The last TRUMPET: OR, A Six-Fold Christian Dialogue. Viz. 

1 Between Death, the Flesh, and the Soul.  
2 Between the Devil, the Flesh, and the World.  
3 Between Man and his Conscience.  
4 Between Conscience, Sin, and Man.  
5 Between God and the Soul.  
6 Between the Soul and the City of Cod.   Translated from the elegant Latin Prose of RICHARD BR●THWA●T Esquire. into English Verse, BY JOHN VICARS.  Arise ye dead, and come to judgement. Hor. de Ar●e Poetica. 
Decies repetita placebit.  
LONDON, Printed by Thomas Harper, for Robe●●●●●●ocke, and are to be sold at his shop in Paul's Churchyard, at the sign of the King's Head, 1635.   

TO THE RIGHT Worshipful, his ever most highly honoured good friend, Sir WALTER PIE, Attorney General of the Court of Wards, and to his truly virtuous and religious Consort, the Lady HESTER PIE, I. V. most Cordially wisheth the Kingdom of Grace here, and the Kingdom of glory hereafter.  
Right Worshipful,  
MY thankful thoughts long wand'ring, seriously,  
Which way I might my grateful heart apply,  
Fully and fitly to express & show  
The infinite perpetual debt jowe  
To both your Worship, and your Families,  
For many free and friendly courtesies  
To me and mine: In stepped this little Book,  
And my desire t'accomplish undertook.  
Upon which proffer, promptly I laid hold,  
And most respectively have (thus) made bold  
To dedicate both It and my poor All  
To both your Worship's due memorial:  
Both, as a Symbol of my sincere heart  
Obliged by indelible desert;  
As also, that like Philip's little Lad,  
This Trumpet may sound a Memento glad  
Unto your Wor. Souls with comfort sweet,  
Here, to prepare with God in Christ to meet,  
To shake off all earth's clogs and Remora's  
Which hurt or hinder us with dull delays,  
From running (here) our race with patience,  
From winning the reward of recompense.  
In both which bound respects, I humbly pray  
That this my little Tract, Last Trumpet may  
Sound sweetly in your Worship's ●ares & mind,  
And friendly favour and acceptance find,  
To'rd him, who ever, every way is bound  
To you and yours to rest and to be found  
Your good Wor. in all obsequious observance to be commanded. JOHN VICARS.   

To the Worshipful, his very worthy and most ingenious and ingenuous learned and religious Author, RICHARD BRATHWAIT Esquire. I. V. wisheth all true holiness and happiness, here and hereafter.  
Most worthy Sir,  
WHen first by happy chance I cast my fight  
Upon the sparkling lustre, beauty bright  
Of your rich jewel lockt-up & enclosed  
In a neat Cabinet: ay, straight supposed  
It was great pity, such a pretty gem  
Should be shut up from public view of them  
Who could not with the Latin Key unlock  
Your Casket, and partake of your rich stock.  
I therefore have (most worthy Sir) made bold  
To open the Lock, lay open your gem of gold,  
To every gracious eye and godly mind  
That in such jewels can pure pleasure find  
And, thus with my weak breath your Trump to sound  
In a known tone, whose echo might rebound,  
And on the hearer's hearts reverberate  
To mind their present and their future state.  
And (hence) I must ingenuously confess,  
I primely should and would the same address  
Unto your worthy-selfes sole acceptation  
Were I not bound by most strict obligation  
To those my honoured friends forementioned  
By cords of many favours thereto led.  
But next to them, accept, I humbly pray  
This borrowed-light from your suns lustrous ray;  
These bubbling streams, weak strains that have their motion,  
From your full fount, as tribute to your ocean.  
In confidence of which great courtesy  
Thereof persuaded, by your piety,  
Praying your Worship may be aye possessed  
Of all true holy, happy joys; I rest,  
Your good Worships in his best poor services to be commanded, john Vicars.   

Authoris opinio de Interprete suo.  
EX eo quod legi, te de Hippocreni altiùs ebibisse collegi. Optandum est, quod Heliconiades nostri in hisce oleum operamque studiose impenderent, quo apud posteros faeliciora Minervae monumenta relinquant. Interim, quae primum conscripsi & edidi (modò Superiorum authoritas iis suffragetur) ingenuè approbo, eo scilicet more, quo tu integre transtulisti.  

Ingenij titulum meruit, mihi crede, perennem,  
Qui cupit ingenio sacra levare suo.  
Hoc tibi ●ICARIVS fecit; Musisque peregit  
O●ficium vatis: dulce poema suis.    

Imprimatur,  
SA. BAKER. April 14. 1635.   
The last Trumpet: OR, A Six-fold Christian DIALOGUE.  

The first, between Death, the Flesh, and the Soul.  
The Argument of the first Dialogue.  
The Flesh presenting the Souls Maid.  
By Death encountered, sore afraid;  
Shows forth voluptuous-Gallants state,  
Whilst (yet) they be degenerate;  
How prone to pride and vanity,  
How feared of Death, how loath to die;  
Until the Lady-Mistresse, Soul,  
By Grace roused up, does chide, control  
Her servant, Flesh, her fit to make  
To welcome Death, and Life forsake.  Death. 
HO, who's within? Open the door, instantly.  Flesh. 
Who's that which knocks so bold and boisterously?  De. 
'tis He, that, till he enters, will not part.  Fl. 
Stay, I'll peep out; and see (first) who thou art,  
And, whether thou deserv'st, here, to remain;  
If not, knock long enough, and all in vain.  De. 
Well, now, what think'st thou? wilt thou open now?  Fl. 
O fearful monster! ugly beetle-brow,  
Blind of both-eyes, without or lips or chin,  
Hence, with a mischief, I'll not let thee in.  
Knock on, yea knock thyself to death, thou may'st,  
But, I'll not open the door, whiles there thou stayest.  De. 
Open, for, I will enter: mark th'event.  Fl. 
What? And without my Mistress' consent?  De. 
ay, without leave of Mistress or nice Maid:  
Yea, though by All within I be gainsaid.  Fl 
Is't possible? Whence cam'st thou, hither, pray?  
Who sent for thee? Thou mightst have kept away:  
For, we have, here, within, far fairer mates,  
Fine fellows, merrier guests, within our gates:  
Sure, thouart some Courtier, by thy sirly face.  De. 
Indeed, both Court and Cart, in Me have place,  
And, I, in them, do challenge equal right.  Fl. 
I prithee, say, who art thou? what strange wight?  De. 
ay, surely, am thy Sister and thy Brother.  F. 
Hence, Beast▪ th'u'rt some Hermaphrodite or other.  De. 
Therein (indeed) thy words are probable;  
For, of both sexes I am capable.  Fl 
Capable? true, too much too, I believe:  
But, if my thoughts do me not much deceive,  
Thou neither lookest like male or female,  
But, art, more truly, some Ghost lank and pale.  De. 
I am a Ghost, yet, am thy Lookingglass,  
Where, thou mayst see thy state like with ring grass.  Fl. 
Who were thy Parents?  De. 
They that thee begot.  Fl. 
That's strange; but, surely, thus much I doubt not,  
Thy Parents would have plucked out both their eyes,  
Ere from their loins an Imp, like thee, should rise.  De. 
Yet, they me bred. For, biting-Death did spring  
From their bold biting the forbidden thing,  Fl. 
Whence cam'st thou then?  D. 
From thine own wilful sin.  Fl 
Alas, alas. Then we must needs be kin.  De. 
True. We are both of one stock, land and line,  Fl. 
Yet, small resemblance 'twixt thy state & mine.  De. 
True, I confess it, yet I tell thee plain,  
Nor thou nor any that alive remain,  
Can me, when I am present, pass, excel,  
With fitter frame of joints though ere so well,  
With more just mixture of the Elements,  
With fairer structure of corpse lineaments,  
Or stronger state of body; but I say,  
● being present, am more choice than they.  Fl. 
Me thinks this is most strange, how can this be?  De. 
Because, even Natures-selfe hath chosen me  
●or her Anatomy. Thou knowst right well,  
●hat all that do in Surgery excel  
●nd Physic, choose for their Anatomy  
Corpse that surpass in beauty's excellency.  Fl. 
'tis true (indeed) of such as hanged be;  
Then, in that number I must reckon thee:  
And therefore tell me for what fact so foul  
Hast thou been hanged, and so left thy soul?  De. 
Well, wanton wench, for all thy witty prate,  
I'll be thy wooer and thy wedded-mate.  Fl. 
Ha, ha, ha, ha. I never shall desire  
Such a yoke-fellow to me to acquire,  
As will me make quite weary of my life,  
And fill my marriagebed with hate and strife:  
When for my Spouse I shall embrace a Spirit,  
And stinking smells of rottenness inherit.  
No, with the proverb, rather I'd like well  
To dye a Virgin, and lead Apes in hell.  De. 
So, so, mean while, I must, I will embrace thee▪  Fl. 
hands off, or to thy Graves & Ghosts I'll chase thee▪  De. 
Soft, sister, soft: untouched, I'll touch & take thee▪  
Thou art deceived, if thou think'st to forsake me  
Or scape my hands. Delay not, instantly,  
If Death but say the word, thou (sure) shalt dye.  
I stand unmoved, when thou art moved, molested,  
I rise unhurt, when thou by Death art rested.  
He which thee spoils, spares not or sex or age,  
Conditions rare, face fair or head most sage.  
Perhaps thou'lt say (thou sayest no more than truth)  
That nothing is, than Death, more full of ruth,  
More tart and terrible, more cursed, unkind,  
As who, to look on men's looks, is most blind,  
Is deaf and dumb to hear or answer treats  
Is pitiless, perniciously down beats  
Without distinction or least difference▪  
All, liable to's lawless violence;  
Not having lest respect to good or bad,  
But, forcing all to one condition sad.  Fl. 
Ay me poor wretch, must my flesh delicate,  
Which fragrant flowers adorn and decorate,  
Which sweet perfumes with odours rare perfume,  
Must these fair joints to rottenness consume?  
And all their moisture and their milk-white hue,  
Be dried, drawn out, by such an Elf as you?  De. 
Damsel, disdain it not, these sinews bare,  
These rigid bones have grasped Ladies fair;  
Equal to thee, for body's beauty bright,  
For dignities and honours utmost height;  
For smooth and soft conditions dear as thou,  
These, oft, I make to my embraces bow.  Fl. 
Embrace them still, so thou lettest me alone.  
What? shall these dainty fingers, ever known  
To touch and strike the warbling Lute-strings sweet  
Enameled with pure azure-veines regret,  
Shall these, I say, once touch thy clay-cold wrists,  
Or shall this hair of mine in curious twists,  
And rare laid wreaths, bound up, with garlands decked  
And odoriferous perfumes, to affect  
The nisest nostrils, like Sols sunbeams bright,  
Shall these under thine Eagle-tallons light?  
Shall this high forehead, and these temples fair,  
Adorned with April's prime-sprung flowers most rare,  
Fall underneath thy raw-boned fingers harms,  
Shall these my snow-white alabaster arms  
Fitted for only amorous kind embraces,  
Feel thy cold-icey grasping paws disgraces?  
Shall these my tinkling, teachable fine feet,  
Accustomed to Measures, Dances sweet,  
Dance into thy dark cell, the loathsome grave?  
Or, finally, shall this my Body brave,  
So neat, complete, so worthy admiration,  
Yielding to amorous eyes such delectation,  
Be shut up in a vile and filthy urn,  
And into noisome putrefaction turn?  De. 
Spare farther speech, I none of these respect,  
I neither do thy fingers fine affect,  
Though ere so small or slender, shining fair,  
With golden rings and sparkling Diamonds rare.  
I care not for thy tender lovely locks,  
Though glistering like pure wool among the flocks.  
I care not for thy temples fair and high,  
Though decked with fragrant flowers most curiously.  
I care not for thine arms more white than snow,  
Or, than the purest Ivy that can grow.  
I care not for thy tender tinkling feet,  
Although for wanton dances ere so meet.  
Finally, neither can thy body fine  
Nor any of thy bodies outward shine  
Allure my mind, entice me, thee to spare,  
I, nought at all, for all thy neatness, care.  
For, well thou knowst, for this thy Candour acquaint,  
Painters, do me, a man's dead carcase paint,  
Consisting of bare bones, with sinews joined  
Where, thou, nor ears, nor eyes, nor nose canst find,  
Naked, deformed, ugly to be seen  
Of neither sex, handling a scythe most keen.  
O artificial piece of Painters wise!  
Deformed, indeed, but full of mysteries.  
And, wilt thou (Damsel) hear me them relate?  
For thy sake (then) I'll do't most accurate,  
Although, therein, thy outward beauty gay  
I nought regard. Then listen, these are they.  
First, I am shown, with hollow holes, no eyes  
To signify, I no man's person prize,  
Of whatsoever power or dignity,  
Of whatsoever wealth or quality.  
I also am described without ears,  
To show that death no man's petition hears,  
And that no prayer or humblest supplication  
Can of my fury find least mitigation.  
I portrayed am, without a Nose to smell,  
Thereby (vain dainty Damsel) thee to tell▪  
And thee lascivious wanton gallant brave,  
That I, in thy sweet scents no pleasure have.  
Again, I pictured am naked and bare  
To intimate that I do nothing care  
For earthly substance or for treasure great,  
For bribes or gifts, which worldly wise do cheat.  
I also am depainted without skin,  
Or flesh or blood, all raw-boned, meager, thin;  
To show, assure, (O Damsel delicate,  
O spruce nice youths, too fond, effeminate,  
That neither your rare glistering beauty bright,  
Nor vain fair out sides can me ought delight.  
Yet further, I in neither sex am shown;  
Whereby it may be evidently known,  
That I have firm resolved not to spare  
Or male or female, whatsoe'er they are.  
Finally, I am figured (still) to stand  
With a most large and sharp scythe in my hand,  
To show, that as the Mower in the field  
Makes Corn and Grass unto his scythe to yield  
So, I from off the earth do all men mow,  
As (thus) the Poet pithily doth show. 
Sicut ante falcem seges;  
Ante mortem summi Reges.   
That is, 
As Corn before the scythe most keen,  
So in Death's presence, Kings are seen.   Fl. 
And, art thou so inexorable, Death?  
That thou sparest none, bereavest all of breath.  De. 
ay, I spare none, not one, who ere they be.  Fl. 
Alas, this seemeth most unjust to me;  
What? dost thou lusty lively youths destroy,  
But newly stepped upon the brink of joy?  
Together with the old decrepit Sire,  
Who, worn with age, seems every hour t'expire,  
And breathe his last, by aches, cureless pains,  
And therefore counts thy presence precious gains.  De. 
All's one to me, the youngling or the sage.  Fl. 
Alas, what profit (then) in youthful age?  
Since youth and old age have but one condition,  
And must submit to Fates most dire commission.  De. 
Indeed, if thou dost their condition eye,  
They both are subject to Mortality;  
But, if their probable-departure hence,  
Thou mayst discern this only difference;  
As, youngmen, soon may dye, though ere so strong:  
So, old-men can't alive continue long.  
Death is for old-men ever at the gate,  
For youngmen he with nets and snares doth wait.  
To old-men he is still before their eyes,  
To youngmen close behind their backs he lies.  
Death is the child hood of weak infancy,  
Death is the lad-age of our childe-hoodry,  
Death is the youth of our lad-age estate,  
Death is the manly-hood of youthful fate.  
Death is the old-age of our manhood stout,  
Death after old age doth decrepit flout.  
For Death is of Decrepid-age the Death,  
And (thus) 'tis plain that None that ere drew breath  
Could sheltered be in such a close estate,  
But, Death made entrance in Him, soon or late.  Fl. 
Alas, I surely thought (but plainly see,  
I did but gull myself) that None like Me,  
So lusty, lively, in their youthfull-blood  
So fresh in flower of age, so quickly should  
Be nipped and cropped, but, might make truce with death,  
And so enjoy a longer, happier breath.  De. 
O no, for, short is that felicity,  
Which still is tended with fragility.  Fl. 
Ah, though 'tis short, yet, who desires it not?  De. 
He that a tyresome tedious life hath got.  Fl. 
Yet, even he would scape death if he might.  De. 
Hast thou ne'er heard or read those lessons right.  
That, 'tis far best, not to be borne at all,  
Or soon to leave this life most tragical.  
That, dead than living, are in happier state.  
That, nought than Sleep does Death more personate.  
That, Death's the haven of ills, the help against woe,  
The only easer of all griefs that grow.  
That all must dye, that death concludes all strife,  
That death is better, happier, far than life.  Fl. 
That I have read them oft, to mind I call,  
But, held none true, and so forgot them all.  De. 
