Moeoniae. OR, CERTAIN excellent Poems and spiritual Hymns:  
Omitted in the last Impression of Peter's Complaint; being needful thereunto to be annexed, as being both Divine and Witty.  
All composed by R. S.  
LONDON Printed by Valentine Sims, for john Busbie 1595.   

The Printer to the Gentlemen Readers.  
Having beheld (kind Gentlemen) the numberless judges of not to be reckoned labours, with what kind admiration you have entertained the divine Complaint of holy Peter; and having in my hands certain especial Poems and divine Meditations, full as worthy belonging to the same, I thought it a charitable de ede to give them life in your memories, which else should die in an obscure sacrifice, gently embrace them, gentle censurers of gentle endeavours: so shall you not be fantastic in diversity of opinions, nor contradict your resolves by denying your former judgements, but still be yourselves discreetly virtuous, nor could I other wish, but that the courteous reader of these labours, not having already bought Peter's Complaint, would not for so small a mite of money lose so rich a treasure of heavenly wisdom as these two Treatises should minister unto him, the one so needfully depending on the other. One thing amongst the rest I am to admonish thee of, that having in this Treatise read Mary's visitation, the next that should follow is Christ's nativity, but being afore printed in the end of Peter's Complaint, we have here of purpose omitted; that thou shouldest not be abridged of that and the other like comfort which that other treatise proffereth thee.  
Yours (kind Gentlemen) in all his abilities. I. B.   

The Virgin Mary's conception.  
OUR second Eve puts on her mortal shroud▪  
Earth breeds a heaven, for God's new dwelling place,  
Now riseth up Elias little cloud  
That growing, shall distill the shower of grace:  
Her being now gins, who ere she end,  
Shall bring our good that shall our ill amend,  
Both Grace and Nature did their force unite,  
To make this babe the sum of all their best,  
Our most, her least, our million, but her mite:  
She was at easiest rate worth all the rest,  
What grace to men or Angels God did part,  
Was all united in this infant's heart.  
Four only wights bred without fault are named,  
And all the rest conceived were in sin,  
Without both man and wife was Adam framed  
Of man, but not of wife did Eve begin,  
Wife without touch of man Christ's mother was,  
Of man and wife this babe was borne in grace.   

Her Nativity.  
Joy in the rising of our Orient star,  
That shall bring forth the Sun that lent her light,  
joy in the peace that shall conclude our war,  
And soon rebate the edge of Satan's spite,  
Lodestar of all enclosed in worldly waves,  
The care and compass that from shipwreck saves,  
The patriarchs and Prophets were the flowers,  
Which Time by course of ages did distill,  
And called into his little cloud the showers,  
Whose gracious drops the world with joy shall fill,  
Whose moisture suppleth every soul with grace,  
And bringeth life to Adam's dying race.  
For God on earth which is the royal throne,  
The chosen cloth to make his mortal weed,  
The quarry to cut out our corner stone,  
Soil full of fruit, yet free from mortal seed,  
For heavenly flower she is the jessa rod,  
The child of man, the parent of a god,   

Her Spousals.  
WIfe did she live, yet virgin did she die,  
Untaught of man, yet mother of a son▪  
To save herself and child from fatal lie,  
To end the web whereof the thread was spon  
In marriage knots to joseph she was tied.  
Unwonted works with wont wiles to hide  
God lent his paradise to joseph's care,  
Wherein he was to plant the tree of life,  
His son of joseph's child the title bare:  
Just cause to make the mother joseph's wife,  
O blessed man betrothed to such a spouse,  
More blessed to live with such a child in house:  
No carnal love this sacred league procured,  
All vain delights were far from their assent,  
Though both themselves in wedlock bands assured,  
Yet chaste by vow they sealed their chaste intent.  
Thus had the Virgins, wives, and widows crown,  
And by chaste childbirth doubled their renown.   

