well-furnished tent  
He lies warm, and without adventure.   

The brags of life are but a nine days wonder;  
And after death the fumes that spring  
From private bodies, make as big a thunder,  
As those which rise from a huge King.   

Only thy Chronicle is lost; and yet  
Better by worms be all once spent,  
Then to have hellish moths still gnaw and fret  
Thy name in books, which may not rend:   

When all thy deeds, whose brunt thou feelest alone,  
Are chawed by others pens and tongue;  
●nd as their wit is, their digestion,  
Thy nourished fame is weak or strong.   

Then cease discoursing soul, till thine own ground,  
Do not thyself or friends importune.  
He that by seeking hath himself once found,  
Hath ever found a happy fortune.    

¶ The Quiddity.  

MY God, a verse is not a crown,  
No point of honour, or gay suit,  
No hawk, or banquet, or renown,  
Nor a good sword, nor yet a lute:   

It cannot vault, or dance, or play;  
It never was in France or Spain;  
Nor can it entertain the day  
With a great stable or demain:   

It is no office, art, or news,  
Nor the Exchange, or busy Hall;  
But it is that which while I use  
I am with thee, and Most take all.    

¶ Humility.  

I Saw the Virtue's sitting hand in hand  
In several ranks upon an azure throne,  
Where all the beasts and fowls by their command  
Presented tokens of submission.  
Humility, who sat the lowest there  
To execute their call,  
When by the beasts the presents tendered were,  
Gave them about to all.   

The angry Lion did present his paw,  
Which by consent was given to Mansuetude.  
The fearful Hare her ears, which by their law  
Humility did reach to Fortitude.  
The jealous Turkey brought his corall-chain;  
That went to Temperance.  
On Justice was bestowed the Fox's brain,  
Killed in the way by chance.   

At length the Crow bringing the Peacock's plume,  
(For he would not) as they beheld the grace  
Of that brave gift, each one began to fume,  
And challenge it, as proper to his place,  
Till they fell out: which when the beasts espied,  
They leapt upon the throne;  
And if the Fox had lived to rule their side,  
They had deposed each one.   

Humility, who held the plume, at this  
Did weep so fast, that the tears trickling down  
Spoiled all the train: then saying, Here it is  
For which ye wrangle, made them turn their frown  
Against the beasts: so jointly bandying,  
They drive them soon away▪  
And then amerced them, double gifts to bring  
At the next Session-day.    

¶ Frailtie.  

LOrd, in my silence how do I despise  
What upon trust  
Is styled honour, riches, or fair eyes;  
But is fair dust!  
I surname them guilded clay,  
Dear earth, fine grass or hay;  
In all, I think my foot doth ever tread  
Upon their head.   

●●t when I view abroad both Regiments;  
The worlds, and thine:  
●●ine clad with simpleness, and sad events;  
The other fine,  
Full of glory and gay weeds,  
Brave language, braver deeds:  
●hat which was dust before, doth quickly rise,  
And prick mine eyes.   

〈◊〉 brook not this, lest if what even now  
My foot did tread,  
●ffront those joys, wherewith thou didst endow,  
And long since wed  
My poor soul, even sick of love:  
It may a Babel prove  
Commodious to conquer heaven and thee  
Planted in me.    

¶ Constancy.  

WHo is the honest man?  
He that doth still and strongly good pursue,  
To God, his neighbour, and himself most true:  
Whom neither force nor fawning can  
Unpinne, or wrench from giving all their due.   

Whose honesty is not  
So loose or easy, that a ruffling wind  
Can blow away, or glittering look it blind:  
Who rides his sure and even troth,  
While the world now rides by, now lags behind.   

Who, when great trials come,  
Nor seeks, nor shuns them; but doth calmly stay,  
Till he the thing and the example weigh:  
All being brought into a sum,  
What place or person calls for, he doth pay.   

Whom none can work or woo  
To use in any thing a trick or sleight,  
For above all things he abhors deceit:  
His words and works and fashion too  
All of a piece, and all are clear and strait.   

Who never melts or thaws  
At close tentations: when the day is done,  
His goodness sets not, but in dark can run:  
The sun to others writeth laws,  
And is their virtue; Virtue is his Sun.   

Who, when he is to treat  
With sick folks, women, those whom passions sway,  
Allows for that, and keeps his constant way:  
Whom others faults do not defeat;  
But though men fail him, yet his part doth play.   

Whom nothing can procure,  
When the wide world runs bias, from his will  
To writhe his limbs, and share, not mend the ill.  
This is the Markman, safe and sure,  
Who still is right, and prays to be so still.    

¶ Affliction.  

MY heart did heave, and there came forth, O God▪  
By that I knew that thou wast in the grief,  
To guide and govern it to my relief,  
Making a sceptre of the rod:  
Hadst thou not had thy part,  
Sure the unruly sigh had broke my heart.   

〈◊〉 since thy breath gave me both life and shape,  
●ou know'st my tallies; and when there's assigned  
〈◊〉 much breath to a sigh, what's then behind?  
Or if some years with it escape,  
The sigh then only is  
●ale to bring me sooner to my bliss.   

●y life on earth was grief, and thou art still  
instant unto it, making it to be  
●●oint of honour, now to grieve in me,  
And in thy members suffer ill.  
They who lament one cross,  
Thou dying daily, praise thee to thy loss.    

¶ The Star.  

BRight spark, shot from a brighter place,  
Where beams surround my Saviour's face,  
Canst thou be any where  
So well as there?   

●et, if thou wilt from thence depart,  
Take a bad lodging in my heart;  
For thou canst make a debtor,  
And make it better.   

First with thy firework burn to dust  
Folly, and worse than folly, lust:  
Then with thy light refine,  
And make it shine:   

●o disengaged from sin and sickness,  
Touch it with thy celestial quickness,  
That it may hang and move  
After thy love.   

Then with our trinity of light,  
Motion, and heat, let's take our flight  
Unto the place where thou  
Before didst bow.   

Get me a standing there, and place  
Among the beams, which crown the face  
Of him, who died to part  
Sin and my heart:   

That so among the rest I may  
Glitter, and curl, and wind as they:  
That winding is their fashion  
Of adoration.   

Sure thou wilt joy, by gaining me  
To fly home like a laden be  
Unto that hive of beams  
And garland-streams▪    

¶ Sunday.  

O Day most calm, most bright,  
The fruit of this, the next world's bud,  
Th' endorsement of supreme delight,  
Writ by a friend, and with his blood;  
The couch of time; cares balm and bay:  
The week were dark, but for thy light:  
Thy torch doth show the way.   

The other days and thou  
●●ke up one man; whose face thou art,  
●ocking at heaven with thy brow:  
●●e workadays are the backpart;  
●he burden of the week lies there,  
●aking the whole to stoup and bow,  
Till thy release appear.   

Man had strait forward gone  
●o endless death: but thou dost pull  
●nd turn us round to look on one,  
●hom, if we were not very dull,  
●e could not choose but look on still;  
●ince there is no place so alone,  
The which he doth not fill.   

Sundays the pillars are,  
On which heavens palace arched lies:  
The other days fill up the spare  
And hollow room with vanities.  
They are the fruitful beds and borders  
In Gods rich garden: that is bare,  
Which parts their ranks and orders.   

The Sundays of man's life,  
Thredded together on times string,  
Make bracelets to adorn the wife  
Of the eternal glorious King.  
On Sunday heavens gate stands open;  
Blessings are plentiful and rife,  
More plentiful than hope.   

This day my Saviour rose,  
And did enclose this light for his:  
That, as each beast his manger knows,  
Man might not of his fodder miss.  
Christ hath took in this piece of ground,  
And made a garden there for those  
Who want herbs for their wound.   

The rest of our Creation  
Our great Redeemer did remove  
With the same shake, which at his passion  
Did th' earth and all things with it move.  
As Samson bore the doors away,  
Christ's hands, though nailed, wrought our salvation,  
And did unhinge that day.   

The brightness of that day  
We sullied by our foul offence:  
Wherefore that robe we cast away,  
Having a new at his expense,  
Whose drops of blood paid the full price,  
That was required to make us gay,  
And fit for Paradise.   

Thou art a day of mirth:  
And where the weekdays trail on ground,  
Thy flight is higher, as thy birth.  
O let me take thee at the bound,  
Leaping with thee from seven to seven,  
Till that we both, being tossed from earth,  
Fly hand in hand to heaven!    

¶ Avarice.  

MOney, thou bane of bliss, & source of woe,  
Whence comest thou, that thou art so fresh and fine?  
〈◊〉 know thy parentage is base and low:  
〈…〉 poor and dirty in a mine.   

●urely ●●ou didst so little contribute  
To this great kingdom, which thou now hast got,  
That he was fain, when thou wert destitute,  
●o dig thee out of thy dark cave and grot:   

●hen forcing thee, by fire he made thee bright:  
Nay, thou h●st got the face of man; for we  
Have with out stamp and seal transferred our right:  
Thou art the man, and man but dross to thee.   

Man calleth thee his wealth, who made thee rich;  
And while he digs out thee, falls in the ditch.    

Anagram. 

MARY  
ARMY    
HOw well her name an Army doth present,  
In whom the Lord of hosts did pitch his tent   

¶ To all Angels and Saints.  

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

Not out of envy or maliciousness  
Do I forbear to crave your special aid:  
I would address  
My vows to thee most gladly, blessed Maid,  
And Mother of my God, in my distress.   

Thou art the holy mine, whence came the gold,  
The great restorative for all decay  
In young and old;  
Thou art the cabinet where the jewel lay:  
Chiefly to thee would I my soul unfold:   

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

All worship is prerogative, and a flower  
Of his rich crown, from whom lies no appeal  
At the last hour:  
Therefore we dare not from his garland steal,  
To make a posy for inferior power.   

Although then others court you, if ye know  
What's done on earth, we shall not far the worse,  
Who do not so;  
Since we are ever ready to disburse,  
If any one our Master's hand can show.    

¶ Employment.  

HE that is weary, let him sit.  
My soul would stir  
And trade in courtesies and wit,  
Quitting the fur  
To cold complexions needing it.   

〈◊〉 is no●●●rre, but a quick coal  
Of mortal fire:  
〈◊〉 blows it not, nor doth control  
A faint desire,  
〈◊〉 his own ashes choke his soul.   

●●en th' elements did for place contest  
With him, whose will  
disdained the highest to be best;  
The earth sat still,  
●●d by the others is oppressed.   

●●fe is a business, not good cheer;  
Ever in wars.  
●●e sun still shineth there or here,  
Whereas the stars  
●atch an advantage to appear.   

Oh that I were an Orenge-tree,  
That busy plant!  
●hen should I ever laden be,  
And never want  
Some fruit for him that dressed me.   

But we are still too young or old;  
The man is gone,  
Before we do our wares unfold:  
So we frieze on,  
Until the grave increase our cold.    

¶ Denial.  

WHen my devotions could not pierce  
Thy silent ears;  
Then was my heart broken, as was my verse:  
My breast was full of fears  
And disorder:   

My bend thoughts, like a brittle bow,  
Did fly asunder:  
Each took his way; some would to pleasures go,  
Some to the wars and thunder  
Of alarms.   

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

O that thou shouldst give dust a tongue  
To cry to thee,  
And then not hear it crying! all day long  
My heart was in my knee,  
But no hearing.   

Therefore my soul lay out of sight,  
Untuned, unstrung:  
My feeble spirit, unable to look right,  
Like a nipped blossom, hung  
Discontented.   

O cheer and tune my heartless breast,  
Defer no time;  
That so thy favours granting my request,  
They and my mind may chime,  
And mend my rhyme.    

¶ Christmas.  

ALl after pleasures as I rid one day,  
My horse and I, both tired, body and mind,  
With full cry of affections, quite astray;  
I took up in the next inn I could find.   

●ere when I came, whom found I but my dear,  
My dearest Lord, expecting till the grief  
Of pleasures brought me to him, ready there  
●●e all passengers most sweet relief?   

Thou, whose glorious, yet contracted light,  
Wrapped in night's mantle, stole into a manger▪  
Since my dark soul and brutish is thy right,  
Man of all beasts be not thou a stranger:   

Furnish & deck my soul, that thou mayst have  
A better lodging, than a rack, or grave.   

THe shepherds sing; and shall I silent be?  
My God, no hymn for thee?  
●y soul's a shepherd too; a flock it feeds  
Of thoughts, and words, and deeds▪  
The pasture is thy word: the streams, thy grace  
Enriching all the place.  
Shepherd and flock shall sing, and all my powers  
Outsing the daylight hours.  
Then we will chide the sun for letting night  
Take up his place and right:  
We sing one common Lord; wherefore he should  
Himself the candle hold.  
● will go searching, till I find a sun  
Shall stay, till we have done;  
A willing shiner, that shall shine as gladly,  
As frost-nipped suns look sadly.  
Then we will sing, and shine all our own day,  
And one another pay:  
His beams shall cheer my breast, and both so twine,  
Till even his beams sing, and my music shine.    

¶ Ungratefulness.  

LOrd, with what bounty and rare clemency  
Hast thou redeemed us from the grave!  
If thou hadst let us run,  
Gladly had man adored the sun,  
And thought his god most brave;  
Where now we shall be better gods than he.   

Thou hast but two rare cabinets full of treasure,  
The Trinity, and Incarnation:  
Thou hast unlocked them both,  
And made them jewels to betrothe  
The work of thy creation  
Unto thyself in everlasting pleasure.   

The statelier cabinet is the Trinity,  
Whose sparkling light access denies:  
Therefore thou dost not show  
This fully to us, till death blow  
The dust into our eyes:  
For by that powder thou wilt make us see.   

But all thy sweets are packed up in the other;  
Thy mercies thither flock and flow:  
That as the first affrights,  
This may allure us with delights;  
Because this box we know;  
For we have all of us just such another.   

But man is close, reserved, and dark to thee:  
When thou demandest but a heart,  
He cavils instantly.  
In his poor cabinet of bone  
Sins have their box apart,  
Defrauding thee, who gavest two for one.    

¶ Sighs and Groans.  

O Do not use me  
After my sins! look not on my desert,  
But on thy glory! then thou wilt reform  
And not refuse me: for thou only art  
The mighty God, but I a silly worm;  
O do not bruise me!   

O do not urge me!  
For what account can thy ill steward make?  
I have abused thy stock, destroyed thy woods,  
Sucked all thy magazens: my head did ache,  
Till it found out how to consume thy goods:  
O do not scourge me!   

O do not blind me!  
I have deserved that an Egyptian night  
Should thicken all my powers; because my lust  
Hath still sowed fig-leaves to exclude thy light:  
But I am frailty, and already dust;  
O do not grind me!   

O do not fill me  
With the turned vial of thy bitter wrath!  
For thou hast other vessels full of blood,  
A part whereof my Saviour emptied hath,  
Even unto death: since he died for my good,  
O do not kill me!   

