images left to right, top to bottom: Judas's betrayal; Jesus brought before Pilate; Peter; Mary; Mary washing Jesus's feet, Jesus praying in Gethsemane 
Mat. 26. 14.  
Mat: 27: 2.  
Luke: 22. 62.  
john. 20. 11.  
Luke. 7: 38.  
Luke. 32: 42.  
S T PETER COMPLAIN  
Mary Magdal● tears With other works of the author R: S:  
LONDON Printed for W: Barrett  
1620.   

TO THE RIGHT HONOURABLE, RICHARD Earl of Dorcet, etc.  
My Lord,  
THe entertainment, which this work, in the several parts thereof hath formerly found with men of exact judgement, may be a sufficient testimony, that it is not (now) offered unto your Lordship for that it stands in need of protection (the usual apology of every trivial Pamphletter,) much less to ●emendicate any others suffrages, beyond the known worth thereof: the only reason of this present boldness, and my excuse for thus presuming to recommend it to your Honourable hands, being, that as the Author thereof had long since dedicated some pieces of the whole to sundry particular branches of that noble stock and family (whereof your Lordship is, & long may you be a strong and flourishing arm!) so now myself having first collected these dismembered parcels into one body, and published them in an entire edition; I held it a kind of sacrilege to defraud your noble name of the right which you may so justly challenge thereunto, which by the Sunshine of your favour shall be as it were reanimated; and He encouraged to further endeavours, who in the mean time is  
At your Lordship's service, W. BARRET.   

THE AUTHOR TO HIS LOVING COZEN.  
POets by abusing their talon, and making the follies and feignings of Love, the customary subject of their base endeavours, have so discredited this faculty, that a Poet, a Lover, and a Liar, are by many reckoned but three words of one signification. But the vanity of men cannot counterpoise the authority of God, who delivering many parts of Scripture in verse, and by his Apostle willing us to exercise our devotion in Hymns and spiritual Sonnets, warranteth the Art to be good, and the use allowable. And therefore not only among the Heathen, whose Gods were chief canonised by their Poets, and their Paynim Divinity oracled in verse: but even in the Old and New Testament, it hath been used by men of greatest piety, in matters of most devotion. Christ himself by making an Hymn the conclusion of his last Supper, and the prologue to the first Pageant of his passion, gave his Spouse a method to imitate, as in the office of the Church it appeareth; and to all men a pattern to know the true use of this measured and footed style. But the Devil as he affecteth Deity, and seeketh to have all the compliments of Divine honour applied to his service, so hath he among the rest possessed also most Poets with his idle fancies. For in lieu of solemn and devout matter, to which in duty they own their abilities, they now busy themselves in expressing such passions, as only serve for testimonies to how unworthy affections they have wedded their wills. And because the best course to let them see the error of their works, is to wove a new web in their own Loom, I have here laid a few course threads together, to invite some skilfuller wits to go forward in the same, or to begin some finer piece, wherein it may be seen how well verse and virtue suit together. Blame me not (good Cousin) though I send you a blameworthy present: in which the most that can commend it, is the good will of the writer; neither Art nor Invention giving it any credit. If in me this be a fault, you cannot be faultless that did importune me to commit it, and therefore you must bear part of the penance, when it shall please sharp censures to impose it. In the mean time with many good wishes I send you these few Ditties: add you the Tunes, and let the Mean, I pray you, be still a part in all your Music.   

THE AUTHOR to the Reader.  

Dear eye that dost  
peruse my Muse's style,  
With easy censure  
deem of my delight:  
Give soberest countenance  
leave, sometime to smile,  
And gravest wits  
to take a breathing flight.  
Of mirth to make  
a trade, may be a crime,  
But tired spirits  
for mirth must have a time.   

The lofty Eagle  
soars not still above,  
High flights will force  
her from the wing to stoop,  
And studious thoughts  
at times men must remove,  
Lest by excess  
before their time they droop.  
In courser studies  
'tis a sweet repose,  
With Poets pleasing  
vain, to temper Prose.   

Profane conceits  
and feigning fits I fly,  
Such lawless stuff  
doth lawless speeches fit:  
With David, verse  
to Virtue I apply,  
Whose measure best  
with measured words doth fit:  
It is the sweetest  
note that man can sing,  
When grace in Virtue's  
key tunes Nature's string.    

RURSUS AD EUNDEM.  

Dear eye that daynest  
to let fall a look,  
On these sad memories  
of PETER'S plaints:  
Muse not to see  
some mud in clearest Brook.  
They once were brittle  
mould, that now are Saints.  
Their weakness is  
no warrant to offend,  
Learn in their faults,  
what in thine own to mend.   

If Equity's  
even-hand the balance held,  
Where PETER'S sins  
and ours were made the weights:  
Ounce for his dram,  
pound for his ounce we yield,  
His Ship would groan  
to feel some sinners freights.  
So ripe is vice,  
so green is virtue's bud:  
The world doth wax  
in ill, but wane in good.   

This makes my mourning  
Muse, resolve in tears,  
This themes my heavy  
pen, to plain in prose,  
CHRIST'S Thorn is sharp  
no head his Garland wears:  
Still finest wits  
are stilling VENUS' Rose,  
In Paynim toys  
the sweetest veins are spent:  
To Christian works,  
few have their Talents lent.   

Licence my single  
pen to seek a Fere,  
You heavenly sparks  
of wit, show native light:  
Cloud not with misty  
love's your Orient clear,  
Sweet flights you shoot,  
learn once to level right.  
favour my wish,  
well-wishing works no ill:  
I move the Suit,  
the grant rests in your will.    

SAINT PETER'S COMPLAINT.  

Launch forth, my soul,  
into a main of tears,  
Full fraught with grief,  
the traffic of thy mind:  
Torn sails will serve,  
thoughts rend with guilty fears:  
Give care the stern,  
use sighs in lieu of wind:  
Remorse, thy Pilot:  
thy misdeed, thy Card:  
Torment thy Haven,  
shipwreck thy best reward.   

Shun not the shelf  
of most deserved shame:  
Stick in the sands  
of agonizing dread:  
Content thee to  
be storms and billows game;  
Divorced from grace,  
thy soul to penance wed:  
Fly not from foreign  
evils, fly from the heart:  
Worse than the worst  
of evils, is that thou art.   

Give vent unto  
the vapours of thy breast,  
That thicken in the  
brims of cloudy eyes:  
Where sin was hatched,  
let tears now wash the nest,  
Where life was lost,  
recover life with cries.  
Thy trespass foul,  
let not thy tears be few.  
Baptise thy spotted  
soul in weeping dew.   

Fly mournful plaints,  
the Echoes of my ruth;  
Whose screeches in  
my frighted conscience ring:  
Sob out my sorrows,  
fruits of mine untruth:  
Report the smart  
of sins infernal sting.  
Tell hearts that languish  
in the soriest plight,  
There is on earth  
a fare more sorry wight.   

A sorry wight,  
the object of disgrace,  
The Monument of fear,  
the Map of shame,  
The mirror of mishap,  
the stain of place,  
The scorn of time,  
the infamy of fame,  
An excrement of earth,  
to heaven hateful,  
Injurious to man,  
to God ingrateful.   

Ambitious heads,  
dream you of Fortune's pride:  
Fill Volumes with  
your forged goddess praise,  
You Fancies drudges,  
plunged in folly's tide:  
Devote your fabling  
wits to lover's lays:  
Be you, O sharpest  
griefs that ever wrong,  
Text to my thoughts,  
Theme to my plaining tongue.   

Sad subject of  
my sin hath stored my mind,  
With everlasting  
matter of complaint:  
My threnes an endless  
Alphabet do find,  
Beyond the pangs  
which jeremy doth paint.  
That eyes with errors  
may just measure keep,  
Most tears I wish,  
that have most cause to weep.   

All weeping eyes  
resign your tears to me:  
A sea will scantly  
rinse my ordured soul:  
Huge horrors in  
high tides must drowned be:  
Of every tear  
my crime exacteth toll.  
These stains are deep:  
few drops take out no such:  
Even salve with sore:  
and most is not too much.   

I feared with life  
to die; by death to live:  
I left my guide,  
now left, and leaving God.  
To breathe in bliss,  
I feared my breath to give:  
I feared for heavenly  
reign, an earthly rod.  
These fears I feared,  
fears feeling no mishaps:  
O fond, O faint,  
O false, O faulty lapse!   

How can I live  
that thus my life denied?  
What can I hope,  
that lost my hope in fear?  
What trust to one,  
that truth itself defied?  
What good in him  
that did his God forswear?  
O sin of sins!  
of evils the very worst:  
O matchless wretch!  
O caitiff most accursed!   

Vain in my vaunts,  
I vowed, if friends had failed,  
Alone Christ's hardest  
fortunes to abide.  
Giant in talk;  
like dwarf in trial quailed;  
Excelling none,  
but in untruth and pride.  
Such distance is  
between high words and deeds.  
In proof, the greatest  
vaunter seldom speeds.   

Ah rashness, hasty  
rise to murdering leap,  
Lavish in vowing,  
blind in seeing what:  
Soon sowing shames  
that long remorse must reap:  
Nursing with tears  
that oversight begat;  
Scout of repentance,  
harbinger of blame,  
Treason to wisdom,  
mother of ill name.   

The borneblind beggar,  
for received sight,  
Fast in his faith  
and love, to Christ remained,  
He stooped to  
no fear, he feared no might,  
No change his choice;  
no threats his truth distained.  
One wonder wrought  
him in his duty sure:  
I, after thousands,  
did my Lord abjure.   

Can servile fear  
of rendering Nature's due,  
Which growth in years  
was shortly like to claim,  
So thrall my love,  
that I should thus eschew  
A vowed death,  
and miss so fair an aim?  
Die, die, disloyal  
wretch, thy life detest:  
For saving thine,  
thou hast forsworn the best.   

Ah life, sweet drop,  
drowned in a sea of sours,  
A flying good,  
posting to doubtful end,  
Still losing months  
and years, to gain new hours:  
Feign, time to have,  
and spare, yet forced to spend:  
Thy growth, decrease,  
a moment all thou hast:  
That gone, ere known:  
the rest, to come, or past.   

Ah life, the maze  
of countless straying ways,  
Open to erring steps,  
and strewed with baits,  
To wind weak senses  
into endless strays,  
Aloof from virtues  
rough unbeaten straits;  
A flower, a play,  
a blast, a shade, a dream,  
A living death,  
a never turning stream.   

And could I rate  
so high a life so base?  
Did fear with love  
cast so uneven account,  
That for this goal  
I should run judas race,  
And Caiphas rage  
in cruelty surmount?  
Yet they esteemed  
thirty pence his price.  
I, worse than both,  
for nought denied him thrice.   

The mother Sea,  
from overflowing deep,  
Sends forth her issue  
by divided veins:  
Yet back her offspring  
to their mother creeps,  
To pay their purest  
streams with added gains;  
But I, that drunk  
the drops of heavenly flood,  
Bemyred the giver  
with returning mud.   

Is this the harvest  
of his sowing toil?  
Did Christ manure  
thy heart, to breed him briers?  
Or doth it need  
this unaccustomed soil,  
With hellish dung  
to fertile heaven's desires?  
No, no, the Marl  
that perjuries doth yield,  
May spoil a good,  
not fat a barren field.   

Was this for best  
deserts, the duest meed?  
Are highest worths  
well waged with spiteful hire?  
Are stoutest vows  
repealed in greatest need?  
Should friendship, at  
the first affront, retire?  
Blush, craven sot,  
lurk in eternal night:  
Crouch in the darkest  
Caves from loathed light.   

Ah wretch, why was  
I named son of a Dove,  
Whose speeches voided  
spite, and breathed gall?  
No kin I am  
unto the bird of love:  
My stony name  
much better suits my fall,  
My oaths were stones;  
my cruel tongue the sling:  
My God, the mark,  
at which my spite did fling.   

Were all the jewish  
tyrannies too few  
To glut thy hungry  
looks with his disgrace:  
That thou more hateful  
tyrannies must show,  
And spot thy poison  
in thy Maker's face?  
Didst thou to spare  
his foes put up thy sword,  
To brandish now  
thy tongue against thy Lord?   

Ah tongue, that didst  
his praise and Godhead sound,  
How wert thou stained  
with such detesting words,  
That every word  
was to his heart a wound,  
And lanced him deeper  
than a thousand swords?  
What rage of man,  
yea what infernal Spirit,  
Can have disgorged  
more loathsome dregs of spite?   

Why did the yielding  
Sea, like Marble way,  
Support a wretch  
more wavering than the waves?  
Whom doubt did plunge,  
why did the waters stay?  
Unkind, in kindness,  
murdering while it saves?  
O that this tongue  
had then been fishes food,  
And I devoured  
before this cursing mood!   

There surges, depths,  
and Seas unfirme by kind,  
Rough gusts, and distance  
both from ship and shore,  
Were titles to  
excuse my staggering mind;  
Stout feet might falter  
on that liquid floor:  
But here no Seas,  
no Blasts, no Billows were:  
A puff of woman's  
wind bred all my fear.   

O Coward troops,  
fare better armed than hearted?  
Whom angry words,  
whom blows could not provoke:  
Whom though I taught  
how sore my weapon smarted,  
Yet none repaid  
me with a wounding stroke.  
O no: that stroke  
could but one moiety kill:  
I was reserved  
both halves at once to spill.   

Ah, whither was  
forgotten love exiled?  
Where did the truth  
of pledged promise sleep?  
What in my thoughts  
begat this ugly child,  
That could through rent  
soul thus fiercely creep?  
O Viper, fear  
their death by whom thou livest,  
All good thy ruins  
wreck, all evils thou givest.   

Threats threw me not,  
torments I none assayed:  
My fray, with shades:  
conceits did make me yield,  
Wounding my thoughts  
with fears selfely dismayed,  
I neither fought  
nor lost, I gave the field:  
Infamous foil:  
a Maidens easy breath  
Did blow me down,  
and blast my soul to death.   

Titles I make  
untruths: am I a rock,  
That with so soft  
a gale was overthrown?  
Am I fit Pastor  
for the faithful Flock,  
To guide their souls,  
that murdered thus mine own?  
A rock of ruin,  
not a rest to stay,  
A Pastor, not  
to feed, but to betray.   

Fidelity was flown,  
when fear was hatched,  
Incompatible  
brood in virtue's nest:  
Courage can less  
with Cowardice be matched,  
Prowess nor love  
lodged in divided breast;  
O adam's Child,  
cast by a silly Eve,  
Heir to thy Father's  
foils, and borne to grieve.   

In Thabors' joys  
I eager was to dwell,  
An earnest friend  
while pleasure's light did shine:  
But when eclipsed  
glory prostrate fell,  
These zealous heats  
to sleep I did resign;  
And now, my mouth  
hath thrice his name defiled,  
That cried so loud  
three dwellings there to build.   

When Christ attending  
the distressful hour,  
With his surcharged  
breast did bless the ground,  
Prostrate in pangs,  
raining a bleeding shower,  
Me, like myself,  
a drowsy friend he found;  
Thrice in his care,  
sleep closed by careless eye,  
Presage how him  
my tongue should thrice deny.   

Parting from Christ,  
my fainting force declined,  
With lingering foot  
I followed him aloof,  
Base fear out of  
my heart his love unshrined,  
Huge in high words,  
but impotent in proof;  
My vaunts did seem  
hatched under Sampsons' locks,  
Yet woman's words  
did give me murdering knocks.   

So fare luke warm  
desires in crazy love,  
Fare off in need  
with feeble foot they train;  
In tides they swim,  
low ebbs they scorn to prove,  
They seek their friends  
delights, but shun their pain,  
Hire of an hireling  
mind is earned shame:  
Take now thy due:  
bear thy begotten blame.   

Ah, cool remissness,  
virtues quartan fever,  
Pining of love,  
consumption of grace:  
Old in the cradle,  
languor dying ever.  
Souls wilful famine,  
sins soft stealing pace,  
The undermining  
evil of zealous thought,  
Seeming to bring  
no harms till all be brought.   

O portresse of  
the door of my disgrace;  
Whose tongue unlocked  
the truth of vowed mind;  
Whose words, from Coward's  
heart, did courage chase,  
And let in deathful  
fears my soul to blind:  
O hadst thou been  
the portresse to my tomb,  
When thou wert portresse  
to that cursed room.   

Yet love was loath  
to part; fear, loath to die:  
Stay, danger, life,  
did counterpleade their causes:  
I favouring stay,  
and life bad danger fly:  
But danger did  
except against these clauses:  
Yet stay, and live,  
I would, and danger shun:  
And lost myself,  
while I my verdict won.   

I stayed, yet did  
my staying farthest part:  
I lived; but so,  
that saving life, I lost it:  
Danger I shunned,  
but to my sorer smart:  
I gained nought,  
but deeper damage crossed it.  
What danger, distance,  
death is worse than this,  
That runs from God  
and spoils his soul of bliss?   

O john, my guide  
into this earthly hell,  
Too well acquainted  
in so ill a Court,  
(Where railing mouths  
with blasphemies did swell,  
With tainted breath  
infecting all resort)  
Why didst thou lead  
me to this hell of evils,  
To show myself  
a Fiend among the Devils?   

Evil precedent,  
the tide that wafts to vice.  
Dumme-Orator,  
that woos with silent deeds,  
Writing in works  
lessons of ill advice,  
The doing tale  
that eye in practice reeds:  
Taster of joys:  
to unacquainted hunger:  
With leaven of  
the old, seasoning the younger.   

It seems no fault  
to do that all have done:  
The number of  
offenders hide the sin:  
Coach drawn with many  
horse, doth easily run,  
Soon followeth one  
where multitudes begin.  
O, had I in  
that Court much stronger been;  
Or not so strong  
as first to enter in!   

Sharp was the weather  
in that stormy place,  
Best suiting hearts  
benumbed with hellish frost.  
Whose crusted malice  
could admit no grace,  
Where coals are kindled  
to the warmer's cost,  
Where fear my thoughts  
candied with icy cold:  
Heat, did my tongue  
to perjuries unfold.   

O hateful fire  
(ah that I never saw it)  
Too hard my heart  
was frozen for thy force.  
Fare hotter flames  
it did require to thaw it,  
Thy hell-resembling  
heat did freeze it worse.  
O that I rather  
had congealed to ice,  
Then bought thy warmth  
at such a damning price!   

O wakeful bird,  
proclaimer of the day,  
Whose piercing note  
doth daunt the Lion's rage:  
Thy crowing did  
myself to me bewray,  
My frights, and brutish,  
heats it did assuage.  
But o, in this  
alone, unhappy Cock,  
That thou to count  
my foils wert made the clock.   

O bird, the just  
rebuker of my crime,  
The faithful waker  
of my sleeping fears:  
Be now the daily  
clock to strike the time,  
When stinted eyes  
shall pay their task of tears,  
Vpbraid mine ears  
with thine accusing crow,  
To make me rue  
that first it made me know.   

O mild revenger  
of aspiring Pride,  
Thou canst dismount  
high thoughts to low effects:  
Thou mad'st a Cock  
me for my fault to chide,  
My lofty boasts  
this lowly bird corrects.  
Well might a Cock  
correct me with a crow,  
Whom hennish cackling  
first did overthrow.   

Weak weapons did  
Goliahs' fumes abate,  
Whose storming rage  
did thunder threats in vain:  
His body huge,  
harnessed with massy plate,  
Yet David's stone  
brought death into his brain.  
With staff and sling  
as to a dog he came:  
And with contempt  
did boasting fury tame.   

Yet David had  
with Bear and Lion fought,  
His skilful might  
excused Goliahs' foil:  
The death is eased  
that worthy hand hath wrought:  
Some honour life's  
in honourable spoil;  
But I, on whom  
all infamies must light,  
Was hist to death  
with words of woman's spite.   

Small gnats enforced  
th'Egyptian King to stoop,  
Yet they in swarms  
and armed with piercing stings:  
Smart, noise, annoyance,  
made his courage droop,  
No small encumbrance  
such small vermin brings:  
I quailed at words  
that neither bit nor stung,  
And those delivered  
from a woman's tongue.   

Ah fear, abortive  
imp of drooping mind:  
Self overthrow;  
false friend; root of remorse:  
Sighted, in seeing  
evils; in shunning blind:  
Foiled without field;  
by fancy not by force;  
Ague of valour;  
frenzy of the wise;  
True honours stain;  
love's frost; the mint of lies.   

Can virtue, wisdom,  
strength by women spilt  
In David's, salomon's,  
and Sampsons' falls,  
With semblance of  
excuse my error gild,  
Or lend a marble  
gloss to muddy walls?  
O no, their fault  
had show of some pretence,  
No veil can hide  
the shame of my offence.   

The blaze of beauty's  
beams allured their looks:  
Their looks, by seeing  
oft, conceived love:  
Love, by effecting,  
swallowed pleasures hooks:  
Thus beauty, love,  
and pleasure them did move.  
These Siren's sugared  
tunes rocked them asleep:  
Enough to damn,  
yet not to damn so deep.   

But gracious features  
dazzled not mine eyes,  
Two homely Droils  
were authors of my death:  
Not love, but fear,  
my senses did surprise:  
Not fear of force,  
but fear of woman's breath.  
And those unarmed,  
ill graced, despised, unknown:  
So base a blast  
my truth hath overthrown.   

O women, woe  
to men: traps for their falls,  
Still actors in  
all Tragical mischances:  
Earth's necessary  
evils, captiving thralls,  
Now murdering with  
your tongues, now with your glances  
Parents of life,  
and love: spoilers of both,  
The thiefs of hearts:  
false, do you love or loath.   

In time, O Lord,  
thine eyes with mine did meet,  
In them I read  
the ruins of my fall.  
Their cheering rays  
that made misfortune sweet,  
Into my guilty  
thoughts poured floods of gall:  
Their heavenly looks,  
that blest where they beheld,  
Darts of disdain,  
and angry checks did yield.   

O sacred eyes,  
the springs of living light,  
The earthly heavens  
where Angels joy to dwell,  
How could you deign  
to view my deathful plight,  
Or let your heavenly  
beams look on my hell?  
But those unspotted  
eyes encountered mine,  
As spotless Sun  
doth on the dunghill shine.   

Sweet volumes stored  
with learning fit for Saints,  
Where blissful quires  
imparadise their minds,  
Wherein eternal  
study never faints,  
Still finding all,  
yet seeking all it finds:  
How endless is  
your labyrinth of bliss,  
Where to be lost  
the sweetest finding is?   

Ah wretch, how oft  
have I sweet lessons read,  
In those dear eyes  
the registers of truth?  
How oft have I  
my hungry wishes fed,  
And in their happy  
joys redressed my ruth?  
Ah that they now  
are Heralds of disdain,  
That erst were ever  
pitiers of my pain!   

You flames divine  
that sparkle out your heats,  
And kindle pleasing  
fires in mortal hearts:  
You Nectared Aumbries  
of soul feeding meats,  
You graceful quivers  
of love's dearest darts:  
You did vouchsafe  
to warm, to wound, to feast,  
My cold, my stony,  
my now famished breast.   

The matchless eyes,  
matched only each by other,  
Were pleased on my  
ill matched eyes to glance:  
The eye of liquid  
pearl, the purest mother,  
Broached tears in mine  
to weep for my mischance;  
The cabinets  
of grace unlocked their treasure,  
And did to my  
misdeed their mercy's measure.   

These blazing Comets,  
lightning flames of love,  
Made me their warming  
influence to know;  
My frozen heart  
their sacred force did prove,  
Which at their looks  
did yield like melting snow:  
They did not joys  
in former plenty carve:  
Yet sweet are crumbs  
where pined thoughts do starve.   

O living mirrors,  
seeing whom you show,  
Which equal shadows  
worths with shadowed things,  
Yea make things nobler  
than in native hue,  
By being shaped  
in those lifegiving springs;  
Much more my image  
in those eyes were graced,  
Then in myself,  
whom sin and shame defaced.   

Allseeing eyes,  
more worth than all you see,  
Of which one is  
the others only price:  
I worthless am,  
direct your beams on me,  
With quickening virtue  
cure my kill vice.  
By seeing things,  
you make things worth the sight,  
You seeing, salve,  
and being seen delight.   

O Pools of Hesebon,  
the baths of grace,  
Where happy spirits  
dine in sweet desires:  
Where Saints delight  
to glass their glorious face,  
Whose banks make Echo  
to the Angels quires,  
An Echo sweeter  
in the sole rebound,  
Then Angels music  
in the fullest sound.   

O eyes, whose glances  
are a silent speech,  
In cipherd words  
high mysteries disclosing:  
Which with a loo●e  
all Sciences can teach,  
Whose texts to faithful  
hearts need little glozing:  
Witness unworthy  
I, who in a look  
Learned more by rote,  
than all the Scribes by book.   

Though malice still  
possessed their hardened minds:  
I, though too hard,  
learned softness in thine eye,  
Which iron knots  
of stubborn will unbinds,  
Offering them love,  
that love with love will buy:  
This did I learn,  
yet they could not discern it;  
But woe, that I  
had now such need to learn it.   

O Suns, all but  
yourselves in light excelling,  
Whose presence day,  
whose absence causeth night,  
Whose neighbour course  
brings Summer, cold expelling,  
Whose distant periods  
frieze away delight.  
Ah, that I lost  
your bright and fostering beams,  
To plunge my soul  
in these congealed streams!   

O gracious Spheres  
where love the Centre is,  
A native place  
for our self-loaden souls;  
The compass love,  
a cope that none can miss,  
The motion, love  
that round about us rolls:  
O Spheres of love,  
whose Centre, cope, and motion,  
Is love of us,  
love that invites devotion.   

O little worlds,  
the sums of all the best,  
Where glory, heaven,  
God, sun, all virtues, stars;  
Where fire a love  
that next to heaven doth rest,  
Air, light of life,  
that no distemper mars;  
The water grace,  
whose seas, whose springs, whose showers  
Cloth nature's earth  
with everlasting flowers.   

What mixtures these  
sweet Elements do yeled,  
Let happy worldlings  
of those worlds expound,  
But simples are  
by compounds fare excelled,  
Both suit a place,  
where all best things abound.  
And if a banished  
wretch guess not amiss:  
All but one compound  
frame of perfect bliss.   

I, out-cast from  
these worlds, exiled room,  
Poor Saint, from heaven,  
from fire cold Salamander:  
Lost fish; from those  
sweet waters kindly home,  
From land of life,  
strayed Pilgrim still I wander.  
I know the cause:  
these worlds had never hell,  
In which my faults  
have best deserved to dwell.   

O Bethlem cesterns,  
David's most desire,  
From which my sins  
like fierce Philistims keep,  
To fetch your drops  
what Champion should I hire,  
That I therein  
my withered heart may steep?  
I would not shed  
them like that holy King,  
His were but types,  
these are the figured thing.   

O Turtle twins  
all bathed in Virgin's milk,  
Upon the margin  
of full flowing banks:  
Whose graceful plume  
surmounts the finest silk,  
Whose sight enamoureth  
heaven's most happy ranks,  
Can I forswear  
this heavenly pair of Doves,  
That caged in care  
for me were groaning loves!   

Twice Moses wand  
did strike the stubborn Rock,  
Ere stony veins  
would yield their crystal blood:  
Thy eyes, one look  
served as an only knock,  
To make mine heart  
gush out a weeping flood:  
Wherein my sins  
as fishes spawn their fry,  
To show their inward  
shames, and then to die.   

But o, how long  
demur I on his eyes,  
Whose look did pierce  
my heart with healing wound?  
Lancing impostumed sore  
of perjured lies,  
Which these two issues  
of mine ●yes have found:  
Where run it must,  
till death the issues stop,  
And penal life  
hath purged the final drop.   

Like solest Swan  
that swims in silent deep,  
And never sings  
but obsequies of death,  
Sigh out thy plaints,  
and sole in secret weep,  
In suing pardon,  
spend thy perjured breath;  
Attire thy soul  
in sorrow's mourning weed,  
And at thine eyes  
let guilty conscience bleed.   

Still in the Limbeck  
of thy doleful breast  
These bitter fruits  
that from thy sins do grow,  
For fuel, self  
accusing thoughts be best,  
Use fear as fire;  
the coals let penance blow;  
And seek none other  
quintessence but tears,  
That eyes may shed  
what entered at thine ears.   

Come sorrowing tears,  
the offspring of my grief,  
Scant not your Parent  
of a needful aid;  
In you I rest,  
the hope of wished relief,  
By you my sinful  
debts must be defrayed:  
Your power prevails,  
your sacrifice is grateful,  
By love obtaining  
life to men most hateful.   

Come good effects  
of ill-deserving cause;  
Ill gotten imps,  
yet virtuously brought forth:  
Selfe-blaming probates,  
of infringed Laws,  
Yet blamed faults  
redeeming with your worth;  
The signs of shame  
in you each eye may read.  
Yet while you guilty prove,  
you pity plead.   

O beams of mercy  
beat on sorrow's Cloud,  
Prove suppling showers  
upon my parched ground:  
Bring forth the fruit  
to your due service vowed,  
Let good desires  
with like deserts be crowned,  
Water young blooming  
virtues tender flower,  
Sin did all grace  
of riper growth devour.   

Weep Balm and Myrrh,  
you sweet Arabian trees,  
With purest gums  
perfume and pearl your ryne:  
Shed on your honey drops,  
you busy Bees,  
I, barren plant,  
must weep unpleasant brine:  
Hornets I hive,  
salt drops their labour plies,  
Sucked out of sin,  
and shed by showering eyes.   

If David night by night  
did bathe his bed,  
Esteeming longest days  
too short to move:  
Inconsolable tears,  
if Anna shed,  
Who in her son  
her solace had forgone,  
Then I to days, and weeks,  
to months and years,  
Do own the hourly  
rent of stintless tears.   

If love, if loss,  
if fault, if spotted fame,  
If danger, death,  
if wrath or wreck of weal,  
Entitle eyes  
true heirs to earned blame,  
That due remorse  
in such events conceal,  
That want of tears  
might well unroll my name,   

As chiefest Saint  
in Calendar of shame.  
Love, where I loved,  
was due, and best deserved,  
No love could aim  
at more loveworthy mark  
No love more loved  
than mine of him I served,  
Large use he gave,  
a flame for every spark.  
This love I lost,  
this loss a life must rue,  
Yea life is short  
to pay the ruth is due.   

I lost all that  
I had, and had the most,  
The most that will  
can wish, or wit device:  
I least performed,  
that did most vainly boast.  
I stained my fame  
in most infamous wise.  
What danger then,  
death, wrath, or wreck can move  
More pregnant cause  
of tears then this I prove?   

If Adam sought  
a veil to scarf his sin,  
Taught by his fall  
to fear a scourging hand,  
If men shall wish  
that hills should wrap them in,  
When crimes in final  
doom come to be scanned,  
What Mount, what Cave,  
what Centre can conceal  
My monstrous fact,  
which even the birds reveal?   

Come shame, the livery  
of offending mind,  
The ugly shroud  
that overshadoweth blame:  
The mulct, at which  
foul faults are justly fined,  
The damp of sin,  
the common sluice of fame,  
By which impostumed  
tongues their humours purge,  
Light shame on me,  
I best deserved the scourge.   

cain's murdering hand  
imbrued in brother's blood,  
More mercy than  
my impious tongue may crave:  
He killed a rival  
with pretence of good,  
In hope God's doubled  
love alone to have:  
But fear so spoilt  
my vanquished thoughts of love,  
That perjured oaths  
my spiteful hate did prove.   

Poor Agar from  
her fere enforced to fly,  
Wand'ring in  
Barsabian wilds alone:  
Doubting her child  
through helpless drought would dye,  
Laid it aloof,  
and set her down to move.  
The heavens with prayers,  
her lap with tears she filled:  
A mother's love  
in loss is hardly styled.   

But Agar now  
bequeath thy tears to me,  
Fears, not effects,  
did set afloat thine eyes:  
But wretch I feel  
more than was feared of thee.  
Ah not my Son,  
my soul it is that dies:  
It dies for drought,  
yet hath a spring in sight,  
Worthy to die,  
that would not live and might.   

Fair Absoloms foul faults  
compared with mine,  
Are brightest sands,  
to mud of Sodom Lakes;  
High aims, young spirits,  
birth of royal line,  
Made him play false,  
where Kingdoms were the stakes,  
He gazed on golden hopes,  
whose lustre wins,  
Sometime the gravest wits  
to grievous sins.   

But I, whose crime  
cuts off the least excuse,  
A Kingdom lost,  
but hoped no mite of gain,  
My highest mark,  
was but the worthless use  
Of some few lingering  
hours of longer pain;  
Ungrateful child,  
his Parent he pursued,  
I, Giant's war  
with God himself renewed.   

joy, infant Saints;  
whom in the tender flower,  
A happy storm  
did free from fear of sin,  
Long is their life  
that die in blissful hour,  
joyful such ends  
as endless joys begin.  
Too long they live,  
that live till they be nought:  
Life saved by sin,  
base purchase dear bought.   

This lot was mine,  
your fate was not so fierce,  
Whom spotless death  
in Cradle rocked asleep,  
Sweet Roses mixed  
with Lilies strewed your hearse,  
Death Virgin white  
in Martyrs red did steep.  
Your downy heads  
both Pearls and Rubies crowned,  
My hoary locks  
did female fears confound.   

You bleating Ewes;  
that wail this wolvish spoil  
Of sucking Lambs  
new bought with bitter throws,  
T'inbalme your babes  
your eyes distil their oil,  
Each heart to tomb  
her child wide rapture shows;  
Rue not their death  
whom death did but revive:  
Yield ruth to me  
that lived to die alive.   

With easy loss  
sharp wrecks did he eschew,  
That Sindonlesse  
aside did naked slip:  
Once naked grace  
no outward garment knew,  
Rich are his robes  
whom sin did never strip,  
I rich in vaunts,  
displayed pride's fairest flags,  
Disrobed of grace,  
am wrapped in Adam's rags.   

When traitor to the son,  
in Mother's eyes,  
I shall present  
my humble suit for grace;  
What blush can paint  
the shame that will arise,  
Or write my inward  
feeling in my face?  
Might she the sorrow  
with the sinner see,  
Though I despised,  
my grief might pitied be.   

But ah, how can her ears  
my speech endure,  
Or sent my breath  
still reeking hellish steam?  
Can mother like,  
what did the Son abjure,  
Or heart deflowered,  
a Virgins love redeem?  
The Mother nothing love's  
that Son doth loath.  
Ah loathsome wretch,  
detested of them both!   

O sister Nymphs,  
the sweet renowned pair,  
That bless Bethania bounds  
with your abode:  
Shall I infect  
that sanctified air,  
Or stain those steps  
where jesus breathed and trodden?  
No: let your prayers  
perfume that sweetened place;  
Turn me with Tigers  
to the wildest chase.   

Can I revived  
Lazarus behold,  
The third of that  
sweet Trinity of Saints;  
Would not abstonisht dread,  
my senses hold?  
Ah yes my heart  
even with his naming faints;  
I seem to see  
a messenger from hell,  
That my prepared torments  
comes to tell   

O john, O james,  
we made a triple cord,  
Of three most loving  
and best loving friends:  
My rotten twist  
was broken with a word,  
Fit now to fuel fire  
among the Fiends;  
It is not ever true,  
though often spoken,  
That triple twisted cord  
is hardly broken.   

The dispossed Devils  
that out I threw,  
In JESUS name,  
now impiously forsworn,  
Triumph to see  
me caged in their mew,  
Trampling my ruins  
with contempt and scorn;  
My perjuries were music  
to their dance,  
And now they heap disdains  
on my mischance.   

Our Rock (say they) is riven,  
O welcome hour!  
Our eagle's wings are clipped  
that wrought so high:  
Our thundering Cloud made noise,  
but cast no shower,  
He prostrate lies  
that would have sealed the sky,  
In woman's tongue  
our runner found a rub,  
Our Cedar now is shrunk  
into a shrub.   

These scornful words  
upraid my inward thought,  
Proofs of their damned  
prompters neighbours voice:  
Such ugly guests  
still wait upon the nought.  
Fiends swarm to souls  
that swerve from virtue's choice,  
For breach of plighted truth,  
this true I try;  
Ah, that my deed  
thus gave my word the lie.   

Once, and but once,  
too dear a once to twice it,  
A heaven, in earth,  
Saints, near myself I saw;  
Sweet was the sight,  
but sweeter loves did spice it,  
But sights and loves  
did my misdeed withdraw.  
From heaven and Saints,  
to hell and Devils estranged,  
Those sights to frights,  
those loves to hates are changed.   

Christ, as my God,  
was templed in my thought,  
As man, he lent mine eyes  
their dearest light,  
But sinne his temple  
hath to ruin brought:  
And now, he lighteneth  
terror from his sight:  
Now of my late  
unconsecrate desires,  
Profaned wretch,  
I taste the earned hires.   

Ah sin, the nothing  
that doth all things file;  
Out-cast from heaven,  
earth's curse, the cause of hell:  
Parent of death,  
author of our exile,  
The wreck of souls,  
the wares that Fiends do sell,  
That men to monsters:  
Angels turn to Devils:  
Wrong of all rights;  
self ruin; root of evils.   

A thing most done,  
yet more than God can do:  
Daily new done,  
yet never done amiss;  
Friended of all;  
yet unto all a foe,  
Seeming an heaven,  
yet banishing from bliss:  
Served with toil,  
yet paying nought but pain:  
Man's deepest loss,  
though false, esteemed gain.   

Shot, without noise;  
wound without present smart:  
First seeming light;  
proving in fine a load,  
Entering with ease,  
not easily won to part,  
Fare in effects  
from that the shows abode;  
Endorc't with hope,  
subscribed with despair;  
Ugly in death,  
though life did feign it fair.   

O forfeiture of heaven!  
eternal debt,  
A moment's joy;  
ending in endless fires;  
Our nature's scum;  
the world's entangling Net:  
Night of our thoughts;  
death of all good desires.  
Worse than all this:  
worse than all tongues can say,  
Which man could owe,  
but only God defray.   

This fawning Viper,  
dumb till he had wounded,  
With many mouths  
doth now upbraid my harms:  
My sight was veiled  
till I myself confounded,  
Then did I see  
the disinchanted charms.  
Then could I cut  
th' Anatomy of sin,  
And search with Lynx's eyes  
what lay within.   

Bewitching evil,  
that hides death in deceits,  
Still borrowing lying shapes  
to mask thy face,  
Now know I the  
deciphring of thy sleights,  
A cunning dear bought  
with loss of grace;  
Thy sugared poison  
now hath wrought so well,  
That thou hast made me  
to myself an hell.   

My eye reads mournful  
lessons to my heart,  
My heart doth to my thought  
the grief expound,  
My thought the same  
doth to my tongue impart,  
My tongue the message  
in the ears doth sound;  
My ears back to my heart  
their sorrows send,  
Thus circling griefs  
run round without an end.   

My guilty eye  
still seems to see my sin,  
All things Characters are  
to spell my fall,  
What eye doth read without,  
heart rues within,  
What heart doth rue,  
to pensive thought is gall,  
Which when the thought  
would by the tongue digest,  
The ear conveys it  
back into the breast.   

Thus gripes in all my parts  
do never fail,  
Whose only league  
is now in bartering pains,  
What I engross,  
they traffic by retail,  
Making each others  
miseries their gains;  
All bound for ever,  
apprentices to care,  
Whilst I in shop of shame  
trade sorrow's ware,   

Pleased with displeasing lot  
I seek no change,  
I wealthiest am,  
when richest in remorse;  
To fetch my ware  
no Seas nor Lands I range.  
For customers to buy  
I nothing force.  
My home bred goods  
at home are bought and sold,  
And still in me  
my interest I hold.   

My comfort now  
is comfortless to live,  
In Orphan state  
devoted to mishap:  
Rend from the root,  
that sweetest fruit did give,  
I scorned to graft in stock,  
of meaner sap.  
No juice can joy me  
but of Jesse's flower,  
Whose heavenly root  
hath true reviving power.   

At sorrow's door I knocked,  
they craved my name:  
I answered: One,  
unworthy to be known.  
What one, say they?  
One worthiest of blame.  
But who? A wretch,  
not Gods, nor yet his own.  
A man? O no, a beast;  
much worse: What creature?  
A rock: How called?  
the rock of scandal, Peter.   