The Virgin's salutation.  
SPell Eva back and ave shall you find,  
The first began, the last reversed our harms,  
An Angels ave disinchants the charms,  
Death first by woman's weakness entered in,  
In woman's virtue life doth now begin.  
O Virgins breast the heavens to thee incline,  
In thee they joy, and sovereign thee agnize,  
Too mean their glory is to match with thine,  
Whose chaste receipt God more than heaven did prize,  
Hail fairest heaven, that heaven and earth do bless,  
Where virtues star God's sun of justice is,  
With haughty mind to godhead man aspired,  
And was by pride from place of pleasure chased,  
With loving mind our manhood God desired,  
And us by love in greater pleasure placed,  
Man labouring to ascend procured our fall,  
God yielding to descend cut off our thrall.   

The Visitation.  
PRoclaimed Queen and mother of a God,  
The light of earth, the sovereign of Saints,  
With Pilgrim foot, up tiring hills she trod,  
And heavenly style with handmaid's toil acquaints  
Her youth to age, herself to sick she lends,  
Her heart to God, to neighbour's hand she bends,  
A prince she is, and mightier prince doth bear,  
Yet pomp of princely train she would not have,  
But doubtless heavenly Quires attendant were,  
Her child from harm herself from harm to save,  
Word to the voice, song to the tune she brings,  
The voice her word, the tune her ditty sings,  
Eternal lights enclosed in her breast,  
Shot out such piercing beams of burning love,  
That when her voice her cousin's ears possessed,  
The force thereof did cause her babe to move,  
With secret signs the children greet each other,  
But open praise each leaveth to his mother.   

His circumcision.  
THe head is launst to work the body's cure,  
with angry salve it smarts to heal our wound  
To faultless son from all offences pure,  
The faulty vassals scourges do redound,  
The judge is cast the guilty to acquit,  
The sun defaced to lend the star his light,  
The vine of life distilleth drops of grace,  
Our rock gives issue to an heavenly spring,  
Tears from the eyes, blood runs from wounded place  
Which showers to heaven, of joy a harvest bring▪  
This sacred dew let angels gather up,  
Such sacred drops best fit their nectared cup.  
With weeping eyes his mother rued his smart,  
If blood from him, tears came from her as fast,  
The knife that cut his flesh did pierce his heart,  
The pain that jesus set did Mary taste,  
His life and hers hung by one fatal twist,  
No blow that hit the son the mother mist.   

The epiphany.  
TO blaze the rising of this glorious sun,  
A glittering star appeareth in the east,  
Whose sight to pilgrim's toil three sages won  
To seek the light they long had in request:  
And by this star to nobler star they place,  
Whose arms did their desired sin embrace:  
Stall was the sky wherein those planets shined,  
And want the cloud that did eclipse their rains,  
Yet through this cloud their passage they did find,  
And pierced these sages hearts by secret ways,  
Which made them know the ruler of the skies,  
By infant tongue and looks of babish eyes,  
Heaven at her light, earth blushes at her pride,  
And of their pomp these peers ashamed be,  
Their crowns, their robes, their trains they set aside.  
When Gods poor cottage, clouts, and crew they see,  
All glorious things their glory now despise,  
Sith God Contempt doth more than glory praise,  
Three gifts they bring, three gifts they bear away,  
For incense myrrh, and gold, faith, hope, and love,  
And with their gifts the givers hearts do stay,  
Their mind from Christ, no parting can remove,  
His humble state, his stall, his poor retinue  
They fancy more than all their rich revenue.   

The Presentation.  
TO be redeemed the world's Redeemer brought  
Two silly turtle doves for ransom pays,  
O wares with empires worthy to be bought,  
This easy rate doth sound, not drown thy praise,  
For sith no price can to thy worth amount,  
A dove, yea love, due price thou dost account,  
Old Simeon, cheap penny worth and sweet,  
Obteind when thee in arms he did embrace,  
His weeping eyes thy smiling looks did meet,  
Thy love his heart, thy kisses blest his face,  
O eyes, O heart, mean sights and loves avoid,  
Base not yourselves, your best you have enjoyed,  
O virgin pure thou dost those doves present  
As due to law, not as an equal price,  
To buy such ware thou wouldst thyself have spent,  
The world to reach his worth could not suffice,  
If God were to be bought, not worldly pelf,  
But thou wert fittest price next God himself.   