But O reprieve me!  
For thou hast life and death at thy command;  
Thou art both judge and Saviour, feast and rod,  
Cordial and Corrosive: put not thy hand  
Into the bitter box; but O my God,  
My God, relieve me!    

¶ The World.  

LOve built a stately house; where Fortune came,  
And spinning fancies, she was heard to say,  
That her fine cobwebs did support the frame,  
Whereas they were supported by the same:  
But Wisdom quickly swept them all away.   

Then Pleasure came, who liking not the fashion,  
Began to make Balcones, Terraces,  
Till she had weakened all by alteration:  
But reverend laws, and many a proclamation  
Reform all at length with menaces.   

Then entered Sin, and with that Sycomore,  
Whose leaves first sheltered man from drought & dew,  
Working and winding slily evermore,  
The inward walls and Summers cleft and tore:  
But Grace shored these, and cut that as it grew.   

Then Sin combined with Death in a firm band  
To raze the building to the very floor:  
Which they effected, none could them withstand.  
But Love and Grace took Glory by the hand,  
And built a braver Palace than before.    

Coloss. 3.3. Our life is hid with Christ in God.  
MY words & thoughts do both express this notion,  
That Life hath with the sun a double motion.  
The first Is strait, and our diurnal friend,  
The other Hid, and doth obliquely bend.  
One life is wrapped In flesh, and tends to earth.  
The other winds towards Him, whose happy birth  
Taught me to live here so, That still one eye  
Should aim and shoot at that which Is on high:  
Quitting with daily labour all My pleasure,  
To gain at harvest an eternal Treasure.   

¶ Vanity.  

THe fleet Astronomer can boar,  
And thread the spheres with his quick-piercing mind:  
He views their stations, walks from door to door,  
Surveys, as if he had designed  
To make a purchase there: he sees their dances,  
And knoweth long before,  
Both their full-eyed aspects, and secret glances.   

The nimble Diver with his side  
Cuts through the working waves, that he may fetch  
His dearely-earned pearl, which God did hide  
On purpose from the venturous wretch;  
That he might save his life, and also hers,  
Who with excessive pride  
Her own destruction and his danger wears.   

The subtle Chemic can divest  
And strip the creature naked, till he find  
The callow principles within their nest:  
There he imparts to them his mind,  
Admitted to their bedchamber, before  
They appear trim and dressed  
To ordinary suitors at the door.   

What hath not man sought out and found,  
But his dear God? who yet his glorious law  
Embosoms in us, mellowing the ground  
With showers and frosts, with love & awe,  
So that we need not say, Where's this command?  
Poor man, thou searchest round  
To find out death, but missest life at hand.    

¶ Lent.  

WElcome dear feast of Lent: who loves not thee,  
He loves not Temperance, or Authority,  
But is composed of passion.  
The Scriptures bid us fast; the Church says, now:  
Give to thy Mother, what thou wouldst allow  
To every Corporation.   

The humble soul composed of love and fear  
Begins at home, and lays the burden there,  
When doctrines disagree.  
He says, in things which use hath justly got,  
I am a scandal to the Church, and not  
The Church is so to me.   

True Christians should be glad of an occasion  
To use their temperance, seeking no evasion,  
When good is seasonable;  
Unless Authority, which should increase  
The obligation in us, make it less,  
And Power itself disable.   

Besides the cleanness of sweet abstinence,  
Quick thoughts and motions at a small expense,  
A face not fearing light:  
Whereas in fullness there are sluttish fumes,  
Sour exhalations, and dishonest rheums,  
Revenging the delight.   

Then those same pendant profits, which the spring  
And Easter intimate, enlarge the thing,  
And goodness of the deed.  
Neither ought other men's abuse of Lent  
Spoil the good use; le●t by that argument  
We forfeit all our Creed.   

It's true, we cannot reach Christ's forti'th day;  
Yet to go part of that religious way,  
Is better than to rest:  
We cannot reach our Saviour's purity;  
Yet are we bid, Be holy even as he.  
In both let's do our best.   

Who goeth in the way which Christ hath gone,  
Is much more sure to meet with him, than one  
That traveleth byways:  
Perhaps my God, though he be far before,  
May turn, and take me by the hand, and more  
May strengthen my decays.   

Yet Lord instruct us to improve our fast  
By starving sin and taking such repast,  
As may our faults control:  
That every man may revel at his door,  
Not in his parlour; banqueting the poor,  
And among those his soul.    

¶ Virtue.  

SWeet day, so cool, so calm, so bright,  
The bridal of the earth and sky:  
The dew shall weep thy fall to night;  
For thou must die.   

Sweet rose, whose hue angry and brave  
Bids the rash gazer wipe his eye:  
Thy root is ever in its grave,  
And thou must die.   

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

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

¶ The Pearl. Matth. 13.  

I Know the ways of learning; both the head  
And pipes that feed the press, and make it run;  
What reason hath from nature borrowed,  
Or of itself, like a good huswife, spun  
In laws and policy; what the stars conspire,  
What willing nature speaks, what forced by fire;  
Both th' old discoveries, and the newfound seas,  
The stock and surplus, cause and history:  
All these stand open, or I have the keys:  
Yet I love thee.   

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

I know the ways of pleasure, the sweet strains,  
The lullings and the relishes of it;  
The propositions of hot blood and brains;  
What mirth and music mean; what love and wit  
Have done these twenty hundred years, and more:  
I know the projects of unbridled store:  
My stuff is flesh, not brass; my senses live,  
And grumble oft, that they have more in me  
Then he that curbs them, being but one to five:  
Yet I love thee.   

I know all these, and have them in my hand▪  
Therefore not sealed, but with open eyes  
I fly to thee, and fully understand  
Both the main sale, and the commodities;  
And at what rate and price I have thy love;  
With all the circumstances that may move:  
Yet through the labyrinths, not my grovelling wit,  
But thy silk twist let down from heaven to me,  
Did both conduct and teach me, how by it  
To climb to thee.    

¶ Affliction.  

BRoken in pieces all asunder,  
Lord, hunt me not,  
A thing forgot,  
Once a poor creature, now a wonder,  
A wonder tortured in the space  
Betwixt this world and that of grace.   

My thoughts are all a case of knives,  
Wounding my heart  
With scattered smart,  
As watering pots give flowers their lives.  
Nothing their fury can control,  
While they do wound and prick my soul.   

All my attendants are at strife,  
Quitting their place  
Unto my face:  
Nothing performs the task of life:  
The elements are let loose to fight,  
And while I live, try out their right.   

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

Then shall those powers, which work for grief,  
Enter thy pay,  
And day by day  
Labour thy praise, and my relief;  
With care and courage building me,  
Till I reach heaven, and much more thee.    

¶ Man.  

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

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

Man is all symmetry,  
Full of proportions, one limb to another,  
And all to all the world beside:  
Each part may call the farthest, brother:  
For head with foot hath private amity,  
And both with moons and tides.   

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

For us the winds do blow,  
The earth doth rest, heaven move, and fountains flow.  
Nothing we see, but means our good,  
As our delight, or as our treasure:  
The whole is, either our cupboard of food,  
Or cabinet of pleasure.   

The stars have us to bed;  
Night draws the curtain, which the sun withdraws;  
Music and light attend our head.  
All things unto our flesh are kind  
In their descent and being; to our mind  
In their ascent and cause.   

Each thing is full of duty:  
Waters united are our navigation;  
Distinguished, our habitation;  
Below, our drink; above, our meat;  
Both are our cleanliness. Hath one such beauty?  
Then how are all things neat?   

More servants wait on Man,  
Then he'll take notice of: in every path  
He treads down that which doth befriend him,  
When sickness makes him pale and wan.  
Oh mighty love! Man is one world, and hath  
Another to attend him.   

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

¶ Antiphon.  

Chor. PRaised be the God of love,  
Men. Here below,  
Angels. And here above:  
Cho. Who hath dealt his mercies so,  
Ang. To his friend,  
Men. And to his foe;   

Cho. That both grace and glory tend  
Ang. Us of old,  
Men. And us in th'end.  
Cho. The great shepherd of the fold  
Ang. Us did make,  
Men. For us was sold.   

Cho. He our foes in pieces broke;  
Ang. Him we touch;  
Men. And him we take.  
Cho. Wherefore since that he is such,  
Ang. We adore,  
Men. And we do crouch.   

Cho. Lord, thy praises should be more.  
Men. We have none,  
Ang. And we no store.  
Cho. Praised be the God alone,  
Who hath made of two folds one.    

¶ Unkindness.  

LOrd, make me coy and tender to offend:  
In friendship, first I think, if that agree,  
Which I intent,  
Unto my friend's intent and end.  
I would not use a friend, as I use Thee.   

If any touch my friend, or his good name;  
It is honour and my love to free  
His blasted fame  
From the least spot or thought of blame.  
I could not use a friend, as I use Thee.   

My friend may spit upon my curious floor:  
Would he gave gold? I lend it instantly;  
But let the poor,  
And thou within them starve at door.  
I cannot use a friend, as I use Thee.   

When that my friend pretendeth to a place,  
I quit my interest, and leave it free:  
But when thy grace  
Sues for my heart, I thee displace,  
Nor would I use a friend, as I use Thee.   

Yet can a friend what thou hast done fulfil?  
O write in brass, My God upon a tree  
His blood did spill  
Only to purchase my goodwill:  
Yet use I not my foes, as I use thee.    

¶ Life.  

I Made a posy, while the day ran by:  
Here will I smell my remnant out, and tie  
My life within this band.  
But time did because to the flowers, and they  
By noon most cunningly did steal away,  
And withered in my hand.   

My hand was next to them, and then my heart:  
I took, without more thinking, in good part  
Times gentle admonition:  
Who did so sweetly deaths sad taste convey,  
Making my mind to smell my fatal day;  
Yet sugaring the suspicion.   

Farewell dear flowers, sweetly your time ye spent,  
Fit, while ye lived, for smell or ornament,  
And after death for cures.  
I follow strait without complaints or grief,  
Since if my scent be good, I care not, if  
It be as short as yours.    

¶ Submission.  

BUt that thou art my wisdom, Lord,  
And both mine eyes are thine,  
My mind would be extremely stirred  
For missing my design.   

Were it not better to bestow  
Some place and power on me?  
Then should thy praises with me grow,  
And share in my degree.   

But when I thus dispute and grieve,  
I do resume my sight,  
And pilfering what I once did give,  
Disseise thee of thy right.   

How know I, if thou shouldst me raise,  
That I should then raise thee?  
Perhaps great places and thy praise  
Do not so well agree.   

Wherefore unto my gift I stand;  
I will no more advise:  
Only do thou lend me a hand,  
Since thou hast both mine eyes.    

¶ Justice.  

I Cannot skill of these thy ways.  
Lord, thou didst make me, yet thou woundest me;  
Lord, thou dost wound me, yet thou dost relieve me:  
Lord, thou relievest, yet I die by thee:  
Lord, thou dost kill me, yet thou dost reprieve me.   

But when I mark my life and praise,  
Thy justice me most fitly pays:  
For, I do praise thee, yet I praise thee not:  
My prayers mean thee, yet my prayers stray:  
I would do well, yet sin the hand hath got:  
My soul doth love thee, yet it loves delay.  
I cannot skill of these my ways.    

¶ Charms and Knots.  

WHo read a chapter when they rise,  
Shall ne'er be troubled with ill eyes.   

A poor man's rod, when thou dost ride,  
●s both a weapon and a guide.   

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

Who goes to bed and doth not pray,  
Maketh two nights to every day.   

Who by aspersions throw a stone  
At th' head of others, hit their own.   

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

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

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

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

¶ Affliction.  

MY God, I read this day,  
That planted Paradise was not so firm,  
As was and is thy floating Ark; whose stay  
And anchor thou art only, to confirm  
And strengthen it in every age,  
When waves do rise, and tempests rage.   

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

There is but joy and grief;  
If either will convert us, we are thine:  
Some Angels used the first; if our relief  
Take up the second, than thy double line  
And several baits in either kind  
Furnish thy table to thy mind.   

Affliction then is ours;  
We are the trees, whom shaking fastens more,  
While blustering winds destroy the wanton bowers,  
And ruffle all their curious knots and store.  
My God, so temper joy and woe,  
That thy bright beams may tame thy bow.    

¶ Mortification.  

HOw soon doth man decay!  
When clothes are taken from a chest of sweets  
To swaddle infants, whose young breath  
Scarce knows the way;  
Those clouts are little winding sheets,  
Which do consign and send them unto death.   

When boys go first to bed,  
They step into their voluntary graves,  
Sleep binds them fast; only their breath  
Makes them not dead:  
Successive nights, like rolling waves,  
Convey them quickly, who are bound for death.   

When youth is frank and free,  
And calls for music, while his veins do swell,  
All day exchanging mirth and breath  
In company;  
That music summons to the knell,  
Which shall befriend him at the house of death.   

When man grows stayed and wise,  
●etting a house and home, where he may move  
Within the circle of his breath,  
Schooling his eyes;  
That dumb enclosure maketh love  
Into the coffin, that attends his death.   

When age grows low and weak,  
Marking his grave, and thawing every year,  
Till all do melt, and drown his breath  
When he would speak;  
A chair or litter shows the bier,  
Which shall convey him to the house of death.   

Man, ere he is aware,  
Hath put together a solemnity,  
And dressed his hearse, while he has breath  
As yet to spare:  
Yet Lord▪ instruct us so to die,  
That all these die may be life in death.    

& Decay.  

SWeet were the days, when thou didst lodge with Lo●▪  
Struggle with Jacob, fit with Gideon,  
Advise with Abraham, when thy power could not  
Encounter Moses strong complaints and moan:  
Thy words were then, Let me alone.   

One might have sought and found thee presently  
At some fair oak, or bush, or cave, or well:  
Is my God this way? No, they would reply:  
He is to Sinai gone, as we heard tell:  
List, ye may hear great Aaron's bell.   

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

I see the world grows old, when as the heat  
Of thy great love once spread, as in an urn  
Doth closet up itself, and still retreat,  
Cold sin still forcing it, till it return,  
And calling Justice, all things burn.    

¶ Misery.  

LOrd, let the Angels praise thy name.  
Man is a foolish thing, a foolish thing,  
Folly and Sin play all his game.  
His house still burns, and yet he still doth sing,  
Man is but grass,  
He knows it, fill the glass.   

How canst thou brook his foolishness?  
Why he'll not lose a cup of drink for thee:  
Bid him but temper his excess;  
Not he: he knows, where he can better be,  
As he will swear,  
Then to serve thee in fear.   

What strange pollutions doth he wed,  
And make his own? as if none knew, but he.  
No man shall beat into his head,  
That thou within his curtains drawn canst see:  
They are of cloth,  
Where never yet came moth.   

