THE GUSHING tears OF GODLY SORROW.  
CONTAINING, The Causes, Conditions, and Remedies of sin, Depending mainly upon Contrition and Confession.  
And they seconded, with Sacred and Comfortable passages, under the mourning canopy of tears, and REPENTANCE.  MATTH. 5. 4. Blessed are they that mourn, for they shall be comforted. PSAL. 126. 5. They that sow in tears, shall reap in joy. 
By WILLIAM lithgow.  
EDINBURGH, Printed by ROBERT BRYSON, ANNO DOM. 1640.  
At the expenses of the author.   

TO THE truly NOBLE magnanimous AND ILLUSTRIOUS LORD, James, Earl OF MONTROSE, Lord GRAHAME, Baron of MURDOCK, &c.  
Illustrious LORD,  
IF grateful duty, may be reputed the child of reason, than (Doubtless) my choicest wishes, and best Affection, must here fall prostrate before your auspicuous and friendly face, fast chained, in the fetters of obedience. Flattery and Ingratitude I disdain as hell: And to court your Lo: with elegant phrases, were indeed as much as who would light a Candle, to light the sun: Your Noble and heroic virtue's light this kingdom, and who can give them light: For, as the Aurore, of your honoured reputation, is become that Constantinopolitan Hyppodrome, to this our northrenes and virgin Albion; so likewise, the same singularity of worth, hath raised your auspicuous self, to be the monumental glory of your famous, and valiant predecessors, justly termed, THE SWORD OF SCOTLAND: Your morning of their summer's day hath fully enlarged, the sacred trophies of their matchless memory; best befitting the generosity of your magnanimous mind. That as the GRAHAME, from long antiquity, being the most ancient surname, of this unconquered Nation; so they, your old aged Ancestors, have left a lineal construction of their Valour and worthiness, to be inherent in your most hopeful personage, which God may long continue to you, your Race, and your posterity. My humble request, pleads the continuance of your favour, that as your late renowned grandfather and Father, were unto me both friendly and favourable (proceeding from their great goodness, not my deserts;) so expect I the same from your tender bounty, which hitherto beyond my merit, hath been exceeding kindly manifested. For the which, my praise and prayers, the two sisters of mine Oblation, rest solidly ingenochiated at the feet of your conspicuous clemency. This present work in its secret infancy, was both seen and perused by your Lo: but now enlarged, polished, and published: I have done my best, though not my uttermost: The discourse itself, runneth most on the causes, conditions, and remedies of sin, and they sharply linked in generals and particulars: The whole substance of my labours, sealing up the happiness of a sinner's conversion to God, under the mourning canopy, of tears, and Repentance. The lines are plain, yet pithy; and although the subject may carry no lofty nor poetic style; yet themanner, the matter, the Man, and his Muse, are all, and only yours, and I left theirs, only to serve you, and your noble disposition. Accept therefore my good Lord, both the gift, and giver's mind, with the same alacrity, as I offer them in Love and humility; which being shelterd under your pious and prudent Patronage, shall enforce me to remain, as I vow ever to be, whilst I have being,  
Your honour's most obsequious and most obser orator, WILLIAM lithgow.   

The Prologue to the Reader.  

THou mayst peruse this work, with kind respect,  
Cause; none my good intention can control;  
The style may (not the subject) bear defect,  
Some Painter will the fairest face draw foul:  
Excuse mine age, if faulty, blame my quill,  
Defects may fall, and not fail in goodwill.   

My Muse declines, down styde her lofty strains  
And hoary grows, succumbing to the dust;  
Old wrung inventions, from industrious pains  
Draw to the grave, where death must feed his lust:  
Flesh fly in ashes, bones return to clay,  
Whence I begun, there must my substance stay.   

Go thou laborious pen, and challenge time,  
For memory, to all succeeding ages;  
In thy past works, and high heroic rhyme,  
And pregnant prose, in thrice three thousand pages:  
Yet die thou must, and time shall wear thee out,  
Ere seven times seven, worn ages go about.   

But virtue claims her place, and prostrate I  
Must yield due honour, to her noble name:  
She taught me to take pains, it's done, and why?  
To make her famous, in her flying fame:  
A Sculler, may transport, a royal Queen,  
As well as oars, and both their safeties seen.   

Trust me, my pains, contend, for to be plain  
No style poetic, may this subject claim:  
Touch but Vermilion, you shall see a stain,  
No fiction, may aver, a sacred theme:  
Nor dare Panthoas, Cynthia's herbals flower  
Be seen, nor spread, till rolling Phoebus lower.   

Then read, misconstrue not, but wisely look  
If I divinely, keep a divine stile:  
Which done, thou mayst, take pleasure in this book,  
An Infant, from devotion, bred the while:  
Like treatise I, before near wrote; excuse  
This new born birth, from mine old aged Muse.   

See! here in generals, thou mayst observe  
The cause of sin, sin's remedy, salt tears;  
Where sharp particulars, for repentance serve  
To blazon wickedness, and wicked fears:  
What here is done, to thee, to me, to all,  
May be applied, as each one finds his fall.   

Yet who can stop, base critic tongues to carp,  
For Atheists shall, and Epicures repine;  
So scoffing fools, on strings of scorn will harp  
To see this mite, a part of mine engine:  
But silly Gnats, worse bred than Berdoan beasts,  
I slight their spite, my Muse in Zion feasts.   

Would thou contend with me, who best should write  
On choice of themes, select●d between its twain,  
I could abide thy censure, take delight  
In thy defects, to censure thee again:  
Since thou sits dumb, and cannot bite, but bark,  
Peace, hold thy peace, else show me thine own wark.  
But zealous eyes may come, come, and come soon,  
To read this Task, if pleased, Lo! I have done.   
To the godly and good Christian, a fellow suppliant in Christ, WILLIAM lithgow.   

THE gushing tears OF GODLY SORROW.  

SPring sweet celestial Muse, launch forth a flood,  
Of brinish streams, in crystal melting woes;  
Rain-rill my plaints, then bathe them in Christ's blood  
Let pearling drops, my pale remorse disclose:  
Sink sorrow in my soul, divulge my grief.  
Who mourns, and mourns in time, shall find relief.   

I can not reach, to what my soul would aim!  
But help good God my weakness, and support  
My bashful quill: O! teach me to disclaim  
Myself, and cleave, to thy all-saving Port:  
Touch thou my heart, so shall my lips recoil,  
Thine Altars praise, to sing sins utmost spoil.   

Thrice blessed is he who mourns, he shall rejoice  
Whilst godly sorrow, shall increase his joy:  
Lord hear my cries, remark my weeping voice!  
Bless thou this work, let grace my heart employ;  
That what these Tears aford, in this plain story,  
May tend to my soul's health, and thy great glory.   

Great Son, of the great God, fullness of time!  
Whom Heavens applaud, whom earth falls down before!  
The promised Pledge, whom Prophets most sublime;  
Foretold to come, our Lord, the Son of glore:  
To thee knee-bowd, before thy face I fall,  
Come help, O help! now I begin to call.   

Most holy, mighty, high, and glorious God  
Most merciful, most gracious, and kind;  
Most Ancient, righteous, patient, and good,  
Most wise, most just, most bountiful of mind;  
Infuse thy grace, enlarge thy love in mine,  
Confirm my faith, conform my will to thine.   

Eternal One! Beginner, unbegunne!  
Thou first, and last; Heavens founder, and earth's ball!  
Container, uncontaind! Father, and son!  
Thou All in All! unruld, yet ruling All!  
Great Light, of lights! who moves all things unmoud!  
Hark, help, and hear; for Christ's sake thy beloved.   

Sole sovereign balm! come heal my wounded soul!  
Which fainting falls, under thine heavy hand;  
Regard my plaints, remit mine errors foul,  
Let mercy far, above thy justice stand:  
Be thou my Heaven, place Heaven within mine heart,  
Thy presence can make Heaven, where e'er thou art.   

Come challenge me! come claim me for thine own!  
Plead thou thy right, take place in my possession;  
Lord square my steps, thy goodness may be known,  
In pard'ning each defect of my transgression:  
Arrest my sins, but let my soul go free,  
Bail me from thrall, let sin deaths subject die.   

Lord wing my love, with feathered faith to flee,  
To thy all-burning Throne, of endless glory;  
Mercy is thine, for mercy is with thee,  
Lord write my name, in thine eternal story:  
O! help my strength! far weaker than a reed!  
Accept my purpose, for the real deed.   

The good I would, alace! I can not do,  
The ill I would not, that I follow still;  
The more thou citst me, I grow stubborn too,  
Preferring base corruption to thy will:  
For when thy Sprite, to serve Thee, doth persuade me,  
The World, the Flesh, and Satan they dissuade me.   

What should I say? no gift in me is left  
To do, to speak, to think, one godly motion;  
Lord help my wants, for why? my soul is reft,  
Twixt fear and hope, twixt sin, and true devotion:  
Fain would I flighter, from this lust-lymd clay,  
But more I strive, the more I faster stay.   

Lord, with the son forlorn, bring me again,  
And clothe me, with the favour of thy face, 
Applic● on, an● vocati●   
The swinish husks of sin I loath, and fain  
Would be thy child (Adopted) the child of grace;  
Thy lamb was killed, for my conversions sake,  
Of which let me, some food and comfort take.   

Thy glorious Hierarchy, and martyrs all,  
Rejoice, at the return, of a lost sheep:  
Lord, in that number, let my portion fall,  
That I with them, like melody may keep:  
So with thy Saints, my happiness shall be,  
One, and the same, as they are blessed in Thee.   

Yet whilst I pause, and duly do consider,  
Thy will, my ways, thy righteousness, mine errors,  
I cannot plead, to fly, I know not whidder,  
So grievous, are, the mountains of my terrors:  
My sins so ugly, stand before thy face,  
That I dare hardly claim, or call for grace.   

What am I in thine eyes? if I could ponder?  
But brickle trash, composed of slime and clay;  
A wretch-worn worm, erected for sin a wonder,  
Whilst my soul's treason, is thy judgements prey:  
I have no health, nor truth, nor divine flashes,  
So wicked is this mass, of dust and ashes.   

Lord stretch thine arm, put Satan to the flight, 
●mble 〈◊〉   
Exile the world from me, and me from it;  
Curb thou my flesh, beat down my lust's delight,  
Rule thou my heart, my will guide with thy spirit;  
Infuse, increase, confirm here, from above,  
Thy fear, thy law, in me, thy light, thy love.   

So shall I through Heavens merit only rise,  
And kiss thy soul-sought son, thy lamb, thy Dove,  
For whose sweet sake, I shall thy sight surprise,  
And lift my hope, on his redeeming love:  
Blessed be the price, of mine exalting good!  
Who paid my ransom, with his precious blood.   

In Thee I trust, Lord help my wavering faith,  
And with thy merits, my demerits cover;  
Dispel my weakness, strengthen my faint breath,  
Renew my life, and my past sins, pass over:  
Be thou my Pilot, guide this bark of clay,  
Safe to the Port, of thy celestial stay,   

Grant me obedience to thy blessed desire,  
Instruct my mind, environe me with ruth;  
Cleanse thou my heart, with flames of sacred fire,  
Fraught with the fullness, of thy saving truth:  
Build up mine Altar, let mine offerings be  
Faith, fear, and hope, love, praise, and thanks to Thee   

Lord! spare me for his sake, whom thou not spared,  
For my sake; even for him, from Thee above  
Was sent down here and slain: O! what regard  
Bore thou to Man; to send thy son of Love,  
To suffer for my guilt, the fault being mine,  
But (ah!) good Lord, the punishment was thine.   

Thy love great God, from everlasting flows  
To everlasting; man's reach only brings  
Forth the Creation; but thy love forth shows  
From all eternity, eternal springs  
Of light unsearchable; then praise we Thee,  
That ere time was, ordained our time to be.   

God made all things, and God was made a Man,  
All things he made of nothing; but come see? 
The Creators gre● love towards 〈◊〉 his creatures.   
Withouten man, all things (the truth to scan)  
Had turned to nothing; for from one degree  
God of himself, made all things: and what more?  
He would not all things, without Man restore.   

He was of God begotten, all things made,  
And borne of woman, all things did renew;  
For without man, all things had been a shade,  
So nothing well, without a Virgin true:  
Thus God, and Man, conjoined in one we feel,  
Life of our life, and soul of our soul's w●le.   

What was he made? and what hath he made us?  
I pause with joy, with silence I admire!  
This mystery I adore! who can discuss?  
That goodness great, sprung from so good a sire:  
Can reason show, more reasonable way,  
Than leave to pry, where reason can not sway.   

The son of God, (behold!) was made a Man!  
To make us men, th'adopted sons of God:  
By which he made himself, our brotherthen,  
For in all kinds, he keeps our brotherhood:  
Though Judge (save sin) and intercessor, see!  
He brothers us, we must his suppliants be.   

With what assurance, then may we all hope,  
What fear can force, despair, or yet distrust?  
Since our salvation, and our endless scope,  
Hangs on our elder brother, Christ the Just:  
He'll give us all the good, which we desire,  
And pardon all the sins, on us engyre?   

The burden of our miseries he bore, 
●rists 〈◊〉 love.   
And laid his merits weight, on our sick souls;  
A kindness beyond reach; his goodness more,  
Engrossed his name, for us, in shameful scrolls:  
O! wondrous love, that God should humble thus,  
Himself, and take man's shape, to rescue us.   

He who in heavens was admirable set,  
Became for us, contemptible on earth;  
And from the tower, of his imperial state,  
Embraced a Dungeon, for angelic mirth;  
And changed the name, of majesty in love,  
To shelter us, with mercy from above.   

What eyes for grief, should not dissolve in floods?  
Whilst our vile sins, procured his woeful pain:  
He sought our well (unsought) when we in woods  
Of wickedness, lay wallowing amain;  
And daily yet, by sin, distrust, and strife,  
We crucify again, the Lord of life.   

As iron in fire cast, takes fires nature,  
And yet remaineth iron, though framed, what than?  
So he, who in God's love doth burn, that creature  
Partakes his holiness, abiding man;  
For love, seals up God's counsels, ends the law,  
From which we sinners, cords of mercy draw.   

Love, is the root of virtue, and the child 
Love co quers h● ven.   
Of grace; Truths Mistress, and religions glass;  
The soul of goodness, in perfection mild,  
The crown of Saints, that conquer Paradise:  
The joy of Angels: O! what springs of love!  
Flow from the Lamb, for us, and our behoove.   

Ingrateful Man! contemner of thy good,  
Can thou not back-bestow, thy debt-bund love!  
To him, for thee, did shed his precious blood,  
And though rebuked, yet would he not reprove:  
Why did he fast, weep, watch, and labour take?  
In baseness and contempt, but for thy sake.   

Then be not like, that plant Ephemeron!  
Which springs, and grows, and fades, all in one day;  
But plead remorse, beg for contrition,  
Mourn for thy sins, make haste, prevent delay:  
In this myself, shall to myself return,  
He best can weep, that knows the way to mourn.   

I rather seemed, than been religious set, 
〈◊〉 con●ions.   
Having Jacob's voice, and Esau's rough hands;  
I make profession, practise I forget,  
My better zeal, hypocrisy commands;  
I Serpent like, do change my skin, but not  
Disgorge the poison, lurks within the throat.   

Vice I have used, under a virtuous seeming,  
And like the sea, though rivers in it fall;  
Yet not the sweeter; or like Pharaoh's dreaming,  
The lean kine, yet were lean, when eaten all:  
Stay then dry soul, where are thy tears? what springs?  
Should thy pale eyen cast out, when sorrow sings.   

I mean not children's tears, when whipped for awe, 
distin●ion twixt ●orldly ●d godly ●ares.   
Nor mundane tears, for loss of trash or gear;  
Nor spiteful tears, which would revenge down draw;  
Nor tears of grief, for them concern us near;  
Nor tears for death, nor tears for what disasters;  
Nor tears for friends; nor wife's tears for men wasters.   

Nor drunken tears, spent after sugared wine,  
Which women waste, to colour imperfection;  
Nor dalilah's feigned tears, to undermine,  
The strong man's strength, by way of false detection:  
Nor Sinon's tears, the Trojane state betrayed,  
With the wooden horse, Ulysses wit bewrayed.   

Nor feigned tears, the Crocodilean sex,  
Do spend (I mean) their husbands to deceive;  
Nor these Courtegian tears, that love to vex  
Their sottish Palliards, and their means bereave:  
Nor tears of pity, mercy beg from men,  
That's not the drift, of my obsequious pen.   

Look to thy lapses, and quotidian falling,  
Then try thy conscience, if remorse creeps in;  
Which if it do, thou art brought to this calling,  
Of godly weeping, for the guilt of sin!  
These tears are blessed, and such mine eyes would borrow,  
But not these tears, which melt, for worldly sorrow.   