The flight into Egypt.  
ALas our day is forced to fly by night  
Light without light, and sun by silent shade,  
O nature blush that sufferest such a wight,  
That in thy sun thy dark eclipse hast made,  
Day to his eyes, light to his steps deny,  
That hates the light which graceth every eye,  
Sun being fled the stars do lose their light,  
And shining beams, in bloody streams they drench▪  
A cruel storm of Herod's mortal spite  
Their lives and lights with bloody showers do quench  
The tyrant to be sure of murdering one,  
For fear of sparing him doth pardon none.  
O blessed babes, first flowers of christian spring,  
Who though untimely cropped fair garlands frame,  
With open throats and silent mouths you sing,  
His praise whom age permits you not to name,  
Your tunes are tears, your instruments are swords,  
Your ditty death, and blood in hue of words.   

Christ's return out of Egypt.  
WHen death and hell their right in Herod claim,  
Christ from exile returns to native soil:  
There, with his life more deeply death to maim  
Then death did life by all the infant's spoil.  
He showed the parents that the babes did moon,  
That all their lives were less than his alone.  
But hearing Herod's son to have the crown,  
The impious offspring of the bloody sire,  
To Nazareth (of heaven beloved) town,  
Flower to a flower he fitly doth retire,  
For he is a flower, and in a flower he bred,  
And from a thorn now to a flower he fled.  
And well deserved this flower his fruit to view  
Where he invested was in mortal weed,  
Where first unto a tender bud he grew  
In virgin branch unstained with mortal seed.  
Young flower, with flowers, in flower well may he be:  
Ripe fruit he must with thorns hang on a tree.   

Christ's bloody sweat.  
FAt soil, full spring, sweet olive, grape of bliss,  
That yields, that streams, that powers, that dost distill  
Untilled, undrawne, unstampt, untouched of press,  
Dear fruit, clear brooks, fair oil, sweet wine at will:  
Thus Christ unforst prevents in shedding blood  
The whips, the thorns, the nail, the spear, and rood.  
He Pelicans, he Phoenix fate doth prove,  
Whom flames consume when streams enforce to die,  
How burneth blood, how bleedeth burning love?  
Can one in flame and stream both bath and fry?  
How would he join a Phoenix fiery pains  
In fainting Pelicans still bleeding veins?   

Christ's fleeping friends.  
WHen Christ with care & pangs of death oppressed  
From frighted flesh a bloody sweat did rain,  
And full of fear without repose or rest  
In agony did watch and pray in vain  
Three sundry times he his disciples finds  
With heavy eyes, but far more heavy minds,  
With mild rebuke he warned them to wake:  
Yet sleep did still their drowsy senses hold.  
As when the sun the brightest show doth make  
In darkest shrouds the night birds them enfold,  
His foes did watch to work their cruel spite,  
His drowsy friends slept in his hardest night.  
As jonas sailed once from joppa's shore,  
A boisterous tempest in the air did broil,  
The waves did rage, the thundering heavens did roar,  
The stones, the rocks, the lightnings threatened spoil,  
The ship was billows game, and chances pray,  
Yet careless jonas mute and slumbering lay:  
So now though judas like a blustering gust,  
Do stir the furious sea of jewish ire,  
Though storming troops in quarrels most unjust  
Against the bark of all our bliss conspire,  
Yet these disciples sleeping lie secure,  
As though their wont calms did still endure.  
jonas once his heavy limbs to rest,  
Did shroud himself in ivy pleasant shade,  
But lo, while him a heavy sleep oppressed,  
His shadowy bower, to withered stalk did fade,  
A cankered worm did gnaw the root away,  
And brought the glorious branches to decay▪  
O gracious plant, O tree of heavenly spring,  
The paragon for lease, for fruit and flower,  
How sweet a shadow did thy branches bring  
To shroud these souls that chose thee for their bower,  
But now while they with jonas fall asleep,  
To spoil their plant an envious worm doth creep.  
Awake you slumbering wights, lift up your eyes,  
Mark judas how to tear your root he strives,  
Alas the glory of your arbour dies,  
Arise and guard the comfort of your lives.  
No jonas ivy, no Zacheus tree,  
Were to the world so great a loss as he.   