It seems indeed, theyare all slipped out of mind.  Fl. 
True, for, those things, in which, no joy we find,  
We scarce believe, and easily let them go.  De. 
But say, think'st thou that thou shalt die, or no?  Fl. 
I think I shall, but yet withal I hope  
The day's far off, ere Death with me will cope.  De. 
We hope things good, we hate things that are bad.  
And, what can worse be either held or had,  
Than a continual warfare, jar and strife,  
And, still to prop a transitory life?  Fle. 
O, but, what ere does please, gives ease to all.  De. 
And, canst thou that a pleasant passage call?  
Which is encumbered with so many straits,  
Whereon, fierce famine, thirst, and labour waits,  
Crosses and losses, and a sea of woe,  
Which, from corrupted life do fleet and flow?  Fl. 
Men used to pain are not so passionate;  
And we are so enured to such a state,  
And, daily so acquainted with all these,  
That, we scarce feel them; or, though felt, they please.  De. 
Wouldst thou not count it a choice benefit,  
If, one would thee of these dire fetters quit?  Fl. 
Yes, I should hold it the best favour found,  
If, first, I could believe that I am bound.  De. 
Peace, peace, for shame, canst thou not plainly see  
Life's discommodities base bonds to be?  Fl. 
O spare me, prithee, till I think them so,  
Till I believe them such, pray let me go.  De. 
Nay, now I smell thy Foxlike fallacy,  
I'll not do so, nor shalt thou so me tie  
As (once▪ one did, who spying me draw near,  
And brandishing this fatall-Sithe I bear  
Still in my hand. This only suit did make,  
That with my deadly dart I would not take  
His life from him, until he quite had done  
His deep devotions, pious prayers begun,  
Which finished, he'd thank me very much,  
And, quietly to dye would never grudge.  
I having ea●●ly granted his petition,  
And bound myself by oath, to this condition,  
Not once to touch him, till he quite had ended  
His orisons and prayers so pretended:  
He instantly left off, left me deluded,  
And from that time he with himself concluded,  
And made a vow, he never Death would pray  
To spare him, more, unto his dying-day.  
Maid, 'tis most easy, never to believe,  
Things we desire not, and, which most us grieve,  
But, I will deal with thee another way,  
And cause thee (instantly) aside to lay  
This vicious most pernicious fond opinion.  
Then lend an ear, put off (thou wanton Minion)  
Thy carnall-nicenesse, for, I'll now declare  
Things which to thee most wholesome, healthsome are.  
he's teachable that diligently hears,  
Show thyself such and lend me thy pressed ears.  
So shalt thou surely understand and find,  
That I have (herein) been to thee most kind  Fl. 
O Death, I'll hear thee most attentively;  
But, O, I would not have thee in mine eye.  De. 
Then, shut thine eyes, only set open thine ears,  
And now (first) tell me, how thou spendest thy years?  
How thou employst thyself, what pains dost take?  
What dost thou daily thy chief pleasure make?  
That thou art so much taken and delighted  
With Life's false fleeting sweets? more fitly slighted.  Fl. 
O Sir, my Exercises be most sweet,  
And to my nature, every way most meet.  
I feel no frying heat, nor freezing cold,  
My hand did never wheel or distaff hold,  
My heart in serious studies I ne'er penned,  
To sweeter pleasures, I myself have bend,  
Namely, in delicate delights to flow,  
To please my tooth, to public sports to go,  
To swim in luscious liquor, sparkling wine,  
To be arrayed in vestures rich and fine.  
To be a guest at banquets, nuptiall-feasts,  
To be at Plays and other joviall-jests.  
To dance lascivious measures, spend the nights  
With youthful Gallants, juvenile delights,  
On rich embroidered beds of Down to lie,  
My flesh in sweet hot baths to clarify.  
Finely to feed, fully to sleep and snort,  
To fill my flesh with pleasures of each sort.  De. 
But, that thou mayst thine own prime-state review,  
And take a just account and reckoning true,  
How thou hast spent each day from morn to night,  
What special work does this task expedite?  Fl. 
I never work, nor any work desire,  
My only business is earth's joys t' acquire.  De. 
What joys are they? I prithee to me show;  
Sure they be rare, whence such rare love doth grow.  Fl. 
My chiefest care is for my clothes and meat,  
My dainty breakfast in my bed to eat,  
Which is provided in such costly wise,  
That nothing wants my palate to suffice.  
This proem past; that all things may concur  
To answer my desires, in bed I stir  
And roll myself by soft-degrees most slow,  
(As, when a door smooth on the hinge doth go)  
And, thus, a sweet and soaking nap, I take,  
Desirous nothing more to shun, forsake,  
Then foreign quarrels, and domestic strife,  
From public tumults, to preserve my life;  
To shun all Courtly cares, to spend my days  
In silent rest, and be at ease always;  
To make myself most stick and smooth with fat,  
At banquets full of merry-table-chat.  De. 
But, now I hope thou wilt at last arise.  Fl. 
Yes, that I will; for, I do not so prise  
My Bed, to make it my world's sole delight,  
Nor my bedchamber a theatrick-sight.  
But, now, Sols glorious rays painting the skies,  
With golden-beames and glistering on mine eyes  
Through the transparent-windowes; nicely, I  
Call for my Gown full of embroidery,  
Of various, curious colours, wrought most rare  
With Flora's imitable tapestry fair.  
Which, ere put on, how many thoughts have I  
Touching its neatness or its bravery?  
Sometime, I such a gorgeous Gown do prize,  
As may attract on me beholders eyes;  
But, instantly, therewith some fault I find,  
And then another Coat I call to mind.  
For that, again (when brought) I do not care  
For, either 'tis too-heavy for my wear,  
Or, for the times not fashionate enough,  
I therefore, quickly, cast it off, in snuff;  
And, for another (yet) I forthwith send;  
Thus I in choosing clothes whole mornings spend.  De. 
And thus, I think, by trying them they tear,  
As much, or more, than if thou didst them wear.  Fl. 
My Clothes, at last, put-on to my content,  
Within mine own doors I cannot be penned:  
But, instantly, gad-out, and thither go,  
Where greatest concourse of fit Mates I know.  
Nor am I mindful much of Novelties,  
That is my Mistress Souls chief exercise▪  De. 
Thou sayst most true, for, She intends the mind,  
But, thou, thy meat, to feasting still inclined.  
For, 'tis the Minds connative quality  
To be most greedy after novelty.  Fl. 
True. But I haunt not common-confluences  
Of people, for such purpose; but my senses  
Find (inwardly) selfe-tickling daintiness  
Which, or I cannot, or I ●ill suppress.  
This, thus, within me sparks more ardently  
And, thus, thereto, more fuel I apply.  
For, if in that concourse of Gallants great  
I spy a prime-rose-youth most count and neat  
He me, no sooner eyes than fries with love;  
And from his guardian, soon, himself does move,  
And follows me, where-ere m● lust him leads.  
If I but frown, a sigh his sorrow pleads;  
If I but smile, he is most jocund, straight,  
On each kind word, a laugh doth ever wait:  
He sport's with's spoiler, ignorant, mean while,  
That he (thus) dallies but with Ishmael vile,  D. 
Thus whiles thou play'st, thou prey'st, yea stayest the youth.  Fl. 
'Tis so, indeed, thou sayst the very truth.  
For, whomsoe'er I view, if he obey,  
I either deeply wound, or deadly slay.  
Yet, neither I myself unhurt depart,  
For, I, by nature, have so kind a heart  
That he, whom by my lust, I captive take,  
Doth me (thereby) his servile Captive make.  De. 
Thus, for the most part, it betideth, still,  
The Spoiler proves a spoil, by after-ill.  
But, prithee tell me, whither dost thou lead  
This lustfull-Lad, that thus thy paths doth tread?  Fl. 
I'll freely tell thee all, and nothing hide.  
This lusty Lecher still doth by me bide,  
And, if I find him worthy every way,  
My best embraces to my bed most gay  
Adorned with rich and rare wrought tapestry,  
Full of love-sweetss, I bring him by and by.  
But, first, if Cupid call for delicates,  
We have a banquet, which lust stimulates;  
In which, and amorous tales we spend the day,  
Or else go see some sight, or merry play.  
Or, if we please to walk the pleasant fields,  
Where Flora's Beauty fair much comfort yields▪  
We, hand in hand, or arm in arm do go  
And, wanton jests and gestures, oft, do show.  
Our names we grave upon the bark of trees,  
Or else (at last) we tired with all these,  
Do lie and cool us under some cool shade,  
Or else in some sweet hot-bath, ready made,  
We both do bathe, our joints to supple more,  
Thus, softly, sweetly, is my life passed over.  De. 
A brave account (sure) of a gallant state,  
But, tell me, whether ought thou didst relate,  
Hath made thee better or a jot more wise?  Fl. 
Pish, I least care to purchase such a prize,  
As honesties or wisdoms ayrie-gaine,  
Let him that will (for me) those entertain.  
My flesh is tickled, touched with tenderness,  
This world, mine Inn, doth wholly me possess,  De. 
But, all wise men of whom I ever heard,  
Have, evermore, that life, as best, preferred,  
Wherein, they, every day, themselves have found  
In gravity and goodness to abound.  Fl. 
Yet, did not they with all their goodness perish?  De. 
So thinks the world, but yet, in heaven they flourish  Fl. 
Well, be it so. And let them live there still,  
So I may have worlds-pleasure at my will.  De. 
I? sayest thou so? yet, prithee say again,  
Whiles thou dost such a jocund life sustain,  
In what case does thy Mistress, soul abide?  
Does she not with thee sharply chafe and chide?  Fl. 
Indeed, she's somewhat angry with me, oft,  
But, with a smiling look and answer soft,  
I can her quickly please, But usually  
I leave her in her closerts privacy,  
Close at her prayers; where, if she stays too long  
I cease not to suggest, with motions strong,  
All my distracting-pleasures, to her mind,  
Whereby, she, in that exercise can find  
But little joy and comfort; which, to me,  
Tedious and irksome, I (still) find to be.  
Meanwhile, my Heaven born Mistress Lady great,  
Transported with celestial zealous heat  
And sacred fury, chides me bitterly,  
And, with these words, her anger out doth fly.  
" O! how perversely dost thou show thyself,  
" How troublesome to me (thou carnal elf)  
" Why dost thou such base thoughts to me suggest  
" When I am to my pious prayers addressed?  
" Thou shouldst me evermore, in all, obey,  
" And not my heart with such vaine-toyes orelay.  
" Hast thou not read what I have writ and placed  
" Over my Chamber-door? there, read thou may'st,  
" And rightly know, what I most wish, desire;  
" My God to get is all I do require.  
(For, this, indeed, is her inscription, still)  
" O do not, then, pervert and change my will.  
" I know whom I have served and obeyed,  
" Nay, whose blest-bride, myself, I, thus, have made,  
" Nothing, to me, more odious is than sin;  
" Nothing, than Prayer, hath, ere, more pleasant been.  
" O! let the doors be, then, barr'd-up most fast,  
" That all the House may inward lustre cast:  
" Let both the eyes be shut and closed ever,  
" That, loathsome lust may be admitted never.  
In suchlike manner (oft) she useth me,  
But, from my practice I'll not altered be▪  
For, ever still, I slily do foment  
Some new and unknown tickling toy to vent,  
Which may not only much distract her mind  
From sacred meditations; but may bind  
And reunite her love a fresh to me,  
Then, I to her, make this complaint, most free.  
" Sweet Mistress, you yourself too sharply use,  
" And, too-too strict and rigid courses choose:  
" O! will you, ne'er, your own rare beauty mind?  
" But, still, be to yourself, so cursed, unkind?  
" O! spare your eyes, weep not so much, so oft  
" Turn not, into hard horn, your knees so soft,  
" By frequent kneeling; you have long enough  
" Yea too-long led a life austere and rough;  
" i'll find you merrier mates, if you'll forsake  
" Your closet, and, with me, world's joys partake.  
My lovely Lady, hereupon, replies:  
" How merrily, at Dice, the time hence flies,  
" How muddily, at Prayers, it sticks and stays,  
" How still it steals away, at sports and plays?  
" How slow it seems to go, how tedious spent,  
" When, at God's worship, we are most intent?  
And thus, my Mistress hereto condescends▪  
And ready ears to my allurement lends.  De. 
It seems, then, that the maid, her mistress sways.  Fl. 
Most true. For she, in nothing, me gaine-sayes:  
But always holds me as her merriest mate,  
Hugs me, with kisses does me consolate.  
We be as one, `wee agree as one, in all,  
Namely, that we quench nor the sparkles small  
Of our sweet Loves dear lusts, but them fulfil  
Not to deter, but to prefer them still.  De. 
Thus, thou (O flesh) given as thy Mistress aid  
Art her destruction and chief scandal made.  Fl. 
O Sir, y'are much mistaken in the thing,  
Rather, much joy and solace, I her bring.  De. 
Thou dost not joy, but her annoy with woe.  Fl. 
Nay, then farewell Sir, if you censure so,  De. 
Farewell? nay soft, there's no way to evade,  
For (yet) more talk, I have thus long delayed.  
Nay, whimper not, you do but beat the air,  
If, for your struggling, you think I'll you spare.  Fl. 
Let me alone, or I aloud will cry;  
If thou provokest me with thy cruelty.  De. 
Canst thou accuse me, now of fornication?  Fl. 
No, but for theft I'll bring mine accusation.  De. 
Indeed, if accusations may suffice,  
The innocentest party guilty lies:  
But, can it by thy nimble wit be shown,  
To be a theft to claim and take mine own?  Fl. 
If those two Pronouns mine and thine might cease,  
The world's deep discord would not so increase.  De. 
How right thou hittest the nail, yea, pampered flesh,  
Whiles thou dost live, jars will arise afresh.  
I tell thee, Wench, thy white skin, painted face,  
Does in a Realm raise more contentions base,  
Than all thy Ladies utmost art or skill  
And strength of wit is able (ere) to still.  
But, I have caught thee, now, and thou art mine,  
I'll now take care to end thy cheats most fine.  Fl. 
O, I had rather run into a Stews,  
Than such a spighted Spittle-House to choose.  De. 
I easily believe thee, but, now know  
Thou must such Brothell-houses quite forgo.  
Death to the Suburbs now, hath made his way,  
Then (near the walls) thou inmate canst not stay.  Fl. 
What dost thou mean to touch me? raw-boned face,  De. 
To give thee (now) a deadly cold embrace.  Fl. 
Most irksome and unpleasant are esteemed  
Th'embraces of a wooer, ugly deemed.  
But what? is Death in love with flesh, I pray?  De. 
Yes eagerly, thy flesh to turn to clay.  Fl. 
Thou needs must be in love, who art in want.  De. 
I therefore covet, 'cause I feel such scant.  Fl. 
Will not a piece of me give thee content?  De. 
No, by no means, for ti's most evident  
That deaths devouring jaws, no parts will take,  
But all or nothing is his proper stake.  Fl. 
Yet, many Gallants full of youthful heat,  
Famous for beauty brave, and bodies neat,  
Have thought themselves t'have got an ample prey,  
If, on these roseal lips they could but lay  
And fix one only kiss, and wished no more,  
And yet must thou, worn lank and thin, all-ore,  
And, as thou seemest to me, bloodless and bare;  
Have me all-whole, as thine insatiate share?  De. 
I will not bare one inch, I'll have thee full.  Fl. 
Oh! whither dost thou, thus, me hale and pull?  De. 
Even to my horrid-house of clay, the Grave.  Fl. 
O! must thou such an expiation have?  
Must my fair corpse fillip an ugly urn?  De. 
It must, indeed, and must to dust return.  Fl. 
And, what companions shall I therein find?  De. 
Only great crawling worms, bred of thy kind.  Fl. 
O! wilt thou not me spare, but one year more?  De. 
No, not one hour, I told thee so, before.  
A Statute-Law, herein, doth on me lie,  
And I my charge must discharge, instantly.  Fl. 
What? Instantly? Ay me most woeful wretch!  
Spare me, but till I do my Mistress fetch:  
For, she, alas, doth little dream of thee,  
Or, of thy now so near approach to me.  De. 
Indeed, I think no less; for I believe,  
Thou friendlier entertainment wouldst me give,  
If more familiarly thou didst me know.  
But, hence, such strangeness doth between us grow:  
And, hence, I am your so unwelcome guest,  
'Cause, scarce, one thought of me is ere expressed.  
Yet, call her forth, I'll promise make, ne'er doubt,  
I'll thee not touch, before she, first, comes out.  Fl. 
O Mistress, Mistress! are you, now, asleep,  
More sound than ere you used, that hence you keep?  Soul. 