The best of men, turn but thy hand  
●or one poor minute, stumble at a pin:  
They would not have their actions scanned,  
Nor any sorrow tell them that they sin,  
Though it be small,  
And measure not their fall.   

They quarrel thee, and would give over  
The bargain made to serve thee: but thy love  
Holds them unto it, and doth cover  
Their follies with the wing of thy mild Dove▪  
Not suffering those  
Who would, to be thy foes.   

My God, Man cannot praise thy name:  
Thou art all brightness, perfect purity;  
The sun holds down his head for shame,  
Dead with eclipses, when we speak of thee:  
How shall infection  
Presume on thy perfection?   

As dirty hands foul all they touch,  
And those things most, which are most pure and fine:  
So our clay hearts, even when we crouch  
To sing thy praises, make them less divine.  
Yet either this,  
Or none thy portion is.   

Man cannot serve thee; let him go,  
And serve the swine: there, there is his delight:  
He doth not like this virtue, no;  
Give him his dirt to wallow in all night:  
These Preachers make  
His head to shoot and ache.   

Oh foolish man! where are thine eyes?  
How hast thou lost them in a crowd of ears?  
Thou pullest the rug, and wilt not rise,  
No not to purchase the whole pack of stars:  
There let them shine,  
Thou must go sleep, or dine.   

The bird that sees a dainty bower  
Made in the tree, where she was wont to sit,  
Wonders and sings, but not his power  
Who made the arbour: this exceeds her wit.  
But Man doth know  
The spring, whence all things flow:   

And yet as though he knew it not,  
His knowledge winks, and lets his humours reign;  
They make his life a constant blot,  
And all the blood of God to run in vain.  
Ah wretch! what verse  
Can thy strange ways rehearse?   

Indeed at first Man was a treasure,  
A box of jewels, shop of rarities,  
A ring, whose posy was, My pleasure:  
He was a garden in a Paradise:  
Glory and grace  
Did crown his heart and face.   

But sin hath fooled him. Now he is  
A lump of flesh, without a foot or wing  
To raise him to the glimpse of bliss:  
A sick tossed vessel, dashing on each thing;  
Nay, his own shelf:  
My God, I mean myself.    

¶ Jordan.  

WHen first my lines of heavenly joys made mention,  
Such was their lustre, they did so excel,  
●hat I sought out acquaint words, and trim invention;  
●y thoughts began to burnish, sprout, and swell,  
●urling with metaphors a plain intention,  
●ecking the sense, as if it were to sell.   

Thousands of notions in my brain did run,  
Offering their service, if I were not sped:  
〈◊〉 often blotted what I had begun;  
This was not quick enough, and that was dead.  
Nothing could seem too rich to cloth the sun,  
●●uch less those joys which trample on his head.   

As flames do work and wind, when they ascend,  
So did I wove myself into the sense.  
But while I bustled, I might hear a friend  
Whisper, How wide is all this long pretence!  
There is in love a sweetness ready penned:  
Copy out only that, and save expense.    

¶ Prayer.  

OF what an easy quick access,  
My blessed Lord, art thou! how suddenly  
May our requests thine ear invade!  
To show that state dislikes not easiness.  
If I but lift mine eyes, my suit is made:  
Thou canst no more not hear, than thou canst die.   

Of what supreme almighty 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 measured hour:  
We cannot ask the thing, which is not there,  
Blaming the shallowness of our request.   

Of what unmeasurable love  
Art thou possessed, who, when thou couldst not die,  
Wert fain to take our flesh and curse,  
And for our sakes in person sin reprove,  
That by destroying that which tied thy purse,  
Thou mightst make way for liberality!   

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, virtues, all should go;  
I and dear prayer would together dwell,  
And quickly gain, for each inch lost, an ell.    

¶ Obedience.  

MY God, if writings may  
Convey a Lordship any way  
Whither the buyer and the seller please;  
Let it not thee displease,  
If this poor paper do as much as they.   

On it my heart doth bleed  
As many lines, as there doth need  
To pass itself and all it hath to thee.  
To which I do agree,  
And here present it as my special deed.   

If that hereafter Pleasure  
Cavil, 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 fulfil!  
Let me not think an action mine own way,  
But as thy love shall sway,  
Resigning up the rudder to thy skill.   

Lord, what is man to thee,  
That thou shouldst mind 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 blood  
Showed 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 forgo:  
To one word only I say, No:  
Where in the deed there was an intimation  
Of a gift or donation,  
Lord, let it now by way of purchase go.   

He that will pass 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 happy were my part,  
If some kind man would thrust his heart  
Into these lines; till in heaven's court of rolls  
They were by winged souls  
Entered for both, far above their desert!    

¶ Conscience.  

PEace prattler, do not lower:  
Not a fair look, but thou dost call it foul:  
Not a sweet dish, but thou dost call it sour:  
Music to thee doth howl.  
By listening to thy chatting fears  
I have both lost mine eyes and ears.   

Prattler, 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 physic to expel thee.   

And the receipt shall be  
My Saviour's blood: when ever at his board  
I do but taste it, strait 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 physic, know there's some for thee:  
Some wood and nails to make a staff or bill  
For those that trouble me:  
The bloody cross of my dear Lord  
Is both my physic and my sword.    

¶ Zion.  

LOrd, with what glory wast thou served of old,  
When Solomon's temple stood and flourished!  
Where most things were of purest gold;  
The wood was all embellished  
With flowers and carvings, mystical and rare:  
All showed the builders, craved the seers care.   

Yet all this glory, all this pomp and state  
Did not affect thee much, was not thy aim;  
Something there was, that sowed debate:  
Wherefore thou quitt'st thy ancient claim:  
And now thy Architecture meets with sin;  
For all thy frame and fabric is within.   

There thou art struggling with a peevish heart,  
Which sometimes crosseth thee, thou sometimes it:  
The fight is hard on either part.  
Great God doth fight, he doth submit.  
All Solomon's sea of brass and world of stone  
Is not so dear to thee as one good groan.   

And truly brass and stones are heavy things,  
Tombs for the dead, not temples fit for thee:  
But groans 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 music for a king.    

¶ Home.  

COme Lord, my head doth burn, my heart is sick▪  
While thou dost ever, ever stay:  
Thy long deferings wound me to the quick,  
My spirit gaspeth night and day.  
O show thyself to me,  
Or take me up to thee!   

How canst thou stay, considering the pace  
The blood did make, which thou didst waste?  
When I behold it trickling down thy face,  
I never saw thing make such haste.  
O show thyself to me,  
Or take me up to thee!   

When man was lost, thy pity looked about  
To see what help in th' earth or sky:  
But there was none; at lest no help without:  
The help did in thy bosom lie.  
O show thy, etc.   

There lay thy son: and must he leave that nest,  
That hive of sweetness, to remove  
Thraldom from those, who would not at a feast  
Leave one poor apple for thy love?  
O show thy, etc.   

He did, he came: O my Redeemer dear,  
After all this canst thou be strange?  
So many years baptised, and not appear?  
As if thy love could fail or change.  
O show thy, etc.   

Yet if thou stayest still, why must I stay?  
My God, what is this world to me?  
This world of woe? hence all ye clouds, away,  
Away; I must get up and see.  
O show thy, etc.   

What is this weary world; this meat and drink,  
That chains us by the teeth so fast?  
What is this womankind, which I can wink  
Into a blackness and distaste?  
O show thy, etc.   

With one small sigh thou gav'st me th' other day  
I blasted all the joys about me:  
And stalling on them as they pined away,  
Now come again, said I, and flout me.  
O show thyself to me,  
Or take me up to thee!   

Nothing but drought and dearth, but bush and brake,  
Which way soe'er I look, I see.  
Some may dream merrily, but when they wake,  
They dress themselves and come to thee.  
O show thy, etc.   

We talk of harvests; there are no such things,  
But when we leave our corn and hay:  
There is no fruitful year, but that which brings  
The last and loved, though dreadful day.  
O show thy, etc.   

Oh lose this frame, this knot of man untie!  
That my free soul may use her wing,  
Which now is pinioned with mortality,  
As an entangled, hampered thing.  
O show thy, etc.   

What have I left, that I should stay and groan?  
The most of me to heaven is fled:  
My thoughts and joys are all packed up and gone,  
And for their old acquaintance plead.  
O show thy, etc.   

Come dearest Lord, pass not this holy season,  
My flesh and bones and joints do pray:  
And even my verse, when by the rhyme and reason  
The word is, Stay, says ever, Come.  
O show thy, etc.    

¶ The British Church.  

I Joy, dear Mother, when I view  
Thy perfect lineaments, and hue  
Both sweet and bright.   

Beauty in thee takes up her place,  
And dates her letters from thy face,  
When she doth write.   

A fine aspect in fit array,  
Neither too mean, nor yet too gay,  
Shows who is best.   

Outlandish looks may not compare:  
For all they either painted are,  
Or else undressed.   

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

Hath kissed so long her painted shrines,  
That even her face by kissing shines,  
For her reward.   

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

While she avoids her neighbour's pride,  
She wholly goes on th' other side,  
And nothing wears.   

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

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

¶ The Quip.  

THe merry world did on a day  
With his train-bands and mates agree  
To meet together, where I lay,  
And all in sport to gear at me.   

First, Beauty crept into a rose,  
Which when I plucked 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, poor man? said he:  
I heard in Music you had skill.  
But thou shalt answer, Lord, for me.   

Then came brave Glory puffing by  
In silks that whistled, who but he?  
He scarce allowed me half an eye.  
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 hour of thy design  
To answer these fine things shall come;  
Speak not at large, say, I am thine:  
And then they have their answer home.    

¶ Vanity.  

Poor silly soul, whose hope and head lies low;  
Whose flat delights on earth do creep and grow;  
To whom the stars shine not so fair, as eyes;  
Nor solid work, as false embroideries;  
Hark and beware, lest what you now do measure  
And write for sweet, prove a most sour displeasure.   

O hear betimes, lest thy relenting  
May come too late!  
To purchase heaven for repenting,  
Is no hard rate.  
If souls be made of earthly mould,  
Let them love gold;  
If born on high,  
Let them unto their kindred fly:  
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.    

¶ The Dawning.  
AWake 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 thankful heart his comforts take.  
But thou dost still lament, and pine, and cry;  
And feel his death, but not his victory.  
Arise sad heart; if thou dost not withstand,  
Christ's 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 dry thine eyes:  
Christ left his graveclothes, that we might, when grief  
Draws tears, or blood, not want an handkerchief.   

¶ JESUS.  
JESUS is in my heart, his sacred name  
Is deeply carved there: but th'other week  
A great affliction broke the little frame,  
Even all to pieces: which I went to seek:  
And first I found the corner, where was I,  
After, where ES, and next where V 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 ease you,  
And to my whole is JESV.   

¶ Business.  

CAnst be idle? canst thou play,  
Foolish soul who sinned to day?   

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

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

Winds 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 groans,  
Would thou hadst no flesh and bones!  
Lesser pains scape greater ones.   

But if yet thou idle be,  
Foolish soul, Who died for thee?   

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

If he had not lived for thee,  
Thou hadst died most wretchedly;  
And two deaths had been thy fee.   

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

If he had not died for thee,  
Thou hadst lived in misery.  
Two lives worse than ten deaths be.   

And hath any space of breath  
'Twixt his sins and Saviour's death?   

He that loseth gold, though dross,  
Tells to all he meets, his cross:  
He that sins, hath he no loss?   

He that finds a silver vein,  
Thinks on it, and thinks again:  
Brings thy Saviour's death no gain?   

Who in heart not ever knelt,  
Neither sin nor Saviour feels.    

¶ Dialogue.  

SWeetest Saviour, if my soul  
Were but worth the having,  
Quickly should I then control  
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 (child) is the balance thine,  
Thine the poise and measure?  
If I say, Thou shalt be mine;  
Finger not my treasure.  
What the gains in having thee  
Do amount to, only he,  
Who for man was sold, can see;  
That transferred th' accounts to me.   

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 than is thine;  
So the way is none of mine:  
I disclaim the whole design:  
Sin disclaims and I resign.   

That is all, if that I could  
Get without repining;  
And my clay my creature would  
Fellow my resigning.  
That as I did freely part  
With my glory and desert,  
Left all joys to feel all smart—  
Ah! no more: thou break'st my heart.    

¶ Dullness.  

WHy do I languish thus, drooping and dull,  
As if I were all earth?  
O give me quickness, that I may with mirth  
Praise thee brimful!   

The wanton lover in a curious strain  
Can praise his fairest fair;  
And with acquaint metaphors her curled hair  
Curl o'er again.   

Thou art my loveliness, my life, my light,  
Beauty alone to me:  
Thy bloody death and undeserved, makes thee  
Pure red and white.   

When all perfections as but one appear,  
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, & even wrongs  
Sharpen their Muse:   

But I am lost in flesh, whose sugared lies  
Still mock me, and grow bold:  
Sure thou didst put a mind there, if I could  
Find where it lies.   

Lord, clear thy gift, that with a constant wit  
I may but look towards thee:  
Look only; for to love thee, who can be,  
What angel fit?    

¶ Love-joy.  
AS on a window late I cast mine eye,  
I saw a vine drop grapes with I and C  
Annealed on every bunch. One standing by  
Asked what it meant. I (who am never loath  
To spend my judgement) said, It seemed to me  
To be the body and the letters both  
Of joy and Charity. Sir, you have not missed,  
The man replied; It figures JESUS CHRIST.   

¶ Providence.  

O Sacred Providence, who from end to end  
Strongly and sweetly movest! 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  
Only to Man thou hast made known thy ways,  
And put the pen alone into his hand,  
And made him Secretary of thy praise.   

Beasts fain would sing; birds ditty 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 world's 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 winds 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 sin 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 sins stealing pace and theft.   

Nothing escapes them both; all must appear,  
And be disposed, and dressed, and tuned by thee,  
Who sweetly temper'st all. If we could hear  
Thy skill and art, what music 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 cry and follow. Thou hast made poor sand  
Check the proud sea, even 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 less, they on some weed.   

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

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

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

Bee's work for man; and yet they never bruise  
Their master's flower, but leave it, having done,  
As fair as ever, and as fit to use;  
So both the flower doth stay, and honey run.   

Sheep eat the grass, 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 virtue to express the rare  
And curious virtues 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 stars?  
A rose, besides his beauty, is a cure.  
Doubtless our plagues and plenty, peace and wars  
Are there much surer than our art is sure.   

Thou hast hid metals: man may take them thence;  
But at his peril: when he digs the place,  
He makes a grave; as if the thing had sense,  
And threatened man, that he should fill the space.   