The virgin Mary to Christ on the Crosse.  
WHat mist hath dimmed that glorious face, what seas of griefemy sun doth toss?  
The golden rays of heavenly grace lies now eclipsed on the cross.  
jesus my love, my son, my God, behold thy mother washed in tears:  
Thy bloody wounds be made a rod, to chasten these my latter years.  
You cruel jews come work your ire, upon this worthless flesh of mine.  
And kindle not eternal fire by wounding him which is divine.  
Thou messenger that didst impart, his first descent into my womb,  
Come help me now to cleave my heart, that there I may my son entombs.  
You Angels all that present were, to show his birth with harmony,  
Why are you now not ready here, to make a mourning symphony.  
The cause I know you wail alone, and shed your tears in secrecy,  
Lest I should moved be to moon, by force of heavy company.  
But wail my soul, thy comfort aies, my woeful womb lament thy fruit,  
My heart giveteares unto my eyes, let sorrow string my heavy lute.   

A holy Hymn.  
PRaise, O Zion, praise thy Saviour,  
Praise thy Captain and thy Pastor,  
With hymns and solemn harmony.  
What power affords perform indeed,  
His works all praises far exceed:  
No praise can reach his dignity.  
A special theme of praise is read,  
A living and a life giving bread  
Is on this day exhibited  
Within the supper of our Lord,  
To twelve disciples at his board,  
As doubtless 'twas delivered.  
Let our praise be loved and free,  
Full of joy and decent glee,  
With minds and voices melody.  
For now solemnize we that day,  
Which doth with joy to us display.  
The privy use of this mystery  
At this board of our new ruler,  
Of new Law, new paschal order.  
The ancient rite abolisheth.  
Old decrees by new annild,  
Shadows are in truth fulfilld:  
Day former darkness finisheth,  
That at supper Christ performed  
To be done he straightly charged,  
For his eternal memory.  
Guided by his sacred order's  
Bread and wine upon our altars  
To saving host we sanctify,  
Christians are by faith assured,  
That to flesh the bread is changed,  
The wine to blood most precious,  
That no wit nor sense conceiveth  
Firm and grounded faith believeth  
In strange affects not curious.  
Under kinds two in appearance  
Two in show but one in substance,  
Be things beyond comparison:  
Flesh is meat, blood drink most heavenly:  
Yet is Christ in each kind wholly.  
Most free from all division.  
None that eateth him doth chew him,  
None that takes him doth deny him  
Received he whole persevereth.  
Be there one or thousands housoled.  
One as much as all received,  
He by no eating perisheth.  
Both the good and bad receive him,  
But effects are divers in them,  
True life, or true destruction,  
Life to the good, death to the wicked:  
Mark how both alike received  
With far unlike conclusion:  
When the priest the host divideth,  
Know that each part abideth:  
All that the whole host covered,  
Form of bread not Christ is broken,  
Not of Christ but of his token  
Is state or stature altered.  
Angel's bread made Pilgrims feeding,  
Truly bread for children's eating  
To dogs not to be offered:  
Signed by Isacke on the altar  
By the Lamb and paschal supper,  
And in the manna figured.  
jesus food and feeder of us,  
Here with mercy feed and friend us,  
Then grant in heaven felicity,  
Lord of all whom here thou feedest,  
Fellow heirs, guests with thy dearest,  
Make us in heavenly company.   

S. Peter's afflicted mind.  
IF that the sick may groan,  
Or Orphan mourn his loss:  
If wounded wretch may rue his harms▪  
Or caitiff show his cross:  
If heart consumed with care  
May utter signs of pain,  
Then may my breast be sorrows home,  
And tongue with cause complain.  
My malady is sin,  
And languor of the mind,  
My body but a lazars couch,  
Wherein my soul is pined.  
The care of heavenly kind  
Is death to my relief,  
Forlorn and left like Orphan child  
With sighs I feed my grief.  
My wounds with mortal smart  
My dying soul torment,  
And prisoner to mine own mishaps  
My follies I repent,  
My heart is but the haunt  
Where all dislikes do keep:  
And who can blame so lost a wretch,  
Though tears of blood he weep.   