Thou art deceived, Maid, if thou thinkest so;  
That ever I did sleep, I do not know.  
But, what's the news? what is the cause and case,  
That thou me call'st, with such a frighted face?  Fl 
O Mistress! there's extreme necessity  
Fallen on us both; for, most impetuously  
A stranger knocks at door, of horrid hue,  
And (if I may speak what I think is true)  
Of fierce aspect, a most deformed creature,  
And every way of most uncomely feature.  
He stands without, but spite of you or me  
He plainly threats that he let-in must be.  So. 
Who is't, I prithee, that so saucily  
Behaves himself? what? Is't not fit that I  
Should mistress be of mine? bid him let's see  
What right he has to enter, then, tell me.  Fl. 
Tender (indulgent Mistress) I you pray  
Your tender Maiden, Flesh, I neither may,  
Nor dare so much as look him in the face,  
Much less expostulate, with him, the case  
I would not for a thousand worlds and more  
Go back again (alone) to him, to th' door:  
So ghastly, ghostly, frightful, spritelike, he,  
Fierce, furious, fatal, doth appear to me.  So. 
Then tell me (prithee) what may be his name,  
Or whence this formidable creature came.  Fl. 
Ask him yourself (I pray) a monster, sure,  
O, I cannot to talk with him endure.  
For, such bold liberty of speech he used,  
And me without least blushing so abused,  
As that he, me, his Paramour did call,  
And, on me laid his fatal Paws withal.  
Only, he (herein) showed some courtesy  
And plighted promise to me seriously,  
That, until you (dear Mistress) came out hence,  
He would not on me use his violence.  So. 
Alas, poor fool, and what wilt thou then be  
When I thy Mistress, Soul, go out of thee?  
Nothing (alas) but a poor carcase dead,  
On which, foul crawling worms must full be fed.  
But, I'll go meet him and do what I may  
Timely to tame his pride. Who art thou? say?  De. 
I am the utmost end of every thing.  Fl. 
O Mistress go not near him, fear his sting,  
O, if you love me, send him (soon) away,  
By treats or threats, by force or fullest pay;  
By any means, we must him quickly quail,  
And pack him hence, or our whole house will fail.  So. 
Peace peevish wench, I'll forth & talk with him.  
Who ere thou art, under this vizard grim,  
Horrid Hobgoblin-like, which dost beset  
And thus unseas'nably our household fret  
And fright, and much disquiet our sweet rest,  
Know this, that thou canst nought at all molest  
Or terrify my soul, no though thou bring  
A thousand deadly darts, and dost them fling  
With utmost fury, and this Court surround,  
Yet with least fear thou never canst me wound.  
What, though my carnal Maid, the flesh be frighted?  
For, she's (indeed) with niceness o're-delighted,  
And unacquainted with so grim aspects,  
And such unpleasing spectacles neglects?  
Yet, my prepared soul shakes off such fears,  
And all such frights as buzing-flyes out-beares.  
Then cut off all delays, make plain relation,  
What is thy name, and proper compellation?  De. 
I fright not folks with any Titles strange,  
Nor yet with many, mighty names do range;  
My name is short, yet sharp to what hath breath,  
And I by all, am vulgarly called Death.  So. 
'Tis very well.  Fl. 
But, fare you well were better;  
His hideous presence does me fear and fetter.  De. 
But Lady, if you please, I will more plain  
Explain myself; I, to the heavenly Train  
Am hasty-Herald. Body's Dissolution.  
Th' Inevitable-End. The Resolution  
Of all things. And, the Robber of Mankind.  
To thee being sent, thee friendly to unbind  
And set at liberty: this thy nice-Mayd  
The flesh, to see, in her Sepulture laid.  Fl. 
What Sepulture, I pray?  De. 
An earthly bed,  
With a clay-pillow underneath thy head.  Fl. 
I have no need of such a Chamberlain  
To make a Bed for me, so course and plain,  
I have already, beds more soft and sweet,  
And, than thy bed, for m● (me thinks) more meet.  So. 
I think you mean the Grave to be your bed,  De. 
You think most true & hit the nail o'th' head  
This I have ready made, then let your Maid  
Go down with me, for, therefore have I stayed,  
And therefore am I hither come to thee,  
And, this demand is thus commanded me.  So. 
Nor may I such Commission disobey.  Fl. 
O my dear Mistress, send him (soon) away,  
O will you (now) forsake me? O, wherein  
Have I (so far) to you offensive been?  
Thus to be left, have I not still regarded  
And done your will? and must be (thus) rewarded?  
Peace, Maid, we must resistlesse-Fate obey,  
Death is not sent to be sent back with Nay.  
And, surely, if thou sound didst conceive  
And rightly weigh these things, thou wouldst perceive  
And see and say that (thus) thou much dost gain,  
Rather than any detriment sustain.  Fl. 
O when shall I this Paradox hold true?  So. 
When sense doth yield, and reason doth subdue  Fl. 
Must (then) my sense to reason so submit?  So. 
ay, by all means, it is most just and fit.  Fl. 
O strange! then what have you (my Mistress done▪  
Who have been still by my persuasions won,  
And, all this while, to them have lent your ear,  
Listening to me (your Maid) without all fear,  
Whiles I myself was wholly led along,  
And taken up with lustful senses strong.  
I still was angling with this hook and bait,  
And you to catch it, greedily did wait.  
Thus, you with least allurements I could train  
From Prayers to Plays; things sacred to profane.  
Thus, not your reason but my carnall-sense  
Led you along with fearless confidence.  
Why (then) do you (now) reason so much press?  
Which, you yourself, so long, did thus transgress.  So. 
O Maiden, Maiden, this is it, indeed,  
●hat makes me (now) so willing to be freed,  
And thee forsake; unless my soul I'll kill,  
● freely must confess I did thy will;  
But, O my soul, thou hast an Inmate been  
Too long (alas) in this dark house of sin.  
Yet, be not sorry that I now must leave thee,  
And that thy Mother, Earth, must now receive thee.  
●Whence first I thee received as my friend,  
And, whither (now) I do thee recommend)  
For, 'tis that I may thee enjoy again,  
A body far more fair, without least stain.  Fl. 
Is't possible that I can fairer be?  
By lying in the earth disjoined from thee?  
Who but a mad man can believe this thing?  
●hat such a place should glistering beauty bring?  
●nd make my flesh more fair? where earth's my bed,  
●he Grave's my house, and worms on me are fed.  So. 
Yet, thus 'twill be. For, dost thou not (now) find  
●hat sleep makes thee of livelier, fresher mind?  Fl. 
What then?  So. 
What sleep is, that is death also.  Fl. 
But, death is too too long a sleep, I trow.  So. 
Why shouldst thou judge so? who would think sleeps  
Too long, whom, in her arms, his Mother keeps?  Fl. 
Rather his Stepdame, who'd not that refuse?  So. 
Thou dost thy Mother most unkindly use.  
Is not the Earth thy naturall-mother just?  
From thence thou cam'st, thither return thou must.  
Thou, hitherto, art most unworthy known,  
Of my abode with thee, and kindness shown:  
I have but used thee as an Inn by th'way;  
Wherein, although, I, peradventure, may  
Lodge for a night, yet may not there remain;  
Fear not to die (then) death shall be thy gain;  
Since, 'tis a Passage, and sets-ope the gate,  
Of a more happy life, more blessed state.  De. 
Forbear, I pray, these tedious altercations,  
Death cannot suffer such procrastinations.  
Many great tasks on me imposed are,  
Which I must expedite with special care.  So. 
And, we will readily heavens will obey;  
Only, forbear a little while, I pray,  
Till I have made my Maid more fit for thee,  
For, she is nice and timorous, you see,  
And is much frighted at thy fearful face,  
Stand by (therefore) I pray, a little space;  
Till I but only her more pliant make,  
To thy unwelcome message; and to take  
My wholesome counsels, admonitions free,  
Which, being done, I will most ready be  
To tread the footsteps of that Gorgias grave,  
In sweet desire my passage forth to have:  
Who, being asked (once) if willingly  
He was content to leave this life and dye,  
Answered; Yes truly; For, I go hence, glad,  
As from a rotten ruined Cottage bad.  De. 
I pray proceed (then) and perform your mind.  So. 
Come near (my Flesh) to me thy Mrs. kind,  
Prepare thy pliant ears, and facile heart,  
To these last precepts, which I'll now impart.  Fl. 
Dear Mistress, speak, for whatsoe'er you say  
I ready am to hear, to grant, obey.  So. 
Friend's parting-words most inly penetrate  
And ●he sad sighs they (then) ejaculate,  
Do in the hearers heart stamp deep impression,  
And make them yield far more intent concession.  
We both are (now) a long-farewell to take,  
And I from thee, and thou from me must make  
A separation, and disunion large;  
Come hither (then) and hear my parting-charge,  
Prepare, and fit thyself, forthwith, for Death,  
Before he fiercely comes to stop thy breath.  
Forsake those pleasures, wherewith (heretofore)  
Thou wast engaged, yea engulfed all over;  
Leave them, I say, and being left, despise them  
And henceforth as thy souls chief murderers prise them,  
And, now, the small remains of time yet lent,  
To gain thy God in Christ, let whole be spent.  
The fight is short, the victory is great.  
And though the skirmish may much danger threat;  
By how much more thou dost in battle strive,  
The more the joy, in conquest, thee'll revive.  
For, mark this one thing in a special measure,  
If, for the love of earth and carnal pleasure  
Thou leave God's love, and seem his Grace to scorn  
God's love will leave thee wretched and forlorn,  
Even in thine hour of most necessity,  
And give thee over to hell's tyranny.  
Thou art arrived (now) at the Haven of rest,  
Where vessels must be firmly rigged and dressed.  
Thy day of death, which, as thy last, did fright thee,  
Is thy eternal Birth day to delight thee.  
Then cast off every clog that would thee stay  
If any darling sin lie in thy way  
Which thou extremely hast delighted in  
(As, with too many thou hast tired been)  
Then leave it, loathe it. For, thy foot must tread  
A holier way, a happier life to lead.  
What ere is brittle, is of little price,  
And being frail doth fail us in a trice;  
And now thy feeble flesh must needs abide  
The common-Chance which does all sorts betide.  
Then, wonder not, thy Predecessors all  
Did tread the selfsame path, both great and small,  
How aptly answered they in suchlike case?  
Whether we watch or sleep in any place,  
Whether we talk or silent hold or peace,  
Whether we walk or from our works do cease,  
Whether we will or nill in any thing,  
By times lest minutes we do daily bring  
Our sliding, gliding days (at last) to end,  
And then to nature's course must bow & bend.  
Then weep not (my poor Maid) cease showers of tears  
At this my parting from thee, cease all fears.  
In heavens duetime, we both again shall meet,  
And with full joy enjoy a union sweet.  Fl. 
Dear Mistress, these your admonition's kind  
Do mightily prevail and ease my mind.  
Yet, I cannot some struggling thoughts dissemble  
To think to dye and be dissolved, I tremble.  So. 
Alas (weak Flesh) that's it I most desire;  
To be dissolved, and fly to th' heavenly Quire.  
O do not thou indulge thyself too much,  
Why dost thou look so pale at deaths sweet touch?  
Why dost thou quake and quiver at his sight?  
Since thou shalt have a frame more fair and bright  
Than ever (yet) thou hadst or canst conceive;  
These rotten mud-walls thou must only leave,  
To be pulled down and be built up again  
To turn to dust, than (ever) new remain.  
He (only) fear of death is fit to show,  
Which to his Saviour Christ is loath to go;  
● go before that I may see his face,  
We both shall join, and he'll us both embrace.  
Meanwhile thou must sleep sweetly in thine urn,  
And, there into thy native dust return,  
from whence thou shalt in far more beauty rise,  
●nd see thy Saviour, even with these same eyes.  
●or, thou art laid in earth, to lay-away  
Thy earthly-substance, corrupt state of clay.  
Be then courageous. For, as corn, men sow,  
Must, first, die in the ground, before it grow,  
Must, first, seem rotten, ere it rise again:  
Even so thy Body, like unto the grain,  
Must, first, lie dead and rotten in the grave,  
Ere it in heaven, eternity can have.  Fl. 
Now, truly Mistress, you have sweetly said;  
I now am much assured, and well paid:  
Being (thus) forewarned, I am forearmed from fear,  
Death's face is (now) less terrible, than ere.  
And (now) O lovelesse-life, burnt out enough,  
Put out thy light, cease (now) thy twinkling snuff,  
Farewell, dear Mistress, sweetest, soul, farewell;  
In this assured hope, ring out my knell.  
That in my Gods good time, I, raised shall be,  
With thee, my soul, my Saviour Christ to see.  So. 
Having this hope, in dying thou shalt live;  
And, I, with joy, shall me to thee, regive.  De. 
How hardly can these two divorced be?  
Have ye done talking? and given way to me?  
Your mutual last-farewell take (now) I pray;  
Time and my task will (now) no longer stay.  So. 
O Death, I prithee (now) take thine own time;  
Make haste, that I, to heaven my haven may climb  
Come (now) and put thy charge in execution,  
For, I, with this one well-fixt resolution,  
Will wind up all. I have not so lived here,  
In this vain world (yet, hereunto, I fear,  
I have been too-inclined, too much affected,  
Which, now I grieve, and leave thee more neglected  
As that to live (here) longer, I should shame,  
Or that I durst not dye for fear of blame:  
And that because I serve a Master kind,  
Whom I, in Christ, do reconciled find.  
Thus, therefore to go out of this frail life,  
Is to go into heavenly pleasures rife:  
Thus, life to leave, is aye to live in Peace,  
In full fruition of all joys increase:  
Thus, thee my Maid, I to the earth commend,  
Whiles I Heaven's Kingdom happily ascend.  De. 
Thus (then) adieu  
To both of you.  
The end of the first Dialogue.   

The Second DIALOGUE.  
Between the Devil, the Flesh, and the World.  
The Argument of the second Dialogue.  
The World and Flesh to every evil  
Are only Agents for the Devil:  
But here, the Flesh being mortifi'de,  
Satan's suggestions are denied;  
Who can do nought but tempt to ill,  
Has no more power, although more Will;  
Which amply to the world he shows,  
And how o'er carnal men he crows.  
But neither (yet) the world effects,  
Nor, He himself his foul projects  
Upon the sanctified Heart,  
Dead to the world and hell's black Art.  
The Devil (thus) repelled each way  
With rage recoils, makes (there) no stay.  Di. 
WHere are ye my comragues, my servants true?  
My Martiall-mates, by whom I must subdue?  
What? is there no hope left to lift or force  
The sullen Soul from her religious course?  
Whereon she is so fixed and fully bend.  
What? no devise this gear for to prevent?  
Must my high glory suffer such eclipse?  
And be so child, nigh killed with pious nips?  
Surely, I ever since my first great fall  
Have burned with lust, and boiled with bitter gall  
Of deep desire to fence and fortify,  
Yea and expatiate our large Empery.  
Yet still I find by old experience,  
That whiles the soul gets the pre-eminence,  
o'er thee the flesh, reason the soul subjects,  
And grace guides reason, all hath ill effects:  
My projects perish and my engines fail,  
My force grows feeble and my power does veil.  
Be stirring (then) my Champions old and brave,  
For, work enough to do, ye see ye have.  
Fie, are ye not ashamed more sound to sleep  
Now, than ye used, and sluggishly to keep  
Your hands within your bosoms, since that you  
Have for your Master so much work to do?  
For shame arise, shake off this drowsiness,  
And hunt and haunt about with eagerness.  
Now is my Summer-season, harvest fair,  
Which, if by your neglect and want of care  
It be let slip and fruitlessly passed over.  
Farewell all hope for ever to recover  
My own peculiar strength and princely state:  
O then fair flesh, neat, nice and delicate,  
My faithful servant, whom above the rest  
I most do trust and ever prized best;  
And, on whose strong assistance and brave aid  
I ever have my chief assurance stayed,  
And justly too: For, a domestic foe  
Wounds the more deeply, gives the deadlier blow.  
But what hast thou been doing all this while?  
Why dost thou thus waste time? my hopes beguile?  
What? wilt thou (now) prove turncoat, backward fly  
And leave me in my most necessity?  Fl. 
Alas, I know not what to do or say!  
My Mistress hath me starved and pined away;  
And to hard fastings, she harsh stripes does add,  
I wretch am nought but skin and bone; too bad.  
Whereby I am not unto lust incited,  
Nor with lascivious mo●ions ought delighted:  
If I to walk abroad to friends affect,  
I am recalled, shut up, and sound checked;  
If I desire full feasts inflamed with wine,  
She useth on me most sharp discipline.  
What ere is irksome to me she commands,  
What ere delightsome, strictly she withstands.  