Lord, strengthen me, with knowledge of thy word,  
Square thou my judgement, I may walk upright;  
An intellective Heart, my soul aford,  
Endue my spirit, with supernatrall light;  
Fain would I slaughter sin, that would me slay,  
And learn thy truth, Lord teach me thy right way.   

Confound in me, this all-predominant sin,  
Which overrules my reason, sense, and will;  
One headstrong vice, that lurks, and lieth within  
The inmost centre, of mine utmost ill:  
Lord, curb its force, and purify my soul,  
From such uncleanness, for its wondrous foul.   

Grant! grant remorse! let godly sorrow show!  
My full-swollen sight, my brinish tears, my sadness;  
Come sour repentance, let sweet contrition know!  
The mourning woes, of my rejoicing gladness:  
What though that grief, at morn work me annoy,  
Yet long ere night, thou'le turn my grief in joy.   

The best man lives, hath one predominant ill, 
The repugnanc● of ill and good.   
Opposed to the best good, he can effect;  
The worst man breaths, though cursed, perversed of will,  
Hath some predominant good, he doth affect:  
Even either answering, contrare to their kind,  
Seem to resemble, what they never find.   

Lord! what am I, whose best is even accurst,  
Who with thy Convert, is of sinners chief:  
A shared unsavoury, of thy works the worst,  
Unless thy grace, renew me with relief:  
Lord! will my well! prepare my heart, give ear,  
If faith can call, O! thou canst quickly hear.   

The poor which alms seeks, he gets not aid  
For any need, the giver hath of him;  
But even because, he hath of us great need;  
So we by faith, on Christian steps must climb:  
For God of his great love, he freely gives us,  
And without need of man, he still relieves us.   

A cynic came, and asked the Syrian king,  
Antigonus; a dram of silver coin; 
●ntrary 〈◊〉.   
But he replied, it was too base a thing  
For kings to give, or lend so small alone:  
Said cynic then, I would a talon crave,  
But that's too much, for thee (said he) to have.   

Thus two extremes, were both extremely met,  
But it's not so with God, and sinful men;  
The more we seek, the more we're sure to get,  
God of his bounty, is so good, that when  
We mercy crave, he grants it, gives us grace,  
Our wills, and ways, may in his precepts trace.   

Lift up my falling mind, Lord! knit my heart  
With cords of love, and chains of grace to thee;  
As Jonathan's three arrows, did impart  
To David's woes, true signs of amity:  
So rouse my spirit, let grace and goodness spell  
Mine anagram. I LOVE ALMIGHTY well.   

O! if I could, bite off the head of sin!  
As the she Viper, doth the male confound;  
But not like her, whose brood conceived within,  
Cut forth her womb, leave her dead on the ground:  
Lord! grant, I sin may slay, ere sin slay me,  
The wounds are deep, my health consists in Thee.   

Lord! when I ponder on this worldly pride,  
Vain glory, riches, honour, noble birth,  
Great lands, and rents, fair palaces beside,  
Pastimes, and pleasures, fit-thought things on earth,  
Without thy love, and in regard of thee,  
They're nought but shadows, of mere vanity.   

All under sun, are Emblems of deceit,  
Linked snares, to trap, blind man, in every vice; 
Thewo is a map of evils.   
They're feathered baits, pressed grines, that lie in wait,  
To catch the buyer, unvaluing their price:  
Then careless soul, take heed, prevent this danger,  
Lay hold on Christ, and be no more a stranger.   

God's will allots, that my past curious sights,  
In painful prime, all where the world abroad;  
Should be repaid, with as dark cloudy nights  
Of sorrows sad; for now I find the rod;  
Sickness, and crosses, compass me about,  
Whence none but Christ, can help or rid me out.   

Listen to me, as to thy Lazar poor,  
That's overstamped with seals, of scabs, and sores:  
Both vile and wretched, lieth at thy mercy's door,  
Begging for crumbs of pity; and implores  
That thou wouldst open, with Lydia my heart,  
And make me Saul's dear second, thy Convert.   

Thy lengthening hand, is now no more cut short,  
Than in old times, of wonder-working days,  
But thou canst turn, and safely bring to Port,  
The wilsome Wandrer, from his sinful ways:  
O then great shepherd! pity a lost sheep!  
And bring me home; safe in thy fold me keep.   

Thou art the vine, I am the twisted branch,  
Which on thy root, my hopes must humbly twine;  
For in thy sap, my sin-galled wounds, I'll quench,  
No balm of Gilead, to that balm of thine:  
O! better things, than Abel's blood it speaks!  
It saves the world, and man's salvation seeks.   

How sacred were these tears? fell from thine eyes? 
●hrists ●res over ●rusalem.   
When for Jerusalem, thou wept so sore:  
Mercy did plead, deploring their disease,  
For pities sake, thou didst their well implore:  
A kindness passing love! when for thy foes  
Thou wept and cried for; prophesying their woes.   

That spikenard oil, which on thy feet was spread▪  
Doth represent to me that bloody balm;  
Which on the cross, from thy left side was shed,  
To slay the power of sin, make Satan calm:  
O! let that oil, by grace sink in my soul,  
To heal my sores, and cleanse mine errors soul.   

Break down the rock, of my hard flinty heart!  
Let moisture thence, ascend to my two springs;  
The head contains these Rills, let them impart,  
Signs of contrition, godly sorrow brings:  
O! happy stoods! of ever-springing joys!  
That in the midst of weeping can rejoice.   

When pale remorse, strikes on my conscience sad, 
We sh● not des● but ho● for me●   
Moved with the lapse, of my relapsing sin;  
Faith flees above, and bids my soul be glad,  
Where mercy enters, judgement comes not in;  
One sigh in need, flown from a mourning spirit,  
Thou'le not reject, being cast on Jesus merit.   

Come gracious God, infuse in me full grace!  
Wrought by thy Sprite, my souls eternal good:  
Let mercy plead 'gainst justice; Lord, give place?  
The way is thine, my right, rests in Christ's blood:  
Come pardon my misdeeds! release my smart!  
Then quicken me, with a relenting heart.   

Whilst I conceive man's frailness, weak by nature,  
How wretched he is? how prone to fall or sink?  
Of all thy works, the most rebellious creature:  
Clogged with ingrateness, ever bent to shrink.  
What thing is man (think I) thou shouldst regard him,  
And with a crown of glory to reward him.   

Thus pausing too, on long eternal rest,  
That boundless time, which no time can contain;  
How rich think I these souls be? and how blessed?  
In time strive here, that endless time to gain:  
Strivethen poor soul, to claim and climb this Fort,  
For faith and violence, must force Heavens Port.   

O Lord! how wondrous is thy powerful love? 
Impene● trable counsel   
Whose mercies far, above thy works excel!  
Who can thy secret cabin reach above?  
Or sound these deeps, wherein thy counsels dwell?  
When thou for man, turned man, and suffered death,  
To free slain man, from thy fierce judgements wrath.   

Thy ways are all inscrutable to Man,  
For who can dyve, in thy profounding love;  
Whose kindness is unspeakable; and when  
We would most comprehend, we least approve:  
Thy ways, thy works, so far excel us men,  
The more we strive to know, the less we ken.   

To look on Heavens, rich star-imbroidred coat, 
the ●orks of ●ation.   
That canopy, of silver-spangled sky;  
The glorious firmament, clear without spot,  
The Sphearick Planets, as their orders lie;  
The worlds two lamps, erected with mareveilous light,  
And Elements, which blind our dazzling sight.   

Darkness, and light, all quarters, and their Climes,  
The rolling Axletree, supporting All;  
The arts, and seasons, in their several times,  
This oval orb, fenced with a glassy wall;  
These revolutions, from proud Planets fall,  
Portending Comets, man's prodigious thrall.   

The rolling seas, against the stars that swell,  
Their reeling tides, their turns and quiet rest:  
These Creatures, and huge Monsters therein dwell,  
Nought here on earth, but that shape there's expressed:  
Their exhalations (Earth's concavities)  
And shoare-set bound, all wonders to our eyes.   

These physiognomies of men, their variant faces,  
Show the creator's wisdom, in creation; 
〈◊〉 of man●.   
Not one like other, in form, nor in graces,  
Manners, condition, quality, nor station:  
O strange! Man's frame, should thus all times be shown,  
By gifts and Vults diversed, yet clearly known.   

These birds etherial, gliding fowls that flee,  
To court the clouds, alwhere the air about;  
Which nest the Rocks, steep walls, and springing tree,  
Whose names, and kinds, none yet could all find out:  
Each keep their office, set by nature's stamp,  
And live, and die, within thy boundless Camp.   

That influence, which man, beast, herbs, and trees,  
Draw from the silver Phebe, of the night:  
The signs celestial, aspectives to disease,  
The stars so different in their glorious light:  
Time, that was create first, and last shall be,  
And every creature in their own degree.   

How marvelous great, art thou almighty God  
Who by thy word, wrought all, and it was done:  
Thou spread''st thy works, the Heavens, and earth abroad!  
No part left vast, that can creation shun:  
O! what is foolish man, the child of lust!  
That should not in, this great JEHOVAH trust.   

Dull are my senses, any way to think,  
My blind capacity, can well conceive,  
The supreme providence, by nature's wink,  
And bound his boundless power, unless I rave:  
Like, who can once, exhaust the ocean dry?  
No more can I, in his great grandeur pry.   

A king commanded, a philosophic man,  
To show him, what was God, and what his might?  
He strove, and failed, and said, He could not scan  
That greatness which excelld, best nature's light:  
The Pagan king admired, and yet this wretch  
Confessed, there was a God, in power rich.   

To show us there's deity, all things ascend, 
●ds ●orks ●ew his ●odhead.   
And mount aloft, as vapour, smoke, and fire,  
The trees grow upward, waves when tossed transcend,  
All birds and fowls, aetherially aspire.  
So words, and voices, still their echoes raise,  
And man, whose face, is made on heaven to gaze.   

There's nought but worms and beasts, which sight the ground  
But all denote, their great eternal Maker;  
Yet man, wretched man, is earth tied, and fast bound,  
To things below, whereof he's still partaker:  
Nay; worse than beasts, he's choked with worldly cares,  
And kills his heart with greed, his soul with snares.   

What are the humours, of our foggy brains?  
But stupid thoughts, conceived of doubts and fear:  
Best pregnant wits, suspicion quells their strains;  
The wise, the worldlings, have their emblems here:  
A shadow without substance, I find man,  
Nay worse! than Baalam's ass, the truth to scan.   

He sin reproved, yet never sinned himself,  
But woeful man, can both rebuke and sin;  
That which his words most hate, becomes the shelf,  
Whereon his inward lusts, fall deepest in:  
Man's lips are snares, his lips both false and double,  
His tongue, a sting, begets both shame and trouble.   

O heavy lump! the carcase of disease? 
●ns in●mities.   
O mass of ill! the Chaos of corruption;  
O Microcosmos! of infirmities!  
O rotten slime! the puddle of inruption!  
I mean man's stinking flesh; who can express?  
The worst; its best, is but base filthiness.   

A plunge of carrion clay, a prey for worms,  
A faggot (without mercy) for hell's fire:  
A gulf, where beats, stern deadly boisterous storms,  
A whirlwind, for arts of each attire:  
Wherein combustion, sprung from contrare wills,  
Makes thoughts arise, like waves, surpassing hills.   

And what's our beauty? but a flash-shown show,  
For when at best, its filthy, vile, and base: 
man's beauty, summer's blossom.   
The nose, the mouth, our excrements we know,  
And breath stink worse, than beasts of any race:  
Nay, sweetest things, that ever time made fair,  
They loathsome grow, unless the use be rare.   

The soul excepted, when I consider all  
God's works and Creatures, Man is only worst!  
The rest sublunary, succumbent fall;  
Man's ●ly blessed, or else for ever cursed:  
All things as servile, serve for mediate ends,  
Save Man, whose wage, on joy or woe depends.   

Lord! what am I, within this house of clay?  
But brickle trash, composed of slime and dust:  
A rotten fabric, subject to decay,  
Which harbours nought, but crumbs of wretched lust:  
And if a guest, of one good thought, entreats me,  
I bar it out, to lodge the ill, that hates me.   

Impiety, and custom, scale my Fort,  
To rule my mind, like to their blind desire:  
Will, headstrong helps; corruption keeps the Port,  
The hands and feet, set eye and tongue on fire:  
Then Eloquence breaks forth, a subtle foe,  
To trap the object, working me the woe.   

Why? cause affection, begets opinion, 
●elf-love ●ules the ●orld.   
Opinion rules the World, in every mind:  
Then sense submits, that pleasure should be Minion,  
To base conceit, absurdly gross, and blind:  
Thus fond opinion, self loves halting daughter,  
Betrays my scope, commits me to sins slaughter.   

Then judgement falls, and fails, and reason flees,  
To shelter wisdom, in some solid breast:  
They leave me both, left loaden with disease,  
Whilst frailty fastens, sorrow on my creest:  
Delight contracts despite, despite disdain,  
Thus threefold chained, their furies forge my pain.   

My best companion, is my deadly foe,  
Sin is my Consort, and would seem my friend;  
Yea; walks with me, where e'er my footsteps go,  
And will not leave me, till my journey's end:  
The more I flee, the faster it cleaves to me,  
And makes corruption, labour to undo me.   

There six degrees of sin, in man I find,  
Conception first, and then consent doth follow: 
sin, and the causes of sin.   
The thirds desire, that turns his judgement blind:  
The fourth is practice, ragged, rent, and hollow:  
The fift is flinty, keeps fast obduration,  
And last, the sixt, lulls him in reprobration.   

Man's own corruption is the seed of sin,  
And custom is, the puddle of corruption:  
Swift headstrong habit, traitour-like creeps in,  
And blows sins bellows, to make more inruption:  
Nay; the world's example, sins strong secourse,  
Makes both the object, and the subject worse.   

How many foes hath man? within, without him?  
Within, lurks concupiscence, virtue's foe; 
man's life awarfare▪   
Without, the world, which waits, and hangs about him,  
Both ghostly and human, to work his woe:  
Last comes the conscience, judge-set to accuse him,  
And verdict given, than terror would confuse him.   

Thus man is every way, tossed to and fro,  
Like Tunneise balls, when banded, still rebound:  
All things have action, Nature rules it so,  
The secret spirit of life, these motions bound:  
Their being honours God, who gave them being,  
But Man falls back from him, gave reason seeing.   

And yet to quench these fires, remorse creeps in,  
And brings contrition, with confession crying:  
Faith flees before, pleads pardon for our sin,  
Then ragged rottenness, falls down a ordered:  
For repentance, and, remission of sins,  
Are two inseparable, sister twins.   

Most have no tears for sin, but tears of strife,  
To plead malicious pleyes, and waste their means  
On lawyer's tongues; that love their envious life,  
And what like party lose, the Cormant gleans:  
Their cause, and charges lost; O spiteful pride!  
They spend at last, the stock, they had beside.   

Like to the Mouse, and frog, which did contend,  
Which of them should, enjoy the marish ground; 
Deceitful greed.   
The kite as Judge, discussed this cause in end,  
And took them both, from what they could not bound:  
So Proctors seize, on client's lands, and walls,  
And raise themselves, in their contentious falls.   

They're like to Aesop's dog, who had a bone,  
When through a flood he swimed, fast in his head:  
Where spying his shade, he lets it fall anon,  
To catch the other, lost them both indeed:  
So spiteful men and greedy, (well it's known)  
In seeking others state, they lose their own.   

Thrice blessed is he, who knows, and flies, like men,  
Since greed begets oppression, or debate:  
And though Deceivers, play politics then,  
To make their wrongs, a right, to raise their state:  
Yet forth it comes, no subtlety can close it,  
For time and truth, will certainly disclose it.   

They think to hide their faults, by craft and plots,  
To blind God's eyes, as they inveigle man:  
O strange! what villainy their soul besots,  
That dare 'gainst truth, the traitor play; and than  
Deceive themselves, by a deceitful way,  
Which tends to death, and make them Satan's prey.   

Then, there is nought, but once will come to light,  
No sin so close, but God will it discover;  
No policy can blind almighty's sight,  
Nor fault so hid, that he will once pass over:  
Unless repentance, draw his mercy down,  
Thy darkest deeds, shall be disclosed eftsoon.   

Behold Jonah! from Joppa when he fled! 
Jonah dis●ered.   
And would not stay, to do the Lord's direction:  
Closed in a ship, and hid; yea, nothing dread,  
Yet found he was, and swallowed for correction:  
And Paul for Damas bound, to persecute 
●ul con●ed.   
His Saints, was stroke, yet saved, his drifts refute.   

Look to Cains murder, how it was cleared?  
And David's bloodshed, with adultery mixed:  
Remark the bush, whence Adam's voice appeared,  
And Israel's thoughts, when they their Maker vexed▪  
Then he who made thine eyes, and gave them sight,  
Can he not see, who gave thy seeing light.   