Even poisons praise thee. Should a thing be lost?  
Should creatures want for want of heed their due?  
Since where are poisons, antidotes 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 winds, who think they rule the mariner,  
Are ruled 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 furs & woods.   

Hard things are glorious; easy 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 wind is glass: warm without weight  
Is wool and furs: cool without closeness, shade:  
Speed without pains, a horse: tall without height,  
A servile hawk: low without loss, a spade.   

All countries 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 sun to sun.   

Nothing wears clothes, but Man; nothing doth need  
But he to wear them. Nothing useth fire,  
But Man alone, to show his heavenly breed:  
And only he hath fuel in desire.   

When th' earth was dry, thou mad'st a sea of wet:  
When that lay gathered, thou didst broach the mountains:  
When yet some places could no moisture get,  
The winds grew gardeners, and the clouds good fountains.   

Rain, do not hurt my flowers; but gently spend  
Your honey drops: press not to smell them here:  
When they are ripe, their odour will ascend,  
And at your lodging with their thanks appear.   

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 can,  
Boat, cable, sail and needle, all in one.   

Most herbs that grow in brooks, are hot and dry.  
Cold fruits warm kernels help against the wind.  
The lemons juice and rind cure mutually.  
The whey of milk doth loose, the milk doth bind.   

Thy creatures leap not, but express a feast,  
Where all the guests sit close, and nothing wants.  
Frogs marry fish and flesh; bats, bird and beast;  
Sponges, nonsense and sense; mines, th' earth & plants.   

To show thou art not bound, as if thy lot  
Were worse than 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 express thy works, but he that knows them:  
And none can know thy works, which are so many,  
And so complete, but only he that owes them.   

All things that are, though they have several ways,  
Yet in their being join with one advice  
To honour thee: and so I give thee praise  
In all my other hymns, but in this twice.   

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

¶ Hope.  
I 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 optic sent.  
With that I gave a vial full of tears:  
But he a few green ears:  
Ah Loiterer! I'll no more, no more I'll bring:  
I did expect a ring.   

¶ Sinnes round.  

Sorry I am, my God, sorry I am,  
That my offences course it in a ring.  
My thoughts are working like a busy flame,  
Until their cockatrice they hatch and bring:  
And when they once have perfected their draughts,  
My words take fire 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 pass them with their faults,  
And by their breathing ventilate the ill.  
But words suffice not, where are lewd intentions▪  
My hands do join to finish the inventions.   

My hands do join to finish the inventions:  
And so my sins ascend three stories high,  
As Babel grew, before there were dissensions.  
Yet ill deeds loiter not: for they supply  
New thoughts of sinning: wherefore, to my shame,  
Sorry I am, my God, sorry I am.    

am Time.  

MEeting with Time, slack thing, said I,  
Thy scythe is dull; whet it for shame.  
No marvel Sir, he did reply,  
If it at length deserve some blame:  
But where one man would have me grind it,  
Twenty for one too sharp do find it.   

Perhaps some such of old did pass,  
Who above all things loved this life;  
To whom thy scythe a hatchet was,  
Which now is but a pruning-knife.  
Christ's coming hath made man thy debtor,  
Since by thy cutting he grows better.   

And in his blessing thou art blessed:  
For where thou only wert before  
An executioner at best;  
Thou art a gardener now, and more,  
An usher to convey our souls  
Beyond the utmost stars and poles.   

And this is that makes life so long,  
While it detains us from our God.  
Even pleasures here increase the wrong,  
And length of days 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 even eternity excludes!  
Thus far Time heard me patiently:  
Then chafing said, This man deludes:  
What do I here before his door?  
He doth not crave less time, but more.    

¶ Gratefulness.  

THou that hast given so much to me,  
Give one thing more, a grateful heart.  
See how thy beggar works on thee  
By art.   

He makes thy gifts occasion more,  
And says, If he in this be crossed,  
All thou hast given 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 door,  
Tears ●ullying thy transparent rooms,  
Gift upon gift, much would have more,  
And comes.   

This not withstanding, thou went'st on,  
And didst allow us all our noise:  
Nay thou hast made a sigh and groan  
Thy joys.   

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

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

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

¶ Peace.  

SWeet Peace, where dost thou dwell? I humbly crave,  
Let me once know.  
I sought thee in a secret cave,  
And asked, if Peace were there.  
A hollow wind did seem to answer, No:  
Go seek elsewhere.   

I did; and going did a rainbow note:  
Surely, thought I,  
This is the lace of Peace's coat:  
I will search out the matter.  
But while I looked, the clouds immediately  
Did break and scatter.   

Then went I to a garden, and did spy  
A gallant flower,  
The crown Imperial: Sure, said I,  
Peace at the root must dwell.  
But when I digged, I saw a worm devour  
What showed so well.   

At length I met a reverend good old man,  
Whom when for Peace  
I did demand; he thus began:  
There was a Prince of old  
At Salem dwelled, who lived with good increase  
Of flock and fold.   

He sweetly lived▪ yet sweetness did not save  
His life from foes.  
But after death out of his grave  
There sprang twelve stalks of wheat:  
Which many wondering 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 virtue lies therein,  
A secret virtue bringing peace and mirth  
By flight of sin.   

Take of this grain, which in my garden grows,  
And grows for you;  
Make bread of it: and that repose  
And peace which every where  
With so much earnestness you do pursue,  
Is only there.    

¶ Confession.  

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 screw, no piercer can  
Into a piece of timber work and wind,  
As God's afflictions into man,  
When he a torture hath designed.  
They are too subtle for the subt'llest hearts;  
And fall, like rheums, upon the tenderest 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 less give out.  
No smith can make such locks, but they have keys:  
Closets are halls to them; and hearts, highways.   

Only 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 fastening have; but fiction  
Doth give a hold and handle to affliction.   

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

¶ Giddiness.  

OH, what a thing is man! how far from power,  
From settled peace and rest!  
He is some twenty several men at least  
Each several hour.   

One while he counts of heaven, as of his treasure▪  
But than a thought creeps in,  
And calls him coward, who for fear of sin  
Will lose a pleasure.   

Now he will fight it out, and to the wars;  
Now eat his bread in peace,  
And snudge in quiet: now he scorns increase;  
Now all day spares.   

He builds a house, which quickly down must go,  
As if a whirlwind blue  
And crushed the building: and it's partly true,  
His mind is so.   

O what a sight were Man, if his attires  
Did alter with his mind;  
And like a Dolphin's skin, his clothes combined  
With his desires!   

Surely if each one saw another's heart,  
There would be no commerce,  
No sale or bargain pass: all would disperse,  
And live apart.   

Lord, mend or rather make us: one creation  
Will not suffice our turn:  
Except thou make us daily, we shall spurn  
Our own salvation.    

¶ The bunch of grapes.  

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 years ago: one vogue and vein,  
One air 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  
Travelled, and saw no town:  
So now each Christian hath his journeys spanned:  
Their story pens and sets us down.  
A single deed is small renown.  
God 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 Noah's vine,  
And made it bring forth gra●es good store.  
But much more him I must adore,  
Who of the laws sour juice sweet wine did make,  
Even God himself, being pressed for my sake.    

¶ Love unknown.  
Dear Friend, sit down, the tale is long and sad:  
And in my faintings I presume your love  
Will more comply, than 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 placed my heart. But he  
(I sigh to say)  
Looked on a servant, who did know his eye  
Better than you know me, or (which is one)  
Then I myself. The servant instantly  
Quitting the fruit, seized on my heart alone,  
And threw it in a font, wherein did fall  
A stream of blood, which issued from the side  
Of a great rock: I well remember all,  
And have good cause: there it was dipped and died,  
And washed, and wrung: the very wring yet  
Enforceth tears. Your heart was foul, I fear.  
Indeed 'tis true. I did and do commit  
Many a fault more than my lease will bear;  
Yet still asked pardon, and was not denied.  
But you shall hear. After my heart was well,  
And clean and fair, as I one eventide  
(I sigh to tell)  
Walked by myself abroad, I saw a large  
And spacious furnace flaming, and thereon  
A boiling caldron, round about whose verge  
Was in great letters set AFFLICTION.  
The greatness showed 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, slipped his hand,  
And threw my heart into the scalding pan;  
My heart, that brought it (do you understand?)  
The offerers heart. Your heart was hard, I fear.  
Indeed 'tis true. I found a callous matter  
Began to spread and to expatiate there:  
But with a richer drug, than scalding water,  
I bathed it often, even with holy blood,  
Which at a board, while many drunk bare wine,  
A friend did steal into my cup for good,  
Even taken inwardly, and most divine  
To supple hardnesses. But at the length  
Out of the caldron getting, soon I fled  
●nto my house, where to repair the strength  
Which I had lost, I hasted to my bed.  
●ut when I thought to sleep out all these faults  
(I sigh to speak)  
● found that some had stuffed the bed with thoughts,  
● would say thorns. Dear, could my heart not break,  
When with my pleasures even my rest was gone?  
●ull well I understood, who had been there:  
●or I had given the key to none, but one:  
●t must be he. Your heart was dull, I fear.  
●ndeed a slack and sleepy state of mind  
Did oft possess me, so that when I prayed,  
Though my lips went, my heart did stay behind▪  
But all my scores were by another paid,  
Who took the debt upon him. Truly, Friend,  
For aught I hear, your Master shows to you  
More favour than you wo● of. Mark the end.  
The Font did only, what was old, renew:  
The Cauldron suppled, what was grown too hard:  
The Thorns did quicken, what was grown too dulls  
All did but strive to mend, what you had marred.  
Wherefore be cheered, and praise him to the full  
Each day, each hour, each moment of the week's  
Who fain would have you be, new, tender, quick.   

¶ Man's medley.  

Hark, how the birds do sing,  
And woods do ring.  
All creatures have their joy: and man hath his.  
Yet if we rightly measure,  
Man's joy and pleasure  
●ather 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 heaven, with th'other earth   

In soul he mounts and flies,  
In flesh he dies.  
He wears a stuff whose thread is course and round,  
But trimmed with curious lace,  
And should take place  
After the trimming, not the stuff and ground.   

Not, that he may not here  
Taste of the cheer,  
But as birds drink, and strait lift up their head,  
So must he sip and think  
Of better drink  
He may attain to, after he is dead.   

But as his joys 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 even the greatest griefs  
May be reliefs,  
Could he but take them right, and in their ways.  
Happy is he, whose heart  
Hath found the art  
To turn his double pains to double praise.    

¶ The Storm.  

●F as the winds and waters here below  
Do fly and flow,  
●y sighs and tears as busy were above;  
Sure they would move  
And much affect thee, as tempestuous times  
Amaze poor mortals, and object their crimes.   

●●arres have their storms, even in a high degree,  
As well as we.  
● throbbing conscience spurred by remorse  
Hath a strange force:  
●t quits the earth, and mounting more and more▪  
Dares to assault thee, and besiege thy door.   

There it stands knocking, to thy music's wrong,  
And drowns the song.  
Glory and honour are set by till it  
An answer get.  
Poets have wronged poor storms: such days are best;  
They purge the air without, within the breast.    

¶ Paradise.  

I Bless thee, Lord, because I GROW  
Among thy trees, which in a ROW  
To thee both fruit and order OWE.   

What open force, or hidden CHARM  
Can blast my fruit, or bring me HARM,  
While the enclosure is thine ARM?   

Enclose me still for fear I START.  
Be to me rather sharp and TART,  
Then let me want thy hand & ART.   

When thou dost greater judgements SPARE,  
And with thy knife but prune and PAIR,  
Even fruitful trees more fruitful ARE.   

Such sharpness shows the sweetest FRIEND:  
Such cuttings rather heal than REND:  
And such beginnings touch their END.    

¶ The Method.  

Poor heart, lament.  
For since thy God refuseth still,  
There is some rub, some discontent,  
Which cools his will.   

Thy Father could  
Quickly effect, what thou dost move;  
For he is Power: and sure he would;  
For he is Love.   

Go search this thing,  
Tumble thy breast, and turn thy book.  
If thou hadst lost a glove or ring,  
Wouldst thou not look?   

What do I see  
Written above there? Yesterday  
I did behave me carelessly,  
When I did pray.   

And should God's ear  
To such indifferents chained be,  
Who do not their own motions hear?  
Is God less free?   

But stay! what's there?  
Late when I would have something done,  
I had a motion to forbear,  
Yet I went on.   

And should God's ear,  
Which needs not man, be tied to those  
Who hear not him, but quickly hear  
His utter foes?   

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

¶ Divinity.  

AS men, for fear the stars should sleep and nod,  
And trip at night, have spheres supplied;  
As if a star were duller than a clod,  
Which knows his way without a guide:   

Just so the other heaven they also serve,  
Divinities transcendent sky:  
Which with the edge of wit they cut and carve.  
Reason triumphs, and faith lies by.   

Could not that wisdom, which first broached the wine,  
Have thickened it with definitions?  
And jagged his seamlesse coat, had that been fine,  
With curious questions and divisions?   

But all the doctrine, which he taught and gave,  
Was clear as heaven, from whence it came.  
At least those beams of truth, which only save,  
Surpass in brightness any flame.   

Love God, and love your neighbour. Watch and pray.  
Do as ye would be done unto.  
O dark instructions; even as dark as day!  
Who can these Gordian knots undo?   

But he doth bid us take his blood for wine.  
Bid what he please, yet I am sure,  
To take and taste what he doth there design,  
Is all that saves, and not obscure.   

Then burn thy Epicycles, foolish man;  
Break all thy spheres, and save thy head.  
Faith needs no staff of flesh, but stoutly can  
To heaven alone both go, and lead.    

Ephes. 4.30. Grieve not the Holy Spirit, etc.  

ANd art thou grieved, sweet and sacred Dove,  
When I am sour,  
And cross thy love?  
Grieved for me? the God of strength and power  
Grieved for a worm, which when I tread,  
I pass away and leave it dead?   

Then weep mine eyes, the God of love doth grieve:  
Weep foolish heart,  
And weeping live:  
For death is dry as dust. Yet if ye part,  
End as the night, whose sable hue  
Your sins express; melt into dew.   

When saucy mirth shall knock or call at door,  
Cry out, Get hence,  
Or cry no more.  
Almighty God doth grieve, he puts on sense:  
I sin not to my grief alone,  
But to my Gods too; he doth groan.   

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  
Moore bowels have, than such hard things.   

Lord, I adjudge myself to tears and grief,  
Even endless tears  
Without relief.  
If a clear spring for me no time forbears,  
But runs, although I be not dry;  
I am no Crystal, 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 son makes good  
My want of tears with store of blood.    

¶ The Family.  

WHat doth this noise of thoughts within my heart  
As if they had a part?  
What do these loud complaints and pulling fears,  
As if there were no rule or ears?   

But, Lord, the house and family 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 control,  
Then Order plays the soul;  
And giving all things their set forms and hours,  
Makes of wild woods sweet walks and bowers.   