Then, in this case, alas, what should I do?  
I cannot her content, and yet serve you.  Di. 
Thou sayest most true. But how may this thing be?  
That she should so much curb and bridle thee?  
What? hast thou lost all power of reluctations?  
All thy most sly acustomed inchantations?  
I have thee known a most facetious-Lasse,  
A nimble Artist, apt to bring to pass  
With fine insinuations her to prove,  
And, so, thyself t'ingratiate in her love;  
Where are those fiery tickling darts laid by?  
Wherewith thy soul thou woundedst frequently▪  
Where are (I say) those carnal cogitations  
Which with importunate rife molestations  
Did beat upon thy heart? occasioned  
By drink, sleep, pleasure, flesh-much pampered?  
Hast thou forgot, that death first entrance made  
At those two windows which the soul betrayed?  
Where are (then) those bright sparkling lights most fair?  
Which used to be ensnared and to ensnare.  
Canst thou behold no face, as thy fit prize?  
Or hast thou pull'd-out lust-alluring eyes?  
Or, is't for love of virtue, my chief foe,  
That thou dost life's sweet pleasures thus forgo?  Fl. 
My Mistress 'tis that on me does inflict  
A rigid sparing course and life most strict.  Di. 
And, what of that? must thou therefore be nice?  Fle. 
O Sir, a moderate life does murder vice;  
Quite quencheth lust, doth valiant virtue nourish,  
Corroborates the soul, makes the mind flourish,  
And elevate itself to things above;  
Whereby it comes to pass that I still prove  
More faint and feeble, she more active is;  
She stronger; I more weak to do a miss.  Di. 
Thou dost endure sharp slavery indeed;  
I wish thee (then) shake off thy yoke with speed.  
Deal roundlier with thy soul, her tartly chide,  
For, if so Saintlike she in thee abide,  
And exercise on thee such holiness,  
Thou losest me, and dost thyself distress.  
Thou must therefore, beginnings most withstand,  
And have this Sentence ready still at hand,  
Pleasure is of all ill the luscious meat.  
This, thou must sugaredly suggest, repeat  
Unto the mind of thy great Mistress fair,  
With this thou must her heart entice, ensnare,  
Which part, by thee, with wit and craft well played,  
Thou hast the day, and victor shalt evade.  Fl. 
But, these mine arms unarmed are and faint,  
My courage dead; I can me not acquaint  
With earth's delights, nor seek nor yet suggest  
To any pleasures, for I them detest.  
My nimbleness of wit doth fail me quite,  
Connative-lust in me hath lost its might.  
I see not aught unlawfully to will,  
I more wish food, than pleasures to fulfil.  Di. 
I? is it so? return (then) to thy dust;  
Thou art not worthy my least love or trust.  
Yet stay a while, for I'll to thee call forth  
My other agent of more precious worth.  
Which, with more care and sedulous respect  
Will all my high designs fully effect.  
●ome near, most worthy World, my steadfast friend,  
My matchless Mousetrap, whereinto I send  
Besotted sinners, who, with heedless hearts  
Are caught, whiles they neglect soule-saving parts.  
Thou, world, I say, who when thou seem'st to smile,  
Dost much more hurt, than when thou dost turmoil.  
And, when thou dost entice to be affected,  
Art most to be avoided, disrespected;  
Then, with supine neglect to be despised,  
When men by thee are forced or advised.  
Hence 'tis that they which have thy favour found,  
Are like those men, which in deep seas are drowned.  Wo. 
Sir, I am ready and most promptly pressed,  
In all things to perform your high behest;  
Most forward, free, t'endure all labours great  
To suffer pinching hunger, cold or heat,  
Yea, and what not? whereby I may express  
My bounden Best, to you, with eagerness.  Di. 
Hark, dost thou hear my most obsequious Client?  
How readily addressed, how pressed and pliant?  
With all approved care his best to bend  
The confines of our Kingdom to extend.  Fl. 
I hear right well, and cannot choose but smile:  D. 
What makes thee smile, thou thin-skined quean most vile  Fl. 
His madness, which a measure doth surmount  D. 
But, my wise world does thee most sottish count,  
Whose rigid life, thy life hath well nigh spent,  
And struck thee dead to pleasure and content.  Fl. 
Nay rather: But what rage of slavish sin  
Does vex and much perplex all those, within,  
Which thirst so after world's Wormwood and Gall?  
And following him, do on life's shipwreck fall,  
Enduring (thus) much mischief, and the power  
Of impious tyranny, souls to devour.  D. 
What's this? who made thee such a Preacher, pray?  Fl. 
She, which me governs and whom I obey.  Di. 
A wretched service 'tis to be regarded,  
Where a sharpe-life is for full-pay rewarded.  Fl. 
Nay rather, he's to foolish bondage bend,  
Which serves the wrangling-Divell, ne'er content.  Di. 
Is't possible thou shouldst thus saucy be?  
I'll plague this-pride with all extremity.  Fl. 
Your threatenings great do little me affright,  
I need not fear the Devil's fraud or might;  
Having the Lord far stronger on my part.  
I know there's nothing sweeter to thy heart  
Than, at thy pleasure, me to make to sin,  
And having sinned, mine overthrow to win;  
But, now at last I have resolved to leave  
Thy slavish yoke, which did me long bereave  
Of my best liberty; for, now I see  
How many sins, so many Devils in me:  
And, that unless I these from me expel,  
The others will within me lurk and dwell.  
But, thou hast surely lost a Maid of me;  
And, blessed be heaven, whose grace hath set me free.  
The flesh, well ruled, is servant to the soul,  
If this do rule, the other's in control.  Wo. 
Intolerable is thine insolence,  
To hear thee longer, I want patience.  Fl. 
And, want it still, who cares for that, I pray?  Wo. 
Thou shouldst (I think) give, to thy elder, way.  Fl. 
My elder, that thou art, indeed, I grant,  
Not better, whiles thouart Satan's stiff servant.  Wo. 
Why? what hadst thou been (prithee) without me?  Fl. 
Nay, but for me, what had become of thee?  Wo. 
The World, I (surely) evermore had been.  Fl. 
Nay, rather, a wild Desert, empty, thin.  
For, what's the world? if men do it not furnish,  
And, what is man? if flesh do him not garnish.  Di. 
Thou arguest wittily; But, yet, I say,  
The world begirts and hems thee every way.  Fl. 
But, were not flesh, in being, presupposed,  
It could not be begirt and so enclosed.  Di. 
Well, well, forbear, I can no longer bear thee:  
Or hold thy peace, or I'll no longer hear thee.  
But, if thou (thus) me cross and contradict,  
I'll on thee (soon) my utmost rage inflict.  Fl. 
Thou canst not hurt one-haire upon my head  
Unless my Maker hath so ordered.  
Meanwhile, I'll hear what exhortation fine  
Thou giv'st the World to act all thy design.  Di. 
I'll let thee hear, if so thou wilt conceal it.  Fl. 
Nay, whatsoe'er I hear, I'll (sure) reveal it.  
Lest, others, which thy counsels do not know,  
Through ignorance, themselves do overthrow.  Di. 
Thou treacherous slut, go on (then) do thy worst,  
If, thou forsake me, I have others nursed,  
And nuzled-up, and those of thine own kin,  
And near acquaintance, who have ever been  
My far more constant active instruments,  
Clinging close to me with their full consents.  Fl. 
I doubt it not; But, O that it might be,  
That, them, by grace, I throughly cleansed could see!  
Then, they, with me, would quickly thee forsake,  
And, faithfully, their souls their sovereigns make.  Di. 
Come thou to me (my World) lend thou thine ear  
Thou, all my crafts & counsels (now) shalt hear.  Wo. 
Speak on (great Sir) thy world is still and mute, bold,  
To hear thy hests, and then to execute.  Di. 
Brave World, my most renowned Champion  
By whom, I most of my large Empire hold;  
Whom, whither I may praise for readiness  
To my commands; or for selfe-nimblenesse,  
In thy enchanting Arts; I know not well;  
So bravely thou, in both, dost bear the bell.  
Meanwhile, what may I thee most fitly name?  
A theatre full of contention's flame.  
Where all do act their parts, contend and strive,  
But very few, with victory, do thrive.  
Thou hast circensean-games, those pristine sports,  
Which have been exercised in Rome's rare Courts;  
And those, most exquisitely ready made,  
Where, each may his affected course invade;  
Where thou shalt find a miscellany strange,  
All of all sorts in their base courses range.  
There, first and worst of all, thou mayst behold  
The avaricious, greedy after gold,  
Who want, as well, the wealth already got,  
As, that, they tug and toil for, and have not.  
Who ride and run, and sweat and swear, and lie,  
By right or wrong, by force of fallacy,  
To gather heaps of wealth, and hoarded gain,  
In using which, as hopeless, and as vain,  
As if they never had them in their hands:  
In which respect, here, all the difference stands  
'twixt greedy havers, and those, nothing-having  
That, these, in wanting; those themselves depraving  
Of use of what they have, their state do show.  
Either, things wanted, they do covet, so,  
That, they may have them; or, things (now) enjoyed,  
They fear to lose, or, lest they be destroyed.  
They, filthy gain before plain loss esteem,  
And wealth got any way, they pleasant deem.  
All nets and snares, all gins and grins they lay  
To compass coin, and make a gainful prey.  
If profit but peep out with half an eye,  
Then are they tickled, nettled, eagerly;  
They itch to be made rich, and fly to gain,  
They Grace neglect, which makes me laugh amain.  
They sing with frantics, and with fools they run  
T'a painted pair of stocks, where theyare undone.  
For, what else do they, but make their own snares  
Whiles hoarding gold, they heap up galling cares?  
Who knows not how that Achans' wedge of gold,  
And Dagons' house, them to destruction sold?  
Yet, with such subtle shifts I use to hide  
And cloak and palliate their poysonous-side,  
That, not least glimpse of my-sly-worke appears,  
Nor of their owne-salvations-losse, least fears.  
And, how (indeed) should they or fear or fly,  
The danger, which they cannot find or spy?  
Riches are got with toil, are kept with care,  
With envy and distrust increased are;  
At last, with gripes of conscience, grief of heart,  
Or, they from us, or we from them must part:  
Yet, these, the vicious Avaricious-man  
Idolatrously love, yea worship can;  
And in his heart to them a Church erects:  
For, that, man worships, which he most affects.  
They, then, that prize gold more than God above,  
Their goods as gods; land, as their Lord, they love.  
Next, my brave World, within thy compass wide  
The puft-Ambitious round about do ride;  
And, these are always fowlers for high honours  
On highest turrets to erect their banners.  
And, for this end, sleep from their eyes they banish,  
And from their minds sweet rest & peace doth vanish.  
Proudly they perk aloft, unsafely sit,  
Headlong they tumble, when their bark is split.  
Wherein, they, me their Prince (right) personate,  
Who, higher raised, fell more precipitate.  
Briefly, here, in thy courts take their carreire  
Voluptuous-wantons, who no colour fear,  
Who, for a little posting-shade of pleasure  
Hazard salvation, souls eternal treasure.  
Here also run the Wrathful fretful Rout,  
Who swell and swagger, rage and rave about,  
Who, Salamander-like, live best in fire  
Whose grateful works answer my great desire.  
For, if Peacemakers be Gods sons esteemed;  
Then (sure) peace-breakers must my sons be deemed.  
Here, run the rabble of hell's Envious elves,  
Who pine at others, but most pinch themselves.  
Who are much vexed at their neighbour's joy,  
And no less jocund at their great annoy.  
Whose base and most malicious inclination,  
Is unto me of passing acceptation.  
Here, finally, are sottish-Sluggish-ones,  
Who pass their lives like lifeless lazie-drones.  
All these do ramble in thy circle round,  
By whom our treasury most rich is found.  
For, as Saints souls are Gods best treasures deemed;  
So, ay their spoil have my best sport esteemed.  
Then, buckle to thy business, play thy part,  
Now let me see thine active, expert heart.  
I may suggest foul facts unto the thought,  
Thou must them urge, & see them throughly wrought.  
But, if thou long, our Empire to enlarge,  
Thou must most chiefly execute this charge:  
Namely, ith'first place, to remove or stay,  
Occasions, tending to good, any way.  
Thou, many-men (I think and hope) shalt find,  
To let alone forbidden-things inclined,  
More out of shame or fear, than for goodwill;  
This shame, thou from their minds, must push-off still  
That, neither sense nor shamefacedness therein  
May curb or keep them back from any sin.  
This, if thou dost, as easily thou mayst,  
If thou flinch not, nor from my counsel stray'st,  
That goodly troop, and train of seeming-Saints,  
Shall, bare and blind and snared in sins constraints,  
Run●e after thee, and thou with cords of vice,  
Shalt them to dance after thy pipe, entice;  
And draw them up and down from sin to sin;  
From one lust to another, them to win:  
And, thus, they, tired and mired with sins, at length,  
Shall pass before their driver, void of strength.  
Meanwhile, myself, will nothing intermit,  
Which may my throne's enlargement fully fit,  
And, if thou show thyself my servant true,  
I'll pay thy work the wages just and due.  
I (as thou knowst right well) will exercise,  
That expert art, practised by hunters wise,  
Who hunt in garments green like groves and woods,  
Whereby the Dear, which 'bout the mountains scuds,  
They, at more leisure with more pleasure may  
Deceive, of life bereave and beareaway.  
Just so, will I, most nimbly play my part,  
Now, here: now, there: I up and down will start;  
Sometime a lamb, sometime a lion stout,  
Sometime thick-darknesse; then I'll light bring out:  
And so to several times, conditions, places,  
I'll put on most fit various tempting-faces.  
For, to deceived men mourning, I'll be sad,  
To cheat the cheerful, I'll be merry-mad:  
To gull the godly (if so be I might)  
I'll be transformed 'nto an Angel bright:  
To sting the strong, I'll seem a lamb most mild,  
To murder meeke-ones, ravening wolf most wild.  
Yea, oft, I openly rage, lion-like,  
Oft, with the dragon, secretly I strike.  
By these means (though, sometimes a strong knit band  
May our temptations happily withstand)  
Yet, there's no doubt, but (at the last) we shall  
Upon an happy hoped issue fall.  
For, no man (always) lives so cautelous  
But may, sometime, ensnared be by us;  
So he upon thy pleasing baits do rest,  
And my most various pills do well digest.  
For why? much difference must be in th' essays,  
To cross the craft of all my cheating ways:  
To bear the frequent, yea continual blows  
Of him, whose subtle nature plainly shows  
His genuine-cunning and sly policy,  
Got, by hid malice and antiquity.  
For, since the time that I from heaven fell,  
I fell a vexing those whom God loves well:  
Even his dear sons: And, never (yet) did cease  
My hatred against that creature to increase  
Till I had utterly undone, destroyed  
His precious soul, with me, to be annoyed:  
That creatures soul (I say) which God did make  
His masterpiece and image blessed to take,  
That he might also, at the last, possess  
That heavenly glory, matchless blessedness,  
Which I through mine own pride most justly lost,  
And, ever since, hath me most dear cost.  Fl. 
O, how most plainly hast thou shown thyself  
To be the devil (indeed) a damned-else.  
But, all thy snares and gins are laid in vain  
So long as I do none of thine remain:  
Whom only, thou dost greedily affect,  
Whom wholly thou wouldst impiously infect.  
For, whom, indeed, can all thy snares allure?  
If, he, relying on my counsel sure,  
Refuse thy cheating counsel to obey;  
'tis mine-owne simple softness that makes way  
For all thy juggling tricks; I say, 'tis I  
That fit Voluptuous-lust for Venery.  
The Avaricious for accursed gain;  
Th' Ambitious for his swelling loftie-straine,  
The Envious for his most malicious heart:  
The Wrathful how to act his raging-part.  
The Gluttonous for his lust-breeding-cates.  
The Slothful, who for sleep and slumber waits.  
Then, what needs all thy supersilious boast?  
Thou canst but tempt, and try, and move, at most,  
For, then, if I resist, refuse, withstand,  
Thou dost but cast thy seed upon the sand.  
They, then, which truly are discreet and wise  
(And, herein, I ingenuously agnize,  
I speak against myself) O let them ever  
Curb my indulgent nature, nuzle it never;  
O let them (always) use all rigidness  
Against me, their Flesh, which work mine own distress  
Let them delight to exercise on me,  
What ere may cross me most, most irksome be.  
But, as for pleasing-things, which me affect,  
O let them quickly, wholly, them reject▪  
Which wholesome counsel if they timely take,  
They shall, not only, thy hopes frustrate make,  
And put thee, their arch-enemy to flight,  
But, having with victorious sweet delight  
Finished the battle, got the conquest brave,  
At last, a Crown of glory they shall have  Di. 