It's not with God as men, Gods every where!  
In Heaven, and earth, God's presence filleth all; 
God's omnipotency.   
In Hell below, his Justice ruleth there,  
All things must, to, his omniscience fall:  
Man knows, but as he sees, and in a part,  
But God doth search the reins, and try the heart.   

How swinishly (alas) have I then lived:  
Nay, who can say, that I have lived at all;  
Whilst buried else, in sleep, in sloth, or grieved  
With fals-forgd cares, conglutinating thrall:  
To tempt my loving, and most patient God,  
I have contemned his mercy, mocked his rod.   

There's nought so smooth and plain, as calm-set seas,  
And nought more rough, when raged, by stormy wind; 
Repugnant comparisons.   
The lead is cold as ice, or Winter freeze;  
But when been fired, its scolding hot we find:  
Theirne is blunt, till toold, and edge be put,  
And then most sharp, to stobbe, to shave, or cut.   

So patient God, is loath, and slow to wrath,  
His patience is as great, as great his love;  
Long suffering he, defers to threaten death!  
Till our gross sins, his just drawn-judgements move  
And then his anger stirred, it burns like fire,  
Consuming man, and sinners in his ire.   

Next; pause I on, the momentany sight,  
Of man's short life, that like a shadow flees;  
Much like the swiftness of a Faulcones flight,  
Or like a bird, glides by our glancing eyes:  
Then marvel I, how man can harbour pride?  
Or wherein should, his vanity confided.   

To day he's stout, to morrow laid in grave, 
The ●eaknesse, ●nd ●hanges of ●ur nature.   
His looks alive, are plumed, like variant feathers:  
Been thrown in dust, he turns to earth a slave,  
And as he breathes, the crumbs of lust he gathers:  
But would he muse, on long eternity,  
He would forsake himself, and learn to die.   

To learn to die, that he may learn to live,  
For in this course, his happiness consists;  
Die to himself, that grace may vice survive,  
In mortifying sin, his bliss subsists:  
Come life, come death, thus dying so, he's blessed,  
And doubtless shall, in peace of conscience rest.   

O Jesus! who redeemed us, being dead!  
Whence could thy love, so far to us extend;  
We had no merit, thou of us no need,  
And yet thy grace, our weakness doth defend;  
For as Man first, to be like God, condemned us,  
So God turned man, that God should not contemn us.   

Far better is a life unfortunate,  
In end with honour, that yields up the breath;  
Than honourable life, and wealthy state,  
With shame to perish, and untimely death:  
I rather wish, to be a shepherd borne,  
Then live a Prince, and at my death forlorn.   

Come answer me, who would be undertaker, 
An objection between man and beast.   
Whether its best, to be a man or beast?  
The beast dissolves, and not offends his Maker,  
Nor makes no count, save to some carnal feast:  
But godless Man, in grieving God, is worse,  
Thrown down to Hell, and with that fall, his curse.   

Who rightly weighs, the variable kinds,  
Of Mortals all, in either death or life?  
Shall see their bubbling breath, tossed with sharp winds,  
Of staggering doubts, ingorgd with timorous strife:  
Their conscience, and, their living disagreeing,  
In will or work, most vanquished are in dying.   

Nay, soul and body, at that dreadful day,  
Shall be conjoined, and hurled down to hell: 
The pang of Hell.   
This wretch thus damned, in torturing flames shall stay,  
Chained in that howling Radamanthan Cell:  
The beast he falls, and turns to nought we see,  
But Man adjudgd, his worm shall never die.   

As for the virtuous Saint, his happiness,  
Begins at death, which end all worldly noise;  
He swarms in pleasures, rich in blessedness,  
Death makes the passage, to his heavenly joys:  
He fears no stop, nor stay, his faith instructs him,  
The way (though straight) his good Angel conducts him.   

And wouldst thou learn whilst here, t'attain that way,  
Be humble first, and then religious set;  
Place Heaven before Thee, make faith thereon to stay,  
And then let zeal and love, fast settling get  
To grip Christ's wounds; then fear, than praise, then pray,  
Let earnest prayers, thy best devotion sway.   

For prayer is, the souls great sacrifice, 
Prayer and meditation, two heavenly exercises.   
Which speaks to God; and meditation,  
Is God's speech to the soul; an exercise  
Conjoined together; two revolved in one:  
The one invelopes the other, and speaks  
Reciprocal: Both our salvation seeks.   

Which two, like Hypocrates twins are bred,  
Who lived, fed, slept, joyed, wept, and died together;  
So can they not be separate indeed;  
Though fasting do prepare, their journey hither:  
This outward action, like t'a potion scours,  
The other spiritual, are divinely ours.   

Like to a pair of Turtles, truly set,  
Whereof the one by death, been slaughtered gone,  
The other mourns, for losing of her Mate,  
And languishing doth die; No life alone.  
So meditation, gives matter to the mind,  
And without prayer, nothing shall we find.   

For both bring reconcilement, and acceptance, 
The effects of prayer.   
And makes thee, to thy father, a loving son;  
So by his son, a brother of acquaintance,  
And by the Sprite, a Temple; squared, and done:  
Last in the court of Heaven, thou art made free,  
A fellow, with th'Angelick hierarchy.   

O joy of joys! O happy endless bliss!  
Who can express, that glory there revealed?  
The eye, the mind, nor tongue can dascon this!  
Since ravished Paul, amazed, hath it concealed:  
Then labour silly soul, this mark to aim,  
Which seen, and got, how great is thy good name?   

But (ah!) I stagger in the mires of sin,  
And daily sinks, in puddles of defects:  
The more I flee, the more I swallow in  
The stinking marsh, of absurd effects:  
The very boggy quagmires of vice,  
I plunge them all, unvaluing weight, or price.   

The price (alas!) is great, and I must pay it,  
Unless Christ's wounds, break open, plead for pity;  
O pledge divine! thy merits will defray it,  
Thou art my surety, O prevent my ditty! 
Christ's wounds our healt●   
Evert the sentence, lest I lie in jail,  
Stand to thy mercy, Lord! be thou my bail.   

To square the lives, of godly men with mine,  
How far myself, fled from myself, I find;  
Thrice wretchd am I, to think me one of thine,  
In whom corruption, rules the inward mind:  
It's more than strange, I should expect for good,  
Whilst still I trample, on my saviour's blood.   

There is no sense in this, that I should slay  
My silly soul, to cross my crossed desire:  
Can headstrong passions, mine accounts defray?  
When my just Judge, my reckoning shall require:  
Nay, spare thy spurs, poor wretch, and call to mind  
A self-soul murderer, can no mercy find.   

That sin which I hate worst, I follow most, 
The instability 〈◊〉 man.   
Yet fain would sift, the evil of deceit:  
Lo! with repugnants, how my breast is tossed,  
Here lies my safety, there the snaring bait;  
Sin, like a Fowler, with a whistle takes me,  
And that good, which I would, it then forsakes me.   

O! love! and love itself! Father of love!  
And God of mercy, mercy is thy Name!  
O King of pity▪ all my faults remove  
Far from before Thee, coverthou my shame:  
That here me to accuse, they never come,  
Nor hence to damn me, at the day of doom.   

Ah! wicked men! they triumph in excess!  
To tempt thy patience, O long suffering God 
Wicked men delight to make the simple sin.   
They glory to cast down, the fatherless,  
And on the widow's back, they lay their rod:  
They lose themselves, and so would lose their brother▪  
With them; thy honour, in their pride to smother.   

Unwise is he, and thrice unhappy too!  
Who ill commits, that good thereon may follow:  
He's like the Crocodile, that loves to woo  
The grey Nile Rat, and eftsoon doth it swallow:  
Which, when enclosed, it cuts his womb, seeks breath,  
And with its freedom, works the others' death.   

So hapless man, in hurtful ways of sin,  
His hopeless heart, he suffocats with lust;  
Till custom bring, stern obduration in,  
And then he turns a Reprobate injust:  
The door of grace is shut, his soul wants faith,  
Than sin leaves him, squared for eternal death.   

They gallop on, in dark-drawne paths of Hell,  
The glen is hollow, but the way is broad;  
In two extremes, the least, they quite repel,  
To shun a farthel, they receive a load:  
The yoke of Christ is light, but ah! they swallow  
The weight of sin, which all their labours follow.   

I cross my crossing arms, on my crossed breast,  
And musing lurks, to look on human state; 
moment's pleasures, eternal pain.   
How wretched it is? how careless? how depressed?  
To every snare, makes man unfortunate:  
That hapless he! for one small moment's pleasure,  
Dare hazard (ah!) his souls eternal treasure.   

The will, twixt reason, and sensualty placed, 
Will overcomes reason.   
Is apt to be applied, to either side;  
But first, and firmest, Will by sense is traced,  
Which is of youth, and childish age the guide!  
For seldom reason, can once conquer will,  
Cause; sense presents for good, a pleasant ill.   

And in that ill, a woeful sour content,  
Which frights itself, with shadows of despair▪  
O! miracle of madness! what intent  
Hath my crossed soul? to work my grievous care:  
If mercy can not move me, to amend,  
Yet self-affection, might my good intend.   

Why then sick soul? dost thou not weep one tear?  
O! that thy grief! would windy sighs disclose! 
sighs an● tears are holy sacri fi●es.   
Let mourning sorrow, melt in holy fear,  
And pale remorse, dissolve, in watery woes:  
For godly groans, which deep contrition brings,  
They rent the clouds, and court the King of kings.   

Whence pardon comes, and consolation too,  
And strength to guard us, in worst stormy times;  
For what we would, the same he helps to do,  
And for one tear, he'll cover worlds of crimes:  
What though I faint? 'cause, great is my transgression,  
Yet comfort comes, when there's a free confession.   

Frail is the foolery, of my fragile flesh,  
Still prone to fall, but never prompt to stand:  
I second causes, with a desperate dash,  
Cares not for times to come, nor what's in hand:  
If I find pleasure, in the worst of ill,  
I murder reason, with a fearless will.   

How long shall wicked thoughts, in me remain?  
To slay my soul, and bring thy judgements down:  
When wilt thou curb my sin, and it restrain,  
Lest like a flood, it shall me helpless drown:  
Unless thy grace, support me, being frail,  
There's nought with me, that can with thee prevail.   

Alas! to number, what I should not speak,  
Of holy ones, thy Prophets, and Apostles; 
The godly ●ometime all, and ●e recalled.   
How far (too oft) from Thee, were they to seek,  
Thrown down, 'mongst thorny briers, and pricking thistles:  
Yet they were thine, thou suffered them to fall,  
That in thy mercy, thou might them recall.   

Herein their weakness, and thy power was known,  
That to thy glorious Fame, it might redound:  
What though they strayed, these wanderers were thine own,  
They knew at last thy voice, and traced the sound:  
Sometimes thy Saints would slip, and then repent them,  
With heart-swollen tears, which grief & grace had lent them,   

Thy holy writs, bear of their names record!  
To paternize my hopes, fixed on a Rock;  
How e'er I fail, thou art a gracious Lord,  
Full of redemption to thy chosen flock:  
For their examples, teach me to believe,  
Thou wilt protect me, and my faults forgive.   

God's Champion Joshua, when he Jordan crossed, 
Joshua's gratefuln● to Racha●   
And razed walled Jericho, down to the ground:  
Yet saved he Rachab, all the rest were lost,  
Grateful he was, this Woman mercy found;  
Which town lay waste, till Hiel Bethelite,  
In Achab's time, rebuilt its ancient seat.   

This was that town, which Christ so oft past by, 
Jesus at Jericho saved Zacheus.   
From Galilee to Jebus, zions glore;  
Where thronged with folk, Zacheus could not spy  
His sacred face, but run in haste before,  
And top'd a figtree trunk: Which seen by Christ,  
Come down (said he) Zacheus, I'm thy guest.   

This day salvation, to thy house is come,  
I'll recompense thy curious careful eye:  
Selected thou art, for my celestial home!  
Great is thy faith, though small thy stature be:  
By grace a giant, though a dwarf by nature,  
I am thy Lord, Zacheus is my Creature.   

Thus Joshua and Jesus, saved two, here see!  
A bordello Strumpet, and this Publican;  
To lesson us, what kind soe'er they be,  
Turk, Jew, or Arab, Moor, or Mussilman?  
Christ hath his own Cornelius, and his Ruth,  
The Moabite, Centurions fraught with truth.   

For alms deeds and prayer, pierce the clouds!  
Whence Rills of tears, do ever springing vent,  
Remorseful songs, explored by rustling floods,  
Banked with the willow, bondage still lament:  
Where harps lie mute, and hearts are filled with plaints,  
Deploring sore, stressed Zion, and her Saints.   

O! if the Heavens! would now infuse in me!  
Some divine rapt, to lay abroad her crosses:  
But stay sad soul! that is too much for thee,  
Let pastors plunge these deepths, and blaze her losses: 
●acelesse ●quence ●rd obdu●nce.   
Only bewail, her sorrows, and thy fall,  
Men may have tongues, and have no grace at all.   

Not by compulsion, as by sense we see  
Numbers do slide, each training one another;  
Herod could speak, and yet with vermin die,  
Cursed Cain slew, the righteous man his brother:  
Saul he could prophesy, and yet he fell,  
The Witch at Endor, rang his passing bell.   

Baalim could bless, and Baalim he would curse,  
And yet his ass did check him, but come see!  
Wise was Achitophel, his end was worse, 
Worldly wisdom ●nd pride 〈◊〉.   
Proud Absalon was hair-hangd on a tree:  
Like be our foes, and like our Church now finds,  
We want but Hushai, to bewray false minds.   

Though Ezra wept, and mourned for Judah's faults,  
Yet had he adversars, which sought to slay him;  
Whilst rearing zions walls, to bar assaults,  
His threatning foes, sent Bassads to affray him:  
The people wrought, and built with dextrat hand,  
And in the left, their swords, for guard did stand.   

So, so, and so, the state of Saints should be,  
Resolved to suffer, and resolved to fight:  
Yea, for the faith, should not refuse to die,  
Since truth avers, what we acclaime by right:  
But we have Wolves for lambs; their coat is all,  
If they get means, care not who stand or fall.   

I scorn their checks, but more their critic censures,  
Whilst with an honest heart, I live, to live:  
Whose sharp-edged calumnies, and scurrile tonsures,  
Retort their breasts, but with more grief, to grieve:  
If God's good spirit, by grace to bless contract me,  
I care not, how, these turnecoat times detract me.   

Their time is short, their sentence can not bide,  
Like to opinion, so their verdicts follow;  
They're blind in reason, malicious in pride,  
Whose tongues are Tombs, their hearts both false and hollow.  
For whilst their craft, deceives them with deceeat,  
They swallow up the hook, and miss the bait.   

Themselves they slay, with the same dart they shoot,  
And in the pit do fall, they digged for other; 
Saikles er●vie retor● reply.   
To stand for ill, they will not flee a foot,  
Their evils, with a show of good they smother:  
But soon mischief, can overcrush their brains,  
Men swallow mounts, for execrable gains.   

Alas! what is the bubbling breath of man?  
Whose life hangs on his nostrils; like to due  
fall'n from the humid clouds; and no ways can  
Secure itself, from Titan's scorching view:  
So men's conceit, in fond opinions flee,  
While this, whiles that, whiles nought their actions be.   

Let David's hymns, discover all their drifts,  
Till that their very eyes for fat leap out:  
I love that soul surcharged with pious gifts,  
Simple in life, and for his conscience stout:  
Say though his best were nought, his good intention,  
Cast on the Lord, begets a safe prevention.   

The malice of each snare, my thoughts embrace,  
But above all with darling sins I dandle;  
I pleasure take, wherein there's no solace,  
And with the butterfly, the flame I handle:  
The wings of lust I oil, than sin burns me,  
And whilst I stand to live, I post to die.   

Worms are my Mates, when I in grave am laid, 
worms are sepulchral mates.   
They'll feed on me, who loved to feed on dainties,  
My senseless corpse, shall with the senseless spade  
Be made a prey, to their devouring plenties:  
My bones shall rot, then turn in mouldering dust,  
This is the way of flesh, both bad and just.   

And yet vain Man, he little thinks or dreams,  
Once of his death, nor what his end may be?  
His sense deludes him, and the world it seems  
A glass to look on, for his sensual eye:  
He neither mourns for sin, nor sin forsakes,  
But from one ill, another worser takes.   

What surging follies, overcloud my mind?  
With vain-winged fancies, and surmysing flashes;  
Such fleering thoughts, more lighter than the wind!  
Breed nought but foolery, which opinion dashes:  
My wished for wishes, straight conceived and done,  
The care of careless dreams, I scarce can shun.   

I posting run, in ways of naughty ends,  
Lord! crook, and stop my course, with streams of grace! 
Man headlong falls.   
Which flood, can carry none that ill pretends,  
Like Jordan, that, receives no barbarous face,  
Unless they swim: So, (sans remorse) they'll drown,  
Who hazard here, quick sandy sins pull down.   