From whence? From Caiphas house:  
Ah dwell you there?  
Sin's farm I rent there,  
but now would leave it:  
What rent? My soul;  
What gain? Unrest, and fear.  
Dear purchase. Ah too dear,  
will you receive it?  
What shall we give?  
Fit tears, and times to plain me.  
Come in, say they;  
thus griefs did entertain me.   

With them I rest  
true prisoner in their jail,  
Chained in the iron links  
of basest thrall,  
Till grace vouchsafing  
captive soul to bail,  
In wont See  
degraded love's install.  
Days pass in plaints;  
the night without repose,  
I wake, to sleep,  
I sleep in waking woes.   

Sleep deaths alley,  
oblivion of tears,  
Silence of passiions,  
balm of angry sore,  
Suspense of loves,  
security of fears,  
Wraths lenitive, heart's ease,  
storms calmest shore,  
Senses and souls reprivall  
from all cumbers,  
Benumbing sense of ill,  
with quiet slumbers.   

Not such my sleep,  
but whisperer of dreams,  
Creating strange Chimeras  
feigning frights:  
Of day discourses  
giving fancy themes,  
To make dumb shows  
with worlds of antic sights,  
Casting true griefs  
in fancies forged mould,  
Brokenly telling tales  
rightly foretell.   

This sleep most fitly  
suiteth sorrow's bed,  
Sorrow, the smart of evil,  
Sin's eldest child:  
Best, when unkind  
in killing whom it bred,  
A rack for guilty thoughts,  
a bit for wild.  
The scourge that whips,  
the salve that cures offence:  
Sorrow, my bed, and home,  
while life hath sense.   

Here solitary Muses  
nurse my griefs,  
In silent loneness  
burying worldly noise,  
Attentive to rebukes,  
deaf to reliefs,  
Pensive to foster cares,  
careless of joys;  
Ruing life's loss  
under deaths dreary roofs,  
Solemnising  
my funeral behoofes.   

A self content the ,  
my soul the corpse,  
The Beer an humble hope,  
the herse-clorh, fear;  
The mourner's thoughts,  
in blacks of deep remorse,  
The hearse, grace, pity,  
love and mercy bear.  
My ●eares, my dole,  
the Priest a zealous will:  
Penance the tomb,  
and doleful sighs the knell.   

Christ, health of fevered soul,  
heaven of the mind,  
Force of the feeble,  
nurse of infant love's,  
Guide to the wand'ring foot,  
light to the blind,  
Whom weeping winds,  
repentant sorrow moves.  
Father in care;  
mother in tender heart,  
Revive and save me,  
slain with sinful dart.   

If King Manasses sunk  
in depth of sin,  
With plaints and tears  
recovered grace and Crown:  
A worthless worm  
some mild regard may win,  
And lowly creep,  
where flying threw it down.  
A poor desire I have  
to mend my ill,  
I should, I would,  
I dare not say, I will.   

I dare not say, I will;  
but wish I may,  
My pride is checked,  
high words the speaker spilt:  
My good, o Lord,  
thy gift, thy strength my stay:  
Give what thou bidst,  
and then bid what thou wilt.  
Work with me what  
of me thou dost request,  
Then will I dare the most,  
and vow the best.   

Prone look, crossed arms,  
bend knee, and contrite heart,  
Deep sighs, thick sobs,  
dewed eyes, and prostrate prayers,  
Most humbly beg release  
of earned smart,  
And saving   
in mercies sweet repairs.  
If justice should  
my wrongs with rigour wage,  
Fears, would despairs;  
ruth, breed a hopeless rage.   

Lazar at pities gate  
I ulcered lie,  
Craving the refuse crumbs  
of children's plate:  
My sores I lay in view  
to mercy's eye,  
My rags bear witness  
of my poor estate;  
The worms of conscience  
that within me swarm,  
Prove that my plaints are less  
than is my harm.   

With mildness, jesus,  
measure mine offence;  
Let true remorse  
thy due revenge abate;  
Let tears appease  
when trespass doth incense:  
Let pity temper  
thy deserved hate.  
Let grace forgive,  
let love forget my fall,  
With fear I crave,  
with hope I humbly call.   

Redeem my lapse  
with ransom of thy love,  
Traverse th' indictment,  
rigours doom suspend:  
Let frailty favour,  
sorrows secure move.  
Be thou thyself,  
though changeling I offend:  
Tender my suit,  
cleanse this defiled den,  
Cancel my debts,  
sweet jesus, say Amen.   
The end of S. Peter's Complaint.   

MARRY magdalen's blush.  

THe signs of shame  
that stain my blushing face,  
Rise from the feeling  
of my raving fits:  
Whose joy annoy,  
whose guerdon is disgrace:  
Whose solace flies,  
whose sorrow never flits:  
Bad seed I sowed,  
worse fruit is now my gain,  
Soon dying mirth  
begat long living pain.   

Now pleasure ebbs,  
revenge gins to flow,  
One day doth wreak  
the wrath that many wrought:  
Remorse doth teach  
my guilty thoughts to know  
How cheap I sold,  
what Christ so dear bought.  
Faults long unfelt  
doth conscience now bewray,   

All ghostly dynts  
that Grace at me did dart,  
Like stubborn rock  
I forced to recoil;  
To other flights  
an aim I made mine heart,  
Whose wounds then welcome,  
now have wrought my foil.  
woe worth the bow,  
woe worth the Archers might.  
That drove such Arrows  
to the mark so right.   

To pull them out,  
to leave them in, is death;  
One to this world;  
one to the world to come:  
Wounds may I wear,  
and draw a doubtful breath:  
But then my wounds  
will work a dreadful doom.  
And for a world,  
whose pleasures pass away,  
I lose a world,  
whose joys are past decay.   

O sense, o soul,  
o had, o hoped bliss,  
You woe, you wean,  
you draw, you drive me back.  
Your cross encountering  
like their combat is,  
That never end  
but with some deadly wrack.  
When sense doth win,  
the soul doth lose the field,  
And present haps  
make future hopes to yield.   

O heaven, lament,  
sense robbeth thee of Saints,  
Lament, O souls,  
sense spoileth you of Grace:  
Yet sense doth scarce deserve  
these hard complaints.  
Love is the thief,  
sense but the entering place,  
Yet grant I must,  
sense is not free from sin,  
For thief he is,  
that thief admitteth in.    

MARY magdalen's complaint at Christ's death.  

Sigh my life from life is parted:  
Death, come take thy portion,  
Who survives, when life is murdered,  
Life's by mere extortion.  
All that live, and not in God,  
Couch their life in deaths abode.   

Silly stars must needs leave shining,  
When the Sun is shadowed.  
Borrowed streams refrain their running,  
When head-springs are hindered.  
One that life's by others breath,  
Dyeth also by his death.   

O true Life, since thou hast left me,  
Mortal life is tedious,  
Death it is to live without thee,  
Death of all most odious.  
Turn again, or take me to thee,  
Let me dye, or live thou in me.   

Where the truth once was and is not,  
Shadows are but vanity:  
Showing want, that help they cannot,  
Signs, not salve of misery.  
Painted meat no hunger feeds,  
Dying life each death exceeds.   

With my love, my life was nestled  
In the sum of happiness;  
From my love, my life is wrested  
To a world of heaviness.  
O, let love my life remove,  
Sith I live not where I love.   

O my soul, what did unloose thee  
From the sweet captivity?  
God, not I, did still possess thee:  
His, not mine thy liberty.  
O, too happy thrall thou wart,  
When thy prison was his heart.   

Spiteful spear that break'st this prison,  
Seat of all felicity,  
Working this, with double treason,  
Loves, and life's delivery:  
Though my life thou drau'st away,  
Maugre thee my love shall stay.    

Times go by turns.  

THE lopped tree  
in time may grow again,  
Most naked plants  
renew both fruit and flower:  
The sorriest wight  
may find release of pain,  
The driest soil  
suck in some moistening shower.  
Times go by turns,  
and chances change by course,  
From foul to fair:  
from better hap to worse.   

The sea of Fortune  
doth not ever flow,  
She draws her favours  
to the lowest ebb;  
Her tides have equal times  
to come and go,  
Her Loom doth wove  
the fine and coursest web;  
No joy so great,  
but runneth to an end:  
No hap so hard,  
but may in fine amend.   

Not always Fall of leaf,  
nor ever Spring,  
No endless night,  
nor yet eternal day:  
The saddest Birds  
a season find to sing,  
The roughest storm  
a calm may soon allay.  
Thus with succeeding turns  
God tempereth all:  
That man may hope to rise,  
yet fear to fall.   

A chance may win  
that by mischance was lost,  
That net that holds no great,  
takes little fish;  
In some things all,  
in all things none are crossed:  
Few all they need,  
but none have all they wish.  
Unmingled joys  
here to no man befall:  
Who lest, hath some,  
who most, hath never all.    

LOOK HOME.  

Retired thoughts enjoy  
their own delights,  
As beauty doth  
in selfe-beholding eye:  
Man's mind a mirror is  
of heavenly sights,  
A briefe wherein  
all marvels summed lie:  
Of fairest forms,  
and sweetest shapes the store,  
Most graceful all,  
yet thought may grace them more.   

The mind a creature is,  
yet can create,  
To Nature's patterns  
adding higher skill:  
Of finest works,  
wit better could the state,  
If force of wit  
had equal power of will.  
Device of man  
in working hath no end:  
What thought can think,  
another thought can mend.   

Man's soul of endless  
beauty's image is,  
Drawn by the work  
of endless skill and might;  
This skilful might  
gave many sparks of bliss,  
And to discern this bliss,  
a native light,  
To frame God's image  
as his worths required,  
His might, his skill,  
his word, and will conspired.   

All that he had,  
his Image should present,  
All that it should present,  
he could afford;  
To that he could afford,  
his will was bend,  
His will was followed  
with performing word.  
Let this suffice,  
by this conceive the rest,  
He should, he could,  
he would, he did the best,    

Fortune's falsehood.  

IN worldly merriments  
lurketh much misery:  
Sly Fortune's subtleties,  
in baits of happiness,  
Shroud hooks; that swallowed  
(without recovery)  
Murder the innocent  
with mortal heaviness.   

She sootheth appetites  
with pleasing vanities,  
Till they be conquered  
with cloaked tyranny:  
Then, changing countenance,  
with open enmities,  
She triumphs over them,  
scorning their slavery.   

With fawning flattery  
Death's door she openeth,  
Alluring passengers  
to bloody destiny:  
In offers bountiful,  
in proof she beggereth;  
men's ruins registering  
her false felicity.   

Her hopes are fastened  
in bliss that vanisheth,  
Her smart inherited  
with sure possession,  
Constant in cruelty,  
she never altereth,  
But from one violence,  
to more oppression.   

To those that follow her,  
favours are measured  
As easy premises  
to hard conclusions;  
With bitter corrosives  
her joys are seasoned;  
Her highest benefits  
are but illusions.   

Her way's a labyrinth  
of wand'ring passages:  
Fools common pilgrimage,  
to cursed deities:  
Whose fond devotion  
and jowl menages,  
Are waged with weariness  
in fruitless drudgeries.   

Blind, in her favourites  
foolish election,  
Ch●n●● is ●er A●●●rer  
a giving dignity:  
He● choice of visions,  
sh●w●s most discretion,  
Sith ●●●●th, the virtuous  
might wrest from piety.   

To humble suppliants,  
tyrant most obstinate:  
She suitors answereth  
with contrarieties.  
Proud with petition,  
untaught to mitigate  
Rigour with clemency  
in hardest cruelties.   

Like Tiger fugitive  
from the Ambitious,  
Like weeping Crocodile  
to scornful enemies,  
Suing for amity  
where she is odious,  
But to her followers  
forswearing courtesies.   

No wind so changeable,  
no sea so wavering,  
As giddy Fortune  
in reeling varieties;  
Now mad, now merciful,  
now fierce, now favouring:  
In all things mutable,  
but mutabilities.    

Scorn not the least.  

WHere wards are weak,  
and foes encountering strong,  
Where mightier do assault  
then do defend,  
The feebler part  
puts up enforced wrong,  
And silent sees,  
that speech could not amend;  
Yet higher powers must think,  
though they repine,  
When Sun is set,  
the little stars will shine.   

While Pike doth range,  
the silly Tench doth fly,  
And crouch in privy creeks,  
with smaller fish:  
Yet Pikes are caught  
when little fish go by,  
These fleet afloat,  
while those do fill the dish;  
There is a time  
even for the worms to creep,  
And suck the dew  
while all their foes do sleep.   

The Marline cannot  
ever soar on high,  
Nor greedy Grey-houn  
still pursue the chase:  
The tender Lark  
will find a time to fly,  
And fearful Hate  
to run a quiet race.  
He that high growth  
on Cedars did bestow,  
Gave also lowly Mushrooms  
leave to grow.   

In Hamans' pomp  
poor Mardocheus wept,  
Yet God did turn  
his fate upon his foe,  
The Lazar pined,  
while Dives feast was kept,  
Yet he to heaven,  
to hell did Dives go.  
We trample grass,  
and prise the flowers of May,  
Yet grass is green,  
when flowers do fade away.    

The Nativity of Christ.  

BEhold, the Father  
is his daughter's son:  
The bird that built the nest,  
is hatched therein:  
The old of years,  
an hour hath not outrun:  
Eternal life, to live  
doth now begin.  
The Word is du●,  
the mirth of heaven doth weep,  
Might feeble is,  
and force doth faintly creep.   

O dying souls,  
behold your living spring;  
O dazzled eyes,  
behold your Sun of grace;  
Dull ears, attend what word  
this Word doth bring,  
Up, heavy hearts,  
with joy your joy embrace:  
From death, from dark,  
from deafness, from despairs,  
This life, this light,  
this Word, this joy repairs.   

Gift better than himself,  
God doth not know:  
Gift better than his God,  
no man can see;  
This gift doth here  
the giver given bestow,  
Gift to this gift  
let each receiver be.  
God is my gift,  
himself he freely gave me.  
God's gift am I,  
and none but God shall have me.   

Man altered was  
by sin from man to beast:  
Beasts food is hay,  
hay is all mortal flesh,  
Now God is flesh,  
and lies in Manger pressed  
As hay, the brutest sinner  
to refresh:  
O happy field  
wherein this fodder grew,  
Whose taste doth us  
from beasts to men renew.    

Christ's Childhood.  

TIll twelve year's age,  
how Christ his childhood spent,  
All earthly pens  
unworthy were to write,  
Such acts to mortal eyes  
he did present,  
Whose worth, not men,  
but Angels must recite.  
No nature's blots,  
no childish faults defiled,  
Where grace was guide,  
and God did play the child   

In springing locks,  
lay couched hoary wit,  
In semblance young,  
a grave and ancient port,  
In lowly looks,  
high majesty did sit:  
In tender tongue,  
sound sense of sagest sort,  
Nature imparted all  
that she could teach,  
And God supplied,  
where Nature could not reach.   

His mirth of modest mean  
a mirror was,  
His sadness, tempered  
with a mild aspect;  
His eye to try  
each action was a glass,  
Whose looks did good approve,  
and bade correct.  
His Nature's gifts,  
his grace, his word and deed,  
Well shown that all  
did from a God proceed.    

A Child my Choice.  

LEt folly praise  
that fancy love's:  
I praise and love that child,  
Whose heart no thought,  
whose tongue no word,  
whose hand no deed defiled.  
I praise him most,  
I love him best,  
all praise and love is his;  
While him I love,  
in him I live,  
and cannot live amiss.   

Love's sweetest mark,  
laudes highest Theme;  
man's most desired light;  
To love him life,  
to leave him, death;  
to live in him, delight.  
He mine by gift,  
I his by debt,  
thus each to other's due:  
First friend he was,  
best friend he is,  
all times will try him true.   

Though young yet wise,  
though small yet strong,  
though man, yet God he is,  
As wise, he knows,  
as strong, he can,  
as God he love's to bliss:  
His knowledge rules,  
his strength defends,  
his love doth cherish all,  
His birth our joy,  
his life our light,  
his death our end of thrall.   

Alas, he weeps,  
he sighs, he pants,  
yet do his Angels sing:  
Out of his tears,  
his sighs and throbs,  
doth bud a joyful Spring.  
Almighty Babe,  
whose tender arms,  
can force all foes to fly,  
Correct my faults,  
protect my life,  
direct me when I die.    

Content and rich.  

I Dwell in Grace's Court,  
every with Virtue's rights,  
Faith guides my wit, Love leads my will,  
Hope all my mind delights.   

In lowly vales I mount  
To pleasures highest pitch:  
My silly shroud true Honour brings,  
My poor estate is rich.   

My conscience is my Crown,  
Contented thoughts, my rest,  
My heart is happy in itself,  
My bliss is in my breast.   

Enough, I reckon wealth,  
A mean, the surest lot,  
That lies too high for base contempt,  
Too low, for Envy's shot.   

My wishes are but few,  
All easy to fulfil:  
I make the limits of my power,  
The bounds unto my will.   

I have no hopes but one,  
Which is of heavenly reign:  
Effects attained, or not desired,  
All lower hopes refrains.   

I feel no care of coin,  
Welldoing is my wealth,  
My mind to me an Empire is,  
While grace affordeth health.   

I clip high-climing thoughts,  
The wings of swelling pride,  
Their fall is worst, that from the height  
Of greater honour slide.   

Sith sails of largest size  
The storm doth soon tear,  
I bear so low and small a sail  
As freeth me from fear.   

I wrestle not with rage,  
While furies flame doth burn,  
It is in vain to stop the stream,  
Until the tide doth turn.   

But when the flame is out,  
And ebbing wrath doth end,  
I turn a late enraged foe  
Into a quiet friend.   

And taught with often proof,  
A tempered calm I find  
To be most solace to itself.  
Best cure for angry mind.   

Spare diet is my fare,  
My clothes more fit than fine,  
I know, I feed, and cloth a foe,  
That pamp'red, would repine.   

I envy not their hap  
Whom favour doth advance;  
I take no pleasure in their pain  
That have less happy chance.   

To rise by others fall,  
I deem a losing gain;  
All states with others ruins built,  
To ruin run amain.   

No change of Fortunes calms  
Can cast my comforts down:  
When Fortune smiles, I smile to think  
how quickly she will frown.   

And when in froward mood,  
She proved an angry so,  
Small gain I found to let her come,  
Less loss to let her go.    

Loss in delays.  

Eat delays, they breed remorse,  
Take thy time while time doth serve thee,  
Creeping Snails have weakest force,  
Fly their fault, lest thou repent thee.  
Good is best, when soon wrought,  
Lingering labours come to nought.   

Hoist up sail while gale doth last,  
Tide and wind stay no man's pleasure;  
Seek not time, when time is past,  
Sober speed is Wisdom's leisure:  
After-wits are dear bought,  
Let thy fore-wit guide thy thought.   

Time wears all his locks before,  
Take thou hold upon his forehead,  
When he flies, he turns no more,  
And behind his scalp is naked.  
Works adjourned have many stays,  
Long demurs breed new delays.   

Seek thy salve while sore is green,  
Festered wounds ask deeper lancing;  
After-cures are seldom seen,  
Often sought, scarce ever chancing.  
Time and place gives best advice,  
Out of season, out of price.   

Crush the Serpent in the head,  
Break ill eggs ere they be hatched:  
Kill bad Chickens in the tread;  
Fligge, they hardly can be catched,  
In the rising stifle ill,  
Lest it grow against thy will.   

Drops do pierce the stubborn Flint,  
Not by force, but often falling,  
Custom kills with feeble dint,  
More by use, than strength prevailing,  
Single sands have little weight,  
Many make a drowning freight.   

Tender twigs are bend with ease,  
Aged trees do break with bending,  
Young desires make little press,  
Growth doth make them past amending.  
Happy man that soon doth knock  
Babel's Babes against the rock.    

Love's servile Lot.  

Love Mistress is of many minds,  
Yet few know whom they serve,  
They reckon least how little Love  
Their service doth deserve.   

The will she robbeth from the wit,  
The sense from reason's lore,  
She is delightful in the ryne,  
Corrupted in the core.   

She shrowdeth vice in Virtue's veil,  
Pretending good in ill,  
She offereth joy, affordeth grief,  
A kiss where she doth kill.   

A honey shower raines from her lips,  
Sweet lights shine in her face.  
She hath the blush of Virgin mind,  
The mind of Viper's race.   

She makes thee seek, yet fear to find,  
To find, but none enjoy;  
In many frowns some gliding smiles  
She yields to more annoy.   

She woos thee to come near her fire,  
Yet doth she draw it from thee.  
Fare off she makes thy heart to fry,  
And yet to freeze within thee.   

She letteth fall some luring baits  
For fools to gather up:  
Too sweet, too sour, to every taste  
She tempereth her cup.   

Soft souls she binds in tender twist,  
Small Flies in spinner's web,  
She sets afloat some luring streams,  
But makes them soon to ebb.   

Her watery eyes have burning force:  
Her floods and flames conspire:  
Tears kindle sparks, sobs fuel are:  
And sighs do blow her fire.   

May never was the Month of love,  
For May is full of flowers,  
But rather April wet by kind,  
For love is full of showers.   

Like Tyrant cruel wounds she gives,  
Like Surgeon salve she lends:  
But salve and sore have equal force,  
For death is both their ends.   

With soothing words, enthralled souls  
She chains in servile bands,  
Her eye in silence hath a speech,  
Which eye best understands.   

Her little sweet hath many sours,  
Short hap immortal harms,  
Her loving looks, are murdring darts,  
Her songs bewitching charms.   

Like Winter Rose, and Summer Ice,  
Her joys are still untimely,  
Before her hope, behind remorse,  
Fair first, in fine unseemly.   

Moods, passions, fancies, jealous fits  
Attend upon her train,  
She yields rest without repose,  
A Heaven in hellish pain.   

Her house is sloth, her door deceit,  
And slippery hope her stairs,  
Vnbashfull boldness bids her guests,  
And every vice repairs.   

Her diet is of such delights,  
As please till they be passed,  
But then the poison kills the heart,  
That did entice the taste.   

Her sleep in sin, doth end in wrath,  
Remorse rings her awake,  
Death calls her up, shame drives her out,  
Despairs her upshot make.   

Blow not the Seas, sow not the sands,  
Leave off your idle pain,  
Seek other mistress for your minds,  
Love's service is in vain.    

Life is but Loss.  

BY force I live,  
in will I wish to dye,  
In plaint I pass  
the length of lingering days,  
Free would my soul  
from mortal body fly,  
And tread the track  
of Death's desired ways;  
Life is but loss,  
where death is deemed gain,  
And loathed pleasures  
breed displeasing pain.   

Who would not dye,  
to kill all murdering grieves?  
Or who would live  
in neverdying fears?  
Who would not wish  
his treasure safe from Thiefs,  
And quit his heart from pangs,  
his eyes from tears?  
Death parteth but  
two ever fight foes,  
Whose civil strife  
doth work our endless woes.   

Life is a wand'ring course  
to doubtful rest,  
As oft a cursed rise  
to damning leap;  
As happy race  
to win a heavenly crest,  
None being sure,  
what final fruits to reap.  
And who can like  
in such a life to dwell,  
Whose ways are straight to Heaven,  
but wide to Hell?   

Come cruel death,  
why ling'rest thou so long?  
What doth withhold thy dint  
from fatal stroke?  
Now pressed I am:  
alas, thou dost me wrong,  
To let me live  
more anger to provoke:  
Thy right is bad,  
when thou hast stopped my breath,  
Why shoulded thou stay,  
to work my bouble death?   

If saul's attempt  
in falling on his blade,  
As lawful were,  
as ethe to put in ure:  
If Sampsons' leave,  
a common Law were made,  
Of Abel's lot  
if all that would were sure:  
Then cruel death,  
thou shouldst the Tyrant play  
With none but such  
as wished for delay.   

Where life is loved,  
thou ready art to kill,  
And to abridge  
with sudden pangs their joy,  
Where life is loathed,  
thou wilt not work their will,  
But dost adjourn their death  
to their annoy.  
To some thou art  
a fierce unbidden guest:  
But those that crave thy help  
thou helpest least.   

Avaunt oh viper,  
I thy spite defy,  
There is a God  
that overrules thy force,  
Who can thy weapons  
to his will apply,  
And shorten or prolong  
our brittle course:  
I on his mercy,  
not thy might rely,  
To him I live,  
for him I hope to dye.    

I die alive.  

O Life what lets thee  
from a quick decease?  
O death what draws thee  
from a present prey?  
My feast is done,  
my soul would be at ease,  
My grace is said,  
O Death, come take away.   

I live, but such a life  
as ever dies:  
I die, but such a death,  
as never ends,  
My death to end  
my dying life denies,  
And life my living death  
no whit amends.   

Thus still I die,  
yet still I do revive,  
My living death  
by dying life is fed:  
Grace more than Nature  
keeps my heart alive,  
Whose idle hopes  
and vain desires are dead.   

Not where I breathe,  
but where I love, I live,  
Not where I love,  
but where I am, I die:  
The life I wish,  
must future glory give,  
The deaths I feel,  
in present dangers lie.    

What joy to live?  

I Wage no war,  
yet peace I none enjoy,  
I hope, I fear,  
I fry in freezing cold,  
I mourn in mirth,  
still prostrate in annoy,  
I all the World embrace,  
yet nothing hold.  
All wealth is want  
where chiefest wishes fail,  
Yea life is loathed,  
where love may not prevail.   

For that I love, I long,  
but that I lack;  
That others love, I loathe,  
and that I have:  
All worldly fraights  
to me are deadly wrack,  
Men, present hap,  
I, future hopes do crave.  
They loving where they live,  
long life require,  
To live where best I love,  
death I desire.   

Here love is lent  
for love of filthy gain,  
Most friends befriend themselves  
with friendships show:  
Here, plenty, peril,  
want, doth breed disdain,  
Cares common are,  
joys faulty, short and few.  
Here Honour envied,  
meanness is despised,  
Sin deemed solace,  
Virtue little prized.   

Here beauty is a bait,  
that swallowed chokes,  
A treasure sought  
still to the owner's harms:  
A light that eyes  
to murdering sights provokes,  
A grace that souls enchants  
with mortal charms.  
A luring aim  
to Cupid's fiery flights,  
A baleful bliss  
that damns where it delights.   

O who would live,  
so many deaths to try,  
Where will doth wish  
that wisdom doth reprove?  
Where Nature craves  
that grace must needs deny,  
Where sense doth like,  
that reason cannot love,  
Where best in show,  
in final proof is worst,  
Where pleasures upshot  
is to dye accursed.    

Life's death, Love's life.  

WHo life's in love, love's least to live,  
And long delays doth rue,  
If him he love by whom he life's,  
To whom all love is due.   

Who for our love did choose to live,  
And was content to dye;  
Who loved our love more than his life,  
And love with life did buy.   

Let us in life, yea with our life  
Requite his living love,  
For best we live, when least we live.  
If love our life remove.   

Where love is hot, life hateful is,  
Their grounds do not agree,  
Love where it love's, life where it life's,  
Desireth most to be.   

And sith love is not where it life's,  
Nor liveth where it love's,  
Love hateth life, that holds it back,  
And death it best approves.   

For seldom is he won in life,  
Whom love doth most desire:  
If won by love, yet not enjoyed,  
Till mortal life expire.   

Life out of earth, hath not abode,  
In earth love hath no place,  
Love settled hath her joys in Heaven,  
In earth life all her grace.   

Mourn therefore no true lover's death,  
Life only him annoys.  
And when he taketh leave of life,  
Then love gins his joys.    

At home in Heaven.  

Fair soul, how long  
shall veils thy graces shroud?  
How long shall this exile  
withhold thy right?  
When will thy Sun  
disperse this mortal cloud,  
And give thy glories scope  
to blaze their light?  
O that a star  
more fit for Angels eyes,  
Should pine in earth,  
not shine above the skies!   

This ghostly beauty  
offered force to God,  
It chained him in  
the links of tender love,  
It won his will  
with man to make abode:  
It stayed his sword,  
and did his wrath remove;  
It made the rigour  
of his justice yield,  
And crowned mercy  
Empress of the field.   

This lulled our heavenly Samson  
fast asleep,  
And laid him in  
our feeble Nature's lap;  
This made him under  
mortal load to creep,  
And in our flesh  
his Godhead to inwrap;  
This made him sojourn  
with us in exile,  
And not disdain  
our titles in his style.   

This borough him from  
the ranks of heavenly Quires,  
Into the vale of tears,  
and cursed soil;  
From flowers of grace  
into a world of briers,  
From life to death,  
from bliss to baleful toil.  
This made him wander  
in our Pilgrim weed,  
And taste our torments,  
to relieve our need.   

O soul, do not  
thy noble thoughts abase,  
To lose thy love  
in any mortal wight:  
Content thine eye at home  
with native grace,  
Sith God himself  
is ravished with thy sight.  
If on thy beauty  
God enamoured be,  
Base is thy love  
of any less than he.   

Give not assent  
to muddy minded skill,  
That deems the feature  
of a pleasing face,  
To be the sweetest bait  
to lure the will,  
Not valuing right  
the worth of ghostly grace.  
Let God and Angels  
censure win belief,  
That of all beauties  
judge ourselves the chief.   

Queen Hester was  
of rare and peerless hue,  
And judith once  
for beauty bore the vaunt,  
But he that could  
our soul's endowments view,  
Would soon to souls  
the Crown of beauty grant.  
O soul, out of thyself  
seek God alone:  
Grace more than thine,  
but Gods, the world hath none,    

Lewd Love is loss.  

MIsdeeming eye  
that stoopeth to the lure  
Of mortal worths,  
not worth so worthy Love,  
All beauty's base,  
all graces are impure,  
That do thy erring thought  
from God remove.  
Sparks to the fire,  
the beams yield to the Sun,  
All grace to God,  
from whom all graces run.   

If picture move,  
more should the pattern please:  
No shadow can  
with shadowed things compare,  
And fairest shapes  
whereon our loves do seize,  
But silly signs  
of Gods high beauties are.  
Go, starving sense,  
feed thou on earthly mast,  
True love in Heaven,  
seek thou thy sweet repast.   

Glean not in barren soil  
these off all ears,  
Sith reap thou mayst  
whole harvests of delight.  
Base joys with griefs,  
bad hopes do end in fears,  
Lewd love with loss,  
evil peace with deadly fight:  
Gods love alone doth end  
with endless ease,  
Whose joys in hope,  
whose hope concludes in peace:   

Let not the luring train  
of fancy's trap,  
Or gracious features  
proofs of Nature's skill,  
Lull reasons force asleep  
in errors lap,  
Or draw thy wit  
to bend of wanton will,  
The fairest flowers  
have not the sweetest smell,  
A seeming Heaven  
proves oft a damning Hell.   

Self-pleasing souls  
that play with beauty's bait,  
In shining   
may swallow fatal hook,  
Where eager sight,  
on semblant fair doth wait,  
A lock it proves  
that first was but a look:  
The fish with ease  
into the Net doth glide,  
But to get out,  
the way is not so wide.   

So long the Fly  
doth dally with the flame,  
Until his singed wings  
do force his fall:  
So long the eye  
doth follow Fancies game,  
Till love hath left the heart  
in heavy thrall;  
Soon may the mind  
be cast in Cupid's jail,  
But hard it is  
imprisoned thoughts to bail.   

O loath that love,  
whose final aim is lust,  
Moth of the mind,  
eclipse of reasons light,  
The grave of grace,  
the mole of Nature's rust,  
The wrack of wit,  
the wrong of every right;  
In sum, an evil,  
whose harms no tongue can tell,  
In which to live  
is death, to dye is Hell.    

Love's Garden grief.  

Vain loves avaunt,  
infamous is your pleasure,  
Your joy deceit,  
Your jewels, jests,  
and worthless trash your treasure,  
Fools common bait.  
Your palace is  
a prison that allureth  
To sweet mishap,  
and rest that pain procureth.   

Your Garden grief,  
hedged in with thorns of Envy,  
And stakes of strife,  
Your Allies error,  
gravelled with jealousy,  
And cares of life.  
Your banks are seats  
enwrapped with shades of sadness,  
Your Arbours breed  
rough fits of raging madness.   

Your beds are sown  
with seeds of all iniquity,  
And poisoning weeds:  
Whose stalks ill thoughts,  
whose leaves words full of vanity,  
Whose fruit misdeeds.  
Whose sap is sin,  
whose force and operation,  
To banish grace,  
and work the soul's damnation.   

Your trees are dismal plants  
of pining corrosives,  
Whose root is ruth,  
Whose bark is bale,  
whose timber stubborn fantasies,  
Whose pith untruth.  
On which in lieu of birds  
whose voice delighteth,  
Of guilty conscience  
screeching note affrighteth.   

Your coolest Summer gales  
are scadling sigh,  
Your showers are tears.  
Your sweetest smell  
the stench of sinful living.  
Your favours fears;  
Your Gardener Satan,  
all you reap is misery:  
Your gain remorse,  
and loss of all felicity.    

From Fortune's reach.  

LEt fickle Fortune run  
her blindest race:  
I settled have  
an unremoved mind:  
I scorn to be  
the game of Fancies chase,  
Or vane to show  
the change of every wind:  
Light giddy humours  
stinted to no rest,  
Still change their choice,  
yet never choose the best.   

My choice was guided  
by foresightful heed,  
It was averred  
with approving will,  
It shall be followed  
with performing deed:  
And sealed with vow,  
till death the chooser kill,  
Yea death, though final date  
of vain desires,  
Ends not my choice,  
which with no time expires.   

To beauty's fading bliss  
I am no thrall;  
I bury not my thoughts  
in mettle Mines,  
I aim not at such fame,  
as feareth fall,  
I seek and find a light  
that ever-shines:  
Whose glorious beams  
display such heavenly sights,  
As yield my soul  
a sum of all delights.   

My light to love,  
my love to life doth guide  
To life that life's by love,  
and loveth light:  
By love to one,  
to whom all loves are tied  
By duest debt,  
and never equal right.  
Eyes light, hearts love,  
soul's truest life he is,  
Consorting in three joys,  
one perfect bliss.    

A FANCY TURNED to a Sinners Complaint.  

HE that his mirth hath lost,  
Whose comfort is to rue,  
Whose hope is fallen, whose faith is crazed,  
Whose trust is found untrue.   

If he have held them dear,  
And cannot cease to moon;  
Come, let him take his place by me,  
He shall not rue alone.   

But if the smallest sweet  
Be mixed with all his sour;  
If in the day, the month, the year,  
He feel one lightning hour:   

Then rest he with himself,  
He is no mate for me;  
Whose time in tears, whose race in ruth,  
Whose life a death must be.   

Yet not the wished death,  
That feels no pain or lack:  
That making free the better part,  
Is only Nature's wrack.   

O no, that were too well,  
My death is of the mind;  
That always yield, extremest pangs,  
Yet threatens worse behind.   

As one that life's in show,  
And inwardly doth dye:  
Whose knowledge is a bloody field,  
Where Virtue slain doth lie.   

Whose heart the Altar is,  
And host, a God to move:  
From whom my ill doth fear revenge,  
His good doth promise love.   

My Fancies are like thorns,  
In which I go by night;  
My frighted wits are like an host,  
That force hath put to flight.   

My sense is passions spy,  
My thoughts like ruins old,  
Which show how fair the building was,  
While grace did it uphold.   

And still before mine eyes,  
My mortal fall they lay;  
Whom grace and virtue once advanced,  
Now sin hath cast away.   

O thoughts, no thoughts but wounds,  
Sometime the Seat of joy,  
Sometime the store of quiet rest,  
But now of all annoy.   

I sowed the soil of peace,  
My bliss was in the spring;  
And day by day the fruit I eat,  
That Virtue's tree did bring.   

To Nettles now my corn,  
My field is turned to flint;  
Where I a heavy harvest reap,  
Of cares that never stint.   

The peace▪ the rest, the life,  
That I enjoyed of yore,  
Were happy lot, but by their loss,  
My smart doth sting the more.   

So to unhappy men,  
The best frames to the worst:  
O time, o place where thus I fell,  
Dear then, but now accursed.   

In was, stands my delight,  
In is, and shall my woe,  
My horror fastened in the yea,  
My hope hangs in the no.   

Unworthy of relief,  
That craved is too late;  
Too late I find, (I find too well)  
Too well, stood my estate.   

Behold, such is the end,  
That pleasure doth procure,  
Of nothing else but care and plaint.  
Can she the mind assure.   

Forsaken first by grace,  
By pleasure now forgotten,  
Her pain I feel, but grace's wage  
Have others from me gotten.   

Then grace, where is the joy,  
That makes thy torments sweet?  
Where is the cause, that many thought  
Their deaths through thee but meet?   

Where thy disdain of sin,  
Thy secret sweet delight;  
Thy sparks of bliss, thy heavenly joys,  
That shined erst so bright?   

O that they were not lost,  
Or I could it excuse;  
O that a dream of feigned loss,  
My judgement did abuse.   

Or frail inconstant flesh,  
Soon trapped in every gin;  
Soon wrought thus to betray thy soul,  
And plunge thyself in sin.   

Yet hate I but the fault,  
And not the faulty one.  
Ne can I rid from me the mate,  
That forceth me to moan:   

To moan a sinner's case,  
Than which, was never worse;  
In Prince or poor, in young, or old,  
In blest, or full of curse.   

Yet Gods must I remain;  
By death, by wrong, by shame,  
I cannot blot out of my heart,  
That grace writ in his name:   

I cannot set at nought,  
Whom I have held so dear:  
I cannot make him seem afar,  
That is in deed so near.   

Not that I look henceforth  
For love that erst I found;  
Sith that I broke my plighted truth,  
To build on fickle ground.   

Yet that shall never fail,  
Which my faith bare in hand:  
I gave my vow, my vow gave me,  
Both vow and gift shall stand.   

But since that I have sinned,  
And scourge none is too ill;  
I yield me captive to my curse,  
My hard fate to fulfil.   

The solitary Wood,  
My City shall become,  
The darkest dens shall be my Lodge,  
In which I rest or come.   

A sandy plot my board,  
The worms my feast shall be,  
Wherewith my carcase shall be fed,  
Until they feed on me.   

My tears shall be my wine,  
My bed a craggy Rock;  
My harmony the Serpent's hiss,  
The screeching Owl my clock.   

My exercise remorse,  
And doleful sinners lays,  
My book remembrance of my crimes,  
And faults of former days.   

My walk the path of plaint,  
My prospect into hell;  
Where judas and his cursed crew  
In endless pains do dwell.   

And though I seem to use  
The feigning Poets style,  
To figure forth my careful plight,  
My fall and my exile:   

Yet is my grief not feigned,  
Wherein I starve and pine,  
Who feels the most, shall think it least,  
If his compare with mine.    

David's Peccavi.  

IN Eaves, sole Sparrow sits  
not more alone,  
Nor mourning Pelican  
in Desert wild,  
Then silly I,  
that solitary moan,  
From highest hopes  
to hardest hap exiled:  
Sometime (o blissful time)  
was virtues meed,  
Aim to my thoughts,  
guide to my word and deed.   

But fears are now my Feres,  
grief my delight,  
My tears my drink,  
my famished thoughts, my bread;  
Day full of dumps,  
Nurse of unrest the night,  
My garments gyves,  
a bloody field my bed,  
My sleep is rather death,  
than death's ally,  
Yet killed with murdering pangs,  
I cannot dye.   

This is the chance  
of my ill changed choice,  
To pleasant tunes  
succeeds a plaining voice,  
The doleful echo  
of my wailing mind:  
Which taught to know  
the worth of virtue's joys,  
Doth hate itself  
for loving fancies toys.   

If wiles of wit  
had over-raught my will,  
Or subtle trains  
misled my steps awry,  
My foil had found  
excuse in want of skill,  
Ill deed I might,  
though not ill doom deny:  
But wit and will  
must now confess with shame,  
Both deed and doom  
to have deserved blame.   

I Fancy deemed  
fit guide to lead my way,  
And as I deemed,  
I did pursue the track;  
Wit lost his aim,  
and will was Fancies prey,  
The Rebels wan,  
the Rulers went to wrack:  
But now sith Fancy  
did with folly end,  
Wit bought with loss,  
Will taught by wit, will mend.    

Sin's heavy load.  

O Lord, my sins  
do over-charge thy breast,  
The poise thereof  
doth force thy knees to bow;  
Yea flat thou fallest  
with my faults oppressed,  
And bloody sweat  
runs trickling from thy brow:  
But had they not  
to Earth thus pressed thee,  
Much more they would  
in Hell have pestered me.   