Thou filthy quean; why dost thou thyself show  
Our most nefarious, most pernicious foe?  Fle. 
Because that He alone that me created,  
Thus, to Himself (by grace) me regulated:  
When, to my lust I full allowance gave,  
I was thy servant and thy wretched slave,  
But, once recalled and freed from that estate,  
By holy abstinence made moderate,  
I learned my God, whom best I ought, to serve;  
From thee, whom first I followed, thus to swerne.  Di. 
And what? wilt thou, my World, forsake me too?  Wo. 
I must forsake thee; what else shall I do?  
For, if the Flesh forsake me, what am I?  
On whom my state hath its dependency.  Di. 
Nay, do not so: rather our darts let's cast,  
And force her to our beck and check at last.  Fl. 
He which may forced be, knows not to dye;  
But, I have learned t'embrace Death readily:  
And, die I will to sin, thee to destroy,  
And bid farewell to th' world and worldly-joy.  Wo. 
If thou bid me farewell, I ill shall grow,  
Forsake not me, for I with thee will go.  Di. 
Then farewell both, for Hell's my only due,  
Thither I go, from whence I came to you:  
Meanwhile; let all know this, that boldly sin  
And grieve not at it; they have hell, within;  
A hellish-conscience lodging in their breast,  
And I have slaves and whips the same t'infest.  
An end of the second Dialogue.   

The Third DIALOGUE.  
Between Man and his Conscience.  
The Argument of the third Dialogue.  
Man and his Conscience altercate  
About the Souls and Bodies state.  
Man (here) complains of much unrest,  
That Conscience does him sore molest.  
Conscience, as much, of Man complains,  
That his ill-doing her constrains  
To testify against him still,  
'Cause he resists his Maker's will.  
Where, by the way, Conscience displays  
Sweet rules for ordering all his ways;  
And, to them both, true peace to win,  
Finding the cause of all in Sinne.  Man. 
Why, O my Conscience dost thou so perplex me?  
Why dost thou so much gripe and grind and vex me?  
Wilt thou, mine inmate, whom I entertain,  
Tell tales of me, and against me (thus) complain?  Con. 
The charge, which I received to keep in trust,  
Alive I look to: Dead, return I must.  Ma. 
Alas, poor conscience, if I ruined be,  
I prithee what will (then) become of thee?  Con. 
Howe'er thou fare, I'll bear thee company,  
And the same smart we'll suffer mutually.  
Alive or dead, I will thee not forsake,  
If thou live well thou wilt me happy make:  
If thou live ill I shall both fie and groan,  
And all my griefs and wrongs I will make known.  
For or against thee, I must witness bear:  
A thousand armies (hence) cannot me fear.  
And, this, I know, that though Revenge come late,  
Yet, 'tis most sure, and layes-on heavy weight.  Ma. 
Wretch that I am, I (then) am quite undone,  
What shall I do? O whither shall I run?  Con. 
Run? what? to hide thee? Ah, there's no place left,  
I am of all retyring-holes bereft:  
Though thou couldst creep into earth's intrals low,  
Earth, no safe shelter could on thee bestow.  
If thou more swift than Easterne-winde couldst fly,  
Thou couldst not scape my fierce velocity.  
As swift as thought, I, th'air can penetrate,  
And, nothing can my course procrastinate:  
But, I would follow, yea pursue thee so,  
That I would still, in thine own footsteps go.  
" Then, say not thou, there's none can me espy,  
" None can me hear, fast shut is ear and eye.  
" Who can me view, since darkness me doth hide,  
" Since strong stonewalls close me on every side.  
" Since none can see me, whom I need to fear,  
" Tus●, God, my faults does not in memory bear.  
Vain, most profane are all such thoughts as these,  
Shall not the eyes-creator see with ease?  
And shall not he that made the ear, soon hear?  
Or, He that plants the heart, know all things clear?  
All things to his Omniscience naked are;  
Fly from the field to th' town with frighted care,  
Out of the street into thy house make haste,  
Thence, though thou be in thy bedchamber placed,  
Yet, know, that I, by thy Creator's will,  
Within thee rest, and am thy witness still.  
Whom, if thou with an evill-eye behold,  
To use those words, to me, thou wilt be bold,  
Of Ahab to Elias (impiously)  
What? hast thou found me, O mine enemy  
And, I, most readily shall answer thee,  
I have thee found, and must against thee be,  
'Cause, thou hast sold thyself to work what's i●●  
Before the Lord, which does thy guilt fulfil.  
Behold (therefore) I now against thee rise,  
And bring upon thee purchased miseries.  Ma. 
Alas, I then perceive, our foul offences  
Are most unsafe, though daubed with fair pretences.  Con. 
What though they could be safe in their commission,  
If, yet, they bring thee to unsure condition?  
Or, what good comes to sinners by being hid,  
If, guilt, to hope so, long, does them forbid?  Ma. 
Inform me (then) good Conscience how I may  
Make thee, my gladsome witness, in me stay.  Con. 
The best and briefest counsel I can give,  
Is, thee t'advise, a holy-life to live;  
A life inculpable of crying-crimes,  
Unspotted with the evils of the times;  
A life declaring power of godliness,  
A life that heavenly graces doth express.  
By dying to all lusts and foul desires,  
By doing all good-deeds that love requires.  
By giving freely, what to each belongs,  
Forgiving, friendly, all received wrongs.  
Not coveting what is another's right,  
To do, as thou'dst be done by, with delight.  
By shunning that which makes the soul to dye,  
Choosing what makes it live eternally.  Ma. 
These are hard tasks and bitter lessons, sure,  
And, such, as flesh and blood cannot endure.  Con. 
O, but it will be far more harsh and hard,  
T'endure the worm of Conscience and be barred  
And shut out from the Beatifick-sight  
Of God's all-cheering face and beauty bright.  
Which pain of loss, doth doubtless far excel,  
All other the most horrid pains of hell;  
Namely to be, both, torn and tortured, there,  
To be distracted and distressed with fear,  
Where, neither, the tormentors tired be,  
Nor, those tormented (ever) death can see.  Ma. 
Alas, that Death's most dire and tart, indeed,  
Ah, show me how I may from it be freed.  Con. 
The onely-way is to the world to dye,  
Before thy soul out of this world doth fly.  Ma. 
What? must this spacious, specious, Edifice  
Adorned with rarities of precious price,  
Full of so many various, curious pleasures  
The only magazine of so much treasures,  
Must this, I say, be vilipended so?  
Must I this world, so rare, so fair, forgo?  Con. 
Undoubtedly, if thou in these delight,  
With deadly danger they thy soul will smite.  
For, look, how much the flesh this world affects  
And the false-seeming-sweets thereof respects;  
So much the more the soul will be perplexed,  
And, with the fire of hell be plagued and vexed:  
On th'other side, How much the flesh is tamed,  
So much the soul with heavenly hope is flamed.  Ma. 
But yet, we see, all men do still desire  
The present-state, 'tis this they most require.  Con. 
But yet, I know, 'tis far the worst condition,  
T'enjoy things-present in a full fruition;  
But, therewithal, to be quite stripped and bare,  
Of future-comforts to have part or share.  
O, 'tis most sweet, only the world to use:  
But, God alone t'enjoy, and chief to choose!  
Thou hast not in this world a fixed station,  
Nor, here, must (ever) have thy habitation:  
Who, then, can sing his Song in a strange-land?  
Who would build Castles on the sinking-sand?  
Alas, we (here) our selves should so behave,  
That, when the worms did eat our corpse in grave,  
Our souls, in heaven, triumphantly might sing,  
With quires of Saints and Angels to heavens King.  
Thither our spirit ever should ascend,  
Whither we do propound our journies-end.  
Thither we should make speedy haste, yea fly,  
Where we shall ever live, and nere-more die.  
Dost thou pure gold, ne'er to be spent, desire?  
Eternall-life, which, never ends, require.  
The land of Havilah, in Paradise,  
Hath in it, store of gold of precious price.  
'tis Earth thou bearest, that, thou must leave behind,  
'tis earth thou tearest, that, thou must nere-more mind  
But, 'tis a land thou seekest, and wouldst receive,  
That is the land which thou shalt never leave.  
Men, rather, are God's Stewards, than Treasurers,  
Riches (therefore) upon them He confers.  
What (then) we reap, we piously should sow  
And liberally and lovingly bestow.  
That, this true faith and due obedience,  
Might be repaid with heavenly recompense.  
The things we give are small and not our own;  
Those we shall have are great▪ and from God's throne▪  
M●n, whose affections are celestial,  
Are justly styled Angels terrestrial;  
And, no man shall (hereafter) God possess,  
In whom, God dwells not (here) by holiness.  
If Satan, Prince of earth, hath thy least part,  
God, King of heaven, will not dwell in thy heart.  
The spirit of evil (then) cast out, disdain,  
That so thou mayst God's Spirit entertain.  
Remember, whence thou cam'st, thine offspring base,  
And, this will make thee blush and hide thy face;  
Consider, where thou art, and sigh for woe,  
And, quake, to think, whither, thou (once) must go.  Ma. 
All are (I know) made of one Potter's clay,  
And, must resolve into the same, one day.  Con. 
Then, every man, being mould, must into earth,  
Moulder away, whence, first, he took his birth.  Ma. 
Nothing's more true.  Con. 
And, Flesh is but a froth  
Clothed with frail beauty, a mere menstruous cloth.  Man. 
'tis even so, I can it not deny.  Con. 
Why (then) dost thou so fat and beautify  
That Flesh of thine, which after a short while  
Must be devoured, in grave, by worms most vile.  
But, as for thy poor soul, thou lettest it pine,  
Nor, dost with good works make it fair and fine.  
Which, thus, to God and's Angels thou shouldst show  
Thou dost not (sure) the price of thy soul know.  Man. 
Yes, very well.  Con. 
I fear the contrary;  
For, else, thou wouldst not it so vilify.  
Know, this, O Man, know this, I say to thee▪  
The loss of one soul, greater loss to be,  
Than of a thousand bodies: for, 'tis plain,  
Bodies may be revived, that have been slain:  
But, O, the soul which once by sin is dead,  
Can never be to life recovered,  
But by a miracle, Christ's blood applied,  
Which cannot be, where it is still denied.  
O, then, behold, and blush to see thy sloth,  
Or, rather, sinful sottishness, or both:  
In (thus) preferring bark before the tree:  
Shells 'fore the kernels, flesh 'fore the soul in me.  
Not only blush at this, but sigh and groan  
Whiles thou considerest how thouart left alone,  
Here, in a region full of enemies,  
Ready and greedy the● for to surprise,  
Where are domesticke-traytors worst of all,  
Where Death is in the pot to work thy fall.  
And, where thy foe stands ready, thee to catch,  
And thou hadst need to stand upon thy watch.  
And, here and there to cast a careful eye,  
And, every where all dangers to descry.  
Not only, blush and sigh, but quake with woe,  
When thou remember'st whither thou must go:  
Namely, into a land most dark and dry,  
A lake that burns with brimstone furiously,  
A place of punishment and tortures great,  
Where hideous horror hath eternal seat:  
Where is no order, but confusion strange,  
Where error, terror fiercely reign and range.  Ma. 
Is there no hopeful nor no helpful place?  Con. 
No, none at all. Where God is not by grace,  
There he is present by revengeful power,  
The wicked, like dry stubble, to devour.  
For, if, thou hast not God, thy Father kind,  
A wrathful judge thou wilt him, surely, find.  
But, if thou long and labour to avoid  
God's vengeance, let thy pains be all employed,  
In walking in the ways of God's commands,  
Wherein (indeed) a Christians beauty stands.  
Which is the mirror or best lookingglass,  
Where all may see the paths they ought to pass▪  
Which is the sum of our Religion's state,  
His image, whom we serve, to imitate.  
Christ's lovely-lover, is his lively-picture,  
As he is figured in the holy Scripture.  
He bears a Christians badge and title true,  
Which, him, a Christian, by his deeds doth show.  
For, 'tis but halfe-enough to bud and blow,  
Unless in good works, we, full-ripe do grow.  
He lives but badly, which don't well believe,  
Faith, with unfruitful lives, does but deceive.  
True faith will not be closed, but will break out,  
If, life be in the tree, fruit forth will sprout:  
So, if, firm faith hath in the heart due place,  
It will shine forth in virtue's sparkling grace.  
For, wherefore is Man's body said to die?  
Because the soul does thence expire and sly:  
So, how else is it that the soul is dead?  
But, because faith is not there harboured.  
Thy Souls life (therefore) is thy faith sincere;  
And Faiths-life (best) by good works doth appear.  Man. 
Alas, this being so, what is my case?  
Having been such a stranger to true grace.  Con. 
Sure, all the while that Grace hath in thee ceased,  
Thou hast not been a man, but a mere beast.  
For, without knowledge of our God, indeed,  
All men are like bruit beasts in fields that feed.  Man. 
This I confess, therefore I pray thee show  
Which way I may God and myself well know?  Con. 
In Holy-Writ, thou shalt the rightway find,  
Into what Paths thy foot must be inclined.  
There is the light, which will the way direct,  
There is the life, which thou must best affect.  Man. 
But yet whiles thou, within me art offended,  
All holy duties by me best intended,  
Are tedious and most troublesome to me,  
Nothing, well done (as I desire) I see.  
Every thing clouded is with discontent,  
Vnsweet, unsavoury, lumpish, negligent;  
I therefore first, and most desire to see,  
A reconcilement made 'twixt thee and me,  
That so more freely and more fruitfully  
I may perform all acts of piety.  Con. 
Wouldst thou, indeed, have me full pacifi'de?  
Thou (then) must please me, or else I shall chide,  
For, whatsoe'er against me is committed,  
Is but a building unto hellfire fitted.  
If therefore, either fear of punishment,  
Or, hope of high reward to full content,  
Can win thee aught and woo thee to be wise  
If quietness of mind, a precious prize,  
If peace of conscience, a continual feast,  
Which every good man strives to have increased,  
May thee incite, then do not me provoke,  
Nor, with the grins of sins thyself fast yoke.  
The Sea my Nature doth most aptly show  
Whereon, if any filthy foam doth flow,  
Any dead carcases or slimy-weeds,  
●t, into furious boilings, soon proceeds,  
It rages, rumbles, tumbles, all about  
And is not quiet, till it quite throw out  
Those filthy scums upon the banks and shore,  
Of which it seemed to labour much before;  
That, thus, it eased of that superfluous stuff.  
Might calmed be and cease to be so rough:  
●o, I myself, thy conscience, use to swell,  
To boil and toil, to rise and rage; until  
The lees and dregges, the least Remains of sin▪  
Be utterly expelled from within.  
For, nothing does me so much press, oppress,  
As, wilfully-committed-wickednesse;  
With whose intolerable burden pressed,  
Till eased thereof, I can enjoy no rest.  
●, wouldst thou, therefore ever merry be,  
Wouldst thou, continually, me cheerfully see,  
● then 'tis thy part, timely, with due zeal,  
My sores (thy sins) with Penitence to heal.  
●or, look, how-much man sees and knows his sin,  
The more to groan and grieve he does begin;  
●nd, true repentant-teares are Angells-wine,  
With these, the soul being washed, in heaven will shine,  
Dost thou desire (then) to be never sad?  
'tis a good-conscience, that makes ever glad.  Man. 
Alas, I knew all these, before you spoke,  
But, never yet, right use of them did make.  Con. 
Unprofitable is that science, sure,  
Which, comfort to the conscience don't procure.  
Indeed there is much-science every where,  
But, little-conscience does abroad appear.  
What good will science or great knowledge do?  
If conscience be unclean, obscene, in you.  
Thou shalt not be, at Gods last dreadful day,  
Arraigned by the Book of science gay;  
But, by the book of conscience, every-one  
Shall answer, at the Lords tribunal throne.  
Such (then) as, at that great day, thou wouldst be,  
Such, let the Lord (now, in this life) thee see.  
Conscience, is a voluminous great-Booke,  
Whereinto, whosoe'er doth please to look,  
Shall find all writ i'th' style of verity,  
And with the pen of doubtless certainty.  
And, thence (i'th' day of judgement) willbe sought,  
Not, how much hast thou read, but how much wrought  
Not, how well hast thou spoke, what good words given▪  
But, to live well, how hast thou cared and striven?  Man. 
O! Woe is me; if this (alas) be so,  
What I shall say or do, I do not know.  
I see and have seen, shamefull-things, and yet,  
I have not been ashamed or blushed at it.  
I find and feel things bitter and most tart,  
Yet, have not (as I ought) been grieved at heart.  Con. 
ay, this is it (indeed) that makes me sad;  
For, 'tis thy only grief that makes me glad.  