S. Peter's remorse.  
REmorse upbraids my faults,  
Self blaming conscience cries,  
Sin claims the host of humbled thoughts,  
And streams of weeping eyes▪  
Let penance Lord prevail,  
Let sorrow sue release,  
Let love be umpire in my cause,  
And pass the doom of peace,  
If doom go by desert,  
My least desert is death,  
That robs from soul immortal joys,  
From body mortal breath▪  
But in so high a God,  
So base a worms annoy  
Can add no praise unto thy power,  
No bliss unto thy joy.  
Well may I fry in flames  
Due fuel to hell fire,  
But on a wretch to wreak thy wrath  
Can not be worth thine ire.  
Yet sith so vile a worm  
Hath wrought his greatest spite,  
Of highest treason well thou mayst  
In rigour him indite▪  
But mercy may relent  
And temper justice rod:  
For mercy doth as much belong  
As justice to a God.  
If former time or place  
More right to mercy win,  
Thou first wert author of myself,  
The umpire of my sin.  
Did mercy spin the thread  
To weave in justice loom,  
Wert thou a father to conclude  
With dreadful judges doom?  
It is a small relief  
To say I was thy child,  
If as an ill deserving foe  
From grace I am exiled.  
I was, I had, I could,  
All words importing want▪  
They are but dust of dead supplies,  
Where needful helps are scant.  
Once to have been in bliss  
That hardly can return,  
Doth but bewray from whence I fell,  
And wherefore now I mourn.  
All thoughts of passed hopes  
Increase my present cross:  
Like ruins of decayed joys,  
They still upbraid my loss.  
O mild and mighty Lord,  
Amend that is amiss:  
My sin my soar, thy love my salve,  
Thy cure my comfort is.  
Comfirme thy former deeds,  
Reform that is defiled:  
I was, I am, I will remain  
Thy charge, thy choice, thy child.   

Man to the wound in Christ's side.  
O Pleasant port, O place of rest,  
O royal rist, O worthy wound,  
Come harbour me a weary guest,  
That in the world no case have found,  
I lie lamenting at thy gate,  
Yet dare I not adventure in:  
I bear with me a troublous mate,  
And cumbered am, with heap of sin▪  
Discharge me of this heavy load,  
That easier passage I may find.  
Within this bower to make abode,  
And in this glorious tomb be shrined▪  
Here must I live, here must I die,  
Here would I utter all my grief:  
Hear would I all those pains descry,  
Which here did meet for my relief  
Here would I view the bloody sore,  
Which dint of spiteful spear did breed,  
The bloody wounds laid there in store  
Would force a stony heart to bleed.  
Hear is the spring of trickling tears,  
The mirror of all mourning wights,  
With doleful tunes, for dampish cares  
And solemn shows for sorrowed sights.  
O happy soul that flies so high,  
As to attain this sacred cave:  
Lord send me wings that I may fly,  
And in this harbour quiet have.   

Upon the Image of death.  
BEfore my face the picture hangs,  
That daily should put me in mind  
Of those cold names and bitter pangs,  
That shortly I am like to find:  
But yet alas full little I  
Do think hereon that I must die.  
I often look upon a face  
Most ugly, grisly, bare and thin,  
I often view the hollow place,  
Where eyes, and nose, have sometimes been  
I see the bones across that lie:  
Yet little think that I must die.  
I read the Label underneath  
That telleth me whereto I must,  
I see the sentence eke that saith,  
Remember man that thou art dust:  
But yet alas but seldom I  
Do think indeed that I must die.  
Continually at my bed's head,  
A hearse doth hang which doth me tell,  
That I yer morning may be dead,  
Though now I feel myself full well:  
But now alas, for all this I  
Have little mind that I must die.  
The gown which I do use to wear,  
The knife wherewith I cut my meat,  
And eke that old and ancient chair,  
Which is my only usual seat:  
All those do tell me I must die,  
And yet my life amend not I.  
My ancestors are turned to clay,  
And many of my mates are gone,  
My youngers daily drop away,  
And can I think to scape alone?  
No, no, I know that I must die▪  
And yet my life amend not I▪  
Not Solomon for all his wits,  
Nor Samson though he were so strong,  
No king nor ever person yet  
Can scape, but death laid him along:  
Wherefore I know that I must die?  
And yet my life amend not I.  
Though all the East did quake to hear,  
Of Alexander's dreadful name,  
And all the West did likewise fear.  
To hear of julius Caesar's fame,  
Yet both by death in dust now lie,  
Who then can scape but he must die:  
If none can scape deaths dreadful dart,  
If rich and poor his beck obey,  
If strong, if wise, if all do smart,  
Then I to scape shall have no way.  
Oh grant me grace O God that I,  
My life may mend sith I must die.   