This saving grace, the soul guards with strong hand, 
The lake Marona● fathers Jordan.   
And if it slip, it can not fully fall:  
It's like Maronahs', full disgorging strand,  
Hembes in Canaan, from barbarian thrall:  
Like keeps the Lord his own, and guards their ways,  
They perish not; though charged with frail delays.   

As Jordan circuits the holy land,  
Twixt Liban, and, that south-lake smoking show;  
From the Petreian soil; joined with a strand,  
Which tribute pays, 'gainst Jericho I know,  
To famous Jore: One parts the Midian soil,  
The other sacked, Samarias' confines coil.   

This is the march, girds Canaan's southeast side,  
But more the Lord preserves, and guards his own  
From ghostly ill, and from etherial pride,  
From terrene sprites, from Hell, and what is known  
To plague the soul; he is a bulwark strong,  
Fenced with good Angels, free all his from wrong.   

Then happy they, can creep within this Tent! 
Godly tears' saving grace▪   
And sheltrage seek, under his mercy's wings;  
Sigh for thy sins, O! let thy soul repent!  
Thy misdemeanour, to the King of kings:  
First grieve, then weep, last seek thy saviour's face,  
Let tears implore, for tears can plead for grace.   

Kind were these tears, which Joseph's love had spent,  
When with his brethren, he his brother saw:  
His heart, surcharged with joy, it shrunk as shent,  
To plunge that deep, which Benjamin did draw:  
But lo! more tears! were shed one with another,  
When Joseph said, Behold, I am your brother.   

Fear not (said he) the strict Egyptian law,  
Though to the Ismaelites, my life you sold:  
For what was done, was done by God I knaw,  
No spite of yours, his providence behold!  
Foresaw your need, and brought me here to be,  
A father to my father's misery.   

There five years' famine yet, shall work your woe,  
Wherein aged Jacob, and his race may starve,  
Unless he flit; then get you up and go  
To fetch him down, fail not in this, nor swerve:  
They went, he came, all met in melting joys,  
For passions have extremes, as bairnes have toys.   

Since Nature then, in floods of tears can melt,  
For joy of sight, to overjoy their love;  
Much more our tears, when we remorse have felt  
For sin; shall glade, the powers in Heaven above:  
These tears are blessed, and make us blessed for ever,  
For godly grief, from grace, no cross can sever.   

Let patient Job, be pattern in like case, 
●obs pati●ce and ●nstancy.   
Whose loss was such, as never yet was none:  
Yet shrunk he not, sound steadfast love took place,  
Faith forced his hope, and both proclaimed in one:  
Sure my Redeemer lives, and he is just,  
Though he should kill me, yet in him I'll trust.   

Mine eyes shall see him, and he will me save,  
As I am confident, he will not fail:  
Stern rough calamity, would me deceive,  
But that's a shade, my purpose must prevail:  
In God my soul is fixed, nought can dismay me,  
Nay death itself, nor Satan can betray me.   

See! here the column, of a lively faith!  
The type of Christ, in meek and mild behaviour:  
His friends they slight him, he contemns his death,  
And in his misery, still avowd his Saviour:  
This was a love, excelled all loves on earth,  
For Christ he loved, who loved him ere his birth.   

Then how hate I myself, if I love not  
My loving Lord, who loved me, from his love; 
Love the Lord for his love's sake.   
He truly loves, who for thy sake, I wot  
Loves thee; and himself for thee; this we prove▪  
All kinds of love, without thy love, breed loathing,  
Unless we love them, for thy sake, they're nothing.   

Great king of glory, all thy works invite!  
Us to love thee, since thou first loved us:  
As stars do from the sun, take light and heat,  
For from that fullness, we the like discuss:  
How can our souls? thine image, want the sight,  
Of thy bright love, whose love is perfect light.   

Lord! we do all, depend upon thy love,  
Because our being, had of thee beginning:  
Next, thou preserves us, as we rest or move,  
And art our end; controls us, when a sinning:  
All what we have, we have received from thee,  
And what we want, thou wilt the same supply.   

O God of love! thy nature is all love!  
In love more glorious, than the sun in light:  
Thou art an infinite fire from above,  
Which here enlightens, with its beams, each wight: 
God's lo● our life.   
A fire of love, a loving fire we find,  
A light! not burns, a flame, not quells the mind.   

O Lord! if thou thy tender love withdraw:  
And from us slips one step, to turn thy back:  
Are we not dead, in sloth and sleep; no awe;  
But each temptation, shall presage our wrack:  
Then Lord uphold us! since all worldly things  
Are ever changing, time their ruin brings.   

To day we live, the morn to grave we're sped, 
The bre●itie of life   
We sight this world, as birds by gazers glide;  
As dreams evanish, so our days are fled;  
Like water bubbles, as soon quelld as spied:  
Thus heart-grown man, ingorgd with pride and lust,  
He posts, and posts to death, than turns in dust.   

To argue on corruption, that subverts  
The good we would, and chokes our best desires;  
It is a senseless appetite, perverts  
The light of reason, with entangling fires:  
A headstrong blind irregulary ill,  
That captives wit, and wounds both sense and will.   

It's strong in all infirmities injust,  
Still frail in goodness, weak in sound conception: 
Corruption corrupteth all things.   
It's ruled by nature, and her daughter lust,  
Which blinds the light of knowledge, with deception:  
Like pitch, corruption, blacks the purest soul,  
And where it comes, makes every clean thing foul.   

It takes best hold, on imbecility,  
And where that fortitude, deficient is,  
It dare not wrestle, with dexterity,  
Nor count with temperance, one defective miss:  
Much like a Ruffian, or a thief by night,  
It loves, and lives in darkness, more than light.   

Corruption, many ways, may be defined,  
To be a Hydra necked Herculean snake;  
Stopped at the eye, it compasseth the mind,  
Barred from the soul, the heart it soon will take;  
Say, if the ear be deaf, the hand will feel,  
And if it smell not, it can taste too well.   

Corruption, rules most states, and office places,  
In Church and commonwealth, it bears great sway:  
It masks the Merchants, with Gibeonitish faces!  
And with each trade, it can the harlot play:  
From mighty men to mean, see! what I sought?  
I find them all corrupted, their ways are nought.   

Corruption, in their brybries, fraught with greed,  
Corruption, in their flesh, subborn'd by lust,  
Corruption, in their manners, full of need, 
The power an● varieties 〈◊〉 corruptio●   
Corruption, in their sin, and livesinjust:  
Corruption, in their malice, flankd on pride,  
Corruption, in their wills, blind nature's guide.   

Corruption, in the treachery of deceat,  
Corruption, in false weights, and falser measures,  
Corruption in vile perjury, and hate,  
Corruption, in the hoarding up of treasures:  
Corruption in hypocrisy and strife,  
Corruption in a base dissembling life.   

Corruption, (ah!) injustice by the Judge,  
Corruption, too, in partial ends 'gainst reason;  
Corruption, in the traitor, that dare lodge  
Corruption, fixed on murder, and high treason:  
Corruption, in oppression, and what then?  
Corruption, in the lavishness of men.   

Corruption, in forged tales, and false reports  
Corruption, in frail fleshly vile desires!  
Corruption, in base taunts, and jeering torts,  
Corruption, in despising natural sires:  
Corruption, (ah!) in negligence and sloth,  
Corruption, from fond sports, in age or youth.   

Corruption, in ambition, and high looks,  
Corruption, in strained-self contracted opinions.  
Corruption, in best learneds, and best books,  
Corruption, in great Princes, and their Minions:  
Corruption, in vain courtly Courtiers styles,  
Corruption, in sunk Worldlings greedy wiles.   

Corruption, in abusing outward things,  
Corruption, in vile drunkenness, and swearing,  
Corruption, in a Wranglers crafty wrings,  
Corruption, in delay, and long forbearing:  
Corruption, in the ignorance of minds,  
Corruption, in best knowledge of all kinds.   

Corruption, in pressed compliments, and phrases,  
Corruption, in bad carriage, masked with guile,  
Corruption, in poor flatterers foolish praises,  
Corruption, in most penmen, and their stile:  
Corruption, in a sycophantic leyar,  
Corruption, in the Layers mouth and Pleyar.   

Corruption, in adultery, and worse lust,  
Corruption, in backbiters slandering tongue,  
Corruption, in lost credit, without trust,  
Corruption, in the gathering worldly dung:  
Corruption, in blind filthy critics censures,  
Corruption, in mechanic gliding tonsures.   

Corruption, in corruption, sin affords,  
And every way corrupted, corruption swallows;  
Most grow absurd, corrupting deeds and words!  
●nd in the puddle of corruption wallows:  
The hollow heart of man, such venom vomits  
Of all corruptions, that they're fixed for Comets.   

●ll which portend, some grievous dissolution,  
〈◊〉 every state, a woeful alteration;  
●prung from enormities of pollution.  
This land is turned, the face of desolation:  
Both great and small, the scourge of fortune feel,  
Whose fates are tossed, still round about the wheel.   

To day a Lord, tomorrow fled to wars,  
To day a Laird, tomorrow turned a beggar;  
To day in wealth, tomorrow closed with bars;  
To day in peace, tomorrow swear and swagger:  
To day in farm, tomorrow forced to flee, 
The vicissitude of fortune.   
To day puffed, up, the morn, cast down we see.   

●inne is the cause, which makes such judgements fall  
On landlords now, who still oppress the poor;  
They tax and raxe them, keep them under thrall,  
That most are forced, to leave both hold and door:  
Whose grounds in end is sold, or else lie waste,  
Both Tyrants, and th' oppressed, such changings taste.   

Lord! save me from this all-corrupted age,  
Where craft joins with extortion either hand;  
●lood, and oppression, may but passions suage,  
●trict law and justice, quite for sake this land:  
Men now must gaze, like soldier's battle broke,  
That look for aid, else for the fatal stroke.   

Nay; we're corrupted, in thought, in word, and deed!  
Yet of all sins, vile drunkenness is worst:  
It breeds all ill, and of all vice the seed,  
It harbours lust, and makes the Actor cursed;  
And smothering shame, it wallows in despair,  
Where spoiling virtue, seeks examples rare.   

Our Patriarch Noah, after the deluge, 
Noah first set vines and first was drunk with it.   
Had shunned sommersing, of the first drowned World;  
He planted vines for man, healths sound refudge!  
Yet made his toil, the snare wherein he hurled:  
The grape was sweet and strong, see! how he sunk?  
He graft it first, and first with it was drunk.   

This world's sole Monarch, of the second age,  
Who built the ark, which saved him and his race  
Undrowned; Behold! was ta'en, and turned the Page  
Of glutting Bacchus, senseless of his case:  
Was it not strange! this column could decline!  
That scaping waters, yet was drowned with wine.   

But he, great he! earth's sovereign Lord and Father,  
Had no intent, to fox his sober senses;  
But tasted, touched, and drunk; then failed, or rather  
He sealed his fault, to shelter like offences:  
Not so; his slip, pleads o'ersight unacquainted,  
And reason would, he tasted the thing he planted.   

Like so, was Lot, ensnared, when fled for fear 
Lot's drunkenness begot incest.   
From burning Sodom, and cavernd at night;  
Was by his daughters gulled: They thinking there!  
The world was gone; sought to restore the right  
Of nature's race: And he stark drunk embraced them,  
But sure he grieved, when th' action had defaced them.   

But our gross Drunkards, base pedestriat natures!  
Will roar and quaff, old houses, through strait windows;  
Blaspheme their Maker, and abuse his Creatures,  
And swear, they'll spend their blood, and carve their sinews,  
To beard cold Phebe; then Orlando like,  
Rapt Rodomunting oaths, and Cyclops strike.   

Whose red-eyed sight, show faces fixed with Comets,  
Through which (like Vulcan) they would seem goodfellows 
The shame full effects of drunkenness.   
O here he staggers! and there he wallowing vomits,  
And if mischief fall out, he courts the gallows:  
Last, friends and means been lost, he's load with curses,  
Then bends his course to steal, or rob men's purses.   

What ill can Hell devise? but Drunkards do it?  
All kinds of vice, all kind of lusts they swallow:  
For why? its drunkenness that spurs them to it,  
Satan suggests, and they his counsel follow:  
Then turn they frantic, mad distracted Sots,  
To clout their Conscience, with retorting Pots.   

They lie and surfeit, belch, and vomit blood,  
Yea, ever rammage, brutish, and absurd;  
Their beastly manners, loathsome are and rude,  
Depraved of senses, have their wits immurd,  
Benumbed, debauched; last sunk in beggars brats,  
Eat up with vermin, starve, and die like Rats.   

Worlds of examples, I could here denote,  
As well in ancient days, as modern times:  
What were these Pagans past? what were they not?  
What are our present judgements? for like crimes?  
May not their Alcoran, serve to condemn us?  
If we ourselves, would from ourselves exam'ne us.   

May not Philosophers? the light of nature? 
Beasts and Philosophers condemn excess.   
Convince us, for like riot, and excess?  
Nay, even the beast (unreasonable creature)  
Stand up and witness, of our sensualness:  
They will not once exceed their appetite,  
But man will surfeit, with a deep delight.   

In using, we abuse, God's benefits,  
And turn his blessings, to an heavy curse;  
Surpassing temperance, we confound our wits,  
No health for body, less for soul remorse:  
All things were made for us, and we for God,  
But being abused, they serve us for his rod.   

Alas! where reason? when poor man misknowes  
The life of knowledge, reason did infuse;  
Shall understanding sleep? shall I suppose  
That will is weaker, than a strong excuse:  
He knows (I know) enough, that can misknow  
The thing he knows, it's well, in knowing so.   

Well said Alphonso, (knowledge to expone)  
That all what we could learn, by sight, or show; 
No perfection in human knowledge   
By airts, by science, by books to study on,  
Was the least part, of that we did not know:  
All what we know, we know but in a part,  
And that fails oft, corruption rules the heart.   

What thou canst know, another doth know more,  
And what he knows, is but a glimpsing glance:  
Who perfect is? nay none; who can deplore  
His weakness, ruled by counsel, not by chance!  
Man's knowledge, like the shade, is swallowed soon,  
That hangs between its substance, and the moon.   

He knows the ill, and in that knowledge rude,  
And cleaves to vice, as wool and briers are knit;  
Resolved to err, misknowing what is good,  
Rejects his soul; then in a frantic fit,  
Neglecting God, neglects his own salvation,  
And quaffing excess, drinks his own damnation.   

How Lord! these faults behelpd! teach me to mourn,  
That being humbled, I may call for grace:  
Let men presumptuous, 'gainst thy judgements spurn,  
And in the puddle of their labours trace:  
Save thou my soul, for now my quivering heart,  
twixt fear and hope, stands trembling at sins smart.   

A second Jonah, from thy voice I flee,  
And with shrunk Peter I thy name deny: 
Great defects in greatest Saints.   
I Ahab-like, keep spoils of sin for me,  
And harbour lust, in Lot's ebriety:  
These looks, that fell, from Zion on a Pond,  
Were not so foul as mine, nor half so fond.   

Unworthy I, to lift mine eyes above,  
Or that the earth, should bear me, undevoured:  
Nay, nor my friends, on me to cast their love,  
Nor saints pray for me, hath the truth deflowered:  
Yet, what God will, it needs must come to pass,  
He looks on what I am, not what I was.   

Let grace take room, that mercy soon may follow,  
Renew my spirit, O cleanse my heart from ill!  
Thy blood can purge me, though my guilt be hollow;  
Faith and repentance, have a piercing will:  
Infuse thy power, Lord strengthen me to turn  
Once to rejoice, and never more to mourn.   

As Daniel, with thy servants three forsook 
Daniels dainties, poor men's plen●es.   
To feed on Babel's delicates, and wine:  
But water, and poor pulse, they gladly took,  
And yet their faces, did for beauty shine:  
Lord grant with them, all worldly snares I may  
Forsake, and learn, to trace thy law, thy way.   

That kingly beast, or beastly king exposed  
Seven years to fields; ne'er failed so much as I:  
Nor these five kings, by Joshua enclosed,  
Brought forth, and foot-neckd, shamefully did die:  
Ne'er vexed him more (for they their lands defended)  
Than I am grieved, for having God offended.   

That Goshan flight, to a desartuous soil,  
Through uncouth way, deep seas, laid up in heaps!  
Ne'er reft from Egypt, such a swallowed spoil,  
With greater right (for now my soul it weeps)  
Than God's just judgements, might on me befall,  
Unless his mercy soon prevent my fall.   

These wanderings long, which Israel did recoil,  
Tossed to and fro, in vast Arabian bounds;  
Full forty years they spent, for twelve days' toil,  
Starved, slain, and quelled, still galld by savage wounds:  
This cross they bore, for grieving God so oft,  
But (ah!) my sins, for plagues do cry aloft.   