Humble Obedience near the door doth stand,  
Expecting a command:  
Then whom in waiting nothing seems more slow,  
Nothing more quick when she doth go.   

Joys oft are there, and griefs as oft as joys;  
But griefs without a noise:  
Yet speak they louder, than distempered 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 comest sometimes, and for a day;  
But not to make a constant stay.    

¶ The Size.  

COntent thee, greedy heart.  
Modest and moderate joys 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 cinnamon sail;  
If thou hast wherewithal 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 world's full  
Is more than God was, who was hungry here.  
Wouldst thou his laws of fasting disannul?  
Enact good cheer?  
Lay out thy joy, yet hope to save it?  
Wouldst thou both eat thy cake, and have it?   

Great joys 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 Zion's hill.   

Thy Saviour sentenced joy,  
And in the flesh condemned 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  
●s not a corpulent, but a thin and spare,  
Yet active strength: whose long and bonny 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 opened: do not spread thy robe  
In hope of great things. Call to mind thy dream,  
An earthly globe,  
On whose meridian was engraven,  
These seas are tears, and heaven the haven.    

¶ Artillery.  

AS I one evening sat before my cell,  
Me thoughts a star did shoot into my lap.  
I rose, and shook my clothes, as knowing well,  
That from small fires comes oft no small mishap.  
When suddenly I heard one say,  
Do as thou usest, disobey,  
Expel good motions from thy breast,  
Which have the face of fire, but end in rest.   

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

But I have also stars and shooters too,  
Born where thy servants both artilleries use.  
My tears and prayers night and day do woo,  
And work up to thee; yet thou dost refuse.  
Not, but I am (I must say still)  
Much more obliged to do thy will,  
Then thou to grant mine: but because  
Thy promise now hath even set thee thy laws.   

Then we are shooters both, and thou dost deign  
To enter combat with us, and contest  
With thine own clay. But I would parley fain:  
Shun 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.    

¶ Church-rents and schisms.  

BRave rose, (alas!) 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 bottom of the leaves: which when the wind  
Did once perceive, it blew them under foot,  
Where rude unhallowed steps do crush and grind  
Their beauteous glories. Only 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 Christ's precious blood  
Gave you a colour once; which when your foes  
Thought to let out, the bleeding did you good,  
And made you look much fresher than before.  
But when debates and fretting jealousies  
Did worm and work within you more and more,  
Your colour faded, and calamities  
Turned your ruddy into pale and bleak:  
Your health and beauty both began to break.   

Then did your several parts unloose and start:  
Which when your neighbours saw, like a northwind,  
They rushed in, and cast them in the dirt  
Where Pagans tread. O Mother dear and kind,  
Where shall I get me eyes enough to weep,  
As many eyes as stars? since it is night,  
And much of Asia and Europe fast asleep,  
And even all Africa; would at least I might  
With these two poor ones lick up all the dew,  
Which falls by night, and pour it out for you!    

¶ Justice.  

O Dreadful Justice, what a fright and terror  
Wast thou of old,  
When sin and error  
Did show and shape thy looks to me,  
And through their glass discolour thee!  
He that did but look up, was proud and bold.   

The dishes of thy balance seemed to gape,  
Like two great pits;  
The beam and escape  
Did like some torturing engine show:  
Thy hand above did burn and glow,  
Danting the stoutest hearts, the proudest wits.   

But now that Christ's pure vail presents the sight,  
I see no fears:  
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.  
God's promises have made thee mine;  
Why should I justice now decline?  
Against me there is none, but for me much.    

¶ The Pilgrimage.  

I 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 fancies meadow strowed  
With many a flower:  
Fain would I here have made abode,  
But I was quickened by my hour.  
So to cares cops I came, and there got through  
With much ado.   

That led me to the wild of passion, which  
Some call the would;  
A wasted place, but sometimes rich.  
Here I was robbed of all my gold,  
Save one good Angel, which a friend had tied  
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 abashed and struck with many a sting  
Of swarming fears,  
I fell, and cried, Alas my King;  
Can both the way and end be tears?  
Yet taking heart I rose, and then perceived  
I was deceived:   

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

¶ The Holdfast.  

I Threatened to observe the strict decree  
Of my dear God with all my power & 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, even to trust in him, was also his:  
We must confess, that nothing is our own.  
Then I confess that he my succour is:   

But to have nought is ours, not to confess  
That we have nought. I stood amazed at this,  
Much troubled, till I heard a friend express,  
That all things were more ours by being his.  
What Adam had, and forfeited for all,  
Christ keepeth now, who cannot fail or fall.    

¶ Complaining.  
DO not beguile my heart,  
Because thou art  
My power and wisdom. Put me not to shame,  
Because I am  
Thy clay that weeps, thy dust that calls.  
Thou art the Lord of glory;  
The deed and story  
Are both thy due: but I a silly fly,  
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 cry?  
Have I no parts but those of grief?  
Let not thy wrathful power  
Afflict my hour,  
My inch of life: or let thy gracious power  
Contract my hour,  
That I may climb and find relief.   

¶ The Discharge.  

BUsie enquiring heart, what wouldst thou know▪  
Why dost thou pry,  
And turn, and leer, and with a liquorous 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 business his, and in thy life partake:  
For thou canst tell,  
If it be his once, all is well.   

Only 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 mud  
Of future depths, but drink the clear and good.  
Dig not for woe  
In times to come; for it will grow.   

Man and the present fit: if he provide,  
He breaks the square.  
This hour is mine: if for the next I care,  
I grow too wide,  
And do encroach upon death's side.   

For death each hour environs and surrounds.  
He that would know  
And care for future chances, cannot go  
Unto those grounds,  
But through a Churchyard 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 bottom out an end.   

God chains the dog till night: wilt lose the chain,  
And wake thy sorrow?  
Wilt thou forestall it, and now grieve to morrow,  
And then again  
Grieve 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 promised, he is just.    

¶ Praise.  

KIng of Glory, King of Peace,  
I will love thee:  
And that love may never cease,  
I will move thee.   

Thou hast granted my request,  
Thou haft heard me:  
Thou didst note my working breast,  
Thou hast spared me.   

Wherefore with my utmost art  
I will sing thee,  
And the cream of all my heart  
I will bring thee.   

Though my sins against me cried,  
Thou didst clear me;  
And alone, when they replied,  
Thou didst hear me▪   

Sev'n whole days, 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 called for fears,  
Thou dissentedst.   

Small it is, in this poor sort  
To enrol thee▪  
Even eternity is too short  
To extol thee.    

¶ An Offering.  

COme, bring thy gift. If blessings were as slow  
As men's 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 fruitful by deserts.  
In public 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 balsam, or indeed a blood,  
Dropping from heaven, 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 find and use it to thy good:  
Then bring thy gift; and let thy hymn be this;   

Since my sadness  
Into gladness▪  
Lord thou dost convert,  
O accept  
What thou hast kept,  
As thy due desert.   

Had I many,  
Had I any,  
(For this heart is none)  
All were thine  
And none of mine:  
Surely thine alone.   

Yet thy favour  
May give savour  
To this poor oblation;  
And it raise  
To be thy praise,  
And be my salvation.    

¶ Longing.  

WIth sick and famished eyes,  
With doubling knees and weary bones,  
To thee my cries,  
To thee my groans,  
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 giddy; Lord, I fall,  
Yet call.   

From thee all pity flows.  
Mother's are kind, because thou art,  
And dost dispose  
To them a part:  
Their infants, them; and they suck thee  
More free.   

Bowels of pity, hear!  
Lord of my soul, love of my mind,  
Bow down thine ear!  
Let not the wind  
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 ear,  
And hear!   

Lord Jesus, thou didst bow  
Thy dying head upon the tree:  
O be not now  
More dead to me!  
Lord hear! Shall he that made the ear,  
Not hear?   

Behold, thy dust doth stir,  
It moves, it creeps, it aims at thee:  
Wilt thou defer  
To succour me,  
Thy pile of dust, wherein each crumb  
Says, Come?   

To thee help appertains.  
Hast thou left all things to their course,  
And laid the reins  
Upon the horse?  
Is all locked? hath a sinner's plea  
No key?   

Indeed the world's thy book;  
Where all things have their leaf assigned:  
Yet a meek look  
Hath interlined.  
Thy board is full, yet humble guests  
Find nests.   

Thou tarriest, while I die,  
And fall to nothing: thou dost reign,  
And rule on high,  
While I remain  
In bitter grief: yet am I styled  
Thy child.   

Lord, didst thou leave thy throne,  
Not to relieve? how can it be,  
That thou art grown  
Thus hard to me?  
Were sin alive, good cause there were  
To bear.   

But now both sin is dead,  
And all thy promises live and bide.  
That wants his head;  
These speak and chide,  
And in thy bosom pour my tears,  
As theirs.   

Lord JESUS, hear my heart,  
Which hath been broken now so long,  
That every part  
Hath got a tongue!  
Thy beggars grow; rid them away  
To day.   

My love, my sweetness, hear!  
By these thy feet, at which my heart  
Lies all the year,  
Pluck out thy dart,  
And heal my troubled breast which cries,  
Which dies.    

¶ The Bag.  

AWay despair; my gracious Lord doth hear.  
Though winds and waves assault my keel,  
He doth preserve it: he doth steer,  
Even 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 died?  
Then let me tell thee a strange story.  
The God of power, as he did ride  
In his majestic robes of glory,  
Resolved to light; and so one day  
He did descend, undressing all the way.   

The stars his tire of light and rings obtained,  
The cloud his bow, the fire his spear,  
The sky his azure mantle gained.  
And when they asked, what he would wear;  
He smiled 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 inn.  
Both then, and after, many a brunt  
He did endure to cancel sin:  
And having given 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,  
Received the blow upon his side,  
And strait he turned, and to his brethren cried,   

If ye have any thing to send or write,  
(I have no bag, but here is room)  
Unto my father's hands and sight  
(Believe me) it shall safely come.  
That I shall mind, what you impart;  
Look, you may put it very near my heart.   

Or if hereafter any of my friends  
Will use me in this kind, the door  
Shall still be open; what he sends  
I will present, and somewhat more,  
Not to his hurt. Sighs will convey  
Any thing to me. Hark despair, away.    

¶ The Jews.  

Poor nation, whose sweet sap, and juice.  
Our cyens have purloined, and left you dry:  
Whose streams we got by the Apostles sluice,  
And use in baptism, while ye pine and die:  
Who by not keeping once, became a debtor;  
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 cry so loud, until the trump were drowned,  
And by that cry of her dear Lord obtain,  
That your sweet sap might come again!    

¶ The Collar.  
I Struck the board, and cried, No more.  
I will abroad.  
What? shall I ever sigh and pine?  
My lines and life are free; free as the road,  
Lose as the wind, as large as store.  
Shall I be still in suit?  
Have I no harvest but a thorn  
To let me blood, and not restore  
What I have lost with cordial fruit?  
Sure there was wine  
Before my sighs did dry it: there was corn  
Before my tears did drown it.  
Is the year only lost to me?  
Have I no bays 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 petty 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 death's head there: tie up thy fears.  
He that forbears  
To suit and serve his need,  
Deserves his load.  
But as I raved and grew more fierce and wild,  
At every word,  
Me thoughts I heard one calling, Child:  
And I replied, My Lord.   

¶ The Glimpse.  

WHither away delight?  
Thou cam'st but now; wilt thou so soon depart,  
And give me up to night?  
For many weeks of lingering pain and smart  
But one half hour of comfort for my heart?   

Me thinks delight should have  
More skill in music, and keep better time.  
Wert thou a wind 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 adds to the desire of meat.  
Lime begged of old (they say)  
A neighbour spring to cool his inward heat;  
Which by the springs access grew much more great.   

In hope of thee my heart  
Picked here and there a crumb, and would not die;  
But constant to his part  
When as my fears foretold this, did reply,  
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 I have more to spin,  
The wheel shall go, so that thy stay be short.  
Thou know'st how grief and sin  
Disturb the work. O make me not their sport,  
Who by thy coming may be made a court!    

¶ Assurance.  

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

Thou saidst 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 near it;  
And, that I had great cause to fear it.   

And what to this? what more  
Could poison, if it had a tongue, express?  
What is thy aim? wouldst thou unlock the door  
To cold despairs, and gnawing pensiveness?  
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 hope and comfort that I gather,  
Were from myself, 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 only to perform thy part,  
But also mine; as when the league was made  
Thou didst at once thyself 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 stir, 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 ruin 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 itself love once began,  
Now love and truth will end in man.    

¶ The Call.  

COme, my Way, my Truth, my Life:  
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 joys in love.    

¶ Clasping of hands.  

LOrd, thou art mine, and I am thine,  
If mine I am: and thine much more,  
Then I or aught, 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, than 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!    

¶ Praise.  

LOrd, I will mean and speak thy praise,  
Thy praise alone.  
My busy heart shall spin it all my days:  
And when it stops for want of store,  
Then will I wring it with a sigh or groan,  
That thou mayst yet have more.   

When thou dost favour any action,  
It runs, it flies:  
All things concur to give it a perfection.  
That which had but two legs before,  
When thou dost bless, hath twelve: one wheel doth ri●●  
To twenty then, or more.   

But when thou dost on business blow,  
It hangs, it clogs:  
Not all the teams of Albion in a row  
Can hale or draw it out of door.  
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 winds 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 heaven, they found a bottle there▪  
(As we have boxes for the poor)  
Ready to take them in; yet of a size  
That would contain much more.   

But after thou hadst slipped a drop  
From thy right eye,  
(Which there did hang like streamers near the top  
Of some fair church to show the sore  
And bloody battle which thou once didst try)  
The glass was full and more.   

Wherefore I sing. Yet since my heart,  
Though pressed, runs 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!    

¶ joseph's coat.  
WOunded I sing, tormented I indite,  
Thrown down I fall into a bed, and rest:  
Sorrow hath changed 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 carry with it even my heart,  
And both would run until they found a bier  
To fetch the body; both being due to grief.  
But he hath spoiled the race; and given to anguish  
One of Joys coats, 'ticing it with relief  
To linger in me, and together languish.  
I live to show his power, who once did bring  
My joys to weep, and now my griefs to sing.   

¶ The Pulley.  

WHen God at first made man,  
Having a glass of blessings standing by;  
Let us (said he) pour on him all we can:  
Let the world's riches, which dispersed lie,  
Contract into a span.   

So strength first made a way;  
Then beauty flowed, than wisdom, honour, pleasure:  
When almost all was out, God made a stay,  
Perceiving that alone of all his treasure  
Rest in the bottom lay.   

For if I should (said he)  
Bestow this jewel also on my creature,  
He would adore my gifts in stead of me,  
And rest in Nature, not the God of Nature,  
So both should losers be.   