A vale of tears.  
A Vale there is enwrapped with dreadful shades,  
Which thick of mourning pines shrouds from the sun  
Where hanging cliffs yield short & dampish glades,  
And snowy floods with broken streams do run,  
Where eie-roume is from rock to cloudy sky,  
From thence to dales which stormy ruins shroud,  
Then to the crushed waters frothy fry,  
Which tumbleth from the tops where snow is thowed:  
Where ears of other sound can have no choice,  
But various blustering of the stubborn wind  
In trees, in caves, in straits with divers noise,  
Which now doth hiss, now howl, now roar by kind:  
Where waters wrestle with encountering stones,  
That break their streams and turn them into foam,  
The hollow clouds full fraught with thundering groans,  
With hideous thumps discharge their pregnant womb.  
And in the horror of this fearful quire,  
Consists the music of this doleful place.  
All pleasant birds their tunes from thence retire,  
Where none but heavy notes have any grace.  
Resort there is of none but pilgrim wights,  
That pass with trembling foot and panting heart,  
With terror cast in cold and shuddering frights,  
And all the place to terror framed by art:  
Yet natures work it is of art untouched,  
So straight indeed, so vast unto the eye,  
With such disordered order strangely couched,  
And so with pleasing horror low and high.  
That who it views must needs remain aghast,  
Much at the work, more at the makers might,  
And muse how Nature such a plot could cast,  
Where nothing seemed wrong, yet nothing right:  
A place for mated minds, and only bower,  
Where every thing doth soothe a dampish mood.  
Earth lics forlorn, the cloudy sky doth lower,  
The wind here weeps, her sighs, her cries aloud.  
The struggling flood between the marble groans,  
Than roaring beats upon the craggy sides,  
A little off amidst the pebble stones,  
With bubbling streams a purling noise it glides:  
The pines thick set, hie grown, and ever green,  
Still clothe the place with shade and mourning vail.  
Here gaping cliffs, there moss grown plain is seen,  
Here hope doth spring, and there again doth quail.  
Huge massy stones that hang by tickle stay,  
Still threaten foul, and seem to hang in fear,  
Some withered trees ashamed of their decay,  
Be set with green, and forced grey coats to wear.  
Here crystal springs crept out of secret vain,  
Straight find some envious hole that hides their grain.  
Here seared tufts lament the wants of grace,  
There thunder wrack gives terror to the place.  
All pangs and heavy passions here may find  
A thousand motives suitly to their griefs,  
To feed the sorrows of their troubled mind,  
And chase away dame pleasures vain reliefs.  
To plaining thoughts this vail a rest may be,  
To which from worldly toys they may retire.  
Where sorrow springs from water, stone and tree,  
Where every thing with mourners doth conspire.  
Sat here my soul mourn tears afloat,  
Here all thy sinful foils alone recount,  
Of solemn tunes make thou the dolefulst note,  
That to thy ditties dolour may amount,  
When Echo doth repeat thy painful cries,  
Think that the very stones thy sins bewray,  
And now accuse thee with their sad replies,  
As heaven and earth shall in the latter day,  
Let former faults be fuel of the fire,  
For grief the Limbeck of thy heart to still.  
Thy pensive thoughts, and dumps of thy desire,  
And vapour tears up to thy eyes at will.  
Let tears to tunes, and pains to plaints be priest,  
And let this be the burden to thy song,  
Come deep remorse, possess my sinful breast:  
Delights adieu I harboured you too long.   