Now having seen, rude Lybians, naked, and bare,  
Stern barbarous Arabs, savage Sabuncks odd; 
●ges ●e better ●en bad ●ristians.   
Sword-sweying Turks, and faithless Jews alwhere,  
Base ruvid Berdoans, godless of a God:  
Yet when from me, on them I cast mine eye,  
My life I find, far worse, than theirs can be.   

The rustic Moorish, stern promiscuous sex,  
Nor Garolines, idolatrizing shame;  
The Turcomans, that even the devil do vex!  
In offering up, their firstborn, to his name:  
Nor Jamnites, with their foolish garlic god,  
Are worse than I, nor more deserve thy rod.   

Yet Lord! with Thee, there's mercy; and its true,  
Thou art not won, with multitude of words,  
Its force of tears from us, thy pity sue,  
Which thou regards, and pardon us affords:  
For words are formed, by the tongue, but tears,  
Speak from the heart, which thou most kindly hears.   

Use then few words (O silly soul) but weep,  
This is the heavenly language, and strong voice, 
In prayer use few words and many tea●   
That calls to God; for he our tears shall keep  
Fast bottled in his pity: Makes the choice  
Of tears; few words, let sighs, and sobs display,  
Thine inward grief; then tears begin to pray.   

Lord! thou wouldst not, to Herod speak; nor yet  
Would answer Pilate, urged by human power;  
But soon thou spoke, when weeping women set  
Their eyes on Thee; and streams of tears did pour:  
These Judges sought, advantage for thy ditty,  
But zions daughters, wept for Thee in pity.   

These great men's words, did reach but to thine ears, 
Christ's silence, and patience.   
But their warm drops, did pierce Thee to thine heart;  
Lord! thou takes care on them, and on their tears,  
Who mourn for others, when the righteous smart:  
But far more pity, on the sinful soul,  
That mourns for sin, and wails her errors foul.   

Oh! that my head were waters! and mine eyes!  
A source of tears, to weep both day and night;  
The people's sins, with theirs, mine own disease,  
Which greater grows, than I to bear have might:  
Such floods of tears, would then my grief disclose!  
In airy vapours, flanked with watery woes.   

This world's a valley, of perpetual tears,  
And what's the Scripture? but a springing well  
Of gushing tears? flowed from remorse and feare●;  
For godly sorrow, must with Mourners dwell:  
And who can mourn, unless that grace begin  
To work repentance; this grief expiates sin.   

All night could David, wet with tears his couch, 
David's tears wet his couch.   
And Prophets for the faults of Israel mourn:  
But (ah!) good God, when shall mine eyes avouch  
Such happy tears, that may with Thee sojourn:  
If not thy judgements, yet thy gracious love,  
Might melt mine eyes, and Ponds of sorrow move.   

Thou saidst, I will, compassion have on all,  
That pleaseth me, compassion, for to show;  
Be pleased thy love, may me redeem from thrall,  
Free will to pardon, thine; the debt I owe:  
How soon soeu'ra sinner, should repent him,  
Thou swore in truth, thou wouldst no longer shent him.   

Lord! grant my mind, may second these my words,  
And not invent, more than I practice can;  
If I deficient prove, good will affords  
My sacrifice; obedience is the man:  
Did not Abraham, this point paternize,  
Whose purpose, was, held for a sacrifice.   

David resolved, on zions lower flat,  
To build a Temple, for the living Lord:  
A daughter cloure, joined with Jehosophat,  
Benorthd, with Moriahs', squink devalling board:  
The Lord accepted the mind, his thought was to it,  
And said, Thy son, but not thyself shall do it.   

The widow's mite, was thankfully received,  
Good wills a sacrifice; this seldom fails;  
The will, although the purpose be deceived,  
Is not to blame, the good intent prevails: 
God accepts the will for the deed.   
The Lord accepts, even of the least desire  
We have to serve him, though we faint or tire.   

When Jacob had, twice ten years Laban served,  
Yet Laban, would have sent him empty gone:  
But he who serves the Lord, though he hath swerved,  
Shall not miss his reward, nor go alone:  
The Sprite of grace, shall second him, and love,  
Shall fill his soul, his faith shall mount above.   

Then forward go, so run you may obtain,  
Great is the prize, hold out the journey's end;  
Keep course, and run, thou'le get a glorious gain,  
He who endures, shall only there ascend:  
Rise ear, when young, and run, betimes then do it,  
Who gets the start, and holds, shall first come to it.   

The journeys long, the path is straight, and thorns  
Lie in the way, to prick thee, on both sides:  
Sin like a traitor, hourly thee suborns,  
To miss the mark, and blind thee, with cross guides:  
Yet constant run, run on, and be not sorry,  
So run thou mayst obtain, a crown of glory.   

We see, for a light prize, a man will run  
His utmost speed; and often lose his pains:  
That Caledonian hunter, never won  
By strife of foot, a hare was all his gains:  
But he who runs this course, shall earn a treasure,  
The butt of Heaven, must be his mark and measure.   

Then blessed is he! keeps diet, for this race!  
And fits his soul, to take celestial physic; 
Christ is our Physician.   
Faith is the compound, and the potion grace,  
Christ the Physician, mercy our soul's music:  
Then pardon seeks our suit, last, love crownes all,  
And reigns with glory, rivals in one soul.   

For this prepare thyself, since our short days  
Are but a blast; and yet our longest time  
Is scarce a thought; look! what experience says,  
That space, twixt womb and tomb, (O falling slime!)  
Is but a point, then see! and not suspend,  
A happy life, must have an happy end.   

Our day of death, excels our day of birth,  
And better were't, with mourning folks to live,  
Than like to fools, that in the house of mirth  
Would pass their time, and would that time survive:  
Relenting cries, all times more needful grows,  
Than laughing feasts: blessed are all godly woes.   

How vain are frolic youths? to spend their prime? 
The insolency of youth.   
In wantonness and sloth, lust galling joys;  
They quite forget, the substance of base slime,  
Till rotten age, ramverse their masked toys:  
And then diseases, hang about their bones,  
To plague their flesh with sores, their hearts with groans.   

The concupiscence, of youths sqink-laid eye,  
Which lust begets, and inflammation brangles,  
●s but the bait, invelops luxury,  
To follow practice, custom still entangles:  
The eye supports the thought, the thought desire,  
And then corruption, sets delight on fire.   

Yet youth remember, in thy days of youth!  
Thy sole Creator, remember thou must die!  
●est that these days may come, when helpless ruth,  
●hall say, No pleasure in them, thou canst see:  
Remember! in thy youth! O youth remember!  
Thy Christ and Maker, thou Mayst be his member.   

●hall youth take pleasure, in vain wantonness,  
And with his fleshly lusts, go serve the devil:  
Then when grown old, in midst of rottenness,  
Would turn to God, and shun his former evil:  
This can not be, when thou canst sin no more,  
Thou wouldst serve God, whom thou didst hate before.   

●are thou example take, of the good thief,  
Nay, Christ was once, for all but sacrificed: 
Delay in repentance is dangerous.   
This can not ground thy faith, nor lend relief,  
That one thief's mercy, thine is paternized:  
Can thou repent at will, choose time, and place,  
Nay, that falls short, its God who gives the grace.   

●s any sure, when death shall call him hence,  
Nothing more certain, more uncertain too;  
Time, place, and how, concerns God's providence:  
Then arm thyself, take heed, what thou shouldst do?  
Bridle thy youth, amend thy life, repent,  
Such fruit is pleasant, from thy springtide sent.   

The morn is cooler, than the sun-scorched day,  
The tender juice, more sweeter than old sap:  
The flowery grass, more fresh than withered hay?  
The flourish fairer, than the trunk, we trap:  
So days of youth, more savoury are to God,  
Than crooked age, all crooked ways have trod.   

Would thou live well, and live to live for aye,  
Begin at God, obey his word, and law:  
Love, fear, and serve him, make him all thy stay,  
Honour thy Parents, of the Judge stand awe:  
And neighbour love conserve: But ah! this age!  
Can show none such, but rot with lust and rage.   

The fin-flowne Dolphin, after flying fish,  
Ne'er swimed so swift, as youth hunt after lust;  
They dip presumption in a poisoned dish,  
And fearless tumble, in a fearful gust:  
They wrestle not to wrest, but strives with strife  
To humour pleasures, in their headstrong life.   

It's incident to youth, to mock old age,  
And usual too for age, to jeer at youth: 
Youth and age are disagreeing.   
The one he dotes, the other plays the page,  
A fondling foxed, with wantonness and sloth:  
Yet age is best, because experience schools him,  
And youth is worst, 'cause vice and pleasure fools him.   

Then twixt them both, the golden mean is best,  
Neither too young, nor doting days are good;  
Yet happy both, if faithfully they rest  
With confidence, fixed on their saviour's blood:  
For it can purge the old, of what is past,  
And cleanse the young, post after sin so fast:   

Both Timothy and Titus, othersmoe,  
Of rarest worth, though young, their youth-head chained  
In cords of temperance; made virtue grow  
In fortitude; by which they glory gained:  
Nay; Alexander, in the prime of youth,  
Was wondrous chaste, till strangers taught him sloth.   

The Persian manners spoilt him: But behold!  
What good Aurelius said, the Roman King? 
continency by Pagans commended.   
If I were sure, that lust were not controlled,  
Nor punished by the gods, above which ring:  
Yet for the fact itself, I will disprove it,  
Cause why? its filthy, base, and who can love it.   

Would God that younglings, and the fry of nature,  
Could so resolve, and play the Pagans part;  
Yea, old and young, and every human Creature!  
In this were blessed, to take these words to heart:  
Then modesty should live, Religion flourish,  
And good example, one, another nourish.   

A noble youth, been asked, whether he went?  
Replied; he to the house of tears did go;  
To mourn with Mourners, that he might lament,  
And learn to weep, when he did older grow:  
If hethnicks can show Christians such instruction.  
Our blind-set eyes, had need of their conduction.   

Who sow in tears, shall surely reap in joy,  
For godly grief, shall blessedness inherit:  
They who thus mourn, and thus their souls employ,  
Are firmly shelterd, under Jesus merit:  
Who shall transchange, their grief, in glorious gladness,  
True happiness expels, all sorrowing sadness.   

Blessed were these tears, were spent, near Cajaphs house! 
A brief tract of bitter repentance.   
By Peter grieved, for imbecility,  
Brought down so low he was, nought could arrouze  
His hope, for pardon, of infirmity:  
Yard-closde alone, he wept, and woeful he,  
With doleful cries, thus spoke, on flexed knee.   

Have I (would he have said) denied my Lord,  
With triple oaths, before the cock crew twice:  
Which he foretold; ah! fear my faith had smord!  
His looks accused me, I had done it thrice:  
Was it not I, who vowed with him to die,  
And now forsworn, I from my Master flee.   

Was I not Cephas, lately thought a Rock?  
And now the tongue, of a base serving maid,  
Hath made me shrink, and turn a stumbling block;  
We were but twelve, and one hath him betrayed;  
And I (as worst) have sworn, I knew him not,  
Moved by the voice, of a weak woman's throat.   

O! that a Drudge! should thus prevail 'gainst me,  
Who serves for wage, to him the Altar served:  
A slendrer weed, could no poor Hireling be,  
And yet o'er me she triumphs; I have swerved:  
This was God's will, and now it's come to pass,  
To show my weakness, with a weaker lass.   

It's strange! two Drudges made me falter thrice,  
With quiuring oaths, and shiuring words deny  
The Lord of life: How could such hounds surprise  
My stead fast love? and not with him to die:  
No Judge controlled me, yet two slavish snakes,  
Filled me with fear, with it, my Lord forsakes.   

How frail was I and fragile, to succumb?  
Mine hopes, unto such Wranglers void of grace;  
I might have silence kept, and so sit dumb, 
Peter's confession▪   
Till Cajaphas had tried me, having place:  
But I a Weakling, to a straggling sound,  
Forsook my vow, and did myself confound.   

A silly fisher wretch, (no less he thought)  
Was I, when God, from slavery did me call;  
And now to shrunk infirmity am brought,  
Worse than Judaic law, from Christ to fall:  
Who me selected, to leave my nets, and when,  
He said, Thou shalest, a fisher be of men.   

How shall I answer make? what shall I do?  
His sighs, thus sobbed, for groans, and melting eyes,  
Were all his words: Or what's my kindred too?  
So base near Sydon borne? that my degrees  
By birth were nought, but fisher men and fools,  
The scum of Nature, lived by warbling tools.   

Was I a chosen vessel, thus to shrink,  
When erst in Gethsemane, my sword I drew:  
And now begins, to flatter, lie, and wink,  
Yea; fails and falls, with words, and oaths untrue:  
I might have with, my fellow flyers fled,  
But I would follow, and forsake my Head.   

Love bade me venture, fear bade me stay back,  
Faith forceless fled, a far I followed on him;  
Poor fainting I, though forward now falls slack,  
I went to see, what doom, they gave upon him:  
Where courting Cajaphs fire (O snaring sin!)  
Warming without, too cold I grew within.   

I might have fled, to hide me in some cave,  
But curious I, would swallow shame and fear:  
Could I sustain his cross, his death and grave?  
To suffer that, which nature could not bear:  
All helpful he! would he crave help unto it,  
Nay, fond was I, to think that man could do it.   

Alone would he! O! all sufficient he!  
Straight undergo, his father's hot displeasure:  
Both God and Man, our Lord behoud to be,  
So weighty was that wrath, laid up in treasure  
For sinful man; but he all-conquering he!  
Triumphed o'er Hell, got us the victory.   

My Lord, but spoke, Whom seek ye? (O strong power!) 
Peter reprehending himself   
And backwards fell, the Sergeants on the ground;  
He knew, confessed, it was their time, his hour,  
For so his love, to mankind did abound:  
That as by Man, all flesh, accursed, should die,  
Even so by Man, all should redeemed be.   

Was I not witness, to his word, and deed?  
His miracles and mercies, works of love;  
The dumb did speak, the Deaf did hear, the dead,  
He raised to life; the cripples straight did move;  
The palsies, Paraliticks, withered hands,  
He helped, and healed; the blind their sight commands.   

Was he not Christ, the lamb, the son of God  
Whom I confessed, even face to face afore;  
My souls Messiah! who bore that heavy load  
Of Indignation; sinners to restore:  
Both sacrifice, and Sacrificer plight!  
A wondrous mercy, set before my sight.   

For which; vile worm, how could my lips deny?  
The Lord of glore, my life, my love, my light;  
Was he not there? and was not I hard by?  
When that his look, gave me this sorrowing night:  
Yet when my souls sharp eyen, saw what was done,  
My carnal eyes, in floods of tears did run.   

Faith wrought repentance, grace laid hold on grace,  
My bitter streams, like brine, extremely gushed: 
Peter's tears consummated in peace.   
I wrung my hands, and knocked my breast apace,  
whilst sighs, sad sobs, from deep-fetchd groanings rushed:  
Then joy appeared, my conscience was assured,  
The fault was pardoned, and my soul secured.   

Thus Peter shrunk, his soul was humbled low,  
(Not like to Popes, who his succession claim)  
He sorrowing fell, and made contrition show  
That he had failed: So did himself disclaim  
From first election, and from former grace,  
And caused remorse, give sad repentance place.   

Then tears, O bitter tears! relenting woes!  
And airy vapours, from salt-raining eyes;  
Made windy sighs, and trembling groans disclose  
His lip-lost fall, the cause of his unease.  
Thus tears are blessed, which godly sorrow brings,  
Each drop doth serve thy soul, to heaven for wings.   

Though tears distil, and trickle down thy cheeks,  
So vanish quite, and seem to thee as lost:  
Their air ascends, thy heart to God then speaks! 
The blessed fruits of godly tears.   
He harbours all, and is a gracious host:  
The Font he loves, and that's remorse for sin,  
Which his grace works, before thou canst begin.   

Lord! frame my will to thine, and form my heart,  
To serve and fear thee, magnify thy name;  
In this obedience, thou mayst grace impart,  
For from thy favour, I must comfort claim;  
Grant me thine inward peace, refresh my mind,  
With sparks of love, let sighs thy mercy find.   

All Mortals are, by nature miserable,  
Then mourning is the habit, we should wear;  
Who sin deplores, his case is comfortable,  
Yet none can shun, pressed nature's sorrowing fear:  
Flee where thou wilt, thou shalt not find relief,  
Though thou changst place, thou canst not change thy grief▪   

This life is but a Font, of springing tears, 
mortality is miserable.   
Weeping we come, into this world, with cries;  
And weeping we go out, fraught full of fears,  
There's nought but sorrow, in our journey lies:  
For whilst within, this veil of tears we bide,  
We're load with mourning, grief is nature's guide.   