This Globe of Earth  
doth thy one finger prop,  
The world thou dost  
within thy hand embrace;  
Yet all this weight,  
of sweat drew not a drop,  
Ne made thee bow,  
much less fall on thy face:  
But now thou hast  
a load so heavy found,  
That makes thee bow,  
yea fall flat to the ground.   

O sin, how huge  
and heavy is thy weight!  
That waighest more  
than all the world beside.  
Of which when Christ  
hath taken in his freight,  
The poise thereof  
his flesh could not abide.  
Alas, if God himself  
sink under sin,  
What will become of man  
that dies therein?   

First, flat thou fellest,  
when earth did thee receive,  
In closet pure  
of Mary's virgin breast;  
And now thou fallest,  
of earth to take thy leave,  
Thou kissest it  
as cause of thy unrest:  
O loving Lord,  
that so dost love thy foe,  
As thus to kiss the ground  
where he doth go.   

Thou minded in thy heaven  
our earth to wear,  
Dost prostrate now thy heaven,  
our earth to bliss;  
As God, to earth  
thou often wert severe:  
As man, thou call'st  
a peace with bleeding kiss.  
For as of souls  
thou common Father art,  
So is she Mother  
of man's other part.   

She shortly was to drink  
thy dearest blood,  
And yield the soul  
a way to Satan's cave;  
She shortly was  
thy corpse in tomb to shroud,  
And with them all  
thy Deity to have:  
Now then in me  
thou jointly yieldest all,  
That severally to earth  
should shortly fall.   

O prostrate Christ,  
erect my crooked mind:  
Lord, let thy fall  
my flight from Earth obtain;  
Or if I needs must still  
in Earth be shrined,  
Then Lord, on Earth  
come fall yet once again:  
And either yield  
in Earth with me to lie,  
Or else with thee  
to take me to the sky.    

josephs' Amazement.  

WHen Christ by growth  
disclosed his descent,  
Into the pure receipt  
of Mary's breast;  
Poor joseph, stranger yet  
to God's intent,  
With doubts of jealous thoughts  
was sore oppressed:  
And wrought with diverse fits  
of fear and love,  
He neither can her free,  
nor faulty prove.   

Now since the wakeful spy  
of jealous mind,  
By strong conjectures  
deemeth her defiled;  
But love in doom of things  
best loved blind,  
Thinks rather sense deceived,  
then her with child:  
Yet proofs so pregnant were,  
that no pretence,  
Can cloak a thing  
so clear and plain to sense.   

Then joseph daunted  
with a deadly wound,  
Let lose the reines  
of undeserved grief;  
His heart did throb,  
his eyes in tears were drowned,  
His life a loss,  
death seemed his best relief:  
The pleasing relish  
of his former love,  
In gaulish thoughts  
to bitter taste doth prove.   

One foot he often  
setteth out of door,  
But t'other loath  
uncertain ways to tread;  
He takes his farthel  
for his needful store,  
He casts his Inn  
where first he means to bed:  
But still ere he  
can frame his feet to go,  
Love winneth time,  
till all conclude in no.   

Sometimes grief adding force,  
he doth departed,  
He will against his will  
keep on his pace:  
But strait remorse  
so racks his raging heart,  
That hasting thoughts  
yield to a pausing pace:  
Then mighty reasons  
press him to remain,  
She whom he flies  
doth win him home again.   

But when his thought  
by sight of his abode,  
Presents the sign  
of misesteemed shame,  
Repenting every step  
that back he trod,  
Tears done, the guide,  
the tongue, the feet do blame.  
Thus warring with himself,  
a field he fights,  
Where every wound  
upon the giver lights.   

And was (quoth he)  
my love so lightly prized,  
Or was our sacred league  
so soon forgot?  
Can vows be void,  
could virtues be despised;  
Can such a spouse,  
be stained with such a spot?  
O wretched joseph,  
that hath lived so long,  
Of faithful love  
to reap so grievous wrong!   

Can such a worm  
breed in so sweet a Wood?  
Can in so chaste demeanour  
lurk untruth?  
Can vice lie hid  
where Virtue's image stood?  
Where hoary sageness  
graced tender youth?  
Where can affiance rest,  
to rest secure?  
In virtue's fairest seat,  
faith is not sure.   

All proofs did promise hope  
a pledge of grace,  
Whose good might have  
repaid the deepest ill;  
Sweet signs of purest thoughts  
in Saintly face,  
Assured the eye  
of her unstained will.  
Yet in this seeming lustre,  
seem to lie  
Such crimes, for which  
the Law condemns to dye.   

But josephs' word  
shall never work her woe,  
I wish her leave to live,  
not doom to dye;  
Though Fortune mine,  
yet am I not her foe,  
She to herself  
less loving is then I.  
The most I will,  
the least I can is this,  
Sith none may salve,  
to shun that is amiss.   

Exile my home,  
the wilds shall be my walk,  
Complaint my joy,  
my Music mourning lays;  
With pensive griefs  
in silence will I talk:  
Sad thoughts shall be  
my guides in sorrows ways.  
This course best suits  
the care of careless mind,  
That seeks to lose,  
what most it joyed to find.   

Like stocked tree  
whose branches all do fade,  
Whose leaves do fall,  
and perished fruit decay;  
Like herb that grows  
in cold and barren shade,  
Where darkness drives  
all quickening heat away;  
So dye must I,  
cut from my root of joy,  
And thrown in darkest shades  
of deep annoy.   

But who can fly  
from that his heart doth feel?  
What change of place  
can change implanted pain?  
Removing, moves  
no hardness from the steel.  
Sick hearts, that shift no fits,  
shift rooms in vain:  
Where thought can see,  
what helps the closed eye?  
Where heart pursues,  
what gains the foot to fly?   

Yet did I tread a maze  
of doubtful end;  
I go, I come,  
she draws, she drives away,  
She wounds, she heals,  
she doth both mar and mend,  
She makes me seek,  
and shun, depart, and stay:  
She is a friend to love,  
a foe to loath,  
And in suspense  
I hang between them both.    

New Prince, new Pomp.  
BEhold a silly tender Babe,  
In freezing Winter night,  
In homely Manger trembling lies;  
Alas a piteous sight:  
The Inns are full, no man will yield  
This little Pilgrim bed;  
But forced he is with silly beasts,  
In Crib to shroud his head.  
Despise him not for lying there,  
First what he is inquire:  
An orient pearl is often found  
In depth of dirty mire.  
Weigh not his Crib, his wooden dish,  
Nor beasts that by him feed:  
Weigh not his Mother's poor attire,  
Nor josephs' simple weed.  
This Stable is a Prince's Court,  
The Crib his chair of State:  
The Beasts are parcel of his Pomp,  
The wooden dish his plate.  
The persons in that poor attire,  
His royal liveries wear,  
The Prince himself is come from heaven,  
This pomp is prized there.  
With joy approach, O Christian wight,  
Do homage to thy King;  
And highly praise his humble Pomp,  
Which he from Heaven doth bring.   

The burning Babe.  
AS I in hoary Winter's night,  
stood shivering in the snow,  
Surprised I was with sudden heat,  
which made my heart to glow;  
And lifting up a fearful eye,  
to view what fire was near,  
A pretty Babe all burning bright,  
did in the air appear;  
Who, scorched with excessive heat,  
such floods of tears did shed,  
As though his floods should quench his flames,  
which with his tears were bred:  
Alas, (quoth he) but newly borne,  
in fiery heats I fry,  
Yet none approach to warm their hearts  
or feel my fire but I;  
My faultless breast the furnace is,  
the fuel wounding thorns:  
Love is the fire, and sighs the smoke,  
the ashes shames and scorns;  
The fuel justice layeth on,  
and mercy blows the coals,  
The mettle in this Furnace wrought,  
are men's defiled souls:  
For which, as now on fire I am,  
to work them to their good,  
So will I melt into a bath,  
to wash them in my blood.  
With this he vanished out of sight,  
and swiftly shrunk away,  
And strait I called unto mind,  
that it was Christmas day.   

New Heaven, new War.  

COme to your heaven, you heavenly Quires,  
Earth hath the heaven of your desires:  
Remove your dwelling to your God,  
A stall is now his best abode;  
Sith men their homage do deny,  
Come Angels all, their fault supply.   

His chilling cold doth heat require,  
Come Seraphins in lieu of fire;  
This little Ark no cover hath,  
Let Cherubs wings his body swath:  
Come Raphael, this Babe must eat,  
Provide our little Toby meat.   

Let Gabriel be now his groom;  
That first took up his earthly room;  
Let Michael stand in his defence,  
Whom love hath linked to feeble sense:  
Let grace's rock when he doth cry,  
Let Angels sing his lullaby.   

The same you saw in heavenly seat,  
Is he that now sucks Mary's teat,  
Agnize your King a mortal wight,  
His borrowed weed lets not your sight  
Come kiss the manger where he lies,  
That is your bliss above the skies.   

This little Babe, so few days old,  
Is come to rifle Satan's fold;  
All hell doth at his presence quake,  
Though he himself for cold do shake:  
For in this weak unarmed wise,  
The gates of hell he will surprise.   

With tears he fights & wins the field,  
His naked breast stands for a shield;  
His battering shot are babish cries,  
His arrows, looks of weeping eyes,  
His Martial Ensigns, cold and need,  
And feeble flesh, his warrior's Steed.   

His Camp is pitched in astall,  
His bulwark but a broken wall:  
The Crib his trench, hay-stalkes his stakes,  
Of Shepherds he his Muster makes;  
And thus as sure his foe to wound,  
The Angel's trumps alarm sound.   

My soul, with Christ join thou in fight,  
Stick to the tents, that he hath dight;  
Within his crib is surest ward,  
This little Babe will be thy guard:  
If thou wilt foil thy foes with joy,  
Then flit not from the heavenly Boy.   
FINIS.   

Moeoniae. OR, CERTAIN EXCELLENT POEMS AND SPIRITVAL Hymns: composed by R.S.   printer's or publisher's device 
. AN CHO RA. SPEI.  
LONDON. Printed for W. Barret.   

The Virgin Mary's conception.  
OUR second Eve  
puts on her mortal ,  
Earth breeds a heaven,  
for God's new dwelling place,  
Now riseth up  
Elias little cloud  
That growing, shall  
distil 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 distil,  
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  
she 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 dye,  
Untouched 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 josephs' care,  
Wherein he was  
to plant the tree of life:  
His son, of josephs' child  
the title bare:  
Just cause to make  
the mother josephs' wife.  
O blessed man  
betrothed to such a spouse,  
More blest to live  
with such a child in house.  
No carnal love  
this sacred league procured,  
All vain delights  
were fare 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 Aue shall you find;  
The first began,  
the last reversed our harms;  
An Angels Aue  
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 they 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 bliss,  
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 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 fall 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 force 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 lanced  
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 his eyes,  
blood runs from wounding place,  
Which showers to heaven  
of joy an harvest bring.  
This sacred dew  
let Angels gather up:  
Such dainty 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 her heart,  
The pain that jesus felt  
did Marie taste,  
His life and hers  
hung by one fatal twist,  
No blow that hit the Son  
the mother mist.   

The Epiphanie.  
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 feeke 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 rays,  
Yet through this cloud  
their light did passage 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 blusheth 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  
duth more then Glory prize,  
Three gifts they bring,  
three gifts they bear away;  
For incense, myrrh, and gold,  
faith, hope, and love;  
And with their gifts  
the giver's heart 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,  
Obtaind 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,  
though untimely cropped  
raire 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 lieu 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 shown 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 a 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 into  
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 distil:  
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 Pelican's,  
he Phoenix fate doth prove,  
Whom flames consume  
when streams enforce to dye.  
How burneth blood,  
how bleedeth burning love?  
Can one in flame,  
and stream both bathe and fry?  
How would he join  
a Phoenix fiery pains,  
In foinring Pelican's  
still bleeding veins?   

Christ's sleeping friends.  
WHen Christ with care  
and pangs of death oppressed,  
From frighted flesh  
a bloody sweat did rain,  
And full of fear  
without repose or rest:  
Did watch and pray  
in agony and pain,  
Three sundry times  
he his disciples finds  
With heavy eyes,  
with dull and 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 shrowds  
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 storms, 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 calm  
did still endure.  
So jonas once  
his heavy limbs to rest,  
Did shroud himself  
in ivy pleasant shade:  
But lo, while him  
an 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 leaf,  
for fruit and flower,  
How sweet a shadow  
did thy branches bring,  
To shroud those 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 Cross.  
WHat mist hath dimmed that glorious face?  
what seas of grief my Sun doth toss?  
The golden rays of heavenly grace,  
lie 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 entomb.  
You Angels all that present were  
to show his birth with harmony,  
Why are you not now 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 dies,  
my woeful womb lament thy fruit,  
My heart give tears unto mine eyes,  
let sorrow string my heavy lute.   

An holy Hymn.  

PRaise, O Zion, praise thy Saviour,  
Praise thy captain, & thy pastor,  
With hymns and solemn harmony.  
What power affords perform indeed,  
His works all praises fare exceed:  
No praise can reach his dignity.   

A special theme of praise is read,  
A living and 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 secret of this mystery,   

At this board of our new ruler,  
Of old law, and Pascall order,  
The ancient right abolisheth:  
Old decrees, by new anniled.  
Shadows are in truth fulfilled,  
Day former darkness finisheth.   

That at supper Christ performed,  
To be done he straightly charged,  
For his eternal memory.  
Guided by his sacred orders,  
Bread and wine upon our altars,  
To saving host we sanctify.   

Christians are by faith assured,  
That by faith flesh is received,  
And Christ his blood most precious:  
That no wit no sense conceiveth,  
Firm and grounded faith believeth,  
In strange effects not curious.   

As staff of bread thy heart sustains,  
And cheerful wine thy strength regains,  
By power and virtue natural:  
So doth this consecrated food,  
Them symbol of Christ flesh & blood,  
By virtue supernatural.   

The ruins of thy soul repair,  
Banish sin, horror, and despair,  
And feed faith, by faith received:  
Angels bread made Pilgrims feeding,  
Truly bread for children's eating,  
To dogs not to be offered:   

Signed by Isaac 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 thy heavenly city.    

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 sign; of pain,  
Then may my breast be sorrow's 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 dead 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 worm's annoy,  
Can add no praise unto thy power,  
No bliss unto thy joy.  
Well may I fry in flames,  
Due fuel to hellfire,  
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,  
Then umpire of my sin.  
Did mercy spin the thread,  
To wove in justice loom,  
Wert thou a father to conclude,  
With dreadful judge's 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 not 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 sore, thy love my salve,  
Thy cure my comfort is.  
Confirm 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 sport, o place of rest,  
O royal rift, 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:  
Here would I all those pains descry,  
Which here did meet for my relief.  
Here would I view that bloody sore,  
Which dint of spiteful spear did breed:  
The bloody wounds laid there in store  
Would force a stony heart to bleed.  
Here is the spring of trickling tears,  
The mirror of all mourning wights,  
With doleful tunes, for dumpish ears,  
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 had 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 thou art dust:  
But yet alas but seldom I,  
Do think indeed that I must die.  
Continually at my bed's head,  
An hearse doth hang which doth me tell,  
That I ere morning may be dead,  
Though now I feel myself full well:  
But yet 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 these 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 wit,  
Nor Samson though he were so strong,  
No king nor person ever 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,  
than 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  
shrowds from the Sun,  
Where hanging cliffs  
yield short and dumpish glades,  
And snowy floods  
with broken streams do run,  
Where eye-roome 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 showed;  
Where ears of other sound  
can have no choice,  
But various blustering  
of the stubborn wind,  
In trees, in caves,  
in straits with diverse noise,  
Which now doth hisse,  
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,  
an only bower,  
Where every thing  
doth soothe a dumpish mood.  
Earth lies forlorn,  
the cloudy sky doth lower,  
The wind here weeps,  
her sighs, her cries aloud:  
The struggling flood  
between the marble groans,  
Then 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,  
high grown, and ever green,  
Still cloth the place  
with shade and mourning veil,  
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,  
Beset with green,  
and forced grey coats to wear.  
Here crystal springs  
crept out of secret vain,  
Straight finds some envious hole  
that hides their grain.  
Here seared tufts  
lament the wants of g ace,  
There thunder wrack  
gives terror to the place.  
All pangs and heavy passions  
here may find  
A thousand motives  
suiting to their griefs,  
To feed the sorrows  
of their troubled mind,  
And chase away  
dame pleasures vain reliefs.  
To plaining thoughts  
this vale 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 streams of 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 in Limbeck e  
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 pressed,  
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 soule-wracke.  
DIsankerd from a blissful shore,  
and launched into the main of cares,  
Grewne rich in vice, in virtue poor,  
from freedom fall'n in fatal snares:  
I found myself on every side  
enwrapped in the waves of woe,  
And tossed with a toilsome tide,  
could to no port for refuge go.  
The wrestling winds 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 and 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 thereof enforced tears.  
I felt my inward bleeding sores,  
my festered wounds began to smart,  
Stepped far within deaths fatal doors,  
the pangs thereof went 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 and deceit had pitched their snares,  
and out their wont proofs in ure,  
To sink me in despairing cares,  
or make me stoop to pleasures lure:  
They sought 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 deceiving shifts,  
So often did they alter hue,  
and practise new devised drifts:  
With Siren's songs they fed mine ears,  
till lulled asleep 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 ruins did repair.   

Man's civil war.  
MY hover thoughts would fly to heaven  
and quiet nestle in the sky,  
Feign would my ship in virtue's 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 virtue's haven a sure abode.  
When inward eye to heavenly sights  
doth draw my longing hearts desire,  
The world with guesses of delights,  
would to her perch my thoughts retire.  
Fond fancy trains to pleasures lure,  
though reason stiffly do repine.  
Though reason woe me to the Saint,  
yet sense would win me to the shrine:  
Where wisdom loathes, there fancy love's  
and over rules the captive will.  
Foes senses, and to virtue's lore,  
they draw the wit their wish to fill.  
Need craves consent of soul to sense,  
yet diverse bents breeds civil fray,  
Hard hap where halves must disagree,  
or trust of halves the whole betray.  
O cruel fight, where fight friend  
with love doth kill a favouring foe.  
Where peace with sense is war with God  
and self delight the seed of woe,  
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 joy.   

Seek flowers of heaven.  
SO ear up my soul unto thy rest,  
cast off this loathsome load:  
Long is the date of thy exile,  
too long the strict abode.  
Grace 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 enamelled with delight,  
and limbde with glorious gleams.  
Life giving juice of living love,  
their sugared veins doth fill,  
And watered with eternal showers,  
they nectared drops distil.  
These flowers do spring from fertile soil,  
though from unmanured field,  
Most glittering gold in lieu 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.   

MARRY magdalen's FUNERAL TEARS.  jeremy Chap. 6. verse. 26. Luctum unigeniti fac tibi planctum amarum.  printer's or publisher's device 
. AN CHO RA. SPEI.  
LONDON. Printed for W. Barret.   

To the worshipful and virtuous Gentlewoman, Mistress D.A.  
YOur Virtuous requests, to which your deserts gave the force of a commandment, won me to satisfy your devotion, in penning some little discourse of the blessed Mary Magdalene. And among other glorious examples of this Saint's life, I have made choice of her Funeral Tears, in which as she most uttered the great vehemency of her fervent love to Christ, so hath she given therein largest scope to dilate upon the same: a theme pleasing I hope unto yourself, and fittest for this time. For as passion, and especially this of love, is in these days the chief commander of most men's actions, and the Idol to which both tongues and pens do sacrifice their ill bestowed labours: so is there nothing now more needful to be entreated, than how to direct these humours unto their due courses, and to draw this flood of affections into the right channel. Passions I allow, and love's I approve, only I would wish that men would alter their object, and better their intent. For passions being sequels of our nature, and allotted unto us as the handmaids of reason, there can be no doubt, but that as their author is good, and their end godly; so their use tempered in the mean, implieth no offence. Love is but the infancy of true charity, yet sucking Nature's teat, and swathed in her bands, which then groweth to perfection, when faith besides natural motives, proposeth higher and nobler grounds of amity. Hatred and anger are the necessary officers of prowess and justice, courage being cold and dull, and justice in due revenge slack and careless, where hate of the fault doth not make it odious, and anger setteth not an edge on the sword that punisheth or preventeth wrongs. Desire and hope are the parents of diligence and industry, the nurses of perseverance and constancy, the seeds of valour & magnanimity, the death of sloth, and the breath of all virtue. Fear and dislikes are the scouts of discretion, the harbingers of wisdom and policy, killing idle repentance in the cradle, and curbing rashness with deliberation. Audacity is the armour of strength, and the guide of glory, breaking the Ice to the hardest exploits, and crowning valour with honourable victory.  
Sorrow is the sister of mercy, and a waker of compassion, weeping with others tears, & grieved with their harms. It is both the salve and smart of sin, curing that which it chastiseth with true remorse, & preventing need of new cure with the detestation of the disease. Despair of the success, is a bit against evil attempts, and the hearse of idle hopes, ending endless things in their first motion, to begin. True joy is the rest and reward of virtue, seasoning difficulties with delight, and giving a present assay of future happiness. Finally, there is no passion but hath a serviceable use either in pursuit of good, or avoidance of evil, and they are all benefits of God, and helps of nature, so long as they are kept under virtue's correction.  
But as too much of the best is evil, and excess in virtue, vice; so passions let lose without limits, are imperfections, nothing being good that wanteth measure. And as the sea is unfit for traffic, not only when the winds are too boisterous, but also when they are too still, and a middle gale and motion of the waves serveth best the sailor's purpose; So neither too stormy nor too calm a mind giveth Virtue the first course, but a middle temper between them both, in which the welordered passions are wrought to prosecute, not suffered to pervert any virtuous endeavour. Such were the passions of this holy Saint, which were not guides to reason, but attendants upon it, and commanded by such a love as could never exceed, because the thing loved was of infinite perfection. And if her weakness of faith, (an infirmity then common to all Christ's disciples) did suffer her understanding to be deceived, yet was her will so settled in a most sincere and perfect love, that it led all her passions with the same bias, recompensing the want of belief, with the strange effects of an excellent charity. This love and these passions are the subject of this discourse, which though it reach not to the dignity of Mary's deserts, yet shall I think my endeavours well appayd, if it may but woe some skilfuller pens from unworthy labours, either to supply in this matter my want of ability, or in other of like piety, (whereof the Scripture is full) to exercise their happier talents. I know that none can express a passion that he feeleth not, neither doth the pen deliver but what it copieth out of the mind. And therefore the finest wits are now given to write passionate discourses, I would wish them to make choice of such passions, as it neither should be shame to utter, nor sin to feel.  
But whether my wishes in this behalf take effect or not, I reap at the least this reward of my pains, that I have showed my desire to answer your courtesy, and set forth the due praises of this glorious Saint:  
Your loving friend, R.S.   

To the Reader.  
MAny, suiting their labours to the popular vain, and guided by the gale of vulgar breath, have diuulged divers pathetical discourses, in which if they had showed as much care to profit, as they have done desire to please, their works would much more have honoured their names, and availed the Reader. But it is a just complaint among the better sort of persons, that the finest wits lose themselves in the vainest follies, spilling much Art in some idle fancy, and leaving their works as witnesses how long they have been in travail, to be in fine delivered of a fable. And sure it is a thing greatly to be lamented, that men of so high conceit, should so much abase their habilities, that when they have racked them to the uttermost endeavour, all the praise that they reap of their employment, consisteth in this, that they have wisely told a foolish tale, and carried a long lie very smoothly to the end. Yet this inconvenience might find some excuse, if the drift of their discourse leveled at any virtuous mark. For infables are often figured moral truths, and that covertly uttered to a common good, which without a mask would not find so free a passage. But when the substance of the work hath neither truth nor probability; nor the purport thereof tendeth to any honest end, the writer is rather to be pitied than praised, and his books fit for the fire than for the press. This common oversight more have observed, than endeavoured to salve, every one being able to reprove, none willing to redress such faults, authorised especially by general custom. And though if necessity (the lawless patron of enforced actions) had not more prevailed than choice, this work of so different a subject from the usual vain, should have been no eyesore to those that are pleased with worse matters. Yet sith the copies thereof flew foe fast, and so false abroad, that it was in danger to come corrupted to the print, it seemed a less evil to let it fly to common view in the native plume, and with the own wings, than disguised in a coat of a bastard feather, or cast off from the fast of such a corrector, as might happily have perished the sound, and imped in some sick and sorry feathers of his own fancies. It may be that courteous skill will reckon this, though course in respect of others exquisite labours, not unfit to entertain wel-tempered humours, both with pleasure and profit, the ground thereef being in Scripture, and the form of enlarging it, an imitation of the ancient Doctors, in the same and other points of like tenor. This commodity at the least it will carry with it, that the Reader may learn to love without improofe of purity, and teach his thoughts either to temper passion in the mean, or to give the bridle only where the excess cannot be faulty. Let the work defend itself, and every one pass his censure as he seethe cause. Many Carp are expected when curious eyes come a fishing. But the care is already taken, and patience waiteth at the cable, ready to take away, when that dish is served in, and to make room for others to set on the desired fruit.  
R.S.   