For, by how much the more, thou senseless art;  
So much the more I sigh and sob and smart:  
Thy tears are healing-tents to cure my woe,  
Which, if they from within do gush and flow,  
Sins-pardon, life, unto thy soul thou gainest,  
And, peace of conscience, inwardly obtayn'st.  
For, evils-past, hurt not, if not affected,  
But, if sins shame be in this life neglected,  
The future thought thereof will work much blame,  
And, thou wilt grieve for want of former shame.  Man. 
But yet, this one thing▪ I would gladly know,  
Wherefore thou dost distract, distress me so?  
For, if thy pricks did me not waking keep,  
● might, a nights, more sound and sweetly sleep.  
Thou being quiet none would me molest,  
Nor, with such turmoils my fair peace infest.  Con. 
I told you at the first, and 'tis most true;  
He that made you, made me a mate for you,  
Yea, your inmate and fellow up and down,  
●o vex you, or with comfort you to crown.  
Now, mark this well; a sinner's sleep and rest,  
Can never pleasant be, to him, at best.  
For, all the naps Man takes not in the Lord,  
Nought else but evil do to him afford.  
Think not (therefore) thyself secure to be,  
Although thou dost no open witness see;  
For, when a Body in a sunshine-day  
Is seen without a shadow; then, I say,  
And not till then, a man's soul may be found  
Unto no Conscience-testimony bound.  
But, why dost thou still lay the blame on me,  
Of all thy trouble and anxiety?  
Behold, the spiteful sprite, to us, draws nigh,  
That brings upon us-both our misery.  Man. 
Alas, what is it, where is it, I pray?  Con. 
Thou shalt it see anon; but now give way,  
And in those bushes hide thyself a while.  
For, ever since sin did thee (first) beguile,  
Thou cunningly knewst how thyself to hide  
In shady shrubs, thy nakedness being eyed:  
Which nakedness being seen to thy disgrace,  
Thou guiltily didst fly from God's blessed face.  Man. 
O that's too true; I think on't (now) with woe;  
But, I'll forbear, since thou wilt have it so:  
Go to that Witch, I pray, whiles I, a space,  
Do up and down this Thicket walk and trace.  
The end of the third Dialogue.   

The Fourth DIALOGUE.  
Between Conscience, Sin, and Man.  
The Argument of the fourth Dialogue.  
Here Conscience does encounter Sin,  
'Twixt whom, hot bicker do begin.  
For, tender Conscience easily spies  
Sins Wiles and Guiles and Fallacies.  
Sin, also boldly, by the way,  
Her Soule-bane Baits does full display;  
And fain therewith would conscience catch,  
But Conscience wisely doth her watch.  
Man, to his Conscience comes at last,  
And all due blame on Sin doth cast.  
Resolving, Sin, (now) to detest,  
So, He and Conscience sweetly rest.  Con. 
WHat? Sin? Ill-met; whither so fast dost go?  Sin. 
To meet thee still, whether thou wilt or no.  Con. 
I think no less indeed▪ else thou wouldst not  
So pertly and apertly plod and troth.  
But, be assured thou shalt as welcome be  
To me and my house, when ere I thee see,  
As water to a ship, clouds at a Feast,  
Which (then) intrude, when they are looked for least.  Sin. 
Yet, who is he, that me not much esteems?  
Or, me unworthy his acquaintance deems?  Con. 
Yet, herein thou thyself most plainly showest  
A subtle Siren, wheresoever thou go'st.  
For, with thy most nefarious inchantations  
Thy cheating charms and sly insinuations  
Thou never ceasest to bewitch, abuse,  
All that this world's vast Sea to sail do use.  Sin. 
The fault's their own; why do they not forbear me?  
And stop their ears & then they need not hear me?  Con. 
O that they would, how happy were they then▪  
But, O, thou hast a hook, wherewith, poor men,  
Poor careless men (thy wiles that have not watched,  
nibbling the Bait) are cozened (so) and catcht.  
For, to the proud and supercilious breast,  
Thou, high and huge and hard things dost suggest.  
Persuading them inferiors to disdain,  
And, at great meetings for prime-place to strain  
To scorn the company of mean and poor,  
Whereas indeed the gain would be far more  
Unto their credit so to use inferiors,  
As they would used be by their superiors.  
So, when thou dost the avaricious find,  
With quenchlesse-thirst of gold thou firest their mind.  
Who, still the more they have, do crave the more,  
And, Tantalise in midst of copious store.  
Tired all day, with toil; all night with care;  
And (whereby they most miserable are)  
The less they need, the more they covet still.  
Now, every sin (chiefly this ancient-ill  
Of avarice) is harder far to cure,  
In old-men, than it is in youngmen, sure;  
Which is most strange; since old-men near their grave,  
In that respect, should, minds more holy have.  
If thou (again) meet with voluptuous mates,  
Thou, ready haste for them, most pleasant baits,  
Fair Ivory-beds, richly embroidered,  
Whereon, themselves, at ease, to stretch and spread,  
Adorned with flowers, perfumed with odours sweet,  
' Tindulge their lewd and lustful bodies meet.  
Fair-faced Companions, drenched in deeds unchaste,  
Places and Plays, idly their hours to waste.  
Finally, all in one word to conclude,  
Thou, evermore, men's minds dost vex, delude  
With choice of cheating-tricks, new fopperies,  
And, either having quite putout their eyes,  
Or, with full-sight dost them so much bewitch,  
That, headlong, they fall in thy deadly-ditch.  Sin. 
Why? what a stir is here? why brand you me  
With this blacke-coale of odious-treacherie?  Con. 
Dost ask me why? 'cause thou deservest worst  
Of all men living, of me, most and first.  
Whom, day by day, thou dost so plague and pain,  
As if those punishments which Poets fain  
To be upon some men imposed, inflicted,  
Who, in their lives had been to lust addicted,  
To cruelty, bestial licentiousness;  
Were exercised on me; with such distress,  
And deep distraction, am I daily drenched,  
With such great gripes, I, inwardly am pinched,  
That all my pains seem Hornet-stings or bites  
Or Satan's Buffets, when to hell he smites.  
And, which is most and worst, no help I find,  
So long as thou art in my sight and mind,  Sin. 
These peevish Whinnels, ever, wretched are;  
But, many, much more wretchedly do fare,  
Than need requires, complaining causelessly.  
But, ay, even-now, observed thee testify,  
And ' against me urge that I deserved worst  
Of all men, but of conscience most and first.  
Tell me, I pray, who, me, first Being, gave?  
Was it not Adam that made all men have  
By one-incessant-line, right to damnation?  
For, all in Adam, sinning, lost salvation.  
ay, surely, mine own maker could not be;  
He was my Maker, who, as soon as he  
Was sensible of thee, flew from God's face  
To hide him amongst the trees in conscious-case.  
Flew to the tree (I say) whose bitter fruit  
Had he (herein, than any beast, more brute)  
ne'er tasted; he had not offensive been,  
And, so had ne'er begotten Me, called Sinne.  
Why dost thou (then) so much of me exclaim?  
'Tis man alone, is worthy all the blame.  
'Tis he alone that digged his own pit,  
And, by selfe-folly, so fell into it.  
He waxed proud and saucily desired,  
To be like God, to be a God, aspired;  
But, thereby, he most like the Devil became,  
Hence flow thy tears, this did man's mischief frame.  Con. 
Oh I confess it. Sin or Satan either,  
Than this, thou sayest, spoke nothing truelier ever.  
But yet I cannot choose, but much admire,  
How thy incessant toil does thee not tire.  Sin. 
Pish. That which pleaseth, never tyreth any.  
And herein, I find instigations many.  
Hatred of good, love and delight in ill,  
The depravation of man's first freewill.  
These are the Chariot-wheels on which I roll  
And range about t'effect my fancie-foule.  
My Waggoner is waggish-Vanity,  
Which drives my Horses (lusts) most furiously.  
Hence I, so indefatigable, rest,  
Being of most various-pleasures (still) possessed  
If, proudly, I to prance abroad affect,  
With rich and rare apparel I am decked.  
Which, of the newest fashion must be made,  
Whereby beholders eyes on me are stayed,  
With gazing admiration, and thus, I,  
Admire myself, as much as passers-by,  
If, I my flesh to pamper do delight,  
My Table ready furnished is in sight,  
With luscious cates and delicates most dear,  
With all choice rarities that make good cheer.  
If I be far from Sea, I Fish affect,  
If near the Sea, I Flesh do most respect.  
There's nothing new, but I long for it, have it,  
Nothing so costly, but my lust doth crave it.  
If, I a Dancing-match or Play would see,  
Thither I haste, where thickest clusters be.  
Nor can the Mimicke-Actors give content,  
Nor fond Spectators be to pleasure bend  
If I be absent: For, in public meetings  
Where I see vanity use pleasing greetings,  
There I am quickly present, there I find  
Not any, but is pressed to please my mind,  
My pleasant presence yieldeth such delight,  
That all things are most jovial in my sight.  Con. 
Hence I collect, that sins most prompt intention  
Is exercised in Actions of Invention.  Sin. 
You hit the very white. For, sin is ever  
Pregnant and active, and is idle never;  
But, one thing from another (still) begets,  
And, so an edge upon her Lovers whets.  Con. 
Nay rather, sin makes them the more secure,  
Security does them to sloth enure.  Sin. 
What if it do? with this soft lethargy  
Whiles I do mine, thus, cocker cunningly,  
I tie them closelier to me, every day,  
They are my shades and follow me, each way.  
They are my Soldiers and will for me fight,  
They, as good servants, serve me with delight.  
And, so much they express to me their love,  
And their firm steadfastness to me approve,  
That, like good Citizens, they readily  
Will lose their lives to prop my liberty:  
Nor think they any toil too much, they take  
To show themselves obsequious for my sake.  
For, they which love, or labour not at all,  
Or, love their labour, or account it small.  Con. 
But, certainly, nothing doth sooner fade  
And putrify, than love, thus weakly laid.  
Since all thy promises so goodly thought,  
Like snow before the sun do come to nought.  
Nay rather, to the soul that in them joys,  
They bring a deadly sting and dire annoys.  Sin. 
Dost thou not think my promise prevalent?  Con. 
Yes; for who ere is thereof confident,  
Is pressed down t'eternall-Death, thereby;  
For this men find by most sad certainty,  
That nought is worse than sinner's Happiness;  
That, there's no woe, where is no wickedness.  Sin. 
But, one among a thousand, let me see,  
That is of this severe conceit with thee.  Con. 
Ah, though I cannot one, amongst many, show,  
Yet, more's their madness and sure overthrow.  Sin. 
This is your censure; who thinks so beside?  
T'enjoy things present, all do (best) abide,  
And ever have done so. Let them that fear  
For future and contingent cases care.  
Better's one Bird in hand, than two i'th' bush,  
Future uncertainties who'll prize a Rush?  
Things present, being pleasant in our sight,  
Are therefore more desired and most delight.  Con. 
Hence 'tis (indeed) that men so dote and err,  
Hence they their Syrene-pleasures so prefer,  
Because they walk not (here) by faith, but sense,  
Hurried along with loose improvidence,  
But, if they did consider seriously  
This life to be a perpetuity  
Of sad repentance, since, all vices here,  
The longer used, the stronger do appear;  
And, what they lose by thus observing thee,  
And what they get by being from thee free,  
How little would they joy, how much lament?  
How little time of grace would be misspent?  
With how small pleasure and how slender joy  
They (thus) incur perpetual annoy?  
" Whereas, if all that ere from Adam came,  
" And, all of these were Preachers of choice fame,  
" And, all these Preachers hells least-pains should preach  
" These all, could not hells lest pain fully reach,  
" Nor can it be imagined or known,  
" What parts from torture: (there) will be alone,  
" And, that no anguish of all temporal smart  
" May to th'eternal woes which pierce the heart  
" Of damned souls in Hell, compared be.  
If these, and such like things, men right would see,  
And seriously consider; nothing, then,  
(O, thou prodigious mischief of all men)  
Nothing (I say) would they account or deem  
More foul than thee, nothing more base esteem.  
And so would shun thee, as a snake i'th'way,  
Or, as a Viper on their hands that lay.  
Yea, though they knew (which, then, man does not know  
That, God, for such a sin, would mercy show,  
Yet, for sins filth and self most odiousness,  
Men would abhor and hate (so) to transgress.  S. 
Forbear, I pray, whence gush these great complaints  C. 
Sins cursed encroachments are their chief constraints;  
By whose most impious charms and flatteries fair,  
Men, into bruit beasts metamorphized are.  
Who, doffing their most due humanity,  
Put on most belluall inconcinnity.  
For, unto whom, that hath his eyes in's head,  
Is it not palpably discovered?  
How chastity is hazarded in pleasures!  
Humility quite lost in beaps of treasures!  
How piety is choked in worlds-affaires!  
How truth, by tattling falls on lying-snares!  
How charity, by this world's bravery,  
Is froze to death, or turned to knavery!  Sin. 
Tush, tush, these hazards little trouble me.  C. 
Yet, thou, them breed'st, & they my burdens be.  Sin. 
I rather think, this thy minds malady  
Proceeds from selfe-pusillanimitie.  
Thou hast (it seems) a stomach, queasy, sick,  
On which, each little mote does nauseous-stick:  
And, that, which others hold a tender sprig,  
Precisely, thou, countest, than a Beam, more big.  Con. 
A soft and tender-conscience man must cherish,  
Not bruise or break it, and so make it perish.  Sin. 
Well, go-to, then; If thou so tender be,  
Why art thou not to my delights, more free?  Con. 
Because thy pleasures make my heart more sad,  
Nor, any true content in them is had.  
Such an apertion, or by-way to joy,  
Is joys desertion, highway to annoy.  
Such toys and trifles, best effects of vice,  
Can't a good-conscience, to thy lure, entice.  
But, tell me, didst thou never hear or know,  
Good conscience price, bad-conscience plague and woe?  Sin. 
I never knew of either's price or pain.  Con. 
Now, then, thou shalt, and understand them plain.  
Good-conscience is a cabinet of treasure;  
An everlasting-feast, full of true-pleasure.  
chose, than conscience-naught and bad,  
A greater plague and pain cannot be had.  
For, it hath made a finall-separation,  
'twixt it and peace and constant contentation.  
For, as, to goodmen, goodness is rich gain;  
So, wickedness is wicked-mens' dire pain.  Sin. 
This thy preciseness and austerity,  
Will never suffer thee live cheerfully.  Con. 
O, far be it, that any should suppose,  
Such joy in Sin, as from sweet virtue grows.  
Whose rich reward is God himself, no less,  
Who, virtue gives to those whom He will bless.  
In whom, my joy is safe lockt-up and hid,  
In whose exchange, who ever would me bid  
The world and all its pleasures in my hand;  
Yea, though they were, in number, as sea-sand,  
Yet, should they not my heart allure to leave,  
My joy in God, and so my soul deceive.  Sin. 
But yet, for all this, this world's happiness  
(For, other I know none) I still profess,  
Is the most excellent, and much depends  
On choice of merry-mates and joviall-friends.  
On hunting after honours, heaping treasures,  
And, on enjoying various sorts of pleasures.  
But, these (belike) are wholly opposite,  
To virtue's practice and approved delight.  Con. 
Thou art mistaken. Virtue's are, indeed,  
True riches; not base wealth, which earth doth breed.  
World's wealth to serve, is God to disobey.  
And, though worlds-service does to worldlings, pay  
Some seeming joy; yet (ever more) Gods Saints  
Find it a clog and cause of great complaints.  
These do it estimate their prime perfection  
To pass this desert, by God's Spirits direction.  
This state of grace, heaven's glorious place, they count  
To be neere-kinne, and long to climb that Mount.  
The worth of all this world, hell's work they deem,  
Earth's honours, they, earth's tumors do esteem.  
But, to perform Gods sacred will and pleasure,  
They count their souls most high and happy treasure.  Sin. 
What prat'st thou of thy silly Saints to me?  
They are not of my fold, nor ere will be.  
And, their increase, does decrease my great powers,  
But, who comes yonder? a true friend of ours;  
My docible young scholar; Man, no Saint,  
And, that's my joy, whom I must (now) acquaint  
With my rare rudiments. For, I suppose,  
What's humane (touching vice) within him grows.  Man. 
Ay me, of all men living, most forlorn;  
I too-too long, in silence, have forborn;  
But, now I neither can nor will forbear.  
Wilt thou not cease to hunt me every where?  Sin. 
'tis thou that hunts and haunts me to and fro.  Ma. 