Jacob been asked, by Pharo of his age,  
Replied, that few, and evil, were the days  
Of his abode, in fleshly pilgrimage:  
He gave this life, no better stile nor praise:  
Then sure we're strangers, wand'ring here and there,  
On this world's stage, each acting less or mair.   

Nay, we are pilgrims here, tossed to and fro,  
There's no place permanent, on earth below: 
man's a pilgrim here.   
Our dwelling is above, then let us go  
To th'heavenly Canaan, where all joys flow:  
Jerusalem, Jerusalem's above,  
A glorious stance, where sits the King of love.   

It's not Judeas' city, built with hands,  
The holy grave, and calvary contains;  
With Moriah, where Sal'mons' Temple stands,  
Nor zions seat, where David's tower remains,  
Nor Pilat's Hall, with far more relics rare,  
This City is eternal, great, and fair.   

Nor is it compassed, with Jehosophat,  
●nd on the south, with strait gehinnons' valley;  
Nor on the north, with Ennons den half flat,  
Nor walled about, lest Arabs it assail:  
This city is, impregnable, and more,  
It's fenced about, with everlasting power.   

●deed like Olivet, it overtops  
●his squink Hebraic city; and excels 
Our heavenly Jerusalem.   
●llearthly Mansions, which destruction lops  
●ith fatal ruin: O what sounding knells?  
Fall from this fabric, Angels singing music!  
To lure our souls, to take celestial physic.   

●hen come stressed thou, who loaden is and weary,  
●nd here refresh, thy fatigating soul:  
●ake haste, and come; and now no longer tarry!  
●est others bar Thee, from Bethesda's pool;  
When grace would touch thy spirit, thy heart is troubled  
But be not slow, lest loss on loss be doubled.   

●onsider Lord! these times wherein we live!  
●d harken to, thy chosen dear Elect;  
●t Israel joy, and thine enemies grieve,  
●o time good God, their sacrifice neglect;  
But hear, and help them, guard them round about,  
With heavenly hosts, and thine angelic rout.   

Look down on thy stressed Zion, and her tears, 
zions tears   
And bottle up her woes, within the urn  
Of thy remembrance: Grievous grow her fears!  
By Wolves in Lambskins, topsolturvie turn:  
Most fearful seem, these whirlwinds of time:  
Bred from the base, seditious dregs of slime.   

Such wound her sides, but can not dim her light,  
The blood of Saints, is her espousal seed;  
When darkest storms, would theat to bring down night,  
Thy Spouse triumphs, in Christ her sovereign head:  
No wind so high, nor wave so great, but grace,  
Can calm stern blasts, when thou seest time and place.   

When Man is snard by sin, and seems as lost,  
Then God draws near, and makes his Sprite prepare  
The soul for grace: So when forlorn or crossed,  
Christ's Church appears, that even her Saints despair:  
Then comfort comes, the Lord will not exile her,  
Nor let the spite and craft, of men defile her.   

Pure like the gold is she, and crystal clear,  
White as the snow, and sweeter than the honey; 
zions beauty.   
Thy virgin Spouse, most near to Thee and dear!  
Is far more precious, than ten Worlds of money:  
The silver-furnace tried, is not so fine,  
Nor half so sweet, tastes Rethimosean wine.   

Lord! look upon her crosses, and relieve  
Her troubled Saints for Thee, and for thy son: 
zions crosses.   
She springs through briers, and 'mongst sharp thorns doth liv●  
Like to the Rose, in midst of thistles won:  
Her bloody foes confound, protect her Saints,  
Erect, maintain their zeal; Lord hear their plaints.   

Fair is thy sister, sweet thy spousal love,  
Her scent is bundled myrrh, fixed on her breasts:  
She's thine clad with thy power, thine harmless Dove!  
For in the Garden, of thy grace, she feasts:  
Come clasp her in thine arms! come gracious Lord!  
And show thy Virgin Queen, misericord.   

Red shines the blush of zions fragrant flowers,  
Green spring her boughs, like Liban Cedars tall;  
Swift flee her wings, to court her Paramours,  
Known to her friends, but never known to all:  
Whose purple robes are pure, and finer far,  
Than Tyrians wore, ere they were sacked by war.   

Like the Apple, in midst, of forest trees,  
Thy Welbeloveds so, 'mongst sons of Men:  
The fairest 'mongst Women, with radiant eyes,  
Would succour have, to save her from the Den  
Of darkness black: Lift up thy face and see!  
The spices, and ripe fruit of her figtree.   

Whose breasts are like two twins, 'mongst lilies fed,  
Her rosy cheeks, more brighter than the sun:  
One mark she bears, that in the soul is bred,  
Another badge, lasts till our glass be run:  
The thirds a spark, that mounts to Heaven above,  
The light of Saints, the love of endless Love.   

Her richest garment, truth and righteousness,  
And that's broudred, with mercy, grace, and peace;  
Faithful in all, and patient in distress;  
Constant to stand; unchangeable of pace:  
And yet her beauty, Heavens no fairer fix,  
Than men's tradition, would the same eclipse.   

She's Catholic now, not tied to a place,  
As Jewrie land, where God was only known;  
Christ's Church, points forth the Universe; for grace,  
Came with th'Evangel, peace to Pagans shown:  
The Gentiles than were called, as well as Jews,  
For mercy came with Jesus; gospel news.   

And yet there many darkness love, than light,  
For sin craves silence, and umbragious places;  
The cloud's their covert, and their friend the night, 
sinful ●ust sudden darkness.   
The day their foe, their Darling obscure faces:  
Thus blind inveigling vice, turns darkness dark,  
For jet-black sin, can dim their foggy work.   

Too many darkness love, so sin provides,  
That blinded eyes, must follow blind tradition:  
Blind are they bred, but blinder far their guides,  
Who mask poor Ignorants, with superstition:  
Whose Church maintains, false miracles and treason,  
Blood, murder, incest, powder plots, and poison.   

Besides this Church idolatrous, and drunk  
With indulgence and pardons, Policies,  
At Limbus forged: Absurd for gain; and sunk  
In Purgatories, avarice, and lies:  
There other orient Churches, err, and fall,  
From gospel truth; they know it not at all.   

The Aethiopian, Abbasins, the Moor,  
Egyptian Gopties; Chelfanes, Georgians, Greeks,  
Nostrans, Syriacks, Jacobines, what more?  
Gross Armenians, th'Amaronite, that seeks  
Talp-drawne ignorance: all of which do swerve,  
Tradition is the Mistress, whom they serve.   

I could dive here, in their distracted conceit,  
And blind surmises, sown these parts abroad:  
But I suspend; yet here's a dangerous state,  
To cast opinions, on the face of God:  
Their Patriarchs like themselves, do play the fool,  
That will not square Religion, with Christ's rule.   

O! if I could with Jeremy lament!  
The world's great errors, and my fallings too:  
And with grieved Niniveh, in time repent!  
Lest with my slippings, justice me undo:  
Thrice happy were I, in this resolution,  
Ere death enhance my life, bring dissolution.   

Yet soul despair not, God is merciful, 
Plenty of mercy.   
Long suffering, patient, full of kind compassion:  
His love to Man, is passing plentiful,  
Whose grace and mercy, flow on our confession:  
For if one tear for sin, fall from our eyes,  
He's pleased to pardon our infirmities.   

How gracious then is God? how rich I say?  
Is Christ's redemption, fraught with saving blood:  
If we have faith in him, if we can pray?  
And lift our eyes, fixed on the holy Rude:  
And then to suffer, in our zeal those pangs,  
Our Saviour thold, in this our welfare hangs.   

My merit is thy mercy, that's the end!  
Although good works, they are the way to heaven:  
Yet not the cause, why I may there ascend,  
That in thy love remains, makes mine odds even:  
For if thou hadst not died? what had I been?  
And if not risen? what had my soul seen?   

Thou wilt not gracious God, break the bruised reed,  
Nor quench the smoking flax; for said thou hast,  
That if our sins, were dy'd in scarlet red!  
Thou'le make them white as snow, to let us taste  
Of grace and gladness: 'Cause the broken heart  
Thou'le not reject; contrition would convert.   

Lord! thou ordained, that death no flesh should shun,  
Cause why? it was, the doom and curse of sin;  
And so the punishment, of thy dear son,  
Which for our sakes, thy judgements cast him in:  
That as the devil, prevailed by a Tree,  
So by a Tree, his power should vanquished be.   

Then let the sight, of thy transgressions rude,  
Draw drops of tears, from thine inunding eyes;  
Since they did draw, so many drops of blood  
From thy redeemer's wounds; thy soul to ease:  
And look what David said, in faith and fear,  
His sins were heavier, than his back could bear.   

Then great was that sad burden Jesus bore,  
In soul and body, to extirp this curse;  
His father's wrath; our punishment therefore;  
Our endless doom; eternal his secourse: 
●hrists ●ssion ●r salva●on.   
His agonies, our happiness implored,  
His bloody sweet, our detriments restored.   

As in a garden, first our sin began,  
So in a Garden, our redemption sprung:  
That in like place, where Adam, the first Man  
Was by the serpent's craft, exactly stung:  
So, so, in Gethsemaine, the Lord of light,  
Triumphed o'er sin, put Satan to the flight.   

Then Christ is that pure glass, wherein we spy  
Our wants, our faults, or what amiss is done;  
Within, instruction, without, examples lie,  
Here death proclaimed, and there salvation:  
The lists are set, then how can we come in,  
But by repentance, sorrowing for sin.   

How precious were these tears of Magdalen?  
Who washed Christ's feet, with eye-repenting drops; 
Magdalen● tears.   
Yea, with her hair, did dry these feet again,  
And kissed them, with her lip-bepearled chops:  
Last, did anoint them, with a costly oil,  
For which the traitor Judas, checked such spoil.   

Thrice sacred work! but more blessed oil and tears,  
Spent in the presence, of her soul's Redeemer,  
To expiate sin: Whom now the dead endears  
To be a Saint; for so did Christ esteem her:  
And for which love, its memory should last,  
From age to age, till all ages be past.   

Besides her own salvation, she became,  
A daily follower, to her Lord and Master;  
Yea, ministered things needful; fed zeals flame  
With heavenly food, whereof she was a taster:  
Nay, to his death and grave, she never left him,  
And witness bore, how thence his Godhead reft him.   

Came not kind Mary? weeping to this grave?  
To look for Christ, but could not find him there;  
The angel spoke, and asked, Whom would you have?  
Said she, To see my Lord, is all my care,  
But he's not here! (alas!) he's stolen away!  
And where he's laid, I know not, nor what way.   

The winding-sheet she found, closed at both ends,  
And close by the tomb side, she sat her down:  
She sought, she felt, she searched, and still suspends,  
He was, and was not there: back to the town  
She bends her face, yet stayed, and cried, and wept,  
My Lord is stolen, whom soldiers watched, and kept.   

The heavy stone rolled back, which forty men,  
Could scarce advance; yet where's my loving Lord?  
I'll run and tell, let the Apostles ken!  
What villainies this night, the Jews afford:  
Yet gone, she soon turned back, love Mastered heart,  
For from the Sepulchre, she would not part.   

Nor did dark midnight fright her, nor the sight.  
Of two bright Angels, set at either end  
Of his interrement; nor their words affright  
Her mourning zeal; whose scope did deeper tend,  
To seek the Lord, who gave her light and grace,  
And till she found him, would not leave the place.   

At last Christ, in, a human shape appeared,  
Whom she mistook, and for a Gardner deemed:  
Said he, Why wepst thou? whom seek'st thou? she feared, 
Christ reveals himself to Mary Magdalen.   
Said, Tell me, if, thou stole him, us redeemed:  
Then Jesus named Mary; she turns about,  
And cried Rabboni, with a joyful shout.   

This lessons us, that when we fast or pray,  
We should not faint, but hope our suit shall speed:  
He'll come, and come in time, though he delay,  
Our suit he'll grant, though we mistake the deed:  
Then Mary-like, let faith, charge hope, and do it,  
Fail not, be instant, grace shall bring thee to it.   

Christ, from the worldly wise and great, kept back  
These mysteries, which silly ones did see:  
And why? his will, did this poor woman take,  
To witness that he rose, and rose on high:  
That by his resurrection, we might rise,  
To cut the clouds, and rent the azure skies.   

As mines of gold and silver, still are found  
On barren Hills, and scurrile fruitless parts:  
So faith, so fear, so zeal, Religion sound!  
Are chiefly placed, and fixed, in poormen's hearts:  
Did not Christ's wisdom, this foresee, and choosd  
The scums of Nature, whom the world refused.   

Lord! grant with Magdalen, I spend my tears!  
With sighing sadness, to implore thy pity;  
That when my conscience, shall be void of fears,  
I then may know, thou hast destroyed my ditty:  
Speak peace, I pray thee, to this soul of mine,  
Since what I have, is all, and only thine.   

As fire reserves, two properties well mixed, 
Fire hath two properties.   
The one to warm, the other light to shoe:  
So mercy hath two branches, better fixed,  
Love to give peace, and pardon to forgo:  
For pity rules the helm, and man's distress  
Craves calm, in midst, of stormy wickedness.   

Like so, are troubles, th'whetstone that doth square  
Stressed hearts with prayer; humble them most low:  
Why? cause adversities, they still prepare  
The soul with patience, to sustain the blow:  
All crosses to the just, their well intend,  
The cause being Christ's▪ their sufferings in him end.   

Thou Joy of joys, sweeter far than sweetness,  
Thy mercy is that balm, which heals my sores:  
Thou peace, and pity, oynt my wounds with wetness,  
No drought of sin, can chink, my weeping gores:  
Why? cause each sin, begets a source of tears,  
When sin evapourats, than grace appears.   

Then pardon, fraught with pity, stops the Font,  
Lest sorrow melt the soul, in anxious sadness:  
Deep sobs, and windy sighs, above they mount!  
Whence they return, surcharged with godly gladness:  
No fin so stern, but mercy can suppress it,  
If with repenting grief, we but confess it.   

Lord save me from presumptuous sins, and save  
My soul from sins desert; mercy is thine!  
All my transgressions, kind remission crave,  
They lie before thee (though the fault is mine)  
Begging for pardon, pardon they implore,  
And in my frailness, guiltiness deplore.   

A wounded conscience, who can bear that load?  
O racking sting! that galls the quiuring soul:  
All sweet chastisements, of thy gentle rod,  
Are cleansers, for, to purge our errors foul:  
But this mad grief, contracts a gnawing worm,  
Tempestuous whirlwinds, of an endless storm   

What quick evasion? shall my flight contrive? 
Ther'si no flying from God's presence.   
To hide me from thy face, what way? or where?  
If in the depths I drench, lo! thou canst dive:  
If to the utmost coasts? lo! thou art there!  
What umbrage, Cell, or Cave, the world about,  
Can menascond, but thou wilt find me out.   

Above, else deep beneath, or here below,  
Thy presence is: Then whither shall I flee?  
There is no point, but that point thou dost know,  
Though smaller, than, the smallest hair can be:  
No rocks, nor hills, nor darkness can me night,  
Nor blackness veil, from thy all-seeing sight.   

Then in a word, there's no refuge for me,  
But fly to thee, whose sight I can not shun:  
To beg for peace, and grace to mortify  
My sinful lusts; before my glass be run:  
Lord! let mine eyes distil, like melting sleet!  
Or mary-like, who washed with tears thy feet.   

It is the mind, and not the mass thou seeks,  
My spirit is thine, and longs to be refined: 
God ●aves the heart.   
By it thou know'st, my secret ways and creeks,  
Whether I be, to good, or ill inclined:  
My soul's the Ruther, of my journey here,  
Be thou my Pilot, safely loof, and steer.   

Conduct me straight, to thy celestial Port,  
That in the Sabbath, of eternal rest,  
My soul may reign: And with the Angels court  
Thy face, with joys, that cannot be expressed:  
Where all content, in fullness of rich pleasures,  
Shall them attend, in overjoying measures.   

Who here within, this Domicile of dust?  
And boggy baggage, of a stinking lump?  
Would stay to eat, the excrements of lust,  
And feed on filthiness, that rotten stump:  
Nay, none but Abjects; holy Ones rejoice,  
To be dissolved, make happiness their choice.   

But some heart-sunk, in worldly greed and cares,  
Would build their Paradise, in this base life:  
And by extremes, involve themselves in snares,  
Hating the truth, in falsehood spend their strife:  
And what envy, can not accomplish? they  
Will make extortion, all their hatred sway.   

Can thou forgiveness crave, for thy misdeeds?  
And will not first, forgive another's wrongs:  
How can thou pray, or think thy prayer speeds?  
When in thy heart, thou malice keeps; and long:  
To be revenged: This is no Christian life,  
To pray and praise, when sunk in spite and strife.   

Away with envy, malice, pride and hate,  
Let not the sun go down, upon thy wrath:  
Live to the Lord, and live in holy state,  
Love one another, there's the mark of faith!  
Live, and live holy, whom thou serves regard!  
He'll come, and come in haste, with thy reward.   