MARRY magdalen's FUNERAL TEARS.  
AMongst other mournful accidents of the passion of Christ, that love presenteth itself unto my memory, with which the blessed Marie Magdalene loving our Lord more than herself, followed him in his journey to his death, attending upon him when his disciples fled and being more willing to dye with him, than they to live without him. But not finding the favour to accompany him in death, and loathing after him to remain in life, the fire of her true affection inflamed her heart, and her inflamed heart resolved into uncessant tears, so that burning and bathing between love and grief, she led a life ever dying and felt a death never ending. And when he by whom she lived was dead, and she for whom he died enforcedly left alive, she praised the dead more than the living: and having lost that light of her life, she desired to dwell in darkness, & in the shadow of death, choosing Christ's Tomb for her best home, and his coarse for her chief comfort. For Mary (as the Evangelist saith) Stood without at the Tomb weeping.  
But alas how unfortunate is this woman, to whom neither life will afford a desired farewell, nor death allow any wished welcome? She hath abandoned the living, and chosen the company of the dead; and now it seemeth that even the dead have forsaken her, sith the coarse she seeketh is taken away from her. And this was the cause that love induced her to stand, and sorrow enforced her to weep. Her eye was watchful to seek whom her heart most longed to enjoy, and her foot in a readiness to run, if her eye should chance to espy him. And therefore she standeth to be still stirring, pressed to watch every way, and prepared to go whither any hope should call her. But she wept because she had such occasion of standing: and that which moved her to watch, was the motive of her tears. For as she watched to find whom she had lost, so she wept for having lost whom she loved, her poor eyes being troubled at once with two contrary offices, both to be clear in sight the better to seek him, and yet cloudy with tears for missing the sight of him.  
Yet was not this the entrance but the increase of her grief, not the beginning, but the renewing of her moan. For first she mourned for the departing of his soul out of his body, and now she lamented the taking of his body out of the grave, being punished with two wrecks of her only welfare, both full of misery, but the last without all comfort. The first original of her sorrow grew, because she could not enjoy him alive: yet this sorrow had some solace, for that she hoped to have enjoyed him dead.  
But when she considered that his life was already lost, and now not so much as his body could be found she was wholly daunted with dismay, sith this unhappiness admitted no help. She doubted lest the love of her master (the only portion that her fortune had left her) would soon languish in her cold breast, if it neither had his words to kindle it, nor his presence to cherish it, nor so much as his dead ashes to rake it up. She had prepared her spices, and provided her ointments, to pay him the last tribute of external duties. And though joseph and Nicodemus had already bestowed an hundreth pounds of Myrrh and Aloes, which was in quantity sufficient, in quality of the best, and as well applied as art and devotion could device: yet such was her love, that she would have thought any quantity too little, except hers had been added; the best in quality too mean, except hers were with it; and no diligence in applying it enough, except her service were in it. Not that she was sharp in censuring that which others had done, but because love made her so desirous to do all herself, that though all had been done that she could device, and as well as she could wish, yet unless she were an actor it would not suffice, sith love is as eager to be uttered in effects, as it is zealous in true affection. She came therefore now meaning to embalm his corpse, as she had before anointed his feet, and to preserve the relics of his body, as the only remnant of all her bliss. And as in the spring of her felicity she had washed his feet with her tears, bewailing unto him the death of her own soul: so now she came in the depth of her misery, to shed them afresh for the death of his body. But when she saw the grave open, and the body taken out, the labour of enbalming was prevented, but the cause of her weeping increased, and he that was wanting to her obsequies, was not wanting to her tears; and though she found not whom to anoint, yet found she whom to lament.  
And not without cause did Marie complain, finding her first anguish doubled with a second grief, and being surcharged with two most violent sorrows in one afflicted heart. For having settled her whole affection upon Christ, and summed all her desires and wishes into the love of his goodness, as nothing could equal his worths: so was there not in the whole world, either a greater benefit for her to enjoy than himself, or any greater damage possible than his loss.  
The murdering in his own death, the life of all lives, left a general death in all living creatures, and his decease not only disrobed our nature of her most royal ornaments, but impoverished the world of all highest perfections. What marvel therefore though her vehement love to so lovely a Lord, being after the wreck of his life, now also deprived of his dead body, feel as bitter pangs for his loss, as before it tasted joys in his presence, and open as large an issue to tears of sorrow, as ever heretofore to tears of contentment? And though tears were rather oil than water to her flame, apt to nourish than diminish her grief: yet now being plunged in the depth of pain, she yielded herself captive to all discomfort, carrying an overthrown mind in a more enfeebled body, and still busy in devising, but ever doubtful in defining what she might best do. For what could a silly woman do but weep, that floating in a sea of cares, found neither ear to hear her, nor tongue to direct her, nor hand to help her, nor heart to pity her in her desolate case? True it is, that Peter and john came with her to the Tomb, and to make trial of her report were both within it: but as they were speedy in coming, and diligent in searching, so were they as quick to departed, and fearful of farther seeking. And alas, what gained she by their coming, but two witnesses of her loss, two dismayers of her hope, and two patterns of a new despair? Love's moved them to come, but their love was soon conquered, with such fear, that it suffered them not to stay. But Marry, hoping in despair, and persevering in hope, stood without fear, because she now thought nothing left that aught to be feared. For she hath lost her master, to whom she was so entirely devoted, that he was the total of her loves, the height of her hopes, and the uttermost of her fears, and therefore besides him, she could neither love other creature, hope for other comfort, nor fear other loss. The worst she could fear, was the death of her body, and that she rather desired than feared, sith she had already lost the life of her soul, without which any other life would be a death, and with which any other death would have been a delight. But now she thought it better to dye than to live, because she might happily dying find, whom not dying she looked not to enjoy, and not enjoying she had little will to live. For now she loved nothing in her life, but her love to Christ: and if any thing did make her willing to live, it was only the unwillingness that his Image should dye with her, whose likeness love had limited in her heart, and treasured up in her sweetest memories. And had she not feared to break the table, and to break open the closet, to which she had entrusted this last relic of her lost happiness, the violence of grief, would have melted her heart into inward bleeding tears, and blotted her remembrance with a fatal oblivion. And yet nevertheless, she is now in so imperfect a sort alive, that it is proved true in her, that Love is as strong as death. For what could death have done more in Mary than love did? Her wits were astonished, and all her senses so amazed, that in the end finding she did not know, seeing she could not discern, hearing she perceived not, and more than all this, she was not there where she was, for she was wholly where her master was; more where she loved than where she lived, and less in herself than in his body, which notwithstanding, where it was she could not imagine. For she sought, & as yet she found not, and therefore stood at the Tomb weeping for it, being now altogether given to mourning, and driven to misery.  
But o Marry, by whose counsel, upon what hope, or with what heart, couldst thou stand alone, when the Disciples were departed? Thou wert there once before they came, thou turnedst again at their coming, and yet thou stayest when they are gone. Alas that thy Lord is not in the Tomb, thine own eyes have often seen, the Disciples hands have felt, the empty Syndon doth avouch, and cannot all this win thee to believe it? No no, thou wouldst rather condemn thine own eyes of error, and both their eyes and hands of deceit, yea, rather suspect all testimonies for untrue, than not look whom thou hast lost, even there, where by no diligence he could be found. When thou thinkest of other places, and canst not imagine any so likely as this, thou seekest again in this, and though never so often sought, it must be an haunt for hope. For when things dear affected are lost, love's natures is, never to be weary of searching even the oftenest searched corners, being more willing to think that all the senses are mistaken, than to yield that hope should quail. Yet now sith it is so evident, that he is taken away, what should move thee to remain here where the peril is apparent, and no profit likely? Can the wit of one (and she a woman) wholly possessed with passion, have more light to discern danger, than two wits of two men, and both principal favourites of the parent of all wisdom? Or if (notwithstanding the danger) there had been just cause to encounter it, were not two together, being both to Christ sworn champions, each to other affected friends, and to all his enemies professed foes, more likely to have prevailed, than one feminine heart, timorous by kind, and already amazed with this dreadful accident?  
But alas, why do I urge her with reason, whose reason is altered into love, & that judgeth it folly to follow such reason, as should any way impair her love? Her thoughts were arrested by every thread of Christ's Sindon, and she was captive to so many prisons, as the tomb had memories of her lost master: Love being her jailor in them all, and nothing able to ransom her, but the recovery of her Lord. What marvel then though the Apostles examples drew her not away, whom so violent a love enforced to remain, which prescribing laws both to wit and will, is guided by no other law but itself? She could not think of any fear, nor stand in fear of any force. Love's armed her against all hazards, and being already wounded wtih the greatest grief, she had no leisure to remember any lesser evil. Yea she had forgotten all things, and herself among all things, only mindful of him whom she loved above all things. And yet her love, by reason of her loss, drowned both her mind and memory so deep in sorrow, and so busied her wits in the conceit of his absence, that all remembrance of his former promises, was diverted with the throng of present discomforts, and she seemed to have forgotten also him besides whom she remembered nothing. For doubtless had she remembered him as she should, she would not have now thought the tomb a fit place to seek him, neither would she mourn for him as dead, and removed by others force, but joy in him as revived, and risen by his own power. For he had often foretold both the manner of his death, and the day of his Resurrection. But alas, let her heaviness excuse her, and the unwontedness of the miracle plead her pardon, sith dread & amazement hath dulled her senses, distempered her thoughts, discouraged her hopes, awaked her passions, and left her no other liberty but only to weep. She wept therefore, being only able to weep. And as she was weeping, she stooped down and looked into the Monument, and she saw two Angels in white, sitting one at the head, and another at the feet, where the body of jesus had been laid. They said unto her, Woman why weepest thou? john 20.  
O Mary, thy good hap exceedeth thy hope, and where thy last sorrow was bred, thy first succour springeth. Thou didst seek but one, and thou hast found two. A dead body was thy errand, and thou hast light upon two alive. Thy weeping was for a man, and thy tears have obtained Angels. Suppress now thy sadness, and refresh thy heart with this good fortune. These Angels invite thee to a parley, they seem to take pity of thy case, and it may be, they have some happy tidings to tell thee. Thou hast hitherto sought in vain, as one either unseen, or unknown, or at the least unregarded, sith the party thou seekest, neither tendereth thy tears, nor answereth thy cries, nor relenteth with thy lament. Either he doth not hear, or he will not help: he hath peradventure left to love thee, and is loath to yield thee relief, and therefore take such comfort as thou findest, sith thou art not so lucky, as to find that which thou couldst wish Remember what they are, where they sit, from whence they come, and to whom they speak. They are Angels of peace, neither sent without cause, nor seen but of favour. They sit in the tomb, to show that they are no strangers to thy loss. They come from heaven, from whence all happy news descendeth. They speak to thyself, as though they had some special embassage to deliver unto thee. Ask them therefore of thy master, for they are likeliest to return thee a desired answer. Thou knewest him too well, to think that hell hath devoured him: thou hast long sought, and hast not found him on earth, and what place so fit for him as to be in heaven? Ask therefore of those Angels that came newly from thence, and it may be, their report will highly please thee. Or if thou art resolved to continue thy seeking, who can better help thee, than they that are as swift as thy thought, as faithful as thine own heart, and as loving to thy Lord as thou thy self? Take therefore thy good hap, lest it be taken away from thee, and content thee with Angels, sith thy master hath given thee over.  
But alas, what meaneth this change, and how happeneth this strange alteration? The time hath been that fewer tears would have wrought greater effect, shorter seeking have sooner found, and less pain have procured more pity. The time hath been that thy anointing his feet, was accepted and praised, thy washing them with tears highly commended, & thy wiping them with thy hair, most courteously construed. How then doth it now fall out, that having brought thy sweet oils to anoint his whole body, having shed as many tears, as would have washed more than his feet, and having not only thy hair, but thy heart ready to serve him, he is not moved with all these duties, so much as once to afford thee his fight? Is it not he that reclaimed thee from thy wand'ring courses, that dispossessed thee of thy damned Inhabitants; and from the wild's of sin, recovered thee into the fold and family of his flock? Was not thy house his home, his love thy life, thyself his disciple? Did not he defend thee against the Pharisie, plead for thee against judas, and excuse thee to thy sister? In sum, was not he thy Patron and Protector in all thy necessities?  
O good jesus, what hath thus estranged thee from her? Thou hast heretofore so pitied her tears, that seeing them, thou couldst not refrain thine. In one of her greatest agonies, for love of her that so much loved thee, thou didst recall her dead brother to life, turning her complaint into unexpected contentment. And we know that thou dost not use to alter course without cause, nor to chastise without desert. Thou art the first that invitest, and the last that forsakest▪ never leaving but first left; and ever offering, till thou art refused. How then hath she forfeited thy favour? or with what trespass hath she earned thy ill will? That she never left to love thee, her heart will depose, her hand will subscribe, her tongue will protest, her tears will testify, and her seeking doth assure. And alas, is her particular case so fare from example, that thou shouldest rather alter thy nature, than she better her Fortune, and be to her as thou art to no other? For our parts since thy last show of liking towards her, we have found no other fault in her, but that she was the earliest up to seek thee, readiest to anoint thee, and when she saw that thou wert removed, she forthwith did weep for thee, and presently went for help to find thee. And whereas those two that she brought, being less careful of thee than fearful of themselves, when they had seen what she had said, suddenly shrunk away, behold she still stayeth, she still seeketh, she still weepeth. If this be a fault, we cannot deny but this she doth, and to this she persuadeth; yea, this she neither meaneth to amend, nor requesteth thee to forgive: if therefore thou reckonest this as punishable, punished she must be, sith no excuse hath effect where the fact pleadeth guilty. But if this import not any offence but a true affection, and be rather a good desire than an evil desert, why art thou so hard a judge to so soft a creature, requiting her love with thy loss, and suspending her hopes in this unhappiness? Are not those thy words; I love those that love me, and who watcheth early for me shall find me? why then doth not this woman find thee, that was up so early to watch for thee? Why dost thou not with like repay her, that bestoweth upon thee her whole love, sith thy word is her warrant, and thy promise her due debt? Art thou less moved with these tears that she sheddeth for thee her only Master, than thou wert with those that she shed before thee for her deceased brother? Or doth her love to thy servant more please thee than her love to thyself? Our love to others must not be to them, but to thee in them. For he loveth thee so much the less, that loves any thing with thee. If therefore she then deserved well for loving thee in another, she deserved better now, for loving thee in thyself: and if indeed thou lovest those that love thee, make thy word good to her that is so fare in love with thee. Of thyself thou hast said, that thou art The way, the truth, and the life. If then thou art a way easy to find and never erring, how doth she miss thee? If a life giving life and never ending, why is she ready to dye for thee? If a true promising truth and never failing, how is she bereft of thee? For if what thy tongue did speak, thy truth will aver, she will never ask more to make her most happy. Remember that thou saidst to her sister, that Mary had chosen the best part which should not be taken from her. That she chose the best par● is out of question, sith she made choice of nothing but only of thee But how can it be verified, that this part shall not be taken from her, sith thou that art this part art already taken away? If she could have kept thee, she would not have lost thee: and had it been in her power, as it was in her will, she would never have parted from thee: and might she now be restored to thy presence, she would try all fortunes rather than for go thee. Sith therefore she seeketh nothing but what she chose, and the loss of her choice is the only cause of her combat, either vouchsafe thou to keep this best part that she chose in her, or I see not how it can be true, that it shall not be taken from her. But thy meaning haply was, that though it be taken from her eyes, yet it should never be taken from her heart; & it may be thy inward presence supplieth thine outward absence: yet I can hardly think, but that if Mary had thee within her, she could feel it, and if she felt it, she would never seek thee. Thou art too hot a fire to be in her bosom and not to burn her, and thy light is too great, to leave her mind in this darkness if it shined in her. In true lovers every part is an eye, and every thought a look, and therefore so sweet an object among so many eyes, and in so great a light, could never lie so hidden but love would espy it. No, no, if Mary had thee, her innocent heart (never taught to dissemble) could not make complaint the outside of a concealed comfort, neither would she turn her thoughts to pasture in a dead man's Tomb, if at home she might bid them to so heavenly a banquet. Her love would not have a thought to spare, nor a minute to spend in any other action, than in enjoying of thee, whom she knew too well, to abridge the least part of her from so high an happiness. For her thirst of thy presence was so exceeding, and the sea of thy joys so well able to afford her a full draught, that though every parcel in her should take in a whole tide of thy delights, she would think them too few to quiet her desires. Yea doubtless, if she had thee within her, she would not envy the fortune of the richest Empress, yea she would more rejoice to be thy Tomb in earth, than a throne in heaven, and disdain to be a Saint if she were worthy to be but thy shrine.  
But peradventure it is now with her mind, as it was with the Apostles eyes; and as they seeing thee walk upon the Sea took thee for a Ghost, so she seeing thee in her hart, deemeth thee but a fancy, being yet better acquainted with thy bodily shape than with thy spiritual power.  
But o Marry, it seemeth too strange, that he whom thou seekest, and for whom thou weepest, should thus give thee over to these painful fits, if in thee he did not see a cause for which he will not be seen of thee. Still thy plaint, and stint thy weeping, for I doubt there is some trespass in thy tears, & some sin in thy sorrow. Dost thou not remember his words to thee and to other women, when he said: Daughters of jerusalem weep not for me, but weep for yourselves and for your children? What meanest thou then to continue this course? Doth he forbid thy tears, and wilt thou not forbear them? Is it no fault to infringe his will, or is not that his will that his words do import? The fault must be mended, ere the penance be released, and therefore either cease to weep, or never hope to find. But I know this Logic little pleaseth thee, and I might as soon win thee to forbear living as to leave weeping.  
Thou wilt say, that though he forbade thee to weep for him, yet he left thee free, to weep for thyself, and sith thy love hath made thee one with him, thou weepest but for thyself when thou weepest for him. But I answer thee again, that because he is one with thee, and thy weeping for him hath been forbidden thee, thou canst not weep for thyself, but his words will condemn thee. For if thou & he are one, for which soever thou weepest it is all one, & therefore sith for him thou mayst not weep, forbear all weeping left it should offend. Yea but (sayest thou) to bar me from weeping, is to abridge me of liberty, and restraint of liberty is a penalty; and every penalty supposeth some offence: but an offence it is not to weep for myself, for he would never command it, if it were not lawful to do it. The fault therefore must be; in being one with him, that maketh the weeping for my self, a weeping also for him. And if this be a fault, I will never amend it; and let them that think it so, do penance for it: for my part, sith I have lost my mirth, I will make much of my sorrow, and sith I have no joy but in tears, I may lawfully shed them. Neither think I his former word, a warrant against his latter deed. And what need had he to weep upon the Cross, but for our example, which if it were good for him to give, it cannot be evil for me to follow? No, no, it is not my weeping that causeth my loss, sith a world of eyes, and a sea of tears, could not worthily bewail the miss of such a master.  
Yet, since neither thy seeking findeth, nor thy weeping prevaileth, satisfy thyself with the sight of Angels. Demand the cause of their coming, and the reason of thy Lords remove, and sith they first offer thee occasion of parley, be not thou too dainty of thy discourse. It may be they can calm thy storms, and quiet thy unrest, and therefore conceal not from them thy sore, lest thou lose the benefit of their emplaster. But nothing can move Mary to admit comfort or entertain any company: for to one alone, and for ever she hath vowed herself, and except it be to him, she will neither lend her ear long to others, nor borrow others help, lest by the seeking to allay her smart, she should lessen her love. But drawing into her mind all pensive conceits, she museth and pineth in a consuming languor, taking comfort in nothing but in being comfortless.  
Alas, (saith she) small is the light that a star can yield when the Sun is down, and a sorry exchange to go gather the crumbs after the loss of an heavenly repast. My eyes are not used to see by the glimpse of a spark: and in seeking the Sun it is either needless or bootless to borrow the light of a candle, sith either it must bewray itself with the self light, or no other light can ever discover it. If they come to disburden me of my heaviness, their coming will be burdensome unto me, and they will load me more while they labour my relief. They cannot persuade me, that my master is not lost, for my own eyes will disprove them. They can less tell me where he may be found, for they would not be so simple to be so long from him: or if they can forbear him, surely they do not know him, whom none can truly know, and live long without him. All their demurs would be tedious, and discourses irksome. Impair my love they might, but appay it they could not, to which he that first accepted the debt is the only payment. They either want power, will, or leave to tell me my desire, or at the first word they would have done it, sith Angels are not used to idle speeches, and to me all talk is idle that doth not tell me of my master. They know not where he is, and therefore they are come to the place where he last was, making the Tomb their heaven, and the remembrance of his presence the food of their felicity. Whatsoever they could tell me, if they told me not of him, and whatsoever they could tell me of him, if they told me not where he were, both their telling and my hearing were but a wasting of time. I neither came to see them, nor desire to hear them. I came not to see Angels, but him that made both me and Angels, and to whom I own more than both to men and Angels.  
And to thee I appeal, o most loving Lord, whether my afflicted heart doth not truly defray the tribute of an undivided love. To thee I appeal, whether I have joined any partner with thee, in the small possession of my poor self. And I would to God I were as, privy where thy body is, as thou art, who is only Lord and owner of my soul.  
But alas sweet jesus, where thou wert thou art not, & where thou art I know not: wretched is the case that I am in, and yet how to better it I cannot imagine. Alas o my only desire, why hast thou left me wavering in these uncertainties, and in how wild a maze wander my doubtful & perplexed thoughts? If I stay here where he is not, I shall never find him. If I go further to seek, I know not whither. To leave the Tomb is a death, and to stand helpless by it an uncurable disease, so that all my comfort is now concluded in this, that I am free to choose whether I will stay without help, or go without hope, that is in effect, with what torment I will end my life. And yet even this were too happy a choice for so unhappy a creature. If I might be chooser of mine own death, o how quickly should that choice be made, and how willingly would I run to that execution? I would be nailed to the same cross, with the same nails, & in the same place: my heart should be wounded with his spear, my head with his thorns, my body with his whips: Finally, I would taste all his torments, and tread all his embrued and bloody steps.  
But o ambitious thoughts, why gaze you upon so high a felicity? why think you of so glorious a death, that are privy to so infamous a life? Death alas I deserve, yea not one but infinite deaths. But so sweet a death, seasoned with so many comforts, the very instruments whereof were able to raise the deadest corpse, and depure the most defiled soul, were too small a scourge for my great offences. And therefore I am left to feel so many deaths as I live hours, and to pass as many pangs as I have thoughts of my loss, which are as many as there are minutes, and as violent as if they were all in every one. But sith I can neither die as he died, nor live where he lieth dead, I I will live out my living death by his grave, and dye on my dying life by his sweet Tomb. Better is it after loss of his body to look to his Sepulchre, than after the loss of the one, to leave the other to be destroyed. No, no, though I have been rob of the Saint, I will at the least have care of the shrine, which though it be spoiled of the most sovereign host, yet shall it be the Altar where I will daily sacrifice my heart, and offer up my tears.  
Here will I ever lead, yea here do I mean to end my wretched life, that I may at the least be buried by the Tomb of my Lord, and take my iron sleep near this couch of stone which his presence hath made the place of sweetest repose.  
It may be also that this empty Syndon lieth here to no use, and this Tomb being open without any in it, may give occasion to some merciful heart, that shall first light upon my unburied body, to wrap me in his shroud, and to inter me in this Tomb.  
O too fortunate lot, for so unfortunate a woman to crave: no: no: I do not crave it. For alas, I dare not, yet if such an oversight should be committed, I do now beforehand, forgive that sinner, and were it no more presumption to wish it alive, than to suffer it dead, if I knew the party that should first pass by me, I would woe him with my tears, and hire him with my prayers, to bless me with this felicity. And though I dare not wish any to do it, yet this (without offence) I may say to all, that I love this Syndon above all clothes in the world, and this Tomb I esteem more than any Prince's monument: yea, and I think that coarse highly favoured, that shall succeed my Lord in it: and for my part, as I mean that the ground where I stand shall be my deathbed; so am I not of jacobs' mind, to have my body buried fare from the place where it dyeth, but even in the next and readiest grave, and that as soon as my breath faileth, sith delays are bootless where death hath won possession.  
But alas, I dare not say any more, let my body take such fortune as befalleth it: my soul at the least shall dwell in this sweet Paradise, and from this brittle case of flesh and blood, pass presently into the glorious Tomb of God and man. It is now enwrapped in a mass of corruption, it shall then enjoy a place of high perfection: where it is now it is more by force than by choice, and like a repining prisoner in a loathed gaile: but there in a little room it should find perfect rest, and in the prison of death, the liberty of a joyful life.  
O sweet Tomb of my sweetest Lord, while I live I will stay by thee, when I die, I will cleave unto thee: neither alive nor dead, will I ever be drawn from thee. Thou art the Altar of mercy, the temple of truth, the sanctuary of safe●ie, the grave of death, and the cradle of eternal life. O heaven of my eclipsed Sun, receive unto thee this silly star that hath now also lost all wished light. O Whale that hast swallowed my only jonas, swallow also me, more worthy to be thy prey, sith I, and not he, was the cause of this bloody tempest. O Cistern of my innocent joseph, take me into thy dry bottom, sith I, and not he gave just cause of offence to my enraged brethren. But alas, in what cloud hast thou hidden the light of our way? Upon what shore hast thou cast up the Preacher of all truth? or to what Ismaelite hast thou yielded the purveyor of our life?  
Oh unhappy me, why did I not before think of that which I now ask? Why did I leave him when I had him, thus to lament him now that I have lost him? If I had watched with perseverance, either none would have taken him, or they should have taken me with him.  
But through too much preciseness in keeping the Law, I have lost the Lawmaker; and by being too scrupulous in observing his ceremonies, I am proved irreligious in losing himself, sith I should rather have remained with the truth, than forsaken it to solemnize the figure. The Sabbath could not have been profaned in standing by his coarse, by which the profaned things are sanctified, and whose touch doth not defile the clean, but cleanseth the most defiled.  
But when it was time to stay, I departed: when it was too late to help, I returned: and now I repent my folly, when it cannot be amended. But let my heart dissolve into sighs, mine eyes melt in tears, and my desolate soul languish in dislikes: yea, let all that I am and have, endure the deserved punishment, that if he were incensed with my fault, he may be appeased with my penance, and return upon the amendment that fled from the offence.  
Thus when her timorous conscience had indicted her of so great an omission, and her tongue enforced the evidence with these bitter accusations, Love, that was now the only umpire in all her causes, condemned her eyes to a fresh shower of tears, her breast to a new storm of sighs, and her soul, to be perpetual prisoner to restless sorrows.  
But o Marry, thou deceivest thyself in thy own desires, and it well appeareth, that excess of grief, hath bred in thee a defect of due providence. And wouldst thou indeed have thy wishes come to pass, and thy words fulfilled? Tell me then, I pray thee, if thy heart were dissolved, where wouldst thou harbour thy Lord? what wouldst thou offer him? how wouldst thou love him?  
Thine eyes have lost him, thy hands cannot feel him, thy feet cannot follow him: and if it be at all in thee, it is thy heart that hath him, and wouldst thou now have that dissolved, from thence also to exile him? And if thine eyes were melted, thy soul in langour, and thy senses decayed, how wouldst thou see him, if he did appear? how shouldest thou hear him, if he did speak? how couldst thou know him, though he were there present?  
Thou thinkest haply that he loved thee so well, that if thy heart were spent for his love, he would either lend his own heart unto thee, or create a new heart in thee, better than that which thy sorrow took from thee. It may be thou imaginest that if thy soul would give place, his soul wanting now a body, would enter into thine, with supply of all thy senses, and release of thy sorrows.  
O Mary, thou didst not mark what thy master was wont to say, when he told thee, that the third day he should rise again. For if thou hadst heard him, or at the least understood him, thou wouldst not think, but that he now used both his heart and soul in the life of his own body. And therefore repair to the Angels, and inquire more of them, lest the Lord be displeased, that coming from him, thou wilt not entertain them.  
But Marry, whose devotions were all fixed upon a nobler Saint, and that had so straightly bound her thoughts to his only affection, that she rather desired to unknown whom she knew already, than to burden her mind with the knowledge of new acquaintance, could not make her will, long since possessed with the highest love, stoop to the acceptance of meaner friendships. And for this, though she did not scornfully reject, yet did she with humility refuse the Angel's company, thinking it no discourtesy to take herself from them, for to give herself more wholly to her Lord, to whom both she and they were wholly devoted, & ought most love and greatest duty. Sorrow also being now the only interpreter of all that sense, delivered to her understanding, made her construe their demand in a more doubtful than true meaning.  
If (saith she) they came to ease my affliction, they could not be ignorant of the cause: and if they were not ignorant of it, they would never ask it, why then did they say, Woman why weepest thou?  
If their question did import a prohibition, the necessity of the occasion doth countermand their counsel, and fit it were they should weep with me, than I in not weeping obey them. If the Sun were ashamed to show his brightness, when the father of lights was darkened with such disgrace: if the heavens discolouring their beauties, suited themselves to their maker's fortune: if the whole frame of nature were almost dissolved to see the author of nature so unhaturally abused: why may not Angels, that best knew the indignity of the case, make up a part in this lamentable consort? And especially now, that by the loss of his body, the cause of weeping is increased, and yet the number of mourners lessened: sith the Apostles are fled, all his friends afraid, and poor I left alone to supply the tears of all creatures? O who will give water to my head, and a fountain of tears unto mine eyes, that I may weep day and night, and never cease weeping? O my only Lord, thy grief was the greatest that ever was in man, and my grief as great as ever happened to woman: for my love hath carved me no small portion of thine, thy loss hath redoubled the torment of my own, and all creatures seem to have made over to me theirs, leaving me as the vicegerent of all their sorrow. Sorrow with me at the lest o thou Tomb, and thaw into tears you hardest stones. The time is now come, that you are licenced to cry, and bound to recompense the silence of your Lords Disciples, of whom he himself said to the Pharises, that if they held their peace, the very stones should cry for them. Now therefore sith fear hath locked up their lips, and sadness made them mute, let the stones cry out against the murd erers of my Lord, and bewray the robbers of his sacred body. And I fear that were it well known who hath taken him away, there is no stone so stony, but should have cause to lament.  
It was doubtless the spite of some malicious Pharisee or bloody Scribe, that not contented with those torments that he suffered in life (of which every one to any other would have been a tyrannical death) hath now stolen away his dead body, to practise upon it some savage cruelty, and to glut their pitiless eyes and brutish hearts with the unnatural usage of his helpless corpse. O ye rocks and stones, if ever you must cry out, now it is high time, sith the light, the life, and the Lord of the world is thus darkened, massacred, and outrageously misused.  
Doth not his tongue, whose truth is infallible, and whose word omnipotent, commanding both winds and seas, and never disobeyed of the most sensible creatures, promise to arm the world, and make the whole earth to fight against the senseless persons, in defence of the just? And who more just than the Lord of justice? who more senseless than his barbarous murderers, whose insatiable thirst of his innocent blood, could not be staunched with their cruel butchering him at his death, unless they proceeded further in this hellish impiety to his dead body. Why then do not all creatures address themselves to revenge so just a quarrel, upon so senseless wretches, left of all reason, forsaken of humanity, and bereft of all feeling both of God and man?  
O Mary, why dost thou thus torment thyself with these tragical surmises? Dost thou think that the Angels would sit still, if their master were not well? Did they serve him after his fasting, and would they despise him after his decease? Did they comfort him before he was apprehended, and would not defend him when he was dead? If in the garden he might have had twelve. Legions of them, is his power so quite dead with his body, that he could not now command them? Was there an Angel found to help Daniel to his dinner, to save Toby from the fish, yea and to defend Balaams' poor beast from his master's rage: and is the Lord of Angels of so little reckoning, that if his body stood in need, never an Angel would defend it? Thou seest two here present to honour his Tomb, and how much more careful would they be to do homage to his person? Believe not Mary that they would smile, if thou hadst such occasion to weep. They would not so gloriously shine in white, if a black and mourning weed did better become them, or were a fit livery for thy master to give, or them to wear. Yield not more to thy uncertain fear and deceived love, than to their assured knowledge, and never erring charity. Can a material eye see more than an heavenly spirit, or the glimmering of the twilight give better aim than the beams of their eternal Sun? Would they (thinkest thou) wait upon the winding sheet, while the coarse were abused, or be here for thy comfort, if their Lord did need their service? No, no, he was neither any thiefs booty, nor Pharisees pray; neither are the Angels so careless of him, as thy suspicion presumeth. And if their presence and demeanour cannot alter thy conceit, look upon the clothes and they will teach thee thine error, and clear thee of thy doubt.  
Would any▪ thief, thinkest thou, have been so religious, as to have stolen the body, and left the clothes? yea, would he have been so venturous, as to have stayed the unshrowding of the coarse, the well ordering of the sheets, and folding up the napkins? Thou knowest that the Myrrh maketh linen cleave as fast as pitch or glue: and was a thief at so much leisure, as to dissolve the Myrrh and unclothe the dead? what did the watch while the scales were broken, the Tomb opened, the body unfolded, all other things ordered as now thou seest? And if all this cannot yet persuade thee, believe at the least thy own experience. When thy master was stripped at the cross, thou knowest that his only garment being congealed to his gory back, came not off without many parts of his skin, & doubtless would have torn off many more, if he had been anointed with Myrrh: Look then into the sheet, whether there remain any parcel of skin, or any one hair of his head: and sith there is none to be found, believe some better issue of thy master's absence than thy fear suggesteth. A guilty conscience doubteth want of time, and therefore dispatcheth hastily. It is in hazard to be discovered, and therefore practiseth in darkness and secrecy. It ever worketh in extreme fear, and therefore hath no leisure to place things orderly. But to unwrap so mangled a body, out of Mirrhed  without tearing of any skin, or leaving on any Myrrh, is a thing either to man impossible, or not possible to be done with such speed, without light or help, and with so good order. Assure thyself therefore, that if either of malice, or by fraud the coarse had been removed, the linen and myrrh should never have been left; and neither could the Angels look so cheerfully, nor the clothes lie so orderly, but to import some happier accident than thou conceivest. But to free thee more from fear, consider these words of the Angels, Woman why weepest thou? For what do they signify, but as much in effect as if they had said: Where Angels rejoice, it agreeth not that a woman should weep, and where heavenly eyes are witnesses of joy, no mortal eye should control them with testimonies of sorrow? With more than a manly courage thou didst before my coming, arm thy feet to run among swords, thy arms to remove huge loads, thy body to endure all Tyrant's rage, and thy soul to be sundered with violent tortures: and art thou now so much a Woman that thou canst not command thine eyes to forbear tears? If thou wert a true Disciple, so many proofs would persuade thee, but now thy incredulous humour maketh thee unworthy of that style, and we can afford thee no better title, than a Woman, and therefore o Woman, and too much a Woman, why weepest thou?  
If there were here any coarse, we might think that sorrow for the dead enforced thy tears: but now that thou findest it a place of the living, why dost thou here stand weeping for the dead?  
Is our presence so uncomfortable that thou shouldest weep to behold us? or is it the course of thy kindness with tears to entertain us? If they be teats of love to testify thy good will, as thy love is acknowledged, so let these signs be suppressed. If they be tears of anger to denounce thy displeasure, they should not here have been shed where all anger was buried but none deserved. If they be tears of sorrow and duties to the dead, they are bestowed in vain where the dead is revived. If they be tears of joy stilled from the flowers of thy good fortune, fewer of these would suffice, and fit were other tokens to express thy contentment. And therefore O Woman, why dost thou weep? would our eyes be so dry, if such eye-streames were behooveful? Yea, would not the heaven's rain tears if thy supposals were truths? Did not Angels always in their visible semblances represent their Lords invisible pleasures, shadowing their shapes in the drift of his intentions? When God was incensed they brandished swords: when he was appeased, they sheathed them in scabbards: when he would defend, they resembled soldiers, when he would terrify they took terrible forms, and when he would comfort, they carried mirth in their eyes, sweetness in their countenance, mildness in their words, favour, grace and comeliness in their whole presence. Why then dost thou weep, seeing us to rejoice? Dost thou imagine us to degenerate from our nature, or to forget any duty, whose state is neither subject to change, nor capable of the least offence? Art thou more privy to the counsel of our eternal God, than we that are daily attendants at his throne of glory? O woman, deem not amiss against so apparent evidence, and at our request exchange thy sorrow for our joy.  
But o glorious Angels, why do ye move her to joy, if you know why she weepeth? Alas, she weepeth for the loss of him without whom all joy is to her but matter of new grief. While he lived, every place where she found him, was to her a Paradise▪ every season wherein he was enjoyed, a perpetual spring, every exercise wherein he was served, a special felicity: the ground whereon he went, seemed to yield her sweeter footing: the air wherein he breathed, became to her spirit of life, being once sanctified in his sacred breast. In sum, his presence brought with it an heaven of delights, and his departure seemed to leave an eclipse in all things. And yet even the places that he had once honoured with the access of his person, were to her so many sweet Pilgrimages, which in his absence she used as chapels and altars, to offer up her prayers, feeling in them long after, the virtue of his former presence. And therefore to feed her with conjectures of his well being, is but to strengthen her fear of his evil, and the alleging of likelihoods by those that know the certainty, importeth the cause to be so lamentable, that they are unwilling it should be known. Your obscure glancing at the truth, is no sufficient acquittance of her grief, neither can she out of these disjoined guests spell the words that must be the conclusion of her complaint. Tell her then directly what is become of her Lord, if you mean to deliver her out of these dumps, sith what else soever you say of him, doth but draw more humours to her sore, and rather anger it than any way assuage it. Yet harken o Mary, and consider their speeches. Think what answer thou wilt give them, sith they press thee with so strong persuasion. But I doubt that thy wits are smothered with too thick a mist, to admit these unknown beams of their pale light. Thou art so wholly inherited by the bloody tragedy of thy slaughtered Lord, and his death and dead body hath gotten so absolute a conquest over all thy powers, that neither thy sense can discern, nor thy mind conceive any other object than his murdered coarse.  
Thy eyes seem to tell thee that every thing inviteth thee to weep, carrying such outward show, as though all that thou seest were attired in sorrow to solemnize with general consent the funeral of the master. Thy tears persuade thee that all sounds and voices are tuned with mournful notes, and that the Echo of thine own wail, is the cry of the very stones and trees, as though (the cause of thy tears being so unusual) God to the rocks and woods, had inspired a feeling of thine and their common loss. And therefore it soundeth to thee as a strange question, to ask thee why thou weepest, sith all that thou seest and hearest, seemeth to induce thee, yea, to enforce thee to weep.  
If thou seest any thing that beareth colour of mirth, it is unto thee like the rich spoils of a vanquished kingdom, in the eye of a captive Prince, which puts him in mind what he had, not what he hath, and are but upbraid of his loss, and whetstones of sharper sorrow. Whatsoever thou hearest that moveth delight, it presenteth the miss of thy master's speeches, which as they were the only Harmony that thy ears affected, so they being now stopped with a deathful silence, all other words and tunes of comfort are to thee but an Israelites music upon Babylon's banks, memories of a lost felicity, and proofs of a present unhappiness. And though love increaseth the conceit of thy loss, which endeareth the meanest things, and doubleth the estimate of things that are precious: yet thy faith teaching thee the infinite dignity of thy Master, and thy understanding being no dull scholar to learn so well liked a lesson, it fell out to be the bitterest part of thy misery, that thou didst so well know how infinite the loss was that made thee miserable.  
This is the cause that those very Angels, in whom all things make remonstrance of triumph and solace, are unto thee occasions of new grief. For their gracious and lovely countenances, remember thee, that thou hast lost the beauty of the world, and the highest mark of true love's ambition. Their sweet looks and amiable features tell thee, that the heaven of thy eyes which was the reverend Majesty of thy Master's face, once shined with fare more pleasing graces, but is now disfigured with the dreadful forms of death. In sum, they were to thee, like the glistering sparks of a broken Diamond, and like pictures of dead and decayed beauties, signs, not salves of thy calamity, memorial, not medicines of thy misfortune. Thy eyes were too well acquainted with the truth, to accept a supply of shadows: and as comeliness, comfort and glory, were never in any other so truly at home and so perfectly in their prime, as in the person and speeches of thy Lord: so cannot thy thoughts but be like strangers in any foreign delight. For in them all thou seest no more but some scattered crumbs, and hungry morsels of thy late plentiful banquets, and findest a dim reflection of thy former light, which like a flash of lightning, in a close and stormy night, serveth thee but to see thy present infelicity, and the better to know the horror of the ensuing darkness.  
Thou thinkest therefore thyself blameless, both in weeping for thy loss, and in refusing other comfort: Yet in common courtesy afford these Angels an answer, sith their charity visiting thee, deserveth much more, and thou (if not too ungrateful) canst allow them no less.  
Alas (saith she) what needeth my answer, where the misery itself speaketh, and the loss is manifest? My eyes have answered them with tears, my breast with sighs, and my heart with throbs, what need I also punish my tongue, or wound my soul, with a new rehearsal of so do lawful a mischance? They have taken away, O unfortunate word, they have taken away my Lord.  
O afflicted woman; why thinkest thou this word so unfortunate? It may be the Angels have taken him, more solemnly to entomb him: and sith earth hath done her last homage, haply the Quires of heaven are also descended to defray unto him their funeral duties.  
It may be that the Centurion and the rest, that did acknowledge him on the cross to be the Son of God, have been touched with remorse, and gored with prick of conscience, and being desirous to satisfy for their heinous offence, have now taken him, more honourably to inter him, and by their service to his body sought forgiveness, and sued the pardon of their guilty souls.  
Peradventure some secret disciples, have wrought this exploit, and maugre the watch taken him from hence, with due honour to preserve him in some better place, and therefore being yet uncertain who hath him, there is no such cause to lament, sith the greater probabilities, march on the better side. Why dost thou call sorrow before it cometh, which without calling cometh on thee too fast? yea, why dost thou create sorrow where it is not, sith thou hast true sorrow enough, though imagined sorrows help not? It is folly to suppose the worst where the best may be hoped for: and every mishap bringeth grief enough with it, though we with our fears do not go first to meet it. Quiet then thyself till time try out the truth, and it may be thy fear will prove greater than thy misfortune.  
But I know thy love is little helped with this lesson: for the more it loveth, the more it feareth: and the more desirous to enjoy, the more doubtful it is to lose. It neither hath measure in hopes, nor mean in fears: hoping the best upon the least surmises, and fearing the worst upon the weakest grounds. And yet both fearing and hoping at one time, neither fear withholdeth hope from the highest attempts nor hope can strengthen fear against the smallest suspicions: but maugre all fears, love's hopes will mount to the highest pitch, and maugre all hopes, love's fears will stoop to the lowest downecome. To bid thee therefore hope, is not to forbid thee to fear, and though it may be for the best, that thy Lord is taken from thee, yet sith it may also be for the worst, that will never content thee.  
Thou thinkest, hope doth enough to keep thy heart from breaking, & fear little enough to force thee to no more than weeping, sith it is as likely that he hath been taken away upon hatred by his enemies, as upon love by his friends.  
For hitherto (sayest thou) his friends have all failed him, and his foes prevailed against him; and as they would not defend him alive, are less likely to regard him dead, so they that thought one life too little to take from him, are not unlikely after death to wreck new rage upon him.  
And though this doubt were not, yet whosoever hath taken him, hath wronged me, in not acquainting me with it: for to take away mine without my consent, can neither be offered with out injury, nor suffered without sorrow. And as for jesus, he was my jesus, my Lord, and my Master. He was mine because he was given unto me, & borne for me: he was the author of my being, and so my father; he was the worker of my well doing, and therefore my Saviour; he was the price of my ransom, and thereby my Redeemer: he was my Lord to command me, my master to instruct me, my pastor to feed me. He was mine, because his love was mine, and when he gave me his love, he gave me himself, sith love is no gift except the giver be given with it, yea it is no love, unless it be as liberal of that it is, as of that it hath. Finally, if the meat be mine that I eat, the life mine wherewith I live, or he mine, all whose life, labours, and death were mine, then dare I boldly say that jesus is mine, sith on his body I feed, by his love I live, and to my good without any need of his own, hath he lived, laboured, and died. And therefore though his Disciples, though the Centurion, yea though the Angels have taken him, they have done me wrong, in defeating me of my right, sith I never mean to resign my interest.  
But what if he hath taken away himself, wilt thou also lay injustice to his charge? Though he be thine, yet thine to command, not to obey; thy Lord to dispose of thee, and not to be by thee disposed: and therefore, as it is no reason that the servant should be master of his master's secrets, so might he, and peradventure so hath he, removed without acquainting thee whither, reviving himself with the same power with which he raised thy dead brother, and fulfilling the words that he often uttered of his resurrection. It may be thou wilt say, that a gift once given, cannot be revoked, and therefore though it were before in his choice, not to give himself unto thee, yet the deed of gift being once made, he cannot be taken from thee, neither can the donor dispose of his gift without the possessors privity. And sith this is a rule in the law of nature, thou mayst imagine it a breach of equine, and an impeachment of thy right, to convey himself away without thy consent.  
But to this I will answer thee with thine own ground. For if he be thine by being given thee once: thou art his by as many gifts, as days, and therefore he being absolute owner of thee, is likewise full owner of whatsoever is thine: and consequently because he is thine, he is also his own, and so nothing liable unto thee, for taking himself from thee.  
Yea, but he is my Lord (sayest thou) and in this respect, bound to keep me, at the least bound not to kill me: and sith killing is nothing but a seu●ring of life from the body, he being the chief life both of my soul and body, cannot possibly go from me, but he must with a double death kill me. And therefore he being my Lord, and bound to protect his servant, it is against all laws that I should be thus forsaken.  
But o cruel tongue, why pleadest thou thus against him, whose case I fear me is so pitiful, that it might rather move all tongues to plead for him, being peradventure in their hands, whose vumercifull hearts make themselves merry with his misery, and build the triumphs of their impious victory upon the doleful ruins of his disgraced glory? And now (o grief) because I know not where he is. I cannot imagine how to help, for they have taken him away, and I know not where they have put him.  
Alas Mary, why dost thou consume thy self with these cares? His father knoweth, and he will help him. The Angels know, and they will guard him. His own soul knoweth, and that will assist him. And what need then is there, that thou silly woman shouldest know it, that canst no way profit him? But I feel in what vain thy pulse beateth, and by thy desire I discover thy disease. Though both heaven and earth did know it, and the whole world had notice of it, yet except thou also wert made privy unro it, thy woes would be as great, and thy tears as many. That others see the Sun, doth not lighten thy darkness, neither can others eating satisfy thy hunger. The more there be that know of him, the greater is thy sorrow, that among so many thou art not thought worthy to be one. And the more there be that may help him, the move it grieveth thee that thy poor help is not accepted among them. Though thy knowiedge needeth not, thy love doth desire it, and though it avail not, thy desire will seek it. If all know it, thou wouldst know it with all: if no other, thou wouldst know it alone, and from whom soever it be concealed, it must be no secret to thee. Though the knowledge would discomfort thee, yet know it thou wilt, yea though it would kill thee, thou couldst not forbear it.  
Thy Lord to thy love is like drink to the thirsty, which if they cannot have, they die for drought, being long without it they pine away with longing. And as men in extremity of thirst are still dreaming of fountains, brooks, and springs, being never able to have other thought, or to utter other word but of drink and moisture: so lovers in the vehemency of their passion, can neither think nor speak but of that they love, and if that be once missing, every part is both an eye to watch, and an ear to listen, what hope or news may be had. If it be good, they die till they hear it, though bad yet they cannot live without it. Of the good, they hope that it is the very best; and of the evil, they fear it to be the worst: and yet though never so good they pine till it be told, and be it never so evil, they are importunate to know it. And when they once know it, they can neither bear the joy nor brook the sorrow, but as well the one as the other is enough to kill them.  
And this, o Marry, I guess to be the cause why the Angels would not tell thee thy Lords estate. For if it had been to thy liking, thou wouldst have died for joy, if otherwise thou wouldst have sunk down for sorrow. And therefore they leave this news for him to deliver, whose word if it give thee a wound, is also a salve to cure it, though never so deadly.  