I must confess it: but, for doing so,  
I now am overwhelmed with woe and shame,  
Yet, this my sense of sins most deadly blame,  
Being the first and firm step to salvation,  
Makes me find hope of my Regeneration.  Sin. 
How's that? this gives me very poor content.  Ma. 
I do confess (I say) with full assent,  
That I have finned, and it was only I,  
Not foolish fortune, or my destiny,  
No, nor the devil, but evil in mine own breast,  
I therefore only against myself protest,  
And, if I should thee (O my conscience blame,  
Or, think my sin from any other came,  
I, to those dogs might be resembled right,  
Which (as divine Plato doth truly write)  
Do snap and snarl and bite the rolling stone,  
Cast at them; but, regard not whence 'twas thrown.  
No rather, now at last, with weeping eyes  
And woeful heart, against myself I rise;  
Whom I have made my worst intestine foe,  
And treacherously ensnared my soul in woe.  
Nor, do I only against myself thus rise,  
But, make a serious solemne-vow, likewise,  
(Heaven ratify the same) that I will ever,  
From this time forward, use my best endeavour  
That, thou (O sin) shipwreck of man's salvation  
Shalt near, in me, have willing habitation.  
But, if by force, thou wilt break in again,  
Yet, thou shalt never domineer and reign.  Con. 
A pious vow, and godly resolution,  
The Lord will (surely) bring to blessed conclusion.  Ma. 
I doubt it not, and therefore will persist,  
And, since I seem, of two parts to consist,  
A Soul and Body: If the first of these  
By any smallest sin, hath least disease,  
It stings and wrings thee straight, with bitter s●art,  
O my syntericke, sinne-opposing-part!  
I therefore purpose a new course to take;  
Whereby, my conscience, I may cheerful make  
Whereby, my soul I may with grace renourish.  
And, my internal family may flourish,  
And, as for thee, my flesh, since thou art apt,  
To draw in sin, and be by sin entrapped;  
Yea, Sin, as water, to drink in, and suck,  
(And, he which addeth sin to sin, doth pluck,  
And hale his soul to hell, as with a rope)  
Thou delicate fine-Philistine, I hope,  
I shall thee tame, new-mould, and mortify,  
Near let thee rest, till thou, with me, comply,  
To dye to sin, till I have run my race,  
All this I trust, by power of heavenly grace.  Con. 
Most sweetly thou resolv'st; O ever may  
God, by his Spirit, perfect it, I pray.  Sin. 
Well, if thou me forsake, I'll others find,  
Who, will me entertain, and use more kind:  
For, while, on earth, there any men remain,  
I make no doubt, but I shall rule and reign.  Ma. 
But, I will frustrate all thy hope in me,  
If, to my votes, my God propitious be;  
Now (then) my conscience; let us both go in,  
And, since we are thus fairly freed of Sin,  
So hateful to us both, now, mutually,  
Let us rejoice with sweet tranquillity.  
An end of the fourth Dialogue.   

The fifth DIALOGUE.  
Between God and the Soul.  
The Argument of the fifth Dialogue.  
God (here) the Soul most kindly greets,  
With many sacred sugared sweets;  
Even woos the Soul free-love t'embrace,  
Assures it of assistant-grace.  
The sanctified-soule complies,  
Bewails her faint infirmities;  
Resigns herself to God's dispose,  
And with his holy-call doth close;  
God helps it on, with fair directions  
And cheers it on, with sweet affections▪  
The Soul (thus) on God's leisure waits,  
Till, He, to glory, It translates.  God. 
A Rise, my Love, my Dove, most pure and fair,  
To come to Me, make haste, thyself prepare.  Soul. 
What sacred voice is this? blessed invitations?  
Candied with such sweet loving compellations?  G. 
His, who creating thee, inspired thy life,  
Inspiring it, esponsed thee, as his wife.  S. 
My great Creator, and my glorious King?  G. 
Yea, thy free-lover, whence, thy good doth spring  S. 
I know thee, O my God, that thou art he,  
Who, fully, freely, firmly, lovest me:  
Since, for my sake, thy Son, thou hast not spared  
To free me, when to hell I was ensnared.  G. 
My Son I gave, yea, and mine only Son;  
That thou mightst not, for ever, be undone.  S 
And what (dear God) shall I repay to thee?  G. 
Nothing, but love for love, which pleaseth me.  S. 
What heart (O Lord) can be so stupefied?  
As, by thy love, not to be mollifide?  G. 
That heart, which hides the favours I bestow.  S. 
Lord, what have I, that did not from thee flow?  G. 
Return me thanks (then) that thou mayst have more,  
For, grateful hearts do find my favours store.  S. 
Let my poor prayer (good God ascend to thee,  
That thy rich grace, my (so) descend on me;  
For, by thee only, 'tis, I life retain,  
To thee (then) wholly, Me I give again.  G. 
Thou giv'st thyself, to me: 'tis well. But, where  
Where are the fruits that thou to me dost bear?  S. 
Alas, O Lord, what fruits can I express?  
As of myself, till thou me till and dress?  
If thou vouchsafe upon my heart, thy field,  
To sow such seeds as may thee good fruit yield,  
Thou must (O Lord) by thy blessed hand of grace,  
First, pluck up all my weeds of vices base.  G. 
Thou sayest most true; But, wilt thou, willingly,  
Submit thyself to graces-husbandrie?  S. 
O, burn me, bruise me, break me, here, O Lord;  
So, thou (hereafter) mercy dost afford.  
O, let that hand that formed me, me reform.  
Let it correct, so it to thee conform.  G. 
Draw near to me (then) and I will thee draw;  
And listen to the lessons of my Law.  S. 
Speak (Lord) for, I thy handmaid do thee hear,  
And gladly bend my most attentive ear.  G. 
Then, first of all, thou must well know and see  
Both, whence thou cam'st; what thouart; what thou shalt be.  
If thou me please, whence (first) thou didst proceed,  
Thou, now art, and shalt be, most blessed, indeed.  
Thou wast, what now thou art not, and 'twas I  
That gave thee, this, thy present-entity.  
I have thee over others set and placed;  
And thee with high prerogatives have graced.  
Superiour-things, for joy; equal, for mates;  
Inferior things, to serve thee in thy straits.  S. 
What canst thou give unto me, for me, more,  
If, thou, thyself dost give, 'tis all rich store.  G. 
I gave thyself, to thee, when thou wast nought,  
I gave myself, to thee, being worse than aught.  
I have myself, for thee, at last, reserved,  
That thou, in endlesse-blisse mightst be preserved.  S. 
O blessed mystery of most dimension!  
O blessed benefit of large extension!  G. 
A mystery it is, wherein (indeed)  
Thou must of three things take especial heed:  
1. The mercy of thy ever-loving Lord;  
2. The merit, which Christ's sufferings do affords  
3. And the free grace of Gods most holy Spirit,  
Which, the sweet Gospel calls thee to inherit.  
1. My mercy loved thee, ere it thee created,  
And thee from other creatures separated.  
2. The merit of my Christ did purchase thee,  
When, moved, merely, by his love most free,  
Thy misery caused him the heavens to leave,  
And, for thy sake, such wrongs (here) to receive.  
3. The grace of my good Spirit thee (then) did call,  
When it did preach and teach thee therewithal,  
It freed thee fully, when thy state it saw,  
And, from fouls, bodies, dangers did thee draw.  S. 
O, that I were of brinish tears a spring,  
That I these loves might fully see and sing!  G. 
Thus, thou hast, briefly, first, seen What thou wast,  
Upon thy present state, thine eyes (next) cast.  
See What thou art Which (thus) is first defined;  
The Soul is the plain image of the Mind;  
The mind God's Image is: But, God's more great  
Than is the mind, and has (there) supreme seat.  
The Mind (again) is greater than the Soul;  
The Soul doth all the Bodies parts control▪  
And, thus (O soul) thy dignity is great,  
Adorned with divers ornaments complete:  
(Even princely privileges) which remain,  
To make thy lustre of an higher strain.  
On thee is graven the image of thy Maker,  
Thou art redeemed with Christ's blood, and partaker  
Of all he is; espoused by faith, to him,  
Thy dowry is his Spirits graces trim;  
Invested with his virtuous righteousness,  
And, made, than glorious Angels, little less.  
First (then) if any ask, Whose image rare  
And superscription is this, thou dost wear?  
Well mayst thou answer, 'tis the image right  
Of supreme Caesar, sovereign Lord of light.  
If, yet, they ask thee, how it was defaced?  
Tell them, by rust of sin, it was disgraced.  
How wast repaired? By thy Saviour's blood.  
How wast espoused? By faiths-ring pure and good.  
How is't endowed? with influence of God's Spirit.  
How is't adorned? with flowers of Christ's due merit.  
How is it placed and graced with dignity?  
Even, with blessed Angels in their purity.  
Say, then, good soul, is not this state most blessed?  
Yes, sure; unless earth has thy joy possessed.  
For, who, except he a rank traitor be?  
Traitor, I say, both unto me and thee,  
Dares be so bold this image to put out?  
Since it is heavenly Caesars, past all doubt.  
Who shall thy soul make vendible to vice?  
Redeemed, with such a sum? thou art blood's price.  
Who shall, thou, such an amiable Bride,  
Unto thy heavenly King, in Wedlock tied  
Once dare to violate or lay least stain?  
Since, thee, my specious soul, I entertain.  
Who shall endeavour to eclipse or dim  
Thy sacred secret inward-light most trim,  
Glistering most gloriously from heaven on thee?  
Since 'tis the light of my blessed Spirit, from me.  
Who shall, once, dare to crop those fragrant flowers  
Of vigorous-vertues from our heavenly bowers?  
Those precious aromatick-sents of grace?  
Since theyare thy beauties, sent from our blessed face.  
Who can divorce thee from those blessed-mates  
Promised my Saints, in their celestial states;  
Yea, set about thee (here) still, to defend thee?  
Since they are Angel-troops that do befriend thee.  
Thus hast thou seen thy first and present state:  
Now, harken, what condition does thee wait.  
Namely, if (here) thou live a Saint divine,  
In heaven thou shalt Angelically shine.  
Be, therefore, ever going, growing ever,  
Faint not in my paths, and go backward never:  
But, to stand still is to go back in grace,  
For, here's no medium, or abiding-case.  
Thou either must go freely forward still  
Or, certainly, thou wilt go back to ill.  
In which thy pious progress have a care  
Especially to keep thy paths most fair,  
By that most holy grace, Humility;  
Which, will thee lead with sweet stability.  
Prate not of thy proficiency at all,  
Or growth in grace, lest pride do make thee fall.  
For, what soe'er is done, 's undone again,  
If lowliness do it not safe sustain.  
He, therefore, which does other virtues get,  
But, does not, with humility, them set,  
Doth like to one that carries dust i'th' wind  
Whereof, he (soon) himself doth empty find.  
Men, therefore, fitly, call Humility  
Rare virtue's Queen; death of impiety.  
Fair Virgin's Mirror; and the mansion neat,  
Which the blessed Trinity hath made its seat.  
Nor can that soul be counted poor and bare  
That shines with beauteous beams of meekness rare.  
For, this knows well to order its own mind,  
Which, seldom I in rich and great men find.  
And hence it is, that men say, Poverty  
In good men's minds doth guard humility.  
In having which, they are far richer, sure,  
Than he which could the whole world's crown procure.  S. 
O, my dear Lord, whereof should I be proud?  
Whose nature yields not aught by thee allowed.  
In many things, I my deficience know;  
In nothing I can least sufficience show.  G. 
Be of good courage (soul) for, usually,  
He that most fears his own sufficiency,  
Best fares in piety. For, how should he  
Desire supply, which no defect doth see?  
Mine only grace which is sufficient still  
Is most pure Balsam, which from me does thrill.  
And it requires a vessel pure and sound,  
And, in such, only, will be sweetly found.  
I'll (therefore) cleanse the cistern of thy heart,  
And then the Balsam of my grace impart;  
Yea, I will lead thee to yet higher things,  
To yet more fluent and more pleasant springs,  
Put forth thy hand, and I will thee embrace.  
knowst thou my presence is in every place?  S. 
Yes Lord, I know in every place thou art,  
And yet not circumscribed to any part;  
I know that thou art present every where,  
Yet, neither place nor motion do thee bear.  G. 
And dost thou know I have an all-seeing-eye?  S. 
I know, acknowledge it submissively;  
And that thou, Lord, revenger of all ill,  
Dost eye and spy, see and foresee all still.  
If I should hide myself in earth most deep,  
Thy piercing eye could sentinel (there) keep,  
If I in wilderness would build my nest,  
Even there should I to thee be manifest.  G. 
And dost thou know that I am judge of all?  S. 
Most certainly; and that my Saviour shall  
The whole world judge with equity and right,  
Though he, on earth, was sentenced, with spite.  G. 
O, if thou didst both know and well believe  
That I thy God do every thing perceive.  
Am present every where, and must judge all,  
I think (so oft) on sin thou wouldst not fall.  S. 
We all (O Lord) are very weak and frail;  
And I know none, so apt, as I, to fail.  G. 
By how much thou thy state more frail dost  
So much the stronger thou shalt daily grow.  
But, tell me now this one thing, wouldst thou fain know,  
Be counted worthy me to entertain?  S. 
Blessed, thrice blessed is that soul most sure,  
That can his God, to be his guest procure.  
For, he can never want a sure protection,  
In whom thou dwellest, worthy thy sweet refection.  G. 
Thou shalt be worthy if thou follow me;  S. 
Lord, to the cross, in Christ, to purchase thee.  G. 
That blessed author, finisher of faith,  
Hanging upon the Cross, bequeathed hath,  
In his last-will of love and piety,  
To diverse sorts, a several legacy.  
To his Apostles, persecutions tart,  
Unto the jews his corpse and wounded heart;  
His Spirit into his heavenly Father's hands.  
Unto the Virgin, john's firm fostering-bands:  
To the beleeving-thiefe, blessed paradise;  
To soul-slaying sinners, helt, just pay for vice;  
And, to repentant-Christians, he set down,  
A certain cross, before a promised Crown.  S. 
O Testament full of pure charity!  
From whence I may collect infallibly  
That all the hope of man's salvation blessed  
Doth in Christ's meritorious death consist.  G. 
And whence thou mayst collect thy dignity,  
The purchase of a soul, a price most high;  
Which, at no lower rate could ransomed be,  
But by Christ's blood shed on the Cross for thee,  
Use (then) all care thyself to watch and ward,  
Unto thy latter end have great regard.  
And this most holy wholesome sentence grave  
Be (evermore) sure in thy mind to have;  
Whether I sleep or wake with watchful eye,  
Or whatsoever I do, continually  
Me thinks, that last great Trumpets sound I hear;  
Arise ye dead to judgement (now) appear.  S. 
A sound (O Lord) indeed, most loud and shrill,  
To Saints most glad, to sinners sad and ill.  G. 
And yet (alas, I pity thy poor case)  
This shaking sound which should all evil chase;  
No sooner is remembered, than forgot,  
And, this, the souls rich worth doth stain and spot.  
An ass falls in a pit, and is pulled out;  
But, if a soul falls, no man looks about.  
Every man does his body's death much fear,  
But, very few do for the soul's death care.  
And, whence (I pray) does this souls-slaughter rise?  
Because men do that precious thing despise,  
Which being lost and carelessly neglected,  
A soul so fall'n cannot be re-erected.  
Nothing (men say) more precious is than Time;  
And yet (alas, oh 'tis a common crime)  
Nothing is (now a days) esteemed more base,  
Nothing more slighted than these days of grace.  
Yet, on this moment, which men (here) let fly,  
Dependeth (most) man's blessed eternity.  
Then let not Pastimes, pass the times away,  
But up, be doing good in this thy day.  
Correct thyself, and then my mercy crave;  
No fault so great, which cannot pardon have.  S. 
But (O my God) I many things (here) find,  
By liking which, I stain and soil my mind.  G. 
But, he them all, contemns most easily,  
Which always mindful is that he must dye.  S. 
O, but (dear God) I fear I shall dye never.  G. 
Die to the world, and live with me for ever.  
But, mark this well; unto the world to dye,  
Is, to forsake this world primarily;  
Not to be left, by it: for if that men  
Begin Repentance, and to leave sin, then,  
When they can sin no longer, and forsake  
The world, when they no more of it can make;  
Sin leaveth them, they do not leave their sin,  
The world leaves them, ere they this work begin.  
Not to avoid a danger when thou may'st,  
Is, not to have thy hope upon me placed;  
But 'tis to tempt me rather, wilfully,  
Leaving the rule, liking security.  
In hope (therefore) fear, fearing take good heed;  
Thus, of much danger thou shalt (safe) be freed.  
Bear trials then, and thou shalt comforts have,  
No conquest comes, without a battle brave.  S. 