Then be not Spider-like, that doth exhaust  
Itself, in works, of little use, and time: 
'greed breeds en●.   
Nor like the Indians rude, absurd, devast,  
That will give gold, for glass, rich gems for slime:  
And precious stones, for toys, and trifling things,  
Which strangers bring; knives, whistles, beads, brass rings   

All smell of greed, though not of perfect wit,  
Then hang not down thy head, for lack of trash:  
Let Croesus be, thy Lydian map! he'll fit  
Thy greedy humours, with a falling dash:  
All which are shades, of floating vanities,  
Man's only constant, in unconstancies.   

Shall rich Saturnia, with her cramming gold? 
A contempt of riches.   
Deceive my heart, and move my mind to swell:  
Or with false looks, vain hopes to me unfold?  
To snare my thoughts, which virtue may expel:  
A fig for worldly baits; a tush for greed!  
For being poor, I'm rich in having need.   

And why? 'cause poverty, that is so light,  
As being weighed, in balance with the wind,  
Doth hang aloft: Then can not seem no weight!  
Nor dare to sit, as sad, on my free mind:  
Say, if it should, it were some fainting thought  
Would me deject; for poverty is nought.   

Then all my riches, is content I see,  
A stock more sure, than Wealth can Worldlings lend:  
Poor was I borne, and as poor must I die,  
Unless good luck, a chest, to death extend:  
Get I a sheet, to wrap up my dead bones,  
I'm richer far than gold, or precious stones.   

Seven foot of ground, and three foot deep I crave,  
The passing bell, to sound mine obsequy:  
Gold, lands, and rents, the living world I leave,  
Else if I smart, by streams, by floods, or sea:  
Then shall some fishes belly, be my grave,  
No winding sheet, my corpse shall need to have.   

But stay! what passion, thus diverts my mind?  
Dust shall to dust, and earth to earth return;  
If I can here, true peace of conscience find,  
What loss? what trash? what cross? can make me mourn:  
For when laid low, and having lost this frame,  
My soul shall mount to Heaven, from whence it came.   

The soul it is, of heavenly substance framed, 
The immortal substance of the soul.   
Breathed in at man's nostrils, by his Maker;  
A spirit invisible, God's image named,  
With whom of Essence, infinite partaker:  
Will, mem'ry, knowledge, faculties divine,  
Are my soul's socialls, reasondo confyne.   

Will, is to rule, and knowledge to conceive,  
And memory, a local power assumes;  
Knowledge, as chief, makes understanding crave  
A league with love, whose work true bliss resumes:  
Lo! there's the fruit, of this celestial mould!  
Which never here shall rot, nor hence grow old.   

Then teach me, Lord! to count my sliding days,  
That I to wisdom, may my heart apply:  
So shall thy statutes, guide my slippery ways,  
And circumspection, all my actions try:  
Who knew his date of life? and might attain it?  
Would learn to live well, else he would disdain it.   

We're apt to note, the lives of other men,  
But not our own; self-love, our sense divides;  
Like two ships, under sail, and one course, ken?  
Both sailors think, each other swifter glides  
Than their own ship: So we can check and show  
The lives of others, and our own misknow:   

Our hairs grown grey, our desires then grow green,  
And after earthly things, we hunt amain;  
We love this world so well, as oft it's seen!  
That we are dead with grief, ere death hath slain  
Us with destruction: Age would fain be young,  
To nurse the serpent, that his soul hath stung.   

Man lives like him, who fell into a pit,  
Yet caught a grippe, by a branched tree, and hung  
Above his head, a honey Combe did sit,  
Whence his deep appetite, delight had wrung:  
Below two gnawing worms, razing its root,  
The treefals down, and 'greed devoured the fruit.   

The pit our grave, the Tree, this mortal life,  
This honey comb, vain pleasures of the world; 
The misery and shortness of life.   
Two gnawing worms, the speedy thiftu'ous strife,  
Of night and day, wherein our days are hurled:  
Timeclouds our light, the glass is run, we fall,  
Down to the dust, where death triumphs o'er all.   

Then darkness covers Man, he mouldering rots,  
Earth gluts him in her womb, away he goes!  
His better part, resumes one, of two lots,  
No shade, nor sepulchre, can it enclose:  
It either mounts above, or falls beneath,  
There is no midst, can stop, or stay its path.   

Each course is violent, faith conquers Heaven,  
By force and wrestling, in the way of light;  
Which straight is, and few enter: Most are driven  
Down to the gulf, of ever-sorrowing night:  
That way is broad, where numbers, numberless,  
Fall in earth's Cell, plunged in cursed woefulness.   

Such as the life's, so frequently the death,  
The devil's deceit, prolongs us in delay:  
Then wouldst thou flee that pestilence? set faith  
Against temptation: run the happy way  
That leads to life: Make thy confession clear!  
And beg for peace, than mercy will draw near.   

Yet ah! how frail am I? how weak? how wretchd?  
That even my conscience, trembles at my case:  
Alas! poor sleeping soul! how art thou stretchd?  
In drowsy dulness, void of good, and grace:  
Pluck up thyself, condole, confess, convert,  
And strive to stand, although thy steps divert.   

The compass stands not, solide to the Pole,  
Though with the Loadstone, any point is touched;  
But hath some variation, we control,  
To the East or West, as hourly is avouchd:  
So none of our best deeds, though touched with grace,  
Points God amain, deflection mars our pace.   

Which made Saint Paul, ingenuously confess,  
That by himself, he nothing knew, nor could  
Be thereby justified; 'cause his digress 
frailty and falling follow man.   
Was judged by God; the Loadstone true that would  
Point forth each point; and yet forget, forgive,  
The least, the main, the guilt, for which we grieve.   

The Woman for adultery, been accused,  
Was brought to be adjudgd before our Lord:  
Their thoughts he saw, and what deceit they usde;  
They fled, she stood, and found misericord:  
Woman (said he) thine adversars are gone,  
I'll not condemn thee, mercy is my Throne.   

How good and gracious, was the light of grace,  
That purged, and pardoned, this Woman unrequested:  
She's gone, and freed, the law could take no place,  
No room for Moses, when his Master feasted:  
For why? from double death, he set her free,  
The Judge was pleader, he discussed the play.   

Alas! when I recall, preteriat times,  
What loss find I, in my lost days and deeds:  
For moral slips, a world of weightier crimes,  
And to condemn me, justice, judgement pleads:  
Yet stay sad soul, conceive, confess, condole,  
With me my sins, my frailties I'll control.   

What frivole fancys, flow from my flown mind?  
Which often blind my judgement; and divert  
My better aims; whilst reason can not find  
The cause of such delusions; for I smart  
In their velocity; abusing will,  
They thrall combustion, to assist their ill.   

What foolish pranks, in gesture, deed, or word? 
The varieties of vanity.   
What fond conceits, in flash-flowne merryments?  
What scoffing squibs, which taunting mocks afford?  
What idle strains, in vain spent compliments?  
Have I not done; and in such actions quick,  
To fool my fellows, with a jeering trick.   

This thought, that surmise, this flash, that reglance,  
Of sudden, motions, else of flown conceits:  
More voluble they were, than wide-winged chance!  
Which tops all things, all where, and at all dates:  
There's nought more swift than fancy, nought more fond,  
More light than wind, which flees, and is not found.   

Then, Lord, engraft in me, a constant heart,  
Sound, grave, and solid, holy, wise, and just:  
Prudent in much, and provident in part,  
That all, my all, may in thy mercy's trust:  
Rule thou the Ruther of my foggy mind,  
Lest in dark mists I wander, and turn blind.   

Bring me unto myself, from outward things,  
And from myself, even to thyself, bring me;  
That I in chaste will, and pure desirings,  
May be like Thee, as I'm in nature: see?  
Lord set me wholly, ●on fire with thy love,  
That my lights, and delights, in Thee may move.   

This Worlds a map, of transitory toys!  
Which to expostulate, were labour lost;  
A shadow masked, with hypocritick joys,  
falls in the face, and hollow in the cost:  
And what's our love, or life? when dead, ere rotten?  
Our short stay here, is presently forgotten.   

Man like to vapour melts, wealth as the wind,  
Doth flee away; and honour like fond dreams,  
Dissolves to nought; so Parentage we find  
Unnatural oft: Yea, children by extremes,  
Rebellious grow: So mighty men grow mean,  
And mean men great; this change is daily seen.   

Would God men's sons, could learn how Storks they do!  
Who, when their old grown weak, diseased, distressed,  
Their young ones bear them, on their backs; and lo!  
They flee with them all where, from nest, to nest;  
With care they keep them, bring them what they need,  
Though they themselves, have their own young to feed.   

It's strange etherial love, should pass human!  
For our young brood, would have their Parents die;  
That they might get their goods, and thereby gain, 
●gratefull ●ildren to ●ed pa●ts.   
If poor, so want, they will them straight deny:  
Nay, slight them, scorn them, rail on their distress,  
Thus they decline, and here their wretchedness.   

(lovelesse age! you might this fault amend!  
And pity Nature, gave you life to live;  
Be not like Vipers, for to make an end  
Of these, who did, your blood and being give;  
If not the Turtle, play the eagle's part,  
Since Parents are, your pelicans in heart.   

All things run contrare, in a headstrong change,  
The world grows grim, men's hearts grow false and double;  
Twixt son and father, this is noways strange,  
To see each one, forsake another's trouble:  
Nay, friends, familiars, blood, kindred, mother,  
Live most in strife, no love twixt one another.   

So elements are changed, in part from nature,  
But above all, the earth grows bare and old;  
The moons pressed influence, fails in some Creature,  
Short falls her force: The sun grows tired and cold,  
And seasons frozen; the airy clouds convert  
In boisterous winds: most Climes! like tributes part.   

Most grounds grow barren, and their fruits are blasted,  
And bestial perish, by depressing storms:  
The air's, intemperate, and the fields lie wasted  
With nipping frosts, and canker spoiling worms: 
Elemental changes.   
Nay, men's conditions change, and Christian love  
Grows worse than barbarous, we hourly prove.   

Mercy, good Lord! grant mercy, for thy Name  
Is Mercy, mercy, Lord of kind compunction:  
Father of pity, compassion we claim,  
Lover of love, thou life of love's conjunction:  
Come patient sire! O thou long suffering God  
And slow to anger; come! spare thy threatning rod.   

Look down on Christendom, this Western world,  
Whose lands, (with fatal sword) are drunk with blood 
The present miseries of Christendom.   
Where Kings and kingdoms, in combustions hurled!  
Turn spectacles of scorn, to Pagans rude:  
There is no Nation, within Christian bounds,  
That suffers not disasters, threats, or wounds.   

The infidel beholds, and swearing says,  
That our Religion, is a bare profession:  
For Christ's dishonoured, in our ambitious ways,  
No faith we show, far less of truth confession:  
Pride, puffed with malice, is our Christian mark,  
Deceit, despite, our daily devilish wark.   

Here wounds, there blood, here death, and there disasters,  
Here mother's mourning, for their slaughtered sons:  
There widows weeping, servants for their Masters:  
Here helpless orphans, bursting forth starved groans:  
There sisters for their brothers, sorrowing sore,  
Last fatal framelings, one another gore.   

This universal scourge, is grievous great,  
For kindred, nor alliance, nought can suage:  
Faith, for performance, breeds but greater hate:  
Deep words and seals, turn reason ragged in rage,  
Kind honesty is fled, true love exyld,  
And conscience with deceitfulness defyld.   

Look on this half Europian angry face!  
And thou shalst see, the mother of mischief!  
Point forth at Rome, that hollow hellish place,  
Eye but her prelates, hatchers of our grief!  
And thou shalft find, that Antichristian whore!  
Would nought but Millions, for one life devour.   

She hunts her hounds abroad, and they obey,  
Some work, some run, some plot, some poison Nobles; 
The tiness a● cruelty of Rome.   
Some treason hatch, some murder! what they say,  
Is faced with sophistry; perjury doubles  
Their mental mutterings: The Jesuits their Trumpet!  
Must sound the cruelties, of that Babel Strumpet.   

At home, we have at home! at home, alace!  
A world of woes, and rogueries of like kind:  
I could, I would, I should, bewray this case!  
I dare, but dare not, signify my mind:  
That faction is so strong, and I so weak,  
That thrice the Prison, they my lodging make.   

They brag like Butchers, of their beastly deeds,  
And laugh at cruelty, as at a play?  
Their horns they push, and policy them leads,  
Nought but mischief, their headstrong course can stay:  
And glutting gape, to have old rotten Rome  
Erected our Mistress, else themselves consume.   

What kindred can they claim, to Tiber's banks,  
(The river shallow, and in Summer dry)  
We have God's word, and they posternall blanks,  
The light here shines, with them doth darkness lie:  
Or shall the truth, in foppish relics rest,  
That were to Britain, an Egyptian pest.   

But stay, O stay! long have I lived, and lived  
To see their blindness, in dejections fall;  
I know their ways, and at their lives have grieved,  
They pierce our wills, and we their projects thrall:  
Is any under sun, so well acquainted,  
With them, as I, whose body they tormented.   

They wish that Malaga had burnt me quick,  
As doomed I was so, by Spain's Inquisition:  
Whose tortures (ah!) fast to my bones doestick,  
And vex mesore, with pangs of requisition:  
Great God avengeed, confound them; and restore  
Me to my health; for I'll debord no more.   

Lord, give me grace, of all things to praise Thee,  
Who never leaves thine own, left in distress:  
Thou first discovered, than delivered me,  
A work of love, beyond my hopefulness,  
I sought, thou wrought, than did enlarge my life,  
Free from destruction, last, from papal strife.   

Now to observe my method, I'll return  
To square construction, with deploring Saints:  
Then here's my rule, I'll both rejoice and mourn,  
For tears bring joy, when mercy crownes complaints:  
The just man sins, seven times a day; and I  
Full seventy seven times, may each hour descry.   

Oh! if mine eyes! like Arathusean Springs,  
(Fled Greece to Syracuse) could yield three Fonts:  
One to bewail original sin, stings  
The life of nature; the other (ah!) amounts  
To actual trespass; the last, and worst comes in,  
To consuetude, a deadly dangerous sin.   

Yet as the malefactor, when set free 
Compari●ons of ●reedome ●om sin.   
From death and pardoned; his heart is overjoyed;  
Or as the prisoner, set at liberty,  
Which long before, he never had enjoyed:  
So Man, when freed from sin, and Satan's claws,  
His soul triumphs, and loves religious laws.   

A ●hipwrackt man, cast on some plank to seek,  
The safe set land; which got, how glad is he?  
So shipbroke sinners, in some stormy creek,  
Of sinful seas, and stern iniquity:  
Been free to coast the shore of grace, and landed,  
More greater joy, than theirs, ne'er soul commanded▪   

A wandering son, long forranized abroad,  
In parents' hopes, left desolate, or slain:  
Yet when returned, and shaken off the load  
Of stranger's rites; how they rejoice amain?  
So Saints, so Heavens, so angel's joy, when changed,  
One sinner turns, who long from God hath ranged!   

These tears at Babel spent, on Tigris banks, 
The Jewish tears on Babylon's banks.   
Where Euphrates salutes, that stately station:  
Sour-set Hebraic plaints, poured forth by ranks,  
Of mourning Captives, banished from their Nation,  
And zions face: O sad Judaic songs!  
Wailing for sin, and stern Chaldean wrongs.   

None of their tears were lost, they pierced the heavens,  
Whence kind compassion, free deliverance sprung,  
God from his deoperculate Cherubins!  
●mbracd these fears, his chosen flock had stung:  
Then Mordecais sackcloth, Queen Esthers' woes,  
Wrought Haman's death, made Israel to rejoise.   

Thus tears, and pale repentance, brought relief,  
Though once exyld, see now, they're back-reclaimd:  
The least construction, bred from godly grief,  
Begets like mercy, mercy stands proclaimed:  
At heaven's court gate: for Christ the trumpet sounds!  
And bids all sinners come, he'll heal their wounds.   

Who pleads for peace, shall mercy find with God,  
The oil of grace, shall oil their stinking gores;  
All fatigating souls, grieved with the load  
Of sin, may come, whose case remorse deplores:  
For sanctified crosses, all just men's troubles,  
Are not pressed sorrows; Mercy! comfort doubles.   

I never find affliction, fall on me,  
Without desert; for God is true and just:  
Nor shall it come, and without profit be,  
For God is good, as merciful I trust:  
Then welcome all afflictions sent from God,  
He whom he loves, he chastens with his rod.   

Who loves his child, administers correction,  
And keeps him under awe, cause of complainers; 
Correction begets awe.   
Yet notwithholds, kind nature's best affection,  
But curbs his will, to rectify his manners:  
Much more God's love abounds, cause we are frail,  
And plays the jailer, than becomes our bail.   