Yet let him keep the rest,  
But keep them with repining restlessness:  
Let him be rich and weary, that at least,  
If goodness lead him not, yet weariness  
May toss him to my breast.    

¶ The Priesthood.  

Blessed Order, which in power dost so excel,  
That with th' one hand thou liftest to the sky,  
And with the other throwest down to hell  
In thy just censures; fain would I draw nigh,  
Fain put thee on, exchanging my lay-sword  
For that of th' holy word.   

But thou art fire, sacred and hallowed fire;  
And I but earth and clay: should I presume  
To wear thy habit, the severe attire  
My slender compositions might consume.  
I am both foul and brittle; much unfit  
To deal in holy Writ.   

Yet have I often seen, by cunning hand  
And force of fire, what curious things are made  
Of wretched earth. Where once I scorned to stand,  
That earth is fitted by the fire and trade  
Of skilful artists, for the boards of those  
Who make the bravest shows.   

But since those great ones, be they ne'er so great,  
Come from the earth, from whence those vessels come▪  
So that at once both feeder, dish, and meat  
Have one beginning and one final sum:  
I do not greatly wonder at the sight,  
If earth in earth delight.   

But th' holy men of God such vessels are,  
As serve him up, who all the world commands:  
When God vouchsafeth to become our fare,  
Their hands conucy him, who conveys their hands.  
O what pure things, most pure must those things be▪  
Who bring my God to me!   

Wherefore I dare not, I, put forth my hand  
To hold the Ark, although it seem to shake  
Through th' old sins and new doctrines of our land▪  
Only, since God doth often vessels make  
Of lowly matter for high uses meet,  
I throw me at his feet.   

There will I lie, until my Maker seek  
For some mean stuff whereon to show his skill:  
Then is my time. The distance of the meek  
Doth flatter power. Lest good come short of ill  
In praising might, the poor do by submission  
What pride by opposition.    

¶ The Search.  

WHither, O, whither art thou fled,  
My Lord, my Love?  
My searches are my daily bread;  
Yet never prove.   

My knees pierce th'earth, mine eyes the sky;  
And yet the sphere  
And centre both to me deny  
That thou art there.   

Yet can I mark how herbs below  
Grow green and gay,  
As if to meet thee they did know,  
While I decay.   

Yet can I mark how stars above  
Simper and shine,  
As having keys unto thy love,  
While poor I pine.   

I sent a sigh to seek thee out,  
Deep drawn in pain,  
Winged like an arrow: but my scout  
Returns in vain.   

I tuned another (having store)  
Into a groan;  
Because the search was dumb before:  
But all was one.   

Lord, dost thou some new fabric mould  
Which favour wins,  
And keeps thee present, leaving th'old  
Unto their sins?   

Where is my God? what hidden place  
Conceals thee still?  
What covert dare eclipse thy face?  
Is it thy will?   

O let not that of any thing;  
Let rather brass,  
Or steel, or mountains be thy ring,  
And I will pass.   

Thy will such an entrenching is,  
As passeth thought:  
To it all strength, all subtleties  
Are things of nought.   

Thy will such a strange distance is,  
As that to it  
East and West touch, the poles do kiss,  
And parallels meet.   

Since than my grief must be as large,  
As is thy space,  
Thy distance from me; see my charge,  
Lord, see my case.   

O take these bars, these lengths away;  
Turn, and restore me:  
Be not Almighty, let me say,  
Against, but for me.   

When thou dost turn, and wilt be near;  
What edge so keen,  
What point so piercing can appear  
To come between?   

For as thy absence doth excel  
All distance known:  
So doth thy nearness bear the bell,  
Making two one.    

¶ Grief.  
O Who will give me tears? Come all ye springs,  
Dwell in my head & eyes: come clouds, & rain:  
My grief hath need of all the watery things,  
That nature hath produced. Let every vein  
Suck up a river to supply mine eyes,  
My weary weeping eyes too dry for me,  
Unless they get new conduits, new supplies  
To bear them out, and with my state agree.  
What are two shallow fords, two little spouts  
Of a less world? the greater is but small,  
A narrow cupboard for my griefs and doubts,  
Which want provision in the midst of all.  
Verses, ye are too fine a thing, too wise  
For my rough sorrows: cease, be dumb and mute,  
Give up your feet and running to mine eyes,  
And keep your measures for some lover's lute,  
Whose grief allows him music and a rhyme:  
For mine excludes both measure, tune, and time.  
Alas, my God   

¶ The Crosse.  

WHat is this strange and uncouth thing?  
To make me sigh, and seek, and faint, and die,  
Until I had some place, where I might sing,  
And serve thee; and not only I,  
But all my wealth, and family might combine  
To set thy honour up, as our design.   

And then when after much delay,  
Much wrestling, many a combat, this dear end,  
So much desired, is given, to take away  
My power to serve thee; to unbend  
All my abilities, my designs confound,  
And lay my threatenings bleeding on the ground.   

One ague dwelleth in my bones,  
Another in my soul (the memory  
What I would do for thee, if once my groans  
Could be allowed for harmony)  
I am in all a weak disabled thing,  
Save in the sight thereof, where strength doth sting.   

Besides, things sort not to my will,  
Even when my will doth study thy renown:  
Thou turnest th' edge of all things on me still,  
Taking me up to throw me down:  
So that, even when my hopes seem to be sped,  
I am to grief alive, to them as dead.   

To have my aim, and yet to be  
Farther from it then when I bend my bow;  
To make my hopes my torture, and the fee  
Of all my woes another woe,  
Is in the midst of delicates to need,  
And even in Paradise to be a weed.   

Ah my dear Father, ease my smart!  
These contrarieties crush me: these cross actions  
Do wind a rope about, and cut my heart:  
And yet since these thy contradictions  
Are properly a cross felt by thy son,  
With but four words, my words, Thy will be done.    

¶ The Flower.  

HOw fresh, O Lord, how sweet and clean  
Are thy returns! even as the flowers in spring;  
To which, besides their own demean,  
The late-past frosts tributes of pleasure bring.  
Grief melts away  
Like snow in May,  
As if there were no such cold thing.   

Who would have thought my shrivelled heart  
Could have recovered greenness? It was gone  
Quite under ground; as flowers depart  
To see their mother-root, when they have blown;  
Where they together  
AH the hard weather,  
Dead to the world, keep house unknown.   

These are thy wonders, Lord of power,  
Killing and quickening, bringing down to hell  
And up to heaven in an hour;  
Making a chiming of a passing-bell,  
We say amiss,  
This or that is:  
Thy word is all, if we could spell.   

O that I once past changing were,  
Fast in thy Paradise, where no flower can wither!  
Many a spring I shoot up fair,  
Offering at heaven, growing and groaning thither:  
Nor doth my flower  
Want a spring-showre,  
My sins and I joining together:   

But while I grow in a strait line,  
Still upwards bend, as if heaven were mine own,  
Thy anger comes, and I decline:  
What frost to that? what pole is not the zone,  
Where all things burn,  
When thou dost turn,  
And the least frown of thine is shown?   

And now in age I bud again,  
After so many deaths I live and write;  
I once more smell the dew and rain,  
And relish versing: O my only light,  
It cannot be  
That I am he  
On whom thy tempests fell all night.   

These are thy wonders, Lord of love,  
To make us see we are but flowers that glide:  
Which when we once can find and prove,  
Thou hast a garden for us, where to bide.  
Who would be more,  
Swelling through store,  
Forfeit their Paradise by their pride.    

¶ Dotage.  
FAlse glozing pleasures, casks of happiness,  
Foolish night-fires, women's and children's wishes,  
Chases in Arras, guilded emptiness,  
Shadows well mounted, dreams in a career,  
Embroidered lies, nothing between two dishes;  
These are the pleasures here.  
True earnest sorrows, rooted miseries,  
Anguish in grain, vexations ripe and blown,  
Sure-footed griefs, solid calamities,  
Plain demonstrations, evident and clear,  
Fetching their proofs even from the very bone;  
These are the sorrows here.  
But oh the folly of distracted men,  
Who griefs in earnest, joys in jest pursue;  
Preferring, like brute beasts, a loathsome den  
Before a court, even that above so clear,  
Where are no sorrows, but delights more true,  
Then miseries are here!   

¶ The Son.  
LEt foreign nations of their language boast,  
What fine variety each tongue affords:  
I like our language, as our men and coast:  
Who cannot dress it well, want wit, not words▪  
How neatly do we give one only name  
To parents issue and the sun's bright star!  
A son is light and fruit; a fruitful flame  
Chase the father's dimness, carried far  
From the first man in th' East, to fresh and new  
Western discoveries of posterity.  
So in one word our Lord's humility  
We turn upon him in a sense most true:  
For what Christ once in humbleness began,  
We him in glory call, The Son of Man.   

¶ A true Hymn.  

MY joy, my life, my crown!  
My heart was meaning all the day,  
Somewhat it fain would say:  
And still it runneth muttering up and down  
With only this, My joy, my life, my crown.   

Yet slight not these few words:  
If truly said, they may take part  
Among the best in art.  
The fineness which a hymn or psalm affords,  
Is, when the soul unto the lines accords.   

He who craves all the mind,  
And all the soul, and strength, and time,  
If the words only rhyme,  
Justly complains, that somewhat is behind  
To make his verse, or write a hymn in kind.   

Whereas if th' heart be moved,  
Although the verse be somewhat scant,  
God doth supply the want.  
As when th' heart says (sighing to be approved)  
O, could I love! and stops: God writeth, Loved.    

¶ The Answer.  
MY comforts drop and melt away like snow:  
I shake my head, and all the thoughts and ends,  
Which my fierce youth did bandy, fall and flow  
Like leaves about me; or like summer friends,  
Flies of estates and sunshine. But to all,  
Who think me eager, hot, and undertaking,  
But in my prosecutions slack and small;  
As a young exhalation, newly waking,  
Scorns his first bed of dirt, and means the sky;  
But cooling by the way, grows pursy and slow,  
And settling to a cloud, doth live and die  
In that dark state of tears: to all, that so  
Show me, and set me, I have one reply,  
Which they that know the rest, know more then I.   

¶ A Dialogue-Antheme.  Christian. Death. Chr. 
ALas, poor Death, where is thy glory?  
Where is thy famous force, thy ancient sting?  Dea. 
Alas poor mortal, void of story,  
Go spell and read how I have killed thy King.  Chr. 
Poor death and who was hurt thereby?  
Thy curse being laid on him, makes thee accursed.  Dea. 
Let losers talk: yet thou shalt die;  
These arms shall crush thee.  Chr. 
Spare not, do thy worst▪  
I shall be one day better than before:  
Thou so much worse, that thou shalt be no more.   

¶ The Watercourse.  

THou who dost dwell and linger here below,  
Since the condition of this world is frail,  
Where of all plants afflictions soon grow;  
If troubles overtake thee, do not wail:  
For who can look for less, that loveth 

Life.  
Strife.     

But rather turn the pipe, and waters course  
To serve thy sins, and furnish thee with store  
Of sovereign tears, springing from true remorse:  
That so in pureness thou mayst him adore,  
Who gives to man, as he sees fit 

Salvation.  
Damnation.      

¶ Self-condemnation.  

THou who condemnest Jewish hate,  
For choosing Barrabas a murderer  
Before the Lord of glory;  
Look back upon thine own estate,  
Call home thine eye (that busy wanderer)  
That choice may be thy story.   

He that doth love, and love amiss  
This world's delights before true Christian joy,  
Hath made a Jewish choice:  
The world an ancient murderer is;  
Thousands of souls it hath and doth destroy  
With her enchanting voice.   

He that hath made a sorry wedding  
Between his soul and gold, and hath preferred  
False gain before the true,  
Hath done what he condemns in reading:  
For he hath sold for money his dear Lord,  
And is a Judas-Jew.   

Thus we prevent the last great day,  
And judge ourselves. That light, which sin & passion  
Did before dim and choke,  
When once those snuffs are ta'en away,  
Shines bright and clear, even unto condemnation,  
Without excuse or cloak.    

¶ Bitter-sweet.  
AH my dear angry Lord,  
Since thou dost love, yet strike;  
Cast down, yet help afford;  
〈◊〉 I will do the like.  
I will complain, yet praise;  
I will bewail, approve:  
And all my sowre-sweet days  
I will lament, and love.   

¶ The Glance.  

WHen first thy sweet and gracious eye  
Vouchsafed even in the midst of youth and night  
To look upon me, who before did lie  
Weltering in sin;  
I felt a sugared strange delight,  
Passing all cordials made by any art,  
Bedew, embalm, and overrun my heart,  
And take it in.   

Since that time many a bitter storm  
My soul hath felt, even able to destroy,  
Had the malicious and ill-meaning harm  
His swing and sway:  
But still thy sweet original joy  
Sprung from thine eye, did work within my soul,  
And surging griefs, when they grew bold, control,  
And got the day.   

If thy first glance so powerful be,  
A mirth but opened and sealed up again;  
What wonders shall we feel, when we shall see  
Thy full-eyed love!  
When thou shalt look us out of pain,  
And one aspect of thine spend in delight  
More than a thousand suns disburse in light,  
In heaven above.    

¶ The 23 Psalm.  

THe God of love my shepherd is,  
And he that doth me feed:  
While he is mine, and I am his,  
What can I want or need?   

He leads me to the tender grass,  
Where I both feed and rest;  
Then to the streams that gently pass:  
In both I have the best.   

Or if I stray, he doth convert  
And bring my mind in frame:  
And all this not for my desert,  
But for his holy name.   

Yea, in deaths shady black abode  
Well may I walk, not fear:  
For thou art with me; and thy rod  
To guide, thy staff to bear.   

Nay, thou dost make me sit and dine,  
Even in my enemy's sight:  
My head with oil, my cup with wine  
Runs over day and night.   

Surely thy sweet and wondrous love  
Shall measure all my days;  
And as it never shall remove,  
So neither shall my praise.    

¶ Marry Magdalene.  

WHen blessed Marie wiped her Saviour's feet,  
(Whose precepts she had trampled on before)  
And wore them for a jewel on her head,  
Showing his steps should be the street,  
Wherein she thenceforth evermore  
With pensive humbleness would live and tread:   

She being stained herself, why did she strive  
To make him clean, who could not be defiled?  
Why kept she not her tears for her own faults,  
And not his feet? Though we could dive  
In tears like seas, our sins are piled  
Deeper than they, in words, and works, and thoughts.   

Dear soul, she knew who did vouchsafe and deign  
To bear her filth; and that her sins did dash  
Even God himself: wherefore she was not loath,  
As she had brought wherewith to slain,  
So to bring in wherewith to wash:  
And yet in washing one, she washed both.    

¶ Aaron.  

Holiness on the head,  
Light and perfections on the breast,  
Harmonious bells below, raising the dead  
To lead them unto life and rest.  
Thus are true Aaron's dressed.   