But alas afflicted soul, why doth it so deeply grieve thee, that thou knowest not where he is? Thou canst not better him if he be well, thou canst as little succour him if he be ill: and sith thou fearest that he is rather ill than well, why shouldest thou know it, so to end thy hopes in mishap, and thy great fears in fare greater sorrows? Alas, to ask thee why, is in a manner to ask one half starved why he is hungry. For as thy Lord is the food of thy thoughts, the relief of thy wishes, the only repast of all thy desires: so is thy love a continual hunger, and his absence unto thee an extreme famine. And therefore no marvel though thou art so greedy to hear, yea to devour any, be it never so bitter notice of him, sith thy hunger is most violent, and nothing but he able to content it. And albeit the hearing of his harms should work the same in thy mind, that unwholesome meat worketh in a sick stomach: yet if it once concern him that thou lovest, thy hungry love could not temper itself from it, though after with many wring gripes, it did a long and unpleasant penance.  
But why doth thy sorrow quest so much upon the place where he is? were it not enough for thee to know who had him, but that thou must also know in what place he is bestowed? A worse place than a grave no man will offer, and many fare better many titles will allow: and therefore thou mayst boldly think, that wheresoever he be, he is in a place fit for him than where he was. Thy sister Martha confessed him to be the Son of God, and with her confession agreed thy belief. And what place more convenient for the son, than to be with his Father, the business for which he hath been so long from him, being now fully finished? If he be the Messiah, as thou didst once believe, it was said of him, That he should ascend on high, and lead our captivity captive. And what is this height, but heaven? what our captivity but death? Death therefore is become his captive, and it is like that with the spoils thereof, he is ascended in triumph to eternal life.  
But if thou canst not lift thy mind to so favourable a belief, yet mayest thou very well suppose that he is in Paradise. For if he came to repair Adam's ruins, and to be the common parent of our redemption, as Adam was of our original infection: reason seemeth to require, that having endured all his life the penalty of Adam's exile, he should after death re-enter possession of that inheritance which Adam lost: that the same place that was the nest where sin was first hatched, may be now the childbed of grace and mercy. And if sorrow at the cross did not make thee as deaf, as at the Tomb it maketh thee forgetful, thou didst in confirmation hereof hear himself say to one of the thiefs, that the same day he should be with him in Paradise. And if it be reason that no shadow should be more privileged than the body, no figure in more account than the figured truth, why shouldest thou believe that Elias and Enoch have been in Paradise these many ages, & that he whom they but as tips resembled, should be excluded from thence? He excelled them in life, surpassed them in miracles, he was fare beyond them in dignity: why then should not his place be fare above, or at the least equal with theirs, sith their prerogatives were so fare inferior unto his?  
And yet if the baseness and misery of his passion have laid him so low in thy conceit, that thou thinkest Paradise too high a place to be likely to have him: the very lowest room that any reason can assign him, cannot be meaner than the bosom of Abraham. And sith God in his life did so often acknowledge him for his Son, it seemeth the slenderest pre-eminence that he can give him above other men, that being his holy one, he should not in his body see corruption, but be free among the dead, reposing both in body and soul, where other Saints are in soul only. Let not therefore the place where he is trouble thee, sith it cannot be worse than his grave, and infinite conjectures make probability that it cannot but be better.  
But suppose that he were yet remaining on earth, and taken by others out of his Tomb, what would it avail thee to know where he were? If he be with such as love and honour him, they will be as wary to keep him, as they are loath he should be lost: and therefore will either often change, or never confess the place, knowing secrecy to be the surest lock to defend so great a treasure. If those have taken him, that malice and malign him, thou mayst well judge him past thy recovery, when he is once in possession of so cruel owners.  
Thou wouldst haply make sale of thy living, and seek him by ransom. But it is not likely they would sell him to be honoured, that bought him to be murdered.  
If price would not serve, thou wouldst fall to prayer. But how can prayer soften such flinty hearts? And if they scorned so many tears offered for his life, as little will they regard thy entreaty for his coarse.  
If neither price nor prayer would prevail, thou wouldst attempt it by force. But alas silly soldier, thy arms are too weak to manage weapons, and the issue of thy assault, would be the loss of thyself.  
If no other way would help, thou wouldst purloin him by stealth, and think thyself happy in contriving such a theft. O Mary, thou art deceived, for malice will have many locks: and to steal him from a thief, that could steal him from the watch, requireth more cunning in the Art, than thy want of practice can afford thee.  
Yet if these be the causes that thou enquired of the place, thou showest the force of thy rare affection, and deservest the Laurel of a perfect lover.  
But to feel more of their sweetness, I will pound these spices, and dwell a while in the peruse of thy resolute fervor.  
And first, can thy love enrich thee when thy goods are gone, or a dead coarse repay the value of thy ransom? Because he had neither bed to be borne in, nor grave to be buried in, wilt thou therefore rather be poor with him, than rich without him?  
Again, if thou hadst to sue to some cruel Scribe or Pharisie, that is, to an heart boiling in rancour, with an heart burning in love, for a thing of him above all things detested, of thee above all things desired: as his enemy to whom thou suest, and his friend for whom thou intrearest: canst thou think it possible for this suit to speed? Can thy love repair thee from his rage, or such a tyrant stoop to a woman's tears?  
Thirdly, if thy Lord might be recovered by violence, art thou so armed in complete love, that thou thinkest it sufficient harness? or doth thy love endue thee with such a judith's spirit, or lend thee such Sampsons' locks, that thou canst break open huge gates, or foil whole armies? Is thy love so sure a shield, that no blow can break it, or so sharp a dint, that no force can withstand it? Can it thus alter sex, change nature, and exceed all Art?  
But of all other courses wouldst thou adventure a theft to obtain thy desire? A good deed must be well done, and a work of mercy without breach of justice. It were a sin to steal profane treasure, but to steal an anointed Prophet, can be no less than sacrilege. And what greater stain to thy Lord, to his doctrine, and to thyself, than to see thee his Disciple publicly executed for an open theft?  
O Mary, unless thy love have better warrant than common sense, I can hardly see how such designments can be approved.  
Approved (saith she,) I would to God the execution were as easy as the proof, and I should not long bewail my unfortunate loss.  
To others it seemeth ill to prefer love before riches, but to love it seemeth worse to prefer any thing before itself. Cloth him with plates of silver that shivereth for cold, or fill his purse with treasure that pineth with hunger, & see whether the plates will warm him, or the treasure feed him. No, no, he will give us all his plates for a woollen garment, and all his money for a meal's meat. Every supply fitteth not with every need, and the love of so sweet a Lord hath no correspondence in worldly wealth. Without him I were poor, though Empress of the world. With him I were rich though I had nothing else. They that have most are accounted richest and they thought to have most, that have all they desire: and therefore as in him alone is the uttermost of my desires, so he alone is the sum of all my substance. It were too happy an exchange, to have God for goods, and too rich a poverty to enjoy the only treasure of the world. If I were so fortunate a beggar, I would disdain salomon's wealth, and my love being so highly enriched, my life should never complain of want.  
And if all I am worth would not reach to his ransom, what should hinder to seek him by entreaty? Though I were to sue to the gaeatest Tyrant, yet the equity of my suit is more than half a grant. If many drops soften the hardest stones, why should not many tears supple the most stony hearts? What anger so fiery that may not be quenched with eye-water; sith a weeping suppliant ●ebateth the edge of more than a Lion's fury? My suit itself would sue for me, and so doleful a coarse would quicken pity in the most iron hearts. But suppose that by touching a rankled sore, my touch should anger it, and my petition at the first incense him that heard it: he would percase revile me in words, and the● his own injury would recoil with remorse, and be unto me a patron to proceed in my request. And if he should accompany his words with blows, and his blows with wounds, it may be my stripes would smart in his guilty mind, and his conscience bleed in my bleeding wounds, and my innocent blood so entender his Adamant heart, that his own inward feelings would plead my cause, and peradventure obtain my suit.  
But if through extremity of spite he should happen to kill me, his offence might easily redound to my felicity. For he would be as careful to hide whom he had unjustly murdered, as him whom he had feloniously stolen: and so it is like that he would hide me in the same place where he had laid my Lord. And as he hated us both for one cause, him for challenging, and me for acknowledging that he was the Messiah: so would he use us both after one manner. And thus what comfort my body wanted, my soul should enjoy, in seeing a part of myself partner of my Master's misery: with whom to be miserable, I reckon an higher fortune, than without him to be most happy.  
And if no other mean would serve to recover him but force, I see no reason why it might not very well become me. None will bar me from defending my life, which the least worm in the right nature hath leave to preserve. And sith he is to me so dear a life, that without him all life is death, nature authoriseth my feeble forces, to employ their uttermost in so necessary an attempt. Necessity addeth ability, and love doubleth necessity, and it often happeneth that nature armed with love, and pressed with need, exceedeth itself in might, and surmounteth all hope in success. And as the equity of the cause doth breath courage into the defenders, making them the mote willing to fight, and the less unwilling to dye so guilty consciences are ever timorous, still starting with sudden frightts, and afraid of their own suspicions, ready to yield before the assault, upon distress of their cause, and despair of their defence. Sith therefore to rescue an innocent, to recover a right, & to redress so deep a wrong, is so just a quarrel: nature will enable me, love encourage me, grace confirm me, and the judge of all justice fight in my behalf.  
And if it seem unfitting to my sex in talk, much more in practice to deal with material affairs: yet when such a cause happeneth as never had pattern, such effects must follow as are without example. There was never any body of a God but one, neither such a body stolen but now, never such a stealth unrevenged but this. Sith therefore the Angels neglect it; and men forge●, O judith lend me thy prowess, for I am bound to regard it.  
But suppose that my force were unable to win him by an open enterprise, what scruple should keep me from seeking him by secret means? yea and by plain stealth, it will be thought a sin, and condemned for a theft. O sweet sin, why was not I the first that did commit thee? Why did I suffer any other sinner to prevent me? For stealing from God his honour I was called a sinner, and under that title was spread my infamy. But for stealing God from a false owner, I was not worthy to be called a sinner, because it had been too high a glory. If this be so great a sinne●, and so heinous a theft, let others make choice of what titles they will, but for my part I would refuse to be an Angel, I would not wish to be a Saint, I would never be esteemed either just or true, and I should be best contented if I might but live and die such a sinner, and be condemned for such a theft. When I heard my Lord make so comfortable a promise to the thief upon the Cross, that he should that day be with him in Paradise, I had half an envy at that thiefs good fortune, & wished myself in the thiefs place, so I might have enjoyed the fruit of his promise. But if I could be so happy a thief, as to commit this theft, if that wish had taken effect, I would now unwish it again, and scorn to be any other thief than myself, sith my booty could make me happier than any other thiefs felicity. And what though my felony should be called in question, in what respect should I need to fear? They would say, that I loved him too well; but that were soon disproved, sith where the worthiness is infinite, no love can be enough. They would object that I stole another's goods: and as for that, many sure titles of my interest would aver him to be mine, and his dead coarse would rather speak than witnesses should fail to depose so certain a truth. And if I had not a special right unto him, what should move me to venture my life for him? No no, if I were so happy a felon, I should fear no temporal arraignment: I should rather fear that the Angels would cite me to my answer; for preventing them in the theft, sith not the highest Seraphin in heaven, but would deem it a higher style than his own, to be the thief that had committed so glorious a robbery.  
But alas, thus stand I now devising what I would do, if I knew any thing of him, and in the mean time I neither know who hath him, nor where they have bestowed him, and still I am forced to dwell in this answer, that they have taken away my Lord, and I know not where they have put him.  
While Mary thus lost herself in a Labyrinth of doubts, watering her words with tears, and warming them with sighs, seeing the Angels with a kind of reverence rise, as though they had done honour to one behind her: She turned back, and she saw jesus standing, but that it was jesus she knew not.  
O Mary, is it possible that thou hast forgotten jesus? Faith hath written him in thy understanding, love in thy will, both fear and hope in thy memory: and how can all these Registers be so canceled, that so plainly seeing, thou shouldest not know the contents? For him only thou tirest thy feet, thou bendest thy knees, thou wringest thy hands. For him thy heart throbbeth, thy breast sigheth, thy tongue complaineth. For him thine eye weepeth, thy thought sorroweth, thy whole body fainteth, and thy soul languisheth. In sum, there is no part in thee, but is busy about him, and notwithstanding all this, hast thou now forgotten him? His countenance avoucheth it, his voice assureth it, his wounds witness it, thine own eyes behold it, and dost thou not yet believe that this is jesus? Are thy sharp seeing eyes become so weak sighted, that they are dazzled with the Sun, and blinded with the light?  
But there is such a shower of tears between thee and him, and thine eyes are so dimmed with weeping for him, that though thou seest the shape of a man, yet thou canst not discern him. Thy ears also are still so possessed with the doleful Echo of his last speeches, which want of breath made him utter in a dying voice, that the force and loudness of his living words, maketh thee imagine it the voice of a stranger: and therefore as he seemeth unto thee so like a stranger, he asketh this question of thee, O woman why weepest thou, whom seekest thou?  
O desire of the heart, and only joy of her soul, why demandest thou why she weepeth, or for whom she seeketh? But a while since she saw thee her only hope hanging on a tree, with thy head full of thorns, thy eyes full of tears, thy ears full of blasphemies, thy mouth full of gall thy whole person mangled and disfigured, and dost thou ask her why she weepeth? Scarce three days passed, she beheld thy arms and legs racked with violent pulls, thy hands and feet boared with nails, thy side wounded with a spear, thy whole body torn with stripes, and gored in blood, and dost thou her only grief, ask her why she weepeth? She beheld thee upon the Cross with many tears, and most lamentable cries, yielding up her ghost, that is, thy own ghost, and alas asketh thou why she weepeth? And now to make up her misery, having but one hope alive, which was, that for a small relief of her other afflictions, she might have anointed thy body; that hope is also dead, since thy body is removed and she now standeth hopeless of all help, and demandest thou why she weepeth▪ and for whom she seeketh? Full well thou knowest, that thee only she desireth, thee only she loveth, all things beside thee she cont●mneth, and canst thou find in thy heart to ask her whom she seeketh? To what end o sweet Lord, dost thou thus suspend her long, prolong her desires, and martyr her with these tedious delays? Thou only art the fortress of her faint faith, the anchor of her wavering hope, the very centre of her vehement love: to thee she trusteth, upon thee she relieth, and of herself she wholly despaireth. She is so earnest in seeking thee that she can neither seek nor think any other thing: and all her wits are so busied in musing upon thee, that they draw all attention from her senses, wherewith they should discern thee. Being therefore so attentive to that she thinketh, what marvel though she mark not whom she seethe: and sith thou hast so perfect notice of her thought and she so little power to discover thee by sense, why demandest thou for whom she seeketh, or why she weepeth? Dost thou look that she should answer, for thee I seek, or for thee I weep? unless thou wilt unbend her thoughts, that her eyes may fully see thee: or while thou wilt be concealed, dost thou expect that she should be able to know thee?  
But, o Marry, not without cause doth he ask thee this question. Thou wouldst have him alive, and yet thou weepest because thou dost not find him dead. Thou art some that he is not here, and for this very cause thou shouldest rather be glad. For if he were dead I it is most likely he should be here; but not being here, it is a sign that he is alive. He rejoiceth to be out of his grave, and thou weepest because he is not in it. He will not lie any where, and thou sorrowest for not knowing where he lieth. Alas, why bewailest thou his glory, and injurest the reviving of his body as the robbery of his coarse? He being alive, for what dead man mournest thou, and he being present, whose absence dost thou lament? But she taking him to be a Gardener said unto him, O Lord, if thou hast carried him from hence, tell me where thou hast laid him, and I will take him away.  
O wonderful effects of Mary's love, if love be a languor, how liveth she by it? If love be her life, how dyeth she in it? If it bereft her of sense, how did she see the Angels? If it quickened her of sense, why knew she not jesus? Dost thou seek for one, whom when thou hast found thou knowest not? or if thou dost know him when thou findest him, why dost thou seek when thou hast him?  
Behold jesus is come, and the party whom thou seekest, is he that talketh with thee, o Mary call up thy wits, and open thine eyes. Hath thy Lord lived so long laboured so much died with such pain, and shed such showers of blood, to come to no higher preferment, than to be a Gardener? And hast thou bestowed such cost, so much sorrow, and so many tears, for no better man than a silly Gardener? Alas, is the sorry Garden the best inheritance that thy love can afford him, or a Gardeners office the highest dignity that thou wilt allow him? It had been better he had lived to have been Lord of thy Castle, than with his death so dear to have bought so small a purchase. But thy mistaking, hath in it a further mystery. Thou thinkest not amiss, though thy sight be deceived. For as our first Father, in the state of grace and innocence, was placed in the Garden of pleasure, and the first office allotted him was to be a Gardener: so the first man that ever was in glory, appeareth first in a Garden, and presenteth himself in a Gardeners likeness, that the beginnings of glory might resemble the entrance of innocence and grace. And as the Gardener was the fall of mankind, the parent of sin, and author of death, so is this Gardener the raiser of our ruins, the ransom of our offences; and the restorer of life. In a Garden Adam was deceived and taken captive by the devil. In a Garden Christ was betrayed and taken prisoner by the jews. In a Garden Adam was condemned to earn his bread with the sweat of his brows. And after a free gift of the bread of Angels in the last Supper, in a Garden Chrid did earn it us with a bloody sweat of his whole body. By disobedient eating the fruit of a tree, our right to that Garden was by Adam forfeited, and by the obedient death of Christ upon a tree a fare better right is now recovered. When Adam had sinned in the Garden of pleasure, he was there apparelled in dead beasts skins, that his garment might betoken his grave, and his livery of death agree with his condemnation to die. And now to defray the debt of that sin, in this Garden Christ lay cl●d in the dead man's , and buried in his Tomb, that as our harms began, so they might end; and such places and means as were the premises to our misery; might be also the conclusions of our misfortune. For this did Christ in the Canticles, invite us to an heavenly banquet after he was come into this Garden, and had reaped his myrrh, and his spice, to forewarn us of the joy that after this harvest should presently ensue, namely when having sowed in this Garden a body, the mortality whereof was signified by those spices, he now reaped the same, neither capable of death, nor subject to corruption. For this also was Mary permitted to mistake, that we might be informed of the mystery, and see how aptly the course of our redemption did answer the process of our condemnation.  
But though he be the Gardener that hath planted the tree of grace, and restored us to the use and eating of the fruits of life. Though it be he that soweth his gifts in our souls, quickening in us the seeds of virtue, and rooting out of us the weeds of sin: yet is he nevertheless the same jesus he was, and the borrowed presence of a mean labourer neither altereth his person, nor diminisheth his right to his divine titles.  
Why then canst thou not as well see what in truth he is, as what in show he seemeth? but because thou seest more than thou didst believe, and findest more thrn thy faith serveth thee to seek: and for this though thy love was worthy to see him, yet thy faith was unworthy to know him.  
Thou didst seek for him as dead, and therefore dost not know him seeing him alive; and because thou believest not of him as he is, thou dost only see him as he seemeth to be.  
I cannot say thou art faultless, sith thou art so lame in thy belief▪ but thy fault deserveth favour, because thy charity is so great: and therefore o merciful jesus, give me leave to excuse whom thou art minded to forgive.  
She thought to have found thee as she left thee, and she sought thee as she did last see thee, being so overcome with sorrow for thy death, that she had neither room nor respite in her mind for any hope of thy life: and being so deeply interred in the grief of thy burial that she could not raise her thoughts to any conceit of thy resurrection.  
For in the grave where joseph buried thy body, Marry together with it entombed her soul, and so straightly combined it with thy coarse, that she could with more ease sunder her soul from her own body that liveth by it, than from thy dead body, with which her love did bury it: for it is more thine and in thee, than her own or in herself; and therefore in seeking thy body, she seeketh her own soul, as with the loss of the one, she also lost the other. What marvel then though sense fail, when the soul is lost, sith the lantern must needs be dark when the light is out?  
Restore unto her therefore her soul that lieth imprisoned in thy body, and she will soon both recover her sense, and discover her error. For alas it is no error that proceedeth of any will to err, and it riseth as much of vehemency or affection, as of default in faith. Regard not the error of a woman, but the love of a Disciple, which supplieth in itself what in faith it wanteth. O Lord (saith she) If thou hast carried him hence, tell me where thou hast laid him, and I will take him away.  
O how learned is her ignorance, and how skilful her error? She charged not the Angels with thy removing, nor seemed to mistrust them for carrying thee away, as though that her love had taught her that their help was needless, where the thing removed was remover of itself. She did not request them to inform her where thou wert laid, as if she had reserved that question for thyself to answer. But now he judgeth thee so likely to be the author of her loss, that half supposing thee guilty, she sueth a recovery, and desireth thee to tell her where the body is, as almost fully persuaded that thou art as privy to the place, as well acquainted with the action. So that if she be not altogether right, she is not very much wrong, and she erreth with such aim, that she very little misseth the truth. Tell her therefore o Lord, what thou hast done with thyself, sith it is fittest for thy own speech to utter that which was only possible for thy own power to perform.  
But o Marry, sithence thou art so desirous to know where thy jesus is, why dost thou not name him when thou askest for him? Thou saidst to the Angels that they had taken away thy Lord, and now the second time thou askest for him. Are thy thoughts so visible, as at thy only presence to be seen; or so general, that they possess all when they are once in thee? When thou speakest of him, what him dost thou mean, or how can a stranger understand thee when thou talkest of thy Lord? Hath the world no other Lords but thine? or is the demanding by no other name but (him) a sufficient notice for whom thou demandest?  
But such is the nature of thy love, thou judgest that no other should be entitled a Lord, sith the whole world is too little for thy Lord's possession, and that those few creatures that are, cannot choose but know him, sith all the creatures of the world are too few to serve him. And as his worthiness can appay all loves, and his only love content all hearts, so thou deemest him to be so well worthy to be owner of all thoughts, that no thought in thy conceit, can be well bestowed upon any other.  
Yet thy speeches seem more sudden than sound, and more peremptory, than well pondered. Why dost thou say so resolutely without any further circumstance, that if this Gardener have taken him, thou wilt take him from him? If he had him by right, in taking him away thou shouldst do him wrong. If thou supposest he wrongfully took him, thou layest theft to his charge: and howsoever it be thou either condemnest thyself for an usurper, or him for a thief. And is this an effect of thy zealous love, first to abase him from a God to a Gardener, and now to degrade him from a Gardener to a thief?  
Thou shouldest also have considered whether he took him upon love or malice. If it were for love, thou mayest assure thyself that he will be as wary to keep, as he was venturous to get him, and therefore thy policy was weak in saying, thou wouldst take him away before thou knewest where he was, sith none is so simple to bewray their treasure to a known thief. If he took him of malice, thy offer to recover him is an open defiance, sith malice is as obstinate in defending as violent in offering wrong, and he that would be cruel against thy master's dead body, is likely to be more furious against his living Disciples.  
But thy love had no leisure to cast so many doubts. Thy tears were Interpreters of thy words, and thy innocent meaning was written in thy doleful countenance. Thine eyes were rather pleaders for pity than Heralds of wrath, and thy whole person presented such a pattern of thy extreme anguish, that no man from thy presence could take in any other impression. And therefore what thy words wanted, thy action supplied, and what his ear might mistake his eye did understand.  
It might be also that what he wrought in thy heart, was concealed from thy sight, and haply his voice and demeanour did import such compassion of thy case, that he seemed as willing to afford as thou desirest to have his help. And so presuming by his behaviour, that thy suit should not suffer repulse, the tenor of thy request doth but argue thy hope of a grant.  
But what is the reason that in all thy speeches, which since the miss of thy master thou hast uttered, (where they have put him) is always a part? So thou saidst to the Apostles, the same to the Angels, and now thou dost repeat it to this supposed Garderner: very sweet must this word be in thy heart, that is so often in thy mouth, & it would nevet be so ready in thy tongue, if it were not very fresh in thy memory.  
But what marvel though it taste so sweet, that was first seasoned in thy master's mouth? which as it was the treasury of truth, the fountain of life, and the only choir of the most perfect Harmony, so whatsoever it delivered, thine ear devoured, and thy heart locked up. And now that thou wantest himself, thou hast no other comfort but his words, which thou deemest so much the more effectual to persuade, in that they took their force from so heavenly a speaker. His sweetness therefore it is that maketh this word so sweet, and for love of him thou repeatest it so often, because he in the like case said of thy brother, Where have you put him? O how much dost thou affect his person, that findest so sweet a feeling in his phrase! How much desirest thou to see his countenance, that with so great desire pronouncest his words? And how willingly wouldst thou lick his sacred feet, that so willingly utterest his shortest speeches?  
But what meanest thou to make so absolute a promise, and so boldly to say, I will take him away? joseph was afraid, and durst not take down his body from the Cross but by night, yea and then also not without Pilat's warrant, but thou neither stayest until night, nor regardest , but stoutly promisest that thou thyself wilt take him away.  
What if he be in the palace of the high Priest, and some such maid as made Saint Peter deny his master do begin to question with thee, wilt thou then stand to these words, I will take him away? Is thy courage so high above kind, thy strength so fare beyond thy sex, & thy love so much without measure, that thou neither dost remember that all women are weak, not that thyself art but a woman? Thou exemptest no place, thou preferrest no person, thou speakest without fear, thou promisest without condition, thou makest no exception: as though nothing were impossible that thy love suggesteth.  
But as the darkness could not fright thee from setting forth before day, nor the watch fear thee from coming to the Tomb: as thou didst resolve to break open the seals though with danger of thy life, and to remove the stone from the graves' mouth, though thy force could not serve thee: so what marvel though thy love being now more incensed with the fresh wound of thy loss, it resolve upon any though never so hard adventures?  
Love is not ruled with reason, but with love. It neither regardeth what can be, nor what shall be done, but only what itself desireth to do. No difficulty can stay it, no impossibility appall it. Love is title just enough and Armour strong enough for all assaults, and itself a reward of all labours. It asketh no recompense, it respecteth no commodity. Love's fruits are love's effects, and the gains the pains. It considereth behoof more than benefit, and what in duty it should, not what indeed it can.  
But how can nature be so mastered with affection, that thou canst take such delight and carry such love to a dead coarse? The mother how tenderly soever she loved her child alive, yet she cannot choose but loathe him dead. The most loving Spouse cannot endure the presence of her deceased husband, and whose embracements were delightsome in life, are ever most hateful after death. Yea this is the nature of all, but principally of women, that the very conceit, much more the sight of the departed striketh into them so fearful and ugly impressions, and stirreth in them so great horror, that notwithstanding the most vehement love, they think long until the house is rid of their very dearest friends, when they are once attired in deaths unlovely liveries. How then canst thou endure to take up his coarse in thy hands, and to carry it thou knowest not thyself how fare, being especially torn and mangled, and consequently the more likely in so long time to be tainted?  
Thy sister was unwilling that the grave of her own brother should be opened, and yet he was shrouded in sheets, embalmed with spices, and died an ordinary death, without any wound, bruise or other harm, that might hasten his corruption. But this coarse hath neither  nor spice, sith these are to be seen in the tomb, and there is not a part in his body but had some help to further it to decay; and art thou not afraid to see him, yea to touch him, yea to embrace and carry him naked in thine arms?  
If thou hadst remembered Gods promise, that His holy one should not see corruption: If thou hadst believed that his Godhead remaining with his body, could have preserved it from perishing, thy faith had been more worthy of praise, but thy love less worthy of admiration, sith the more corruptible thou didst conceive him, the more combers thou didst determine to overcome, and the greater was thy love in being able to conquer them. But thou wouldst have thought thy ointments rather harms than helps, if thou hadst been settled in that belief, and for so heavenly a coarse embalmed with God, all earthly spices would have seemed a disgrace. If likewise thou hadst firmly trusted upon his resurrection, I should marvel at thy constant designment, sith all hazards in taking him should have been with usury repaid, if lying in thy lap, thou mightest have seen him revived, and his disfigured and dead body beautified in thine arms with a divine majesty. If thou hadst hoped so good fortune to thy watery eyes, that they might have been first cleared with the beams of his desired light, or that his eyes might have blessed thee with the first fruits of his glorious looks: If thou hadst imagined any likelihood to have made happy thy dying heart with taking in the first gasps of his living breath, or to have heard the first words of his pleasing voice: Finally if thou hadst thought to have seen his injuries turned to honours, the marks of his misery to ornaments of glory, and the depth of thy heaviness to such an height of felicity, whatsoever thou hadst done to obtain him had been but a mite for a million, and too slender a price for so sovereign a pennyworth.  
But having no such hopes to uphold thee, and so many motives to plunge thee in despair, how could thy love be so mighty, as neither to feel a woman's fear of so deformed a coarse, nor to think the weight of the burden too heavy for thy feeble arms, nor to be amated with a world of dangers that this attempt did carry with it?  
But affection cannot fear whom it affecteth, love feeleth no load of him it loveth, neither can true friendship be frighted from rescuing so affied a friend.  
What meanest thou then, o comfort of her life, to leave so constant a well-willer so long uncomforted, and to punish her so much, that so well deserveth pardon? Dally no longer with so known a love, which so many trials avouch most true. And sith she is nothing but what it pleaseth thee, let her taste the benefit of being only thine. She did not follow the tide of thy better fortune to shift sail when the stream did alter course. She began not to love thee in thy life to leave thee after death: Neither was she such a guest at thy table that meant to be a stranger in thy necessity. She left thee not in thy lowest ebb, she revolted not from thy last extremity: In thy life she served thee with her goods: in thy death she departed not from the Cross: after death she came to dwell with thee at thy grave. Why then dost thou not say with Naomi? Blessed be she of our Lord, because what courtesy she afforded to the quick, she hath also continued towards the dead. A thing so much the more to be esteemed in that it is most rare.  
Do not sweet Lord any longer delay her. Behold she hath attended thee these three days, and she hath not what to eat, nor wherewith to foster her famished soul, unless thou by discovering thyself dost minister unto her the bread of thy body, and feed her with the food that hath in it all taste of sweetness. If therefore thou wilt not have her to faint in the way, refresh her with that which her hunger requireth. For surely she cannot long enjoy the life of her soul.  
But fear not Mary, for thy tears will obtain. They are to o mighty orators to let any suit fall, and though they pleaded at the most rigorous bar, yet have they so persuading a silence, & so conquering a complaint, that by yielding they overcome, and by entreating they command. They tie the tongues of all accusers, and soften the rigour of the severest judge. Yea they win the invincible, and bind the omnipotent. When they seem most pitiful, they have great power, and being most forsaken they are more victorious. Repentant eyes are the Cellars of Angels, and penitent tears their sweetest wines; which the savour of life perfumeth, the taste of grace sweeteneth, and the purest colours of returning innocence highly beautifieth. This dew of devotion never faileth, but the Sun of justice draweth it up, and upon what face soever it droppeth, it maketh it amiable in God's eye. For this water hath thy heart been long a limbeck, sometimes distilling it out of the weeds of thy own offences with the fire of true contrition. Sometimes out of the flowers of spiritual comforts, with the flames of contemplation, and now out of the bitter herbs of thy master's miseries, with the heat of a tender compassion. This water hath better graced thy looks, than thy former alluring glances. It hath settled worthier beauties in thy face, than all thy artificial paintings. Yea this only water hath quenched God's anger, qualified his justice, recovered his mercy, merited his love purchased his pardon, and brought forth the spring of all thy favours. Thy tears were the proctors for thy brother's life, the inviters of those Angels for thy comfort, and the suitors that shall be rewarded with the first sight of thy revived Saviour. Rewarded they shall be, but not refrained, altered in their cause, but their course continued. Heaven would weep at the loss of so precious a water, and earth lament the absence of so fruitful showers. No, no, the Angels must still bathe themselves in the pure streams of thine eyes, and thy face shall still be set with this liquid pearl, that as out of thy tears, were strooken the first sparks of thy Lords love, so thy tears may be the oil to nourish and feed his fame. Till death damn up the springs, they shall never cease running: and then shall thy soul be ferried in them to the harbour of life, that as by them it was first passed from sin to grace, so in them it may be wasted from grace to glory. In the mean time rear up thy fallen hopes, and gather confidence both of thy speedy comfort, and thy Lords well being  
jesus saith unto her, Marry, She turning, saith unto him: Rabboni.  
O loving master, thou didst only defer her consolation, to increase it, that the delight of thy presence, might be so much the more welcome, in that through thy long absence it was with so little hope so much desired. Thou wert content she should lay out for thee so many sighs, tears and plaints, and didst purposely adjourn the date of her payment, to requite the length of these delays, with a larger loan of joy. It may be she knew not her former happiness, till she was weaned from it: nor had a right estimate in valuing the treasures with which thy presence did enrich her, until her extreme poverty taught her their unestimable rate. But now thou showest by a sweet experience, that though she paid thee with the dearest water of her eyes, with her best breath, and tenderest love, yet small was the price that she bestowed in respect of the worth she received. She sought thee dead, and imprisoned in a stony jail, and now she findeth thee both alive, and at full liberty. She sought thee shrined in a , more like a leper than thyself, left as the model of the uttermost misery, and the only pattern of the bitterest unhappiness; and now she findeth thee invested in the robes of glory, the precedent of the highest, and both the owner and giver of all felicity.  
And as all this while she hath sought without finding, wept without comfort, and called without answers: so now thou didst satisfy her seeking with thy coming, her tears with thy triumph, and all her cries with this one word, Mary. For when she heard thee call her in thy wont manner, and with thy usual voice, her only name issuing from thy mouth, wrought so strange an alteration in her, as if she had been wholly new made when she was only named. For whereas before the violence of her grief had so benumbed her, that her body seemed but the hearse of her dead heart, and the coffin of an unliving soul, and her whole presence but a representation of a double funeral, of thine and of her own: now with this one word her senses are restored, her mind lightened, her heart quickened, and her soul revived.  
But what marvel though with one word he raise the dead spirits of his poor Disciple, that with a word made the world, and even in this very word showeth an omnipotent power?  
Marry she was called as well in her bad as in her reformed estate, and both her good and evil, was all of Mary's working. And as Marie signifieth no less what she was, than what she is: so is this one word, by his virtue that speaketh it, a repetition of all her miseries, an Epitome of his mercies, and a memorial of all her better fortunes. And therefore it laid so general a discovery of herself before her eyes, that it awaked her most forgotten sorrows, and mustered together the whole multitude of her joys, and would have left the issue of their mutiny very doubtful, but that the presence and notice of her highest happiness decided the quarrel, and gave her joys the victory.  
For as he was her only Sun, whose going down left nothing but a dumpish night of fearful fancies, wherein no star of hope shined, and the brightest planets were changed into dismal signs: so the serenity of his countenance, and authority of his word, brought a calm and well tempered day, that chase away all darkness, and dispercing the clouds of melancholy, cured the lethargy and broke the dead sleep of her astonished senses.  
She therefore ravished with his voice, and impatient of delays, taketh his talk out of his mouth, and to his first and yet only word answered but one other, calling him Rabboni, that is, Master. And then sudden joy rousing all other passions, she could no more proceed in her own, than give him leave to go forward with his speech.  
Love would have spoken, but fear enforced silence. Hope frameth the words, but doubt melteth them in the passage: and when her inward conceits served to come out, her voice trembled, her tongue faltered, her breath failed. In fine, tears issued in lieu of words, and deep sighs in stead of long sentences, the eyes supplying the tongues default, and the heart pressing out the unsillabled breath at once, which the conflict of her disagreeing passions would not suffer to be sorted into the several sounds of intelligible speeches.  
For such is their estate that are sick with a surfeit of sudden joy, for the attaining of a thing vehemently desired. For as desire is ever ushered by hope, and waited on by fear, so is it credulous in entertaining conjectures, but hard in gronnding a firm belief. And though it be apt to admit the least shadow of wished comfort, yet the hotter the desire is to have it, the more perfect assurance it requireth for it: which so long as it wanteth the first news or appearance of that which is in request, is rather an alarm to summon up all passions, than retreat to quiet the desire. For as hope presumeth the best, and inviteth joy to gratulate the good success: so fear suspecteth it too good to be true, and calleth up sorrow to bewail the uncertainty. And while these interchange objections and answers, sometimes fear falleth into despair, and hope riseth into repining anger; and thus the skirmish still continueth, till evidence of proof conclude the controversy.  
Marry therefore though she suddenly answered upon notice of his voice, yet because the novelty was so strange, his person so changed, his presence so unexpected, and so many miracles laid at once before her amazed eyes, she found a sedition in her thoughts; till more earnest viewing him exempted them from all doubt.  
And then though words would have broken out, and her heart sent into his duties that she ought him, yea, every thought striving to be first uttered, and to have the first room in his gracious hearing, she was forced as an indifferent arbitrer among them, to seal them up all under silence by suppressing speech, and to supply the want of words, with more significant actions. And therefore running to the haunt of her chiefest delights, and falling at his sacred feet, she offered to bathe them with tears of joy, and to sanctify her lips with kissing his once grievous but now most glorious wounds.  
She stayed not for any more words, being now made blessed with the Word himself, thinking it a greater benefit at once to feed all her wishes, in the homage, honour, and embracing of his feet, then in the often hearing of his less comfortable talk.  
For as the nature of love coveteth not only to be united, but if it were possible wholly transformed out of itself into the thing it loveth: so doth it most affect that which most uniteth, and preferreth the least conjunction before any distant contentment. And therefore to see him did not suffice her; to hear him did not quiet her; to speak with him was not enough for her; and except she might touch him, nothing could please her. But though she humbly fell down at his feet to kiss them, yet Christ did forbid her, saying: Do not touch me, for I am not yet ascended to my Father.  
O jesus, what mystery is in this? Being dead in sin, she touched thy mortal feet that were to dye for her sake, and being now alive in grace, may she not touch thy glorious feet, that are no less for her benefit revived? She was once admitted to anoint thy head, and is she now unworthy of access to thy feet? Dost thou now command her from that for which thou wert wont to commend her, and by praising the deed didst move her often to do it? Sith other women shall touch thee, why hath she a repulse? yea sith she herself shall touch thee hereafter, why is she now rejected? What meanest thou, O Lord, by thus debarring her of so desired a duty? and sith among all thy Disciples thou hast vouchsafed her such a prerogative, as to honour her eyes with thy first sight, and her ears with thy first wo●ds▪ why deniest thou the privilege of thy first embracing? If the multitude of her tears have won that favour for her eyes, and her longing to hear thee, so great a recompense to her ears, why dost thou not admit her hands to touch, and her mouth to kiss thy holy feet, sith the one with many plaints, and the other with their readiness to all services, seemed to have earned no less reward? But notwithstanding all this, thou preventest the effect of her offer, with forbidding her to touch thee, as if thou hadst said:  
O Mary, know the difference between a glorious and a mortal body, between the condition of a momentary and of an eternal life. For sith the immortality of the body and the glory both of body and soul are the endowments of an heavenly inhabitant, and the rights of another world, think not this favour to seem here ordinary, nor leave to touch me a common thing.  
It were not so great a wonder to see the stars fall from their Spheres, and the Sun forsake Heaven, and to come within the reach of a mortal arm, as for me that am not only a Citizen, but the Sovereign of Saints, and the Sun whose beams are the Angel's bliss, to show myself visible to the Pilgrims of this world, and to display eternal beauties to corruptible eyes. Though I be not yet ascended to my Father, I shall shortly ascend, and therefore measure not thy demeanour towards me by the place where I am, but by that which is due unto me: and then thou wilt rather with reverence fall down a fare off, than with such familiarity presume to touch me. Dost thou not believe my former promises? Hast thou not a constant proof by my present words? Are not thine eyes and ears sufficient testimonies, but that thou must also have thy hands and face witnesses of my presence? Touch me not, o Marry, for if I do deceive thy sight, or delude thy hearing, I can as easily beguile thy hand, and frustrate thy feeling. Or if I be true in any one, believe me in all, and embrace me first in a firm faith, and then thou shalt touch me with more worthy hands. It is now necessary to wean thee from the comfort of my external presence, that thou mayst learn to lodge me in the secrets of thy heart, and teach thy thoughts to supply the offices of outward senses. For in this visible shape I am not here long to be seen, being shortly to ascend unto my Father: but what thine eye then seethe not, thy heart shall feel, and my silent parley will find audience in thy inward ear. Yet if thou fearest lest my ascending should be so sudden, that if thou dost not now take thy leave of my feet with thy humble kisses & loving tears, thou shalt never find the like opportunity again, licence from thee that needless suspicion. I am not yet ascended unto my Father, & for all such duties, there will be a more convenient time. But now go about that which requireth more haste, and run to my brethren & inform them what I say, That I will go before them into Galilee, there shall they see me.  
Marry therefore preferring her Lords will before her own wish, yet sorry that her will was worthy of no better event, departed from him like an hungry Infant pulled from a full teat, or a thirsty Hart chased from a sweet fountain. She judged herself but an unlucky messenger of most joyful tidings, being banished from her master's presence, to carry news of his resurrection. Alas (saith she) and cannot others be happy without my unhappiness? or cannot their gains come in, but through my loss? Must the dawning of their day, be the evening of mine, and my soul rob of such a treasure to enrich their ears? O my heart return thou to enjoy him: why goest thou with me that am enforced to go from him? In me thou art but in prison, and in him is thy only Paradise I have buried thee long enough in former sorrows, and yet now when thou wert half revived, I am constrained to carry thee from the spring of life. Alas, go seek to better thy life in some more happy breast, sith I, evil deserving creature, am nothing different from that I was, but in having taken a taste of the highest delight, that the knowledge and want of it might drown me in the deepest misery.  
Thus duty leading, and love withholding her, she goeth as fast backward in thought, as forward in pace, ready eftsoons to faint for grief, but that a firm hope to see him again, did support her weakness. She often turned towards the Tomb to breathe, deeming the very air that came from the place where he stood, to have taken virtue of his presence, and to have in it a refreshing force above the course of nature. Sometimes she forgetteth herself, and love carrieth her in a golden distraction, making her to imagine that her Lord is present, and then she seemeth to demand him questions, and to hear his answers: she dreameth that his feet are in her folded arms, and that he giveth her soul a full repast of his comforts. But alas when she cometh to herself, and findeth it but an illusion, she is so much the more sorry, in that the only imagination being so delightful, she was not worthy to enjoy the thing itself. And when she passeth by those places where her Master had been: O stones (saith she) how much more happy are you than I, most wretched caitiff, sith to you was not denied the touch of those blessed feet, whereof my evil deserts have now made me unworthy? Alas what crime have I of late committed, that hath thus canceled me out of his good conceit, and estranged me from his accustomed courtesy? Had I but a lease of his love for term of his life? or did my interest in his feet expire with his decease? In them with my tears I writ my first supplication for mercy, which I pointed with sighs, folded up in my hair, and humbly sealed with the impression of my lips. They were the doors of my first entrance into his favour, by which I was graciously entertained in his, heart, and admitted to do homage unto his head, while it was yet a mortal mirror of immortal majesty, an earthly seat of an heavenly wisdom, containing in man a God's felicity.  
But alas, I must be contented to bear a lower sail, and to take down my desires to fare meaner hopes, sith former favours are now too high marks for me to aim at.  
O mine eyes, why are you so ambitious of heavenly honours? He is now too bright a Sun for so weak a sight: your looks are limited to meaner light; you are the eyes of a Bat, and not of an Eagle; you must humble yourselves to the twilight of inferior things, and measure your sights by your slender substance. Gaze not too much upon the blaze of eternity, lest you lose yourselves in too much self delight, and being too curious in sifting his majesty, you be in the end oppressed with his glory. No, no, sith I am rejected from his feet, how can I otherwise presume, but that my want of faith hath dislodged me out of his heart, and thrown me out of all possession of his mind and memory. Yet why should I stoop to so base a fear? when want of faith was aggrieved with want of all goodness, he disdained not to accept me for one of his number: and shall I now think that he will for my faint belief so rigorously abandon me? And is the sincerity of my love, wherein he hath no partner, of so slender account, that it may not hope for some little spark of his wont mercy? I will not wrong him with so unjust a suspicion, sith his appearing improveth it, his words overthrew it, his countenance doth dissuade it, why then should I suck so much sorrow out of so vain a surmise?  
Thus Maries travelling fancies, making long voyages in this short journey, and wavering between the joy of her vision, and the grief of her denial entertained her in the way, and held her parley with such discourses as are incident unto minds, in which neither hope is full master of the field, nor fear hath received an utter overthrow. But as she was in this perplexed manner, now falling, now rising in her own uncertainties, she findeth on the way the other holy woman that first came with her to the grave, whom the Angels had now assured of Christ's resurrection.  
And as they passed all forwards towards the Disciples: Behold jesus met them saying, All hail. But they came near, and took hold of his feet, and worshipped him. Then jesus said unto them, Fear not: Go ●●l my brethren that they go into Gallilee, there they shall see me.  
O Lord how profound are thy judgements, and unsearchable thy counsels? Doth her sorrow sit so near thy heart, or thy repulse rebound with such regret by seeing her wounded love bleed so fast at her eyes, that thy late refusal must so soon be requited with so free a grant? Is it thy pity, or her change, which cannot allow that she should any longer fast from her earnest longing?  
But o most mild Physician, well knowest thou that thy sharp corrosive with bitter smart angered her tender wound, which being rather caused by unwitting ignorance than wilful error, was as soon cured as known. And therefore thou quickly appliest a sweet lenitive to assuage her pain, that she might acknowledge her forbidding, rather a fatherly check to her unsettled faith, than an austere rejecting her for her fault: and therefore thou admittest her to kiss thy feet, the two conduits of grace, and seals of our redemption, renewing her a Charter of thy unchanged love, and accepting of her the vowed sacrifice of her sanctified soul.  
And thus gracious Lord hast thou finished her sears, assured her hopes, fulfilled her desires, satisfied her loves, stinted her tears, perfected her joys, and made the period of her expiring griefs, the preamble to her now entering, and never ending pleasures.  
O how merciful a Father thou art to left Orphans, how easy a judge to repentant sinners, and how faithful a friend to sincere lovers! It is undoubtedly true, that thou never leavest those that love thee, and thou lovest such as rest their affiance in thee. They shall find thee liberal above desert, and bountiful beyond hope: a measure of thy gifts, not by their merits but thine own mercy.  
O Christian soul, take Mary for thy mirror, follow her affection, that like effects may follow thine. Learn o sinful man of this once a sinful woman; that sinners may find Christ if their sins be amended. Learn that whom sin loseth, love recovereth, whom faintness of faith chaseth away, firmness of hope recalleth; and that which no other mortal force, favour or policy can compass, the continued tears of a constant love are able to attain. Learn of Mary, for Christ to fear no encounters▪ out of Christ to desire no comforts, and with the love of Christ to overrule the love of all things R●se early in the morning of thy good motions, and let them not sleep in sloth, when diligence may perform them. Run with repentance to thy sinful heart which should have been the Temple, but through thy fault was no better than a Tomb for Christ, sith having in thee no life to feel him, he seemed unto thee as if he had been dead. Role away the stone of thy former hardness, remove all thy heavy loads that oppress thee in sin, and look into thy soul, whether thou canst there find the Lord. If he be not within thee, stand weeping without, and seek him in other creatures, sith being present in all, he may be found in any. Let faith be thine eye hope thy guide, and love thy light. Seek him and not his: for himself, and not for his gifts. If thy faith have found him in a cloud, let thy hope seek to him. If hope have led thee to see him, let love seek further into him. To move in thee a desire to find, his goods are precious: and when he is found, to keep thee in a desire to seek, his treasures are infinite. Absent, he must be sought to be had; being had, he must be sought to be more enjoyed. Seek him truly, and no other for him. Seek him purely, and no other thing with him. Seek him only, and nothing besides him. And if at the first search he appear not, think it not much to persever in tears, and to continue thy seeking. Stand upon the earth, trending under thee all earthly vanities, and touching them with no more than the soles of thy feet, that is with the lowest and least part of thy affection. To look the better in the Tomb, bow down thy neck to the yoke of humility, and stoop from lofty and proud conceits, that with humbled and lowly looks thou mayest find whom swelling and haughty thoughts have driven away. A submitted soul soon winneth his return, and the deeper it sinketh in a self contempt, the higher it climbeth in his highest favours. And if thou perceivest in the Tomb of thy heart the presence of his two first Messengers, that is, at the feet, sorrow for the bad that is past, and at the head desire to a better that is to come, entertain them with sighs, and welcome them with penitent tears: yet reckoning them but as harbingers of thy Lord, cease not thy seeking till thou findest himself. And if he vouchsafe thee his glorious sight, offering himself to thy inward eyes, presume not of thyself to be able to know him, but as his unworthy suppliant prostrate thy petitions unto him▪ that thou mayst truly discern him, and faithfully serve him. Thus preparing thee with diligence, coming with speed, standing with high lifted hopes, and stooping with inclined heart, if with Mary thou cravest no other solace of jesus but jesus himself, he will answer thy tears with his presence, and assure thee of his presence with his own words, that having seen him thyself, thou mayest make him known to others: saying with Mary, I have seen our Lord, and these things he said unto me.  
LAUS DEO.  
FINIS.   