He lets us fall, that he may raise us up,  
And though we sink, we can not headlong drown,  
By gentle stripes, he represents the cup  
Which Christ drunk of; our patience for to crown:  
As Peter sunk, then shrunk, was twice recalled,  
So if we sink, or slide, we are not thralled.   

The love of God is free, his mercy gracious,  
There's no constraint, binds God, to pity man;  
But of free will, would make our souls solacious,  
To glorify his goodness; if we can  
But apprehend by faith, what he hath done.  
For us, through Christ, his only righteous son.   

Man pondering on his momentany days,  
May well conceive, the brevity of time:  
From which extract, he should contract the praise  
Of him, who hastes, to short the sense of slime:  
And if it were not, for his own Elect,  
He would prolong the day, and speed neglect.   

What is this age of ours? much like a span;  
Yea; like the water bubble, shent, as swelled;  
Even as the gliding shade, so fadeth Man,  
Or like the morning grass, soon sprung, soon quelld: 
Short and evil are our days.   
Nay, like the flower which falls, than rots ere noon,  
So melt our days, and so our days are done.   

And yet what are our days, the longest liver?  
As one man once, I saw, seven score years old:  
Nay, diverse six score, health was such a giver  
Of lengthening time, ere they returned to mould:  
And yet a dream, whose larger half of life,  
Was spent in sleep, the rest in toil and strife.   

Oh! if ambitious men! their ends were shown!  
That like the froth, do beat on rocks of death:  
That shadow short, from a fled substance flown,  
Much like a dream, so vanisheth their breath:  
Then would their deeds, forbear to tyrannize,  
The Just might live, and offer sacrifice.   

But (ah!) their thundering spite! liket'a storm thuds!  
And boasting men, would thereby God upbraid;  
The light they scorn, and in infernal clouds,  
Would smother virtue, with a sanguine spade;  
Is not this Christian world, with blood o'rewhelmde?  
Their swords with strife, their heads with hatred helmde.   

See! godless Tyrants, tyrannising still,  
And scourging Saints, themselves they scourge with shame:  
Like Nimrod they, 'gainst Heaven will have their will!  
Though justice, in sad judgements plague the same:  
At last, behold! where they themselves sojourn,  
Their threatning swords, back in their bosom turn.   

When Dionisus for tyranny had fled,  
He kept a school, in Calabria, eight years:  
At Montecilion, opposite indeed  
To Sicily; which he at last endears:  
A king to turnea schoolmaster, was strange!  
But back to turn a King, a rarer change.   

In this our age, what kings have been disthroned,  
Detected, cast down, last banished from their bounds:  
I could recite, and where th'injust were crowned,  
And Princes headlong, hurled from their grounds:  
Pride fostered spite, with them the Ulcer brecks,  
Which gored the harmless, broke ambitious necks.   

Would God men's choler, could with patience lurk!  
To blunt the edge of anger, and to curb  
With Job their passion; let forbearance work  
The stressed Athenian suffering: Not disturb  
Times meek-faced calmness, prosperous in peace.  
With which no soil, more blessed was, once than Greece.   

Have I, said Athens, been the mother nurse!  
Of liberal arts, and science, nature's light;  
And now my Carcase, bears the vulgar curse, 
Athens made the mother and mi●our of miseries   
Of Sparta's scorn; and Lacedaemon spite:  
Shall malice tread on virtue? shall disgrace?  
Of neighbour's hate, on my gold tresses trace.   

Though thirty one Invaders on me prey,  
Each one triumphing, in another's ill:  
Yet flexe I not, though forced for to obey,  
No pride shall press my patience; nor good will,  
Gain me to flatter: Nor puffed Tyrants shall  
Bruise me in pieces, though I suffer thrall.   

Yet was her virgin body, made a whore  
To every proud Insulter; and her fame  
A strumpet's voice: Whom Mars did once deflower,  
And turning Harlot, robbed her vestal name:  
The victor's glutting, on her vanquished spoils,  
Made grief guide sorrow; Fortune fixed her foils.   

In this digression, take a moral note,  
From slaughtered Athens, now a village left;  
That all beginnings, (not their endings) quote,  
Have floorishd faces, from their springtide reft:  
Their Medium is not long, the morn is all,  
And then their end, in lumps of fragments fall.   

What once was Ilium? Tyrus now called Sur? 
The inconstancy of worldly pride.   
And Niniveh, whose ruins are ruined:  
Seven ported Thebes, rich in silks and fur,  
And Carthage, Africks' glory, now declined:  
Nay, save of three, some monuments are shown,  
The other two, their seats, are hardly known.   

So Antioch, whence sprung the Christian name,  
And zions Dame, Judeas' sacred city:  
Yea, Alexandria, famous in her fame,  
With Babylon, the remaindure of pity:  
Though not like Jericho, a lump of stones,  
They're but rent relics, of their former ones.   

A wondrous thing of Nature, I observe,  
When Xerxes crossed, the Hellespontick sea:  
In greatest grandeur, then begun to swerve  
From Princely courage, stayed dexterity:  
Where when the Pontic waves, with troops were clad,  
Of numbers, numberless, and he the head.   

Then burst he forth in tears, and wept amain, 
Ambitious Xerxes, bewailing the brevity of life.   
(Gazing on thousands, which his puissance brought)  
And said, This sight, and all this glorious train!  
Within an hundred years, shall come to nought:  
I weep (said he) 'cause nothing here can stay,  
But like full streams, they slide, and steal away.   

My horse, my Chariots, Engynes, men of war,  
And soldiers strong, shall all dissolve in dust;  
My spite 'gainst Greice, and their imperious jar,  
My greed of honour, their revenge injust,  
Which Sardis bore: Shall eftsoon be as they,  
Had never been, so mortal things decay.   

Thus mourned this Pagan King, whose rule may learn  
Most modern time's, to wail like consequence:  
For in which map, true judgement may discern,  
That ancient days, had full experience  
Of nature's frailty, changings, mortals being,  
Whose restless course, was sight-lost shadows flying.   

So day and night, on two extremes depend,  
Either to lengthen, or to shorten pressed:  
The restless tides, like alterations spend,  
By Cynthia's waxing, waning is expressed:  
The seasons run, four times the year about,  
And are renewed ay, as their times go out.   

No state doth solid stand; Man most mutable!  
In fortune, or himself, each leaving other:  
He careless fled from means: If disputable?  
His means are fled from him, to court another:  
What's mine to day, to morrow may be thine,  
And what's thine now, next day, it may be mine.   

Nor is their health in beauty, nor in strength,  
Of body soundness: Subject to disease,  
Is every creature; young and old at length,  
Shall feel infirmities; Natures worst unease,  
Graft in corruption: None can sickness shun,  
But he must suffer, ere his glass be run.   

Such sour flagelloes, are the rods of nature,  
To whip the child of lust, with sound correction:  
Cause why? they're Moulds, where grace renews each creature,  
And makes chastisements, signify affection:  
Nay, they're preparatives, against stern death,  
Been fenced with patience, flankd about with faith.   

All which denote, men should not fix their hearts,  
On transitory things, or trash below:  
All under sun, in whole, in rest, or parts,  
Are emblems of inconstancy I know:  
Man, Beast, and Tree, Wealth, Honour, Health, and Fame,  
Are but crossed Changelings, of this changing Frame.   

What's here (Behold!) but toil, and worldly losses?  
Sin, shame, and sorrow, trouble, grief, and scorn, 
This lif● is loaden with cro●ses.   
Spite, strife, and malice, ignorance, and crosses,  
Adversities stern face; friendship forlorn:  
Pride flankd with poverty, tyrant's infliction,  
Of galled oppression, to add distress affliction.   

Such passive moods, are frequent grown, that now  
Old crazd calamity, begins to quiver:  
Both rich and poor, live timorous, and how?  
The one to keep what's got: The others fever,  
Burns for to get, the first, fears loss, and trembles,  
The seconds patience, with content dissembles.   

In city, Court, and country, here's their fall,  
Deceit, deceives them, with deceitful stings; 
the flat●ry of ●ourts.   
But most in royal Mansions! there's the gall!  
Where sophistry, speaks two contrary things:  
And neither thinks to do: Here flattery stands,  
To blind the truth, there ambodextrate hands.   

Then blessed are they! who live at home in rest,  
And neither follow Court, nor courtly toys:  
That life is sweet, and of all lives the best,  
For homely holds, are charged with private joys:  
Most Courtiers mouths, seem kind, with hearts as hollow  
As darn Sibylla's Hall, which few can follow.   

To day they smile, and promise what you would,  
And fill stressed suppliants, with inunding hopes:  
To morrow as unkind, and frozen cold,  
And tramp in dust, their suitors sad-sought scopes:  
Unless their palms, you oynt, with sovereign ore,  
Your suit is lost, and you left to deplore.   

The very dunce, that yesterday was base,  
When having got an office, looks as high  
As sky-set clouds, than will cast down his face,  
And squinke acquaintance, to have courtesy:  
This Ruffian, who did homage thee before,  
Now thou must beck to him and him implore.   

Tell Courtiers of repentance, they will mock!  
And turn their tears in taunts, and scoffing jests;  
He who fears God, they hold him as a block,  
Its vice and foolery, their conceit digests:  
They never dream of judgement, nor of death,  
But spend in compliments, their flattering breath.   

Let none mistake, nor misconstruct my mind,  
I mean of Courts, in general all where;  
There's good and bad, in any hollow kind,  
Both men and beasts, in this may claim their share:  
A Savage, I have found, as kind in part,  
As best thought Christians, save the noble heart.   

All I desire, and what my soul can wish!  
Is that the truth may stand, and virtue flourish; 
zions prosperity prayed f●   
Lo! there's the dainty, of an holy dish!  
To feed poor souls, and humble ones to nourish:  
And for this cause, each one should pray with other,  
God's word may prosper, and his Church our mother.   

Lord spread the Mantle, of thy mercy round  
About the borders, of her glorious shrine;  
Enlarge her power; let earth's remotest bound,  
Stand for the limits, of her light divine:  
That thou who on bright Cherubins doth ride,  
May guide, and guard, the beauty of thy Bride.   

I'll dive no more in sin, and crooked ways  
Of rotten nature, which corruption brings:  
Nor from the world's example, draw these strays  
Of th'head-strong multitude; confusion stings:  
I'll lay about the Ruther of my mind,  
To keep a safer loof, and thirl the wind.   

What rapt celestial, forceth my desire?  
To be dissolved; my soul may mount above,  
To see these joys, that bless, that glorious hire?  
Which Saints enjoy; life's ever-springing love!  
My hope resumes, I might as happy rest,  
In pleasures there, as they are happy blessed.   

Now I return (good God turn thou to me)  
As Travellers, who have been long abroad;  
Are forced by love, their soil and friends to see,  
No rest, till then, their hearts, the way have trod:  
So I'm estranged, my country is above,  
Heaven is the place, thou Lord, my light, my love.   

Great is the glory, of thy glorious face!  
Installed with Angels; Saints, and martyrs gone:  
Set fore the Throne, with legions of each race,  
Singing applauses, to that blessed One,  
The lamb of Love; our Advocate, thy son,  
Who by his death, wrought our Salvation.   

Fix fast my thoughts, to the tree of thy cross,  
Draw all the forces of my soul to Thee:  
Lift up my heart, let me renounce the dross,  
And dregs of ill; let me aspire on high!  
And walk twixt fear and love, in all my deeds,  
As thou twixt justice, and mercy proceeds.   

Thy virtues are for us, sufficient great, 
The Sun ●ines on ●e good ●d bad.   
Like as the sun it shines, the World all where;  
Yet every man, enjoyeth so much heat,,  
As if it shined to him, in proper share:  
So are thy graces, infinite, and we  
Enjoy the fruits of their felicity.   

But what? our lives are short, so are our days!  
Except in troubles! miseries, alace!  
Our continuance certain, in uncertain ways,  
No time of death is known, to us nor place:  
God's will is so, to have us still prepared,  
And set on watch, lest that our steps be snard.   

Each minute's life, steps forward to stern death,  
And every act, robs some part of our life;  
Like him who sails in ships, and action hath  
In toilsome pains, yet forward flees his strife:  
We can not twice return in nature's state,  
'Cause time runs post, and can make no retreat.   

My sun of life, hath his Meridian past,  
And plunged I am, in th'afternoon of age; 
Our day nor time, can never return.   
The night of Nature, fastens on me fast!  
And death waits close, to pull me from this stage:  
But Lord, thou wilt not, leave my soul in grave,  
Let lie the corpse, they'll once conjunction have.   

Now having sung, of deep remorse, and tears,  
Lord! save me from these weeping tears of Hell;  
Which grief declares, and ever-gnashing fears!  
For loss of joy; and sense of horrors fell:  
Who would not here, a few spent tears disclose,  
Shall there be wail, in floods of bitter woes.   

As sea-bred fishes, never saltness wed,  
But still their bodies, stay both sweet and fresh:  
So grant my soul, that's with corruption clad,  
May live as pure, not meddling with the flesh:  
But sin begins first, in the silly soul,  
And ends into the body, base and soul.   

What shall I say? when man's rot in disease, 
●rist is ●r Phy●ian.   
And ulserd sore, the physician draws near,  
To give him pills and potions, work his ease,  
And lets him blood, he may his health endure:  
Much more Christ's blood, can purge and cleanse the soul,  
Of all uncleanness, pardon what is foul.   

Then to great Jove, the mighty King of kings,  
I'll prostrate fall, on my low bended knees;  
To beg for mercy, mercy comfort brings,  
And joy of spirit, works peace from gushing eyes:  
So Lord of Lords! sweet Christ, what I would have?  
Is known, and shown, I call, I cry, I crave.   

Now by these words, whom seek you, and confession,  
By thy breath, made the Sergeants backward fall;  
By that care rouzd thine, slumbering in digression,  
By thy pangs in Gethsemane, one, and all:  
By that power and patience, fore Anne expressed,  
By that prophecy, of Cajaphas the Priest.   

By that deep agony, of blood and sweat,  
By these sore scourgings, spittings on thy face,  
By these rough nails, pierced thy hands and feet,  
By all these mockings, done thee for disgrace:  
By that sharp spear, which smote thy tender heart,  
By that vinegar thou drunk, and gall of smart.   

By that crown of thorns, thrust on thy bare head,  
By these blood sprinklings, down thy face that fell:  
By that heavy cross, on thy shoulders spread,  
By thy descending down, in earth's dark Cell;  
By that great power, of thy great resurrection,  
By thine ascension: O profound election!   

By thy five bleeding wounds, I thee implore,  
And by the virtue, of thy death and passion; 
The sufferings and passion of Christ.   
By that purple robe, forced in scorn thou wore,  
By all these taunts, these Ruffians spent for fashion:  
Nay, by that superscription, wrote for news,  
Jesus of Nazareth, King of the Jews.   

By thy nativity, and incarnation,  
Yea, by these words, Mother behold thy son,  
And son, Behold there, thy consolation!  
Go live, and live in peace, live both as one:  
Nay, by this mood, for heavy was thy load.  
Why thus forsak'st thou me, my God my God:   

By thy baptism, fasting, humiliation,  
By all thy miracles, and wonders done:  
By these tears thou shed, and transfiguration  
On Tabor seen: As thou art Christ, God's son:  
Save, shield, and shelter, my designs, my ways,  
For my soul's health, and thine eternal praise.   

Nay, by, and for, and from, thyself I beg,  
For pity, grace, and pardon, free remission  
Of all my sins: O cleanse me the least dreg,  
That lurks within my Temple; thy possession:  
Let all be clean, Lo! there's the total sum!  
My soul implores, come now, Lord Jesus come.   

Great King of ages! Monarch, of all times!  
Thou first, and last, is, was, and ever blessed!  
Redeemer, unredeemd! Purger of crimes!  
Thou Light, of lights, thou man's sole-sovereign rest:  
Increase, in me thy spirit, infuse thy grace!  
Confirm my heart, show forth thy loving face.   

Sweeter than honey! or the honey comb!  
Life, light, and love, all goodness, peace, and grace!  
Son of Mercy! that in blessed Mary's womb  
Incarnate was; left Heaven thy Mansion place;  
Where now thou art, and art all where; Come see!  
My heart, my help, my health, depend on Thee.   

In Thee I rest, Lord! sanctify my hope,  
In Thee I trust, Lord! fortify my faith;  
In Thee I grow, Lord! fructify my scope,  
In Thee I walk, Lord! rectify my path:  
In Thee I stay, in Thee I live, and die:  
In Thee I move, in Thee above I fly.   

Lord! grant thy grace may make these tears so blessed!  
(And bless them all, shall them peruse for bliss)  
That godly grief, may in their blessings rest,  
Remorseful souls, whose tears implore for this:  
LORD! pity me, LORD! pardon my TRANSGRESSION,  
Lord! cleanse my HEART; Lord bless thou this CONFESSION   
FINIS.