Profaneness in my head,  
Defects and darkness in my breast,  
A noise of passions ringing me for dead  
Unto a place where is no rest.  
Poor priest thus am I dressed.   

Only another head  
I have, another heart and breast,  
Another music, making live not dead,  
Without whom I could have no rest▪  
In him I am well dressed.   

Christ is my only head,  
My alone only heart and breast,  
My only music, striking me even dead;  
That to the old man I may rest,  
And be in him new dressed.   

So holy in my head,  
Perfect and light in my dear breast,  
My doctrine tuned by Christ, (who is not dead,  
But lives in me while I do rest)  
Come people; Aaron's dressed.    

¶ The Odour, 2. Cor. 2.  

HOw sweetly doth My Master sound! My Master!  
As Ambergreese leaves a rich sent  
Unto the taster:  
So do these words a sweet content,  
An oriental fragrancy, My Master.   

With these all day I do perfume my mind,  
My mind even thrust into them both;  
That I might find  
What cordials make this curious broth,  
This broth of smells, that feeds and fat's my mind.   

My Master, shall I speak? O that to thee  
My servant were a little so,  
As flesh may be;  
That these two words might creep & grow  
To some degree of spicinesse to thee!   

Then should the Pomander, which was before  
A speaking sweet, mend by reflection,  
And tell me more:  
For pardon of my imperfection  
Would warm and work it sweeter than before.   

For when My Master, which alone is sweet,  
And even in my unworthiness pleasing,  
Shall call and meet,  
My servant, as thee not displeasing,  
That call is but the breathing of the sweet.   

This breathing would with gains by sweetening me  
(As sweet things traffic when they meet)  
Return to thee.  
And so this new commerce and sweet  
Should all my life employ, and busy me.    

¶ The Foil.  

If we could see below  
The sphere of virtue, and each shining grace  
As plainly as that above doth show;  
This were the better sky, the brighter place.   

God hath made stars the foil  
To set off virtues; griefs to set off sinning:  
Yet in this wretched world we toil,  
As if grief were not foul, nor virtue winning.    

¶ The Forerunners.  

THe harbingers are come. See, see their mark;  
White is their colour, and behold my head.  
But must they have my brain? must they dispark  
Those sparkling notions, which therein were bred?  
Must dulness turn me to a clod?  
Yet have they left me, Thou art still my God.   

Good men ye be, to leave me my best room,  
Even all my heart, and what is lodged there:  
I pass not, I, what of the rest become,  
So Thou art still my God, be out of fear.  
He will be pleased with that ditty;  
And if I please him, I write fine and witty.   

Farewell sweet phrases, lovely metaphors.  
But will ye leave me thus? when ye before  
Of stews and brothels only knew the doors,  
Then did I wash you with my tears, and more,  
Brought you to Church well dressed and clad;  
My God must have my best, even all I had.   

Lovely enchanting language, sugar-cane,  
Honey of roses, whither wilt thou fly?  
Hath some fond lover ticed thee to thy bane?  
And wilt thou leave the Church, and love a sty?  
Fie, thou wilt soil thy broidered coat,  
And hurt thyself, and him that sings the note.   

Let foolish lovers, if they will love dung,  
With canvas, not with arras cloth their shame:  
Let folly speak in her own native tongue.  
True beauty dwells on high: ours is a flame  
But borrowed thence to light us thither.  
Beauty and beauteous words should go together.   

Yet if you go, I pass not; take your way:  
For, Thou art still my God, is all that ye  
Perhaps with more embellishment can say,  
Go birds of spring: let winter have his fee,  
Let a bleak paleness chalk the door,  
So all within be livelier than before.    

¶ The Rose.  

Press me not to take more pleasure  
In this world of sugared lies,  
And to use a larger measure  
Then my strict, yet welcome size.   

First, there is no pleasure here:  
Coloured griefs indeed there are,  
Blushing woes, that look as clear  
As if they could beauty spare.   

Or if such deceits there be,  
Such delights I meant to say;  
There are no such things to me,  
Who have passed my right away.   

But I will not much oppose  
Unto what you now advise▪  
Only take this gentle rose,  
And therein my answer lies.   

What is fairer than a rose?  
What is sweeter? yet it purgeth.  
Purge enmity disclose,  
Enmity forbearance urgeth.   

If then all that worldlings prise  
Be contracted to a rose;  
Sweetly there indeed it lies,  
But it biteth in the close.   

So this flower doth judge and sentence  
Worldly joys to be a scourge:  
For they all produce repentance,  
And repentance is a purge.   

But I health, not physic choose:  
Only though I you oppose,  
Say that fairly I refuse,  
For my answer is a rose.    

¶ Discipline.  

THrow away thy rod,  
Throw away thy wrath:  
O my God,  
Take the gentle path.   

For my hearts desire  
Unto thine is bend:  
I aspire  
To a full consent.   

Not a word or look  
I affect to own,  
But by book,  
And thy book alone.   

Though I fail, I weep:  
Though I halt in pace,  
Yet I creep  
To the throne of grace.   

Then let wrath remove;  
Love will do the deed:  
For with love  
Stony hearts will bleed.   

Love is swift of foot;  
Love's a man of war,  
And can shoot;  
And can hit from far.   

Who can scape his bow?  
That which wrought on thee,  
Brought thee low,  
Needs must work on me.   

Throw away thy red;  
Though man frailties hath,  
Thou art God:  
Throw away thy wrath.    

¶ The Invitation.  

COme ye hither all, whose taste  
Is your waste;  
Save your cost, and mend your fare.  
God is here prepared and dressed,  
And the feast,  
God, in whom all dainties are.   

Come ye hither all, whom wine  
Doth define,  
Naming you not to your good:  
Weep what ye have drunk amiss,  
And drink this,  
Which before ye drink is blood.   

Come ye hither all, whom pain  
Doth arraign,  
Bringing all your sins to sight:  
Taste and fear not: God is here  
In this cheer,  
And on sin doth cast the fright.   

Come ye hither all, whom joy  
Doth destroy,  
While ye graze without your bounds:  
Here is joy that drowneth quite  
Your delight,  
As a flood the lower grounds.   

Come ye hither all, whose love  
Is your dove,  
And exalts you to the sky:  
Here is love, which having breath  
Even in death,  
After death can never die.   

Lord I have invited all,  
And I shall  
Still invite, still call to thee:  
For it seems but just and right  
In my sight,  
Where is all, there all should be.    

¶ The Banquet.  

WElcome sweet and sacred cheer,  
Welcome dear;  
With me, in me, live and dwell:  
For thy neatness passeth sight,  
Thy delight  
Passeth tongue to taste or tell.   

O what sweetness from the bowl  
Fills my soul,  
Such as is, and makes divine!  
Is some star (fled from the sphere)  
Melted there,  
As we sugar melt in wine?   

Or hath sweetness in the bread  
Made a head  
To subdue the smell of sin;  
Flowers, and gums, and powders giving  
All their living,  
Lest the enemy should win?   

Doubtless, neither star nor flower  
Hath the power  
Such a sweetness to impart:  
Only God, who gives perfumes,  
Flesh assumes,  
And with it perfumes my heart.   

But as Pomanders and wood  
Still are good,  
Yet being bruised are better scented:  
God, to show how far his love  
Could improve,  
Here, as broken, is presented.   

When I had forgot my birth,  
And on earth  
In delights of earth was drowned;  
God took blood, and needs would be  
Spilt with me,  
And so found me on the ground.   

Having raised me to look up,  
In a cup  
Sweetly he doth meet my taste.  
But I still being low and short,  
far from court,  
Wine becomes a wing at last.   

For with it alone I fly  
To the sky:  
Where I wipe mine eyes, and see  
What I seek, for what I sue;  
Him I view,  
Who hath done so much for me.   

Let the wonder of this pity  
Be my ditty,  
And take up my lines and life:  
Harken under pain of death,  
Hands and breath;  
Strive in this, and love the strife.    

¶ The Posy.  

LEt wits contest,  
And with their words and posies windows fill:  
Less than the least  
Of all thy mercies, is my posy still.   

This on my ring,  
This by my picture, in my book I write;  
Whether I sing,  
Or say, or dictate, this is my delight.   

Invention rest,  
Comparisons go play, wit use thy will:  
Less than the least  
Of all God's mercies, is my posy still.    

¶ A Parody.  

Soul's joy, when thou art gone,  
And I alone,  
Which cannot be,  
Because thou dost abide with me,  
And I depend on thee;   

Yet when thou dost suppress  
The cheerfulness  
Of thy abode,  
And in my powers not stir abroad,  
But leave me to my load▪   

O what a damp and shade  
Doth me invade!  
No stormy night  
Can so afflict or so affright,  
As thy eclipsed light.   

Ah Lord! do not withdraw,  
Lest want of awe  
Make Sin appear;  
And when thou dost but shine less clear,  
Say, that thou art not here.   

And then what life I have,  
While Sin doth rave,  
And falsely boast,  
That I may seek, but thou art lost;  
Thou and alone thou knowst.   

O what a deadly cold  
Doth me enfold!  
I half believe,  
That Sin says true: but while I grieve,  
Thou comest and dost relieve.    

¶ The Elixir.  

TEach me, my God and King,  
In all things thee to see,  
And what I do in any thing,  
To do it as for thee:   

Not rudely, as a beast,  
To run into an action;  
But still to make thee prepossessed,  
And give it his perfection.   

A man that looks on glass,  
On it may stay his eye;  
Or if he pleaseth, through it pass,  
And then the heaven espy.   

All may of thee partake:  
Nothing can be so mean,  
Which with his tincture (for thy sake)  
Will not grow bright and clean.   

A servant with this clause  
Makes drudgery divine:  
Who sweeps a room, as for thy laws,  
Makes that and th' action fine.   

This is the famous stone  
That turneth all to gold:  
For that which God doth touch and own  
Cannot for less be told.    

¶ A Wreath.  
A Wreathed garland of deserved praise,  
Of praise deserved, unto thee I give,  
I give to thee, who knowest all my ways,  
My crooked winding ways, wherein I live,  
Wherein I die, not live: for life is strait,  
Strait as a line, and ever tends to thee,  
To thee, who art more far above deceit,  
Then deceit seems above simplicity.  
Give me simplicity, that I may live,  
So live and like, that I may know thy ways,  
Know them and practise them: then shall I give  
For this poor wreath, give thee a crown of praise.   

¶ Death.  

DEath, thou wast once an uncouth hideous thing,  
Nothing but bones,  
The sad effect of sadder groans:  
Thy mouth was open, but thou couldst not sing▪   

For we considered thee as at some six  
Or ten years hence,  
After the loss of life and sense,  
Flesh being turned to dust, and bones to sticks▪   

We looked on this side of thee, shooting short;  
Where we did find  
The shells of fledge souls left behind,  
Dry dust, which sheds no tears, but may extort.   

But since our Saviour's death did put some blood  
Into thy face;  
Thou art grown fair and full of grace,  
Much in request, much sought for, as a good.   

For we do now behold thee gay and glad,  
As at doomsday;  
When souls shall wear their new array,  
And all thy bones with beauty shall be clad.   

Therefore we can go die as sleep, and trust  
Half that we have  
Unto an honest faithful grave;  
Making our pillows either down, or dust.    

¶ Doomsday.  

COme away,  
Make no delay.  
Summon all the dust to rise,  
Till it stir, and rub the eyes;  
While this member jogs the other,  
Each one whispering, Live you brother?   

Come away,  
Make this the day.  
Dust, alas, no music feels,  
But thy trumpet: than it knelt,  
As peculiar notes and strains  
Cure Tarantulaes' raging pains.   

Come away,  
O make no stay!  
Let the graves make their confession,  
Lest at length they plead possession:  
Flesh's stubbornness may have  
Read that lesson to the grave.   

Come away,  
Thy flock doth stray.  
Some to winds their body lend,  
And in them may drown a friend:  
Some in noisome vapours grow  
To a plague and public wo.   

Come away,  
Help our decay.  
Man is out of order hurled,  
Parcelled out to all the world.  
Lord, thy broken consort raise,  
And the music shall be praise.    

¶ Judgement.  

Almighty Judge, how shall poor wretches brook  
Thy dreadful look,  
Able a heart of iron to appall,  
When thou shalt call  
For every man's peculiar book?   

What others mean to do, I know not well;  
Yet I hear tell,  
That some will turn thee to some leaves therein  
So void of sin,  
That they in merit shall excel.   

But I resolve, when thou shalt call for mine,  
That to decline,  
And thrust a Testament into thy hand:  
Let that be scanned.  
There thou shalt find my faults are thine.    

thine Heaven.  
O Who will show me those delights on high?  
Echo. I.  
Thou Echo, thou art mortal, all men know.  
Echo. No.  
Wert thou not born among the trees and leaves?  
Echo. Leaves.  
And are there any leaves, that still abide?  
Echo. Bide.  
What leaves are they? impart the matter wholly.  
Echo. Holy.  
Are holy leaves the Echo then of bliss?  
Echo. Yes.  
Then tell me, what is that supreme delight?  
Echo. Light.  
Light to the mind: what shall the will enjoy?  
Echo. joy..  
But are there ears and business with the pleasure?  
Echo. Leisure.  
Light, joy, and leisure; but shall they persever?  
Echo. Ever.   

¶ Love.  

LOve bade me welcome: yet my soul drew back,  
Guilty of dust and sin.  
But quick-eyed Love, observing me grow slack  
From my first entrance in,  
Drew nearer to me, sweetly questioning,  
If I lacked any thing.   

A guest, I answered, worthy to be here:  
Love said, you shall be he.  
I the unkind, ungrateful? Ah my dear,  
I cannot look on thee.  
Love took my hand, and smiling did reply,  
Who made the eyes but I?   

Truth Lord, but I have marred them: let my shame  
Go where it doth deserve.  
And know you not, says Love, who bore the blame?  
My dear, than I will serve.  
You must sit down, says Love, and taste my meat:  
So I did sit and eat.   
FINIS.  Glory be to God on high, and on earth peace, good will towards men.  