THE TRIUMPHS OVERDO DEATH: OR A consolatory Epistle, for afflicted minds in the effects of dying friends.  
First written for the consolation of one: but now published for the general good of all, by R. S.   printer's or publisher's device 
. AN CHO RA. SPEI.  
LONDON. Printed for W. Barret.   

To the Worshipful M. Richard Sackuile, Edward Sackuile, Cicilie Sackuile, and Anne Sackuile, the hopeful issues of the honourable Gentleman master Robert Sackuile Esquire.  

MOst lines do not  
the best conceit contain,  
Few words well couched  
may comprehend much matter:  
Then, as to use the first  
is counted vain,  
So is't praiseworthy  
to conceit the latter.  
The gravest wits  
that most grave works expect.  
The quality,  
not quantity respect.   

The smallest spark  
will cast a burning heat,  
Base cottages  
may harbour things of worth:  
Then though this volume be,  
nor gay, nor great,  
Which under your Protection  
I set forth:  
Do not with coy  
disdainful oversight  
Deny to read  
this well meant orphans mite.   

And since his father  
in his infancy  
Provided patrons  
to protect his heir:  
But now by Death's  
none-sparing cruelty,  
Is turned an orphan  
to the open air:  
I, his unworthy  
foster-sire have dared,  
To make you  
Patronizer of this ward.   

You glorying issues  
of that glorious dame,  
Whose life is made  
the subject of deaths will:  
To you, succeeding hopes  
of mother's fame,  
I dedicate this fruit  
of South well's quill:  
He for your uncle's comfort  
first it writ,  
I for your consolation  
priat and send you it.   

Then deign in kindness  
to accept the work,  
Which be in kindness writ,  
I send to you:  
The which till now clouded,  
obscure did lurk;  
But now opposed  
to each Readers view,  
May yield commodious fruit  
to every wight,  
That feels his conscience pricked  
by Parca's spite.   

But if in aught  
I have presumptuous been,  
My pardon-craving pen  
implores your favour:  
If any fault in print  
be past unseen  
To let it pass,  
the Printer is the craver,  
So shall he thank you,  
and I by duty bound,  
Pray, that in you  
may all good gifts abound.   
S. W.   

The Author to the Reader.  
IF the Athenians erected an altar to an unknown god, supposing he would be pleased with their devotion, though they were ignorant of his name: better may I presume that my labour may be grateful, being devoted to such men, whose names I know, and whose fame I have heard, though unacquainted with their persons. I intended this comfort to him whom a lamenting sort hath left most comfortless, by him to his friends, who have equal portions in this sorrow. But I think the Philosopher's rule will be here verified, that it shall be last in execution, which was first designed, and he shall last enjoy the effect, which was first owner of the cause. Thus let Chance be our rule since Choice may not, and into which of your hands it shall fortune, much honour and happiness may it carry with it, and leave in their hearts as much joy, as it found sorrow. Where I borrow the person of an History, as well touching the dead, as the yet surviving, I build upon report of of such Authors, whose hoary heads challenge credit, and whose eyes and ears were witnesses of their words. To crave pardon for my pain were to slander a friendly office, and to wrong their courtesies, whom Nobility never taught to answer affection with anger, or to wage duty with dislike: and therefore I humbly present unto them with as many good wishes, as good will can measure from the best meaning mind, that hath a willingness rather to offoord, then to offer due service, were not the mean as worthless as the mind is willing.  
R. S.   

The Triumphs over Death: OR, A consolatory Epistle for troubled minds, in the affects of dying friends.  
IF it be a blessing of the virtuous to mourn it is the reward of this, to be comforted; and he that pronounced the one, promised the other. I doubt not, but that Spirit, whose nature is Love, and whose name Comforter, as he knows the cause of our grief, so hath he salved it with supplies of grace, pouring into your wound no less oil of mercy then wine of justice; yet sith courtesy oweth compassion as a duty to the afflicted, and nature hath engrafted a desire to find it, I thought good to show you by proof, that you carry not your cares alone, though the load that lieth on others can little lighten your burden: her decease can not but sit nearer your heart, whom you had taken so deep into a most tender affection. That which dieth to our love, being always alive to our sorrow, you would have been kind to a less loving sister: yet finding in her so many worths to be loved, your love wrought more earnestly upon so sweet a subject, which now being taken from you, I presume your grief is no less than your love was; the one of these being ever the measure of the other: the Scripture moveth us to bring forth our tears on the dead, a thing not offending grace, and a right to reason. For to be without remorse in the death of friends, is neither incident nor convenient to the nature of man, having too much affinity to a savage temper, and overthrowing the ground of all piety, which is a mutual sympathy in each of others miseries: but as not to feel sorrow in sorrowful chances, is to want sense, so, not to bear it with moderation, is to want understanding, the one brutish, the other effeminate: and he hath cast his account best, that hath brought his sum to the mean. It is no less fault to exceed in sorrow, then to pass the limits of competent mirth, sith excess in either is a disorder in passion, though that sorrow of courtesy be less blamed of men, because, if it be a fault, it is also a punishment, at once causing and tasting torments. It is no good sign in the sick to be senseless in his pains, as bad it is to be unusually sensitive, being both either harbingers or attendants of death. Let sadness, sith it is a due to the dead, testify a feeling of pity, not any pang of passion, and bewray rather a tender then a dejected mind. Mourn, as that your friends may find you a living brother, all men a discreet mourner, making sorrow a signell, not a superior of reason: some are so obstinate in their own will, that even time the natural remedy of the most violent agonies, cannot by any delays assuage their grief: they entertain their sorrow with solitary muses, and feed their sighs and tears; they pine their bodies, and draw all pensive consideration to their minds, nursing their heaviness with a melancholy humour, as though they had vowed themselves to sadness, unwilling it should end till it had ended them, wherein their folly sometimes findeth a ready effect; that being true which Solomon observed, 
Pro 1.25  that as a moth the garment, and a worm the wood, so doth sadness persuade the heart. But this impotent softness fitteth not sober minds. We must not make a life's profession of a seven night's duty, nor under colour of kindness to other; be unnatural to ourselves: if some in their passion joined their thoughts into such labyrinths, that neither wit knoweth, nor will careth how long, or how fare they wander in them, it discovereth their weakness, but discerneth our meditation. It is (for the most) the fault, not of all, but of the silliest women, who next to the funeral of their friends, deem it a second widowhood, to force their tears, and make it their happiness, to seem most unhappy, as though they had only been left alive, to be a perpetual map of dead folk's misfortunes: but this is, to arm an enemy against ourselves, and to yield Reason prisoner to Passion, putting the sword in the rebels hand, when we are least able to withstand his treason. Sorrow once settled, is not lightly removed, easily winning, but not so easily surrendering possession; and where it is not excluded in time, it challengeth a place by prescription. The Scripture warneth us, not to give our hearts to sadness, yea rather, to reject it as a thing not beneficial to the dead, yea prejudicial to ourselves; 
Eccles. 38.  Ecclesiasticus alloweth but seven days to mourning, judging moderation in plaint to be a sufficient testimony in good will, and a needful office of wisdom. Much sorrow for the dead, is either the child of self-love, or of rash judgement. If we should shed our tears for others death, as a mean to our contentment, we show but our own wound perfect lovers of ourselves: if we lament their decease as their hard destiny, we attach them of evil deserving, with too peremptory a censure, as though their life had been an arise, and their death a leap into small perdition; for otherwise a good departure craveth small condoling, being but a harbour from storms, and an entrance unto felicity. But you know your sister too well to incur any blame in these respects. And experience of her life hath stored your thoughts with notice of so rare virtues, as might sooner make her memory all enforcement to joy, than any inducement to sorrow▪ and move you to esteem her last duties, rather the triumph of her victory, than the farewells of her decease. She was by birth, second to none, but unto the first in the realm, yet she measured only greatness by goodness, making Nobility but the mirror of virtue; as able to show things worthy to be seen, as apt to draw many eyes to behold it, she suited her behaviour to her birth, and ennobled her birth with her piety, leaving her house more beholding to her for having honoured it with the glory of her virtues, than she was to it for the titles of her degree. She was high minded in nothing, but in aspiring to perfection, and in the disdain of vice; in other things covering her greatness with humility among her inferiors, and showing it with courtesy among her peers. Of the carriage of herself, and her sober government may be a sufficient testimony, that envy herself was dumb in her dispraise, finding in her much to re … at, but nought to reprove. The clearness of her honour I need not to mention, she having always armed it with such modesty as taught the most untemperate tongues to be silent in her presence, and answered their eyes with scorn and contempt, that did but seem to make her an aim to passion; yea, and in this behalf, as almost in all orhers, she hath the most honourable & known Ladies of the land, so common and known witnesses, that those that lest loved her religion, were in love with her demeanour, delivering their opinions in open praises. How mildly she accepted the check of fortune fallen upon her without desert, experience hath been a most manifest proof, the temper of her mind being so easy, that she found little difficulty in taking down her thoughts to a mean degree, which true honour, not pride hath raised to the former height. Her faithfulness & love where she found true friendship, is written with tears in many eyes, and will be longer registered in grateful memories of diverse that have tried her in that kind, avowing her for secrecy, wisdom, and constancy, to be a miracle in that sex: yea when she found least kindness in others, she never lost it in herself, more willingly suffering then offering wrong, and often weeping for their mishaps, whom though less loving her, she could not but affect. Of the innocence of her life, this general each one can aver, that as she was grateful many ways, and memorable for virtues, so was she free from all blemish of any vice, using, to her power, the best means to keep continually an undefiled conscience: her attire was ever such as might both satisfy a curious eye, and yet bear witness of a sober mind, neither singular, nor vain, but such as her peers of best report used: her tongue was very little acquainted with oaths, unless either duty or distrust did enforce them: and surely they were needless to those that knew her, to whom the truth of her words could not justly be suspected; much less was she noted of any unfitting talk, which as it was ever hateful to her ears, so did it never defile her breath. Of feeding she was very measureable, rather too sparing, than too liberal a diet: so religious for observing of fasts, that never in her sickness she could hardly be won to break them: and if our souls be possessed in our patience, surely her soul was truly her own, whose rock though often stricken with the rod of adversity. never yielded any more than to give issue of eye streams: and though these through the tenderness of her nature, and aptness of her sex, were the customary tributes that her love paid, more to her friends then her own misfortunes, yet were they not accompanied with distempered words, or ill seeming actions, reason never forgetting decency, though remembering pity. Her devotions she daily observed, offering the daily sacrifice of an innocent heart, and stinting her self to her times of prayer, which she performed with so religious a care, as well shown that she knew how high a Majesty she served. I need not write how dutifully she discharged all the behoofes of a most loving wife, since that was the commonest theme of her praise: yet this may be said without improofe to any, that whosoever in this behalf may be counted her equal, none can justly be thought her superior. Where she owed, she paid duty, where she found she returned courtesy; wheresoever she was known, she deserved amity; desirous of the best, yet disdaining none but evil company: she was readier to requite benefits then revenge wrongs, more grieved then angry with unkindness of friends, when either mistaking or misreport occasioned any breaches: for if their words carry credit, it entered deepest into her thoughts, they have acquitted her from all spice of malice, not only against her friends, whose dislikes were but a retire to slip further into friendship, but even her greatest enemies, to whom if she had been a judge as she was a suppliant▪ I assuredly think she would have redressed, but not revenged her wrongs In sum, she was an honour to her predecessors, a light to her age, and a pattern to her posterity; neither was her conclusion different from her premises, or her death from her life, she shown no dismay, being warned of her danger, carrying in her conscience, the safe conduct of innocence. But having sent her desires to heaven before with a mild countenance, and a most calm mind, in more hope than fear, she expected her own passage, she commended both her duty and good will to all her friends, and cleared her heart from all grudge towards her enemies, wishing true happiness to them both, as best became so soft and gentle a mind, in which anger never stayed, but as an unwelcome stranger: She made open profession that she did die true to her religion, true to her husband, true to God and the world: she enjoyed her judgement as long as she breathed, her body earnestly offering her last devotions, supplying in thought what faintness suffered not her tongue to utter: in the end, when her glass was run out, and death began to challenge his interest, some labouring with too late remedies to hinder the delivery of her sweet soul, she desired them eftsoons to let her go to God; and her hopes calling her to eternal kingdoms, as one rather fallen asleep, than dyieg, she most happily took her leave of all mortal miseries. Such was the life, such was the death of your dearest sister, both so full of true comfort, that this surely of her virtues may be a sufficient lenitive to your bitterest griefs. For you are not (I hope) in the number of those that reckon it a part of their pain to hear of their best remedies, thinking the rehearsal of your dead friends praises an upbraiding of their loss: but sith the oblivion of her vertwes were injurious to her, let not the mention of her person be offensive unto you, and be not you grieved with her death, with which she is best pleased. So blessed a death is rather to be wished of us, then pitied in her, whose soul triumpheth with God, whose virtue still breatheth in the mouths of infinite praises and liveth in the memories of all, to whom either experience made her known, or fame was not envious to conceal her deserts. She was a jewel, that both God and you desired to enjoy; he to her assured benefit without self interest, you for allowable respects, yet employing her restraint among certain hazards and most uncertain hopes. Be then umpire in your own cause, whether your wishes or Gods will importeth more love, the one, the adornment of her exile, the other, her return into a most blessed country. And sith it pleased God in this love to be your rival, let your discretion decide the doubt, whom in due should carry the suit, the prerogative being but a right to the one: for nature and grace being the motives of both your loves, she had the best little in them▪ that was author of them: and she, if worthy to be beloved of either, as she was of both, could not but prefer him to the dearest portion of her deepest affection: let him with good leave gather the grape of his own vine, and pluck the fruit of his own planting, and think so curious works ever safest in the artificers hand, who is likeliest to love them, and best able to preserve them. She did therefore her duty in dying willingly: and if you will do yours, you must be willing with her death, sith to repine at her liking, is discourtesy at Gods, an impiety, both unfitting for your approved virtue; she being in place where no grief can annoy her, she hath little need, or less joy of your sorrow; neither can she allow in her friends, that she would loathe in herself, love never affecting likeness: if she had been evil, she had not deserved our tears: being good, she cannot desire them, nothing being less to the likeness of goodness; than to see itself any cause of unjust disquiet or trouble to the innocent. Would Saul have thought it friendship, to have wept for his fortune, in having found a kingdom, 
1. Sam. 17.  by seeking of cattles? or David account it a courtesy, to have sorrowed at his success, that from following sheep, came to foil a giant, and to receive in fine, a royal crown for his victory? why then should her lot be lamented, whom higher favour hath raised from the dust to sit with princes of God's people, 
Psal. 112  if security had been given, that a longer life should still have been guided by virtue, and followed with good fortune, you might pretend some cause to complain of her decease. But if different effects should have crossed your hopes (process of time being the parent of strange alterations) then had death been friendlier than yourself: and sith it hung in suspense which of the two would have happened, let us allow God so much discretion, as to think him the fittest arbitrator in decision of the doubt: her foundations of happiness were in the holy hills, 
Psal 86.  and God saw it fittest for her building to be but low in the vale of tears: & better it was it should be soon taken down, then by rising too high, to have oppressed her soul with the ruins. Think it no injury that she is now taken from you, but a favour, that she was lent you so long, and show no unwillingness to restore God his own, sith hitherto you have paid no usury for it. Consider not how much longer you might have enjoyed her, but how much sooner you might have lost her: and sith she was held upon courtesy, not by any covenant, take our sovereign right for a sufficient reason of her death; our life is but lent; a good, to make thereof during the loan, our best commodity. It is due debt to a more certain owner than ourselves, and therefore so long as we have it, we receive a benefit, when we are deprived of it, we have no wrong: we are tenants at will of this clayie farm, not for term of years; when we are warned out, we must be ready to remove, having no other title but the owner's pleasure: it is but an Inn, not an home: we came but to bait, not to dwell, and the condition of our entrance was in fine to departed. If this departure be grievous, it is also common, this to day to me, to morrow to thee; and the case equally afflicting all, leaves none any cause to complain of injurious usage.  
Nature's debt is sooner exacted of some than of other, yet is there no fault in the creditor that exacteth but his own, but in the greediness of our eager hopes, either repining that their wishes fail, or willingly forgetting their mortality, whom they are unwilling by experience to see mortal▪ yet the general tide wafteth all passengers to the same shore, some sooner, some later, but all at the last: and we must settle our minds, to take our course as it cometh, never fearing a thing so necessary, yet ever expecting a thing so uncertain. It seemeth that God purposely concealed the time of our death, leaving us resolved between fear and hope of longer continuance. Cut off unripe cares, lest with the notice and pensiveness of our divorce from the world, we should lose the comfort of needful contentments, and before our dying day, languish away with expectation of death. Some are taken in their first step into this life, receiving in one, their welcome and farewell, as though they had been borne, only to be buried, and to take their passport in this hourly middle of their course; the good, to prevent change, the bad, to shorten their impiety. Some live till they be weary of life, to give proof of their good hap, that had a kindlier passage, yet though the date be diverse, the debt is all one, equally to be answered of all as their time expireth: 
Psal. 88  for who is the man shall live and not see death? sith we all die, and like water slide upon the earth. In Paradise we received the sentence of Death, 
Gen. 5.  and here, as prisoners, we are kept in ward, tarrying but our times till the Gaoler call us to our execution. Whom hath any virtue eternised▪ or desert commended to posterity, that hath not mourned in life, and been mourned after death, no assurance of joy being sealed without some tears? Even the blessed Virgin the mother of God, was thrown down as deep in temporal miseries, as she was advanced high in spiritual honours, none amongst all mortal creatures finding in life more proof than she of her mortality. For, having the noblest son that ever woman was mother of, not only above the condition of men, but above the glory of Angels, being her son only, without temporal Father, and thereby the love of both parents doubled in her breast, being her only Son without other issue, and so her love of all children finished in him. Yea, he being God, and she the nearest creature to God's perfections, yet no prerogative, either quitted her from mourning, or him from dying: and though they surmounted the highest Angels in all other preeminences, yet were they equal with the meanest men in the sentence of Death. And howbeit the blessed Virgin being the pattern of Christian mourners, so tempered her anguish, that there was neither any thing undone that might be exacted of a mother, nor any thing done that might be misliked in so perfect a matron; yet by this we may guess with what courtesies death is likely to friend us, that durst cause so bloody funerals in so heavenly a stock, not exempting him from the law of dying, that was the author of life, and soon after to honour his triumphs with ruins and spoil of death. Seeing therefore that Death spareth none, let us spare our tears for better uses, being but an idol sacrifice to this deaf and implacable executioner. And for this, not long to be continued, where they can never profit, Nature did promise us a weeping life, exacting tears for custom at our first entrance, and for suiting our whole course in this doleful beginning. Therefore they must be used with measure, that must be used so often: and so many causes of weeping lying yet in the debt, sith we cannot end our tears, let us at the least reserve them: if sorrow cannot be shunned, let it be taken in time of need, sith otherwise being both troublesome and fruitless, it is a double misery, or an open folly. We moisten not the ground with precious waters, they were stilled to nobler ends, either by their fruits to delight our senses, or by their operation, to preserve our healths. Our tears are water of too high a price to be prodigally poured in the dust of any graves. If they be tears of love, they perfume our prayers, making them odour of sweetness, fit to be offered on the Altar before the throne of God: if tears of contrition, they are water of life to the dying and corrupting souls, 
Apoc. 8.  they may purchase favour, and repeal the sentence till it be executed, 
3 King. 26.  as the example of Ezechias doth testify, but when the punishment is past, and the verdict performed in effect, their pleading is in vain, 
2 Kin 8.11.  as David taught us when his child was dead, saying, that he was likelier to go to it, than it, by his weeping, to return to him. Learn therefore to give sorrow no long dominion over you. Wherefore the wise should rather mark, than expect an end. Meet it not when it cometh, do not invite it when it is absent: when you feel it, do not force it, sith the bruit creatures, which (Nature, seldom erring in her course, guideth in the mean) have but a short, though vehement sense of their losses. You should bury the sharpness of your grief, with the course, and rest contented with a kind, yet a mild compassion, neither less than decent for you, nor more than agreeable to your nature & judgement. Your much heaviness would renew a multitude of griefs, and your eyes would be springs to many streams, adding to the memory of the dead, a new occasion of plaint by your own discomfort. The motion of your heart measureth the beating of many pulses, which in any distemper of your quiet with the like stroke will soon bewray themselves sick of your disease: your fortune though hard, yet is it notorious, and though moved in mishap, and set in an unworthy lantern, yet your own light shineth fare, and maketh you markable: every one will bend an attentive eye upon you, observing how you ward this blow of temptation, and whether your patience be a shield of proof, or easily entered with these violent strokes. It is commonly expected, that so high thoughts which have already climbed over the hardest dangers, should not now stoop to any vulgar or female complaints. Great personages, whose estate draweth upon them many eyes, as they cannot but be themselves, so may not they use the liberty of meaner estates, the laws of Nobility not allowing them to direct their deeds by their desires, but to limit their desires to that which is decent.  
Nobility is an aim for lower degrees to level at marks of higher perfection, and like stately windows in the North-east rooms of politic and civil buildings, to let in such light, and lie open to such prospects, as may afford their inferiors both to find means and motions to Heroical virtues. If you should determine to dwell ever in sorrow, it were a wrong to your wisdom, and countermanded by your quality. If ever you mind to surcease it, no time fit than the present, sith the same reasons that hereafter might move you, are now as much in force. Yield to Wisdom that which you must yield to Time: be beholding to yourself, not to Time for the victory; make it a voluntary work of discretion that will otherwise be a necessary work of delay. We think it not enough to have our own measure brim full with evil, unless we make it run over with others miseries, taking their misfortunes as our punishments, and executing foreign penalties upon ourselves. Yea disquiet minds being ever bellowes to their own flames, mistake oft times others good for ill, their folly making it a true scourge to them, howsoever it seemed 'twas to others a benefit. jacob out of josephs' absence sucked such surmises, as he made his heart a prey to his agonies, whereas that that buried him in his own melancholies, raised joseph to his highest happiness. If Mary Magdalen said, and supposed she could have sunk no deeper in grief, than she had already plunged herself; and yet, that which she imagined the uttermost of evils proved in conclusion, the very bliss of her wishes; the like may be your error, if you cumber your mind with thinking upon her death, which could never be discharged from cares, till death set his hand to her acquittance, nor receive the charter of an eternal being, till her soul were presented at the sealing. I loathe to rubbe the scar of a deeper wound, for fear of renewing a dead discomfort; yet if you will favour your own remedies, the mastery over that grief that springs from the root, may learn you to qualify this that buddeth from the branch. Let not her losses move you that are acquainted with greater of your own, and taught by experience to know how uncertain then change is for whom unconstant fortune throweth the dice. If she want the wont titles, her part is now ended, and they were due but upon the stage: her loss therein is but a wrack of wounds, in which she is but even with the height of Princes, surpassing both herself in them, and the new honours of heavenly style. If she have left her children, it was her wish, they should repay her absence with usury; yet had she sent her first fruits before her as pledges of her own coming. And now may we say that the Sparrow hath found an home, and the Turtle dove a nest, where she may lay her younglings, enjoying some, and expecting the rest. If she be taken from her friends, she is also delivered from her enemies, in hope hereafter to enjoy the first, out of fear of ever being troubled with the latter. If she be cut off in her youth, no age is unripe for a good death; and having ended her task, though never so short yet she hath lived out her full time. Old age is venerable, not long, to be measured by increase of virtues, not by number of years: for gravity consists in wisdom, 
Sap. 4.  and an unspotted life is the ripeness of the perfectest age. If she were in possibility of preferment, she could hardly have mounted higher, than from whence she was thrown: having been bruised with the first, she had little will to climb for a second fall. We might hitherto truly have said, this is that Naomi, 
Ruth. 1.  she being to her end enriched with many outward and more inward graces. But, whether hereafter she would have bid us not to call her Naomi, that is, fair, but Mara, that signifieth bitter, it is uncertain, sith she might have fallen into the widow's felicity, that so changed her name to the likeness of her lot. Insomuch that she is freed from more miseries than she suffered losses, and more fortunate by not desiring, than she would be by enjoying fortunes favour; which if it be not counted a folly to love, yet it is a true happiness, not to need: we may rather think that Death was provided against her imminent harms, then envious of any future prosperities: the times being great with so many broils, that when they once fall in labour, we shall think their condition securest whom absence hath exempted, both from feeling the bitter throws, and beholding the monstrous issue that they are likely to bring forth. The more you tender her, the more temperate should be your grief, sith seeing you upon going, she did but step before you into the next world, to which she thought you to belong more than to this, which hath already given you the most ungrateful congee. They that are upon removing, send their furniture before them; and you still standing upon your departure, what ornament could you rather wish in your future abode, than this that did ever please you? God thither sendeth your Adamants, whither he would draw your heart, and casteth your anchors where your thoughts should lie at road, that seeing your love taken out of the world, and your hopes disanchored from the stormy shore, you might settle your desires where God seemeth to require them. If you would have wished her life for an example to your house, assure yourself she hath left her friends so inherited with her virtues, and so perfect patterns of her best part, that who knoweth the survivors, may see the deceased, and shall find little difference, but in the number, which before was greater▪ but not better, unless it were in one repetition of the same goodness: wherefore set yourself at rest in the ordinance of God, whose works are perfect, and whose wisdom is infinite. The terms of our life are like the seasons of the year, some for sowing, some for growing, and some for reaping; in this only different, that as the heavens keep their prescribed periods, so the succession of times have their appointed changes. But in the seasons of our life, which are not the law of necessary causes, some are reaped in the seed, some in the blade, some in the unripe ears, all in the end; this harvest depending upon the Reapers will. Death is too ordinary a thing to seem any novelty, being a familiar guest in every house; and sith his coming is expected, and his errand unknown, neither his presence should be feared, nor his effects lamented. What wonder is it to see fuel burned, spice-pouned, or snow melted? And as little fear it is to see those dead that were borne upon condition once to dye. She was such a compound as was once to be resolved unto her simples, which is now performed, her soul being given to God, and her body resorted into her first elements. It could not dislike you, to see your friend removed out of a ruinous house, & the house itself destroyed and pulled down, if you knew it were to build it in a statelier form, and to turn the inhabitant with more joy into a fairer lodging. Let then your sister's soul departed without grief, let her body also be altered into dust: withdraw your eyes from the ruin of this cottage, and cast them upon the majesty of the second building, which Saint Paul saith shall be incorruptible, glorious, strange, spiritual, and immortal. Night and sleep are perpetual mirrors, figuring in their darkness, silence, shutting up of senses, the final end of our mortal bodies: and for this some have entitled sleep the eldest brother of Death: but with no less convenience it might be called one of Death's tenants, near unto him in affinity of condition, yet fare inferior in right, being but tenant for a time, of that Death is the inheritance: for, by virtue of the conveyance made unto him in Paradise, that dust we were, and to dust we must return; he hath hitherto showed his signory over all, exacting of us, not only the yearly, but hourly reverence of time, which ever by minutes we defray unto him: so that our very life is not only a memory, but a part of our death, sith the longer we have lived the less we have to live. What is the daily less●ning of our life, but a continual dying? and therefore none is more grieved with the running out of the last sand in an hour glass the with all the rest so should not the end of the last hour trouble us any more, than of so many that went before, sith that did but finish the course, that all the rest were still ending: not the quantity but the quality commendeth our life; the ordinary gain of long livers, being only a great burden of sin. For as in tears, so in life, the value is not esteemed by the length, but by the fruit & goodness, which often is more in the least than in the longest. What your sister wanted in continuance, she supplied in speed; and as with her needle she wrought more in a day than many Ladies in a year, having both excellent skill, and no less delight in working: so with her diligence, doubling her endeavours, she won more virtue in half than others in a whole life. Her death to time was her birth to eternity, the loss of this world an exchange of a better, one endowment that she had being impaired, but many fare greater added to the store. Mardocheus house was too obscure a dwelling for so gracious an Hester, shrouding royal parts in the mantle of a mean estate, and shadowing immortal benefits under earthly veils. It was fit, that she being a sum of so rare perfections, and so well worthy a spouse of our heavenly Ahashuerus, should be carried to his court from her former abode, there to be invested in glory, and to enjoy both place and pre-eminence answerable to her worthiness: her love would have been less able to have borne your death, than your constancy to brook hers, and therefore God mercifully closed her eyes before they were punished with so grievous a sight, taking out to you but a new lesson of patience out of your old book, in which, long study hath made you perfect. Though your hearts were equally balanced with a mutual and most entire affection, and the doubt insoluble, which of you loved most; yet Death finding her weaker, though not the weaker vessel, laid his weight in her balance, to bring her soon to her rest. Let your mind therefore consent to that which your tongue daily craveth, that Gods will may be done, as well here in earth of her mortal body, as in that little heaven of her purest soul, sith his will is the best measure of all events. There is in this world continual interchange of pleasing and greeting accidents, still keeping their succession of times and overtaking each other in their several courses. No picture can be all drawn of the brightest colours, nor an harmony consorted only of trebles: shadows are needful in expressing of proportions, and the base is a principal part in perfect music: the condition of our exile here alloweth no unmingled joy, our whole life is temperate between sweet and sour and we must all look for a mixture of both. The wise so wish: better that they still think of worse, accepting the one if it come with liking, and bearing the other without impatience, being so much masters of each others fortunes, that neither shall work them to excess. The dwarf groweth not on the highest hill, nor the tall man loseth not his height in the lowest valley. And as a base mind, though most at ease, will be dejected, so a resolute virtue in the deepest distress is most impregnable. They evermore most perfectly enjoy their comforts, that least fear their contraries: for a desire to enjoy, carrieth with it a fear to lose; and both desire and fear are enemies to quiet possession, making men rather owners of God's benefits, than tenants at his will. The cause of our troubles are, that our misfortunes hap, either to unwitting or unwilling minds. Foresight preventeth the one, necessity the other: for he taketh away the smart of present evils that attendeth their coming, and is not amated with any cross, that is armed against all. Where necessity worketh without our consent, the effect should never greatly afflict us, grief being bootless, where it cannot help, needless where there was no fault. God casteth the dice, and giveth us our chance; the most we can do, is to take the point that the cast will afford us, not grudging so much that it is no better, as comforting ourselves it is no worse. If men should lay all their evils together, to be afterwards by equal portions divided among them, most men would rather take that they brought, then stand to the division; yet such is the partial judgement of self love, that every man judgeth his selfe-misery too great, fearing if he can find some circumstance to increase it, and making it intolerable, by thought to induce it. When Moses threw his rod from him, it became a serpent, ready to sting, and affrighted him, insomuch as it made him to fly, but being quietly taken up, it was a rod again, serviceable for his use, no way hurtful. The cross of Christ, and rod of every tribulation seeming to threaten stinging and terror to those that shun and eschew it, but they that mildly take it up and embrace it with patience, may say with David, thy rod and thy staff have been my comfort. 
Psal. 12.  In this, affliction resembleth the Crocodile; fly, it pursueth and frighteth; followed, it flieth and feareth, a shame to the constant, a tyrant to the timorous. Soft minds that think only upon delights, admit no other consideration: but in soothing things become so effeminate, as that they are apt to bleed with every sharp impression. But he that useth his thoughts with expectation of troubles, making their travel through all hazards, and apposing his resolution against the sharpest encounters, findeth in the proof facility of patience, and easeth the load of most heavy combers. We must have temporal things in use, but eternal in wish, that in the one neither delight exceed (in that we have no desire in that we want:) and in the other our most delight is here in desire, and our whole desire is hereafter to enjoy. They straighten too much their joys, that draw them into the reach and compass of their senses, as if it were no facility where no sense is witness, whereas if we exclude our passed and future contentments, pleasant pleasures have so fickle assurance, that either as forestalled before their arrival, or interrupted before their end, or ended before they are well begun, the repetition of former comforts, and the expectation of after hopes, is ever a relief unto a virtuous mind, whereas others, not suffering their life to continue in the conveniences of that which was and shall be divided, this day from yesterday and to morrow, and by forgetting all, and forecasting nothing abridge their whole life into the moment of present time. Enjoy your sister in her former virtues, enjoy her also in her future meeting, being both titles of more certain delights, than her casual life could ever have warranted. If we will think of her de●th, let it be as a warning to provide us, sith that what happeneth to one, may happen to another: yea, none can escape, that is common to all. It may be, that blow that hither, was meant to some of us; and this missing was but a proof to take better aim in the next stroke. If we were diligent in thinking of our own, we should have little leisure to bewail others death. When the soldier in skirmish seethe his next fellow slain, he thinketh more time to look to himself, then to stand mourning an hapless mischance, knowing the hand which sped so near a neighbour, cannot be fare from his own head. But we in this behalf are much like the silly birds, that seeing one stick in the lime bush, striving to get away, with a kind of native pity are drawn to go to it, and to rush themselves into the same misfortune; even so many for their friend's decease by musing on their lot, wittingly surfeit of too much sorrow, that sometimes they make mourning their last decease. But slip not you into this toil, that hath taken none but weak affections; hold not your eyes always upon your hardest haps, neither be you still occupied in counting your losses. There are fairer parts in your body than scars, better eye-markes in your fortune than a sister's loss. You might haply find more comfort left, than you would willingly lose; but that you have already resigned the solaces of life, and shunned all comforts into the hopes of heaven; yet sith there is some difference between a purpose and proof, intending and performing, a subdued enemy being ever ready to rebel when he findeth mighty helps to make a party, it is good to strengthen reason against the violence of Nature that in this and like cases will renew her assaults. It was a forcible remedy that he used to withstand the conceit of a most lamentable occurrent, who having in one ship lost his children and substance, and hardly escaped himself from drowning, went presently into an hospital of lazars, where finding in a little room many examples of great miseries, he made the smart of others sores a lenitive to his own wound. For besides that, as lowness and poverty was common to them, they had also many combers private to themselves, some wanting their senses, some their wits, other their limbs, but all their health: in which consideration he eased his mind, that Fortune had not given him the greatest fall. If God had put you to Abraham's trial, commanding you to sacrifice the hope of your posterity, and to be to your only son an author of death, as you were to him of life: If you had been tied in the straits of Jeptha's bitter devotions, imbruing his sword in his own daughter's blood, and ending the triumphs over his enemies, with the voluntary funerals of his only offspring: yet, sith both their lives & their labours had been Gods undeniable debt, your virtues ought to have obeyed, maugre all encounters of carnal affection. And how much more in this case should you incline your love to God's liking, in which he hath received a less part of his own, and that by the usual easiest course of nature's laws? Let God strip you to the skin, yea to the soul, so he stay with you himself▪ let his reproach be your honour, his poverty your riches, and he, in lieu of all other friends. Think him enough for this world, that must be all your possession for a whole eternity. Let others ease their carefulness with borrowed pleasures, not bred out of the true root, but begged of external helps. They shall still carry unquiet minds, easily altered with every accident, sith they labour not for any change in their inward distempers, but by forgetting them for a time by outward pastimes. Innocence is the only mother of true mirth, and a soul that is owner of God, will quietly bear with all other wants nothing being able to impoverish it but voluntary losses. Bear not therefore with her losses, for she is won for ever, but with the momentary absence of your most happy sister; yea it cannot justly be called an absence, many thoughts being daily in parley with her, only men's eyes and ears unworthy to enjoy so sweet an object, have resigned their interest, and interested this treasure in their hearts, being the fittest shrines for so pure a Saint, whom, as none did know but did love, so none can now remember but with devotion. Men may behold her with shame of their former life, seeing one of the weaker sex honour her weakness with such a train of perfections. Lady's may admire her, as a glory to their degree, in whom honour was portrayed in her full likeness, grace having perfected Nature's first draught with all the due colours of an absolute virtue. All women accept her as a pattern to imitate her gifts and her good parts▪ having been so manifested, that even they that can teach the finest stitches, may themselves take new works out of this Sampler. Who then could drink any sorrow out of so clear a Fountain, or bewail the estate of so happy a creature, to whom, as to be herself was her praise; so to be as she is, was her highest bliss? You still float in a troublesome sea, and you find it by experience a sea of dangers: how then can it pity you to see your sister on shore, and so safely landed in so blissful an harbour? Sith your judith hath wrought the glorious exploit against her ghostly enemies, 
jud. 15.  for the accomplishing whereof she came into the dangerous camp & warfare of this life; you may well give her leave to look home to her Bethulia, to solemnize her triumph with the spoils of her victory. Yea, you should rather have wished to have been Porter to let her in, than mourn to see her safe returned. For so apparent hazards, she carried an heavenly treasure in an earthly vessel, 
2. Cor. 4.  which was too weak a treasury for so high riches: sin creeping in at the window of our senses, and often picking the locks of the strongest hearts. And for this it was laid up in a surer, to the which the heavens are walls, and the Angels keepers. She was a pure fish, but yet swimming in muddy streams: it was now time to draw her to shore, and to employ the inwards of her virtues to medicinable uses, that laid on the coals of due consideration, they may draw from our thoughts, the Devil's suggestions, and applied to their eyes, 
Tob. 6.  which are blinded with the dung of flying vanities, the slime of their former vanities may fall off, and leave them able to behold the clear light. The base shell of a mortal body was unfit for so precious a Margarite, 
Mat. 13.  and the jeweller that came into this world to seek good pearls, and gave, not only all he had, but himself also, to buy them, thought now high time to bring her unto his bargain, finding her grown to a Margarites full perfection. She stood upon too low a ground to take view of her Saviour's most desired countenance, and forsaking the earth with Zacheus, 
Luk. 9  she climbed up into the tree of life, there to give her soul a full repast of her beauties. She departed with jeptha's daughter from her father's house, but to pass some months in wand'ring about the mountains of this troublesome world, which being now expired, she was after her pilgrimage, by covenant, to return to be offered unto God in a grateful sacrifice, and to ascend out of this desert like a stem of perfume out of burned spices. Let not therefore the crown of her virtue be the foil of her constancy, nor the end of her combers a renewing of yours. But sith God was well pleased to call her, she not displeased to go, and you the third twist to make a triple cord, saying, Our Lord gave, and our Lord took away, as it hath pleased our Lord, so hath it fallen out: the name of our Lord be blessed.   


Clara ducum soboles, superis nova sedibus hospes,  
Clausit in offenso tramite pura diem  
Dotibus ornavit, superavit moribus ortum,  
Omnibus una prior, par fuit una sibi:  
Lux genus ingenio generi lux inclita virtus,  
Virtutisque fuit mens generosa decus.  
Mors muta at properata dies orbémque relinquit,  
Prolem matre verum coniuge flore genus,  
Occidit à se alium tulit hic occasus in ortum,  
Vivat, ad occiduas non reditura vices.    


OF howard's stem  
a glorious branch is dead,  
Sweet lights eclipsed  
were at her decease:  
In Buckhurst line  
she gracious issue spread,  
She heaven with two,  
with four did earth increase:  
Fame, honour, grace,  
gave air unto her breath,  
Rest glory, joys,  
were sequels of her death.   