Most holy Lord, I all things will forsake,  
All trials I will gladly undertake,  
That I (at last) may thee my God possess,  
Who art my All in All, in all distress.  
Forsake thyself and then thou shalt me find,  
Put off all high-conceipts, all pride of mind.  
A Christians prime-Praeludium and best trial,  
Is to divorce himself, by self-denial.  
Thou art not mine, if thou prefer thy will,  
Before my pleasure, in thy actions ill.  
For, no man, here, can stand, which, heartily,  
Will not himself, for mysake, vilify.  
Thou hast within thee, from me, still to teach thee;  
Or, stay with me, or else return and reach me.  
Whene'er thou shalt be moved or avocated,  
By ill-affects, nay, defects instigated,  
Give me thyself (then) and thou shalt me gain,  
Love me and thou shalt my free love obtain.  S. 
Certainly (holy Lord) he loves not truly,  
Who loves aught with thee, which thee loves not duly▪  
Love, to the thing-beloved, transaminates,  
And in its love, itself (full) fatiates.  
I wholly leave myself, nought is in me,  
ay, totally being thine, will rest in thee.  
And, in my Saviour's arms I do desire.  
My life to lead, and sweetly to expire.  
But yet, I cannot comfortably sleep▪  
Until my Sovereign's arms me safely keep.  G. 
Be comforted (poor Soul) thou shall be sure  
To be more safe, then, rest thou here secure;  
A Christians-crosses are a Christians Crown  
And shall obtain immortal high renown.  
Persist, therefore, in this my Cordiall-love,  
Wherein, if thou thyself sincere approve,  
Thou wilt a thousand deaths more soon endure,  
Than, wilfully (by sin) my wrath procure.  
Persist (I say) in my religious fear,  
Wherein, if thou thyself uprightly bear,  
Thy House of Clay thou shalt well regulate  
Thy actions, thou shalt, wisely, ordinate.  
Thus, thou shalt sweetly have repose in me,  
Thou needest not fear, because my love's in thee.  
For, that soul (surely) cannot fear that loves  
But, that soul, whom no love of me (once) moves.  
For, perfect love all servile-feare casts-out,  
And fortifies the soul from grief and doubt.  
It brings-forth most enduring-dignity,  
And, fits thee for my Saint's society.  S. 
Most holy God, so write thou in my Heart,  
By finger of thy Spirit, the sacred Art  
Of memory of thy Mellifluous-name,  
That blacke-Oblivion ne'er blot out the same.  
Yea, print upon my soul and sincere mind,  
And, graven on my Breast, let me (still) find  
Thy sacred pleasure, which, no chance or change,  
May violate or from my thoughts estrange.  
Come, Lord, come perfect, what thou hast begun,  
And, in-mee, on-mee, Thy blessed will be done.  G. 
Goe-on, then, with thy gracious resolution,  
Bring all to holy, happy Execution;  
Live, here (as other Saints) a little space,  
Then, thou, in Heaven shalt have a glorious Place.  
The end of the fifth Dialogue.   

The sixth DIALOGUE.  
Between the Soul and the City of God.  
The Argument of the sixth Dialogue.  
The Soul being (here) in heaven supposed;  
And in its longed joys reposed;  
Gods holy City is brought in,  
It's gracious welcome to begin:  
And to the Soul to demonstrate  
Its most victorious, glorious state.  
The Soul is ravished with delight,  
At its celestial sacred sight;  
Reproves the world's fond aberration,  
Neglecting this so great Salvation:  
Whereof, itself (thus) now, possessed,  
Abides in endless Peace and Rest.  
ALL-haile most holy City of the Lord;  
What glorious sights are these, thou dost afford▪  
Most blessed Spouse of Christ, beloved Bride;  
What amiable joys in thee abide!  
What sacred songs, what music do I hear!  
What heavenly Hymns, with most melodious cheer  
Do chant about mine ears, in every street!  
What pleasant fruit-trees! O what Manna sweet  
Do I (here) see and savour, touch and taste!  
In midst of what sweet pleasures am I placed?  
What precious prizes are there, here, afforded?  
O what most glorious matters are recorded  
Of thee blessed City of our God of love,  
And that most justly? for all true I prove!  
For, in thee is (indeed) a habitation  
Of only such as joy with exultation.  
Even here where 'tis more difficult, to say,  
What is not here, than what is, to display;  
Yea, though mine eloquence did all's excel,  
Yet could I not its glory truly tell.  C. 
Now then (most welcome soul) from this blessed sense,  
Thou feelest and findest by good experience,  
That one day in God's house is better biding,  
Than, elsewhere are a thousand days residing.  S. 
I find it so (indeed) and one day, here,  
Doth an eternal day to me appear;  
To which no yesterday gives any place,  
Nor any morrow makes to end its race.  
Where nothing is that was not (first) here flowing,  
Or, which (already) is not here, full growing.  
So sweet and pleasant is this lasting light,  
So full of rare and ravishing delight,  
That, if the soul could it enjoy no more,  
Than but one-houre and so must give it over,  
Even for this-onely sweet, the pleasures rife  
And flowing temp'rall-ioyes of all Man's life,  
Though ere so many years spent jollily,  
Ought all to be contemned most worthily.  
For, in thy sight (O God) a thousand years  
As yesterday, instantly passed, appears.  C. 
But, say (sweet soul) what dost thou (now) esteem  
Of that most slippery-age? What dost thou deem  
And judge of those thy former days (now) past?  
Those fleeting-yeeres, quite spent, and could not last,  
And which shall nere-returne? What thinkst thou? say,  
Of that fast fleeting time, now, fled away?  
All that is passed thereof, is (now) no more,  
And all to come thereof, none can restore.  
What, of that-day, whose morning-houres are fled?  
Whose afternoons are not recovered.  
What of that-houre, whose minutes from thee sliding?  
For their remainder, there was no abiding.  
Are not all these, as if they near had been?  
Compared with this blessed state thou (now) art in.  
For, in this most desiderable Land,  
No troubling-toyle is to be taken in hand.  
No pining pinching-paine is to be borne  
No grief whereby the Heart is hurt or torn.  
But, here's the highest honour to be had,  
here's mutuall-love to make the Heart most glad  
here, thou by knowing perfectly shall see,  
here, by delighting, thou shalt loving be.  
here, by possessing, thou shalt ever praise,  
here, to thy God, be chanting heavenly-Layes.  
Whom, thou shalt see to satisfy thy pleasure,  
Whom, thou shalt have to fill thy will, full-measure,  
Whom thou shalt to thy joy, enjoy for ever,  
Whom thou to love and laud shalt aye persever.  
Where thou shalt flourish in eternity,  
Where thou shalt glister in pure verity;  
Where thou shalt shine in perfect purity,  
Where thou shalt joy in sweet security,  
Where thou shalt find endless stability  
Of perfect-knowledge rare facility.  
Of sweet-repose and rest a happy sense,  
Of all that may content, the Quintessence.  
O how can I describe sufficiently,  
This Holy-Cities fair felicity?  
Whose Citizens are blessed Angels bright,  
Whose Temple is the Father of all Light;  
Whose splendour is the Son of Righteousness  
Whose glorious-love the Spirit doth express.  S. 
O sacred-City, joys variety!  
O blessed state of Saints society!  C. 
And, we reciprocally are as glad,  
Of this thy fellowship with us now had,  
As we are of our-owne blessed happiness.  
For, thou dost now so sweet a place possess,  
Where, One souls comfort, comforts all the rest,  
None, here, anothers-good doth ill-digest,  
But, each of us does take as much delight  
In others bliss, as in his proper right.  S. 
O then, how happy is my blessed-state,  
Whom such choice mates do so associate?  
So many sacred Citizens do meet,  
So lively, lovely Saints so kindly greet:  
How sweet was this blessed City's meditation,  
To me, when I on earth had habitation?  
But, O how much more sweetness do I taste,  
To be in it, of it, beloved, embraced?  
To contemplate my souls fair Bridegroom blessed,  
My souls sweet soul, my Prince of glorious rest.  C. 
But, come (fair sister) give me now thy hand,  
And thou shalt in me, see and understand  
Our yet more sacred sweets, our mansions fair,  
Glistering with gems and precious stones most rare.  
I will thee into our Wine-Cellars guide,  
Where, Flagons full of purest wine abide;  
Into our refectory choicely decked  
With heavenly dainties palates to affect.  
Where neither longing doth engender pain,  
Nor fullness doth least nauseousness contain.  
Where, neither he that eats is over-cloyd,  
Nor, what is eaten is not full-supplyed.  
Where, ever overflowing floods of pleasure  
Will cheer thy soul in most abundant measure,  
And will thy heavenly heart inebriate  
With love-divine, yet still most temperate.  
Here run pure Rivers of the water of life,  
Here are fair meads, gardens of pleasures rife,  
Here's augmentation of felicity,  
Glories-encreasings with sure constancy.  
Beds of delight, boards of abundant joy,  
All that may comfort, nothing to annoy.  
Yea, from this mount of savoury spices rare  
Behold, at full, a heavenly mirror fair,  
And, therein, see Saints glistering splendour bright,  
And all their honour of majestic might.  
In this fair port of peace is labours rest,  
This creek of comfort foes cannot infest,  
Here being safety with eternity,  
Contentive joy with full satiety.  
With various novelty all rare delight,  
And sugared sweetness in Gods sacred sight.  S. 
And, who would not both long and like it best▪  
To set down here his everlasting rest?  
Both for its peace, and for its pleasant light▪  
For its eternity and Gods blessed sight.  
In ever knowing God the Father's power,  
The wisdom of the Son, in's heavenly bower,  
The holy Spirits tender clemency,  
To have full knowledge of the Trinity.  C. 
'tis true, (sweet soul) Gods secrets open be,  
There he will befull seen and loved of thee.  S. 
O, blessed-vision, in himself seen trim,  
To see God in us, and ourselves in him!  C. 
Yea to see him, who is the light of lights  
The rest and receptacle of delights.  
Life of all living, seat of travellers,  
The palm, the prize, the crown of conquerors.  S. 
O, who can Gods great goodness understand,  
How wondrous are the works of his right hand?  
Yesterday I was in earth's darkness dim,  
To day in heavens resplendent lustre trim.  
Yesterday in the roaring Lion's power,  
To day, i'th' hands of my sweet Saviour.  
Yesterday, brought unto the gates of hell,  
To day in Paradise, where joys excel.  
Yesterday in the world's circumf'rence round,  
To day in Abraham's bosom blestly found.  
O, that men living on the earth below,  
Did lest part of celestial joys well know!  
Then, solely, seriously, all pains the'yd take  
In holy duties: no lest loss they'd make  
Of precious time, which no man can regain,  
Nor would so fruitlessly their lives retain.  
Divines would (then) more study lives than learning  
More to live well than acquaint disputes discerning.  
Their chief philosophy they would it deem,  
To know Christ and him crucifi'de esteem.  
Grave Orators would not so break their brains  
To vent strong lines, invent such losty strains,  
As, holily and heartily to speak,  
And, by good works, from guilded words would break.  
The world's great traders would more piously,  
Endure and not procure an injury,  
And count a quiet and good conscience best,  
Yea far beyond the greatest gain possessed.  
Then, that intolerable beast most wild,  
I mean, that canker covetice most vild,  
Would not so rage and rave in courses base,  
But, yield to time, as the fit time of grace.  
Yea all of all sorts would so spark and shine,  
In holiness of life and gifts divine;  
That, those two sayings, at the last great day,  
Should never from their thoughts depart away,  
Go, O ye cursed, into fire eternal.  
Come, O ye blessed, to a crown supernal.  
Oh, what can be more harsh, more full of woe?  
Than (then) to hear that bitter saying, go.  
But, what can better (then) pronounced be?  
Than, that blessed invitation i●? Come ye.  
Two sentences, than one of which, none sadder,  
And, than the other, none was (ere) heard gladder.  
Oh, if men would these thoroughly ruminate,  
Then, they more sound would recogitate  
And think upon the last and dreadful day;  
As that, on which, they must resolve to clay.  
Yea, they the judgement-day would duly tender,  
As that, on which, they must a reckoning render.  
Then would they muse and meditate on hell,  
As on that lake where woe and horror dwell.  
And think on heaven, as on a glorious place,  
And kingdom of incomparable grace.  
Their time, yet left, to heaven they'd consecrate,  
Their lamp, yet light, aloft they'd elevate.  
No day without a line, no line should be  
Without a guiding-rule to sanctity.  
No smallest sand out of the hourglass,  
Without (at least) one trickling tear should pass.  
They, nothing, not time-present, would count theirs,  
Whose only minute, all their due appears.  
The morning they would make day's inchoation,  
The evening, that days due examination.  
Their bodies from their beds they soon would raise,  
Their drowsy sleep they'd shun without delays:  
Their candle lighted, they betimes would pray,  
And, give their God the first-fruits of the day.  
Then, they would boldly look death in the face,  
Yea, gladly they'd invite his hasty pace;  
And, being wholly dead to earth's false joy,  
They best would live, while they seemed life to 'stroy  
By dying, so, they death would deadly wound,  
And, by Death's death, their life would best be found.  
Thus, they would not count death a pang or pain,  
But, rest from sorrow and their greatest gain.  
Thus, earth disdained and heaven obtained, all blessed,  
They would approach the haven of endless rest.  
But, worldlings (always) find by proof most bad  
Whiles they breathe out this sentence sour and sad  
(O death, how bitter is the thought of thee!  
To those that earthly peace, with wealth, do see?)  
That unto whom the world's a blandishment.  
To them it brings, from heaven, a banishment.  
For, two most distant loves do men (still) make  
Of two most distant Cities to partake;  
The love of God, jerusalem erects,  
The love of earth, proud Babylon protects.  
The place of peace, jerusalem is named,  
Babylon is Seditions seat proclaimed.  
But, they shall ne'er in Peaces-city dwell  
Which love not peace, but like confusion well.  
O, than that men on earth these things would mind,  
They (even on earth) an heavenly life would find.  G. 
Thou dost (indeed) most sweetly meditate,  
Things well befitting souls in heavenly state;  
For, if men did these things, more seriously,  
Discuss and scan, and to themselves apply,  
They, to the world, would (sure) more strangers be,  
And cleave to God in nearer amity.  
But, we must joy in Gods revealed will▪  
Rejoice in Converts coming to us, still;  
Pray the approach of all terrestrial Saints  
Who, this our City's ruin and restraints  
Must restaurate and full re-edify,  
And make complete to all eternity.  
Mean while (sweet soul, beloved, lovely mate)  
Come thou to us, with us cohabitate,  
Blessed in thyself, grateful to us all blessed,  
Most blessed in this blessed state of rest,  
Come let us (now) with interchanged embraces  
With mutual joy, new songs, go take our places  
In Gods most admirable Tabernacle,  
All sacred Saints most holy habitacle.  
Now, thy (once) Ministers become thy mates;  
Now, amongst the lilies in most lovely states,  
Amongst troops of glorious Angels shining bright  
Thy lustre (now) may glister, full of light.  
Yea, now, thou mayst lie down on beds of roses  
Amongst God's lovely lambs in sweet reposes.  
Come, come (I say) be now exceeding glad,  
That thou art with celestial beauty clad;  
joy, in enjoying endless joy and peace,  
In God's blessed presence, which can never cease.  S. 
O, most mellifluous sweetness most admired!  
O, heavenly honey pleasures most desired!  
How sweet thou art in serious meditation!  
How far more sweet in thy due declaration!  
How much more sweet to view and contemplate!  
How most transcendent sweet in blessed estate!  
'tis not in all I am to set thee forth,  
'tis past my power to blaze thy blessed worth.  
But, 'tis enough for me that I possess thee,  
That being in thee blessed, I, thus, do bless thee.  
That I aloud, his laud and praise may sing,  
That placed and graced me here, heaven's glorious King;  
To whom, with jesus Christ and his blessed Spirit  
Who doth all power and praises, wholly, merit,  
Even, heavens ineffable Trine-unity,  
Be hallelujahs sung eternally.  
Amen.   
Ephes. 5.14. 
Arise, thou that sleepest, and stand up from the dead, and Christ shall give thee light.  Bernard. 
An account must be given of all the time lent unto us, how it hath been spent by us.  Aug. upon Psal. 36. 
My brethren, if ye are persuaded that we shall enjoy any such things, in that country, whereunto the celestiall-silver trumpet incites and summons us: and for their sakes ye are willing to abstain from things present, that there ye may receive those future comforts more copiously: Do, then, as those men, who being invited to a great feast, keep their stomaches empty, and are content to abstain, that their appetites may attain an (even) insatiate satisfaction.  
FINIS.