¶ The Church Militant.  
Almighty Lord, who from thy glorious throne  
Seest and rulest all things even as one:  
The smallest ant or atom knows thy power,  
Known also to each minute of an hour:  
Much more do commonweals acknowledge thee,  
And wrap their policies in thy decree,  
Complying with thy counsels, doing nought  
Which doth not meet with an eternal thought.  
But above all, thy Church and Spouse doth prove  
Not the decrees of power, but bands of love.  
Early didst thou arise to plant this vine,  
Which might the more endear it to be thine.  
Spices come from the East; so did thy Spouse,  
Trim as the light, sweet as the laden boughs  
Of Noah's shady vine, chaste as the dove;  
Prepared and fitted to receive thy love,  
The course was westward, that the sun might light  
As well our understanding as our sight.  
Where th' Ark did rest, there Abraham began  
To bring the other Ark from Canaan.  
Moses pursued this: but King Solomon  
Finished and fixed the old religion.  
When it grew loose, the Jews did hope in vain  
By nailing Christ to fasten it again.  
But to the Gentiles he bore cross and all,  
Rending with earthquakes the partition-wall:  
Only whereas the Ark in glory shone,  
Now with the cross, as with a staff, alone,  
Religion, like a pilgrim, westward bend,  
Knocking at all doors, ever as she went.  
Yet as the sun, though forward be his flight,  
Listens behind him, and allows some light,  
Till all depart: so went the Church her way,  
Letting, while one foot stepped, the other stay  
Among the eastern nations for a time,  
Till both removed to the western clime.  
To Egypt first she came, where they did prove  
Wonders of anger once, but now of love.  
The ten Commandments there did flourish more  
Than the ten bitter plagues had done before.  
Holy Macarius and great Anthony  
Made Pharaoh Moses, changing th' history.  
G●shen was darkness, Egypt full of lights,  
Nilus for monsters brought forth Israelites.  
Such power hath mighty Baptism to produce  
For things misshapen, things of highest use.  
How dear to me, O God, thy counsels are!  
Who may with thee compare?  
Religion thence fled into Greece, where arts  
Gave her the highest place in all men's hearts.  
Learning was posed, Philosophy was set,  
Sophisters taken in a fisher's net.  
Plato and Aristotle were at a loss,  
And wheeled about again to spell Christ-cross.  
Prayers chased syllogisms into their den,  
And Ergo was trasformed into Amen.  
Though Greece took horse as soon as Egypt did;  
And Rome as both; yet Egypt faster rid,  
And spent her period and prefixed time  
Before the other. Greece being past her prime,  
Religion went to Rome, subduing those,  
Who, that they might subdue, made all their foes.  
The Warrior his dear scars no more resounds,  
But seems to yield Christ hath the greater wounds,  
Wounds willingly endured to work his bliss,  
Who by an ambush lost his Paradise.  
The great heart stoops, and taketh from the dust  
A sad repentance, not the spoils of lust:  
Quitting his spear, lest it should pierce again  
Him in his members, who for him was slain.  
The Shepherd's hook grew to a sceptre here,  
Giving new names and numbers to the year.  
But th' Empire dwelled in Greece, to comfort them  
Who were cut short in Alexander's stem.  
In both of these Prowess and Arts did tame  
And tune men's hearts against the Gospel came.  
Which using, and not fearing skill in th' one,  
Or strength in th' other, did erect her throne.  
Many a rent and struggling th' Empire knew,  
(As dying things are wont) until it flew  
At length to Germany, still westward bending,  
And there the Church's festival attending:  
That as before Empire and Arts made way,  
(For no less Harbingers would serve than they)  
So they might still, and point us out the place  
Where first the Church should raise her downcast face,  
Strength levels grounds, Arts makes a garden there;  
Then showers Religion, and makes all to bear.  
Spain in the Empire shared with Germany,  
But England in the higher victory:  
Giving the Church a crown to keep her state,  
And not go less than she had done of late.  
Constantine's British line m●ant this of old,  
And did this mystery wrap up and fold  
Within a sheet of paper, which was rend  
From times great Chronicle, and hither sent.  
Thus both the Church and Sun together ran  
Unto the farthest old meridian.  
How dear to me, O God, thy counsels are!  
Who may with thee compare?  
Much about one and the same time and place,  
Both where and when the Church began her race,  
Sin did set out of Eastern Babylon,  
And travelled westward also: journeying on  
He chid the Church away, where e'er he came,  
Breaking her peace, and tainting her good name.  
At first he got to Egypt, and did sow  
Gardens of gods, which every year did grow,  
Fresh and fine deities. They were at great cost,  
Who for a god clearly a salad lost.  
Ah, what a thing is man devoid of grace,  
Adoring garlic with an humble face,  
Begging his food of that which he may ear,  
Starving the while he worshippeth his meat!  
Who makes a root his god, how low is he,  
If God and man be severed infinitely!  
What wretchedness can give him any room,  
Whose house is foul, while he adores his broom?  
None will believe this now, though money be  
In us the same transplanted foolery.  
Thus Sin in Egypt sneaked for a while;  
His highest was an ox or crocodile,  
And such poor game. Thence he to Greece doth pass,  
And being craftier much than Goodness was,  
He left behind him garrisons of sins  
To make good that which every day he wins.  
Here Sin took heart, and for a garden-bed  
Rich shrines and oracles he purchased:  
He grew a gallant, and would needs foretell  
As well what should befall, as what befell.  
Nay, he became a poet, and would serve  
His pills of sublimate in that conserve.  
The world came both with hands and purses full  
To this great lottery, and all would pull.  
But all was glorious cheating, brave deceit,  
Where some poor truths were shuffled for a bait  
To credit him, and to discredit those  
Who after him should braver truths disclose.  
From Greece he went to Rome: and as before  
He was a God, now he's an Emperor.  
Nero and others lodged him bravely there,  
Put him in trust to rule the Roman sphere,  
Glory was his chief instrument of old:  
Pleasure succeeded strait, when that grew cold.  
Which soon was blown to such a mighty flame,  
That though our Saviour did destroy the game,  
Disparking oracles, and all their treasure,  
Setting affliction to encounter pleasure;  
Yet did a rogue with hope of carnal joy  
Cheat the most subtle nations. Who so coy,  
So trim, as Greece and Egypt? yet their heart  
Are given over, for their curious arts,  
To such Mahometan stupidities,  
As the old heathen would deem prodigies.  
How dear to me, O God, thy counsels are!  
Who may with thee compare?  
Only the West and Rome do keep them free  
From this contagious infidelity.  
And this is all the Rock, whereof they boast,  
As Rome will one day find unto her cost.  
Sin being not able to extirpate quite  
The Churches here, bravely resolved one night  
To be a Churchman too, and wear a Mitre:  
The old debauched ruffian would turn writer.  
I saw him in his study, where he sat  
Busy in controversies sprung of late.  
A gown and pen became him wondrous well:  
His grave aspect had more of heaven than hell▪  
Only there was a handsome picture by,  
To which he lent a corner of his eye.  
As Sin in Greece a Prophet was before;  
And in old Rome a mighty Emperor;  
So now being Priest he plainly did profess  
To make a jest of Christ's three offices:  
The rather since his scattered juggle were  
United now in one both time and sphere.  
From Egypt he took petty deities,  
From Greece oracular infallibities,  
And from old Rome the liberty of pleasure,  
By free dispensings of the Church's treasure.  
Then in memorial of his ancient throne  
He did surname his palace, Babylon.  
Yet that he might the better gain all nations,  
And make that name good by their transmigrations;  
From all these places, but at diverse times,  
He took fine vizards to conceal his crimes:  
From Egypt Anchorisme and retiredness,  
Learning from Greece, from old Rome stateliness:  
And blending these he carried all men's eyes,  
While Truth sat by, counting his victories:  
Whereby he grew apace and scorned to use  
Such force as once did captivate the Jews;  
But did bewitch, and finely work each nation  
Into a voluntary transmigration.  
All post to Rome: Princes submit their necks  
Either t' his public foot or private tricks.  
It did not fit his gravity to stir,  
Nor his long journey, nor his gout and fur.  
Therefore he sent out able ministers,  
Statesmen within, without doors cloisterers:  
Who without spear, or sword, or other drum  
Then what was in their tongue, did overcome;  
And having conquered, did so strangely rule,  
That the whole world did seem but the Pope's mule.  
As new and old Rome did one Empire twist;  
So both together are one Antichrist,  
Yet with two faces, as their janus was;  
Being in this their old cracked looking-grasse.  
How dear to me, O God, thy counsels are!  
Who may with thee compare?  
Thus Sin triumphs in Western Babylon;  
Yet not as Sin, but as Religion.  
Of his two thrones he made the latter best,  
And to defray his journey from the east.  
Old and new Babylon are to hell and night,  
As is the moon and sun to heaven and light.  
When th' one did set, the other did take place,  
Confronting equally the law and grace.  
They are hell's landmarks, Satan's double crest:  
They are Sins nipples, feeding th' east and west.  
But as in vice the copy still exceeds  
The pattern, but not so in virtuous deeds;  
So though Sin made his latter seat the better,  
The latter Church is to the first a debtor.  
The second Temple could not reach the first:  
And the late reformation never durst  
Compare with ancient times and purer years;  
But in the Jews and us deserveth tears.  
Nay, it shall every year decrease and fade;  
Till such a darkness do the world invade  
At Christ's last coming, as his first did find:  
Yet must there such proportions be assigned  
To these diminishings, as is between  
The spacious world and Jury to be seen.  
Religion stands on tiptoe in our land,  
Ready to pass to the American strand.  
When height of malice, and prodigious lusts,  
Impudent ●inning, witchcrafts, and distrusts  
(The marks of future bane) shall fill our cup  
Unto the brim, and make our measure up;  
When Sein shall swallow Tiber, and the Thames  
By letting in them both, pollutes her streams:  
When Italy of us shall have her will,  
And all her calendar of sins fulfil;  
Whereby one may foretell, what sins next year  
Shall both in France and England domineer:  
Then shall Religion to America flee:  
They have their times of Gospel, even as we.  
My God, thou dost prepare for them a way  
By carrying first their gold from them away:  
For gold and grace did never yet agree:  
Religion always sides with poverty.  
We think we rob them, but we think amiss:  
We are more poor, and they more rich by this.  
Thou wilt revenge their quarrel, making grace  
To pay our debts, and leave our ancient place  
To go to them, while that which now their nation  
But lends to us, shall be our desolation.  
Yet as the Church shall thither westward fly,  
So Sin shall trace and dog her instantly:  
They have their period also and set times  
Both for their virtuous actions and their crimes.  
And where of old the Empire and the Arts  
Ushered the Gospel ever in men's hearts,  
Spain hath done one; when Arts perform the other,  
The Church shall come, & Sin the Church shall smother:  
That when they have accomplished the round,  
And met in th' east their first and ancient sound,  
Judgement may meet them both & search them round  
Thus do both lights, as well in Church as Sun,  
Light one another, and together run.  
Thus also Sin and Darkness follow still  
The Church and Sun with all their power and skill.  
But as the Sun still goes both west and east;  
So also did the Church by going west  
Still eastward go; because it drew more near  
To time and place, where judgement shall appear.  
How dear to me, O God, thy counsels are!  
Who may with thee compare?   

¶ L' Envoy.  

KIng of glory, King of Peace,  
With the one make war to cease;  
With the other bless thy sheep,  
Thee to love, in thee to sleep.  
Let not Sin devour thy fold,  
Bragging that thy blood is cold,  
That thy death is also dead,  
While his conquests daily spread;  
That thy flesh hath lost his food,  
And thy Cross is common wood.  
Choke him, let him say no more,  
But reserve his breath in store,  
Till thy conquests and his fall  
Make his sighs to use it all,  
And then bargain with the wind  
To discharge what is behind.   

Blessed be God alone,  
Thrice blessed Three in One.   
FINIS.   

The titles of the several poems contained in this book.  


A  AAron 
168  Affliction 
38.53.64.82.89.  Agony 
29  Altar 
18  Anagram of the Virgin Marie 
69  To all Angels and Saints 
ibid.  The Answer 
163  A Dialogue-Antheme 
164  Antiphon 
45.85  Artillery 
132  Assurance 
149  Avarice 
69    


B  THe Bag 
145  The Banquet 
175  H. Baptism 
36  Bitter-sweet 
165  The British Church 
102  The Bunch of Grapes 
120  Business 
105    


C  The Call 
15●  Charms and knots 
88  Christmas 
72  Church-floore 
58  Church-lock and key 
57  Church Militant 
184  Church-monuments 
56  Church-music 
57  Church-porch 
1  Church-rents & schisms 
134  Church-windows 
59  Clasping of hands 
151  The Collar 
147  Coloss. 3.3. Our life, etc. 
77  H. Communion 
43  Complaining 
137  Self-Condemnation 
165  Confession 
118  Conscience 
98  Constancy 
63  Content 
6●  The Cross 
158    


D  THe Dawning 
104  Death 
180  Decay 
91  Denial 
71  Dialogue 
107  The Discharge 
138  Discipline 
173  Divinity 
127  Doomsday 
181  Dotage 
161  Dullness 
108    


E  EAster 
33  Easter-wi●gs 
34, 35  The Elixir 
178  Employment 
49.70  L' Envoy 
192  Ephes. 4.30. Grieve not, etc. 
128  Evensong 
55    


F  FAith 
41  The Family 
130  The Flower 
160  The Foil 
170  The Forerunners 
ibid.  Frailty 
62    


G  Giddiness 
119  The Glance 
166  The Glimpse 
148  Good-friday 
30  Grace 
52  Gratefulness 
116  Grief 
158    


H  HEaven 
182  The Holdfast 
137  Home 
99  Hope 
114  Humility 
61  A true Hymn 
162    


I  JEsu 
105  The Jews 
146  The Invitation 
174  Jordan 
48.95  joseph's coat 
153  Judgement 
182  Justice 
88.135    


L  LEnt 
78  Life 
87  Longing 
142  Love 
45, 46.183  Love-joy 
109  Love unknown 
121    


M  MAn 
83  Man's medley 
123  S. Marry Magdalene 
168  Matins 
54  The Method 
126  Misery 
92  Mortification 
90  Nature 
37    


O  OBedience 
96  The Odour 
169  An Offering 
141    


P  PAradise 
125  A Parody 
177  Peace 
117  The Pearl, Matt. 13. 
81  Perirrhanterium 
1  The Pilgrimage 
135  The Posy 
177  Praise 
53.140.151  Prayer 
43.95  The Priesthood 
154  Providence 
109  The 23 Psalm 
167  The Pulley 
153    


Q  THe Quiddity 
61  The Quip 
103    


R  REdemption 
31  Repentance 
40  The reprisal 
28  The Rose 
172    


S  THe Sacrifice 
19  Saints vide Angels Schisms vide Church-rents 
 H. Scripture 
50  The Search 
156  Sepulchre 
32  Sighs and groans 
75  Sin 
37.55  Sins round 
114  The Sinner 
30  Zion 
99  The Size 
131  The Son 
162  The Star 
65  The Storm 
125  Submission 
87  Sunday 
66  Superliminare 
17    


T  THe Temper 
46, 47  The thanksgiving 
27  Time 
115  Trinitie-Sunday 
59    


V  Vanity 
77.104  Virtue 
18  Ungratefulness 
74  Unkindness 
86    


W  THe Watercourse 
164  Whitsunday 
51  The World 
76  A Wreath 
179    
FINIS.