Death aimed too high,  
he hit too choice a wight,  
Renowned for birth,  
for life, for lively parts,  
He killed her cares,  
he brought her worths to light,  
He robbed our eyes,  
but hath enriched our hearts:  
Lot let out of her Ark  
a Noyes Dove,  
But many hearts  
were Arkes unto her love.   

Grace, Nature, Fortune,  
did in her conspire,  
To show a proof  
of their united skill:  
Sly Fortune ever false  
did soon retire,  
But double Grace  
supplied false Fortunes ill.  
And though she reached  
not to Fortune's pitch,  
In Grace and Virtue  
few were found so rich.   

Heaven of this heavenly Pearl  
is now possessed,  
In whose lustre was  
the blaze of honour's light:  
Whose substance pure,  
of every good the best,  
Whose price the crown  
of highest right,  
Whose praise to be herself,  
whose greatest bliss,  
To live, to love,  
to be where now she is.   
FINIS.   

SHORT RULES OF Good life.  
by R. S.   printer's or publisher's device 
. AN CHO RA. SPEI.  
LONDON. Printed for W. Barret.   

TO MY DEAR AFFECTED FRIEND M. D. S. Gentleman.  
AS there is a method and order to be observed in all arts, for the practitioners more facile attaining the effects of his endeavours: so is there no less uniformity to be propounded in aiming at the true course of virtue: the rules whereof, albeit they are directory to the sum of all happiness, yet do worldly courser studies entertain far more followers, whose erring judgements (entangled with dull ignorance) cannot rightly prefer virtue, nor effectually censure vice. For what clear sighted judgement will rely eternal affairs upon the gliding slipperiness and running stream of this uncertain life? or who (but one of distempered wits) would offer to dissemble with the almighty decipherer of all thoughts, in pretending virtue, and pursuing vanity? It is a most servile disposition that will yield the prerogative of the soul unto the body, and give flesh and blood liberty to determine the course of this life, which are in manner but the bark and rind of a man, being that the soul is the sovereign part, ordained to an high end of so peerless dignity, and such estimate, that not all the gold and treasure of the world, nor anything in heaven of less worth than the blood and life of Almighty God, was able to buy it.  
Let us not then injuriously deprive our souls of the due interest of grace and virtue, but account this vain world with the wares thereof suitable to the shop of idle Merchandise, unto which we have already been too long customers, the traffic being toil, the wealth trash, the gain misery, and the whole contents thereof detriments in grace, piety, and virtue.  
Yours in firm affection R. S.   

To the Christian Reader.  

IF virtue by thy guide,  
True comfort is thy path,  
And thou secure from erring steps,  
That lead to vengeance wrath.   

Not widest open door,  
Nor spacious ways she goes,  
To strait and narrow gate and way,  
She calls, she leads, she shows.   

She calls, the fewest come,  
She leads the humble spirited,  
She shows them rest at races end,  
Souls rest to heaven invited.   

'tis she that offers most,  
'tis she that most refuse,  
'tis she prevents the broad way plagues,  
Which most do wilful choose.   

Do choose the wide, the broad,  
The left hand way and gate:  
These vice applauds, these virtue loathes  
And teacheth hers to hate.   

Her ways are pleasant ways,  
Upon the right hand side,  
And heavenly happy is that soul,  
Takes virtue for her guide.   
R. S.   

A Preparative to prayer.  

WHen thou dost talk with God,  
by prayer I mean,  
Lift up pure hands,  
lay down all lusts desires:  
Fix thoughts on heaven,  
present a conscience clean.  
Such holy balm  
to mercy's throne aspires.  
Confess faults guilt,  
crave pardon for thy sin:  
Tread holy paths,  
call grace to guide therein.   

It is the spirit  
with reverence must obey,  
Our maker's will  
to practise what he taught.  
Make not the flesh  
thy counsel when thou pray,  
'tis enemy  
to every virtuous thought.  
It is the foe  
we daily feed and :  
It is the prison  
that the soul doth loath.   

Even as Elias  
mounting to the sky,  
Did cast his mantle  
to the earth behind:  
So when the heart  
presents the prayer on high,  
Exclude the world  
from traffic with the mind,  
Lips near to God,  
and ranging heart within,  
Is but vain babbling,  
and converts to sin.   

Like Abraham  
ascending up the hill,  
To sacrifice,  
his servants left below,  
That he might act  
the great commanders will:  
Without impeach  
to his obedient blow.  
Even so the soul  
remote from earthly things,  
Should mount salvations shelter,  
mercy's wings.    

The effects of prayer.  
THe Sun by prayer  
did cease his course and stayed:  
The hungry Lions  
fawned upon their prey:  
A walled passage  
through the sea it made,  
From furious fire  
it banished heat away:  
It shut the heavens  
three years from giving rain,  
It opened heavens,  
and clouds poured down again,   

Ensamples of our Saviour.  

Our Saviour  
(pattern of true holiness)  
Continual prayed,  
us by ensample teaching.  
When he was baptised  
in the wilderness,  
In working miracles  
and in his preaching.  
Upon the mount▪  
in garden groans of death,  
At his last Supper  
at his parting breath.   

O fortress of the faithful,  
sure defence,  
In which doth Christian's  
cognizance consist:  
Their victory their triumph  
comes from thence,  
So forcible, hell gates  
cannot resist:  
A thing whereby  
both Angels, clouds, and stars,  
At man's request  
fight Gods revengeful wars.   

Nothing more grateful  
in the Highest eyes,  
Nothing more firm  
in danger to protect us,  
Nothing more forcible  
to pierce the skies,  
And not departed  
till mercy do respect us,  
And as the soul,  
life to the body gives,  
So prayer revives  
the soul, by prayer it life's.   
R. S.   

Of the Foundations of virtuous and godly life.  

The first Foundation.  
THe first Foundation of a virtuous life is often and seriously to consider for what end and purpose I was created, and what Gods designment was, when he made me of nothing▪ and that not to have a being only, as a stone, nor with a bare kind of life, or growing as a plant or tree, nor a power of sense or feeling only as a brute beast, but a creature to his own likeness, endued with reason and understanding▪ also why he now preserveth me in this health, state and calling. Finally, why he redeemed me with his own blood, bestowed so infinite benefits upon me, and still continueth his mercy towards me.  

The end of man's creation.  
THe end of my being thus made, redeemed, preserved, and so much benefited by God, is this and no other, that I should in this life serve him with my whole body, soul, and substance, and with what else soever is mine, and in the next life enjoy him for ever in heaven.   

Rules that follow of this Foundation.  
I Was made of nothing by God, and received body and soul from him, and therefore am I only his, not mine own: neither can I so bind or give myself to any creature, but that I aught more to serve, love and obey God then any creature in this world.  
Secondly, I commit a kind of theft, and do God great wrong, so often as I employ any part of my body or soul to any other end then to his service, for which only I was created.  
Thirdly, for this I do live, and for no other end but for this do all creatures serve me: and when I turn the least thing whereof God hath given me the use or possessing to any other end then the service of God, I do God wrong and abuse his creatures.    

The second Foundation.  
SEeing I was made to serve God in this life, and to enjoy him in the next, the service of God, and the salvation of mine own soul, is the most weighty and important business, and the most necessary matter wherein I must employ my body, mind, time and labour: and all other affairs are so fare forth to be esteemed of me weighty or light, as they more or less tend to the furtherance of this principal and most earnest business: for what availeth it a man to gain the whole world, and lose his own soul?  

Rules that follow of this Foundation.  
FIrst what diligence, labour or cost, I would employ in any other temporal matter of credit, living or life, all that I am bound to employ in the service of God, and the salvation of my soul, and so much more as the weight of my soul passeth all other things.  
Secondly, I ought to think the service of God and salvation of my soul, my principal business in this world, and to make it my ordinary study and chief occupation, and day and night to keep my mind so fixed upon it, that in every action I still have it before mine eyes, as the only mark I shoot at.    

The third Foundation.  
I Cannot serve God in this world, nor go about to enjoy him in the next, but that God's enemies and mine own will repine and seek to hinder me, which enemies are three: the world, the flesh, and the Devil. Wherefore I must resolve myself, and set it down as a thing undoubted; that my whole life must be as a continual combat with these adversaries, whom I must assure myself to lie hourly in wait for me to seek their advantage, and that their malice is so unplacable, and their hatred against me so rooted in them, that I must never look to have one hour secure from their assaults, but that they will from time to time, so long as there is breath in my body, still labour to make me forsake and offend God, allure me to their service, and draw me to my damnation.  

Rules following of this Foundation.  
I Must prepare my body and mind to all patience, and think it no news to be tempted, but a point annexed necessarily to my profession, and therefore never must I be wearied with the continuance, nor dismayed with the difficulty, considering the malice and wickedness of mine adversaries, and my professed enmity with them.  
Secondly, I must always stand upon my guard, and be very watchful in every action, seeing that whatsoever I do, they will seek to pervert it, and make it offensive to God, even my very best endeavours.  
Thirdly, I must never look to be free from some trouble or other, but knowing myself to be a perpetual warfare, I must rather comfort my sell e with hope of a glorious crown for my victories, then of any long or assured peace with my enemies.    

The fourth Foundation.  
THe thing which these enemy's endeavour to draw me to, is sin and offence to God, which is so odious, hateful, and abominable, that God doth more detest and dislike it, than he did the cruel usage, the wounds, the torments, and the death itself, that for us he suffered of the jews, and it maketh our souls more ugly than the plague, leprosy, or any other filthy disease doth the body.  

Rules following this Foundation.  
SO careful as I would be not to wound, torment, or murder Christ, so careful must I be not to commit any mortal sin against him, yea and so much more seeing that he hateth sin more than death, having voluntarily suffered the one, and yet never committed the other.  
Secondly, when I am tempted with any sin, let me examine myself, whether I would buy the fulfilling of mine own appetite with being a Leper, or full of the plague, or with death presently to ensue after it. If not, then much less ought I to buy it with the leprosy, loss, and death of my soul, which is of fare more worth than my body.    

The fift Foundation.  
BEing Gods creature made to serve him in this life, my body, soul, and goods, and all things any way pertaining unto me, are but lent, or only let me for this end; and I am only a bailiff, Tenant, or officer, to demand or govern these things to his best service, and therefore when the time of my stewardship is expired, I shall be summoned by death to appear before my Landlord, who with most rigorous justice, will demand account of every thing and creature of his that hath been to my use, yea of all that I have received, promised, omitted, committed, lost, and rob, and as I can then discharge this account, so shall I be either crowned in eternal joy, or condemned to perpetual damnation.  

Rules following of this Foundation.  
FIrst I must use all things in this life as another body's goods, for which I must be accountable to the uttermost farthing.  
Secondly, the more I have, the greater and harder will be mine account of the good use thereof, and therefore the more wary aught I to be in disposing of it.  
Thirdly, let me often consider what bodily, ghostly, and external gifts of God I have received, what in baptism and at other times I have promised, how profitable and necessary good works I have omitted, how many grievous and heinous sins I have committed, how often I have lost the grace of God, and my right to heaven. Finally, how much honour, and how many souls I have rob from God. And these things being well perused, let me seek to make that recompense & satisfaction for them, which I would wish to have made when death shall summon me before my heavenly judge, to give a most strict account of them.  
The fruit of these Foundations consisteth in the often considering of them, as most necessary points, and as it were, the very first principles of good life, upon the understanding and practising whereof dependeth my progress in virtue: and therefore I must very often read them, and examine myself whether my mind and actions be answerable unto them.     

How we ought to be affected towards God.  

First of the consideration of God's presence.  
THese Foundations being laid, it behooveth me further to descend to the notice of my duty to God, my neighbour, and myself. And first concerning my duty unto God, a very fit mean I can use to please him is to bear always in mind his presence: for sure it is that as God, he is every where in substance, power, and presence: as in him I live, move and am, as the Scripture saith, because he worketh with me in all my deeds, thoughts and words, in so much that as the beam of the Sun, the heat of the fire or the witness of the water, so depend I of God; and should he but withdraw himself from me one moment, I should forth with turn into nothing, and therefore it is a very forcible means for my good, to do all things as if I did see God visibly working with me in every action, as in truth he doth, and knowing that what words, thoughts, or deeds soever pass me, and what part of my body or mind soever I use, God's concourse and help thereunto is more than mine own, I must be afraid to use them in any such thing, wherein I might offend him, but rather seek to do all things, so that they be worthy of his presence, help, and assistance in them: and if I can get a custom or habit to remember still the presence and assistance of God▪ (as by use easily I may) I shall with due regard, reverence, & consideration, abstain from such behaviour as I think may be any way offensive unto him: I shall also get a great facility in turning my mind and heart to him, and in talking often with him by prayers which are the fuel of devotion.   

Other Affections that we ought to have unto God.  
SEcondly, I must endeavour to to kindle in myself these affections towards God.  

The first Affection.  
FIrst, of a sincere and tender love of him, as the fountain of all beauty and felicity: of which love I may guess by these signs: By often thinking and an earnest desire of God: by sorrow of his absence, and contentment in consideration of his presence: By my diligence in performing without delay or tediousness, that which pleaseth best my Saviour, and by finding such comfort in doing it, that it grieveth me, when for things of less value and goodness, I am enforced to defer it.  
By withdrawing all disordered love from all creatures, and especially myself, and by loving nothing but in God, and for God: By seeking to increase this love by consideration of God's goodness, and his daily benefit: By taking delight in God's service, or things tending thereunto, not because I find contentment in it, but because it is to God's glory, to the which I would have all things addressed.  
By taking tribulations, or troubles of body or mind patiently, yea and with joy, knowing that they come by God's permission, and thinking them as favours, which he affordeth to his dearest friends.   

The second Affection.  
THe second affection, is a reverend and dutiful fear of God, which I may gather by these signs: If when I remember the presence and majesty of God, I frame both my body and mind to reverence and honour him with all humility and decency, fearing lest by any unseemly and light behaviour I should seem to be contemptuous and careless of my duty towards him. If I find great fear to do any thing that may displease God, not only mortally, but even venially, and be withal ●●●y watchful to avoid the least offence▪ lest ●ny frailty (which is great) should draw me to it; and so to farther inconvenience: If I fear to be banished from him or forsaken for my sins, and endeavour▪ what I may to prefer his love and favour towards me.   

The third Affection.  
THe third affection is zeal of God's honour, and desire that he should be duly served, and obeyed of all his creatures, of which I may judge by these signs.  
First, if I find a grief in myself, and am hearty fory when I see or hear of other folk's faults, or think on mine own, considering how by them a base and wretched creature dishonoureth and displeaseth his Creator, in stead of him serving his professed enemies, the flesh, the world and the devil.  
The second sign is an earnest desire to help my neighbour, or mine own soul out of sin by praying for this effect, and refusing no convenient labour to accomplish the same, so that my Lord God be no more, or at least wise offended then before.   

The fourth Affection.  
THE fourth affection is to endeavour as near as I can to take occasion of every thing that I hear, see, or think of, to praise God: as if the things were good, then to praise God that he gave grace to do them: and if the things were evil, to thank God, that either he preserved me or others from them, or at least hath not suffered me to continue still in them, or to be in his wrath condemned for them. Also I must consider, and with my inward eye see God in every creature, how he worketh in all things to my benefit, and weigh how in all creatures both within and without me, he showeth his presence by keeping them in their being, and course of nature, for without him they would presently turn to nothing; and I must assure myself, that in all this he hath as well regard to my good as to others, and therefore all creatures must be (as it were) books to me, to read therein the love, presence, providence, and fatherly care that God hath over me.   

The fift Affection.  
THe fift affection is, to consider, that I being a Christian, not only my faith and all my actions proper thereunto, aught to be different from the erroneous opinions, sects and actions of infidels, but even mine ordinary actions of eating, drinking, playing, working, and such like, aught to have a mark and badge of Christianity, and some difference from the like things done by heathens: and this mark which maketh Christian and good works, is a right and sincere intention, which in every principal action I ought to procure, so that it be done to the honour, glory, and service of God; and agreeable to the rule of Christian duty, with that measure, temperance, and circumstance that faith requires, persuading myself, that as well in these actions done in this sort, as in others that carry more show of piety, God may be served and honoured, and therefore should it be a great negligence and carelessness in me for want of directing my intention (which by use is easily gotten) to lose so many great virtues, as by these ordinary actions I might daily and hourly gain.   

The sixth Affection.  
THe sixth affection is a perfect resignation of myself into God's hands, with a full desire that he should use me as were most to his glory, whether it were to my temporal comfort or no, and to be as ready to serve him in misery, need, and affliction, as in prosperity and pleasure, thinking it my chiefest delight, to be used as God will, and to have his pleasure and providence fully accomplished in me, which is the end for which I was created, and for which I do live. To attain this resignation, it is a very fit way to debate and discourse with myself, what thing there is could happen unto me, though never so much against my liking, which if it should fall out would trouble me, or make me lose that indifferency which I ought to have in most willingly yielding myself to whatsoever God shall lay upon me: and if I find any thing which I think I should not well digest, nor accept with due patience, let me endeavour to overcome myself in it, and by prayer and meditation seek to win the difficulty thereof, that there may be nothing which I could not willingly accept at God's hands, how contrary soever it were to my inclination, to which these considerations may help me.  
First the end I aim at, is God's glory in this world, and his reward in the next: and therefore knowing that nothing but my voluntary sin can bar me from this end, what need I much care by what means God will have me to attain it? for the means can last but a little, and the end endureth for ever, and is so much the more comfortable, in that it hath been achieved with uncomfortable toils.  
Secondly, God loveth me more than I love myself, & is so wise that he seethe what is fittest for me, all present and future circumstances considered: he is so mighty that what his wisdom and love shall conclude for my good his power can put it in execution, and therefore let me yield myself rather to his providence then to mine own desires.  
Thirdly, whatsoever moveth me to fear or dislike any thing, which I could not frame my mind to bear, God seethe it far better than I, yea and all other secret and unknown hazards annexed to that thing. If therefore he knowing all these things, will nevertheless let it happen unto me; I must assure myself that it proceedeth from love, and is for my greater good, and that he having laid a heavy burden upon weak forces, will by his grace supply all my wants, fears and frailties.   

The seventh Affection.  
THe seventh affection is gratitude and thankfulness, which I ought to find in myself towards God, and the feeling an earnest desire to do any thing that might countervail, or in part answer the excessive love that God hath, and doth hourly bestow upon me, and to let no little good that I receive, though never so ordinary, pass without thankes to him, who even in the least things is content to serve me: and finally to make God my repose, and his remembrance my comfort, and to loathe all earthly things, as base and unpleasant in comparison of him.     

Of my duty towards my neighbour.  
AFter knowledge of my duty towards God, I must consider my duty towards my neighbour, and the manner how to demean and behave myself in company and conversation First I must procure to remember, that my external behaviour, my gate, my gesture, my countenance, and my outward actions, be done with gravity, modesty, and all decency, that I be not light, vain, or too lavish in mirth, nor too austere, nor too much inclined to sadness, but with temperate modesty rather composed to mirth then to melancholy. Which external composition is necessary both for edifying our neighbour, who being unable to judge or enter into our thoughts, judgeth of every one according to that whereof his sense is witness. And next in respect of God, who being every where present, requireth in us behaviour worthy of his sight and company: and lastly, in respect of our own soul, this care of external decency being an approved means to avoid infinite sins.  
Of external composition there be three chief points. First the care of our countenance, gate, and gesture: Secondly, of our voice and speech: Thirdly, of our apparel and other adherents.  
In countenance I must avoid an vnstayed kind of variety and often change, keeping as near as I may, one settled tenor thereof, rather bend to smiling then heaviness, and free from frowning, and such like unseemly distemper: neither ought I to alter countenance, but when reasonable and just cause moveth me to show either mirth, sorrow, dislike, or compassion, or some other modest or temperate affection.  
My gate ought to be grave, neither too swift, nor too slow, but with a mean and sober pace: my gesture must be decent, free from affection or singularity, and from all show of inward disquietness or unordered passion, which though I cannot choose but sometimes feel, yet it is good (as much as I may) to conceal it, because outward signs do feed the inward distemper and bewray to others my imperfections, to my discredit and their evil ensample.  
My voice neither aught to be very loud, nor my laughter so vehement, as to be heard afar off, both seemly and modest; for excess in the voice, and immoderate loudness, are always certain signs of passion, and therefore ought not to be used but upon some extraordinary necessity. My speech ought not to be so much as to make me be noted for talkative: yea it is good to be rather sparing in words, and readier to hear then to speak: but when occasion forceth unto much talk, I must speak deliberately without rashness or levity, avoiding over many jests, especially bitter taunts, and sharp words: I must also take heed of affected speech, and impertinent ceremonies, using such affability, and convenient compliments as common civility and usual courtesy requireth. Mine apparel must be free from lightness, or more gaudiness than fitteth mine age, company, or calling; it must be decent and comely, not too open, nor with any unusual or new fashioned dresses, that other grave persons of my quality and calling (that are well thought of) do not use: it must be handsome and clean, and as much as may be, without singularity, that therein the staidness and seemly estate of my soul may be perceived. Always when I am to go to any company, either of my dwelling place or strangers, I ought to forecast their disposition, and what talk or action is likely to be tendered unto me by their presence. If I fear any detracting speeches let me arm myself, not to seem to approve them, yea rather to dislike them, and endeavour to turn their talk into some other matter, and so in all unlawful kind of speech whatsoever.  
Finally, let this for conversation be my chief rule, always to foresee and provide myself against the occasions that by every company are likely to be offered me, & in the beginning to direct mine intention, to talk either for dispatch of necessary business, (if there be any) or for maintaining mutual love and charity, if it be merry or ordinary talk.  
This foresight of occasions, and faults likely to be committed, is the principal remedy against all sin, and therefore especially to be noted and used. To conclude, the virtues necessary in conversation are, modesty, decency, courtesy, affability, meekness, and civility, show of compassion to others miseries, and of joy at their welfare, and of readiness to pleasure all, and unwillingness to displease any: the want of any of these where occasion requireth, maketh it more faulty.  
The vices chief to be avoided, are pride, disdainfulness, rudeness, frowardness, lightness, too much familiarity, churlishness, and offensive speeches.   

Of my duty towards myself.  
THe last point is to consider my duty towards myself, and the care I ought to have of mine own particular: first I must procure that which before is mentioned, in all my actions to have a badge of Christianity, that is, a pure and sincere affection, and intention, not seeking in any thing mine own delights, pleasure, and contentment, more than may stand with the honour and glory of God, remembering that I am to serve him, and not myself, more than is necessary to enable me for his better service, I being his more than mine own.  
Secondly, I must procure to foresee in every action (at least in all the principal) to forearm myself against those occasions of sin that shall be offered in them: and where it lieth not in my power to avoid the occasion of any great sin, the more danger there is: and the greater the sin is that I am in danger of, so much the more preparation must I use to resist it, & the more earnestly ask for God's grace.  
Thirdly, I must have care of my senses, as the means and entrance of temptations, to which it is a principal help, not to be easily drawn with every noise or fancy, to move my head or eyes, without there be good cause, nor to be sudden in motion; and going hither and thither without deliberation I must also remember well that the eye is never satisfied with seeing, nor the ear with hearing novelties; and therefore must I needs bridle the unmeasurable appetite of both these senses, by breaking off mine own desires in that behalf.  
Fourthly, because confusion, and an unsettled kind of life is the cause of many sins and an enemy to all virtue, I must set down with myself some certain order in spending my time, allotting in every how●e of the day some certain thing to be done in the same, and to have times in the morning, evening, and afternoon, devoted unto some good and godly exercise, which I must (though not by vow) bind myself unto, when things of worldly affairs call me from them: also to keep due times of rising, meals, and going to bed, and all other necessary times the observation whereof is the most necessary for a regular and virtuous kind of life.  
Fiftly, it is a most necessary rule of good life, not only to keep order in my spiritual and temporal actions, but also to persevere and continue in one order, having once set it down with found advice: for the nature of man being apt to change, we are given still to novelties, seeking new ways to perfection, and confirming or habituating ourselves in none. Wherefore (except necessity, charity, or greater spiritual good do require) I must not flit from one exercise to another, but first plant a good platform with mature advice, and then resolve and fully determine to continue in the same.  
Sixtly, I must not ●●mber my mind with many spiritual or external exercises at once, nor labour myself too much at the first, for my force being distracted to many offices, is the less able to perform any of them, and is easily overlaboured without profit: wherefore I must not think to get all virtues at once, or cut off all imperfections together, but having a general resolution to get virtue, and leave all vice, begin with some one, endeavouring to break myself of some one fault whereto I am most inclined, and procuring to get the contrary virtue; for the care of avoiding one offence, will make me take heed of all the rest.  
Seventhly, man's nature being so corrupt, that without continual violence and force, it cannot attain to virtue, or leave vice, whereunto it is much inclined, I must assure myself that care and watchfulness is ever necessary, and because I am apt to fall, I must often renew my good purposes, knowing that I never can go on in virtue without falling, and therefore I must every morning think with myself that hitherto I have done nothing, and that by God's grace that day I will begin afresh, as though it were the first day that ever I began to do any good thing.  
Eightly, I must not make small account of little sins, nor be careless in committing them, but always carry the mind that I would not offend God willingly, even in the least sin, for any thing: and I must never think any thing little, wherewith so high a Majesty is offended: for he that careth not to commit little sins, giveth the devil a great advantage to draw him into greater.   

Rules in sickness.  
IF my sickness be great, I shall not need to force myself beyond my strength unto any vocal prayers, more than in the morning dutifully to commend myself unto God, with the Lords prayer, and the confession of Christian faith, or if I cannot well say so much, now and then I must call upon God with short prayers: as, Lord jesus save me, Lord strengthen me, Lord grant me patience, and such like, In sickness when I can bear it, it will be good sometimes to have part of some good book read unto me, but not overmuch, for fear of hurting my health. As in health I ought to be obedient to my superiors, and by diligent observation show my duty towards God: so in sickness I must be contented to be ruled by the Physicians, and such as have care of me in things belonging to my bodily health: and I must persuade myself, that in that time I have one chief rule to observe in being patiented and tractable, which in such a case doth countervail the valour of all my usual exercises. I must also assure myself that I do God good service when I do any necessary thing and take any convenient recreation that may further my health.  
I must take heed of being 〈◊〉 or froward, which sickness for the most part doth cause, thinking that how much pain soever I suffer, Christ suffered fare more for my sake, and fare more had I suffered ●●ng since in hell, if God had dealt with me according to my deserts. It is good also to have my will and testament in a readiness, before I fall into any extremity of sickness, that a certain order be set down for all temporal matters, that I be not cumbered with them when it standeth me most upon to look to my soul.   

Of the care of servants.  
I Must see that they lie not out in the nights, but that I may know what becometh of them: I must not keep such in my house as are swearers, liars, gamesters, or such as are given to any notorious vice, unless there be great likelihood and certain hope of their amendment. I must procure by what means conveniently I may, that they have necessary instruction in matters appertaining to the salvation of their souls. I must take special heed of any secret meetings, messages, or more than ordinary liking between the men and women of my family: I must see that the men have no haunt of women to their chambers, lest lewdness be cloaked under some other pretence: I must have great regard that my chiefest officers and men of most account be trusty persons, of good life and example, because the rest will follow as they shall lead them. I must seek as much as may be, that my servants be not idle, nor suffered to use any great gaming, for by the one they shall fall into lewd life, and by the other into swearing, unthriftiness, robbing, and such vices: I must see that they have their wages at due times, lest for want they fall into bad courses. When they do not their duties, I must rebuke them agreeable to the quality of their fault, and not wink at great matters, lest they wax careless and bold to do the like offences again, yet must my rebukes be tempered with gravity and mildness.   

Of the care of Children.  
I Must think that my Children so long as they are under age, and in my power or custody, aught to be kept as myself, I having in this time to answer for them. I must take heed that they come not amongst such servants as are like to teach them to swear, or any other vice, and I must give special warning that none do it. I must set honest and sound persons to govern them, that may also teach them virtue and goodness, yet not trusting too much to my servant's care, but that I myself have a special eye over them, and take an account what they do. I must use them to devotion by little and little, not cloying them with too much at once, but rather seeking to make them take a delight in it. I must instruct them in the points of faith, and true religion, and teach them the Lords prayer, the Creed and the ten Commandments. I must keep them always occupied in some profitable things, allotting them according to their age, more or less time of recreation. I must oftentimes remember unto them the passions and sufferings of Christ for sin, with the benefit of his death and glorious resurrection. I must break them from their wills, and punish them as they deserve: yet remembering also that they are young, and not keeping them in too much subjection, which may breed in them base and servile minds, and make their love less towards me: and I never ought to beat any child in mine anger. I must procure that they be taught such exercises and qualities, as are fit for those of their degree, and yet have chief care that good and honest persons be about them. I must not use them to vain dresses, and costly apparel, but rather often show them the vanity thereof, yet must they not be too straight kept in that, or any other thing, which they are afterward to have, lest the being too much barred from it make them more eager to have it, when they come to enjoy it at their own will: I must use them to give alms, to make much of the poor, and to use reverence to aged persons and spiritual men: I must use them to read good books, such as are fittest for their capacity, and see them kept from vain books of love, and such like idle discourses, that do pervert the minds of youth oftentimes for all their ensuing time after: I must hearten them as they grow in years, to suffer adversity, and to digest grief, especially in God's cause, and a good quarrel, telling them the examples of others, and how good a thing patience and costancie is.  
When they are fit to go to school, I must procure that they have discreet and calm teachers, such as are not choleric, hasty, or cursed, lest they take dislike and tediousness in learning; for they must be rather won unto it by praise and emulation of others, then by baiting and stripes: I must see that they be taught such civility, courtesy, and compliments, as their degree and the time requireth, and frame them as much as may be, to be gentle, humble, and affable, even to the meanest, rebuking them for angry and sharp words, or disdainful behaviour, even to their inferiors: I must not suffer the boys and girls to be much together, especially out of sight, after eight or nine years of age, lest they fall to unhappiness: Likewise my daughters must not be amongst the men, nor my sons amongst the women. When they come to such age that they must of force be in many companies, I must procure some sound and honest persons to be for the most part with them, to inform me of their courses. I must make them in any wise to beware of lewd conversation, which is the overthrow of youth, and therefore cause this point to be beaten into them by good and zealous men. I must never assure or marry them, until they be of sufficient age to make their own choice, and frame their liking: neither force them to any match, lest they curse me all their lives after, as it often happeneth.   

An order how to spend every day.  
IN time of health hours of going to bed and rising, may be either nine and five, or ten and six, or according to the strength or weakness of every man's body, so they be certain. After I am up, for a good pretty space, it is good not to talk, but at the least for half a quarter of an hour to busy my mind in prayer and meditation, and then afterwards to talk if need require, because my business with God being greater than with any man, it is fit that he should be first talked with of matters concerning my soul, and then others of worldly things. I must procure to go ●eately and handsome in my attire, agreeable to my calling, and to avoid all kind of undecency, which breedeth dislike, and contempt, and doth rather offend than please God.  
When I am ready, I must go to my prayers appointed, and before I set myself to pray, I must call to mind what I promised to do for any at that time, of what other necessary business I have then to dispatch, and I must keep touch in my words in the least things, cutting off occasions of being interrupted, as near as I may. In prayer I must consider the presence of God, not speaking unto him carelessly or negligently, but think a few prayers well said, better and more acceptable, than many hastily shuffled over: and I must not omit to remember the joys of heaven, the pains of Hell, mine own death, and the death of Christ for me. After prayer I must go about some exercise of work agreeable to my faculty and vocation, such as may be of some profit, having an especial respect above all things to sequester idleness, the parent of all vice. When I go to dinner, I must think and consider for what end I am to eat, which i● to help and strengthen nature, and to make myself able to serve my Creator and feeder, not to content mine own appetite: I must learn my little children (if I have any) to say some godly grace, or at the least perform that duty of thanksgiving myself. When I am set, before I lay hand to my trencher, I may pause a while, and desire God to give me temperance and mindfulness of his presence.  
At meals I must neither be too curious or doubtful of what I eat, neither precise in the quantity, fineness or coarseness of the meat, but of that which God hath sent, take a competent meal, measurable to my need, and not hurtful to my health. After dinner I must thank God for his gifts, remembering the end why he hath fed me is, that I should be the better able to serve him, I must also think that many have wanted that sufficiency which I have had, and would be glad to accept of my leave, and therefore I ought to have care and regard to the poor, procuring something for them, and sometimes seeing them served myself, considering Christ in their persons. If I have strangers, I may keep them company, and talk friendly and merrily with them as occasion shall serve, directing my behaviour agreeable to virtuous conversation: and having this intention in my talk, that amity and love may be maintained, and all breach and unkindness avoided. I must if time and place will permit me, be always doing some profitable thing, to avoid sloth, directing mine intention in all mine exercises, to this end, that I may avoid idleness and temptations, bestowing my time in good sort to God's glory. After dinner I must call to mind whether I have any promise to perform, or any other business to do that is not ordinary, that I neither forget the thing, nor time appointed for it. It is good for me sometimes to go about the rooms of the house to see that they be kept clean and handsome, thinking that God is delighted with cleanness both bodily and ghostly, & detesteth sluttishness, as a thing which he permitteth for a punishment of sin, and one of the scourges of hell. A little before supper it will be good to read part of some godly book, procuring to take some benefit by it, and continuing in one book till I have read it over, and then begin a new. I must by watchfulness avoid all offence to God, leaving him in one exercise to serve him in another, as he appointeth me occasions. When I sit down to supper, I must remember what my intention ought to be, and to take the same course which is prescribed for dinner. After supper I may talk as occasion shall serve, or employ my time in reading of a godly book. Towards the hour of my going to bed, I must examine myself, first whether my promises and appointments concerning extraordinary business be performed, or if I have forgotten any necessary thing, I must take order to remember it, that I forget it not the second time. This done, I must examine my conscience concerning the thoughts, words, and deeds of that day; and especially touching the purposes that I have made in the morning, and how I have observed my godly determination, and what faults I have committed of any moment. After I have examined my conscience, and said my prayers, it is good to abstain from talk that night (unless some just occasion require the contrary) that my mind may be free from idle thoughts when I go to sleep.   

Of Temptations.  
FIrst I must learn to know when I am tempted, for if I can find my temptation, I may reckon it half overcome: for if I have fear of God, or care of my soul, I cannot but arm myself earnestly to resist, knowing that temptation proceedeth from an enemy, to whom I have resolved by God's grace, never to consent, what misery or trouble soever I endure.  

How to know temptations and good motion.  
IT is always a spiritual desolation original and proceeding from the devil, when it darkeneth and disquieteth the mind, awaketh and stirreth up our passions, when it draweth to external and earthly solaces, leaving in the mind a tediousness and unwillingness to prayer and other works of devotion. Also when it diminisheth our affiance and taust in God, and driveth to a despair in God's mercy, or persevering in his service, making it seem an irksome and impossible thing, and moving us to forsake it: and when I find myself troubled in this sort, I must assure myself without all doubt, that I am then tempted by the Devil, and therefore arm myself to resist him by doing that which those temptations dissuade me from. On the other side, comfort which is caused by God's Spirit, is known by these signs: It incenseth the mind by a quiet and calm motion to the love of God, without any inclination to any creatures love more than for God's only glory, and it breedeth a kind of inward light and brightness, whereby for the time the mind seethe after a most effectual sort, the necessity, profit, and true comfort that is in God's service, conceiving a contempt and dislike of worldly delights, and tasting that which is the greatest felicity in this life, that is, so assured contentment in being in God's grace, and seeking to please him, that it then judgeth no contentment in the world like or comparable unto it, as in truth there is none. Also true spiritual comfort bringeth a delight and desire to think of the benefits of God, the joys of heaven, the comfort of meditation, and talking with God.  
Finally, it confirmeth our faith, quickeneth our hope, and increaseth charity, furnishing the mind with a sweet taste of joy, quiet and free from all combers. Sometimes the devil transformeth himself into an Angel of light, and at the first when he knoweth our good desires and purposes, he seemeth to soothe us in them, and to set us forward towards the performance thereof, but in the end he seemeth to draw us to his bias, and by corrupting our intention, or by perverting the manner, time, or other circumstance of the due execution, maketh the whole action worthless and faulty, though otherwise virtuous in itself.  
There must be great heed taken in the beginning, middle and end of our thoughts: for when either at the first or at the last it tendeth to apparent sin, or withdraweth from the greater good, or tendeth to courses of less piety, or more danger than we are in, or if it disquiet the mind, bereaving it of the wont calm and love of virtue, it is a sign that the Devil was beginner of it, whose property is to hinder good, and withdraw us to evil. When in any suggestion I find the serpent by his sting, that is, Satan by the wicked end he moveth me unto, it is good to untwist and reverse his motion, and to look backward even unto the beginning, and to mark what plausible colour he first pretended, that the next time I may the better spy his cunning and subtle dealings and drifts.   

How to behave ourselves in time of temptation.  
IN the time of my desolation, and disquiet of mind, I must not enter into any deliberation, or go about to alter any thing concerning the state of my soul, or purposed course of life, but persever in my former resolutions made in time of my good and quiet estate, wherein I was free from passion, and better able to judge of things convenient for my good: yet may I, and aught to resolve upon such helps as are fit to resist and repel my discontented thoughts, (so they be not prejudicial to my former purposes) as prayer, repentance, and confession of my sins, with such like remedies. In temptations and troubles of mind, I must remember that afore time I have had the like, and they have in the end passed, leaving me very glad and joyful when I have resisted them, and sorrowful when I yielded too much unto them, and therefore I must think that these also must pass after a while, and I shall feel the like joy in having resisted and overcome them: and in the mean time I must with patience endure the cumber and trouble of them, assuring myself that God therewith is highly pleased, and the enemy most effectually subdued. Neither the multitude, continuance, nor badness of any thought must breed any scruple or disquiet in me: for not to have them is not in my power, but only not to consent unto them: and so long as with deliberation I have not consented, nor willingly, or with delight stayed in them, I have not sinned any more than if I had only had them in a dream: If before I had evil thoughts, I had a resolute mind never to yield to any mortal sin, and afterward when I remember myself, and mark that I was in a bad thought, I still find the same resolution, it is a sign that in the time of my distraction and bad imagination, I did not willingly consent or offend in them; neither is it like but my mind being so well affected, I should have easily remembered directly and without doubt, if I had yielded farther than I ought. Desolations are permitted of God for three causes: First for a punishment of our sins, remissness and coldness in God's service. Secondly, to try whether we be true servants of God, or only hirelings that are willing to labour no longer than they receive the hire and stipend of present comfort. Thirdly, to ascertain us, that it passeth the reach and compass of our ability, either to attain or to maintain in us the fervour of devotion, the intensive love of God, the abundance of godly tears, and other spiritual graces and comforts, which we must acknowledge to proceed from God's mere liberality, not of our own force or desert. It is good while I feel the sweetness of God's visitation and presence, to fortify myself against the desolations that will ensue, and remembering those that are past, to think that all troubles will as well pass as comforts, and that our whole life is but a continual succession and mixture of sorrow and joy, the one always overtaking the other, and neither of them continuing long together: and therefore I must settle my mind in a kind of indefferencie unto them both, as it shall please God to send them.  
First, to know it is a thing coming from my mortal enemy, and tendeth to my eternal destruction. To look for temptations before hand, and not to think them novelties, but necessary sequels of our hostility with the devil, with whom we must never be friends.  
To resist them stoutly at the first, and to crush the serpent in the head, for nothing maketh the devil to become so furious and violent, or to redouble his suggestions, as to perceive the soul dismayed with his temptations, or not expecting (by the confidence in God's help and mercy) an assured victory. To bear patiently the multitude and continuance of them, assuring myself that they will have an end ere long.  
To think on the joy I shall have for not consenting unto them, and the crown of glory that I shall enjoy. To remember how often I have been as grievously annoyed with the like, and yet by God's help have given the devil the foil. Not to strive with unclean temptations, but to turn my mind to think of other matters, and to change place or work, or to find some way to put me out of those fantasies. To resist vices by practising and doing acts of the contrary virtues. To arm myself before hand, by getting those virtues that are opposite to such vices as I am most inclined unto: for in those doth the devil always seek his advantage to overthrew me.  
In my extremest troubles to humble myself in the sight of Almighty God, acknowledging mine own weakness; and wholly relying upon his help most earnestly in word and heart call for his assistance, firmly trusting in his mercy, yea and offering myself (so as he forsake me not) to suffer these and all other whatsoever it shall please God to permit, even so long as he shall think good to inflict them, for of all other things this most overcometh the Devil, when he seethe we turn his evil motions and troubles to so glorious and great a victory.   