The prodigal child's soul wrack.  
DIsankered from a blissful shore, and launched into the mean of cares  
Grown rich in vice, in virtue poor, from freedom fallen in fatal snares  
I found myself on every side enwrapped in the waves of woe,  
And tossed with a toil some tide, could to no port for refuge go.  
The wrestling wind with raging blasts still hold me in a cruel chase.  
They break my anchors, sail, and masts, permitting no reposing place.  
The boisterous seas with swelling floods, on every side did work their spite  
Heaven overcast with stormy clouds, denied the Planets guiding light.  
The hellish furies lay in wait, to win my soul into their power,  
To make me bite at every bait, wherein my bane I might devour.  
Thus heaven and hell, thus sea land, thus storms and tempests did conspire  
With just revenge of scourging hand, to witness God's deserved ire,  
I plunged in this heavy plight, found in my faults just cause to fear:  
My darkness taught to know my light, the loss whereof enforced tears.  
I felt my inward bleeding sores, my festered wounds began to smart▪  
Stepped far within deaths fatal doors, the pangs whereof were near my heart  
I cried truce, I craved peace, a league with death I would conclude,  
But vain it was to sue release, subdue I must or be subdued.  
Death deceit had pitched their snares & put their wont proofs in ure  
To sink me in despairing cares, or make me stoop to pleasures lure:  
They fought by their bewitching charms, so to enchant my erring sense,  
That when they sought my greatest harms, I might neglect my best defence.  
My dazzled eyes could take no view, no heed of their receiving shifts,  
So often did they alter hue, and practise new devised drifts:  
With sirens song they fed mine ears, till lulled a sleep on errors lap,  
I found their tunes turned into tears, and short delights to long mishap.  
For I enticed to their lore, and soothed with their idle toys  
Was trained to their prison door, the end of all such flying joys:  
Where chained in sin I lay in thrall, next to the dungeon of despair,  
Till mercy raised me from my fall, and grace my ruin did repair.   

Man's civil war.  
MY hovering thoughts would fly to heaven, and quiet nestle in the sky,  
Feign would my ship in virtues shore without remove at anchor lie:  
But mounted thoughts are hailed down with heavy poise of mortal load,  
And blustering storms deny my ship, in virtues haven sure abode.  
When inward eye to heavenly sights doth draw my longing hearts desire,  
The world with loesses of delights, would to her perch my thoughts retire,  
Fond fancy trains to pleasures lure, though reason stiffly do repine.  
Though wisdom woe me to the saint, yet sense would win me to the shrine,  
Where reason loathes, there fancy loves, and ever rules the captive will  
Foes senses; and to virtues lore, they draw the wit their wish to fill.  
Need craves consent of soul to sense, yet divers bents breed civil fray,  
Hard hap where halves must disagree, or trust of halves the hole betray,  
O cruel fight where fight friend with love doth kill a favouring foe,  
Where peace with sense is war with God and selfdelight the seed of wo.  
Dame pleasures drugs are steeped in sin, their sugared taste doth breed annoy,  
O fickle sense beware her gin, sell not thy soul for brittle toy.   

Seek flowers of heaven.  
Soar up my soul unto thy rest, cast off this loathsome load:  
Long is the date of thy exile, too long the strict abode,  
Graze not on worldly withered weed, it fitteth not thy taste,  
The flowers of everlasting spring, do grow for thy repast.  
Their leaves are stained in beauties die, and blazed with their beams,  
Their stalks enameled with delight, and limbde with glorious gleams.  
Life giving juice of living love their sugared veins doth fill,  
And watered with everlasting showers▪ they nectared drops distill.  
These flowers do spring from fertile soil, though from unmanurde field,  
Most glittering gold in am of glebe these fragrant flowers do yield:  
Whose sovereign sent surpassing sense, so ravisheth the mind,  
That worldly weeds needs must he loath, that can these flowers find.  
FINIS.