A prayer in temptation.  
O Merciful jesus, the only refuge of desolate and afflicted souls: O jesus that hast made me and redeemed me, in whom all things are possible unto me, and without whom I am able to do nothing: thou seest who I am, that here prostrate my prayers, and pour out my heart unto thee. What I would have, and what is fit for me thou knowest. My soul is buried in flesh and blood, and would fain be dissolved and come unto thee. I am urged against my will, and violently drawn to think that which from my heart I detest, and to have in mind the poison and bane of my soul. O Lord thou knowest my mould and making, for thy hands have framed me, and with flesh and skin thou hast clothed me. And lo this flesh which thou hast given me, draweth me to my ruin, and fighteth against the spirit: If thou help not (o gracious aid) I am overcome and vanquished. If thou forsakest me I must needs faint, with all discouragement. Why dost thou set me contrary unto thee, and makest me grievous and a burden to myself? Didst thou create me to cast me away? Didst thou redeem me to damn me for ever? It had been good for me never to have been borne, if I were borne to perish. Oh most merciful father, where are thy old and wont mercies? where is thy gracious sweetness and love? How long shall mine enemies rejoice over me, and humble my life upon earth, and place me in darkness like the dead of the world? What am I o Lord that thou settest me to fight alone against so mighty, subtle, and cruel enemies, that never cease to bid me a perpetual battle? O Lord why dost thou show thy might against a leaf, that is tossed with every wind, and persecutest a dry stubble? Wilt thou therefore damn the work of thy hands? Wilt thou throw me from thy face, and take thy holy spirit from me? Alas o Lord whither shall I go from thy face? or whither shall I fly from thy spirit? whither shall I fly from thee incensed, but to thee appeased? whither from thee as just, but unto thee as merciful? Do with me Lord that which is good in thine eyes, for thou wilt do all things in righteous judgement: only remember that I am flesh and blood, frail of myself and impotent to resist. Show thyself a Saviour unto me, and either take away mine enemies, or grant me such a supply of thy grace to enable my defects, that without wound or fault▪ by thee and with thee, I may overcome them, sweet jesus. Amen.   

A godly devout prayer.  
O Gracious Lord, and sweet Saviour, give me a pure intention, a clean heart, and a regard to thy glory in all my actions: Possess my mind with thy presence, and ravish it with thy love, that my delight may be to be embraced in the arms of thy protection. Be thou light unto mine eyes, music to mine ears, sweetness to my taste, and contentment to my heart. O jesus I give thee my body, my soul, my substance, my fame, my friends, my liberty and life, dispose of me and all that is mine, as shall be most to thy glory: I am not mine, but thine, therefore claim me as thy right, keep me as thy charge, love me as thy child, fight for me when I am assaulted, heal me when I am wounded, revive me when I am spiritually killed, receive me when I fly, and let me never be quite confounded: give me patience in trouble, humility in comfort, constancy in temptations, and victory against my ghostly enemies: grant me good Father modesty in countenance, gravity in my behaviour, deliberation in my speeches, purity in my thoughts, and righteousness in mine actions. Be my sunshine in the day, my food at the table, my repose in the night, my clothing in nakedness, and my succour in all needs. Let thy blood run in my mind as a water of life, to cleanse the filth of my sins, and to bring forth the fruit of life everlasting. Stay mine inclinations from beating down my soul: bridle mine appetites with thy grace, and quench in me the fire of all unlawful desires. Make my will pliable to thy pleasure, and resigned wholly to thy providence, and grant me perfect contentment in that which thou allottest: Strengthen me against occasions of sin, and make me steadfast in not yielding to evil, yea rather to die then to offend thee. Lord make me ready to pleasure all, loath to offend any, loving to my friends, and charitable to mine enemies. Forsake me not lest I perish: leave me not to mine own weakness, lest I fall without recovery. Grant me an earnest desire to amend my faults, to renew my good purposes, and to perform my good intentions. Make me humble to my superiors, friendly to my equals, charitable to my inferiors, and careful to yield due respect to all sorts. Lastly, grant me sorrow for my sins, thankfulness for thy benefits, fear of thy judgements, love of thy mercies, and mindfulness of thy presence. Amen.    

Considerations to settle the mind in the course of Virtue.  

THe first consideration: How weighty a thing the business of man's soul is. Whosoever being desirous to take due care of his soul, commencing a spiritual course, must consider that he hath taken such a business in hand, that for importance, necessity and profit, summoneth all other traffickes and affairs of the world, yea, and to which only all other business ought to be addressed, for herein our menage is about the salvation of our soul, our chief jewel and treasure, of which if in the short passage of our brittle and uncertain life we take not the due care that we ought for a whole eternity after, we shall evermore repent and be sorry for it, and yet never have the like opportunity again to help it.  
Secondly, the better to conceive the moment and weight of this business, let us consider what men use to do for their bodily health: for we see they make so principal a reckoning of it, they spare no cost, nor toil, nor leave any thing unattempted that may avail them to attain it. They suffer themselves to be lanced, wounded, pined, burnt with red hot irons, besides divers other extreme torments only for this end. How much greater miseries ought we to endure? how much greater pains and diligence ought we to employ for this health of our soul, which is to survive when the body is dead, rotten, and devoured with worms? And to survive in such sort, that it must be perpetually tormented in hell with intolerable torments, or enjoy endless felicity in heaven: And therefore of how much greater worth and weight we think the soul, and the eternal salvation or damnation thereof, than the momentary health or sickness of our bodies, so much greater account and esteem ought we to make of the business of our soul, then of any other worldly or bodily affair whatsoever.  
For what availeth it a man (saith Christ) to gain the whole world, and make wrack of his soul? If therefore we keep diverse men for diverse offices about our body, and many thousands do live by serving and providing things for every part thereof: If we spend so much time in feeding, refreshing, and reposing the same: If the greatest portion of our revenues (be they never so large) be consumed in the meats, pomp, sports, and pleasures thereof, how much more ought we to seek as many helps, services and purveyors for our soul, for whose only sake our body was given, and of whose good the welfare of the body only proceedeth? Thirdly, the necessity and poise of this care of our soul may be gathered of this, that all other matters are entreated with men, or some other creatures, but this business of our soul with God himself, who, by how much he is nobler & worthier than any of his creatures, so much more is the weight of this matter, and cannot be dealt with any without him: and so much more diligence ought there to be employed therein, especially in this time wherein God is still ready to further our endeavours in this behalf, whereas when time is expired, condemn he may for our negligence, or reward us for our carefulness, but not help us any more to alter the state of our soul, be it never so miserable.  
Fourthly, we may gather how material and important this matter is, by the life of Christ and his Saints, who withdrawing themselves from all other worldly affairs, thought it work enough to attend to this business of the soul: and whosoever at this day are honoured in God's Church, they are honoured only in this, that they have with a glorious conclusion happily and constantly, accomplished this business to God's glory and their own salvation: and who so considereth the intolerable torm●●ts of Martyrs, the painful agonies, conflicts, rough storms, and troubles of all God's Saints, and doth remember withal, that they undertook them for no other respect, but only for the better bringing this business of their soul to an end, it will soon appear how weighty a thing and how precious the salvation of the soul is, which they did think nothing too dear bought with all the miseries, sorrows and pains that this world could afford. Let us also consider that whatsoever moved them to such care and earnestness in this behalf, hath no less place in us doubtless then in them, seeing that our soul is as dear bought, as much worth, and created to as great glory as theirs: the danger of our salvation rather more, than any way less than theirs. God hath as much right in us as in th●●, and we as many titles of bond and duty to serve him as they. Finally we are assaulted by the same enemies, environed with the like hazards, and subject to as many, yea more occasions of sin, and allurements to damnation than they. Who therefore seethe not that we are in every respect to account the care of our souls as important and necessary to us as ever it hath been to any? Wherefore let not the wise man glory in his wisdom, nor the strong man in his might, nor the rich man in his riches, saith God by his Prophet jeremy 9 But let him that glorieth, glory in this, that he knoweth me, for I am the only Lord that worketh mercy, judgement, and justice upon the earth, and these things please me, saith the Lord. As who would say, it is folly and vanity to glotie and rejoice in any other thing then in the knowledge and service of God, and procuring mercy and mild judgement for our souls.   

The second Consideration. How we ought to arm our minds against temptations that happen when we seek earnestly to serve God.  
FIrst, seeing this business of our soul is of so great moment, he that earnestly goeth about the same must offer himself up unto God, and be most ready to endure constantly all the dangers, combers and difficulties that shall happen, and resolve never by God's grace to be dismayed and beaten back from his purpose by any trouble or encounter whatsoever, knowing that glorious and honourable enterprises can never be achieved without many contradictions. Wherefore let him persuade himself that when he hath settled his mind seriously to follow this business, Hell itself, and all the enemies of God and man's soul will conspire against him: The flesh to allure him to delights of the senses, and to recall to the vomit of his abandoned pleasures: The world to entice him with pomps and vanities, with ministering occasion of sin, and provoking by evil examples: Yea, if that will not serve, by terrifying him with persecutions, extortions, obloquys, slanders, and torments, and with all kind of disgrace. Finally, the devil (a professed enemy to all that take care of their souls) will seek to entrap him with a thousand trains, passions, and subtle temptations, leaving nothing that he thinketh may remove a man from these endeavours, tending to his salvation.  
Secondly, the case standing thus, let that saying of Scripture come to our mind: My son coming to the service of God, stand in justice and fear, and prepare thy soul unto temptation. Wherefore he that entereth into the way of life, must remember that he is not come to a play, pastime, or pleasure, but to a continual rough battle and fight, against most unplacable enemies. And let him resolve himself, never in this world to look for quiet and peace, no not so much as for any truce for a moment of time, but arm himself for a perpetual combat, and rather think of a multitude of happy victories (which by God's grace he may attain) then of any repose or quietness from the rage and assaults of his enemies. Let him see and peruse the pattern of his Captain's course, who from his birth to his death was in a restless battle, persecuted in his swaddling clouts by Herod, annoyed the rest of his infancy by banishment, wand'ring and need: In the flower of his age, slandered, hated, pursued, whipped, crucified, and most barbarously misused. In the same sort were all his Apostles, and all his principal soldiers handled: for whom he loveth he chastiseth, and proveth like gold in the furnace. And therefore no man must think it a new thing to be tempted and troubled when he once runneth a virtuous course, contrary to the liking of his enemies. For, The Disciple is not above his master, nor the servant above his Lord: who as we see had the same entreaty.  
Thirdly, lest we should be aghast and discouraged at the expectation and fear of so many discomforts, and the uncessant malice of so spiteful enemies, let us remember the words of Elizeus, That more stand with us then against us. Against the corruption of nature we have grace. Against the Devil we have God, who will never suffer us to be tempted above our force and strength: Against the power of hell we have the prayers of the faithful: Against the miseries of the body we have the spiritual comfort of the mind, which God allotteth in such measure as our necessity requireth: and if there were nothing else, this were enough to make troubles welcome in this case, for that thereby we purchase an inestimable glory (for a short passing combat) the comfort whereof neither eye hath seen, ear hath heard, nor any heart conceived. And on the other side, by the same we avoid other intolerable and eternal torments of hell, the least whereof passeth all those that can be suffered in the world, and therefore is our change most happy, that by the pain of a short life, avoid the misery of an eternal death, and deserve the unspeakable happiness of the life everlasting. For this cause (saith Saint james) Think you it all joy my brethren, when you shall fall into divers temptations, knowing that the trial of your faith worketh patience, and patience hath a perfect work, that you may be perfect and entire, failing in nothing.   

The third Consideration. Of the watchfulness and attention required in the care of our soul.  
SEeing this weighty affair of our soul's health, is hemmed in and beset with so manifest perils and troubles, it standeth us upon most watchfully to take heed to every thought, word, and deed, that passeth, lest through the number and subtleties of enemy's trains, we be often entrapped: for it is hard to touch pitch and not be defiled, to live in flesh a spiritual life, to converse in the world without worldly affections. Wherefore as a Legate that is to deliver his embassage before a great presence of Peers and Nobles, hath not only regard to his matter, but also to his words, voyee, and actions, that all be suitable to his message: so we having to work this exploit of our soul before God and all the court of heaven, and also before the eyes of those that lay wait to take us in any trip, aught to be very wary, even in our least thoughts and deeds, for fear lest we offend the presence of God, and give occasion of triumph and victory unto our deadly foes. And for this saith the Scripture: Keep thyself very watchfully.  
Secondly, to attain this diligent and attentive care in all our actions: let us consider what men use to do that carry great treasure by places haunted with thiefs, how warily they look to their way, how often they turn about them; how many times they prepare themselves, sometimes to fight, and other while to run away. Likewise how warily he walketh, and how careful he is never to stumble nor fall that carrieth in each hand a thin glass of precious liquor, through stony and rough places: and when we have marked these men's carefulness in these inferior matters, let us remember that much more respect is necessary in us, whose treasure is more precious than any worldly jewels, and yet do we carry it in earthen and frail vessels, in the midst of so many thiefs as there are passions and disordered appetites in us, as there are Devils in wait for us, and as there are stumbling stones and occasions of sin set round about us to procure this attention: the most effectual helps are these.  
First to think how careful we should be to do all things well, if this present day were the last that ever we should live in this world (as peradventure it may be) and that at the end thereof we were to be convented before a most severe and rigorous judge, who according to the desert of that day's actions, should pass the sentence of life or death upon us.  
Secondly, to remember that God is in his own substance, power, and true presence in every place, and seethe both our outward and inward actions more than we ourselves, and therefore let us seek in every thing so to behave ourselves, that we fear not to have God a witness and beholder of all that we do, think, or say, and let us ask him grace to do nothing unworthy his fight.  
Thirdly, we must consider the carelessness of our life past, remembering how often we have fought against God with his own weapons, and abused the force that he hath afforded, in every part of our body and mind: and therefore as Saint Paul warneth, As we have exhibited our members to serve uncleanness and iniquity, so let us now exhibit our members to serve justice unto sanctification.  
Fourthly, to procure this attention, it is good oftentimes in the day when we ate about our ordinary actions, to use godly prayers, and some verses out of the Psalms, with petition unto God for his grace, aid and assistance: for such godly exercises are fuel of devotion, causes of attention, food of the soul, preparatives against temptations, and assured helps to attain any virtues. Therefore it is good to use them in lieu of sights, and in the beginning of every chief action, directing therein our intention and action, to God's glory and service, and our own fowls good health and safety.   

The last Consideration. Of the necessity of perseverance in continuing watchful over ourselves.  
FIrst seeing the sum and compliment of all virtue consisteth in the continuance and progress of it, perseverance of all other things is most necessary in this business, to the better attaining whereof these considerations may prevail. First to consider by whose instinct and motion I began to take special care of my soul, and I shall find that being a thing contrary to the inclination of flesh and blood, and above the reach of nature, to resolve upon so painful and wary a course, in hope of a reward and joy that faith doth promise, that I say, God only and no other was the Author and mover of my heart unto it, and therefore unless I mean directly to resist God, and run a contrary course to that which he prescribeth, I must resolve myself to persever unto the end, in that which I have happily begun.  
Secondly, the end of this enterprise was to serve God, to bewail my former sins, and to work by Gods help the salvation of mine own soul: and when I resolved upon these means I was free from passion, and as well able to choose things convenient as I could at any other time, and wholly bend to do that thing which was for my greatest good. Wherefore seeing I can never aim at a better end, nor be in better plight to make a sounder choice, my surest way is to persever still in my resolution to the end, never altering my designment unless it be to further my course.  
Thirdly, I must consider who is that, that would make me forsake it: for if God moved me unto it, doubtless it is the Devil would move me from it, for God cannot be contrary to himself, neither useth he to alter our minds, but only from evil to good, or from good to better: therefore unless I mean to yield willingly to the Devil, and to follow mine enemy's counsel to mine own perdition, I must persever unto the end: for with what pretext soever the Devil seeketh to cover his motion, sure it is that his drift is to draw me from God and goodness, and to damn my soul: for how can he intent any thing for my good, that beareth me such a cankered malice, that he careth not to increase his own pain, so that he may work me any spiritual, yea or corporal harm.  
Fourthly, I must print that saying of Christ in my mind: He that persevereth unto the end shall be saved: for not he that beginneth, nor he that continueth for a month, or a year, or a short time, but only he that persevereth unto the end of his life shall be saved.  
Wherefore the same cause that moved me to begin, ought also to move me to continue, that the reward and crown of my good resolution be not cut off by any want of perseverance. Let not the cries of mine enemies move me: let me with Saint Paul say, The world is crucified to me, and I to the world: And with David, It is good for me to clean unto God. Finally, let me imitate the ensample of Christ, that persevered on the cross unto death for my sake, though often called upon to come down.  
Fiftly, I must consider that in what state so ever of grace, or merit of damnation I begin the next life, I must and shall undoubtedly persever in it according to the words of Solomon: Wheresoever the tree falleth there shall it be, whether it be towards South or North, that is, towards heaven or hell: for both the pain of this continueth for ever, and the joy of the other is also everlasting.  
If therefore I will persever in heaven, let me persever in the way that leadeth unto it, and never forsake the painfulness of it unto the journey's end. The passions of this life are not condign and comparable to the future glory: and it is extreme folly for avoiding a short and transitory pain, to hazard the loss of everlasting joy, and put myself in peril of perpetual bondage, in farre more extreme and endless torments. The sinners persever still in wickedness, and service of the Devil. The worldlings persever in pursuing vanities, and following the world, yea and that with most servile toil, and base drudgery, and not without many bodily and ghostly harms: how much more ought a true servant of God persever in God's service, and not seem by forsaking him in the way, to condemn him for a worse master than the world or the Devil, whom many thousands serve to the end, to their own damnation. Let me remember that the first Angel for want of perseverance became a devil. Adam for want of the same was thrust out of Paradise, and judas of an Apostle became a prey of hell. Finally, there be many thousands in hell fire burning, that began very good courses, and for a time went forward in the same, and yet in the end, for want of perseverance were damned for ever.    

What good a soul loseth by mortal sin  
THe grace of the holy Ghost.  
The friendship and familiarity with God.  
All moral virtues infused, and gifts of God's Spirit.  
The inheritance of the kingdom of heaven.  
The portion of God's children, and patronage of his fatherly providence, which he hath over the just.  
The peace and quietness of a good and quiet conscience.  
Many comforts and visitations of the holy Ghost.  
The fruit and merits of Christ's death and passion.   

What misery the soul gaineth by mortal sin.  
COndemnation to eternal pain.  
To be quite canceled out of the book of life.  
To become of the child of God the thrall of the devil.  
To be changed from the temple of the holy Ghost into a den of thiefs, a nest of vipers, and a sink of all corruption.   

How a Soul is prepared to justification by degrees.  
Faith setteth before one eyes God as a just judge.  

Angry with the bad.  
Merciful to the repentant.   
Of this faith by the gift of God's Spirit, ariseth a fear by consideration of 

God's justice. and  
Our own● sins.    
This fear is comforted by hope grounded in 

God's mercy, and the  
Merits of Christ.    
Of this hope ariseth love and charity to Christ for 

Loving us without desert,  
Redeeming us with so many torments.    
Of this love followeth sorrow for offending Christ, of whom we have been so mercifully 

Created,  
Redeemed,  
Sanctified,  
Called to by Faith.    
Of this sorrow ariseth a full purpose to avoid all sin, which 

God above all things detesteth.  
The devil above all things desireth.  
Above all things hurteth the soul.     

A short Meditation of man's miseries.  
WHat was I O Lord? what am I? what shall I be? I was nothing, I am now nothing worth, and am in hazard to be worse than nothing: I was conceived in original sin: I am now full of actual sin: I may hereafter feel the eternal smart of sin: I was in my mother a loathsome substance: I am in the world a sack of corruption: I shall be in my grave a prey of vermin. When I was nothing, I was without hope to be saved, or fear to be damned, I am now in a doubtful hope of the one, and in a manifest danger of the other. I shall be either happy by the success of my hope, or most miserable by the effect of my danger. I was so that I could not then be damned: I am so that I can scarce be saved: what I have been I know (to wit) a wretched sinner: what I am I cannot say, being uncertain of God's grace: what I shall be I am ignorant of, being doubtful of my perseverance. O Lord erect my former weakness, correct my present sinfulness: direct my future frailty from passed evil to present good, and from present good to future glory, sweet jesus.   

A devout prayer to desire pardon and remission of our sins.  
O Most mighty Lord and Creator of all things, when I think with myself how grievously I have offended thine infinite Majesty with my sins, I wonder at mine own folly: when I consider what a loving and bountiful father I have forsaken, I accurse mine ingratitude: when I behold how I am fallen from such a noble liberty into such a miserable bondage, I condemn myself for an inconstant fool, and know not what other thing I may set before mine eyes, but only hell and damnation for so much as thy justice (from which I cannot fly) putteth a great tetror into my conscience: but contrariwise when I consider thy great mercy, which (as the Prophet witnesseth) exceedeth all thy works, then do I feel forthwith a fresh and pleasant air of hope, to refresh and strengthen again my weak and sorrowful soul. Wherefore should I then despair to obtain pardon of him who hath so often times in the holy Scriptures invited sinners to repentance, saying▪ I desire not the death of a sinner, but that he should live and be converted. Moreover, thine only begotten Son, our sweet Saviour jesus Christ hath revealed unto us by many parables, how ready and willing thou art to grant pardon unto all such as are penitent for their sins. This he signifieth unto us by the jewel lost, and found again. By the strayed sheep brought home again upon the shepherd's shoulders: and much more by the comparison of the prodigal son, whose lively image I do acknowledge in myself, for I am he that hath most unjustly forsaken thee, my loving father, and have riotously consumed my substance, and by obeying the appetites of my flesh, have disobeyed thy commandments, and by breaking of them, have fallen into the most filthy prison of sin, being brought to extreme misery, out of which I know none other that can help me, but only thou my Almighty God, whom I have forsaken. Receive therefore (O Lord) mercifully the humble, that desireth pardon of thee, whom thou hast so patiently looked for, even until this present hour. Alas I am not worthy to lift up mine eyes unto thee, nor once to call thee father, but for so much as thou art a true father in deed, may it please thee to view me with thy fatherly compassionate eyes, for thy only sight is powerful to raise the dead, and it is that which causeth all those that wander out of the way to return again to themselves. For this repentance and sorrow for my sins I had not had, if thou hadst not beheld me with thy mercy's eye. When I went wand'ring afar off from thee, thou didst look down even from heaven upon me, and didst open mine eyes that I might see myself, and take a view how full fraught I was with infinite sins, and even at this instant thou comest to receive me again, giving me knowledge and mindfulness of mine innocence which I have lost. I do not request thy most sweet embracings and kisses: nor the rich garment that was wont to clothe me: neither yet the ring of mine ancient dignity: I sue not to be received again into the state and dignity of thy sons: but thou shalt do very much for me, in case it may please thee to number me amongst thy bondslaves, and so to mark me with thy sign, and to fetter me with thy chains, that I may never after run away from thee.  
Again, it shall never grieve me to be in this life one of the most abject slaves in thy house, so that I may never be separated from thee. Suffer me not gracious Lord to run the erring steps that I have formerly done: for thou didst consecrate me for thy temple, and I made myself an habitation for the Devil: Thou gavest me armour, and didst bind me to be thy true knight, and I have gone traitorously to thy enemy's side, using thine own weapons against thee; thou didst espouse my soul unto thee in perpetual charity, and I have proved disloyal, following the love of vanities more than thy truth, and esteemed a creature, more than the Creator. But now Lord incline thee unto me, I beseech thee O father of mercy, granting me the favour of thine only begotten Son, and the remedy of his most grievous passion and death: grant me also thy holy spirit, that it may cleanse my heart, and confirm it in thy grace any favour, that through mine ignorance I do never run again into my late banishment, from whence thy loving kindness hath called me back, but that I may continue in thy obedience, even from this present hour of my repentance unto the last hour of my transitory life. To thee O my Lord be perpetual glory, honour, power, and dominion, world without end.   

OF THE THREE SORTS OF MEN, ALL DIVERSELY affected in things concerning God.  
Men are either  

OPEN WICKED, Licentious and profane livers, professed enemies of the Law of the Lord, job 21.14.15.  
These are borne but after the flesh, therefore savour they only the things of the flesh, and remain as they are by nature, children of wrath, joh. 3.6. 1. Cor. 2.16. Ephe. 2.3.  
These are neither chosen of God, nor called; being neither of the Church, nor in the same, Psal 11.5. Reu. 22.14. 1. Cor. 5.12.  
In these sin daily increaseth inwardly and outwardly, till righteousness in them be utterly extinct Psal. 36.1.2.3.4.  
To these the law if it be sent, cometh in tables of stone, (for such is the nature of hearts;) but they receive it not; the tables are broken before they come at them, for these dance (as it were) about the golden calf of their own impiety, know not what is become of Moses, they break and violate all. Exod. 32. Yet unto such the Law is given, and lieth upon them as a curse and condemnation. 1. Tim. 1.9. Deut. 27.15, 26.  
These keep not the Law, neither are they kept by the Law, but break forth into all sin and wickedness. job 24.13, etc. Psal. 73.8, 9  
These hate the Law, and profess their hatred. Psal. 2.3. job 22.17.  
These are naked, yet without shame: though all men see their filthiness, they hide it not. jer. 6.15. and 8.12.  
These call not upon God. Psal 14.4.  
These accustomed to do evil, neither change themselves nor ●heir actions. jer. 13.23.  
These are strangers, not children ●or yet servants ●n the household ●f faith. Ephes. 2.12. Psal. 58, 3.  
These go not out ●o meet the ●ridegroome; ●either come to ●●e wedding ●●ough they be suited, Mat. 22. ●5.  
These are darkness, both before God and the world Pro 4.19.  
These, though sick unto death, yet (like the mad man possessed of devils, Mar. 5 2 3 etc. which raved, and felt not nor discerned his own misery,) they seek no remedy for their disease. Proverb. 14.16. & 23.34 35.  
These do the evil which they love and would do. job 20 12.13 Prou 2.14.  
These expect no salvation, either by themselves or by any other. Isa. 22.13.  
These die by Moses sword, as the Idolaters. Exod 32. the Madianites, Numb. 31. the Amorites, Sihon, Ogh, and the like.  

These both shall perish, and be punished with everlasting perdition, from the presence of the Lord; their portion shall be with the devils in the lake of fire and brimstone, which is the second death. Mat. 25.30.41. & 24.51. job 13.16. 2. Thes. 1.8.9. Reve. 20.10.13.15.  
The wicked shall turn into hell. Psal. 9.17.  
The rejoicing of the wicked is short; the joy of Hypocrites is but a moment. job 20.5.    

HYPOCRITES, Outwardly religious, but inwardly wicked, hating God's Law, and the true righteousness, Isay 29.13. Mic. 3.11.  
These seem to be renewed, and born again of the Spirit, they are enlightened & boast of heavenly grace: yet continue they still in their old natural corruption, unwashed from their filthiness. Heb. 6 4. Isa. 65.5. joh. 8 41.22. Pro. 30.12.  
These are called, but not chosen; are in the Church for a while, but not of it, Mat. 22.14. 1. joh. 2.19.  
In these, righteousness increaseth outwardly, but sin liveth inwardly, and aboundeth, Isa. 1.11 etc. jer. 3.4.5.  
To these God giveth the stony tables, and they receive them; but Moses face so shineth, that they cannot look upon him, unless he veil his countenance. They outwardly keep the law, & rest therein, they also teach others to keep it, yet are themselves transgressors of it; the inward power and end thereof, they cannot see. Exod. 34.29, 30, etc. 2. Cor. 3.13, 14. Rom. 2.17, 22, 23, etc.  
These, though they keep not the Law, yet are kept by the Law, and restrained by terror thereof, from open wickedness. Math. 23.13.16.23.25.  
These hate the Law, but profess to love it. Psal. 78.36, 37.  
These ashamed of their nakedness, cover it with fig-leaues, or spider's webs of their own external righteousness Isa. 59.5.6.  
These cry but God heareth them not. Isa. 1.15.  
These change their words and works, but not themselves. Gen. 4.3. & 28.8.9. Hos. 7.16.  
These are in the house, but as servants, not as children. john 8.35.36. Galat. 4.22. etc.  
These go with their lamps, but without oil; they come to the feast, but want the wedding garment. Mat. 25 3. & 22. 11.1●.  
These are light before the world, but darkness before God. Mat. 6.2 5.16. Isa. 58.2.3.8  
These▪ though they see and know their sickness, yet like to King Asa, they seek not the Lord in their disease, but to the Physicians, or with salves and medicines of their own making, think to cure themselves. 2. Chro. 16 12. joh 5.40. Hos. 5.13.  
These do not the evil which they love, but the good which they love not, Num. 14.2.4.40  
These expect salvation by themselves, and their own righteousness Rom. 10, 3. jer. 2.35.  
These under Moses conduct perish by God's hand in the desert, and come not into the Land of promise.  

These both shall perish, and be punished with everlasting perdition, from the presence of the Lord; their portion shall be with the devils in the lake of fire and brimstone, which is the second death. Mat. 25.30.41. & 24.51. job 13.16. 2. Thes. 1.8.9. Reve. 20.10.13.15.  
The Hypocrites hope shall perish job 8.13.  
The rejoicing of the wicked is short; the joy of Hypocrites is but a moment. job 20.5.    

SAINTS, that rightly believe and obey God's word, with their utmost power; the friends of the Lord. Psal. 119.3.5 10.11. etc.  
These are borne anew, not of blood, nor of the will of the flesh, or of man, but of God: therefore they savour the things of God, & mind heavenly things, being children of Wisdom, joh. 6.13. & 3.3. Luke 7.35.  
These are called and chosen of God; are both in & of the Church, and so continue. Ephes. 1.4. etc. job 17.9.  
In these, sin dieth and righteousness reviveth daily, both inwardly and outwardly. Rom. 6.2, 3, 4, etc.  
To these the law is not given, or it lieth not (〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉) on them, 1. Tim. 1.9. for they have the Gospel, the Law and Ministry of the Spirit, and God's word is written in fleshly tables of their hearts, within and without, by the finger of God: and they all behold as in a mirror, the glory of the Lord with open face, and are changed into the same image from glory to glory, as by the Spirit of the Lord. 2. Cor 33.18. Eze. 11 19 Heb 8.10.  
These are the right keepers of the Law in spirit, which sometime also were kept of the Law, till Faith came. Psal. 119.33, 34. Gal. 3.23, 25.  
These love the Law, and profess their love. Psalm 119.97. Rom. 7.22.  
These have their nakedness covered of Christ, and by the garments of his righteousness. Reuel. 3.18. and 16.15.  
These call upon God, and he answereth them, jer. 29.12.13.  
These change both their actions and themselves; or rather are changed of the Lord, Rom. 12.2.  
These are no more strangers but children of God's family, wherein they abide for ever. Gal. 4.28. 1. joh 3  
These go to meet the bridegroom with oil in their lamps: & are arrayed with the wedding robe. Mat. 25.4.  
These are light, both before God and the world Ephes. 5.8. Mat. ●. 16. Phil. 2.15.  
These see their sins, and feel themselues wounded by those fiery serpents; but lift up their eyes to the serpent of brass; they seek to Christ only, the Physician of their souls. Numbers 21.8 9 joh. 3.14 15.  
These love good and desire to do it, yet do the evil which they hate. Rom. 7.15.  
These expect salvation only by Christ's righteousness, not by themselves. Phil. 3.9. Rom. 3 24.28.  
These after Moses death, are brought by jesus into the rest of Canaan: the rest that remaineth for the people of God. Heb. 4.8.9.  

These shall enter into the joy of their Lord; shall live and reign with him in heaven, and with his holy Angels for evermore Amen. Mat. 25.21.34.46  
The Saints shall be preserved for ever. Psal. 37.28.  
And men shall say, Verily there is fruit for the righteous; doubtless there is a God that judgeth in the earth. Psal. 58.11.     


A prayer unto God the Father.  
THou that rulest in the highest, reignest for ever, & only canst do all things, God the governor of heaven and earth, at whose beck all creatures tremble, and the pillars of heaven shake. O heavenly God, perfect workman and Potter, I wretch made out of clay, or rather of filthy mud, with fear and trembling come before the throne of thy majesty. I acknowledge and confess my wickedness, I know that I am nothing, yea that I am mere abomination and horror in thy sight, if thy grace and mercy do fail me: without thee I think no goodness, without thee I do no good thing: without thee I am a contemptible creeping worm.  
I cannot be saved without thine assistance, my salvation dependeth on thy hands. I give thee thanks, O God, and in especial for this, for that thou hast given me that knowledge, that I may see and know that I am nothing, & unable to do any thing without thee. Thou art the Potter, I the clay: such as thou wilt have me be, such canst thou form and fashion me: if thou makest me blessed, thou showest thy mercy and grace: if thou castest me into perdition, thou showest thy justice, and executest thy judgement: neither is it my duty to contradict thee, why, or for what reason thou dost it. For thou hast mercy upon him whom thou lovest: these things I meditate with myself, o Lord, and I fear thy judgements.  
Since therefore, all my safety and salvation dependeth on thee, and consisteth in thy hand and power, and sith thou hast showed thyself a merciful and long-suffering God to the whole world: and hast testified the same indeed, in that thou wouldst thy only Son jesus Christ the innocent, should die for our offences, and expiate our sins with his blood on the Cross. Finally, since thou hast taught us in all our perturbations to call upon thee, and ask thy grace and mercy, for that thou wilt give us all things which we shall ask in the name of thy Son: I come unto thee, being dross and a lump of day, O merciful and celestial Potter, beseeching thee most humbly, that thou wilt use thy mercy, and make of this unworthy matter, a vessel of eternal glory. Vouchsafe also of thy mere grace, to fix my mind on perfect faith, assured hope, and chaste and holy love, that being justified by these thy gifts, I may become upright, perfect, good and holy, according to thy good will, both in the midst, and end of my life, as also at the latter day of judgement.  
O merciful Father, grant me pardon of all my sins: through the death of thy beloved Son jesus Christ, make me to please thee alone: grant me to be thy grateful son & heir, increase in me that justice whatsoever, which is given me, and granted from heaven, that I may continue and end my life in the same: increase in me that faith which thou hast given me: kindle my love of thee, and make it more apparent, that by thy help, and the presence of thy grace, and the accomplishment of thy holy will, I may obtain everlasting life which thou hast promised us, to the end I may praise thee, and give thee thankes in thy kingdom▪ for ever and ever. Amen.   

A Prayer to God the Son.  
O Thou maker and redeemer of mankind, jesus Christ, who saidst, I am the way, the truth, and the life: the way in doctrine, precept and examples: the truth in promises: the life in reward: I pray thee by thy unspeakable charity, wherewith thou deignest to employ thyself wholly for our salvation, suffer me never to wander from thee who art the way: neither ever to distrust in thy promises, who art the truth, and performest whatsoever thou dost promise: neither to repose or rely on any other thing, because thou art eternal life, than which, there is nothing more to be desired, neither in heaven nor in earth. By thee have we learned the true and ready way to eternal salvation, lest we should wander any longer in the Labyrinths of this life. Thou didst teach us exactly how to believe, what to do, what to hope, and in whom we ought to rest: by thee we have learned how unhappy we were borne through our first father Adam, by thee we have learned that there is no hope of salvation, except by faith in thee.  
Thou hast taught us that thou art the only light that shinest to all men in the desert of this wolrd, conducting them through the night of their minds, from the Egyptian darkness, to that blessed Land which thou promisest unto the meek, and such as follow thy humility. For in us was nothing but utter darkness, who neither could see our calamity, neither know from whence to seek the remedy of our misery: thou daignedst to enter into the world, vouchsafedst to take upon thee our nature, that thy doctrine might disperse the cloud of our ignorance: that by thy precepts thou mightst direct our feet in the way of peace: by the examples of thy life thou didst limit out a path for us to immortality: and beating it with thy steps, thou madest it of a tedious and rough, an easy and beaten way. So becamest thou unto us a way, that knoweth no error, in which lest we should be wearied, thy bounty with great & assured promises, vouchsafed to assure us: for who could be wearied, that thinketh how in following thy footsteps there is an heritage of eternal life prepared for him? Therefore whilst we are in this journey, thou wouldst in stead of a staff be an assured hope unto us whereby we might be sustained.  
Neither was thy goodness contented herewith, but acknowledging the frailty of our natures, in the mean space with the comfort of the holy Spirit thou repairest our courages, to the end that we may more willingly run unto thee. And as thou being made a way unto us drivest away all error, so becoming our truth, thou takest away all distrust.  
Finally, being made life unto us, thou givest heat unto those that are dead in sin, a life through thy holy Spirit which quickeneth all things, until all mortality laid aside, in the resurrection we may always live with thee and in thee, by reason that thou art unto us all in all things: For it is eternal life to know the Father, and the Son, and the holy Ghost, to be one true God. Wherefore I beseech thee, O most merciful Father, to increase faith in me who am thy unworthy servant, lest at any time I waver in thy celestial doctrine: increase obedience in me, lest I swerve from thy precepts, increase constancy, that walking in thy ways, I neither be alured by the enticements of Satan, nor dejected by his terrors: but that I may persevere in thee who art the true way, to my life's end. Increase my faith, that possessed of thy promises, I may never wax slow in the study of godliness: but forgetting those things I have left behind me, I may always strive and endeavour for more perfection.  
Increase thy grace in me, that daily more and more being mortified myself: I may live and be encouraged by thy holy Spirit, fearing nothing but thee, than whom there is nothing more amiable, glorying in none but in thee, who art the true glory of all the Saints, wishing nothing but thee, than whom there is nothing better: desiring nothing but thee, who art full and perfect felicity, with the Father and the holy Ghost, world without end. Amen.   

A prayer to God the holy Ghost.  
HOly Spirit, our Advocate who on Whitsunday didst descend upon thy Apostles, filling their bosoms with charity, grace, and wisdom: I pray thee by that thy unspeakable mercy and liberality, that thou wilt vouchsafe to fill the secrets of my soul with thy grace, and water my inward heart with the unspeakable sweetness of thy love: Come holy Ghost, & from heaven send a beam of thy light. Come thou Father of the poor, come thou giver of gifts, come thou light of hearts, come thou gracious comforter, thou sweet guest of my soul, my pleasant refresher. Come thou Physician of those that faint, come thou purger of eyes, come thou strength of the frail, come thou remedy of sins, come thou doctor of the humble, come thou destroyer of the proud, come thou excellent ornament of all virtues: come thou only salvation of the dying. Come my God, & adorn a bed for thee, in which I may worthily entertain thee, with all thy riches and mercies: fill me with the gifts of thy wisdom, illuminate me with the benefit of understanding, govern me with the gift of counsel, confirm me with the gift of fortitude, instruct me with the gift of science, wound me with the gift of piety, and pierce my heart with the gift of thy holy fear.  
O sweet lover of clean hearts, burn & inflame all my bowels with the sweet fire of thy love, that being inflamed, they may be carried & ravished into thee, who art the centre and final end of all my good: o sweet lover of ●oly souls, since thou art not ignorant that I can do nothing of myself nor by myself, stretch out thy favourable hand over me, & grant that I may forsake myself, & fly unto thee: mortify, extinguish and dissolve in me whatsoever is displeasant unto thee, that in all things thou mayest conform me unto thy will, that my life hereafter may be a perfect sacrifice in thy sight, or rather an offering which may wholly be consumed in the fire of thy love.  
O who shall give me the grace, that I may at least attain this chief good? Look upon me, o Lord, look upon me, and see here this thy poor creature: my soul sighing after thee day and night, how she thirsteth after God: when shall I come and appear before the presence of thy grace? When shall I enter into that admirable place of thy Tabernacle that I may attain th● house of my God? When wi●● thou fill me with the light of th● countenance? When shall I b● satiate with the presence of thy glory? When shall I by th●● means be delivered from a●● temptations? and when shall overcome this frailty of my mortality? O eternal fountain o● light, bring me back again 〈◊〉 the Abyss of eternal goodness by whom I am created, that ●ere I may know thee, even as I am known of thee, and may so love thee, as I am loved by thee, that I may see and enjoy thee in the society of all the elect, even as thou also hast seen me from everlasting, Amen.    
FINIS.